A muffled sigh reminded him of the woman sitting by the fire who might be Leona, if her story was true. By her fighting spirit alone, he might believe she was.
Yet he still had doubts. She’d not given him definite proof, only a convincing sequence of events. When she’d listed what he did to her the day of the accident, she hadn’t mentioned his kiss. A telling omission, for with Ward dead, only Aldwin and Leona Ransley were aware that kiss had happened.
What he did know, without the slightest trace of doubt, was that she made his body hunger. He craved her with each breath, each look, each word. He ached with that craving, which seemed to nurture the lonely desires within him and make him want them all the more.
How could she—one fiery-spirited woman—undermine him so, when he’d worked hard to subdue his impulsive nature with discipline and loyalty?
He sensed her gaze traveling over him, even as he listened for any attempted escape. She’d looked too exhausted to bolt for the dangling rope, but he’d not risk her getting away.
Not when there was too much he didn’t know, such as how she’d got hold of the pendant. Why she’d been so determined to get the ransom. And why, if she really was Lady Leona Ransley, she hadn’t told him so at the tavern.
That, above all, rekindled his anger.
He shoved his hand into his right cloak pocket and withdrew a round piece of amber. His fingers had long ago memorized each of the resin’s bumps and dips. Even without enough light to fully see the memento, he saw the frozen struggle of the bee entombed within. Wings extended, it flew forever in the hard, golden sky.
He rubbed his thumb over the amber before dropping it back into his pocket. As he braced himself to head back to the fire, he thought he knew how to get the truth from her.
***
Leona settled back against a rock, bent her blanket-covered legs, and looped her arms around her knees. The cavern’s silence seemed more smothering and eerie, somehow, since Aldwin strode off toward the water, leaving her alone.
The damp cold seeped into her bare feet and bottom, adding to the chill that seemed to have settled within her, despite her swallows of brandy. She’d told Aldwin her real name. He hadn’t believed her, even though he’d said that if she spoke the truth, he’d help her and those she loved. Even now, as he stood by the water, he looked unapproachable.
With a groan, she dropped her forehead against her arms, her shoulders stiff with fatigue. Her head swam from the liquor, and she shut her eyes. How she wished she hadn’t drunk quite so much. However, she couldn’t take those swallows back now.
Her closed eyes ached. She’d done what she believed was right by stealing the pendant from the baron and Veronique, and would do the same again if given the same choices, for she’d wanted the jewel returned to its rightful owner. When she reached Branton Keep, de Lanceau would hear that from her own lips.
Aldwin, too, must hear the truth, no matter what burdensome memories lay between them. She wanted him to know her reasons, and that she was proud of her work-worn hands, tired garments, and freckles, because they proved she hadn’t given up.
Not on herself.
Not on her father.
She yawned and nestled her cheek against the blanket that smelled faintly of horse. Stay awake. When Aldwin falls asleep, you can escape.
Aye, she would keep alert, but she’d use this chance for a quick rest . . .
“Leona.”
Through a sleepy fog, she became aware of a man addressing her. Her awakening senses alerted her to the wool tickling her cheek, the numbness of her arm upon which her head rested, and the smell of burning wood.
Her heavy eyelids flickered.
A gentle nudge on her shoulder. “Leona, wake up.”
Ugh. She knew that voice.
Lifting her groggy head—and wincing at the cramp in her neck—she saw Aldwin squatting nearby. How had she not heard him return to the fire?
“Go away,” she groused, rubbing the back of her neck.
“You cried out.”
“I did?”
He nodded. “Are you all right?”
“I must have been dreaming. About you.” How delicious that lie sounded.
He didn’t scowl, as she’d expected, but shook his head. Laughter rumbled from him. “Dreaming about me? I had not expected such.”
She hadn’t meant her words to amuse him. “Not a pleasant dream. A nightmare.”
His gaze darkened, and then turned thoughtful. “Pity, that you were not dreaming about my kiss.”
He emphasized “kiss,” as though ’twere important. She scrambled to sharpen her fuzzy mind still cobwebbed by sleep. Had Aldwin guessed that in her naïve youth, she had dreamed of his kiss? Or was he hoping to hear her speak highly of his kissing technique?
Ha! He’d wait a long time for her flattery.
His glinting stare challenged her to answer. He clearly expected some kind of reaction from her. She swallowed, trying to think of a cutting reply. None materialized. To her horror—and surely because of the strong brandy—a blush warmed her face.
“God’s teeth!” Leona grumbled. She managed to turn partway from him before he grabbed her blanket-covered arm. Glancing back, she snapped, “Will you leave me alone?”
“Leona—”
“What more can you possibly want from me tonight?”
Even as she spoke the unfortunate words, a shudder snaked through her. His fingers flexed, indicating he’d felt her tremble. If he’d brought up kissing because he intended to force himself upon her—
Regret shadowed his expression. His lips flattened, as though he held back what he’d wanted to say. “All right. I realize you are tired. We will speak more in the morning.”
About kissing? Not likely.
A rasping noise snapped her gaze to the rope trailing on the stone beside him.
“Nay!” she choked.
Before she could bolt, he reached into the blanket and caught her wrist.
If he bound her, how would she flee in the night? She had to persuade him not to tie her.
She struggled, fighting the rope coiling around her flesh. “How will I sleep?”
He cinched a knot. “You will. I will only tie this hand. We both know if I do not bind you, you will try to climb up that rope.”
How wretched that he knew her so well! Hoping to divert his suspicions, she rolled her eyes. “Who would be foolish enough to attempt such in the dark?”
Aldwin paused in the midst of securing a second knot. His gaze flicked up to meet hers.
He smiled.
Chapter Eleven
With the rustle of silk, Veronique turned away from Pryerston Keep’s solar window. “Is it done?”
She looked across the chamber drenched in early morning light to Sedgewick hunched over the trestle table; the quill in his hand scratched over a parchment stretched flat between pots of facial cream and candleholders. He grunted in answer to her question, and as she walked near, she saw lines of concentration at his mouth.
Why did writing a letter take so long? Her fingers curled into her gown’s skirt. She hoped he was scribing exactly what she’d told him; he could be writing nonsense, for all she knew, since as a lowborn peasant, she hadn’t learned to read or write—a fact he well knew. Sedgewick seemed too enamored with her, though, to think of betrayal.
She’d best make certain.
Strolling up behind him, she pressed against him and curved her arms around his bulging stomach. With a petulant sigh, she dropped her chin to his shoulder. “You are ignoring me.”
The quill hit the parchment with a loud tap. “There.” He dropped the writing instrument to wipe ink from his fingers. “Just as you told me.”
“Exactly?” She nibbled his earlobe, which reeked of sweat.
He giggled. “Exactly. How I would love to see de Lanceau’s face when he reads this letter.”
A wicked laugh broke from her. “As would I.”
Sedgewick’s mouth quivered as he turned t
o face her. His greedy gaze slid to the unmade bed. “The reward you promised me for writing the letter . . .”
What she’d offered made Veronique want to retch; however, the missive had to be written, and Ransley was still slumbering. He mightn’t have agreed, either. “You shall have it,” she purred while stroking the baron’s sweat-dampened face. “First, though, we must send this missive.”
While Sedgewick rolled the parchment, she fetched a lit candle from beside the bed. “Whose seal will we use?” he asked. “Or will we forego the seal?”
She smiled. “We will use Ransley’s. That is certain to get Geoffrey’s attention.”
The baron looked puzzled. “Is that wise?”
“Geoffrey’s spies will soon warn him that we have taken control of this keep. By then, there will be plenty of mercenaries here to defend us from an attack.”
“How will you convince Ransley to let us use his seal?”
“Convince?” She swirled away and headed for the solar door. “Bring the parchment and follow me.”
Their footfalls carried in the dank passageway as she headed toward the great hall. When she stepped into the stone stairwell leading down, voices drifted up to her. Two men were climbing the stairs up to the hall while conversing in angry, secretive tones. She paused, holding up a cautioning hand for Sedgewick to stop and listen, too.
“Do ye not see what is ’appenin’?” a man said, obviously trying to keep his voice hushed.
“Aye,” another said, sounding nervous, “but what can we do? We are only servants.”
“We must be rid of that baron and false lady. Did ye know they ’ave taken over Lord Ransley’s solar?”
“So I ’eard.”
“A short while ago, some mercenaries arrived at the gates. More I vow are on the way. Next, the keep’s foin silver will start disappearin’. I tell ye, they are a wicked pair who’ll bring dishonor upon this keep. After all that Lady Leona’s done fer us—”
“Tell me what ta do,” the second man said, “and I will tell the others—”
Like hellfire he would.
Veronique exchanged a glance with Sedgewick, who smirked and nodded. One benefit of their years together: he knew what needed to be done, without her having to say a word.
With brisk strides, she descended the stairwell and swept into the great hall, where servants were setting wooden boards of bread and ale jugs on the trestle tables for the first meal of the day. Several rough-looking men—mercenaries, who must have recently arrived—stood at the far end of the hall, talking. Still slumped at the lord’s table, Ransley slept on.
Her gaze settled on two men repairing a broken table leg. They rose to greet her.
“Milady,” the taller man with graying hair said before dropping into a half bow. Ah. The most vocal of the two dissenters.
“Good day.” She forced a smile. “Do not let me interrupt your work.”
After glancing at each other, the men again crouched by the table.
Veronique reached the dais and waved the baron over. Snatching a candle from a nearby table, she said, “Hold the parchment at both ends. I will do the seal.” As Sedgewick held the rolled missive, she tilted the taper, causing wax to drop onto the document’s rough edge. Then, she picked up Ransley’s hand, turned it to reveal his gold seal ring, and shoved the ring into the wax.
“What are ye doin’, milady?”
The two men approached.
“It does not concern you.” The wax had set. Veronique tossed aside Ransley’s hand and nodded to the baron. He tucked the parchment into his belt, next to his dagger.
“Why are ye placin’ Lord Ransley’s seal on that parchment? ’E is asleep.” The older man’s frown deepened. “Does ’e know what it says?”
The younger one—little more than one score years old—stepped forward. “Why are ye bringin’ mercenaries into this keep, milady? We do not want ’em ’ere.”
She smiled at the two men and motioned them closer. How fortuitous the other servants were watching and listening, as were the mercenaries.
“You are good men to speak your concerns,” she said, aware of Sedgewick nearing them. “Are there others here who are concerned about what is happening at Pryerston?”
Several of the maidservants blushed and looked down at the rushes, but said naught.
“Take note,” Veronique said, “for we appreciate your honesty.”
The baron now stood by the men. His gaze met hers, and, with a thin smile, she nodded.
He drew his dagger. As a stunned cry broke from the taller man, the baron plunged the knife into his stomach.
The younger man shrieked, as did the maidservants.
When the taller man gurgled and slumped toward the rushes, the baron yanked his knife free. Blood dripped from the blade while he stalked the younger man.
“Wait!” he pleaded, scrambling backward while the maidservants screamed. “I—”
With a sneered grunt, the baron slammed the knife into the young man’s chest. He gasped. Clutched at the knife. Fell to his knees. One of the maidservants raced to his side, weeping. “Nay!” she sobbed. “Nay!”
Sedgewick yanked his dagger free. As the body landed on the floor with a grisly thud, the baron bellowed, “Anyone else?”
Silence stretched across the hall.
Veronique crossed her arms and stared at each of the remaining servants. Some were wiping tears from their faces. Others stared in mute horror at the corpses. “Go back to your duties,” she snapped.
They turned back to their work, while Sedgewick summoned over the mercenaries. “Get rid of them,” he said, gesturing to the bodies.
Veronique strolled to his side. “Well done.”
“I am glad I . . . pleased you.” Sedgewick’s lips formed a lecherous grin. “Have I earned another reward?”
“Indeed, you have.” She tipped her head toward the mercenaries. “Tell me, which one shall I send to deliver the letter?”
Sedgewick motioned over a stocky, red-haired man.
The mercenary drew near, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Milord?”
Veronique led him out of earshot of his colleagues. “I have an important task for you. One that will earn you twenty pieces of silver.”
“A tidy sum, milady.” The man’s eyes glinted with interest. “What will ye ’ave me do?”
“You are to take this missive to Lord de Lanceau at Branton Keep.”
Wariness narrowed the lout’s gaze. “De Lanceau?”
She didn’t like seeing doubt in the man’s eyes; he obviously knew Geoffrey hated mercenaries. She must know this idiot would follow through with the task. He might already be thinking about tossing the parchment into a lake and claiming he’d delivered it.
If he couldn’t be trusted, she’d have to kill him and find another more easily turned to her will.
“Only de Lanceau is to receive it.” She tapped the parchment’s end against the mercenary’s tunic, while bestowing upon him a flirtatious smile. “Are you a man who can do as I ask?”
“Aye.” He smiled back.
“No others. Only de Lanceau.” The parchment rasped as, with a deliberate stroke, she slid it down the front of his garment to his belly. “If his men-at-arms refuse to let you speak with him? If they try to turn you away?”
His gaze slid up from the parchment in a blatant perusal of her body. “I will force the guards ta let me in, even if I must kill them. They will take me ta de Lanceau.”
They would. Geoffrey’s men were sickeningly loyal. Once they’d subdued this fool, they’d haul him before de Lanceau on his knees. It didn’t matter how Geoffrey ended up with the message—as long as he did.
“Your answers please me.” Her gaze wandered over his torso in an inspection he’d no doubt interpret as womanly interest. He might be ruggedly handsome, but he wasn’t half as intriguing as that bastard Geoffrey.
She smothered her anguish, only to realize the mercenary was grinning. His very direct stare told her
he’d noticed, and appreciated, her glance over.
Sedgewick shifted beside her. Judging by his scowl, he didn’t like her playing coy with this man. Unfortunate, but she’d do what she must to get that letter delivered.
She raised the parchment and held it out to the mercenary.
His fingers closed on it. Brushed against hers.
Now, to offer one last enticement, before she let him go.
Leaning forward to reveal more of her bosom, she trailed her fingers over his hand curled around the parchment. “When you return,” she murmured, “you will have the silver I promised. And, if you desire . . .” Me.
His lust-darkened gaze clung to her mouth. “Ten pieces now. The rest when I return.”
She laughed.
“Ye know ’tis fair, milady.”
With a seductive swivel of her hips, she turned away. “You will receive naught until you return. Not till I know you did as I asked.”
“How will I prove such to ye?”
She cast him a brazen wink. “I will know.”
***
A faint sound roused Leona from slumber. Eyes still closed, she focused her hazy mind to concentrate on the noise. Again, she heard the barely audible whoosh.
She opened one eye. Her blurry gaze focused on a smooth rock close to her face. She remembered Aldwin binding her hand before she fell asleep in the musty darkness, but, somehow, she’d ended up lying on her right side, facing the stone-ringed fire, the blanket still wrapped around her.
A slight headache reminded her of the liquor she’d downed yestereve. Raising her head a fraction, and trying not to wince, she glanced about.
The whoosh came again, followed by a soft trickling. The sound of someone . . . swimming.
Tilting her head, she glanced at her right arm, which had served as a makeshift pillow. She followed the rope snaking across the ground. Last night, Aldwin had tied the other end to his wrist; now that section of rope was secured to the fallen column nearby.
Caution tightened every muscle in Leona’s body. He might not be sitting by her, but he’d be keeping watch on her while he swam. He’d be looking for a sign that she was waking.
Could she fool him long enough to untie herself and run for the rope to freedom?
A Knight's Temptation (Knight's Series Book 3) Page 13