A Knight's Persuasion (Knight's Series Book 4)

by Catherine Kean

  With a rasp, the tome slid closer to the opening of the well.

  “Careful!” Edouard snapped.

  Just as he reached past Nara to snatch hold of the book, she poked out a finger . . . and shoved the book off the edge. Pages turned as it tumbled down into the darkness.

  “Nay!” he roared.

  With a choked cry, Juliana lurched forward. She fell to her stomach on the well’s rim and made a frantic downward grab.

  Nara sniffed, a sound of disdain. “Forget those foolish sketches.”

  “Go away, Nara.” Anguish thickened Juliana’s voice. “You have done quite enough.”

  Edouard’s gut clenched. If Juliana leaned any farther into the well, she might fall in.

  He pushed Nara out of the way. Now that he stood beside Juliana, he leaned forward to hold her waist.

  A swift kick knocked his right foot, causing his boot’s sole to skid on the dirt. Nara’s doing. He roared, even as he tried to regain his balance. Losing his foothold, he pitched toward Juliana.

  “God’s teeth,” Kaine shouted.

  Edouard fell against her. With a shrill scream, she hurtled forward.

  Her hands flailed, trying to grab the opposite side of the rim. Her legs thrashed. Kicking up a froth of silk, she continued to slide forward.

  Worry and rage threatened to choke Edouard. She could be badly injured falling into the well. She could die. Grabbing for Juliana’s skirts, he yelled, “Hold still!”

  “I am falling!” she shrieked.

  Edouard caught rising voices somewhere nearby. Others about the castle were aware of the crisis. Soon, all would know. Including his father.

  He couldn’t think of that now. “Do not worry,” he called to her. “I will pull you out.”

  “Edouard!” Kaine, too, caught part of Juliana’s gown.

  The fragile silk tore.

  “Juliana!” Edouard cried, lunging for her arm.

  She screamed again and plummeted head first into the depths.

  Chapter Three

  The scream seared the back of Juliana’s throat as she fell in the inky dankness.

  She scrambled to catch hold of the stones passing by, to find a handhold and stop her descent. Impossible. She was falling too fast.

  The wooden bucket for drawing water loomed ahead. She twisted her body, tried to grab for the bucket, but missed.

  Down she plunged, for what seemed an eternity, until she splashed feet first into icy water. Before she could draw a shocked gasp, she submerged; the water dragged her into its depths. She shoved out with her arms, forced her body upward. When she broke through the surface, she hauled air into her lungs. The sound echoed back to her, ghastly and hollow.

  Kicking her feet, she fought to stay afloat.

  “Help!” she yelled to the circle of sunlight far above. “Help!”

  “Juliana!” Edouard called down to her, while Kaine and Nara leaned in beside him. Edouard sounded anxious. Worried, no doubt, that he’d be in trouble for what had happened. Well, he deserved to be punished for shoving her into this hellish pit!

  “Help me!” she shrilled. The darkness was so intense, she couldn’t even see her arms moving in the water. She’d been told Sherstowe’s well was wider and deeper than most; a long-ago lord had ordered it built that way, so if necessary, the castle could withstand months of siege.

  If she didn’t leave these depths soon, she could suffer a severe chill or drown.

  She moaned.

  “Hold on,” Edouard said. “I promise, Juliana, we will get you out.”

  An eerie whisper echoed—her silk gown, floating on the water’s surface. She couldn’t see it, but fabric bobbed against her skin, a sensation akin to the nudging of a submerged creature.

  Something else bumped against her. A bit of wood? A lost toy? A monstrous toad who was lord of this underworld? Smothering a hysterical giggle, she dared to reach out and touch the object and found her floating, waterlogged sketchbook.

  Tears stung her eyes as she drew the book close. It squelched as she pressed it tight to her chest, the odor of soggy parchment sharp in her nostrils. Her book was ruined. She’d know for certain when she’d got it into the light, but she doubted her sketches had survived.

  How kind of you, Nara, a bitter voice cried inside Juliana. Are you pleased that you managed to push my sketchbook into the water? Was destroying my drawings—something so important to me—your way of showing off for Edouard?

  Juliana’s teeth chattered. The coldness seeped to her bones. Why wasn’t Edouard lowering the bucket to pull her out? Or, if that wouldn’t work, sending down a rope?

  Frantic activity seemed to be taking place at the surface: heated discussion, a squeaking noise, shouts. Panic shivered through her as she continued to tread water. She must stay calm. Be patient. But what if the pulley for the bucket was broken? Father had planned to replace it, because it kept jamming. That might have happened now. How, then, would she get out?

  She didn’t want to die. Not today. Not when Mother needed her help to recover.

  Not like this.

  “Help m-me.” Juliana drew upon all of the fear coalescing inside her. “Help. Meee!”

  “Juliana!” Edouard shouted down.

  “Get m-me out!” she screamed, not caring if she sounded like a frightened child. Terror pounded at her temples. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to die!

  “Stay calm,” Edouard said, his soothing voice floating down to her. “I imagine ’tis dark and frightening—”

  “Aye!”

  “But we will rescue you. We will not leave you down there, I promise. I give you my word.”

  The word of a rogue who’d tempted her with a kiss and pushed her into this dangerous place? She didn’t want his help. Yet he seemed to be leading efforts to get her out. “W-what is wrong? Why is it t-taking so l-long?”

  “The pulley was stuck, but we fixed it. Listen, now. We are going to lower the bucket. ’Twill be easier than you trying to hold on to a rope while we draw you all the way to the surface. Stand in the bucket. We will pull you up.”

  What if the pulley jammed again? What if the bucket couldn’t hold her weight and broke? She might perish before they could find another way rescue her. “Edouard!”

  “I am here, Juliana. You will be all right,” he said. “Trust me.”

  A muffled creak came from above. He’d started lowering the bucket.

  Hurry. Hurry!

  She waited, treading with her tiring legs. Her harsh breaths echoed.

  “The bucket will reach you soon,” Edouard said.

  Holding her breath, she tried to discern its arrival. The air stirred close to her face. An object splashed nearby.

  She reached out and touched the rough-hewn side of the bucket.

  “I have it!” she called, relief soaring inside her. She reached higher to grab hold of the connecting rope. The bucket shifted, sloshed, but she managed to slide one leg over the side, then the other, and set her feet on the bottom.

  “I am in!” she cried.

  Tucking her sketchbook under her arm, she held tight to the coarse rope with numb hands. One shuddered breath. Two. The rope tautened under her grip, and then she felt herself slowly rising. A joyous sob rattled in her throat.

  Little by little, she rose. The bucket swung gently with each tug from above, while water trickled from her gown, hanging over the bucket’s side, to the surface below. Her teeth were still chattering, but hope glowed inside her. Soon, she’d be on solid ground.

  Long moments seemed to pass before the sunlit stones of the well’s rim came into view. A crowd of servants and guests had gathered around the opening, many of the men assisting with the rope.

  One more tug and her head cleared the well. Edouard and Kaine reached in to catch hold of her arms. They pulled her up to the well’s edge.

  Clutching her sketchbook before her like a shield, she swung her trembling legs over the well’s side and stood.

  The cr
owd cheered and clapped. “Lady Juliana is safe!”

  “Well done, milords,” one of the men cried.

  “What heroes!” another man shouted.

  Juliana sucked in a breath of fresh air, all too aware of the water dripping from her ruined gown to puddle in the dirt. Her bodice stuck to her skin; the wet silk had turned indecently sheer, but at least the sketchbook hid her bosom from the crowd’s view.

  Most importantly, though, she was safe.

  “Thank you,” she said to the helpers by the well, to Kaine, and at last, to Edouard.

  He no longer looked the arrogant rogue. His expression grim, he dipped his head in reply. Dirt streaked his right cheek and grubby patches marked his tunic. He’d taken off his mantle. It lay in a heap on the edge of the well.

  As conversation spread through the crowd, Edouard touched her arm. “Are you hurt?”

  “Nay.” Juliana jerked from his gentle grip.

  “Are you certain—?”

  “I am.” She could hardly bear to look at him, the man who’d told her, of all astonishing things, that she was beautiful. The man who’d almost kissed her, knocked over the tray, pushed her into the well—and then rescued her. She didn’t know how to feel about him.

  Worst of all, the excitement stirred up by his desire for a kiss still simmered inside her, taunting her with what might have been.

  Edouard sighed, a sound heavy with regret. “I am glad you found your sketchbook.”

  Most likely a ruined sketchbook. Unable to speak past the tightness in her throat, she nodded.

  “That . . . drawing of me . . .”

  Heat swept Julian’s face. She’d never intended for Edouard to see that foolish, impulsive sketch. Never should she have indulged that curious desire to draw him, and not merely so Mother could see what he looked like.

  Fingering wet hair from her cheek, a gesture Juliana hoped might hide her blush, she shivered and glanced toward the keep. Somehow, she must excuse herself, make her way to her chamber, change her garments, and then tend to Mother, all without her sire learning of this mishap.

  Of course, he might already know. He’d be very upset to have this incident happen on such a crucial day. She tried not to let her shoulders droop. How she’d wanted this celebration to be perfect.

  Nara patted her arm. “Poor Juliana. You must feel rotten, soaked through as you are. What a shame about your new gown. And your sketchbook . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Is that what smells?”

  “With careful drying,” Juliana said firmly, “the odor will go away.”

  “Really?” From Nara’s tone of voice, she meant, “Not likely.”

  A tart retort flew to Juliana’s tongue. Nay. She wouldn’t speak so to her sister in front of Edouard and the other guests. Enough dramatics had already occurred, and an argument between her and Nara would only feed gossip. What she needed to say to Nara could wait till later that evening when they were alone.

  Looking again at Edouard, Juliana dropped into a stiff but elegant curtsey. “Please excuse me, milord.”

  His lips parted, indicating he was about to reply. Spinning on her heel, she hurried toward the keep, the torn section of her gown dragging in the dirt.

  Before she had taken five steps, footfalls sounded behind her. “Here. This will help to warm you.” Edouard matched her strides, and cloth settled about her shoulders. His mantle. As she looked up at him, he reached around and drew the heavy wool about her shoulders. It smelled of horse and sunlight and . . . him. “I wanted to give this to you a moment ago,” he said, “but you rushed off.”

  She wanted to still be annoyed with him, but sympathy filled his gaze. Did he guess how much effort it took for her to maintain her dignity when she was soaked and tired? Did he know how hard she’d fought not to yell at Nara?

  “Thank you,” Juliana murmured.

  Edouard smiled. “’Tis fine English wool.” He winked like a mischievous boy. “It comes from the estates of some rich lord. De Lanceau, I believe his name is.”

  She smiled back. “I feel warmer already.”

  “Good.” His expression sobered. “For all that has happened today, I am truly sorry.”

  How heartfelt his apology sounded. A secret part of her sighed with pleasure. As she looked up into his handsome face, its angles brushed with sunlight, her surroundings seemed to blur away into nothingness, till there was only him.

  His gaze, bright with an emotion she couldn’t quite pinpoint, held her like a tender touch. Awareness of him ran like a warm drink in her veins. Was this how a lady felt before her gallant hero swept her into his arms? Juliana’s pulse fluttered in a wild rhythm, for his stare reminded her of that instant not so long ago, when he’d said he wanted her kiss.

  Never before had a man said that to her. Juliana’s gaze shifted to Edouard’s mouth, and suddenly, she wanted to know exactly what a kiss—his kiss—was all about.

  Do not be foolish. Have you forgotten he pushed you into the well?

  Juliana focused on tugging the mantle closer about her. “Thank you,” she managed to say, “for loaning me your garment.”

  “Keep it as long as you like.”

  A kind offer. However, others might see him as presenting her with a gift, a token of his affection. A garment as personal as a mantle likely held a certain significance between lovers. She must see the mantle returned to him as soon as she’d donned fresh clothes.

  “I will get it back to you”—she resumed walking toward the keep—“later today, milord.”

  “All right.”

  “Juliana,” Nara called. “Does this mean you give up your dance with Edouard?”

  Juliana stumbled to a halt, her back to her sister. Dance with Edouard? Was that all Nara cared about? Juliana’s grip tightened on the sketchbook until pain shot through her fingers.

  A harsh sigh welled inside her as she turned to look at her sister. Right now, the last thing Juliana wanted to do was dance. However, she couldn’t very well forfeit her dance with Edouard, one of the most important guests at the festivities, because onlookers could see this as an insult. He’d rescued her. Some would say he’d saved her life. What grateful young woman wouldn’t want to dance with her hero?

  The day’s emotions squeezed down upon Juliana, threatening to crush the last of her courage. She wouldn’t yield to tears. Not before all these people. Especially not in front of Edouard.

  “At this moment,” she said, “I have more pressing concerns than a dance. But thank you, Sister, for reminding me of it.”

  A sensible, non-committal answer. Now, to reach the quiet of her chamber; she had no wish to face another dilemma while dripping wet and bedraggled.

  “Edouard,” Kaine said, somewhere close behind. A loud slap echoed—the sound of a hand coming down upon a shoulder. “If you ask me, I vow you have lost our bet.”

  Juliana frowned as she walked. Bet?

  “Kaine! For God’s sake . . .”

  She might have kept on at her steady pace, but for the frustration in Edouard’s voice. She turned, her wet gown twisting about her legs, and caught the warning glare Edouard threw at his friend an instant before his guilty stare met hers.

  “Bet?” Coldness settled in her stomach. “What bet?”

  ***

  As misgiving clouded Juliana’s expression, Edouard fought a groan. He should have known his dealings with Kaine would end in disaster. Now he might have to answer to the folly. And to the woman who, in a very short time, had become more to him than a fleeting challenge.

  “What bet?” Juliana repeated, while her poignant gaze bored into Edouard. He felt that stare as though it reached inside him and wrenched his soul. Shame licked through him, becoming more intense when her attention refused to waver.

  “Ah . . .” Kaine chortled and threw his hands wide. “’Twas but a private jest between lads. Not a lady’s concern.”

  That’s right, a voice inside Edouard said. Take Kaine’s example and lie. You don’t have to admit your fool
ishness. Why hurt Juliana? She’s endured enough already.

  That wouldn’t be honorable, an equally strong voice broke in. If you respect her, care for her, you’ll be honest. Even if it means you must accept blame.

  Still holding Juliana’s stare, Edouard dragged his hand over his jaw. He wanted to make the right decision. If his sire learned of the bet, though, he wouldn’t be at all pleased. Just thinking about his father’s disapproval made sweat break out on Edouard’s forehead.

  “Not a lady’s concern?” Juliana’s eyes narrowed. “Why then, Kaine, do you look so guilty?”

  “Do I?” He laughed, even as his face turned red. “Well, I—”

  “And you, Edouard. You have not answered me.” Her fingers tightened on her sketchbook, a gesture that drew his gaze to her bluish nails. “Do I guess correctly? This bet does concern me?”

  “Oh, nay,” Kaine cut in. “Of course not. Right, milord?”

  Another, silent groan broke inside Edouard. “Be quiet, Kaine.”

  “I am only trying to help.”

  Edouard barely resisted a snort. Kaine was only trying to save his wretched arse. But like a loyal friend, he’d tried to cover for Edouard, too.

  Aware their conversation had drawn the attention of curious observers, Edouard smiled at Juliana. Instead of lying, or admitting the truth, he’d press his charm on her and convince her to drop the matter for now. If she insisted on the truth, he’d divulge it later, when fewer were in earshot, and when no one who overheard would take the news to his father.

  Gesturing to her soaked clothes, he said, “Please, Juliana, go and put on dry garments. Then I will be pleased to—”

  “I want to know now.”

  She looked so miserable, he longed to cross to her, draw her into his arms, and hug her, as he’d comfort his younger sister. However, that would certainly set tongues a-wagging.

  As the silence persisted, Juliana’s chin tilted higher. She wasn’t going to give in. Would she stand there, cold and dripping, until she caught a severe chill?

  Her chin was quivering.

  “Juliana . . .”