Defiant

by Kennedy, Kris

  Ry took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know what he’ll do without ye, Ry.”

  “So I’m supposed to just watch him die?”

  He heard Angus shift his bulk. “Well, now, Ry, I don’t know about ye, but I don’t aim to let him die. No matter how set on it he is.”

  For a moment they were quiet. Then Ry turned to him. “Everoot is two days’ ride.”

  “Less with fresh horses.”

  “First the doctor’s. He deserves that much.”

  “Quickly then, Ry,” Angus said as they started out of the stable. “Jamie looked awful determined, and I heard the king’s selling off estates.”

  JAMIE got Eva into an unused bedchamber—there were many, as the castle was hardly full. Chambers lined the walls and several of the guard towers. He simply opened the door to one of most distant, then directed two wide-eyed servants to bring bedstuffs and clothes and a brazier to the room of the widowed countess of Misselthwaite, who’d just lost everything when her baggage train was caught in the rushing tides of The Wash, and why in the king’s name had it not been done before?

  They stared wide-eyed at this unknown, irate nobleman shouting at them about something they should clearly have known. Then they bolted down the hall and, very soon, were back with all the ordered items as well as a few additional ones, such as candles and a plate of food and a polished metal mirror.

  Eva held the mirror to her face as the maidservant scurried about under Jamie’s scowl, preparing the bath with scented herbs, then hurried out. Eva poked at her cheek, still looking in the mirror. She tilted her face to the side and peered at her profile. Pale, skinny, resolute. These were the things she could see in her face. She could not look at Jamie too closely, else he’d see that last as well.

  She set the mirror down. “You have made this all very nice,” she said placidly, circling the room.

  “You’re going to be here for a while.”

  She touched the bedstead. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “’Tis an order, Eva.”

  She ran her hand across the bed hangings hurriedly looped.

  “You will wait here. I will manage this.”

  She glanced out the window; it looked down on the inner bailey. She pulled her head inside and turned. “Misselthwaite?”

  He shook his head with a weary smile.

  “I think it is a very good-sounding name. Perhaps our cottage is a Misselthwaite.”

  He reached for her hand, then pulled her to him. “Roger will be fine,” he murmured against her lips. “I shall see to it.”

  She did not respond, as Jamie could not see to such a thing. He would try, of course, with his noble heart, and be dead soon afterward. Since he had an earldom to claim, clearly this was not conscionable. Sacrifices must be made, but they would not be Jamie’s. Nor Roger’s.

  They would be Eva’s.

  Jamie had his arms around her. It was not something she could describe, the awareness that this good man wanted her, so she didn’t try. She pressed her cheek to his chest and they held each other, breathing together. She realized her heart was expanding. She could feel it, filling up her chest, down through her groin. Filling her with Jamie. She felt as if she were all one beating heart.

  That was a much better way to go out than any she’d ever imagined. And in ten years, one had time to imagine a great many unpleasant ways to go.

  They both heard it, the arrival of the king and his entourage. The clatter of hooves on the cobbles in the bailey, the shouts of men and grooms, barking dogs, servants scurrying about. Then doors slamming, hooves fading as the horses were led away. Bootsteps loud, then quieter, as the men circled the keep and entered.

  Neither of them moved.

  Hot, bulbous tears filled Eva’s eyes. It was unimaginable, all this crying since she’d met Jamie. She closed them and squeezed him tighter.

  He shifted, but only to bend his head and rest it on top of hers. The bones of his forehead pressed on her. His breath, low and even, warmed her ear. The powerful strength of him was, for a moment, in repose. He was readying, preparing. He was weary.

  Eva unlaced her fingers and slid them up his back and began rubbing his shoulders.

  He made a low rumbling sound, like a groan. “I must go,” he mumbled, not moving.

  “Yes,” she agreed, pressing her fingers down harder, kneading in deep circles. She felt his arms droop. “In a moment. But he is already here. There is naught to prepare for, no way to position yourself where he will come before he is there himself. So, you will take this moment and receive me.”

  He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up, smiling faintly. “I will receive you tonight, Eva.”

  “Perhaps a little, now?”

  “There is no time now.” But he was kissing her as he said it, so she knew there was perhaps a bit of time. He backed up, bringing her forward with him, until he sat on the edge of the bed. He pulled her onto his lap, facing him, her legs on either side. His long-lashed eyes were swept closed as he trailed a line of kisses down her throat, leaving hot, red places that throbbed when he moved away, sliding lower, his touch desperate and fierce and all about her.

  She could feel his desire in the thick rod of flesh pressing between her skirts, his fierce kisses, his ever-searching hands, and, most of all, in the almost inaudible murmurs spoken against her skin. What was he saying?

  She cupped the sides of his face and kissed. “Whatever it is, aye, I will,” she whispered, pulling at her skirts, tugging them recklessly up. He took over, wrenching them to her knees. He unlaced his hose swiftly and, without warning, lifted her up and lowered her down on him.

  “I said, do not ever leave me,” he rasped, his eyes on her.

  She threw her head back as he entered her. It was a swift, hard, messy coupling. They were like mad things for each other, teeth bumping, hands gripping, squeezing, hard, deep movements designed to emblazon and possess. It was as if even Jamie, whatever he would admit aloud, knew that perhaps this was the last time they would touch.

  He yanked at the ties of her tunic, unlacing them at the sides, and yanked down on her collar until he could close his hot mouth around her breast. He suckled as he pumped into her, lifting her on each surge of his hips, entering her deeper, his hands gripping her hips. In moments, she shuddered over the edge. Her head jerked backward as her body exploded, and she felt him clench her hard as hard, hot spasms of his essence pumped into her as she whispered his name into his neck, holding as tight as she could.

  He fell back on the bed, Eva sprawled atop him, still kissing, and he did not seem to notice that she was tying his wrists to the bedpost until it was too late.

  Fifty-nine

  Eva?” he mumbled, suddenly aware of a rope tugging on his wrist. No, both wrists.

  “Jamie,” she whispered, sliding off him, rustling her skirts back into place, standing a safe distance away. She ran her fingers down his bare belly, then . . . turned away.

  He bolted upright. The ropes jerked him back down. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded, yanking on the ropes. They were firm and tight. He looked up at Eva. She was at the door.

  She was leaving him.

  “Jamie, whatever you may say, Roger is not safe. The king is mad. He must be stopped.”

  His heart hammered. “Eva,” he said darkly, slowly. “What are you doing?”

  She continued as if he’d not spoken. She had clearly rehearsed the lines. “How useful can John find one fifteen-year-old man whose only riches come from the land the king himself already holds? Compared to the great and rich men who will no doubt be putting their petitions forward, Roger rates as notably as a gnat. And you?” She shook her head. “He will see you hang.”

  He yanked again on the ropes, struggling to sit up. “Eva. What you say has merit. We will talk, I will listen, but, Eva—”

  “That is because you are a good man. The king is not. I know this. He is my father.”

  “Eva, do not d
o this.”

  She put her hand on the door as he struggled against the ropes. “I hear your warning, Jamie. My whole life has been warnings. And do you know what is to come after? More of the same. All due King John. More more running, more darkness—”

  “You cannot show yourself to the king until I—”

  “—and it will be this way forever.”

  “—marry you!” he shouted.

  She stopped talking for a brief moment. “And how is our marriage of value to King John?”

  His heart thundered in his chest. “I will claim Everoot,” he said, and it felt as if he’d meant to say the words forever. “I will claim it, and you, and that has value.”

  His declaration did not seem to impress Eva. “And then you will be naught but a bigger threat. A powerful lord, wed to the daughter of a king? And after what he has no doubt been told by your Cigogné? After he learns that you intended, for a while, to kill him.” She shook her head and opened the door. “Nay, Jamie. There is but one way to settle this.”

  He stilled. “What does that mean? What are you going to do?”

  “This not killing the king, Jamie, this was not so good a thing. And now all the good men are dead or soon to be. I will take care of this, since no one else has.”

  “Jésu, Eva, you are mad.” He had a sudden, crushing vision of how Ry must feel toward him. “You have no idea what murder does to a person.”

  “You have killed,” she said placidly. She had no idea the enormity of her actions. “And you are a good man.”

  “Aye, I have killed, and I am a dying thing inside. I was dead until you, Eva.”

  “But for cause,” she whispered, her hand on the door. “For good cause? Surely this matters.”

  “It matters. For a while.”

  “I have only one deed to do.”

  “You do not comprehend me Eva: one is all it will take for you.”

  “That is all I have in me, Jamie. One.”

  He gave a roar, and fisting one hand atop the other, he yanked on the ropes with a vicious jerk. The wood post gave a thin, loud crack. Eva started; her face paled. “I swear, I will kill you myself,” he growled.

  He yanked again. Another crack of the wood. She stepped through the doorway.

  “I have lived in darkness too long, Jamie,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. “I cannot do it anymore. Neither shall Roger. Neither shall you.” She pulled the door shut behind her, but not before she whispered, “I love you.”

  Then she was gone.

  He put his head down and renewed his assault on the bedposts. At this rate, it would take half an hour.

  EVA walked down the familiar corridor to the lord’s tower. White rushes of sound swept through her skull like wind as she counted the stones under her boots. The world she’d lived in was receding like land from a boat, as you slipped out to sea on powerful but invisible currents. She felt as though she had just given the oars a little push, and they had slid over the sides and into the water. There could be no changes in direction now. She was aimed like an arrow and would travel on, unstoppable.

  It was impossible to contemplate that she would never see Roger again, so she did not. It was impossible to imagine she would never see Jamie again, so she did not. Never have Jamie mark her like a target with his smile, never have his thumb caress her neck, so much power, so restrained, on her. Never hear wolves. Breathe air. Feel her hard, ugly boots hit the hard, beautiful earth again.

  The things she could not think of grew and grew, until she was a tiny prick of darkness in all the bright things she could not imagine in the world.

  She slipped into the king’s outer chamber. It was not difficult; Eva knew how to make herself invisible. She sat on a small bench against the wall, staring at nothing, until she heard a sound, a scrape of a boot on the stone outside.

  She got to her feet and pulled her cape closer around herself, so she could go unseen as long as possible, and kill her father the king before he destroyed anyone else she loved.

  Sixty

  Jamie jerked his arms again. No crack of wood. He clenched his fists and jerked repeatedly, until his arms and belly burned, then stopped to catch his breath. He stared up at the ceiling.

  Eva had been right. Ry as well. Ry mostly. Jamie had lived in a netherworld for years, neither reaching out nor moving away. Indecision had marked his life, for all that his actions were unwavering.

  But now came the convergence. If he did not claim Everoot, others would. This had lit a fire inside him, although he’d ignored it. When presented with the possibility that someone else might rule Everoot, it had simply taken his breath away.

  Needing to claim it to save Eva gave it back. He could do this thing. Would do it. A sense of power and destiny snapped through him a hot whip of intent.

  Enough of sawing on the bit; ’twas time to come unleashed.

  Lying here naked, strapped to a bed, did give one cause to reflect on one’s past errors. For instance, he would have to be sure to impress upon Eva how very much he did not approve of her method of solving problems.

  He renewed his assault on the bedpost.

  RY and Angus got into Everoot by blending with a wagon train of merchants and whores. They went looking for Lucia, the dark-skinned, hot-blooded Italian lass who’d worked years ago at Baynard Castle, who had left when Ry had. Because he had. She cared not that he was Jewish, nor that he lived most of his days in mortal danger, nor that he could barely keep his hands off her whenever they were close. In fact, she seemed to like that a great deal. She cared only that he smiled at her, looked at no other woman, and would commit to spend the rest of his life with her.

  This had become a bone of contention: Ry’s life was about saving Jamie’s, since he could not save his family’s, and he had not been able to leave off it. Not even for Lucia.

  So she’d finally tossed him aside with an airy flip of her thick, dark hair, and said she wished never to see him again.

  Ry hoped that was not true. She had not married another, and she had not left the king’s service, which surely she could have, got a place in any noble household. If she truly wished never to see him again, that is what she would have done. Correct?

  He and Angus hunted her down through the endless corners of Everoot’s castle and battlement walls. Ry planned the reunion in his mind. He would kiss her, ask her to marry him, demand to know where Roger and Jamie were. In that order.

  JAMIE clenched his jaw for yet another mighty pull as the door flung open. He jerked his head up and stared. Roger and Ry and Angus stood in the doorway.

  They took in his naked body, lashed to the bedpost, and their jaws dropped. “Jésu, Jamie,” Ry muttered. “What happened?”

  “Eva happened,” Roger interjected with the sort of grim certitude Jamie would expect from someone who knew Eva’s tricks. Jamie would have to take counsel with him. Perhaps while Eva was tied to a tree nearby.

  “I have no idea how you have come here, but I have ne’er been so glad to have three men ogle my naked body. Untie me.”

  Angus took door watch, while Ry and Roger hurried over. Each took an arm, as Jamie flung his head to swing the hair off his face. “I owe you,” he said with feeling.

  “Again,” Ry grunted, head down, focused on the ropes.

  “Why did you come?”

  “I like the idea of you being indebted to me. And I was wrong,” Ry added. “I am sorry.”

  Jamie shook his head. “No. You were absolutely right. About everything.”

  “I feel as though I should commemorate this moment somehow,” Ry muttered, sawing at the ropes. “I wonder if an engraved plate would do.”

  “How about me owing you my life?”

  Ry smiled faintly. “My mission is done.”

  “I will repay you.”

  Ry shrugged as he shifted how he cut at the rope. “I manage all your accounts and coin, Jamie. You are a rich man. I will just steal what I want.”

  The ropes fell away and Jami
e swung up, clapped Ry on the shoulder, then Roger, then shot off the bed and reached for the small pack Peter of London had given him. He pulled out the Everoot surcoat and pulled it over his head. “How did you find Roger?” Jamie’s voice was muffled by the silk.

  “Lucia.” Ry reached over and pulled the surcoat down. Jamie’s head popped out. He looked surprised. Ry grinned. “She does indeed pine.”

  “That is good. I am glad.” He put on the ring. It felt heavy, more heavy than the metals constructing it. It must be the weight of destiny, settling down on him. “How did you find me?”

  Roger was bouncing on the balls of his feet, his big, young energy almost bursting him out of his skin. “I did that, sir. I heard the servants talking about the countess of Misselthwaite, absent all her belongings and escorted by a very demanding courtier. I knew it must be you.”

  “Roger, you have a future as a judge if you wish for it.” Ry grabbed Jamie’s other sword belt and carried it over.

  Jamie took it, and looked at him. “And you?” he asked quietly. “Where did you go?”

  Ry’s smile faded. “Nowhere. I drank. I helped Jakob Doctor repair his home. Angus told me I was a fool. But what news, that?” He got up and strode to the door. “Where is Eva?”

  Jamie put a hand on his shoulder as he passed. Ry stopped but didn’t look over. “You have long been after me to put the money to good use. Your family is good use. Get them out of London. Buy land. Take them there, where they will be safe.”

  “Where, Jamie? Where shall I buy ‘safe land’? In all of Christendom, there is no safe place. They would have to declaim what they are, and that, they will not do.”

  What was there to say? The enormity of the thing was towering, like a black cloud stretched across the horizon. You knew it was going to bring destruction, and you could do nothing about it.

  Jamie clamped tighter on the hand he’d placed on Ry’s shoulder. “We can still do good.”

  Ry lifted a brow. “Only if you are claiming. If not, then we shall simply die.”