‘So he threatened your sister and mother.’
‘He knows I don’t want to be here. Coin alone wouldn’t purchase me. He didn’t threaten to harm them or ruin them.’
‘He threatened to kill them?’
‘At first I declined. I was all my mother had, and she needed me for farming. He offered coin...and then a threat. He took me because I had no choice. It was their lives or mine.’
He gave her time to understand, and when she nodded he thought she did. Her eyes were no longer warm, or concerned, they were...they were still her.
‘You send your coin back to help them?’
‘I do—but my life is not my own. Please believe me, if it was—’
She held up her hand. ‘I believe you more than you can know.’
It was she who took steps away from him, holding her arms around her waist. And this time she shook her head as if the conversation she was having with herself was one she didn’t want to hear.
‘You kissed me,’ she said.
‘I’ve... I’ve never broken from him until you. You need to know what I’ve done. What needs to be done now—’
‘And then you kissed me again. You burst into this chamber after not saying goodbye...for this?’
‘I had to.’
‘You had to? For your own selfish reasons, you are here now. You could have told me this before. You risked him seeing us like this, you kissed me so that I have to lie to the Warstone, risking my life to do so, to tell me that we...we can’t be together?’
What could he say? Words that might make it sound less harsh...but she spoke the truth.
‘Margery, please—’
‘No. This was... You guarded me before, as well as any of these cold stone walls, but no more. I won’t have it. It should be different now that we have shared...now that I have waited. I hoped we were different. I hoped you were different. I wouldn’t have—’ She pulled herself up. ‘I would have protected myself from you. Get out. Go. You tell me there’s no future? Then there’s none.’
He took a step towards her, saw the shadows on her neck from a kiss that would permanently mark his heart. Keep her safe, when he had harmed her?
‘Christ, I’ve hurt you.’
‘Your kiss didn’t hurt me—your words just now did.’
He had hurt her—he saw it, and there was no comfort for that pain. None whatsoever. He was a fool, and for once—for just this one time—he needed to do the right thing.
So he left.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘You look beautiful, my dear,’ Ian said smoothly as he scratched a quill across the parchment on his desk. ‘I do wish you’d tell me how you injured yourself.’
She waved her hands and fingers around her neck. ‘I bruise so easily. If I stopped to remember how I got them, I wouldn’t get anything done. I’ve even got one on my leg. I wonder if I bumped into something...’
He looked at her leg, but then bent his head and continued to scribble. Did he guess she had hit herself in different spots, to mask the bruises Evrart had put on her neck? She’d been able to think of no alternative. She didn’t want any harm to come to him, though it didn’t mean Ian wouldn’t harm her.
Evrart had left the room, and she’d barely righted herself before Ian strode back. He’d taken no notice of her and, since she preferred this room to the others, she’d curled herself up on a bench to stare out of the window while Ian had gone about changing his clothes and sitting at his writing table.
How long had it been since Evrart had held her only to say goodbye? It had felt like forever in that kiss—as if he’d missed her and wanted her. As if she was worth the risk. Instead, he’d told her of his family and said they had no future.
She did understand—fully, completely—about protecting a family. She protected her own. She also understood about protecting herself. That she’d been doing all her life. Her decisions over Josse and Roul had put her soul at risk, but she had gone against her own self-preservation instincts for her family.
It seemed Evrart had done the same. He worked for Ian—a man he despised, who threatened him—and he didn’t defend himself because he protected his family against the Warstone.
But she had gone further than Evrart. With Evrart, she hadn’t defended or protected herself. She had pulled him towards her, held him. She had kissed him and hadn’t hidden. She had been alone with him in this room and had felt no fear, only need and want. She had felt...love. She had thought Evrart felt the same.
A future with him would be difficult, given their loyalty to their families and the threats against them, but she had included him. Had thrown away her instinct to protect herself to be with him. Something she hadn’t thought she was capable of except with her family.
She’d thought he saw her. Evrart couldn’t see the colour of her eyes or her hair, like everyone else. What did he see, then, when he looked at her? Did it matter when she could feel the cavern of her own heart cracking wider?
He didn’t want her—wasn’t willing to risk being with her.
Right now, she was fiercely grateful for the prick of pain under her jawline—a reminder to her this man had held her fiercely. Held her. Maybe she could pretend a while longer that he meant to keep her.
‘Your lip is swollen,’ Ian said.
She jumped.
‘Everything is well?’ he asked.
Not with the lumps of fear rolling through her stomach, Evrart’s crushing kiss... ‘When I harmed my leg, my hand flew up and hit my face.’
‘Clumsy.’ Ian blew across the parchment and set it aside.
‘I have always been clumsy.’
And even more so now, with these words. Who hit themselves in the face? Did he believe her? It was difficult to tell, since he wasn’t raising his head. There wouldn’t be a chance she’d believe it.
He looked busy with his task. ‘Are you hungry?’ Ian pulled another parchment in front of him.
She welcomed the change of subject. ‘I am looking forward to dining in the hall.’
He raised a brow. ‘You do not like living in my quarters?’
A mistake! ‘Everyone would love to live in your quarters.’
What to say next? That she had overstayed her welcome? That she’d soon go mad if she looked at the same cracks in the stone? It was lavish confinement. If she complained, she had no doubt her comfort would be taken away.
As if Ian knew her thoughts, he smirked. ‘You are clever. Too bad you weren’t clever enough to avoid me in that corridor.’
‘I avoided you when I ran the other way and hid in the kitchens...when I told no one. And I’ve told no one since.’
He tapped the quill and began to write again. ‘Didn’t you tell me you knew nothing to tell?’
What was wrong with her? She’d blame this on Evrart too. Her heart hurt! Her words were being skewed. It wouldn’t matter if Evrart had put a stop to any life they might have with each other. Ian could end her life now.
‘What happened to that woman in the corridor?’ she asked.
‘What woman?’
Why had she asked? If she said too much she’d reveal what she knew. ‘The one you were with in the corridor when you spotted me.’
‘Oh, she is dead.’
She was going to be sick! But why it surprised her she didn’t know, since she’d already guessed.
‘Once you had spotted her, I couldn’t use her to deliver my message because she might have talked of you.’
He said everything so coldly. Easily. And he had killed that woman because she had gone down to the kitchens to eat. The thought...
She didn’t want to think.
Had her brothers received her note saying that she was in danger? She hoped they hadn’t. She now truly understood that they couldn’t help her, but she consoled herself that at least they’d know
where she was, that she was thinking of them...
‘You’re wondering when I’ll let you go?’ He blew on the new ink and then took both parchments to lock them inside the small chest on the table.
‘I’m always wondering what you’ll do to me.’
He stood, inspected his hands, and straightened his tunic. ‘I know, with certainty, that you’re not always thinking of me.’
She hoped he meant when she was sleeping. He couldn’t mean when she was with Evrart. He couldn’t know of that.
‘What will you do with me?’
‘You keep asking me that question. For now, I can let you know you’re doing as I hoped.’
‘Questioning you?’
He smiled. ‘Are you getting comfortable with me that you should use such a tone? Interesting...’
What was happening to her? As a child, she had defended herself—as an adult she sought the protection of her family. Because she loved him, she’d included Evrart under that protection.
Now she wasn’t even trying to protect herself. With her casual words, she had willingly handed Ian of Warstone the blade to slice her throat.
Bracing herself for a verbal or physical attack, she watched Ian stride towards her. But he held up his hand for her to rest her own upon. Like royalty. It was a farce!
‘For now,’ he said with utter calm, ‘I am escorting you to dinner.’
She couldn’t.
‘Come, now. I have such few opportunities to do a kindness and not have any consequences. This is one of them.’
Ian eyed her hand and the arm he held out. She laid her hand on his arm, and he patted it as if he was some source of comfort, when he was the cause of pain.
‘You’re here because I want to see if I can’t do some good for someone who has given me loyalty. I have to admit I thought you might be useful in other ways, but I’m running out of time and there’s still so much to do. Most of it is ready...yes, most... But...’
Ian had to suspect something, but his step was steady, his hand still and his breath even. Margery was loath to accept his support, but she did. Out to the corridor and towards the stairs, down one after the other... All she needed to do was not trip and fall—
‘You’ve gone quiet.’
Because she only had more questions, and she wasn’t certain she wanted answers—not from a man who spoke in incomplete riddles. Because this man frightened her, and she couldn’t get the hand on his arm to stop trembling.
She was all too certain now that he suspected Evrart, and yet...was he talking of Evrart and her? He had talked of her tone, but his voice...he almost seemed happy.
The hall was full, noisy...no more or less so than she’d seen over the years at different houses and on different occasions. She was a mistress, not a wife. She had been constantly subjected to sights not meant for any true maiden’s eyes.
There were some men piled in the corner with a few women between them. Margery glanced at them once and then glanced away. She’d seen it all before and didn’t need to see it again—didn’t need to think about the fact she was, at this moment, exactly like them. She was mistress to a married man. The fact he hadn’t actually lain with her was of no consequence. She had made her choice when she made the decision to leave with Josse of Tavel.
Another sweep with her eyes, and she found herself taken aback by the opulence of the Great Hall. It had been too long since she’d dined here. When she’d had her freedom with Evrart she had simply wanted to be outside, in the gardens and beyond that. She knew of Ian’s wealth—the food and bedroom linens were testament to that—but the hall was overtly ostentatious. Kings should dine here—not small peasant villagers like herself. Still, Ian sat her on the dais, which made her terrified. It wasn’t her place—it wasn’t.
It was, however, Lord Warstone’s personal guard’s position.
Evrart stood a few steps behind Ian’s right shoulder. She couldn’t see him, but she felt his presence there. Felt his gaze on her head, on every movement she made. She wasn’t certain she could get food down though she was hungry.
‘I have an amusing story to tell you, my lord,’ Evrart said into the tense quiet.
Ian’s brows rose. Margery’s veins froze. She couldn’t see Evrart and warn him he was making a mistake. Why would he want to talk?
Her heart hurt, and he wanted to tell an amusing story? Their time together meant something to her. Meant...
Ian whispered to another guard, who quickly strode towards the kitchens. ‘Come, Evrart—entertain us.’
She could neither hear nor feel his heavy steps—not over the roaring in her ears and the thundering of her heart. She did, however, feel his gaze as he glanced at her, and then at Ian, and launched into the tale of the pigs escaping during training, which had Ian laughing.
Pained, Margery didn’t dare look at Evrart. Instead, she watched as a beautiful man walked unevenly towards the dais. Ian waved Evrart to the side as the man came closer. When he glanced at her, Margery swore his eyes widened in a way that was startled...and troubled. Why would this handsome man need to be worried?
She glanced at Ian, who had a predatory shine in his eyes which was frightening and completely confusing, given the content of his introductions.
Apparently, this man was the usher, and he and Ian talked of a new cook. As they bantered, the usher’s frown deepened, and Ian leaned forward in his chair. Nothing of what they said was alarming, but when she glanced behind them towards the kitchens she understood.
Because walking up the middle aisle, between all the tables and the sitting mercenaries, strode her sister Biedeluue. Her sister, who must have received her message and come to her rescue. Not her brothers...not even a neighbour with a hammer. Her sister—who was now most certainly as trapped as herself.
‘I don’t remember seeing you before,’ Ian said, easing back in his chair.
‘Is there anything of the meal that has displeased my lord?’ asked Biedeluue, but her eyes stayed on Margery.
Why wouldn’t she look away? She needed to look away. Ian noticed everything!
Margery picked up her goblet and took a drink. It was ale, and somewhat bitter. She tasted it again, set it down, and looked to see if anyone was pouring wine.
‘The food was adequate,’ Ian said. ‘In—’
‘The drink, perhaps,’ Bied interrupted.
What was she doing here? Her sister hated cooking, so why was she pretending to be a cook? She couldn’t possibly think she could rescue her... There was nothing her elder sister could do.
Margery felt ill...sick. The repercussions of this were beyond anything she could imagine.
‘The drink,’ Ian pronounced slowly, carefully, ‘was passable. Barely, and only because I allowed it.’
‘Any improvements, my lord, for the ale?’ Bied asked.
Why was Bied talking of ale? Margery felt Ian’s displeasure roll over her like some evil portent. His eyes were narrowed, his hand twitching. Was he reaching for his dining knife? She needed to take his attention away from her sister! But how?
‘You’re new.’ Ian leaned forward, his voice promising retribution. ‘And you’re asking many questions—which is something I do not, ever, tolerate. Who—?’
Margery grabbed his knife, pricked her finger, and cried out. All eyes went to her, and not to her sister. She felt pain in her finger, but relief in her heart, and was capable of taking her first true breath since Bied had entered the hall.
‘A cut, my dear?’ Ian asked.
His voice was all concern as he patted her hand, but his eyes... She knew those eyes well. Those were the pale eyes she had seen the day he had trapped her. This wasn’t the man who up in his rooms had spoken of rewarding loyalties. Whatever he was about to do wouldn’t be good, but as long as it was to her, and not to her sister, she’d take it.
Keeping her finger in
her mouth and her eyes wide and innocent, she nodded.
‘Here, let me help ease your mind of that.’
Ian grabbed the fallen knife, grasped her wrist, and before Margery could react, he sliced across her palm. The sting made her ignore her sister’s outrage, but not Evrart’s heavy footsteps—as if he had forgotten himself, forgotten he’d said goodbye.
‘See? Now one cut is worse than the other. Isn’t that better?’ Ian carefully wrapped a linen around the hand he’d damaged.
She nodded, unable to take her eyes off this predator with pale eyes. This man who terrified her.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the usher order Bied away and she was able to take another breath. All would be well—
Ian called to her sister, who turned.
‘I expect to be fed better on the morrow,’ Ian said.
Margery tried to take her hand back so she could leap to her sister’s defence if needed, but Ian cradled it to his face. Outwardly, it looked as if he was soothing it, but she knew better. It was a warning he’d cut her again—or worse.
When he finally let go, she sat still, waiting for him to strike. Waiting through a conversation about food that wasn’t about food. Some undercurrent seethed between all the parties that she couldn’t comprehend. It wasn’t only between Bied and Ian, but with the new usher, now at their side as keys were exchanged.
Then her sister’s eyes went to hers again, and Margery’s stomach plummeted. Her sister was up to something—but what? Schemes? Games? She looked worried.
All the while she was aware of Ian at her side, Evrart just behind him...
Him she felt most of all. She wanted to know if his stepping forward when her hand had been slashed meant anything.
But all she could do, when the meal was finally over, was avoid looking his way.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The morning’s early mist settled heavily on Evrart and soaked through his tunic. It was a fitting discomfort for the relentless hell he was being forced into.
Seemingly, he was standing in the courtyard of the Warstone Fortress, conducting his duties in directing his guards and guarding Ian of Warstone, who stood to his left. In his thoughts and his heart, however, he was grabbing Margery, who was locked in the private chambers, and escaping.
Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 56