by Tamara Leigh
She strained opposite. “Loose me!”
“Griffin!” called one on the other side of the door. Despite the dog’s vicious warning, there was no doubt it was an aged voice. But just because it did not belong to Bayard did not mean her brother was not there. And how unwell could Ulric de Arell be if he was not abed, as told by the strength of his voice and the shadow moving across the light slipping beneath the door?
His son turned Quintin from the door and thrust her at the man-at-arms who had followed his lord. “Return the lady to her chamber.”
The man was not big, but he was strong. Despite Quintin’s straining, he drew her toward the stairs as she tried to keep his lord in sight where he stood at the door speaking to the one on the other side.
Then the steps. Their negotiation was precarious owing to her resistance and the man-at-arms’ attempt to keep them both upright. But moments later, Griffin de Arell appeared. His quick descent parting the edges of his robe to reveal bare calves, he relieved his man of her charge.
Quintin slapped a hand to the wall. Finding no purchase, she was pulled into the corridor where the baron’s son and the young woman—doubtless, Lady Thomasin—remained outside their chambers, the latter’s eyes wide with what seemed more excitement than outrage. In back of them stood a rumpled Sir Mathieu before a handful of men-at-arms.
To Quintin’s surprise, her captor drew her past the chamber she had been given. Had she prevailed? Would he return her to her brother’s men?
“Rhys, Thomasin,” he said, “back to your beds.”
The boy slipped into his chamber, but the young woman made no move to comply.
As her father neared, she captured Quintin’s gaze. “You are as lovely as my father told, my lady.”
“Now, Thomasin!”
She sighed and closed the door behind her.
Shortly, the promise of the stairs and the hall beyond was yanked out from under Quintin when the baron pushed her into his solar.
His disarrayed bed before her, she whipped around. “What is this?”
He slammed the door in her face.
“Baron!” She wrenched at the handle, but he held the door closed on the other side where she heard him speak low, then Sir Mathieu’s equally unintelligible response.
Quintin slammed a fist on the door and recoiled over the pain. As she clasped her hand against her waist, the door opened, but this time De Arell left no space for her to slip past. He closed the door and gripped her arm.
She yanked and clawed as he drew her across the chamber, cried out when he thrust her onto his bed. She sprang to sitting, intending to launch herself off, but he barred her way.
“Again, I seek not your virtue, Lady Quintin. I but ensure you stay put.”
As she stared up at him, she felt strangely assured he would not force himself on her. But then, for what had he brought her within? “A man’s bed is an improper place for an unwed lady to stay put,” she said.
“I agree. Unfortunately, the alternative is to bind you, and I am certain you would like that even less.”
She caught her breath.
“Now stay, Lady Quintin.” He strode to the foot of the bed.
She wanted to defy him, but the threat of being bound held her to the mattress.
He raised his eyebrows. “I think it best you look away.”
Sinking her fingers into the fur coverlet that radiated the warmth of the one who had recently lain beneath it, she said, “Why?”
He loosened his robe’s belt. “I assume—perhaps wrongly—your lady’s sensibilities will be offended should I change clothes in your presence.”
“For what do you do so?” she demanded.
“A robe hardly suffices against the chill outside.”
Then he would release her?
He parted the robe to reveal a short undertunic.
“This is improper, Baron!”
“’Tis you who controls how improper it is.”
She continued to glare at him, but when he began to shrug out of the robe, she jerked her chin opposite and was distracted by the bed’s headboard. Elaborately carved into it was the mythical griffin, a creature composed of a lion, the king of beasts, and an eagle, the king of birds.
Such vanity! she silently denounced as her ears pricked to the rustle of clothes thrown off and pulled on, next the creak of leather.
She moved her gaze to the table on the far side of the bed, and there lay the Wulfrith dagger.
“’Tis increasingly obvious why you remain unwed,” Griffin de Arell muttered.
Bitterness pouring through her, she kept her fist from her abdomen. “Obvious?”
“You are disagreeable, Lady.”
Though tempted to inform him it was because of his brother she was not wed, she reached for the dagger instead.
“Leave it!” he snarled, and at her hesitation added, “I have no more patience.”
Keeping her shoulder to him lest he was not yet fully clothed, she said, “My father gifted it to my brother. ’Twas not mine to yield.”
“You did not yield it. I won it.”
As she ground her teeth, she heard a sharp snap that told he shook out his mantle.
“Come, Lady Quintin.”
She looked around. Relieved his eyes were once again more blue than black, she dropped her feet to the floor and said, “You have chosen the right course.”
A corner of his mouth moved. “Have I?”
“I cannot say how much easier it will go for you, but certainly better than if you did not release me.”
“You make it sound as if your brother is found.”
Dear Lord, he will be, will he not? she silently appealed. If not upon Blackwood, then…
She raised her chin. “When he is found—”
“If he is found.”
Knowing she would soon be outside Castle Mathe’s walls, perhaps leaving Bayard inside with the deadline to wed quickly approaching, she pushed down pride and anger and placed herself in front of Griffin de Arell.
He narrowed his lids.
“Baron, I know our families have long been enemies, that you distrust my brother as much as he does you, but I vow, Bayard is a good man. Though he may never love your daughter, he will make a fine husband—will not mistreat her or cause her to feel unwanted. He will do his duty to our king, and he will do it well.”
“Then I will rest easier should he appear in time to wed Thomasin.”
Counseling herself to proceed with caution, she touched his arm. “He has to be here.”
His gaze flicked to her hand, and she held her breath in anticipation of gaining what she sought.
But he reached past her, yanked the fur coverlet from the bed, and put it over his arm. “Follow.”
“For what do you bring that?” she asked as she hastened after him.
“You will need it.”
Something in how he said it nibbled at her. Considering what had transpired between them, it seemed too thoughtful a gesture to provide her such extravagant warmth once she was outside his walls. Was it, perhaps, a form of apology?
As she imagined crawling beneath the fur and yielding to fatigue, he led her belowstairs and through the hall. There was a restlessness about the great room, and she knew the commotion she had caused was responsible.
Passing the pallets of those seeking a comfortable position to resume their rest, she felt the glower of several and caught the words of one. “Deserves what’s comin’ to her.”
Certes, she had made no friends at Castle Mathe. Fortunately, she needed none.
She gasped when she followed the baron out into a night so cold she was tempted to ask for the fur. And she might have before they reached the outer walls had that been their destination.
The portcullis that accessed the outer bailey remaining lowered, Griffin de Arell opened the gatehouse door and motioned her in ahead of him.
Sticking her feet to the ground, hugging her arms beneath her mantle, she said, “I thought you meant t
o deliver me to my brother’s men.”
“There is a chamber in the southern tower I did not show you earlier.”
Certain all rooms were accounted for, since she had noted their windows before entering them to search out Bayard, she looked to the southern tower built into the inner wall. Only the first and second floor windows were visible from here, but she recalled the third floor room whose narrow window faced neither the keep nor the drawbridge in the outer bailey. Cut into the side, it allowed only a view of the inner wall to the right and the black wood flanking the castle.
“Do you not wish to see it?” the baron asked.
A hidden room, then? Where Bayard was held? She had considered there were such places within Mathe, and for it had paid close attention to the dimensions of the corridors and rooms she had been led through. But of course, of what use a secret room whose presence was obvious to one unschooled in building construction?
Ignoring the worry that continued to nibble at her, she stepped past him into the relative warmth of the gatehouse that warmed further when he closed the door.
The guard inside stood at attention, and though no word passed between the two men, he inclined his head as if in answer to an unspoken question.
“Stay near, my lady.” Griffin de Arell stepped around her to lead the way.
To Bayard, and then home to mother, she assured herself as she followed him down a corridor whose closed doors he had earlier opened to reveal weapons, supplies, and stores of dried food.
The stairway at the end of the corridor accessed the tower, and upon reaching its third floor landing, he threw open a door. It was not locked, which should have made her pull back, but she was so hopeful her brother was inside that she entered first.
It was the chamber she had earlier been shown, though then the brazier had been unlit, the bed bare of covers, and no basin and pitcher present on the table. The only thing glaringly familiar was Bayard’s absence.
CHAPTER SIX
Quintin swung around. “You have already shown me this room,” she accused, certain that whatever he intended she had made easier for him.
He closed the door. “Aye, but now ’tis much improved—for you.”
Recalling his exchange with Sir Mathieu when he had closed her in the solar, she knew he had sent his knight to ready the tower room for one he would not allow to disrupt his sleep again.
“You deceived me! You made me believe—”
“Only what you wished to believe, Lady Quintin. And all for the better, for I no more wished to put you over my shoulder than you wished to suffer the indignity.”
Tears pricking, she stared at him. Regardless of whether she turned left or right, walked forward or backward, one wall after another rose up before her. And this was the highest.
Weighted by every minute of this day and night, feeling as if the bones were going out of her, she crossed to the chair beside the bed and sank onto it. And wanted nothing more than to be left alone so she could fold over herself and hold her throbbing head.
The baron strode farther into the room, dropped the fur on the bed, and gestured at the basket near the brazier. “You have a good supply of coal, but as it will be some time ere the floors and walls warm sufficiently to make the room comfortable, you may require the fur.”
Quintin clasped her arms at her waist and allowed herself to lean forward just enough to more easily bear the burden clinging to her back.
“I trust now you will rest, as the castle folk and I shall, but should you decide otherwise, know that any effort to make a nuisance of yourself will mostly go unnoticed.”
Hating the longing to rock herself, she tightened her muscles.
“There is only one window, and as it is small and faces not the keep but the black wood, this is where those who overly protest their stay are accommodated.”
She closed her eyes and found such relief behind her lids she sank more into herself.
Impulsive, she silently berated. Even when you think ere acting, you do not always think well. Mayhap you are not as distant from the young woman who believed she could turn aside the blade Serle de Arell sought to sink into your brother—your warrior brother, who needed not your aid…who believes he is to blame. But ’tis you who are to blame. And Serle. And Constance.
She pressed a fist to her abdomen.
“My lady?”
Lifting her chin, she blinked at that man’s brother as he lowered to his haunches before her.
Was it concern on his face? And how were his eyes so blue with but a single, unenthusiastic torch lighting the room?
“Oh, Griffin, once again I make a mess of all,” she whispered, and distantly acknowledged she addressed him with too much familiarity—so much that even were he the one she would wed, she would not call him by his Christian name until they were husband and wife.
She moistened her lips. “You do not hold my brother, do you?”
His eyes widened slightly, and it was strange that it did not seem strange when he lifted a hand and cupped her jaw. “My word I gave, Quintin.”
She wondered how a voice hardly more than a whisper could be so deep. And wondered again at the temptation to turn her mouth into his hand. To which she yielded. And he allowed—until she loosed her breath against his calloused palm.
“Nay, my lady.” He drew back and stood, covering all of her in shadow. “This we will not do.”
The woman who seemed to have stepped outside of her slipping back in, she said sharply, “What say you?”
Mouth so dour it was hard to believe it had ever known private amusement, he said, “Whilst you are another man’s betrothed, this particular game I will not play.”
“Game?” She struggled to traverse her thoughts, but they were sodden, as if she had consumed too much wine.
He bent, gripped the chair arms on either side of her, and put his face so near hers that her attempt to wring out her thoughts was doomed. “You told you would rather put yourself through with a blade. That I almost believe. This I do not.”
She had said it—when he had mocked her ride on Castle Mathe and suggested she eagerly delivered herself as his bride. But what did he not believe?
Something shivered through her as she relived his hand upon her face, then her lips against his palm. Neither did she believe it, and yet she had done it, and with no thought for the game.
“As I intend you to learn, Lady Quintin, I am not my brother. Hence, no cause will I give you to put his sins on me.”
For that he had said that while she was promised to another, he would not play this game with her, believing she had responded to him to gain concessions.
And perhaps I did, she considered, for it was the only way to make sense of the senseless. Without conscious thought—goaded by the need to not only return to her mother but to survive—she sought to work her wiles on him.
Relieved she was not so foolish to feel anything other than aversion for the Baron of Blackwood, she sighed back into the chair. “Alas, you have found me out. Doubtless, your betrothed, Lady Elianor, will appreciate your constancy. Though, of course, as she is a Verdun, you may find yourself cuckolded, the same as her aunt and your brother cuckolded my brother.” She shrugged. “Unwitting justice, hmm?”
“Justice,” he rasped. “You believe the Boursiers deserve more than already they have been dealt?”
“My brother lost an eye.”
“My brother an arm.”
“My brother lost his wife.” She snorted. “Not that she was worthy to bear his name.”
His eyebrows rose. “Serle lost his betrothed, which as you know, was the cause of the cuckolding.”
She did, it being Bayard’s greatest regret that he had been so entranced with Constance Verdun’s beauty he had convinced her father it was better she wed a baron than a landless second son. And many times over he had paid for loving a woman who loved another man.
“Aye, the cause,” she said, “but that does not make right that your brother and that…woma
n defiled the marriage bed.”
He glanced down. His frown alerting her to the fist she once more pressed to her abdomen, she opened it and gripped that hand over the other in her lap.
“It does not make it right,” he agreed, “but neither is it right that still my brother and Lady Constance pay the price.”
Quintin knew that as well. For penance, Serle had been sent on a two-year pilgrimage from which he had yet to return—though surely it was by choice he stayed away—and in addition to Constance’s annulment of marriage to Bayard, she had been sentenced to live out her days in a convent.
The baron leaned nearer. “Whereas, excepting the loss of an eye that hardly hinders your brother’s ability to wield a sword, your family carries on as if that day never happened. No lasting justice for the wrongs done my family.”
“None?” she nearly screeched. “I was there when—” She pressed her lips.
“Aye, I heard you were injured.” He moved his gaze down her. “But as told, no lasting justice for my family.”
Her hand sprang up, but he caught her wrist, denying her the satisfying sting of her palm against his cheek.
“So now we are alone, you would slap the limp smile from my face, hmm?”
Realizing she was trembling, and so strongly he had to feel it, she said, “Leave. Now.”
His grip loosened, but before she could pull free, he turned her palm up. “You have hurt yourself.”
She glanced at the abrasions on the lower edges of her hands. “I do not care to be locked in, as I am certain you would like even less.”
“The other hand as well?”
“Aye.”
He released her. “I will send salve and bandages.”
And she would not thank him for it.
“Rest well, my lady.”
When the door closed and the bolt slid into its hole, she allowed herself a small sob, then bent her head to her knees.
“Be here, Bayard,” she whispered. “Even if it means Griffin is a deceiver, be here. If you are not…”
She clasped her hands between her chest and thighs. “Lord, You know where he is. Pray, loose whatever chains bind him and return him to his family. And me to my mother.”