A Knight's Temptation (Knight's Series Book 3)

by Catherine Kean

  “Aldwin,” Clif muttered. “Broke me shoulder.”

  Petulance clung to each word. Was he expecting sympathy? Loving coos and a tender hand on his brow?

  Veronique bit back her tart reply; she still needed him. “Where are Aldwin and Leona? Did you capture them?”

  “Me men are chasin’ ’em. They’ve likely got ’em by now.”

  She hoped so, for his sake. Forcing a concerned smile, Veronique said, “I am sorry you are hurt.” She set aside her wine goblet and crossed to him.

  A crooked smile curved Clif’s mouth. “Ye can ease me discomfort later.”

  Ease his pain later? An arrogant assumption—

  “First”—he flinched while reaching into his cloak—“ye will ’ave this.”

  A delicate gold chain with a gleaming ruby dangled from his fist.

  De Lanceau’s necklace.

  Veronique sucked in an elated breath. “Clif!” Her hand shook as she reached for the gem.

  He snatched it back, grimacing when his shoulder shifted. “I want me reward, as ye promised. Then ye may ’ave the pendant.”

  Reward? Oh, he would receive it, all right.

  A brazen laugh swelled within her. She pressed closer to him, the scents of sweat and leather clinging to his garments. His smoldering gaze focused on her mouth she’d repainted crimson not long ago.

  “Your reward.” She smiled up at him. “I am glad you reminded me.”

  He nodded while his tongue slicked over his bottom lip. “I will be as wealthy as a nobleman. Ye”—he grinned—“will be me lady. We will never leave our bed.”

  Her eyelid dropped in a saucy wink as she slid her arms around his waist and crushed her breasts against him. He groaned at the nearness of her enticing cleavage.

  “How clever you are, to have got the pendant,” she murmured, while carefully reaching into the hem of her gown’s sleeve. The hilt of a small knife brushed her palm.

  “I am clever.” Clif grinned. “And—”

  She rammed the knife into his lower back.

  His eyes flew wide.

  She wrenched out the dagger. Stabbed again. When he roared and grabbed for her arm, she darted back.

  Clif staggered. “You bitch!”

  “Aye.” Veronique laughed. Spinning on her heel, she strolled away to pick up her wine goblet.

  With a pained whine, Clif slumped to the floor.

  As quiet settled throughout the hall, deserted except for Ransley and the dogs, she walked back to Clif, nudged his limp hand open with her foot, and picked up the pendant. She held it up to the fading light and giggled like a naughty child.

  A scraping sound came from behind her.

  She whirled.

  His head half-lifted from the table, Ransley squinted at her through bloodshot eyes. His focus slid to Clif’s corpse before he shook his head and moaned.

  “Aye, Lord Ransley,” she said with a cruel laugh. “Soon, you will be dead, too.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Standing by the partly concealed wooden door in Pryerston Keep’s curtain wall, Leona drew her cloak tighter to her body and glanced at de Lanceau, less than three strides away. In the darkness, she could barely make out his features; only when the moon escaped the overhead clouds did his expression become clear. But he, Aldwin, and the rest of the men had followed close behind her ever since they’d left the horses tethered in the aspen grove a short distance from the keep.

  Before the moonlit castle had come into full view alongside the road, de Lanceau had motioned his men to guide their mounts into the trees. “We do not want the sentries on the wall walk to hear our horses,” he’d said. His men had dismounted, tethered their animals, and taken up their weapons with astonishing speed.

  Then de Lanceau had turned to her. Moonlight had touched his eyes as he’d gestured to the keep. “Lead the way, milady.”

  Leona had sensed Aldwin’s piercing gaze upon her. He’d said little to her since they spoke near the river, but she’d caught him watching her, his eyes shadowed with torment. Each time she had caught his gaze, he’d looked away.

  Again, she’d steeled herself against the pain gnawing inside her and nodded to de Lanceau, then headed through the undergrowth. With the whispered snap of ferns and crackle of twigs, the men had followed her to the castle’s high outer wall. The scent of damp stone carried on the breeze while the warriors flattened back against the wall, their weapons at the ready.

  Even before the last man fell into place, de Lanceau nodded to her. She nodded back, stooped, counted over five rows of stone, then carefully wiggled out the loose chunk of mortar. She slid her finger into the opening and took out the key. After pushing the mortar back into place, she eased aside branches of the bush growing in front of the door and slid the key into the lock.

  Leona sensed Aldwin’s gaze upon her once more. She felt it so keenly, as if by looking at her he saw through her defenses to her heart. It ached for him, even if he seemed determined to avoid her.

  Shoving aside her anguish, she turned the key in the lock. At first, the mechanism, rarely used and as old as the curtain wall, refused to budge. Then, with a muffled click, it gave.

  Leona pushed the gate open. The panel creaked inward to reveal a swath of weed-choked grass. She stepped through, took the key from the lock, and set it under a rock near the wall.

  The whisper of garments and muted clank of weaponry alerted her that the warriors had followed her through.

  Using the looming keep as her guide, she led the men along the wall toward the low-roofed buildings in the inner bailey.

  The kitchen’s rear door, which opened close to the henhouse, stood open. Light filtered out into the night, as did hushed voices.

  “Ye must not talk like that,” a woman—little Adeline’s mother—said, her softened voice growing louder as she walked closer inside the kitchens. “Ye’ll end up locked in the dungeon like Twig and Sir Reginald. Or killed, like those poor men in the ’all.”

  Leona smothered a gasp. Men killed? Twig and Sir Reginald in the dungeon? What else had happened whilst Aldwin held her captive?

  “We cannot let matters go on like they are,” Adeline’s father, Pryerston’s cook, replied. “Why, if Lord Ransley—” He moved away, across the kitchen, and his words became blurred by the clatter of crockery. Leaning against the kitchen wall, Leona strained to hear.

  Holding up a cautioning hand, de Lanceau stepped past her, pressed his back to the door frame, and glanced inside. Turning back, he pointed at Leona, then at the open doorway.

  She nodded.

  “Milord.” Aldwin stepped forward, his crossbow at the ready and his quiver slung over his shoulder. “I wish to go first.”

  Leona stepped past him into the light.

  He grabbed her elbow, jerking her back into the shadows. She muttered a curse, but still, he didn’t look at her, despite the almost visible spark their bodies had made when they touched. Her throat hurt as she studied his taut, determined profile. Didn’t he feel that tension buzzing between them?

  She tried to brush past him, but he forced her back. “Milord,” he bit out, “if the baron or Veronique are in there—”

  “Not likely,” she whispered. “’Tis best if I lead the way. The castle folk know me. If they see you first—an armed stranger—they might sound the alarm.”

  A peculiar gleam lit de Lanceau’s eyes. He looked about to grin. Instead, he waved his hand toward the kitchens. “Go.”

  His breath rasping between his teeth, Aldwin released her. A saucy retort warmed her tongue, but she stifled it and hurried through the doorway.

  Her shoes tapped on the stone floor as she headed to the nearby worktable, covered with an array of breads and fresh pastries. The sweet scent of honey hung in the air, and, when she rounded the corner toward the main work area and cooking fires, her gaze fell upon a blond-haired little girl, sitting on a wooden stool, licking honey from a spoon. Adeline. Some distance across the kitchens, her parents were having a
quiet but heated discussion.

  “—and just ’ow would ye do that?” the mother said. “Are ye—”

  Adeline looked up. “Lady Leona!” The spoon dropped to the floor.

  Leona smiled and pressed her finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  The girl lurched from the stool and hobbled forward on her bent legs. Leona ran forward, and the child threw her arms around her. “Milady!”

  His face breaking into a grin, the cook hurried toward her, drying his hands on a cloth. “Milady! We ’ave worried about ye.”

  Leona scooped Adeline into her arms, relishing the little girl’s hug. “I have missed all of you,” she said, keeping her voice low, “but I am back now.”

  “Lady Leona.” Adeline’s mother wiped her teary eyes. “If only ye knew what ’as ’appened—” Her face drained of color. “Oh!”

  Leona followed her gaze. De Lanceau and his men were striding through the back doorway. Aldwin stood by the nearest cooking fires, scanning the room, his crossbow poised in case of attack.

  The cook’s mouth trembled. “Who are these men? Mercenaries, like all the others?”

  Wiping honey from Adeline’s chin, Leona said, “These warriors are loyal to Moydenshire’s liege.” She gestured. “Lord Geoffrey de Lanceau.”

  “The Lord de Lanceau? Of Branton Keep?”

  She nodded.

  “Oh!” The cook dropped into a bow, while his wife flushed and curtsied. “I did not expect ta ever meet ye, milord. ’Tis an ’onor.”

  “I thank you for your welcome,” de Lanceau said quietly. “Tell me, are there mercenaries in the bailey?” He pointed to the closed door at the building’s opposite end.

  “Aye,” the cook said. “Some of ’em sleep around fires out there. They keep watch on us folk. They do not want us plottin’ against ’em.” He frowned before he gestured to the pastries. “They’ve ’ad us bakin’ all sorts o’ sweets and ’ave eaten through most of the storeroom’s supplies. And the drink . . .” He shook his head. “I am sorry, milady.”

  He looked so devastated, she touched his arm. “I know you had no choice but to do as they demanded.” After kissing Adeline’s plump cheek, Leona set her down. “You said Twig and Sir Reginald are in the dungeon?”

  The cook’s wife nodded. “They ’aven’t ’ad food or water since they returned ’ere. Veronique said they’d starve unless they told ’er where ye were.”

  Leona clenched her hands on a wave of anger. “We must rescue them.”

  “And yer father,” the cook said, his expression sobering.

  Oh, God. “Where is he? Is he all right?”

  “’E’s in the great ’all,” the cook murmured. “A prisoner. Veronique ’as kept ’im drunk and threatened ta kill anyone who ’elped ’im.”

  A choked gasp broke from Leona. “How could she?”

  Dominic stepped forward, drawing his sword. “With your permission, milord, I will free the men in the dungeon.”

  “Agreed. Take five others with you,” de Lanceau said. “We will meet you inside the keep.”

  “Thank you,” Leona whispered.

  With a gallant nod, Dominic signaled to several warriors and stepped away.

  “What can we do?” the cook asked. His wife’s head bobbed like an apple in a water trough. “There must be a way we can ’elp.”

  “With your permission, milord,” Leona murmured, “there is.” When de Lanceau motioned for her to continue, she said, “You can start telling the other servants that his lordship and his men are inside the keep. Ask the others to find a weapon—even a broom or a candlestick—and keep it in secret close by. We may need them to fight. You must be careful, though, that the mercenaries do not learn of this plan.”

  De Lanceau nodded his approval.

  The cook grinned. “Ye can trust us. We’ll start right away.”

  “Lady Leona,” Adeline piped up, “I want ta ’elp, too.”

  “You can stay right here in the kitchens and keep watch on the food,” Leona said with a wink. “All right?”

  As the cook, his wife, and Adeline turned away, Leona looked at de Lanceau. “I will fetch the key to get us inside the keep.”

  “Hurry.”

  She dashed into the storeroom. Empty bean, vegetable, and flour sacks lay stacked on the shelves. The barrels of salted meat and fish? The spices she’d hoarded for the most important events? She dared not look. Luckily, though, the casks of expensive wine on the top shelf hadn’t been touched. Stretching to reach past them, she found the iron key, tied with a loop of string.

  Returning to the kitchens, she said, “Milord, please follow me.”

  She led the men outside again through the back door, then across the bailey to the keep’s wall. With the moon hidden by clouds, they moved in inky darkness. Yet the men behind her made little sound, clearly aware of the mercenaries patrolling the wall walk above and the voices drifting from farther down the bailey.

  After a moment of feeling her way along the wall, she found the wooden door. She inserted the key and, holding her breath, turned it. The door clicked open. After removing the key, she curled her fingers around it.

  When she drew the panel wide, a breath of stale air wafted out to greet her. The musty scent whisked her thoughts back to when she’d listened in on her father’s meeting days ago, and she shuddered. Dreading what she’d find, but knowing she must go on, she stepped into the passage wide enough for only one person to travel at a time. A sticky cobweb floated down from the stones overhead, and she swiped it away, almost hitting Aldwin, behind her, in the face.

  If only she had a torch to guide their way. But a burning reed would be noticed by the guards. They’d have to proceed in the dark.

  She reached out for the stone wall and her hand touched another. Startled, she yanked her fingers back.

  Behind her, Aldwin sucked in his breath.

  Heat rippled through her, kindled by the raggedness of his inhalation. He stood so near, his breath stirred her hair. The anguish inside her sharpened.

  She stretched out her hand again and found only cold, damp stone. Lifting her gown up a fraction, she set her foot on the next step.

  Upward she traveled, with Aldwin, de Lanceau, and his men close behind. The tap and scrape of their footfalls surrounded her like a discordant battle chant. They were going to war, for Pryerston. What would they discover when they stepped out into her father’s solar? What of the rest of the keep?

  The passage turned, and the dankness in the air began to clear. Faint light washed in through cracks in the wooden door ahead.

  Reaching the panel, she pressed her ear to it and listened, but heard no sound from beyond. Was the chamber empty? Or were the room’s inhabitants asleep?

  When the footfalls behind her quieted, she listened again. Not even the faintest snore. Still, to be safe, she’d keep her voice down.

  “I may need help with the door,” she whispered over her shoulder.

  “Remind me. Where in the keep are we?” de Lanceau whispered back.

  “The solar. The door is concealed behind a tapestry. No one has used it for a very long time.”

  “Are you certain the door will open?” Aldwin asked.

  Nay, but we will get through this barrier, even if we have to smash it down. She pushed the key into the lock and tried to turn it. The lock wouldn’t budge.

  Leona wiggled the key. Withdrew it. Shoved it into the lock again. Still, it didn’t yield.

  Sweat coated her palms. She dried her hands on her cloak, determined to try again.

  “Let me.” Aldwin reached around her.

  Before she could whisper a reply, he knocked her fingers from the key. His hand closed on it. Turned.

  No engaging click.

  “If I could get closer . . .” he said.

  She frowned back at his shadowed profile. “How?”

  “Turn sideways.”

  “So we are belly to belly?” She hadn’t meant for her hushed words to end in a squeak.

>   A muffled snort echoed from one of the other men.

  “’Tis the only way.” Aldwin didn’t sound happy about the matter, either. A faint rattle sounded, and she realized he’d slipped his quiver from his shoulder.

  Step by small, awkward step, she turned her body sideways, her garments rasping when they brushed the wall behind her. Aldwin edged in front of her, his boots bumping her shoes.

  “Sorry,” he muttered, his breath upon her brow. Their arms touched, and he grunted. As his lower body squeezed against her, she stifled a groan. If her father saw the two of them like this, he’d draw his sword and skewer Aldwin. And the way her innards shivered at her closeness to Aldwin was utterly . . . shameful.

  He shifted against her while he turned the key and shoved the door at the same time. Once. Twice.

  The lock released.

  “Well done,” de Lanceau said.

  The panel creaked open. With a muffled thump, it hit the tapestry beyond. Thrusting his hand forward, Aldwin eased the wall hanging over the other side of the door on a swirl of dust. His crossbow at the ready, he entered the solar.

  Leona stepped out. Sneezed.

  Gasped.

  The solar might be empty, but her father’s bed—the one he’d shared with her mother for many years—was a rumpled mess. An array of items, including clothes, wine goblets, and cosmetic pots, littered the trestle table, as well as the bedside one. The scent of rosewater clung to the air.

  Heaped in a shimmering pool before the bed was a red silk gown. It lay as though the wearer had let it slide down her body before crawling onto the bed—and not to sleep, judging by the tangled bedding.

  “Veronique is sharing my father’s bed?” Leona said in horror.

  Bile scorched the back of her mouth. Her father had loved her mother; he’d always love her. Had Veronique preyed upon Leona’s father’s loneliness to seduce him? Had Veronique decided that by coupling with him and pretending she cared for him, she’d make him more agreeable to her loathsome plans? Leona fought the urge to retch.

  The rasp of metal alerted her that de Lanceau now stood beside her, his sword drawn. As his lordship handed Aldwin his quiver, the other warriors gathered in the solar. De Lanceau didn’t glance at the bed, although he must have noticed. “The great hall,” he said.