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

by Catherine Kean

“Ride! Now!” Edouard bellowed. He spun his horse and kicked it toward the gatehouse.

  Shouts erupted behind him, along with the hiss of drawn swords, hoofbeats, and running footfalls.

  A creak echoed: the sound of the drawbridge rising.

  Hellfire! Within moments, they’d be trapped inside these walls.

  “Edouard!” Kaine shouted from close behind.

  Men swarmed in around Edouard’s horse to block his escape. They grabbed for his mount’s reins and reached for Juliana. As he struggled to keep hold of her and draw his sword, Edouard kicked the nearest lout, sending his head snapping back with a loud crack.

  The force of the blow sent Juliana bumping against Edouard. He gasped and fought to regain his balance. Kicking out again, he caught another warrior full in the chest. The man careened back into the throng.

  Cursing under his breath, Edouard abandoned his attempt to free his sword. Yanking his knife from his belt, he slashed out at a man tugging at his left leg, then rammed his heels into his horse’s sides. There was still a chance to reach the drawbridge.

  Tossing its head, the horse merely sidestepped; a mercenary had a firm hold on its bridle.

  A coarse laugh carried across the din. “You are trapped.”

  Edouard’s head swiveled. His furious stare locked with that of the dark-haired thug who resembled his sire.

  As though he were some kind of god, the sea of men parted to let the thug through. His broadsword, pointed at an angle toward the ground, glinted with lethal sharpness. With insolent, swaggering strides, he crossed to Edouard.

  “Who are you?” Edouard glared at him, refusing to look away.

  A woman’s laugh, shrill with glee, floated from near the forebuilding.

  Veronique? Oh, God. Oh, God.

  The dark-haired man reached Edouard’s side. “My name,” he said with a cold smile, “is Tye. At last, we meet, Brother.”

  Chapter Nine

  Edouard glared down at the man who’d dared to call him brother, the bastard who’d suggested, in that one word, that he had a birth right to be part of the revered de Lanceau lineage. The lout grinned, obviously relishing Edouard’s hatred.

  From what Edouard knew of Tye, he’d been presented, without any forewarning, to his sire in a meadow when a young boy, a pawn in one of Veronique’s prior schemes. Edouard’s sire had refused to believe he’d fathered Tye. While insistent that the boy was, indeed, of de Lanceau blood, Veronique had offered no definite proof.

  When Tye was a child, his developing features might not have been distinct. In the grown man—the shape of Tye’s mouth, the boldness of his gaze, the angles of his face—Edouard saw the resemblance to his father.

  Their father.

  Or a man who looked very much like Geoffrey de Lanceau.

  Refusing to break Tye’s stare, Edouard tightened his grip on his knife. How diligently his sire had tried to keep this bastard from influencing any part of his life. He’d striven to spare the family from the anguish of his past liaison with Veronique, an ambitious, French-born commoner who believed herself worthy of the privileges of the noble elite. While they all knew of Veronique and Tye, the two were akin to an unpleasant secret, spoken of only when necessary.

  Regardless of the truth of Veronique’s claim, Edouard had no doubt Tye’s intentions toward him were hostile. He’d never allow himself to be manipulated into a plot to destroy his sire. He had to get Juliana away from peril.

  “I demand that you withdraw your lackeys. Let me and my men leave,” Edouard said, not caring to soften the lashing whip of his voice.

  Tye didn’t even blink. “Demand.” He laughed while he looked to the men around him. They, too, chuckled. “Why would I let you go? We only just met. As brothers, we have much in common to discuss.”

  “I have naught to say to you, whoreson.” Edouard glanced over his shoulder. “Landon! Order these men to move aside, or—”

  “Ferchante no longer rules this keep.” Tye flipped up his sword; the tip rested at Juliana’s thigh, atop the blanket wrapped around her. With one thrust, the blade would slice through to her delicate skin and deeper still. He’d leave her crippled. More likely, she’d slowly bleed to death.

  “I do not wish to hurt her,” Tye said, “especially when she is already so gravely wounded. You must care about her, aye, to have brought her to the healer?”

  Edouard glowered. He wasn’t going to honor this thug with a response. Tye, though, seemed to read the answer in Edouard’s expression, for he smiled.

  “Since she is important to you, you will do exactly as I say. Sheath your knife and hand it to me. Unbuckle your sword belt and drop it as well.” He motioned to the nearby mercenaries, who edged forward to take the weapons.

  Edouard’s gaze shot to the drawbridge, almost completely raised. Was there any chance of escape? Any way of getting Juliana away from here?

  “There is no escape.” Tye’s words rang with command. “Do as I say.”

  Grunts and scuffling sounds of a struggle drew Edouard’s gaze to Kaine, trying to fight off mercenaries hauling him down from his mount. Kaine fought well, but there were too many opponents. He vanished beneath a swarm of men.

  Tye tsked. Regret flickered across his face before his fingers flexed on his sword, as though readying to plunge it into Juliana’s flesh. “I thought you cared for Lady de Greyne, but—”

  “All right.” Edouard slid his dagger back into its leather sheath. Untying it from his belt, he leaned around Juliana to pass it down, even as he watched for a moment of opportunity.

  Gaze narrowing, Tye eased his sword back from Juliana’s thigh. He didn’t step away, but held the weapon at the ready, obviously prepared to inflict the wound he’d promised if his orders weren’t obeyed.

  Silent, foul oaths burned Edouard’s throat as he dropped the dagger and one of the mercenaries caught it. How he wanted to strike out at Tye, to plunge into a ferocious, bloody swordfight. The fighting urge ignited with the same force as his hatred. However, such an assault might endanger Juliana. Here in this keep where the enemy reigned, he must be her protector. Her survival could depend upon him.

  With Tye studying his every movement, Edouard unbuckled his sword belt. It slid away; with a thud, it landed on the ground.

  “Good.” Tye sneered. “Now . . .”

  His head tipped to the side. Even as Edouard registered the signal, mercenaries grabbed his left leg. More thugs pulled at his mantle, yanking him down toward the dirt.

  “Juliana!” he cried, when her body tumbled from his grasp. A fall from the horse, in her weakened condition, could kill her. Is that what Tye intended? A quick way to be rid of her? Edouard kicked out at the louts dragging him down, lashed out with his fists, but there were too many of them.

  He was falling. The ground rushed up to meet him.

  Juliana, forgive me.

  He landed on his side. His head hit the hard-packed dirt and the crowd of dusty boots within his view became a muddy blur. Groaning, he struggled to focus.

  Fight. Save Juliana.

  As he hauled himself up on unsteady hands and knees, men snatched the pin securing his cloak and whisked the garment from his shoulders. More mercenaries seized his arms and hefted him to his feet.

  His knees threatened to give. Still, he thrashed. He had to break free.

  Grab a sword. Rescue Juliana. Fight—

  Steel flashed. A sword pressed against his jaw.

  Hissing breaths between his teeth, Edouard froze.

  “I knew you would struggle.” Laughing, Tye walked into Edouard’s line of vision while holding the sword. “I expect I would have done the same.”

  “Juliana—” Edouard croaked.

  “There.” Tye gestured to two mercenaries, coming into Edouard’s view. A crushing ache ripped through him, for they’d stripped the blankets from her body. Ah, God, she was almost naked, before all these men! The louts held Juliana upright between them, her head and shoulders drooping while they gripped
her upper arms.

  “Did she fall?” Edouard bit out. “Is she—?”

  “Alive? Aye. She only fell a short distance. The men caught her.”

  Rage flared within Edouard. The mercenaries’ dirty, callused hands were too close to her breasts. If they dared to molest her, especially when she couldn’t protest or fight back . . . Glaring at Tye, he ground out, “If they touch her . . .”

  Tye’s gaze shifted to the men behind Edouard.

  “Damnation!” Edouard yelled. “Do not ignore me.”

  “Do you have him secured?” Tye said, as though Edouard hadn’t spoken.

  “Aye.”

  Tye lowered his sword and shoved it back into its leather scabbard. “I will take her.”

  “Nay!” Edouard struggled, but his captors held him firm. He could only watch as Tye eased Juliana from the mercenaries’ grasp and scooped her into his arms. Her cheek pressed against his tunic front, while her silken hair tumbled free.

  Edouard shook, barely able to hold back his fury. To see her in that whoreson’s arms . . .

  Tye turned toward the keep. “This way.”

  The crowd around them separated, again letting Tye through. The thugs restraining Edouard dragged him forward. Across the sea of warriors, he saw Kaine and his other man-at-arms being hauled away, to be held in a different location, it seemed.

  “Hold.”

  At the curt order, spoken by a woman, his assailants halted. As Edouard’s head turned to face forward, he saw a slender, red-haired woman standing beside Landon. Veronique, he guessed. She must be close to his sire’s age, but her features were austere, beautiful, and unnaturally youthful. Her crimson, painted lips curved into a triumphant smile as her gaze traveled over his body, from his face right down to his scuffed boots.

  “Well done, Tye,” she said.

  “Thank you, Mother.”

  Edouard glared. What he would give to wipe that smirk off her gaudy mouth.

  “Tsk, tsk.” Veronique strolled forward. She smelled of rosewater, a fragrance he vowed to hate for the rest of his life. As her scent filled his nostrils, he exhaled sharply, hating to inhale even the slightest essence of her, the woman who’d devoted her life to destroying his noble sire.

  Her smile broadened, suggesting she enjoyed his discomfort. She shifted forward and reached out, as if to wipe dirt from his cheek. He jerked his face away.

  “Stubborn,” she mused. “Just like your accursed father. But we will change that.”

  Edouard fought a tremor. What did she mean? The way her eyes gleamed with promise left a foul taste in his mouth.

  “Where do you want them, Mother?” Tye asked, shifting Juliana in his arms.

  “Veronique.” Landon stepped forward, his expression dazed. “I asked moments ago, and you still have not answered me. I demand to know your intentions. To treat Geoffrey de Lanceau’s son in this manner—”

  “Tye, also, is de Lanceau’s son.”

  Frowning, Landon looked from Tye to Edouard.

  “They are half brothers.” Veronique’s lip curled. “Edouard was born in wedlock; he is considered Geoffrey’s first-born and heir. However, but months after Geoffrey cast me aside, I birthed Tye. Who, I wonder, really is the firstborn?”

  “There is no proof my sire fathered Tye.”

  Veronique snorted in disgust. “Is that what your father told you?”

  Edouard struggled against an unwelcome tug of doubt. “Even if by some chance your claim is true, Tye is illegitimate,” Edouard said through his teeth. “By law, he cannot inherit. He has no claim to my sire’s estates.”

  Her gaze sharpened to a cruel glint. “Did you realize your father spurned him when he was but an infant? I gave Geoffrey the opportunity to acknowledge Tye as his flesh and blood; he refused. Clearly, Tye’s life was—and still is—worth no more to him than a dog’s.”

  Edouard bit his tongue. She was doing her best to provoke him—and succeeding. He wouldn’t dare mention the times he’d come upon his sire, holding one of the gloating missives he’d received from her through the years, that told of Tye’s conquests in various fairs and tournaments in Normandy. Edouard would never forget the haunted regret in his sire’s expression, quickly shuttered away when he realized Edouard was nearby. “Do not speak for my father,” he growled. “What you say—”

  “Is the truth. You will come to know just how true my words are. But for now, we must make you . . . secure.”

  The way her tongue caressed that last word made him queasy. Did she mean to torture him? Force him, through unbearable agony, to betray his father? He’d fight her and Tye every single moment. Until he died.

  “Wait a moment.” Landon caught her arm. “I am lord of this keep.”

  Rage sparked in her eyes; since she faced Edouard, Landon wouldn’t see it. Then, as though warning herself not to succumb to anger, she smiled at Landon and set her hand atop his. “’Tis all right. I will deal with this matter, for both of us.” Her eyelid dropped in a sly wink. “Trust me.”

  “Do not!” Edouard shouted. “Where is your loyalty to my father? Veronique is a traitor—”

  Edouard glimpsed the mercenary’s fist flying toward him, but couldn’t dodge it. The blow sent his head snapping to the side, and he gasped.

  When he straightened, his jaw sore and burning, he heard Veronique say, “Have I ever betrayed your trust? Have I given you any reason to doubt me?”

  “God’s blood, Landon!” Edouard growled. He tried to meet Landon’s gaze, to persuade him to reject Veronique’s manipulations; his lordship refused to look at Edouard.

  “I did not expect Edouard to be harmed.” Landon’s tone roughened. “We did not discuss—”

  “We will,” she said. “Later.” Sliding her body against his, she kissed him on the lips. The intimacy revealed they knew each other well.

  Did Mayda know of her husband’s infidelity? Edouard thought of the embroidered baby blanket he’d brought with him, the one his mother had lovingly worked on for days, and fought rising hatred. How loathsome for Landon to have betrayed Mayda—especially with a traitorous bitch like Veronique—when Mayda had just birthed his child.

  “Go now.” Veronique nudged Landon. “Why not return to the solar and look for that ring from de Lanceau? I will join you shortly.”

  “I do not need the ring now, do I?”

  “You do not deserve it,” Edouard snarled. “I pray you never find it!”

  Landon flinched, even as Veronique murmured, “’Tis best to locate it.” She smiled, but Edouard saw the tautness around her mouth. “We—I mean, you—may need it in coming days.”

  Dread trailed through Edouard. Veronique had a purpose for that ring, one no doubt linked to her vengeance against his sire. “Landon,” he yelled. “If there is any honor left in you—”

  The mercenary’s fist slammed into Edouard’s belly. He grunted and bent over, hauling in breaths, as his surroundings spun. Heedless of his pain, he forced himself to stand upright.

  A hint of doubt lingered in Landon’s expression, but he nodded to Veronique, spun on his heel, and strode toward the keep.

  Her smile smug, Veronique again faced Edouard. “As you see, he will not help you. Neither, by the way, shall any of the folk in this castle. My mercenaries are making certain of that. This keep is mine now.”

  “Never,” Edouard growled, but she merely laughed.

  “Your men are being taken to the dungeon, but you . . .” She curled her fingers, as though caught up in heady excitement. “You are safest in the tower.”

  “Tower?”

  “Landon told me that long ago, a lord of this keep imprisoned the lover of his unfaithful wife. The poor man, chained there year after year, lost his wits. Some folks believe his anguished screams can still be heard.” She gestured to the thugs behind him. “Take him. Use the chains. When he is restrained, summon me, and I will search him.”

  A shudder crawled the length of Edouard’s spine. She’d run her wretched hands
over him? Nay!

  “What of Juliana?” Tye looked down at her, still unconscious in his arms.

  “She needs to be taken to the healer.” Edouard struggled as the men forced him to walk. “Her wound—”

  Veronique thrust a crooked finger at him. “You have no say in what happens to her.”

  How he wished he could snatch that finger in his teeth and bite it hard. ’Twould only make this situation worse, though, and Juliana needed care. “However much you hate me,” Edouard said, forcing a plea into his voice, “she has no part in the feud between us. She is an innocent. She deserves to live.”

  Veronique’s gaze shifted to Tye. “Take her to the tower. She will stay there until I wish to see her.”

  Fury boiled up inside Edouard. “She needs a healer!”

  Veronique raised her brows, turned her back on him, and walked away.

  ***

  She became aware of light, glowing at the edge of the darkness. The brightness coaxed, encouraging her to gather her strength. To push through the fog of pain. To rise up from the abyss of oblivion.

  Sounds broke into the shadows. Distorted. Close by. She mentally grabbed for the noises, hungry to understand them.

  A woman’s voice. Hard. Unyielding.

  A man’s, taut with frustration.

  Edouard’s voice.

  Hope, fragile and needy, fluttered up inside her. Edouard. She remembered his handsome face. The way sunlight had glinted on his unshaven jaw. His gaze, wide and earnest, when he’d told her who he was. Such beautiful, honest eyes.

  An eager cry welled within her. How she longed to see him.

  Her eyelids . . . Heavy as rocks. They wouldn’t open.

  The shadows stirred. They grasped at her, clawed like talons into her hope, tried to drag her back down into the stifling nothingness.

  Nay. She mustn’t yield.

  I am here, Edouard. I will find my way out of the dark.

  I will find you.

  ***

  The mercenaries propelled Edouard across the bailey and into the keep’s forebuilding. He tried to note as many details of the fortress’s layout as possible, a strategy that would aid his escape. However, despite his best efforts, his focus kept returning to Juliana several steps ahead, her head pillowed on Tye’s arm as he carried her to the tower.