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

by Catherine Kean

  The baron chortled. “True, my love.”

  De Lanceau glared at her. “Bring it to me.”

  “’Tis mine now.” Veronique grinned.

  Leona almost choked. Hers?

  “Yours?” Sedgewick said. “Ours, you mean.”

  Veronique bluntly ignored the baron and slipped the pendant around her neck. “’Tis a small portion of the riches I would have enjoyed as your courtesan when you became Moydenshire’s lord. Riches enough,” she went on, “to care for me and Tye for years. Riches I deserve, for all you denied me, Geoffrey, when you told me you no longer desired me.”

  Bitterness tightened each word. She sounded consumed by her misguided love for de Lanceau—a distraction Leona mustn’t waste. She steeled herself for escape, even as she saw her father creep away from the dais.

  “Veronique,” the baron snapped, stepping away to better look at her. “’Tis not as we planned, either. What do you mean—”

  Veronique cackled and started to raise her knife to Leona’s neck. “Accept, Geoffrey, that you have lost—”

  Leona hurled herself sideways, slamming into Veronique. With a deafening screech, Veronique stumbled. At the same moment, Leona’s father ran forward and whipped Veronique across the shoulder with his cut ropes.

  She screamed. “You—”

  Leona bolted, ducking the baron’s roar and the swing of his stick.

  A scuffle erupted behind Leona. She whirled to see Aldwin fighting with the mercenary who’d subdued him earlier. Her sire was grappling with Veronique.

  “Nay!” Veronique screamed. “Nay!” Her face tautened with rage.

  Armor rattled as de Lanceau’s men edged nearer.

  His hand clenched around the pendant’s chain, Leona’s father tried to pull the jewel from Veronique’s neck. The knife in her hand flashed downward.

  “Father!” Leona shrilled. If he was wounded—

  A child’s cry carried from upstairs. Tye. He must have heard his mother’s distress.

  “Stay back!” the baron shouted, wielding the stick as though to ward off the advancing warriors.

  Veronique gasped. “Nay!”

  With a victorious shout, Leona’s sire held up the pendant. “Milord!” He drew his arm back, clearly planning to toss the jewel to de Lanceau.

  Sedgewick threw his stick to the floor. He drew his sword.

  And lunged.

  For Leona.

  ***

  Aldwin held his breath as Leona threw herself against Veronique. Well done, Lioness! Pride rushed through him, filling him with anticipation of battle, while he concentrated on the mercenary holding the sword to his neck. The instant Aldwin sensed the thug’s attention had shifted to the fight, Aldwin surged to his feet.

  At the same time, he slammed his fist into the mercenary’s leg. The man howled and went down on one knee, while slashing with his blade. A brutal kick, and the man’s sword arm went limp, his forearm broken. The sword clanged on the floor and skidded toward one of de Lanceau’s men-at-arms, who snatched it up.

  “Surrender,” de Lanceau’s man said, thrusting the weapon in the mercenary’s face, but whatever the thug said was drowned by Aldwin’s expelled breath. The baron was attacking Leona. The lethally sharp sword glinted as it whistled through the air. A near miss. Far too near for Aldwin’s liking.

  He spied his quiver of bolts and glanced about the floor for his crossbow, but it must have been kicked aside. Frowning, he snatched up the stick Sedgewick had discarded, skirted the warriors battling the rest of Veronique’s mercenaries, and edged toward the baron.

  “Sedgewick!” de Lanceau roared.

  “Leona!” Ransley cried, continuing to struggle with Veronique. Metal glinted as he knocked the dagger from her grasp.

  Her face taut with concentration, Leona darted backward, but knocked into a bench drawn up to the trestle table. She shot her arm back, fighting for balance.

  The baron laughed. Before she could scoot away, he shoved the tip of his sword against her breastbone, shielded by her cloak.

  She froze. Her chest rose and fell, while the blade sliced through to her bloodstained bodice.

  Aldwin’s heart pounded against his ribs, each beat more agonizing than the last. One shove forward, and the baron would pierce her flesh.

  She would not suffer that pain.

  “Now,” Sedgewick roared, turning sideways to address de Lanceau and his men. “I will have that pendant.”

  Veronique swore and grabbed for it, but Ransley held it above her reach.

  “Throw it to me, Ransley,” the baron said, “or I will kill your daughter. While you watch.”

  Still holding the jewel aloft, Lord Ransley moaned. He glanced at de Lanceau.

  “Sedgewick, your grievance is with me,” de Lanceau murmured. “Not Leona.”

  “Not entirely true. She stole the pendant from us. She planned to betray us to you. For that, she should die.” His gaze darkened with murderous intent. “The pendant!”

  The baron’s hand shook, and Leona winced.

  “In truth, Baron”—Aldwin stepped closer—“your grievance is more with me than the others. Have you forgotten how my testimony of the crossbow shooting years ago helped to send you to the king’s dungeon? I took Leona captive days ago to force her to reveal your and Veronique’s latest conspiracy; I planned to tell my lord.”

  Sedgewick’s lips formed an evil grin. “’Twould hurt you, aye, to see Leona killed?”

  God, aye. Part of me would die with her. If he lied and said “nay,” he’d shame his feelings for Leona. If he nodded, would the baron kill her out of spite? “Let her go,” he said, unable to keep the plea from his voice. “I will willingly take her place.”

  “Aldwin,” Leona whispered.

  “’Twould be the perfect revenge, would it not, to murder me here before my lord and my friends?” Aldwin added, hoping his words appealed to the baron’s depravity. Let her go, his mind pleaded. Let me protect the lady I love, even if I must give my own life.

  He sensed Leona’s stare, her unspoken request for him to meet her gaze. With great effort, he refused. He’d meant what he said about taking her place; he wouldn’t change his mind.

  “’Tis an enticing offer,” the baron said.

  “Aldwin,” Leona rasped.

  The necklace’s chain clinked. Struggling as de Lanceau’s men-at-arms tried to subdue her, Veronique swiped at Ransley. He shifted the jewel in his fingers and looked from de Lanceau to the baron.

  Geoffrey thrust up a hand. “Hold. No one gets that pendant but me.”

  The baron’s lip curled. He looked at Leona. Smiled. His fingers shifted on the sword’s hilt, as though he readied to thrust.

  Aldwin lunged. Before the baron started to glance up, Aldwin whacked him across the small of his back with the stick. Sedgewick tensed. Aldwin caught the scent of burning cloth, and then the baron lashed out at him with his sword.

  “Run!” Aldwin yelled to Leona.

  She dashed away from the table, toward Dominic and the other warriors. At the same moment, Aldwin heard de Lanceau shout, “Now!”

  The pendant flew through the air.

  The baron roared and ran for the jewel.

  Aldwin hurled his weight against Sedgewick. With a furious squeal, the baron pitched sideways and stumbled, the tip of his sword scraping the floor.

  The pendant landed on the rushes, close to de Lanceau.

  Loosing a feral cry, the baron shoved Aldwin aside, raised his sword, and ran toward his lordship.

  Footfalls pounded on the wooden staircase.

  “Milord!” Ransley cried, pointing.

  Gripping her skirts in both hands, Veronique hurried toward the keep’s upper level. Either she’d realized she was defeated and intended to escape, or she had another scheme she intended to get underway.

  “God’s blood,” Aldwin snarled and searched again for his crossbow. There, in the shadows under a table. Weaving through the fighting men-at-arms and mercenarie
s, he bent, grabbed the damaged bow, and retrieved his quiver.

  As he rose, he looked for Leona and her father. To his relief, they stood some distance from the fighting, embracing. Safe.

  Close by, swords met with a loud clang. Their weapons touching, the baron and de Lanceau glared at each other. Then, with a triumphant growl, his lordship forced the baron back two steps from where the pendant lay.

  “Aldwin,” de Lanceau yelled. “Get the jewel.”

  “Aye, milord.”

  “Dominic, take the rest of the men. Secure the upper chambers. Whatever happens”—Clang—“Veronique is not to take the boy from here.”

  Beckoning to several others, Dominic led them up the stairs after her. Glancing over her shoulder, Veronique ran along the wooden landing that led to a passageway’s entrance.

  Swords shrieked. Men shouted and grunted. Yet the battle sounds seemed to fade for one moment as Aldwin stooped, drew the pendant from among the dirty rushes, and closed his fingers around it.

  “You have lost, Sedgewick,” de Lanceau said. “Yield.”

  Sweat streamed from the baron face. “Lost? Because you have the pendant? Never.” He bared his stained teeth. “I have waited years to fight you. I will crush you for taking Moydenshire and Elizabeth from me.”

  Geoffrey laughed. “I rescued her. She never wanted to wed you; she loathed you.”

  “’Tis true,” Aldwin said. She had, indeed. She’d told him just how much.

  “She would have learned to love me. Veronique did.”

  “God’s blood!” de Lanceau shouted. “You meant naught to Veronique. Have you not realized that by now?”

  “Shut up!” the baron screeched.

  Stepping back, de Lanceau gestured to the landing, just as Veronique disappeared into the passage. “She has abandoned you.”

  “Shut up!” Sedgewick swung his sword in a wild strike. “You will die like your wretched father.”

  Clang. De Lanceau’s jaw hardened. “Not this day.”

  “You will beg me to die, just like the great Edouard de Lanceau did. You will plead for me to deliver that one”—clang—“last”—clang—“blow to end your misery, while your blood runs—”

  A snarl twisted de Lanceau’s mouth. He lunged forward. Thrust. His blade sank into the baron’s belly. “My father never begged.”

  Sedgewick gasped. “Ahhh—”

  “I was there. I was only a boy, but I saw you wound him.”

  The baron blinked down at the blade embedded in his gut. A crimson stain spread across the lower part of his tunic. His eyes dampened with dismay.

  “Never will I forget the moment you cut him down,” de Lanceau said. “Never will I forget how you betrayed my father, who had once called you his friend. Neither will I forgive how you sullied my family’s honor with false accusations of treachery.”

  A shrill gurgle bubbled from the baron’s slackening mouth. His fingers tightened on his sword, tilted downward. Was he going to dare one last attack?

  Devious bastard. Aldwin aimed his crossbow.

  “Today,” de Lanceau said softly, “my father is finally avenged.” He yanked his sword from the baron’s flesh.

  “Bas”—blood peppered Sedgewick’s lips—“tard.” His body swayed. His eyelids drooped, and he appeared on the verge of collapse.

  “At last, you are punished for what you did to my father, me, and my lady wife.” De Lanceau looked to his men-at-arms. “Be certain—”

  The baron’s slitted eyes opened. His mouth curved in a bloody sneer. His whole body quaked as he hefted his sword.

  Click. The bolt flew from Aldwin’s crossbow. It plowed straight through the baron’s forehead, splitting flesh and skull.

  His body fell back onto the straw.

  Glancing at Aldwin, Geoffrey grinned. “Thank you.”

  Aldwin smiled and nodded. Then he stepped forward and handed the pendant to de Lanceau.

  “Your mission is complete,” his lordship murmured.

  “Not quite, milord.” A sharp pain pinched Aldwin’s heart. Returning the pendant to de Lanceau seemed the easiest part of his mission. Far simpler than resolving his relationship with Leona.

  A feminine-sounding grunt snapped his gaze to the dwindling fight between de Lanceau’s men and the mercenaries. When he spied Leona, clutching a tall silver candlestick with both hands, his eyes widened. Near her, Lord Ransley was helping two other men-at-arms bind an unconscious thug.

  Before Aldwin could march toward Leona, she brought the weapon swinging around to crash into the head of the mercenary who’d restrained her, who’d been brought to his knees by two men he recognized: Twig and Sir Reginald.

  With a groan, the mercenary crumpled to the rushes.

  Sir Reginald beamed. “Excellent work, milady!”

  Thrusting his skinny fist in the air, Twig cheered. “Only a few thugs left.” His eyes twinkled. “Did I tell you what we did to the ones in the bailey?”

  Sweeping hair from her face, she shook her head.

  “We followed your advice from the tavern, milady.” Twig grinned. “We fetched them all a drink!”

  God’s blood. Trying very hard not to scowl, Aldwin started toward them, still unnoticed by the three.

  Leona frowned. “What do you mean, ‘a drink?’”

  “We served them that wine from the storeroom.”

  “Oh, Twig—”

  “A special reward from Veronique, we said. Got a quick drink into them before his lordship and Dominic attacked.” Twig tapped his head. “We could not have come up with such a brilliant plan without you.”

  At the crunch of Aldwin’s boots, Leona looked his way. She smiled warmly.

  Twig, however, bellowed and rushed forward, brandishing his sword. “You! You are that knave who—”

  “Twig!” Leona shouted. “He is our friend.”

  Stomping to a halt, Twig frowned. “Did he not insult you at the tavern? Kidnap you?”

  “Aye,” she murmured. “But ’tis all over now.”

  All over now. How three words could imply so much.

  Aldwin passed by Twig and halted before Leona. Her beautiful eyes glistened.

  “Are you all right?” He was relieved to see the blood at her neck was dried and not still flowing.

  “Aye. You?”

  He nodded. How he wished they could be alone, to confirm to each other they really were unharmed. He’d examine her body bit by tantalizing bit, with his lips, tongue, hands—

  “Milords,” Twig said, hauling Aldwin from his lustful thoughts.

  Leona’s father strode to them. So did de Lanceau.

  Ransley dropped into a respectful bow. “Lord de Lanceau.”

  “Lord Ransley.”

  His grizzled head still bent, Ransley said, “I owe you the greatest apology, milord. I failed in my duties to you, as I failed my daughter.”

  “Lord Ransley—”

  “I vow before you and these witnesses”—he straightened, trembling—“that I will never again taste a drop of drink.”

  De Lanceau’s eyes narrowed before he glanced over at the warriors guarding the defeated mercenaries, and then the castle folk gathered nearby. “Later, we will discuss this matter. Lord Ransley, you will remain in this hall with my men. Until Veronique is found—”

  Footfalls echoed from the upper level, along with a child’s plaintive cry. As Aldwin glanced up, and the others around him turned to look, Veronique strolled out onto the landing with Tye in her arms. Dominic and four other men with drawn swords surrounded her.

  Tye clung to Veronique, his arms wrapped around her neck. Tears shone on his face. “Mamaaaa.”

  “Quiet.” Her gaze shifted to Sedgewick’s corpse, but her expression remained indifferent.

  “Did you search her for knives?” de Lanceau called to his men.

  Dominic nodded. “We found only some jewelry. Since the pieces were likely stolen from this keep, I confiscated them.”

  Veronique’s attention settled
on de Lanceau. She cupped the back of Tye’s head with one hand and kissed his brow. A tender gesture. Her features didn’t soften, though, and her stare remained icy. Misgiving hummed in Aldwin’s mind.

  “A wise decision, to yield,” de Lanceau called to her.

  Veronique smirked. Her expression raised the fine hairs on the back of Aldwin’s neck. She was plotting something. But what?

  She moved closer to the landing’s railing. The men-at-arms followed, staying a short distance away.

  “Yield to you?” Veronique laughed.

  The sense of unease inside Aldwin rose to a clamor.

  Beside him, de Lanceau frowned. “You still defy me? You cannot escape my men.”

  Her mouth contorted into a smile of pure malice. “You have lost, Geoffrey.”

  “The railing,” Aldwin choked.

  That same instant, she grabbed Tye around the waist.

  Geoffrey roared. “Get her away from—”

  Veronique threw herself to the railing and held Tye at arm’s length.

  Over the steep drop to the hall floor.

  Tye’s body went rigid. He screamed.

  “Oh, God,” Leona moaned.

  A gasp rippled through the crowd in the hall.

  As the shrill echo of Tye’s scream faded, Veronique grinned. “Lost.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Leona pressed her free hand to her throat, unable to tear her gaze from the sight of Tye dangling like an oversized doll in Veronique’s hands. Tears welled in Leona’s eyes, for he still held the amber. His fingers clenching it looked as white as bone.

  “Mama!” he whimpered.

  If Veronique let go, he’d be severely injured in the fall.

  Or killed.

  His shuddered breaths—sounds of sheer terror—carried in the tense stillness pervading the hall. Leona’s arms ached to embrace him and hold him tight, and promise he’d never be that frightened ever again.

  As she stared up at Veronique’s triumphant face, anger flared. Did Veronique have no care for her son? How could she use her own child in her grievances against de Lanceau?

  Dominic tipped his head to the men-at-arms behind her. At the same moment, she said, “Order your men to step away.”

  “Stop this cruelty.” Geoffrey growled. “Put the boy down.”