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

by Catherine Kean

  When the muddied browns, golds, and grays within her view gradually focused, she realized she stared at a stone wall across a wood-floored chamber. The tower, where Edouard was chained?

  Raising her head, she glanced toward the fading, orange-tinged light spilling in through the window. Edouard squatted with his back to her, his gaze trained on the section of wall, cast in shadow, closest to him. He was examining the mortared stone to which his chains were bolted.

  Giddiness bubbled up inside her. He was all right. Oh, how wondrous to see him again. She tried not to allow her gaze to skim over his torn and dirt-scuffed tunic, or note the way the woolen fabric stretched over his shoulder and back muscles, but her mind refused to heed her maidenly request to stop. The hem of his tunic swept his buttocks. Pulled taut from his crouched posture, the dark cloth defined the swells and indents of his thigh muscles. Well-honed muscles, from what she saw.

  Her gaze slid lower, to his bare feet pressed into the pallet; his boots were propped upside down against the wall a few yards away from him, mayhap to dry them out. Unable to stop her stare from returning to his arse, she caught her bottom lip with her teeth and hoped he wouldn’t suddenly glance her way and catch her ogling.

  His posture shifted slightly as the fingers of his left hand skated over the rough stone. The gentle touch, somehow, reminded her of a caress. An odd, tantalizing tremor ran through her.

  Movement drew her attention to his right hand, clasped around a small object. Before she could figure out what he held, he raised his hand to the iron ring. Rasp, rasp, rasp. The sound of a hard item scraping stone.

  “Come on,” he said under his breath.

  As he dipped his head to check his progress, his hair shifted to trail against his neck and shoulder, defining even more the hard set of his jaw. His uncompromising expression snuffed the excitement inside her, for he did indeed look threatening enough to be a murderer.

  Was he truly the man Veronique had described him to be? If so, why was Juliana alone in this chamber with him?

  Juliana must have sighed, moved slightly, or made some instinctive sound, for Edouard spun to face her. The chains clanked in a startling cacophony.

  Juliana flinched and scrambled back, away from the noise, putting more distance between them.

  As her side bumped against the wall, he said, “Sorry. I did not mean to frighten you.”

  “You—” She groaned, and her hand flew up to her aching head.

  “I was beginning to worry and . . . ’Tis good to see you awake.”

  “Have I slept for long?” she asked.

  “All afternoon.”

  She rubbed her brow and realized her stomach hurt, too. The aftereffects of that drink?

  “’Twill soon be nightfall,” Edouard went on, clearly determined to keep her attention now that she was roused. “I will keep working until the light fades.”

  “You hope to dig out the bolts?”

  He nodded. “I fear, though, I am making slow progress. ’Twould go much faster with a knife.” When he opened his palm, a sheepish grin tilted his mouth. “This pebble is not much of a tool.”

  Veronique and Tye wouldn’t have left him any item that might be used as a weapon; a pebble could cause harm if thrown at close range. “Where did you find it?”

  He gestured to the pallet. “I broke through the cloth covering—chewed it, actually—and felt around inside the straw. At first, I found only a twig, which I tried on the wall but it broke. Then, on my second hunt around, I found this small rock.”

  “I do not see any straw on the floor.”

  A faint grin touched his lips. How heart-wrenchingly handsome he looked. “I swept it all under the pallet. I do not want Veronique or Tye knowing what I have done.” He winked. “You will not tell, Juliana, will you?”

  “O-of course not.”

  He squinted at her, an unrelenting look that sent unease tingling down her spine. She pushed up to a sitting position against the wall, ignoring the tug of her hair caught on the stone. “W-what?”

  “You hesitated. Why do you look at me as though I am a criminal?” Looking down at the pebble in his hand, he clenched it in his fist, implying he had to refocus his rising emotions.

  “I do not mean to upset you,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but . . . apart from the past day, I do not remember you at all. I have no idea what kind of a man . . . you really are.”

  He lifted his head to hold her gaze. His bold, unapologetic stare made her insides quiver.

  “What kind of man did Veronique and Tye make me out to be?”

  She moistened her lips. “Well . . .”

  A grating laugh parted his lips. “Let me guess. I like to rape nuns.”

  She couldn’t hold back a shocked gasp. Dropping her gaze, she studied her hands, entwined in her lap. “Veronique did not say that.”

  “She told you I was a killer, though, or an equally brutal man.”

  Misgiving tightened like a knot between Juliana’s breasts. She didn’t want to make him angry; how would he react? He might be charming most of the time, but prone to a vicious temper. Hadn’t Tye said Edouard was chained because of his violent tendencies?

  Even while she rationalized, part of her protested. You know, in your heart, that you can trust him, and he would never hurt you.

  “Tell me what happened when they took you from here,” Edouard said, his voice surprisingly gentle. His tone coaxed her to share her most recent memories, to take him beyond the confines of this dreary chamber to what she’d experienced.

  “I awoke in a large chamber. I was lying on a bed.” How distinctly she recalled the room’s details: the dark planes of shadow; the tight weave of the coverlet; the candlelight glimmering on the wooden table. Curious, how she itched to replicate what she’d seen in some way, to understand—to know—all the different forms and textures. Blinking aside the perplexing thoughts, she added, “Veronique told me ’twas the solar.”

  Still crouching, Edouard leaned forward. “Did you wake alone in the bed?”

  He’d practically spat out the question. Her face warmed, for she didn’t like the implications of that query.

  No doubt noting her blush, his expression tautened. “I must know, Juliana. Was someone in the bed with you? A man?”

  “Nay!” She threw up a hand. “I was lying on the bedcover, not inside the bedding.”

  “Ah—”

  “Veronique came to the bedside when I woke. The solar seems to be her chamber, although she said I had lived there, too, at one time.”

  A curse broke from Edouard. “How like her to assume the role of lady of the keep, especially now that Landon is dead.”

  “Veronique started to explain . . .” what a dangerous man you are, Edouard.

  Looking again at her hands, she tried to find a less blunt manner to describe Veronique’s words.

  “Juliana.”

  “I-I needed to catch my breath.”

  “Juliana.” Her name rolled from his tongue; his husky tone caressed each consonant and syllable, making her name seem exotic and . . . beautiful. “I want to know. What did she say about me?”

  She drew in a measured breath, grappling for focus. He might have a delicious voice, but that didn’t change the fact she must tell him foul news. “All right.” She tipped her chin higher. “I will tell you. But you must promise not to get angry.”

  He raised his brows. “Her words were that favorable, then?”

  Juliana huffed. “Promise.”

  With a dismissive flick of his hand, he said, “I promise. Why not?”

  He sounded bitter. He didn’t like being coerced. But she’d achieved her aims and wouldn’t delay his answer.

  “Veronique said you are heartless,” Juliana began.

  Edouard grunted.

  “A killer—”

  “What trained warrior is not?”

  “—and that you came to this keep to murder her and Tye, because—”

  “Because?” E
douard echoed.

  “You are jealous of Tye, your half brother, and do not want him to inherit from your sire, even though he is entitled.”

  Shaking his head, Edouard laughed. His laughter faded to a growl. “Well. She certainly did her best to keep you from trusting me.”

  Juliana flexed her numbing fingers. “She said you would try to win my trust, so I would help you escape. That ’tis the only reason you care . . . about me.”

  His sharpened gaze locked with hers. “’Tis not true, Juliana. Not at all. Truth be told, I vow most of what she has told you is a lie.”

  A tiny part of Juliana’s heart sang with gladness. Still, she said, “How so?”

  Chains clanked as he dropped to the pallet, then braced his arms upon his bent knees. “To begin, I do not consider myself heartless. Aye, I have killed in my lifetime—I will not lie to you about such—but the men I struck down were enemies of my father or the lords who owe fealty to him. I fought in skirmishes waged to preserve justice and harmony in these lands, as is expected of me and all the honorable warriors of this realm.”

  “I . . . see.”

  “Juliana, I did not travel to Waddesford Keep with the intention of killing Veronique and Tye; I came to speak with Lord Ferchante, on my father’s behalf. I did not realize, until too late, that they were at this castle. If I had known, I would not have brought you here to have your wound healed.”

  How she ached at the self-condemnation in his words. “Edouard—”

  He held up a hand. “Let me finish. I want you to hear it all, Juliana, for Veronique and Tye are my sire’s longtime enemies. My sire has been hunting them for years, because they have sworn to destroy him and take over the lands he has ruled in peace. Tye may or may not be my half brother; that has not been proven. Even if we are related, he is bastard-born, and has no right to inherit. I, however, am my father’s heir. ’Tis one of the reasons Veronique is so eager to keep me hostage and to stop you from helping me. If I do not escape”—he paused, expression stark—“they will kill me.”

  “You cannot be certain,” Juliana whispered.

  “I am. I have no doubt my death will be painful and in a manner to cause my sire great anguish.” He dropped his head on a weary sigh.

  The finality in Edouard’s tone left her cold. She hardly dared to ask, and yet she must. “Do they mean to kill me, too?”

  He slowly raised his head. Remorse flickered in his eyes. “I will not lie to you, Juliana. I expect so.”

  She crossed her arms and hugged herself tight. An awful sense of disorientation swirled through her. “I do not want to die. Not when I do not even remember who I am!”

  “Juliana, listen to me. I will not let them hurt you. I will do all I can to protect you. That is why we must escape, as soon as we can. Whatever treachery they are plotting, we must warn my sire. We must stop them.”

  Again Edouard spoke of escape together, as though they were united in their fight against Veronique and Tye. Juliana tried not to dwell upon the conversation in the solar, but the older woman’s warning crept into her thoughts: Beware, Juliana, of thinking kindly about Edouard.

  Sensing his attention upon her again, Juliana looked across the chamber, unable to stop her body from trembling.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  He insists he cares for you only because he needs your help.

  She shrugged.

  “I am sorry you are caught up in this crisis. Please believe I never intended to bring you into danger.”

  He is a deceitful bastard, just like his father.

  She closed her eyes. Bracing her elbows on her knees, she pressed her palms to her forehead. If only she could calm the chaos in her head, all the reasonings and explanations spinning around that she needed to evaluate.

  What was the truth? What wasn’t?

  “What else did Veronique tell you about me?” Edouard asked.

  Opening her eyes, Juliana tilted her head to look at him. Goosebumps shot down her arms, for his stare bored into her, demanding she divulge the remainder of Veronique’s cryptic words. “She said you will win my trust, and then you will crush it.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Frustration gnawed at Edouard while he held Juliana’s moist gaze. He sensed her turmoil, her confusion as to what she should believe and what was designed to mislead her. She shivered, no doubt from overwrought nerves. How he wished he could go to her, draw her into his arms, and ease her fears with the acknowledgment she wasn’t—and never would be—alone during this tumultuous time.

  As their gazes held, the ache inside him became keener. After months of her pointedly avoiding him, of living with the turmoil of his unfortunate betrothal, he was finally facing her again. She might not remember him, but by God, he craved her, for she was even more comely than the maiden in his memories.

  What he would give to slide his fingers down her soft cheek, ease her chin up, and smile down at her before he bent his head and kissed her, slowly, thoroughly, skillfully enough to draw from her a pleasured moan. The way he’d longed to kiss her by Sherstowe’s well. He’d imagined that so many times as he lay restless and alone on his pallet at Dominic’s keep.

  He shuddered, fighting a stirring of desire.

  She said you will win my trust, and then you will crush it.

  Still holding her stare, Edouard’s throat tightened. He longed to scorn Veronique’s words. However, they were true. He’d won Juliana’s trust at Sherstowe Keep and shattered it that same day with the bet to win her kiss. He’d destroyed it with his regrettable kiss with Nara.

  You are not that same, reckless man any longer; you are a knight, his heart cried. You cannot woo her, since you are honor-bound to wed Nara, but you can fight to earn her respect.

  Aye, he would.

  “I cannot tell you what to believe,” he said. “I do not blame you for being wary. I wonder, though, what Veronique told you about yourself?”

  Juliana’s head raised a notch, causing long, silky hair to tumble around her shoulders. “She told me I once stayed in the solar. And—” She frowned. “’Twas all.”

  Edouard couldn’t resist a grin. “I can tell you far more.”

  “I would like that. I would especially like to know . . . my full name.”

  “Lady Juliana de Greyne.”

  “Lady.” A slight frown creased her brow. “I did not realize I was of the noble class.”

  He nodded. “You lived here at Waddesford at the invitation of Lady Mayda Ferchante. You were her closest friend and lady-in-waiting.”

  When he’d said “Lady Ferchante,” her expression had sharpened with intense concentration. “Do you remember Mayda?” Mayhap her name had prompted a return of memories?

  “I thought, for a moment . . .” With a heavy sigh, Juliana shook her head. “You may have told me before, but what is your full name?”

  “Edouard, the firstborn son of Geoffrey de Lanceau. My father is lord of all of Moydenshire.”

  Awe swept her features. “I see.” She gnawed her bottom lip, as though she considered his words. “You are a valuable captive, then, to Veronique.”

  “Until I no longer have a use in her schemes. By the way, your father, who is lord of Sherstowe Keep, is one of my sire’s trusted knights. He has served my father for many years.” He brushed dust from his hose. “Do you remember when you first met my sire?”

  Edouard waited, holding his breath, watching the emotions flicker in her eyes. He saw uncertainty, frustration, but not, as he dreaded, remembrance, for if she recalled that day at Sherstowe, they wouldn’t be speaking pleasantly any longer. She’d be banging her fists on the door to be as far away from him as possible.

  Juliana fingered hair behind her ear; he tried not to watch the sheer linen tighten across her generous bosom. Shaking her head, she said, “I do not recall your sire. Our families know each other well, then?”

  Well enough to have wanted to unite their families through marriage. But he didn’t wish to b
ring up that matter yet. “Reasonably well.”

  A grin curved her mouth. “More than reasonably, I vow.”

  The smile softened her features and cast a warm glow in her eyes. He inhaled on a renewed tingle of desire. “Why do you say such?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound witless.

  To her astonishment, a blush pinkened her face. She dropped her gaze and looked across the floorboards. “Well . . .”

  “Aye?” God’s teeth, but he was intrigued.

  “Each time . . . I look at you,” she said with a slight shrug, “I get this . . . feeling in my breast—”

  His gaze fell upon her bosom, then snapped away.

  “—a sensation so strong, I cannot ignore it.”

  “Tell me more.” He barely recognized his own voice.

  Her gaze slowly lifted to hold his. “’Tis the most powerful sensation I have ever felt. I do not mean to speak boldly, but I believe we know each other well. Very well.” Her blush deepened. “’Tis the only explanation.”

  How beautiful she looked, her expression shy but yearning, her luscious mouth partly opened on an eager breath. Even as he held her urgent gaze, though, his desire plummeted. She felt strongly about him because of the past between them. The sensation wasn’t attraction, but hatred.

  How did he explain it, when she’d no recollection of why she despised him?

  He searched for a suitable answer. “Juliana . . .”

  Her pallet rustled as she scooted toward him on her knees, her chemise brushing the planks. “I know why you must be cautious, Edouard,” she said in a low voice. “If you identify me as your . . . lover, that would put me in greater danger. You are trying to protect me.”

  “Protect you,” Edouard murmured, as she came even closer. God’s holy bones, but he couldn’t look away. Sunlight spilled over her, casting her hair and slender body in washes of gold. Her faint, lavender scent wafted to him, and he suddenly remembered she’d smelled of lavender years ago, when he’d almost kissed her by the well, when he’d realized he wanted her kiss.

  He drew in a breath, hungry for her essence. She smelled of promise, of possibilities, of freedom, not of the musty straw and old stone of imprisonment.