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

by Catherine Kean

  Rosemary kept crying.

  “All right,” Juliana soothed. She must find Mayda; if she couldn’t be found swiftly, then a nursemaid who could feed Rosemary.

  As Juliana started toward the solar doorway, her gaze slid over the long trestle table along the opposite wall. Gold glinted. She crossed to see what the object was: Mayda’s wedding ring.

  A violent tremor snaked through Juliana. At the same moment, a memory flashed into her mind, of Mayda’s tearful, whispered words when she lay against bed sheets smeared with blood from Rosemary’s birth. “If aught should happen to me, you must keep the baby safe. Promise me that, Juliana.”

  Sitting on the bed’s edge, watching over Mayda till maidservants returned with clean sheets and the healer brought another pain-dulling tonic, Juliana touched her friend’s hand. “Do not worry. The healer says you will be fine. So will the babe.”

  “A girl.” Mayda’s lips trembled while she glanced at the infant, sleeping in its cradle beside the bed; Mayda’s gaze looked almost . . . terrified.

  “She is beautiful,” Juliana said. “Perfect, in every way. Tiny, round nose. Chubby fingers—”

  “But not a son.”

  Landon’s wish for a boy was well known to everyone at Waddesford. Juliana forced a comforting smile. “Nay, but—”

  Mayda’s fingers curled into Juliana’s in a tight, almost crushing, grip.

  Juliana fought not to wince. Her friend didn’t seem like herself, and probably didn’t realize her grasp was so strong. “Landon will love her,” Juliana murmured. “Why would he not?”

  How clearly she remembered her mother weeping over her dead son, a baby she’d desperately wanted, whether ’twas a boy or a girl. Surely, no father would reject the miracle of his own healthy child, especially one with such a sweet countenance? “One look at his daughter’s face,” Juliana added, “and Landon will adore her. I vow he will be so proud, he will want to show her off to all within the keep.”

  She hoped so. Mayhap this little girl would bring an end to the terrible arguments and unite the Ferchantes as a family. Mayda deserved to be happy.

  Mayda shook her head against the pillow. How defeated she seemed. “Listen, Juliana. I must tell you before the others return. I have hidden a bag of jewelry—”

  “Mayda.” Juliana struggled against rising worry. Her friend was beginning to sound completely out of her wits. Surely, Mayda didn’t fear for her and Rosemary’s lives?

  “If I come to . . . harm,” Mayda rasped, “you will take what’s hidden and flee far from here with Rosemary. Sell the jewels—”

  “Hush, Mayda—!”

  “—You will have enough coin to provide for both of you for years.” Her tone sharpened. “Promise me.”

  Unnerved by her friend’s wild-eyed stare, Juliana looked to the door, hoping to see the panel open and the healer step inside. Mayhap his lordship would be with her, eager to see his child for the first time.

  “Promise, Juliana.”

  Agree to steal a lord’s daughter and valuable jewelry? Swear to commit crimes that could see her imprisoned for the rest of her life? “I—”

  “Juliana!”

  Mayda’s gaze held such haunted fear, Juliana couldn’t help but nod. “All right. I promise. I will do as you ask.” After all, how likely was it that Mayda would come to the harm she feared?

  Rosemary’s wail snapped Juliana from her memories. “There, there,” she said, as she continued toward the door. When Juliana drew near, she realized the door was slightly ajar; the chilling draft blew in from around it.

  Wishing she’d taken the time to pull on a woolen wrap, but not wanting to delay Rosemary’s feeding any longer, Juliana drew open the door and stepped out into the hallway lit by flaming wall torches. The draft whispered across the passageway’s stone floor; it seemed to be coming from the stairwell farther along, the one leading to a door that opened onto the wind-scoured wall walk.

  Over the sputter of the nearby torches, she heard voices. A man and a woman, arguing. The harsh quarrel drew Juliana toward the stairwell. Some of the words carried down to her on the gusting wind. She recognized Mayda’s voice, shrilled by bitterness. The sound of her friend’s torment . . . Unbearable.

  Juliana hugged Rosemary closer. The baby sniffled, then whimpered, as though about to cry again. Curling her finger, Juliana rubbed it against Rosemary’s toothless gums. Turning her head to follow Juliana’s knuckle, Rosemary began to suck.

  Juliana hesitated at the bottom of the stairwell, caught between eavesdropping or walking away. In truth, she had no right to listen. Landon and Mayda, as lord and lady of this keep, deserved their privacy. But remembering the fear in her friend’s expression and her earlier promise, Juliana forced herself to step into the close stairwell, shivering at the coldness of the stone beneath her bare feet.

  “—do I mean to you? Do you love me? Care for me at all?” A wrenched sob. “I wish to know, Landon.”

  “Cease.”

  Partway up the stairwell, Juliana froze. How could Landon speak to Mayda in that manner? His tone was little more than a snarl. He’d speak that way to a murderous traitor chained in his dungeon. His wife, the mother of his babe, deserved far more respect.

  Regret pierced Juliana, for less than a year ago, Mayda and Landon had seemed so much in love, in the way they’d smiled at each other, exchanged coy words, touched hands, and kissed. Just observing them had stirred yearnings within Juliana, for she’d hoped one day to have a marriage equally as wonderful. But all the trust and happiness between Landon and Mayda seemed to have vanished. For their relationship to have come to this was nothing less than tragic.

  “Do not turn your back on me. I want an answer,” Mayda shrieked.

  “How you tire me,” Landon growled, followed by the rap of footfalls on stone. The sound implied he’d moved away from her.

  More sobbing came from above, and Juliana bit down on her lip. The cruelty of Landon’s tone was truly frightening.

  Was Mayda in danger? Would Landon harm her, as she’d suggested days ago?

  The atmosphere, indeed, seemed ripe for violence. If Juliana dared to interrupt, though, saying the babe had woken and needed feeding, that would give Mayda a reason to return to the solar. She’d be safe then. If she and Landon had more to discuss, they’d do so later, when they’d both had time to calm their tempers.

  Aye. That was the best solution. Yet putting herself in the midst of the disagreement . . . Juliana pressed back against the stone wall and fought a twinge of alarm.

  Don’t be foolish, Juliana. You are friends with Landon. He will not harm you, especially when you have his daughter in your arms. If you care for Mayda and little Rosemary, you will find the strength to act for them.

  Shifting Rosemary closer to her shoulder, to shield her from the wind swirling down into the stairwell, Juliana pressed on.

  “You say I tire you.” Mayda’s words shattered on an angry wail. “I never see you. Day and night, you are always gone. Do you think I am a fool, Landon? Do you believe I do not know of the servants’ gossip? Of the rumors you—”

  “I told you before. Cease!”

  “I will not! I am your wife.”

  Weak moonlight, coming through the open doorway leading onto the wall walk, touched the stairs ahead. As though becoming aware of her mother’s nearness, Rosemary warbled.

  “I warn you, Mayda. If you do not be quiet—”

  The brutal fierceness of Landon’s voice . . . Mere steps away from the open door, Juliana hesitated. A frightened moan scratched her throat, but she forced the sound down. She thrust her finger against Rosemary’s mouth to soothe her hungry snuffles.

  “You will not make a fool of me any longer!” Mayda shouted. “I want the truth—”

  “Veronique excites me.”

  A shuddered gasp. “S-she—?”

  “—pleasures me. Whenever I wish. However I wish. Are you happy now, wife?”

  Juliana squeezed her eyes shut. O
h, Mayda. I am sorry. To be rejected with such indifference must be heartbreaking.

  Hoarse sobs broke from Mayda, each one swollen with helplessness and rage. The sounds pierced deep inside Juliana, for she’d cried that way after her mother had died. She’d wept until every last tear had dried up, and she’d been too exhausted to cry any longer.

  “You bastard.” Mayda’s weeping roughened, while Juliana climbed the last stairs. “How could you betray my love? And to her? Did you not think—?”

  A scraped footfall. A grisly crack: the sound of a fist hitting flesh.

  Mayda groaned, a sound of excruciating pain.

  Oh, God. Oh, God!

  Rosemary struggled, her little legs kicking against the blanket, as Juliana forced herself through the doorway and onto the battlements.

  Landon and Mayda were some distance down the wall walk, their figures limned in moon glow. The eerie light, cutting through patches of inky shadow, skimmed the squared stone merlons and the gaps between them that overlooked the moat, almost dry from months with little rain.

  Glaring at Mayda, Landon flexed his right fingers, doubtless easing discomfort from the blow, then swept his palm over the front of the brown woolen tunic that reached to his thighs. The lazy gesture, executed with a faint measure of disgust, heightened the warning buzzing inside Juliana.

  “Mayda,” she said. Fear muffled her voice; the wind snatched the sound.

  Landon was dressed in garments fit for a cool spring night, while Mayda wore only her linen night rail, covered by a cloak she’d thrown about her shoulders but hadn’t fastened. Her unbound blond hair snarled in the breeze as she stood with her head bowed to the side, one hand pressed to her cheek, clearly still stunned by the blow. As Juliana hurried forward, her friend straightened. Her hands lowering to clench at her sides, Mayda faced her husband.

  “How dare you hit me? Did you think that would silence me?” she screeched, before she winced and cradled her face again with her hand. “How I hate you!”

  Juliana shivered as a gust whipped at her; yet her chill went beyond physical discomfort. Perilous emotions flowed between Landon and Mayda. Anger and bitterness seemed to cocoon them from all else, for they still hadn’t noticed her, or heard the babe’s fussing.

  “Mayda,” Juliana called again, louder this time. If only she were nearer! Still, her friend didn’t hear her.

  “Listen well, Landon.” Mayda trembled. “Our marriage is ended. I cannot wait to tell my parents, who so admired you, how you—”

  Landon’s face contorted in a sneer. His arm whipped up, no doubt to strike again. Mayda threw up her hands—to hit back or plead with him—even as Juliana cried, “Mayda!”

  Her friend’s head swiveled. When Mayda’s gaze fell upon Juliana and Rosemary, her teary eyes widened. Pain and terror etching her expression, Mayda opened her mouth, clearly about to speak.

  Landon’s fist slammed into her head.

  “Nay!” Juliana screamed. “Mayda!”

  Eyes rolling, Mayda keeled sideways, then backward. Toward the gaping space between the merlons.

  Juliana hurried forward, trying not to jostle Rosemary, heedless of the wind buffeting her and slowing her down. “Mayda,” she shrieked. “Beware!”

  Mayda bumped against a merlon, then staggered. Her hands flew wide, a frantic attempt to regain her balance. “Juliana—” she groaned.

  Landon lunged forward and shoved her. Hard.

  Mayda’s hands flailed, grasping for a handhold. Seizing only air.

  “Mayda!” Juliana shrieked.

  With a shrill cry, her friend fell backward over the side. Her scream carried, and then . . . abrupt silence.

  Several yards from Landon, Juliana stumbled to a standstill. Horror pounded inside her. Her whole body shook as she looked from Landon, his seething stare upon her, to the dark, vacant space where Mayda had disappeared.

  Rosemary bawled.

  The wind hissed, cold and . . . empty.

  “Mayda,” Juliana whispered, pressing her arm across her churning stomach. “Oh, God!”

  Over Rosemary’s cries, Juliana heard shouts somewhere down the wall walk. Castle folk were investigating the scream. At the same moment, Landon glanced over the battlement, as if to see what had become of his wife.

  Could she have survived such a fall? Not likely. Not when the almost dry moat was strewn with rocks.

  Mayda was dead. A demise she’d feared days ago.

  Even as bile stung the back of Juliana’s mouth, another, more deadly thought snared her focus. She was the only one to have seen what happened. A witness to a lady’s murder.

  Landon would no doubt convince any curious folk that what had taken place was an unfortunate accident. He was lord of Waddesford; his statement wouldn’t be questioned. Hers, however . . .

  She took a shaky step back. He’d murdered once tonight. Would he kill her this evening, to silence her? Then would he do away with his daughter, whom he’d never wanted?

  As he tugged down his sleeves and faced her, Juliana scrambled backward toward the doorway. She’d whirl around and run—

  Movement on the wall walk snared her gaze. A slender figure emerged from the shadows close to Landon. Veronique. Raising her hands, she started clapping.

  Merciful God!

  As she strolled into the pale moonshine, light swept over her waist-length red tresses that brushed against her long black cloak. The vibrant, reddish hue, unnatural for a woman her age, looked even more eerie in the moonlight. Not only was Veronique applauding, but smiling as though she’d witnessed a superb performance.

  “Well done, Landon.” Each of Veronique’s words sang with triumph.

  “Well done?” Juliana choked out while forcing her shocked body to continue backward. Get to the doorway, her mind screamed. Save yourself. Protect Rosemary, as you promised. Hurry!

  “I killed my wife.” Landon sounded stunned. Did he not believe what he had done?

  “You did what was necessary.” At his side, Veronique reached up a hand, turned his face so that he looked at her, and kissed him full on the lips. Pressing up against him, she said, “Now you are free. No one will separate us.”

  Juliana swallowed. There could be but five steps left till she reached the doorway.

  “Aye.” Landon exhaled a sharp breath. “But—”

  Four.

  “You had no other choice,” Veronique murmured. “Do not worry. We will ensure her death is considered no more than an accident.” Veronique’s gaze fixed on Juliana. “Starting with her.”

  Run!

  Juliana spun and bolted into the stairwell.

  Her bare feet skidded on the rough stones. Rosemary, bouncing in her arms, shrieked. Her cry echoed in the passageway, the sound mirroring the frantic scream rising inside Juliana.

  “She cannot get away,” Veronique snapped from the wall walk.

  “I know,” Landon said. “Guards!” he yelled. “Guards!”

  Juliana heaved in a breath. She must get out of the castle.

  How?

  No time to retrieve Mayda’s hidden jewels. Juliana would have to—

  Footfalls pounded on the stairs behind her.

  She reached the torch lit passage. Holding tight to crying Rosemary, she raced toward the wooden landing that led down into the great hall. Most of the castle folk would be asleep there; she’d weave through the rows of straw pallets, dash into the forebuilding, and down to the bailey. From there . . .

  Then what?

  “Juliana!” Landon roared, close behind.

  With an agonized gasp, she tried to run faster. Her lungs burned.

  Shouts and tramped footfalls carried from behind her—and the landing ahead.

  She was trapped.

  A sharp tug on her hair yanked her head back. Pain spread through her scalp, while the passageway’s ceiling became a blur. She stumbled, almost dropping Rosemary.

  “Got you,” Landon snarled.

  She screamed with all the breath left
in her lungs. Landon slammed her back against the passage wall. Rosemary jounced in her arms, even as Juliana twisted against his bruising grip on her upper arms.

  “Let me go!” she choked.

  Rosemary’s gulping cries rang off the stone. Landon didn’t seem to notice or care.

  “Quiet.” Breathing hard, his grasp as tight as manacles, he glared down at Juliana. He smelled of drink, night air, and . . . danger. Juliana shuddered. Would he kill her now?

  “Do as I say.” Landon clearly expected her obedience.

  “Killer!” she cried. How she wanted to spit in his face! “Mayda loved you! How could you—?”

  Armed men crowded in from the landing. Not Landon’s men-at-arms, most of whom she knew by name, but mercenaries. Veronique’s hired thugs.

  Oh, God. Oh, God!

  “Lady de Greyne has gone mad,” Landon called, loudly enough for all to hear.

  “Liar! You—”

  “She means to harm the babe,” he cut in, drowning her voice with his own. “She—”

  Juliana threw her body’s weight to one side. He tightened his grip. She kicked and struggled.

  Behind her, metal rasped: the sound of a sword being drawn.

  Terror whipped through Juliana, a moment before Veronique sauntered out of the stairwell to block that way out. Crossing her arms, she smiled.

  “Someone help me!” Juliana sobbed. “Lady Ferchante was murdered. I saw! I swear—”

  Landon pulled her away from the wall. “Take her.”

  Two of the mercenaries grabbed her arms, restrained her, as Landon stepped away.

  “Give me a sword,” Landon commanded.

  She was going to die! “Please, listen!” Juliana shrieked. “He—”

  His lips drawn back from his teeth, Landon raised the blade. One swift slash, and she’d be dead. So, most likely, would Rosemary. Sobbing, Juliana cradled the baby tighter.

  A curse broke from Landon. Daring to glance up, she saw him standing as though frozen, his sword ready for its killing strike.

  For an instant, their gazes met. In his eyes, she saw remorse.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Landon, I beg you—”