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

by Catherine Kean

  Aldwin’s fingertip touched the crossbow’s trigger. A quick shift to the right, fire, and he’d kill her. A clean shot. One so easy, he’d not get it twice. A swift death, however, was too merciful for all the evil she’d wreaked upon others over the past years, especially de Lanceau; moreover, his lordship wanted her and the baron alive to face punishment for their crimes.

  Hellfire!

  His gaze shifted to the baron. Triumph glittered in the bastard’s piggish eyes.

  “You cannot win a fight against us,” Veronique said, her narrowed gaze sliding to Leona and Lord Ransley. “Put down your weapons.”

  “If we refuse?” Aldwin demanded.

  The baron tugged on Veronique’s sleeve. “De Lanceau will be upon us soon.”

  She shoved him away. “He will not dare to harm us, for you see”—she smiled—“we now have three hostages.” Signaling to the mercenaries, she said, “Injure them if you like, but do not kill them. I want them on their knees.”

  “Nay,” Ransley yelled. “Sshtop this—”

  “Shut up, fool.”

  Ransley’s face reddened with fury.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Aldwin saw Leona raise her dagger. Fear for her lanced through him. He had to protect her, keep her from the bloodshed . . .

  “Go back through the solar,” he called over his shoulder. “Warn de Lanceau.”

  “Aye, Leona.” Ransley flicked his hand. “Go!”

  Aldwin half-expected her to protest. But she must have realized the urgency of her task, for she nodded, turned, and ran for the wooden stairs leading to the keep’s upper level.

  Straw crunched as the mercenaries advanced. Aldwin spun and squeezed the crossbow’s trigger. The bolt plowed into the closest man’s chest, spraying blood. He fell backward with a grisly thump.

  But two more mercenaries were already upon Aldwin.

  “On their knees,” Veronique shrieked, her words becoming a wicked laugh.

  He would not be helpless before her and the baron. Never again would he be prey to their manipulations. When the mercenaries thwarted his attempt to reload his crossbow, he swung it like a club, while trying to draw his sword. With a stunning slash of his broadsword, one of the mercenaries knocked the crossbow from Aldwin’s grasp. Splinters of wood flew from the bow as it skidded across the floor. The other mercenary grabbed hold of Aldwin’s sword arm, preventing him from drawing his blade.

  Heedless of the pain in his side, Aldwin kicked. Shoved.

  Behind him, Leona screamed in pain.

  He recoiled, fear crashing through him. God’s blood, nay!

  He risked a glance. A mercenary had caught her before she reached the stairs. She struggled to free her wrist crushed in his scarred hand, her face white with agony.

  “Leona!” Ransley lurched off the dais toward her. “Stop! You are hurting her.”

  A solid weight slammed into Aldwin’s gut. He groaned and lashed out with his fists, unable to stop one of the mercenaries from hauling the quiver from his shoulder and tossing it aside.

  “Stop!” Ransley roared.

  “Shut up,” Veronique screeched. “Get back on the dais.”

  “I will not!”

  “You will,” she bellowed, “or your daughter dies.”

  Aldwin tried to shake away the fog clouding his mind, just as a boot slammed into his back. Pain raced through his body. Still, he fought as the mercenary shoved him down to his knees. But the blow, combined with his throbbing side, sapped Aldwin’s strength.

  He sagged to the floor, panting, with sweat running down his brow. The mercenary stood behind him, his sword at Aldwin’s neck.

  “There.” Veronique’s gown whispered as she crossed to him. “Much better.”

  Only for you, bitch.

  With a huffed breath, Leona landed on her knees beside him. He stole a quick glance. No blood or visible wounds. He hoped she wasn’t badly hurt.

  “Leona,” Ransley moaned from the dais. An admission of defeat.

  The scent of rosewater mingled with the musty stench rising from the rushes. Hips swaying, Veronique drew near. She tapped the flat of the dagger blade against her palm, smearing blood across her skin.

  Swish. Tap. Swish. Tap.

  Pushing his shoulders back, Aldwin stared straight ahead, refusing to look up at her, even when she stopped close enough to gently brush aside hair that had fallen over his right eye. He jerked away from her touch.

  “Still stubborn, I see.” Her voice sounded akin to a purr.

  He clamped his jaw.

  “Tsk-tsk.” Her fingers skimmed down his hair. Despite the sword at his neck, Aldwin tried to turn his head away, but her clever hand followed. Her throaty laugh taunted him, mocked his cursed protest, while her fingers slid under his chin. Tightening her grip to a painful pressure, she forced him to look up at her.

  Muscles at the back of his neck cramped and pain knotted his shoulders. His breath hissing through his nostrils, he glared back at her.

  She smiled. “De Lanceau values your life.”

  Aldwin dared to defy the pain of her fingertips. “Only as his servant.”

  A mocking glint lit her eyes. “More than that, I vow.”

  The baron hurried to her side. “Let me kill him now.” His lips slid into a ruthless grin. “He must suffer for betraying me to de Lanceau years ago.”

  “Patience,” Veronique murmured.

  Aldwin tamped down a shudder. What was she planning? Even as he registered the thought, she flipped the knife in her hand and dragged the leather-wrapped hilt along his jawline. A deliberate taunt. The scents of blood and leather filled his nostrils.

  As the dagger moved with a whisper, the sharp tip skimmed perilously close to his shoulder blade. She could slice his flesh whenever she desired.

  Leona swore under her breath.

  “I want to kill him!” the baron groused. “Then I will throw his head into the bailey. De Lanceau will know we shall win this battle for Pryerston.”

  “His head? Not something more”—Veronique’s gaze slid down Aldwin’s body to his groin—“interesting?”

  Like what, bitch? My ballocks? She would enjoy maiming him so. The thought of her hands on his privates made his blood run cold.

  The baron also seemed shaken by the idea, for he cringed.

  “A shame,” Veronique drawled, “to damage such a handsome example of manhood.” Her hand dropped away and lingered in the air. “Of course, we do not have to hurt him.” Her gown rustled as she faced Leona.

  “Let her be,” Aldwin growled, attempting to rise. The mercenary kicked him back onto his knees.

  Veronique tittered. “Do you care for her?”

  More than you can possibly know.

  The knife rose and fell once again. Tap. Tap. The sound, akin to rainwater dripping onto an iron pot, resonated in his brain. He sensed Leona’s sharpening fear, although she kept her head high.

  Ransley moaned again. “Leona.”

  Tap. Tap.

  Veronique looked down at the knife, as though deciding how to make her first cut. “Did you know, Aldwin, you can spare Leona from harm?”

  “Really?”

  The disbelief in his voice clearly amused Veronique, for she winked as she glanced at him. “I know you are not yet a knight. You do not have your spurs. But you crave the honor of knighthood.” Her eyes gleamed with her impassioned words. “’Tis what you truly desire. Aye?”

  Aldwin tried to steel the dismay from his expression. How did she know that about him? Had his ambitions been so obvious?

  “For three long, devoted years you have served de Lanceau,” Veronique went on. “Still, he has not made you a knight.”

  “He does not have to. I pledged lifelong servitude to him—”

  “Why does he not award you that honor? Why does he deny you what you rightly deserve? He has knighted lesser-deserving men than you, has he not?”

  Aldwin tried to ignore the discontent stirred up by her words.

 
; “Nay,” Leona snapped. “Do not listen—”

  “I can give you knighthood,” Veronique cut in, as the mercenary holding Leona slapped her. Aldwin struggled, but Veronique turned his face away. “All you must do”—her breath swept his cheek in a pretend kiss—“is agree.”

  Revulsion coiled inside him at her closeness. Yet each moment she spent talking to him, he kept Leona from serious harm. He silently prayed he could keep Veronique distracted until de Lanceau rushed in from the bailey. “Agree?” he bit out. “To what?”

  “To join us. To fight for us, as one of our knights.”

  He blew a sharp breath. Was she mad? She couldn’t honestly believe he’d comply.

  “Veronique,” the baron grumbled. “’Tis not as we planned.”

  “I know,” Veronique said. “This scheme is better. With Aldwin’s cooperation, we can learn all of de Lanceau’s secrets far sooner than we expected. We will destroy his lordship and his devoted family. We will take his empire and make it our own.”

  Doubt, but also interest, flickered in Sedgewick’s gaze. “When will I have my revenge for what Aldwin did to me?”

  “Revenge?” She cackled. “We can finally have the riches and power denied to us when de Lanceau wed Lady Elizabeth. Surely ’tis more important than Aldwin’s death?” Her tone softened with petulance. “Surely you love me enough to want that for us, Sedgewick?”

  The baron frowned and wiped his flushed face. “He must agree. He will not yield his loyalty to de Lanceau.”

  Aldwin stifled a snort. Exactly. If they thought he’d nod and say “aye”—

  Veronique turned away. “He will.”

  The certainty in those two words brought an awful tightness to Aldwin’s chest—especially when she gestured to the hearth.

  The baron’s face lit with glee. “Indeed, he will.” Rushes crackled as he scuttled away.

  Sweat ran down between Aldwin’s shoulder blades. He glanced at Leona. Her gaze revealed her anxiety, but she bravely held his stare. His heart squeezed in his chest. How proud he was of her. How he . . . loved her.

  Logs in the hearth settled with a clunk, and then the baron returned, brandishing a piece of kindling. The end burned red-white. Hot enough to sear flesh, eyes, or . . .

  Ransley made a choking sound. “W-what are you going to do?”

  The baron grinned. “Aldwin is going to say ‘aye.’” He thrust the burning stick toward Leona’s face.

  Her body, held by the mercenary, quivered.

  “Stop,” Ransley cried. “Please.”

  Veronique laughed, grabbed a handful of Leona’s hair, and yanked her head back to expose the smooth column of her neck. “We will burn her and cut her, until you agree.”

  With her neck at that angle, Leona must be in agony. Her chest rose and fell on urgent breaths, but she didn’t make the slightest sound of pain.

  “Leona,” Aldwin whispered, claiming her gaze.

  “Do not agree,” Leona croaked.

  Aldwin swallowed hard. How much he wanted to say to her, above all, that he loved her.

  He couldn’t bear to see her tortured because of him. Yet how could he betray de Lanceau? To become one of Veronique’s knights was to live by dishonor—to embrace all he loathed about himself.

  “Hurry up, Aldwin,” the baron goaded. He turned the stick in his fat fingers.

  “Do not harm her,” Ransley said, his voice weak with horror. “I beg you.”

  The mercenary behind Aldwin chuckled.

  “Aldwin will not agree,” Veronique muttered. “Proud fool.”

  The baron chortled. “Then so be it.”

  The stick moved.

  “Nay!” Ransley cried.

  “Hold!” Aldwin said at the same moment.

  The baron paused, the kindling dangerously close to Leona’s cheekbone. She shuddered, as though she felt the heat singeing her skin.

  Veronique raised the knife to Leona’s throat. “Say you will be one of our knights, Aldwin.”

  A sudden draft swept over the floor, chilling his legs. The nearby wall torches flickered. Close by, a door banged against stone.

  Someone had thrown open the lower door.

  Gruff voices carried up from the bailey.

  “Quickly!” the baron yelled, his gaze darting to the stairwell. “Agree!”

  Footfalls pounded in the passageway.

  His mouth twisting on a roar, the baron rammed the stick against Leona’s cheek.

  That very instant, she wrenched sideways. The stick hissed through air. With a sneered growl, Veronique yanked her upright again by her hair. Blood ran down Leona’s neck.

  Aldwin cursed. “Leona!”

  “Join us!” the baron roared.

  “Join you?” de Lanceau said from the stairwell. “I think not.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Turning her head a fraction, Leona glanced toward the stairwell, defying the brutal pressure of Veronique’s fingers twisted into her hair. Leona’s neck ached with the unnatural posture, but her hopes soared at the sight of de Lanceau standing just inside the great hall.

  “Lord de Lanceau,” her father said, and she heard the scrape of his boots as he dropped into a bow.

  Blood stained de Lanceau’s surcoat and chain-mail armor, but his grip on his sword looked strong and sure. Dominic stood beside him, and more of de Lanceau’s men-at-arms filed in behind them. Still more fighters came into view, among them servants from Pryerston wielding brooms, axes, and candlesticks.

  The cook and his wife had done well. Leona fought a grateful sob.

  De Lanceau’s gaze slid from Veronique to the baron. “Your hired thugs are defeated. Surrender.”

  The baron exhaled a nervous sigh, while Veronique rolled her eyes. “All those mercenaries, outwitted by your men?”

  “And the good folk of Pryerston.”

  “I do not believe you.”

  De Lanceau’s flinty gaze didn’t waver. “Come with me to the bailey. I will show you.”

  An ugly silence fell, an unspoken battle for dominance, as all awaited Veronique’s reply.

  A disparaging laugh broke from her; it rose to a taunt. “You insult me. Do you really think I will walk into your trap, Geoffrey?”

  De Lanceau glowered. “Do not call me by my given name.”

  “Neither will I surrender,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “You will yield. If you do not . . .” Veronique yanked Leona’s tresses hard enough to pull out strands of hair: a command to rise. A muffled chime accompanied the movement—a sound similar to that made by the pendant’s chain. Veronique didn’t seem to be wearing the ruby, though.

  Again, Veronique tugged. Leona’s scalp burned, and she longed to spit curses. But if Leona wanted to get away, Veronique and the baron must believe her to be frightened and obedient.

  Lowering her lashes to hide her rage, Leona struggled to her feet, the mercenary’s hand on her elbow. The baron edged the hot stick aside enough to let her stand, but kept it close to her face. While Veronique no longer gripped Leona’s hair, the tip of the dagger pressed against Leona’s neck; it slid into the blood running down under her chemise to her breasts.

  As Leona glanced up, de Lanceau’s gaze riveted to her. Shock lanced through her at the fury emanating from him.

  “Release Leona and Aldwin,” he growled.

  “They will remain as they are, Geoffrey, until you and your men lay down your weapons.” Veronique’s bawdy laugh echoed. “I cannot wait to have you on your knees.”

  Leona’s attention slid to Aldwin. His gaze slammed into her. In his eyes, she saw anger, worry, and . . . tenderness.

  His poignant stare drove like a bolt through her heart. She blinked as tears pricked her eyes. A terrible anguish spread through her, for she’d been so determined to be annoyed with him, she hadn’t once considered that they might die in the fight for Pryerston. How did she tell him she’d give anything—anything—to lie in his arms again?

  The crunch of straw drew
her gaze to de Lanceau. “You will surrender, Veronique.” As he took several steps forward, he signaled to his men. They moved into a semicircle, blocking the escape to the stairwell.

  Veronique whispered an oath.

  “Yield,” de Lanceau commanded. “Accept you are my prisoners. Your lives are forfeit for the crimes you committed against me and countless others. If you do not obey, I will kill you in this hall. The choice is yours.”

  The oniony scent of sweat filled Leona’s nostrils. The baron’s face dripped moisture. “You will kill us despite what you say, de Lanceau,” he muttered.

  De Lanceau frowned. “Baron—”

  Sedgewick’s fingers shifted on the stick. The hot end edged closer to Leona and she stiffened.

  “Burn in hellfire, de Lanceau,” Sedgewick sneered.

  “That pleasure is all yours, Baron. You are damned for betraying my sire and mortally wounding him when I was a boy. You will answer for every treacherous deed you committed against me, as well as my kin.”

  Sedgewick snickered. “Not if I kill you first.”

  De Lanceau smiled, a dismissive slant of his mouth, before his gaze shifted to Veronique. “Where is my pendant?”

  “Why would I know?”

  “She has it, milord.” Leona’s father pointed at Veronique. “A man brought it to her.”

  “I think ’tis hidden in her gown,” Leona said, ignoring the pinch of Veronique’s knife. “I heard the chain chiming.”

  “Is that so?” De Lanceau glared at Veronique.

  “Mmm?” she said with a coy sigh. Then a gloating laugh broke from her. Her gown whispered as the knife moved away from Leona’s neck.

  While Leona sucked in a relieved breath, her gaze met her father’s. He winked, then edged toward the end of the dais. His steps were steadier than before, but he couldn’t be free of the drink’s muddling effects yet.

  What was he going to do? Why didn’t he just stay where he was, out of danger?

  Metal chimed close by. Leona glanced at Veronique, to see the ruby pendant slide from an opening in her sleeve’s hem.

  Light from the torches glinted off the gold and the magnificent ruby. “’Tis very beautiful,” Veronique said, dangling the jewel between her fingers. “A treasure worth killing for.”