“—is fainting!” she heard Edouard say. “Hurry!”
“Edouard,” she managed to rasp. Her eyelids fluttered, while she sensed Tye sliding his arm under her knee once again. A rough scrape—the sound of wood grating across wood—carried before cool roughness touched her calves, and an even colder hardness touched her back and head. When the whirling chaos in her head slowed, she realized Tye had set her on the stool and propped her up against the stone wall.
Opening her eyes, she saw him standing beside her with his hands on his hips, studying her as if to see whether she’d stay upright. Her attention slid past him to Edouard, also watching, his expression a touching blend of relief and anxiety.
Holding on to the stool for added support, she smiled at Edouard. He smiled in return.
Muffled voices sounded from outside the chamber.
A moment later, metal grated. The panel swung inward.
Two armed guards stepped inside, followed by a woman.
As she strolled farther into the room, the strong scent of rosewater drifted to Juliana. Light slipped over the woman’s snug-fitting silk gown and red hair that snaked down to her girlishly small waist. Her hips swayed in blatant enticement; her stride also, somehow, conveyed that she had a right to command all those around her. Tall, slender, viewed from the back, she might be mistaken for a much younger woman. Her severe features, however, bore evidence of her years in the faint lines about her eyes and mouth. Most telling were her hands, for her fingers were swollen and bent with age.
“Hello, Mother,” Tye said.
Juliana fought light-headedness and a rush of foreboding. This newcomer was Tye’s mother. A lady, judging by her gown; ’twould explain her imposing manner.
“All is in order, Tye?” she demanded.
“Aye. I was about to come find you and update you on the situation.”
The woman halted several steps from Edouard. As her keen gaze traveled over him, she grinned. “What a pleasure to see you again, Edouard.”
Disdain threaded through her words, and Edouard’s features tautened. He looked truly formidable. Whoever this lady was, he despised her. “Are my men all right?” he demanded. “Unharmed? Their wounds tended?”
“They are well enough, I expect.” Then, as though sensing Juliana’s stare, the woman looked right at her.
The force of the lady’s piercing, amber gaze made Juliana gasp. Her hands, on either side of the stool, clenched the rough-hewn wood.
“So, Juliana,” the woman said. “You are awake.”
This woman recognized her. Addressed her by her first name. Juliana’s fingers tightened to a painful grip. What relation was this lady to her?
“Juliana roused only moments ago, Mother,” Tye said. “I planned to inform you, when I found you.”
The older woman’s stare sharpened. “What did she tell you?”
“Naught. It appears she has lost her memory.”
Panic quickened Juliana’s heartbeat, for the lady’s expression had turned menacing. Why? What had taken place between Juliana and this woman? Juliana pressed her hand to her throbbing, sweat-beaded brow, for her instincts screamed for her to beware.
Flexing her hands, the woman advanced on Juliana.
“Leave her alone, Veronique!” Edouard bellowed.
This lady was called Veronique? A flicker of alarm sped through Juliana’s thoughts, a sense that the name should be important to her. As fast as the warning flared, it dissipated, swallowed by the greater pressure of blankness.
Fear pressed against Juliana’s breastbone. Silk rustled as Veronique neared, teeth bared in a smirk. “Juliana is fooling you, Tye, with her expressive eyes and beauty. She remembers all.” She thrust a gnarled finger in Juliana’s face. “As soon as you have the chance, you intend to betray us.”
Juliana shook her head, and the room whirled before her. Shoving back against the wall, she tried to stand, but her limbs gave way. She fell back down on the stool.
“Do I frighten you?” Veronique cackled, near enough now for Juliana to see the crimson smear on her silk sleeve. Blood. From what . . . or whom? “You were afraid the last time we spoke,” Veronique continued. “You should be terrified now, because—”
“Leave. Her. Alone,” Edouard roared.
“Patience, Edouard. You shall have your turn with me.”
Unshed tears stung Juliana’s eyes as she wrenched her gaze from Veronique’s bloodstained sleeve. How brave of Edouard to try and spare her from this woman. Yet part of Juliana desperately wanted to know the situation Veronique spoke of.
“Your battle is with me,” Edouard went on. “Not her.”
“Not true.” Veronique smirked. “Go on, Juliana. Tell him, if you have not already.”
“I . . . cannot remember.” She trembled, but she had to ask the question gnawing inside her. “What did happen?”
Veronique’s eyes widened, before she loosed a shrill laugh. “You are either very brave or completely witless.”
Tye grunted. “I told you she lost her memory.”
“Because of you, no doubt, Veronique.” Edouard’s chains clattered. “Tye insists he did not injure her. Did you?”
Veronique smiled and turned around. A giddy breath whooshed from Juliana; she’d won a reprieve for now. When the older woman reached into her sleeve, though, and drew out a knife, Juliana’s stomach roiled. Was she going to spill more blood?
Edouard’s blood?
“What happened to Juliana is not your concern right now,” Veronique said to him.
“Why not?”
She strolled toward him, the dagger in plain view. “I did not come to this chamber to discuss her. Only you.”
“Me?” His throat moved with a swallow. He didn’t step back, or otherwise acknowledge the threat the older woman posed, but Juliana saw tension creeping into his features.
Veronique halted before Edouard, just beyond his reach. “I looked through your saddlebag but didn’t find much of interest. However, as we both know, you would keep your most important possessions close to you.” Her gaze wandered over him. “I cannot take the risk you have weapons or documents concealed in your . . .”—her stare focused on his groin—“clothes.”
“Hellfire,” Edouard growled. “You are not—”
“You must be searched. I will undertake the task myself.”
Chapter Eleven
Edouard forced down an oath as Veronique’s fingers shifted on the dagger’s hilt. He could only imagine what her search would entail, the intimate violations she’d force upon him in front of the mercenaries, Tye, and most importantly, Juliana.
He dared not look at Juliana, although she’d gasped in horror a moment ago. He couldn’t risk Veronique glimpsing his fear of humiliation. If she saw, she’d know how to control him; he wouldn’t disappoint himself, or his father, by revealing weakness.
“What would Landon say about your searching me? ’Tis his keep. He is responsible for every person within its walls, including prisoners.”
“Not any longer.” Her mouth twisted in a nasty grin. “He is dead.”
“You killed him?” Shock thinned Edouard’s voice. He’d thought she depended upon Landon to keep her influence over the servants, but mayhap, if she had enough mercenaries, she no longer needed him. That meant she must also have the ring entrusted to Landon by Edouard’s father.
God’s blood, Edouard had to know for certain. If she possessed the jewel, she had all that she needed to get close to his sire and murder him. She’d kill Edouard, too, and thus remove any impediment to her and Tye controlling Moydenshire. Without doubt, a woman as corrupt as Veronique knew exactly what to offer King John so her and Tye’s conquest wouldn’t be challenged.
Bracing himself for her gleeful cackle, Edouard asked, “Landon gave you the ring, then?”
Sighing, she shook her head. “He became willful.”
Relief coursed through Edouard. Before he left Waddesford, he’d find that ring; she must never get hold of i
t.
“I will find it myself,” Veronique said. She gestured to her blood-darkened sleeve—blood that wasn’t yet dry. “’Twas a shame he tried to send word to your father about your capture. I could not allow it.”
Landon had tried to save him. A tremor tore through Edouard, tightening the sickening pressure in his chest. Whatever wrongs Ferchante had committed in recent days, he’d died with some honor.
Would Veronique kill him, also, for her perverse amusement? Or did she need Edouard alive, to bargain with his sire for his life? Either way, she still might mutilate him.
He steeled himself against the revulsion crawling like invisible ants over his skin. He’d cooperate as long as it took for him to gain an advantage. After that, he’d do all he could to gain his and Juliana’s freedom. He’d brought her into this danger; he’d get her safely out.
“Now,” Veronique murmured, “to the reason I am here—”
“I hope you will not send me and Juliana away.” Tye leaned against the wall near Juliana. “This search could be entertaining.”
Only for you, bastard.
A scraping sound drew Edouard’s gaze to Juliana. One hand pressed to the wall, she rose on unsteady legs, her face ashen. “W-what are you going to do to him?”
“As Mother said, search him.”
Fear flickered across Juliana’s features. “Why does she have the knife?”
Because she’s a cruel bitch, who enjoys inflicting pain.
“To protect herself. You see, Edouard has a violent nature. ’Tis why he is chained.”
Edouard snorted. He sensed the bloodlust coursing through Veronique, saw it in the eerie brightness of her eyes. She longed to cut him. She couldn’t hurt his sire, thus she’d take out her twisted revenge upon him.
“Edouard does not seem violent.” Juliana sounded bewildered—lost, even—and his heart ached for her.
A throaty laugh broke from Veronique before she glanced back at Tye. “How little she knows about Edouard.” She motioned to the pair of mercenaries looking on. “Stay close. I will need your help.”
“Aye, milady,” the men said.
Milady? She was a bold wench!
“Tye, I want you here, too, in case your brother needs some persuasion.” Veronique’s gaze slid to Juliana, then back to Tye.
With a lopsided grin, he nodded.
The ghastly tightness within Edouard intensified. If they didn’t get what they wanted from him, they’d hurt Juliana? Not if he had any choice in the matter. Fisting his hands, he waited for the assault to begin.
Veronique nodded to the mercenaries. “Hold him.”
Metal rasped, the sound of knives being unsheathed. He stepped back, slackening his chains to give him more range of movement, but the mercenaries hastily advanced. He swung at the lout on his right, but the other man darted behind him, wrapped his brawny arm around Edouard’s neck, and forced his head back. Pain shot through Edouard’s neck, pinned at an unnatural angle, while the back of his head pressed to the mercenary’s shoulder.
“Edouard!” Juliana cried.
Knives pressed against his neck: one on the left, the other on the right. Spittle rasped from Edouard’s lips. How he wanted to break his chains and give these lackeys a proper fight.
“Careful, Edouard.” The scent of rosewater threatened to choke him as Veronique sidled closer. “Juliana does not want to see you hurt.”
Juliana was quietly weeping. Her anguish gouged at his defiance—as, no doubt, Veronique hoped. To think Juliana cared for him that much . . . . He couldn’t dwell upon that at the moment. He must focus only on the danger.
Forced to look up at the wooden trusses overhead, Edouard struggled to glance sideways at Veronique. Her amber eyes glittered beneath the fall of her lashes as she halted beside him, then breathed out a thoughtful sigh. Her gaze glided from his mouth, to his jaw, to his throat where he felt his pulse leaping in a wild rhythm, then down to his chest.
“Mother,” Tye muttered. “Beware.”
“He will not hurt me.” Veronique’s breath warmed Edouard’s cheek as she leaned in and trailed the fingers of her left hand along his jaw. “He knows better than to try.”
How tempted he was to kick her. His legs, after all, were unfettered. The knives were so close to his skin, though, he’d be cut. Then Veronique might turn her dagger on Juliana, just to spite him.
Refusing to acknowledge Veronique’s taunting laugh, he remained still. Remote. Emotionally detached . . .
Her fingers brushed the front of his tunic, over his belly.
He jolted, unable to control the instinctive reaction. One of the knives pierced his skin and he winced. Sticky warmth moistened his neck.
“He is bleeding!” Juliana shrieked.
“A small cut. Not deadly.” Veronique clucked her tongue. “Look what you have done, Edouard.”
“What you have done,” Edouard snapped.
“Please, stop.” Juliana moaned. “Surely there is another way to search him.”
“Mmm,” Veronique purred, her hand moving again, even as Tye spoke to Juliana, words Edouard couldn’t hear. Again Veronique touched his stomach, this time in a probing caress. Was she looking for a weapons belt strapped beneath his tunic? She wouldn’t find one.
Her lashes lowered a fraction, and then her palm slipped beneath his tunic to touch his bare skin. A shudder rippled through him, and she smiled. Her palm slid up his belly to the indent between his ribs, then to his shoulders, as though memorizing his physical form.
“You are a strong man,” she breathed, while her hand continued to explore. “Such large muscles. You have spent long days practicing swordplay.”
Edouard gritted his teeth.
“Your body is akin to your father’s, when he was younger.”
Did she expect him to respond to that statement? She likely wanted to tell him, in sordid detail, how she’d pleasured his sire when she was his lover. But Edouard had no wish to hear that, or invite more of her taunts. Thus, he kept quiet, despite her fingernails biting into his chest.
Her hand slid out from under his tunic, then grabbed a fistful of it. Leaning forward to nibble his chin, she said, “Let us see just how much you resemble your father.”
The straw pallet shifted at Edouard’s feet. Veronique disappeared from his view.
She’d dropped down in front of him.
He tensed. What was she planning to do?
The mercenary behind him snickered.
Nausea welled inside Edouard as Veronique lifted up the hem of his tunic to bare his hose underneath. He fought the urge to flinch. Never had he felt so naked.
“Well, now,” she said, and Edouard felt her gaze upon his privates. He swallowed, closed his eyes, anticipated her groping touch—
“Stop,” Juliana cried. “What you are doing . . . ’Tis not right!”
“Shut her up, Tye,” Veronique snarled.
“I swear to you,” Edouard growled, “if he hurts her—”
Juliana shrieked.
If only he could see what was happening!
“You will not hurt him,” she sobbed, her voice ragged and desperate. “You will not.”
Edouard’s gut twisted. “Juliana!”
A scuffle. A gasp.
Silence.
“Juliana?” Fear pounded at Edouard’s temples. “Answer me.”
***
On her knees on the pallet, Veronique glared at her son, standing a few paces from the wooden stool. Her gaze shifted to Juliana, slumped forward in Tye’s arms that encircled her waist from behind. She looked as boneless—and lifeless—as a cloth toy.
“What has happened to Juliana?” Edouard demanded.
“She just . . . collapsed,” Tye said. “When she struggled, and seemed unsteady on her feet, I tried to get her to sit down—”
Veronique spat a curse. “All I asked was that you keep her quiet. We need her alive.” With Landon dead, Juliana was the only one who might know the whereabouts of the jewels Ma
yda had hidden, including the gold ring from Geoffrey—when, that is, Juliana’s memories returned.
If she died . . .
Tye huffed, an expression of annoyance. “I did my best, Mother.”
His best. Wretched child. He’d do his best when he finally killed his father and brought about the life she expected for them both.
“Fetch the healer,” Edouard said. “If you want Juliana to live, you need to treat her, as soon as possible.”
What arrogance, for him to issue orders, especially when he was a prisoner. He was right, though, about Juliana. If she died, that ring might never be found.
Concern tingled through Veronique’s mind, even as her focus returned to the tantalizing swells and outlines beneath Edouard’s hose. She stifled a frustrated groan and stood, ignoring the pop of her aging joints.
Edouard’s gaze locked with hers. Relief shone in his eyes, before they narrowed with hatred.
A mocking chuckle welled in her throat. “Another day, Edouard, I will have my way with you.” She looked at the two mercenaries. “Finish searching him. Bring whatever you find to the solar.”
“And Juliana?” Edouard asked.
Turning her back on him, she scowled at Tye. “Take her to the solar. Watch over her, while I find Azarel.”
***
Juliana woke slowly. Her foggy mind discerned that she lay face down in a shadowed, warm place, her cheek resting on downy softness. Trying to sharpen her perceptions, she inhaled a deep breath. She smelled . . . roses.
Her mind raced, memories galloping one after another. The sun-drenched chamber. Edouard in chains. Veronique tormenting him.
Juliana’s whole body jolted, and she shoved up on her forearms, causing whatever she lay upon to creak. Dizziness turned her surroundings into a blur of dark shadows. Blinking several times, she forced her whirling mind to steady.
A skein of hair had tumbled over her cheek. When she slipped her tresses behind her ear, she realized they felt soft, not thick with grime. Drawing a fistful of hair to her face, she inhaled, and caught the hint of lavender.
Unease trailed through her. Someone had washed her hair. Glancing down at her arm, she noted her chemise wasn’t mud-stained, but snowy white. Her skin, too, was scrubbed clean.
A Knight's Persuasion (Knight's Series Book 4) Page 12