And Evrart. That proud, gentle giant. That moment they’d shared had been special. Now it was tainted. Regardless of whether he wanted her again, the fact they had been watched when her mercenary was at his most vulnerable...
‘Oh, Evrart can’t ever know... I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘Your sister said that to me once.’ Louve glanced to Bied.
‘This is not the time for jests,’ Bied uttered. ‘Where are you getting this humour—and would you please choose a disposition?’ Bied pulled Margery’s hand into hers. ‘Margery, we have to go. Your lip is cut and you flinched at dinner. Lord Warstone is hurting you.’
She wanted to ask questions of Bied, but she recognised her sister’s expression. She wouldn’t leave unless she understood. ‘It’s not Lord Warstone. Evrart...his personal guard...he’s big...and I don’t exactly... Do I have to explain this in front of him?’
‘No, you don’t,’ Louve said. ‘I understand.’
‘Yes, she does,’ Bied said. ‘Because I see her with a swollen lip. I see that my youngest sister has been hurt by some guard of Lord Warstone!’
Too many emotions clogged her throat. Too much worry. But she had to make her sister understand. Ian could be here at any moment.
‘Bied, it’s not what you’re thinking. He’s large. I jumped and we crashed. Please know that Evrart feels all the worst for it, but I... I don’t. You saw him act like an idiot, trying to cheer me...’
Bied flushed. ‘No more.’
‘It seems your sister likes more,’ Louve quipped.
At the sight of Bied taking umbrage against the man Margery giggled, then slapped a hand on her mouth. It made her lip sting, which was good. This wasn’t funny. Not at all. She was slowly unravelling from all the half-truths!
Bied took in a large breath and pointed at Margery’s hand. ‘Lord Warstone cut you in front of everyone. If you stay, how can you guarantee he won’t do it again?’
‘She can’t. That’s the Warstone way. Has it happened often?’ Louve asked.
How much to tell? Ian was a madman, threatening her life. He also mumbled late at night of his love for a wife long gone.
‘I don’t know him well enough, but Evrart says he’s been slipping.’
Bied gasped. ‘You surely can’t feel for him?’
‘If you heard Lord Warstone when he’s sleeping—’ Margery stopped. She would be as mad as him if she divulged so much.
Louve darted towards Bied and looked out through a different window. ‘They’ve left the stables. It’s time. I can’t guarantee what will happen if Ian sees us here. If we get trapped on that stairway, we’ll have trouble.’
‘What do we do?’ Bied said.
‘We leave her.’ Louve’s voice was absolutely full of certainty.
Bied shook her head. ‘We’ll all go. This... Evrart will follow.’
‘He can’t.’
Margery eyed Louve, who had repeated the same words. Someday she’d know the history of him...
Bied pointed at Louve. ‘What are you not telling me?’
‘He owes Lord Warstone a debt.’ Margery prayed her sister would understand. ‘Ian knows where Evrart’s family is.’
Bied took a step towards the door and shook her head once, then twice. ‘I didn’t come here for nothing.’
‘You have no weaponry...no training.’ Margery felt terrible at every flinch Bied gave. It was all the truth, and she needed to be brutal. ‘I wanted you to bring our brothers, who at least can fight. How are you supposed to get us past the guards? I’d hoped that with a few weapons and Evrart’s training, we would have a chance.’
Bied opened her mouth, closed it, then exhaled roughly.
‘Bied, if—’
‘You’ve been here for months,’ Louve interrupted. ‘Unless they’ve been trained by a demon himself, for years, nothing would give your brothers a chance.’
Margery looked away.
‘You must know that,’ Louve hissed.
‘When I told Evrart it was my sister in the great hall, he flew into a—’ Margery turned to Louve. ‘Oh, if Lord Warstone watches, does he hear?’
Louve gave one nod and then locked his eyes with Bied. ‘That means he knows who you are. We’re leaving.’
‘You truly care for him, don’t you?’ Bied said.
So much. And it appeared that this Louve not only cared for Bied but loved her.
‘I do. Swear to me that—’
‘No!’ Bied cried out. Louve seized her hands. ‘Stop grabbing my hands!’
He didn’t let go. ‘Not this time. Your sister is safe as long as Ian wants her to be. If we’re here when he enters the room, we’re dead. He’s been listening and he knows you are sisters. That’s why he wanted this game with me.’
‘Game?’ Bied said. ‘How many games can there be?’
‘Go. Go. Go.’ Margery pushed against her sister’s back. ‘I’ll find you. Ian can’t last forever. He’ll make a mistake.’
Margery kept pushing until Louve had got her safely outside the doors. The two guards there eyed them. Nothing was safe. Ian would be told. If he hadn’t overheard her and Evrart talking of Bied, he’d know there was a connection now.
And all she could do in this cursed room was wring her hands and lament!
Margery eyed the writing table with its parchments and quills. Or was there something else that could be done? Another message? And maybe this time her brothers would receive it...
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Margery heard a door closing gently behind her. Hours had gone by since Bied had delivered her tray of food. She’d been escorted once to the garderobe, and she’d dragged her steps to look through the archways. There’d been many people in the courtyard. But no signs of Evrart, Ian or her sister.
Pretending to care, she’d asked the guards where Lord Warstone had gone earlier, and for once they’d answered. A hunt. The guards seemed excited by it, but what could they possibly hunt at that time of day?
Evrart hadn’t mentioned a hunt, but she’d started to guess with Louve’s comments about everyone returning. She still didn’t understand when or how Balthus arrived...or why him being alive would matter.
And she wouldn’t know being trapped here!
She had almost broken down when the latch had locked her in again. All she could do was listen to the castle filled with noise, and the shouts of many. Some of it merry, but the rest... Exhausted, terrified, she lay in the bed under the quilts. If nothing else she could warm her cold body. For how long, she didn’t know.
A distinct heavy footstep, one she could hardly hope for; Margery turned in the bed. Evrart stood in the doorway to his private rooms. His brows were drawn, his jaw locked, and after he blinked and broke their eye contact, he rolled one shoulder and straightened, as if he was holding himself in.
When she sat up, he took one stumbling step after another until he knelt by her bed as if his legs had given out. She didn’t care about anything except that Evrart was here. She didn’t know how he felt, but she knew her feelings.
Shoving away the covers, she slammed between his arms and burrowed herself into him, her nose in his neck, her legs around his waist, her hands gripping, gripping, gripping, trying somehow to get closer, to be safer.
He stiffened, then he groaned and tightened his arms right back before loosening them. Hating that, she pinched his arm, and with a murmur he wrapped his strong arms around her more securely. Not as satisfying as when he’d tightened them, but better. Better because he sank a bit more of his weight against her, and that she loved.
Except he held her a bit too long, breathed her in longer than that, and whatever relief she had felt because he was here disappeared.
Pulling herself up, she brushed his hair out of his face. ‘You’re here. Why?’
‘Margery, something’s h
appened.’
‘My sister?’
‘She’s well, and the usher has her.’
There had definitely been something between them. Her heart eased, but not by much. Not when Evrart kept looking at her as if the world had changed.
She kept brushing his hair, his cheek, his hand. His face was cold as if neither of them could get warm.
‘Tell me. Are you hurt?’
She plucked at his clothing and craned her neck around him. Felt the broadness of his back and his laboured breaths. His breath should be sure and steady, not shuddering through him as if he’d run up a mountain.
‘What happened?’
He tightened his lips. His eyes dimmed. ‘Nothing that I want touching you.’
She pushed on his shoulder. ‘We’ve talked about this. I told you to stay safe. I told you to defend yourself. I can’t help you do that if you don’t tell me what is going on.’
‘I’m to keep you safe!’
She raised her chin. ‘Is that why you told me there was no future between us?’
His nostrils flared. ‘I’ll do what it takes—whatever it takes. I’ll protect you and that’s all you need to know.’
‘That’s it?’
Didn’t he realise she’d had enough of protection? Enough of being a prisoner at the whims of other people. She wanted to be right there by his side. Not watching him taking the brunt of it all.
She uncurled her legs and pushed off him. Kneeling before her, he was her height. With him staring directly at her it was hard, tapping her foot at her lover, but she’d do it if it would get her point across.
He slowly stood.
‘You have to tell me something or I’m walking out through those doors,’ she said.
‘They’re locked,’ he said.
‘Then I’ll go through your rooms.’
Evrart crossed his arms. ‘You’re not going.’
She waited for an explanation, and when he merely stared back, she darted.
He stuck out his arm and she smacked her head against his forearm.
Evrart cursed.
Holding her nose with one hand, she held out her other arm, warding him off. ‘Don’t you dare apologise.’
‘Why would you do that?’ he asked, prising her hand away from her face.
She could do nothing about the tears in the corners of her eyes. And her nose stung.
‘I told you what I would do,’ she said. ‘It’s you who stuck your arm out.’
He ran his roughened fingertips across her forehead, her temple. The scratch of his calluses soothed her. As did the concern in his eyes that she adored. He had to feel the way she did!
‘I’ll make this easy on you.’ She grabbed his hand. ‘Do you have any feelings for me at all?’
‘Any feelings?’ He swallowed. ‘No.’
She stepped back. What had she expected? She had told him she’d lain with men for coin, and even if he was different, he didn’t know what heartache she’d caused her family before that. She wasn’t worthy of him.
‘Well, then...’
Faster than she could react, he cradled her face in his lethal hands, tilted her chin until she kept her eyes with his.
‘I have every feeling when it comes to you.’
‘Oh.’
‘Some of those feelings you may not want.’
When he said it in that growly voice she wanted them all. She wanted everything from him. But that would take some time.
‘Tell me what happened.’
He dropped his hands.
Getting this man to tell her wouldn’t be easy, but if he had feelings for her he would. He now knew how much it meant.
‘I’m assuming whatever has happened isn’t life-threatening, otherwise you’d rush me out of here, but you’re scaring me. You’re hurting me by not saying anything.’
He clenched her hand. ‘Ian’s dead.’
Margery’s entire body jerked, and she reached back to grab at something. A weapon, preferably. ‘We need to get out of here. His parents will be after—’
‘They left before it occurred. Ian threatened them and they left swiftly.’
‘They’ll be back!’ She tried to wrench her hand free.
‘They won’t,’ he said.
‘Evrart, you’re not making sense. Who killed him? The parents can’t be far—’
‘Your hands are cold.’ He grabbed both her hands, searched her eyes. ‘You heard the sounds?’
The arrival of the hunt, the thunder of many feet, voices, shouts and cries...
She had waited for the clang of swords, but instead she’d been left with the silence. And now she knew that was the worst thing of all.
What use was he? He had been granted this oversized, ill-fitting, body and he couldn’t see the true beauty of the world. Everything was dark and grey. But he could protect. He could agree to serve a Warstone so that his mother and sister stayed alive.
He’d gained skills since then. After almost ten years in the Warstone Fortress he should have the ability to keep safe this one tiny woman who’d ridden into this courtyard. One fierce, brave, beautiful woman who wore a cloak far too big for her.
He had failed her! He’d meant to protect Margery and still she was affected. Still the violence of his life had touched her.
Those sounds... Had she heard Balthus fall? Ian? Had she heard the steward gasp for breath after he’d drunk the poison?
What was worse? Hearing those sounds and not knowing what they were? Or guessing what they could be? Wasn’t he here to protect her innocence? She didn’t need to know the evil of the world or what darkened his soul.
‘You give me nothing but silence? Still?’ she said. ‘I’m going.’
Perhaps it was worse to hear and not know? Maybe...maybe he could tell her something? Not all. Just enough so she would be informed and wouldn’t want to know anything else.
‘I’ll tell you. If...if you let me hold you whilst I do.’
She hesitated.
He released her hands, willed himself to step back, but failed. ‘I understand. You shouldn’t be... I shouldn’t be here, touching you. Everything’s changed.
Her clear eyes searched his, before she frowned. Fiercely. ‘I don’t want you to not hold me!’
Before he knew what was happening, she was in his arms.
She stiffened, then laughed. ‘I just can’t see what’s happening in that mind of yours if I can’t look into your eyes.’
‘You want to look at me?’
‘Evrart. You’re frightening me. Remember those feelings? This is one of them: I’ll always want to look at you!’
She wouldn’t after he’d told her what he needed to. He should have told her from the beginning. It wasn’t as bad as what he’d done in the past.
She’d kept that bright light in her eyes because they’d taken walks in the garden, picked quince, dined on beans with extra onions and hard bread. She’d befriended servants and they’d played games with her, like letting her into his room.
Had he ever made a friend or played games?
He tucked her onto his lap and she curled into him. So trusting...and she felt so right.
‘Was my sister there?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ He tugged at her gown so it covered her feet.
‘I could ask her to tell me, if that would be—’
He shook his head, rubbing his cheek against the softness of her hair, releasing that scent that grounded him.
She patted his hand. ‘Well, then...’
She was frightened. He needed to let her know some of the truth. He’d protect her from the worst.
‘We left for a hunt today, along with Ian’s parents. It was successful—but in more ways than one. While we were in that forest you can see from the windows Balthus, Ian’s younges
t brother, dropped from the trees. Do you know of the brothers? It’s Ian, Guy, Reynold and Balthus.’
‘Balthus.’
‘You know of him.’
‘I...my sister, and the usher, Louve, came to my room with food. Louve looked out the window and noted Balthus was with the party. They told me—’ She looked as if she wanted to say something, then changed her mind.
Shaking her head, she continued. ‘He didn’t say Balthus dropped from the trees. All alone?’
He wanted to pursue her sister and Louve coming to the room, but could hear the surprise, the wariness in her voice. They, too, had been surprised and wary. Anything else could wait.
‘There was no one else with him. His parents appeared delighted. Ian seemed resigned. But Balthus went up to him, clapped him on the shoulder. They didn’t say anything to each other. Just looked.’
‘At what?’
He didn’t know. Not truly. But he could guess.
‘Their parents raised the boys to be enemies to each other. Guy wasn’t mourned when he died—not even by his parents. There’s something going on with the two of them, though. They’ve been competing with each other, and Ian’s mind has been breaking ever since he gathered his wife and children and sent them away. I wonder if...if Ian tried to harm,258 or to kill, Balthus.’
Margery gasped. ‘But they’re family.’
‘Warstones are different,’ he said.
‘I can see that,’ she said. ‘Did Balthus kill Ian?’
If he talked of Ian’s death, he’d avoid talking of his own part in the day. The temptation was strong, but he knew that he was being a coward. He wanted to protect her, but she needed to know his wrong deeds.
‘On the road home, we saw the steward returning.’
‘Did he fall from the trees as well?’
She sounded confused. He understood that completely.
‘No.’
But the coincidence had been too much for Evrart. He’d walked home the rest of the way with his sword drawn. It hadn’t only been Balthus, but Ian who had been amused then.
‘I remember the steward from when I arrived. Did he kill Ian?’
He concentrated on his breath, which wouldn’t come. ‘He tried to—with poisoned ale.’
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