Her grip tightened on the handle of the dagger, held straight down at her side. By now the guards she’d fought had likely alerted their fellow mercenaries. At any moment, she might hear shouts, running footfalls, and commands to halt.
Get away as fast as you can. Once you have gone through the postern, you must run. Run!
She reached up to smooth her windblown hair, and the bones in the cloth bag clattered. If Veronique discovered that Juliana had stolen her beloved bones . . .
Juliana shoved aside the unfinished musing; she didn’t care to guess what punishment the cruel woman might inflict. Yet trailing after that thought was a glimmer of insight. What might Veronique agree to, if, in desperation, she thought she might never see those bones again? Any advantage must be used in a fight against an enemy as evil as Veronique.
Daring to veer from her original plan, Juliana crossed to the garden. Looking over the tangled mess of herbs before her, she spied several large stones, once arranged as a decorative element in the middle bed. Crossing to them, she crouched, lifted one stone partway using the knife for leverage, dug a small cavity beneath, and set the bag in the hole. She dropped the stone back into place and scattered the extra dirt amongst the plants. After brushing her hands on the grass, she picked up her weapon, rose, and resumed her careful stroll toward the postern.
A shout drew her gaze to the wall walk to her left. Several men-at-arms ran along the battlement. One of them shouted again to a warrior farther down. She strained to hear over her footfalls, but she couldn’t make out what he said.
He could well be relaying word of her and Edouard’s escape.
Get away. Hurry!
She quickened her strides. Not far now. Shutting out the harsh voices floating down to her, she searched the wall a short distance ahead for the gate.
Somewhere behind her, she heard footfalls.
“You will search the entire bailey,” Veronique was saying, her voice growing louder as she neared. “If you fail to find Edouard and Juliana, I will slice off your ballocks. To start!”
Judging by the footsteps, there were at least five men with Veronique. Fear seized Juliana. With a gasp, she broke into a run. Pain, radiating from her wound, lanced through her head, but she kept running.
“There!” Veronique shrieked. “Get her!”
Unable to suppress her panic, Juliana looked back while she raced on. Veronique, her face twisted with fury, pointed a crooked finger at her. Barreling toward Juliana were four burly men, including the guard Juliana had tricked by insisting he’d dropped a bone.
Run, Juliana.
Run!
***
Squinting against the afternoon sunshine, Edouard glanced about to get his bearings. His gaze, drawn by the clash of swords somewhere to his left, slid past the dovecotes, kitchens, and stables, toward the gatehouse. The fight, though, was taking place beyond his range of view.
Castle folk crowded into the bailey to watch the skirmish. Some of the women were dabbing at their eyes. The battle sounds made Edouard’s muscles tauten, caused the blood to pump faster in his veins. He tasted the fight, its essence akin to a strong liquor on his tongue.
Keeping his back to the keep and trying not to draw attention from the onlookers, Edouard kept walking until the fight came into view. As he took in the grisly scene, the discordant ring of steel sharp in his ears, he choked down an agonized roar.
At least ten mercenaries fought with Tye. Two of Edouard’s men—the one he’d sent on ahead to Waddesford Keep to alert them of Juliana’s injury, and the warrior who’d ridden with him and Kaine into the keep—lay bloodied and motionless on the ground. They were dead; he knew by the blankness of their eyes.
Kaine was still fighting. Sweat glistening on his face, he bared his teeth and met a brutal strike from Tye. While Kaine struggled, his strength clearly ebbing, Tye’s motions appeared lazy and effortless, like a smug feline toying with a doomed bird.
Light flashed off Tye’s sword and he lunged, his blade grazing Kaine’s left leg. Gasping, Kaine stumbled back, dodging another close blow from a mercenary. A crimson streak formed on Kaine’s woolen hose.
“Soon enough, you will join your friends in death.” Tye laughed. “You are one man against eleven.”
Several of the mercenaries chortled.
The malevolence in Tye’s grin raised Edouard’s fury to lethal pitch. Raising his sword, Edouard marched from the shadows, dirt crunching beneath his boots. “You, Tye, are the man to die.”
Shock flickered over Kaine’s face. “Edouard!”
Tye suddenly appeared taller, more alert, than a moment ago, as his attention focused on Edouard. “Brother.” He spoke the greeting as though ’twas a curse.
“I am not your brother,” Edouard growled, continuing his relentless pace. Thrusting his sword toward the sky, he shouted: “Hear me, good folk of Waddesford Keep! I am Edouard de Lanceau. I am the loyal son of your liege, Moydenshire’s great lord, Geoffrey de Lanceau.”
A murmur rippled through the throng by the stables.
“All those who hear my name,” Edouard yelled, “stand with me. Fight! Help me rid Waddesford of this scourge.”
“You are a fool,” Tye sneered. “You will not find supporters here.”
“Fight with me, good folk,” Edouard roared. “I command you, on my lord father’s behalf!”
“He speaks true!” Kaine yelled. “He is Lord de Lanceau’s son. Fight!”
Edouard sensed movement behind him. He turned to see two stable hands stepping forward from the crowd, wielding pitch forks. Mercenaries left Tye’s side to intercept them.
“Fight!” Edouard bellowed again. “The rest of you, join me!”
More murmurs. A few more men walked forward in a show of allegiance. Hope flared within Edouard.
“Dead men, all of them.” Tye signaled to the other mercenaries. With wicked grins, all but one stalked toward the crowd. Women screamed.
“Now,”—Tye’s sword glinted as he adjusted his hold—“to deal with you, Brother.” He lunged.
The blade flew toward Edouard, a bright streak of steel. The thrill of the challenge raced through him as he met the assault. Clang. Clang. The force of the blows hammered through his bones and muscles, warning him of Tye’s impressive strength and skill. Damnation, but Tye would not triumph!
Putting all his weight behind his thrust, Edouard struck again, forcing Tye to take two steps back.
“Milord, beware,” Kaine called, before he clashed swords with the mercenary who had remained with Tye.
A shrill cackle drifted from across the bailey: Veronique. Ignoring the bitter rage that sound stirred inside him, Edouard kept his gaze on Tye’s face. If he could overpower Tye, take him hostage with the onlookers witnessing, more folk would likely take up the fight against the traitors.
Poised for attack, Tye blew away a lock of hair trailing into his face. “You cannot win, Brother. The men who tried to join your cause are finished. You are already defeated.”
With a mutinous growl, Edouard lunged.
Tye leapt away, following with a slash that barely missed Edouard’s thigh. He tsked. “I am surprised your skill is so inferior to mine. Did Father not ensure you were properly trained?”
Edouard forced himself to ignore the taunt. He watched for an opportunity to attack. No doubt, he’d fight better with the sword specially designed for him, the one stripped from him days ago. But he’d fight well enough with this blade.
“Lean in a little closer, next time you strike,” Tye goaded, matching Edouard’s wary stance. “You might come close to cutting me then. Or are you not strong enough to put the power behind the steel?”
Edouard scowled. Ah, God, he could not wait to run his blade right through Tye’s gut.
A choked cry carried from somewhere behind him: a woman, suffering intense pain.
Juliana? He ground his teeth. Nay. By now, she’d be safely through the postern.
Tye glanced at a point beyond Edouard,
then chuckled. “Brother, I think you had best lower your sword and surrender.”
“Edouard!” Kaine rasped.
Edouard risked a backward glance. And froze.
Two guards held Juliana between them, pinning her arms behind her back.
A cruel smile on her lips, Veronique held a dagger at Juliana’s throat.
Chapter Twenty-One
Juliana tilted her head against the grimy dungeon wall behind her. When she moved, her cheek brushed her upper arm, bared by her fallen sleeve, and she caught the scent of sunlight still clinging to her garments.
Not a single sliver of sunshine reached into this belowground prison; a few wall torches provided the only light. With her arms stretched above her head, and chains clamped around her wrists and ankles, she awaited the dawn and the grim fate Veronique had promised after the guards had secured Juliana’s shackles. “Come daybreak, you will tell me where that gold ring is hidden. I will kill servants, one by one, till you yield that information.” Veronique had smiled in that depraved way of hers. “Better still, I will use my knife on Edouard.”
Juliana swallowed, her mouth painfully dry. She didn’t want to reveal any secrets to Veronique, but she also didn’t want Edouard or any castle folk to be harmed. Not because of her.
The faint clink of another prisoner’s chains reminded her that Edouard and Kaine were shackled in the same manner as she, and lined up along the wall beside her. The three of them were all that were left of Edouard’s supporters.
Beside her, Edouard blew out a sigh. Her eyes burned. She fought the desperate need to look at him, to know he was still alert and full of fighting spirit.
But she couldn’t meet his gaze. Not yet.
How could she, when she’d failed him? Him, Kaine, Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau, and all the other good people who’d hoped for an end to the treachery at Waddesford.
A silent cry broke within Juliana and she dropped her head back to the wall. She ignored the twinge of discomfort from her wound, for the pain was unimportant compared to the slaughter Veronique would carry out. Somehow, tonight, Juliana must think of another way to save Edouard and Kaine, and give Lord de Lanceau an advantage over the traitors.
One of the torches popped, sending flames licking in a greedy spike, and she flinched. The yellowish light flicked over mortared stone smeared by years of God only knew what. In places, she recognized the spread of gray-black mold; the earthy odor of it thickened the stale air. Closer to the door, where two guards stood talking in lowered voices, grooves in the dirt floor showed where a heavy object had been dragged several yards. A torture rack? A coffin? A shudder crawled up from the soles of her feet, as though the souls of those who had died here had come to warn her of doom.
“Are you all right?” Edouard’s voice seemed unnaturally loud, and she couldn’t stop herself from looking at him.
His blue eyes blazed, a look that reminded her of the fiery torches. “Aye,” she whispered. “I am . . . fine.”
Edouard’s brows rose before he tipped his head toward his chains. “As well as we can be, strung up like puppets on strings.”
Kaine snorted, a dismayed sound.
“Edouard,” Juliana whispered, “I am sorry.”
A sad, wry smile tipped up his mouth. “Do not blame yourself.” Metal clinked as he tried to stretch sideways and catch her hand, but the bindings wouldn’t allow their limbs to touch. As he shifted back to his original position, his chains grated against the stone.
Do not blame yourself, he’d said in a kind voice. How could she not? Edouard was once again a captive; ’twas her fault they were imprisoned. Moreover, if Edouard hadn’t found her lying in the river and resolved to help her, he wouldn’t have ended up in the tower. He’d be free and far away from Waddesford’s danger.
“I do blame myself. I should have run for the postern the moment we stepped into the bailey.”
“Juliana,” Edouard said, more firmly.
“You know I am right.”
He shook his head. “If you had run, the men on the wall walk would have noticed you right away. You would have had little chance of escape.”
His defense of her actions heightened her sense of torment. “I still might have got through the postern.”
“The garrison, alerted to your escape attempt, would have sent riders to catch you.” Edouard’s eyes closed, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. “Nay, Juliana, the fault is mine. I should have been able to defeat Tye and rally the castle folk to my side. My father would have managed to do so.”
“Edouard!” Tears slipped from her eyes.
“I failed in my duties as my father’s heir. I failed . . . my sire.”
“Edouard,” Kaine cut in. “Do not say such.”
“You were fighting too many enemies at once,” she insisted. “Your father is a great warrior, but I doubt even he—”
“He would have succeeded.”
How she wanted to rail against that statement. Yet as she stared at Edouard’s taut profile, she sensed her words would go unheeded. His loyalty and sense of responsibility to his sire were too thoroughly ingrained.
In truth, though, she’d want no less than absolute allegiance from her lord’s son.
How gallant Edouard looked, emboldened by his belief in his father—a faith that stemmed from his noble family’s honorable right to rule these lands on behalf of the king.
Edouard might be chained once again, but he wasn’t broken or defeated. His conviction was a weapon all its own. It strengthened Edouard’s determination not to fail again. It fueled his hatred for those who stood in his way, and it inspired Juliana to stand with him.
When dawn came, she wouldn’t yield to Veronique. She’d fight back, with words, strength of will, and what she knew Veronique would want: the location of the bag of bones.
As though sensing her stare, Edouard glanced at her. Remorse filled his gaze. “Do not be afraid, Juliana. I promise you, I will get us out of here.”
In hushed tones, Kaine said, “Do you have an idea, Edouard, how to escape?”
“We shall ask for Azarel; she will help us. She can check Juliana’s wound and tend the slash on your leg,” Edouard said quietly. “Then—”
Kaine shook his head. “One of the guards already examined my injury. He told me I did not need to see the healer.”
“Cruel bastard,” Edouard muttered.
Juliana looked over at the guards, still engrossed in whatever they were discussing. “We could distract those men,” she suggested in a low voice. “Offer them a bribe, if they set us free.”
Edouard’s stare sharpened. “You are offering naught to those thugs. Not even the promise of a kiss.”
A flush heated her face. “I never intended to offer myself, but a reward, mayhap a share of the jewels when they are recovered.”
“Ah,” Edouard murmured. “The ones Mayda hid along with Landon’s ring?”
“Aye.” Thinking of Mayda brought a fresh tug of distress. Mayda had intended those riches to support Rosemary and Juliana for years. But if she were alive, she’d readily agree some should be bartered to win Juliana, Edouard, and Kaine’s freedom. Otherwise, Rosemary would never be found and raised as Mayda had asked of Juliana.
“A good idea,” Edouard said, his gaze shifting to the two men. “They may be too afraid of Veronique to consider a bribe, but we must try.”
As Juliana’s thoughts slipped back to Mayda’s frightened account of where she’d put the bag of jewels, she realized in her own way, she was honor-bound to the very same ideals as Edouard. She was the only one who knew where the wealth was hidden; her responsibility, to every living soul in Moydenshire, was to keep Landon’s ring from falling into the wrong hands.
If Juliana were to die before she could recover the jewels, what she knew would be lost forever. Landon’s ring might never be returned to de Lanceau. The riches would remain hidden, to be found, if not by Veronique, than mayhap by another of his lordship’s foes determined to stir up chaos. Th
at must not come to pass.
Even as Edouard cleared his throat, likely about to address the guards, she caught his attention. “Listen,” she said softly. “In case aught should happen to me—”
“Juliana!” he growled. “Do not speak so.”
“You should know where the jewels are,” she rushed on in a whisper, “for your father’s sake. No one else must get hold of those riches. You will not find them unless you follow the steps I tell you.”
Regret flickered in Edouard’s eyes, but he said, “Go on.”
“When you enter the solar—”
The guards abruptly stopped talking.
Juliana pressed her lips together, holding back the rest of her sentence. Had the louts overheard her? Is that why they’d gone silent?
A sudden tension swept through the room. The men straightened. Hands on their sword hilts, expressions wary, they looked toward the confined passage that led down into the dungeon.
Muffled footfalls echoed, and then Veronique appeared, her silk gown rustling as it brushed the steps. Juliana’s breath caught as the older woman’s wicked gaze pinned her, then slid to Edouard and Kaine.
Her crimson lips parted on a gleeful cackle as she strolled in their direction. “Do I see concern in your eyes, stubborn, proud Edouard?” She winked. “I will. For I have the most astonishing news.”
***
Edouard smothered the bitter reply he longed to spit at Veronique. Provoking her wrath, especially when he stood shackled before her and prey to her perverse whims, would solve naught. And, if she thought he’d pose a problem for the guards, she might post more men in the dungeon, and make it even more difficult to escape.
Still, he held Veronique’s bold stare, even when she moved so near her rosewater scent brought a tickle to his throat. He indulged in a noisy cough.
She waited until he’d finished, then said, “You are not interested in what I will tell you?” Her tone resembled a smug purr. Clearly, her news benefited her, not him.
“I vow you will tell me anyway, whether I wish it or not.” He did his best to look bored.
Her painted smile widened. She reached into her cleavage to draw out a crumpled, rolled piece of parchment. Part of a broken wax seal showed beneath her thumb. He couldn’t quite see the impression in the seal, but when he tried to focus on it, she shoved the parchment in his face. “A reply from your loving father.”
A Knight's Persuasion (Knight's Series Book 4) Page 24