Harlequin Historical September 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Annie Burrows

  What he wanted to do was grab Ian of Warstone’s hand and slice across it with a dull knife, then take the other hand and slice it as well. And if he got that opportunity, he wasn’t sure he’d stop there with his blade.

  That bastard hadn’t touched Margery in all the weeks he’d had her. Not once—not in any overt way, not in any way. Then last night he’d dined in the Great Hall instead of in his chambers, and he had walked beside her as if presenting her.

  For what—or whom?

  Evrart wished he could curse, could rail and roar. Instead, he shifted, and even that seemingly innocuous movement had caught Ian’s attention, for he looked him over with one brow raised.

  Damn. Lord Warstone had played a Warstone game last night, and it could have been for no one except for some new usher named Louve and a new cook named Biedeluue.

  Two people hired by the steward after Evrart had left. Two people who had inexplicably held the interest of Ian.

  No one who held his interest was safe.

  Which meant they’d either crossed him in their duties as his servants, or they weren’t his servants at all. They were something else. But who were they? And what game did they play?

  He knew they were suspicious. He’d been in Ian of Warstone’s employ long enough to know that things weren’t always as they appeared. So he had watched, he had been careful, and he’d noticed that neither of them had retired to their rooms last night.

  His need to protect Margery had forced him to extend his search beyond what was safe for him. After all, a search of the grounds would take him far away from protecting Ian of Warstone—a duty he hadn’t failed in a decade.

  But they hadn’t been in the fortress, nor in the courtyard, which meant they must have been in one of the buildings surrounding them.

  Now he heard a familiar herald which chilled his blood. The herald announced that Lord Warstone’s unstable and scheming parents had arrived at Warstone Fortress for an unexpected visit.

  He wanted to storm across the courtyard, to fight, to train. Not stand here for one more—

  ‘You seem restless this morning,’ Ian of Warstone said.

  ‘Perhaps your personal guard has grown tired of guarding you, my son, and desires to finally be where he belongs. By my side,’ Lady Warstone said, in that serene gentle voice.

  Neither of them actually addressed him, and he knew better than to answer, despite the fact the Lady of Warstone stood in front of him, her hands clasped in front of her, was staring at him expectantly.

  ‘If he wished to be part of your guard, he would have already made the request—or more expediently earned my displeasure to be set free,’ Ian said.

  If he’d earned Ian’s displeasure, being reprimanded wouldn’t have been a worry...losing a hand would have been more likely.

  ‘I am surprised Balthus has not asked for him.’

  Balthus was Ian’s youngest brother, and had entered the gates with Ian’s parents. It was odd because the brothers, raised as enemies since birth, rarely kept each other’s company. And yet here they all were.

  Another matter that made Evrart seethe for a way to free Margery.

  ‘Balthus wouldn’t dare ask for anything of mine,’ Ian said.

  Lady Warstone huffed. ‘I would. Simply standing there, all silent and menacing, he’s magnificent... Think of what he’d be like at court. You don’t take him often enough; those soft nobles would fall all over themselves if you used him as he was truly meant to be used.’

  Ian shrugged. ‘He’s got brothers—find them.’

  ‘They’re too far away to be convenient.’ She pouted.

  Evrart was thrilled that Guiot and Yter had thwarted her schemes, but at the same time concerned to know that Lady Warstone not only knew of them, but had made enquiries. Which meant Lady Warstone or one of her mercenaries had visited his home.

  ‘Now you’ve made him nervous!’ Ian laughed. ‘Don’t concern yourself, my good warrior, your family is safe. My mother wouldn’t be so short-sighted as to lose your good measure.’

  His opinion of the Warstones had been low the moment he had known they existed and couldn’t be any lower. He was already in hell.

  His eyes searched the courtyard, looking for any overt manipulations as Ian and his mother slipped into conversation. He should listen, but couldn’t keep his mind on them.

  Near the gates, the elder Lord Warstone must be telling quite a story to Ian’s guards and his own men. His gestures were large and the men were leaning forward, the younger ones with their mouths agape.

  That, too, was most likely a tale he needed to hear. Information was essential for survival here. But he couldn’t stay at present, and he’d already met the guards of both homes. In good time, he’d direct them again in their duties. For now, his thoughts were with Margery’s precarious position.

  In addition to the senior Warstones presence, there was already danger here. He needed to address the deeds of one suspicious usher, Louve, and a terrible cook named Biedeluue—because although he hadn’t caught them in any act, he had, when the Warstone gates had opened for Ian’s parents, seen them slink away from the ale house.

  The ale house wasn’t built for a tryst—not with its cobwebs and dank dirt. No, the only reason they would have been there was to converse, to spy...to poison the ale?

  He needed to discover their intentions. Soon. But he couldn’t while he stood dutifully by as Ian conversed with his mother, his father caused the guards to laugh, and Balthus was out of his sight.

  None of these people were trustworthy. All of them were threats to Margery.

  She’d hinted that she came from nothing, that before she’d met Ian, she hadn’t lived in a home that was safe. She had told him she knew what danger was, but he hadn’t listened. It didn’t matter. Her home might have been terrible, but nothing was like Warstone Fortress.

  Here, they smiled and clucked about ‘convenience’ whilst they played with people’s lives. But at least Margery had him, and he meant to keep her safe.

  Safe!

  He needed to tell her to be careful, and never to go near Ian’s parents. To run away if the new usher, Louve, or the cook, Biedeluue, approached her.

  But he couldn’t. Because he had a duty to stand quietly and look menacing. If he played his hand—if he hinted he was concerned about anyone other than Ian—Margery wouldn’t be safe.

  ‘No, no, I don’t want to go inside yet.’ Lady Warstone told Ian, gazing at her husband, who was still talking with the guards. ‘Let’s go to the garden, where we can sit privately. I have missed you much.’

  ‘I thought you only missed Balthus,’ Ian said.

  ‘That is one matter we need to discuss...where is he?’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ian muttered. ‘The other...brother was last reported to be in France.’

  ‘He’s no longer your brother, but I do want to know where he is.’ She glanced at Evrart, licked her lips before her eyes returned to her son. ‘Do you have it?’

  Ian paused so long, Evrart wondered if this was the time he needed to guard. If this was the end. Because the only way to defend one Warstone against another was with his life. He braced.

  ‘No,’ Ian said with finality. ‘Nothing is here that you want. Nothing.’

  ‘How...disappointing.’ She waved her hand towards Evrart. ‘You’re dismissed.’

  ‘Mother...’ Ian warned.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she scoffed. ‘What does it matter where he gets direction, as long as he follows it?’

  Evrart stayed still. His life, his family, and now Margery depended on his obedience to Ian and Ian alone. Or at least the appearance of it.

  Ian smiled. ‘Very, very good, Evrart. Proving again why I rewarded you. You’re free.’

  Rewarded? He had received no reward. But he did know what he’d do with his freedom.
>
  ‘Thank you, my lord.’ He strode away before they could change their minds. He needed to get to Margery.

  All was not well with Ian of Warstone, nor was it secure in the fortress. He knew Ian had as little trust of his parents as Evrart, and would never have normally dismissed him.

  Evrart stormed across the courtyard.

  And Margery... Margery!

  He had not been able to see her last night. Had been barred from talking to her early this morning. How was her hand?

  He swore his own hand pained him because he hadn’t done anything in the Great Hall. He had ceased reasoning he couldn’t have stopped it, that he couldn’t have known. However, he’d spent years with Ian of Warstone, and he knew what that man was capable of. He noted Ian’s hold on his knife changed, but had thought he’d throw it at that usher or the cook.

  Ian had kept Margery a prisoner, but he’d never harmed her.

  Were the usher and cook there to harm her?

  He’d been gone for weeks, sent away by Ian, and he didn’t know these two. By all reports it was the steward who had employed them. The steward had been with the family long before Evrart had been hired, and his obsequious behaviour grated so he avoided the man as much as possible. But the steward wouldn’t have hired either of them without Ian’s approval.

  A fact he could have asked the steward. However, while he had been away the steward had been sent away too, on a personal task to collect goblets—which was ridiculous and beneath the steward in every way. Almost more so than Ian sending his personal guard as he would a messenger.

  All these changes were alarming.

  Ian didn’t make changes because it wasn’t safe to do so. Anyone new was observed by Lord Warstone himself, and then scrutinised by his personal guard for months after that.

  Were these two the true reason Ian had sent him away? Were these two being hired by the steward the reason that weasel had been banished as well?

  Evrart didn’t know. He’d have to watch them—and not because he was guarding Ian. No, if these two were dangerous, it was his duty to protect Margery. As he should have done last night.

  He’d felt that cut across his own palm! He’d barely held himself in check when it had occurred, and even less so when Ian had held her hand up to his cheek...like a lover who cared.

  The sheer possessiveness he’d felt at that moment had unbalanced him. He’d wanted to roar, to lay waste to everything around her until she was in his arms again. And all the more because they had argued before she’d gone into that corridor with Ian, and she purposely avoided him. Why had he said such words to her about his mother and Peronelle when he’d had no time to tell her more?

  She’d guessed he was here to protect his family, but from her reaction he hadn’t explained enough. He should have told her he was here for her, too, to keep her safe. But then, what did he know about her being here?

  Why hadn’t he asked more questions of her? What had happened at Roul’s to make Ian take her prisoner? Was she part of a scheme or completely at the whims of a madman? Why had they talked of colours he could never see and wanted to so badly because of her? He knew hardly anything of her—and she was everything to him.

  Standing behind her and Ian, watching the Lord of Warstone dote on a woman whom he kissed, touched, laughed with, had been agony. Wretchedness. And it had released in him a possessive rage he could barely contain.

  For now, he didn’t have to. Ian was occupied, as were his parents. He didn’t know where Balthus, Louve or that woman Biedeluue were, but he didn’t care.

  He wrestled with his unfamiliar emotions, knowing he needed to get them under control before he saw her, but he couldn’t.

  His instinct was to get to Margery and hope she could soothe the beast that he’d suddenly become.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘Are you going to stand in there and not come to see me?’

  Margery didn’t know what Evrart was doing, but she’d watched out of the window and seen him stride across the courtyard as if the Great Hall was on fire. When she had heard his heavy steps, and his door opening and closing, she’d waited.

  After all, he knew she was in here—and why else would he have come to his rooms in the middle of the day if not to see her? Now, when he didn’t open the connecting door, she’d had enough. He might not want anything to do with her, but there was so much to tell him. To warn him of!

  He seemed...overwrought. His hands were clenching at his sides and his chest was heaving as if he’d run uphill. She didn’t know what she’d expected to see when she released the latch, but Evrart just standing on the other side of the door wasn’t it.

  ‘Are you harmed?’ There was no one behind him, and yet... ‘Is there danger?’

  He stormed over, grabbed the door and her elbow. When he began to push her back, she dug her heels in.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said.

  ‘You can’t be in here.’

  His voice was rough, low, and brooked no dispute.

  ‘So we stand here, in between, then,’ she said, her voice cracking. This was so hard! She should have protected herself better. Then she wouldn’t feel this hurt. ‘There’s something I need to tell you. To ask of you.’

  He released her. ‘Your hand...’

  ‘It’s wrapped.’ She raised it before them. It was only the shock of it that caused her to cry out.

  ‘He cut you. Hurt. You.’

  Evrart was always so controlled, so careful of his movements, of his words. She’d never seen this fierceness in him before, and the longer she stayed quiet, the more Evrart seemed as if he was to reach for his sword and storm the battlefield.

  ‘I cut myself first, remember? People have cuts.’ The cut she’d made to distract Ian’s attention from Biedeluue had been deep, and still caused her pain. Ian’s had been shallow. More like a scratch. ‘They’ll be healed soon enough.’

  His nostrils flared. ‘Why did you open the door?’

  What had happened to him while he was away? What was happening to him now? His words were cutting, harsh, and clipped at the ends. She felt his emotions crashing against her. He was the one who had told her they couldn’t be together. This anger had to be at something else.

  ‘I saw you walking here...heard you open your door.’

  ‘But I didn’t open the connecting door. Did you not think, for one moment, that there may be a reason I didn’t?’ he said.

  She hadn’t. Because she had known he was there and, despite the fact he wanted no future with her, she needed to tell him of her sister, to ask him if he could help her. Since she was locked in here, she had no choice but to beg Evrart. And she needed to know if the new arrivals were friends or enemies. Nobody came to the fortress that she knew of, and now her sister had appeared last night, and new people had arrived in the early morning.

  ‘You were there and I needed to talk to you,’ she said, fully aware that she was repeating herself. But he looked so shocked, she wasn’t certain he was understanding what she was saying.

  ‘You didn’t know if it was safe,’ he said.

  That hardly mattered. She’d been locked inside when she was used to independence. If she had access to the outside, she’d be there now. The fact she had access to different rooms was hardly any compensation, but while she did, and he was near, she’d always open the door.

  ‘You have to stay safe!’

  He grabbed her arms, held her still. His grip was almost gentle, almost fierce. The tension in his palms vibrated up her arms. Why was he so concerned? There was no future between them.

  Right now, she just wanted her sister out of this fortress and to know why more people had arrived. So, though it hurt just looking at him, though she felt tears prick at her eyes and anger at his callousness stab at her heart, she needed to stand here and talk—for her family. Then, afterwards, when he’d left,
when he’d either said he’d help or he wouldn’t, she would curl herself up on the sill again.

  ‘This isn’t about me.’ She raised her chin, pleased her voice didn’t betray her. ‘Who are those people? They entered early this morning. I saw you standing with them.’

  He looked at her hands lying on his forearms, his brow raised, his eyes wide. She’d shocked him. But when he looked at her again she saw beneath the swirling brown and blue a banked heat.

  He swallowed. ‘Ian didn’t say?’

  ‘I didn’t see him. He was in the other chamber and quickly left.’

  It was how it had been since he’d returned. Some days he ignored her—other days he muttered of matters she wasn’t certain she wanted to know about. Like brothers’ betrayals and how proud he was of them. Like poison and fools. A smattering of words that made no sense and frightened her all the same.

  Evrart pulled back slowly until their hands were released and air cooled her skin. ‘They are his parents.’

  She blinked, relieved. She couldn’t imagine Ian having a family, but if they’d come then perhaps Ian’s attention would be on them instead of her sister.

  ‘That’s good, then, isn’t it?’

  He looked aghast. ‘Haven’t you heard any rumours at all?’

  She had. Roul had talked of Ian when he had arrived there, and she’d asked some of the servants, but nothing before that.

  ‘They’re dangerous. So is Ian. So was my life before.’

  His hands were outstretched, as if to grab her again, but he pulled them back, looked at them as if he didn’t know what they were doing.

  ‘No, this is nothing like before. Ian’s not well.’

  ‘What does this have to do with his parents?’

  ‘Everything to do with them since they’re the cause of it.’ Evrart shook his head. ‘I’ve been with him for a long time. His reason is slipping. I don’t know how much is truth from him. He’s more dangerous than before.’