by Alexa Aston
In return, Nan let her eyes roam down his body. She snorted and then met his gaze again, lowering the sword.
“You thought to put that shrunken little cock inside me?” She laughed softly. “I am surprised that you even have an heir, my lord.”
Wadding up a larger piece of cloth that she’d held in reserve, she started to place it in his mouth. He clamped his lips together.
“Allow me,” Gillian said. She stepped closer and grabbed a fistful of his hair in each hand and yanked.
The baron’s mouth flew open to protest. Nan quickly shoved the wadded material inside, muffling his roar. He tried to use his tongue to push it out but she quickly secured a strip around his head to hold the gag in place.
“Now what?” Gillian asked.
Nan already had changed her thinking on how they would win their freedom. “Find ink and parchment and write a note to Tristan to tell him where we are. One of Lord Petyr’s men will ride to deliver the missive.”
“I could ride to Leventhorpe on my own,” Gillian volunteered, still looking unsure.
Nan shook her head, knowing from Sir Dawkin that Gillian hadn’t ridden alone since before the peasants had revolted. That alone made her loath to let the girl out of her sight. After pondering the situation, she doubted Lord Petyr’s men would allow Gillian to leave Wycliffe unscathed. Nan couldn’t afford having Gillian used as a pawn against her, forcing her to release the baron. And if by some miracle they decided to let her friend pass through the gates of Wycliffe unharmed, something unthinkable might happen to her while she was on the road.
“Nay, the roads are far too dangerous for a woman alone to ride that far.”
“But what if they refuse to send a rider to Tristan?” Gillian’s voice trembled with doubt.
Nan steeled herself. “Then we’ll start sending out pieces of Lord Petyr, one at a time. A tooth. A finger. A toe. An eye. Believe me, Gillian, Lord Petyr will be able to convince them to do our bidding.”
Chapter 22
Roland couldn’t sleep. Tension still filled his body as he relived parts of this day over and over. He wondered how soon it would be before the bodies of his companions might be discovered at Leventhorpe. He realized he should have lashed both of the corpses to their horses and brought them back to Wycliffe so that nothing could link the baron to the missing women. That had been impossible since he would have had no place to put the tawny-haired noblewoman for the return trip, and Roland had needed her to keep Lady Nan in line.
He understood now why Lord Petyr was so taken with the dark-haired creature. If her archery skills were anything like her knife skills, Lady Nan would be a formidable opponent. The fact that she was breathtakingly beautiful only added to her allure. He found himself growing hard simply thinking about her, envious that such an impressive woman now belonged, body and soul, to Lord Petyr. Of course, if the baron wanted her as his bedmate he had better not close his eyes during or after their love play. After seeing Lady Nan roll swiftly into action tonight, Roland had no doubt the lady would gut the nobleman the moment she saw he was vulnerable. He didn’t envy Lord Petyr trying to control such a vixen—but if he could, it would be worth every moment.
Sitting up, Roland decided he needed a woman to release what troubled him. He left the barracks where dozens of soldiers slumbered around him, wondering if the new kitchen maid would be willing to tumble with him in the middle of the night. Though her face held nowhere near the beauty of Lady Nan’s, the wench had given him a few bold looks and a saucy smile when she served him this past week. He felt she would be open to love play with him, especially if he flattered her. Roland had found that was the key to getting his way with any woman and this new one would be like them all.
He entered the keep and, instead of making his way to the great hall where the servants bedded down each night, he found himself climbing the stairs as a delicious idea came to him. He wouldn’t dare steal Nan de Montfort from the solar. Roland liked his head attached to his body too much to try something so foolish.
But her companion was available tonight.
The baron hadn’t wanted Lady Gillian and seemed put out that Roland had brought the lady to Wycliffe. Knowing the shrewd nobleman, Roland suspected he would ransom her back to her brother. And if the lady returned to Tristan Therolde a little worse for the wear? So be it. She shouldn’t have been traipsing through the Leventhorpe forest without a male escort.
The thought of plowing into her virgin womb caused his heartbeat to quicken. Roland reached the top of the staircase and started down the corridor—and then stopped in his tracks.
Where was Baul?
He had left the soldier to guard Lady Gillian’s door after Roland had threatened her not to leave the bedchamber. Surely, Baul hadn’t had the same idea as Roland and now rode Lady Gillian himself. Or had he?
Keeping his anger in check, Roland crept down the stone passageway until he reached the room where the noblewoman was being held hostage. He lifted a nearby torch from its sconce. Holding it in one hand, he opened the door with the other.
Roland found it hard to breathe. Lady Gillian was gone. The bedclothes had been ripped asunder. Had she somehow enticed Baul into the room and knocked him senseless and tied him up? Nay, he doubted it. That would have been something Nan de Montfort would have been more than capable of doing. Gillian Therolde had seemed too timid to even leave the bed he’d left her upon, weeping pitifully.
Roland searched the small chamber and saw no sign of the soldier. His gut wrenched painfully. It told him that Lady Nan was somehow involved in her friend’s disappearance. He left the room and returned the torch to its place and then headed for the solar. Without knocking, he quietly opened the door and found the room empty, a single candle flickering. Still, that didn’t prove anything. The baron’s bedchamber door was closed. For all Roland knew, the noblewoman was tied to his liege lord’s bed this very moment, her virgin blood spilled upon the sheets as Lord Petyr sampled her delights.
And if she wasn’t? That meant that two women were missing. Though Baul had been the careless one, Lord Petyr would blame them both.
Roland had to find them before the baron awoke.
He slipped from the solar, his head spinning as he tried to think of where they might have gone. Would they hide inside the keep or try to leave it? Would they be bold enough to slip into the stables to saddle horses to make their escape? He didn’t see how they could possibly leave Wycliffe. The gates were locked for the night. The gatekeeper would never have opened them for any reason. The two women were trapped within the castle walls. He simply needed to be clever enough to locate them before sunrise.
As he passed a bedchamber, Roland thought he heard a muffled cry coming from inside it. He retraced his steps and pressed his ear against the door. Anger sizzled through him. He opened the door and heard the cry again—one of a woman being pleasured. In the dim light spilling from the corridor, he saw her silhouetted as she rode a man, her head tossed back and her abundant breasts jutting out. Her lover’s voice now chimed in, moaning as he reached his climax.
Roland strode to the bed, his fingers digging into the woman’s arm. He jerked her away, tossing her to the floor. She hit the stones hard and cried out in pain. Baul sat up, ready to swing at their attacker.
“Tell your slut to leave,” Roland said, his tone deadly as he recognized the very kitchen maid he’d thought to relieve himself with.
Baul swung his legs from the bed and pointed at her. “Go. You heard what he said.”
“But we—”
“Not now. Leave us.”
The woman pushed herself to her feet and retrieved a smock. She threw it over her head and lowered it before leaving the chamber.
When she was gone, Roland demanded, “What possessed you to leave your post?”
Baul shrugged. “You saw how the lady cowered, Roland. Especially when you told her you’d cut out Lady Nan’s tongue if she tried to leave the bedchamber. I knew she was so terrified t
hat she wouldn’t go anywhere.”
“You rutting with that whore may have cost both of us our heads. Lady Gillian is gone from her chamber,” Roland revealed. “Lady Nan might have also found her way out of the solar, as well. We’ve got to find them. Now.”
Baul shot to his feet. “Where do we look?” he asked, fear in his eyes.
“Everywhere,” Roland said. “Leave no stone unturned inside this keep. I will look outside.” He stepped close to the soldier, crowding him until their noses almost touched. “And you’d better hope we find them both before Lord Petyr realizes they’re gone.”
Roland strode from the room. “How would Lady Nan think?” he asked under his breath as he rushed down the stairs and out into the dark night.
*
Tristan and his men rode to Wycliffe en masse, arriving a few hours before dawn. He’d promised himself if he found Nan here that he would slay Petyr Medford on the spot and then beg her forgiveness for being such a fool for so long.
He signaled for his soldiers to halt and approached the gates on his own.
“Gatekeeper!” he hollered. “I am Tristan Therolde, Earl of Leventhorpe. I demand entrance at once!”
A man with thinning hair looked down at him, a torch held high in his hand. He looked frightened to be confronted by an angry nobleman. “You aren’t expected, my lord. Especially not in the middle of the night. I must seek out our captain of the guard. He will be the one who decides whether or not to give you permission to enter.”
The gatekeeper disappeared from his view. Tristan groaned in frustration.
David Devereux trotted his horse up next to Tristan, followed by Drew Stollars, who came to Tristan’s other side.
“A gatekeeper cannot make that kind of decision on his own, Lord Tristan,” said David. “Hold your temper and exercise patience. Anger can make you lose focus. What is important is to get Gillian and Nan back unharmed.”
Tristan sighed. “You’re right.” He studied the knight beside him. “I will tell you now that I want no fighting between us. I am the one who will kill Petyr Medford. If he’s touched Nan or Gillian, I plan for him to suffer before he dies.”
“Agreed.”
A small entryway cut into the wall swung open and a large man stepped out. He approached them warily, his sword in hand.
“Lord Tristan?” he asked.
“Are you the captain of Wycliffe’s guard?”
“Aye. I cannot let you and this small army of men inside our walls, my lord. You are armed and look ready to fight. I will awaken Lord Petyr so he may determine whether we open the gates or not to you and your men. I know of no trouble between you and my liege lord but I cannot let my guard down in such a way. I hope you can understand my position.”
Tristan refused to accept this answer. “Lord Petyr holds both my sister, Lady Gillian, and my betrothed, Lady Nan de Montfort, inside Wycliffe’s walls. They were taken from Leventhorpe tonight, against their will. Open now, Captain, or suffer the consequences.”
The knight’s eyes flickered in alarm. “Your betrothed?”
“Aye. Lady Nan and I are as good as wed, so she cannot marry another. You know the laws of the Church.”
“I do.” He frowned. “You may enter, my lord. But your men must stay outside our gates.”
Tristan was loath to enter on his own.
“At least allow Lady Gillian’s betrothed, Sir David Devereux, and my squire, Drewett Stollars, to accompany me,” he countered, indicating the men next to him.
After a moment’s hesitation, the captain said, “Only the three of you. Leave your horses.” He fled back inside the castle the way he came.
Tristan turned his horse in order to face his men. In a loud, commanding voice, he told them, “We three are going inside the castle’s walls. Sir Dawkin will lead you in an attack on Wycliffe if one is necessary.” He motioned to his captain and Dawkin rode toward him.
“If we are not back with both Nan and Gillian within an hour, begin the assault,” he instructed.
“Aye, my lord.” Dawkin nudged his horse and returned to the assembled army.
The gates slowly opened, enough to allow the trio to walk through them single file. The captain waited inside for them. Tristan saw a man up ahead running toward the keep and wondered if he went to warn Lord Petyr of their arrival. It didn’t matter. Tristan was committed to this course of action.
He only prayed Nan would go along with it.
*
“I’m finished,” Gillian said, entering the bedchamber. “Do you care to read it?”
“Nay. I trust you said enough to bring Tristan here. Sand it and seal it. Hurry, Gillian,” she urged.
Though it was still the dead of night, she didn’t like the girl out of her sight. If someone entered the solar, he might capture her and threaten to harm Gillian unless Nan released Lord Petyr.
Gillian returned moments later, the missive rolled up and sealed with wax.
“What do we do now, Nan?”
“Wait. I’m sure a servant will come to wake Lord Petyr or even bring him food to break his fast. When that happens, we’ll show whoever arrives that his liege lord is our hostage and demand a rider leave for Leventhorpe immediately.”
A door outside the bedchamber crashed open. Nan stepped toward the bed and rested the tip of the sword against Lord Petyr’s throat, motioning Gillian to come stand close to her. Moments later, Roland threw open the bedchamber door. He rushed inside, only to gape at the nobleman lying trussed on the bed and held hostage with a blade to this throat. Though it disgusted Nan to see the baron naked, she had wanted whoever came through that door to see how dire the situation had turned.
Nan slipped the scroll from her friend’s fingers and tossed it toward Roland. It hit him in the chest and fell to the floor. He retrieved it and stared at her.
“That missive is to be delivered to Lord Tristan Therolde at Thorpe Castle,” she directed. “You seem to know where that lies so you might as well take it—else your baron will meet with an accident.”
“Mayhap you should begin by cutting out Lord Petyr’s tongue,” Gillian said. “’Tis what this man told me would happen to you, Nan, if I did not obey.”
The baron groaned loudly.
“There’s no need for me to ride anywhere, my lady,” Roland said. “An army from Leventhorpe arrived at the gates of Wycliffe moments ago. At the head of it is your betrothed—and Lady Gillian’s betrothed, as well. They will arrive at the solar any moment now.”
Lord Petyr’s eyes cut from Roland’s to hers. Nan knew instantly what strategy Tristan used. She looked down at the restrained nobleman, trying to look innocent instead of triumphant.
“Oh, did no one tell you that Lord Tristan and I are betrothed? It must have slipped my mind. I knew there was a reason we could not wed in the morning.”
He growled behind his gag, trying to speak.
Nan smiled sweetly and looked to Roland. “Then you better let them in.”
Before the soldier could leave the chamber, she heard shouts from the distance. ’Twas Tristan calling her name at the top of his lungs.
“In the solar,” she cried loudly.
Roland slid through the doorway, making his escape. Immediately, Tristan, David, and Drew rushed into the bedchamber, followed by an older man who wore an air of authority. He glanced at the scene and then left without a word.
Tristan’s eyes widened as he studied Petyr Medford a moment, then a brilliant smile crossed his face.
“I see you have the situation in hand, my love.”
His words warmed Nan to her core. More than that, they gave her hope—of a shared life with this man.
“Lord Petyr thought to force me to marry him by threatening to kill Gillian,” she told the three men.
She saw David’s hands ball into fists as his face flushed an angry red. Drew quickly grabbed David’s elbow to hold him back. Gillian ran to David and threw her arms around him. Drew released him and Gillian led David from the
bedchamber.
“When were you going to tell him that you could not legally wed him? That you were betrothed to me?” Tristan’s eyes danced with amusement.
Nan shrugged. “I thought you might show up before the nuptial mass began and inform him yourself, my lord.” She withdrew the sword tip from the baron’s throat and took several steps away from her trussed hostage.
“Well, I have and will make it clear now in case he is too thick to understand.”
Tristan strode toward her and captured her hand in his. He brought it to his lips in a kiss that seared her skin. Entwining their fingers together, he stared down at the helpless nobleman.
“Lord Petyr, you have offended me beyond measure by kidnapping the woman I love. Nan de Montfort means everything to me. Everything. She is the reason I rise in the morning with the sun. No man has ever loved a woman as much as I love her.”
He squeezed her hand. Though Tristan kept his eyes focused on Lord Petyr, Nan knew every word was meant for her ears. She squeezed back.
“And no man ever will. You took from me what is mine. Mine alone. You threatened Lady Nan’s life and that of my beloved sister. For that, you owe me a debt that can never be repaid. Not in horses or cattle. Not in gold or land. Instead, my gift to you . . . is your life. A lesser man would disembowel you and set you ablaze for what you have done but I am choosing to show you mercy.”
Nan frowned. She thought Tristan would kill Lord Petyr for the wrongs he had done to her and Gillian. Surprise—and hurt—filled her at him being so generous to such an enemy.
“Your gift to us? Never come near us again. Never speak to us or of us. Never set foot anywhere that might be in my sight. For if you do, I will kill you, my lord.” Tristan smiled. “Or mayhap, I will let my wife do so. I know she is not as forgiving as I am.”
By this time, Lord Petyr had fouled himself, quaking in fear. The smell sickened her.
“I think we are done here,” announced Tristan.
Nan dropped the baron’s sword and it clanged upon hitting the ground. She saw Drew give Tristan a nod of respect and he withdrew from the room. Tristan pulled her from the chamber and they silently passed through the solar. In the corridor, David and Gillian were locked in a heated embrace.