“Oy! You,” the thug behind Claire shouted, but she ignored him.
Sarah was sitting opposite Lady Brackendale, a dog huddled by her feet. The trestle tables were normally where the servants sat and ate. However, the table on the raised dais reserved for the nobility was blocked by three mercenaries with drawn swords. The men stood along the edge of the dais, clearly keeping a lookout for any hints of rebellion from their hostages.
Freeing her hand from Mary’s, Claire sank down on the bench beside her ladyship. In the afternoon sunshine streaming in from the hall’s overhead windows, the older woman looked wan, her age-spotted hands clenched together atop the table. Her fingers no longer glittered with rings; the costly jewels had obviously been confiscated. Yet, despite the indignities she’d no doubt faced, she sat with regal poise, her gown draping neatly over the bench, not the slightest slouch in her posture.
“Milady.” Claire touched her ladyship’s arm. “Are you all right?”
“As well as can be expected.” Lady Brackendale’s lips formed a taut smile. “’Tis good to see you.”
Claire smiled back. “And you.”
The mercenary reached Claire’s side and glared down at her. “I did not give you permission to sit here.”
“You are right,” she said quickly. “You did not permit me, but surely there is no harm done? I promise we will not cause trouble.”
The thug, about to grab hold of her arm, hesitated.
“Leave her be,” Lady Brackendale commanded.
“Please.” Claire forced a soothing tone. “’Twill be easier for you to keep watch on us if we ladies sit together.”
As if to show her agreement, Mary settled on the bench beside Claire and huddled close.
The mercenary sneered, then stepped away, his hand falling to his side. “Fine. Stay for now. His lordship will be here soon enough.”
The thought of seeing Tye again made Claire light-headed and uncomfortably warm all over. The way he’d lingered in her thoughts, every moment since he’d broken into her chamber, was shocking and most unwelcome.
“You are well?” Lady Brackendale asked, her earnest gaze shifting from Claire to Mary. “You have not been mistreated?”
“Nay,” Claire said.
“Good. Sarah and I also have been treated reasonably well. So far, at least.”
Mary leaned forward. “Claire, you must tell her ladyship how brave you were. Why, when that knave Tye—”
“Tye?” her ladyship cut in. “What is his surname?”
“I do not know,” Claire said. “He would not tell me.”
“He is the dark-haired one? The leader?”
Claire nodded.
“At least you found out his given name. Well done. How did you manage that?”
Frowning, Mary asked, “Aye, how did you manage that, Claire? You must have done so before he—”
“Aye, before he issued his threats,” Claire cut in, hoping Mary would realize the importance of not divulging all that had taken place upstairs. Her ladyship didn’t need any more to worry about. She was under enough strain. “His words earlier were intended to frighten us and make us obey. He did not intend to harm us.”
Mary wrinkled her nose in clear disagreement.
Her ladyship’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Why would you think he had no intention of harming you?”
Because of the gentleness of his touch when he searched me. Because he’d had plenty of opportunity to inflict harm if he so wished, and he hadn’t. And because of the way he looked at me, as though I was fascinating, and beautiful, and…prized.
She was still struggling for a suitable reply when Lady Brackendale’s gaze sharpened. “Claire?”
Betraying warmth crept into Claire’s face. She fought it, hoping desperately to find an answer that would satisfy her ladyship. “His hired thugs would no doubt argue he had reason to hurt both me and Mary when he broke into my chamber. We had, after all, refused to open the door. We did threaten him with a fire poker and a stick. However, Tye chose not to hurt us.”
Her ladyship frowned. “He was likely too busy finishing the siege.”
“True, but—”
“Did he take your jewels? Your coins?”
“Aye,” Claire said.
“He will use them to pay his hired men,” her ladyship said, “and to buy loyalty here at Wode.”
“He will try to bribe the servants? To turn them against you?” Mary shuddered.
“’Twill not work,” Claire insisted. “Your servants adore you. They are loyal to you. They swore fealty to his lordship—”
“Who is dead.” A trace of defeat shadowed Lady Brackendale’s gaze. “Most of the servants are steadfast, but I have no doubt some can be bought for the right price.”
A strained silence settled around the table. Her ladyship looked tired. The shock of the day was finally taking its toll.
Claire tried to find something else to discuss, a subject that wouldn’t add to the despair settling like a dusty blanket. They might be captives, but they also had knowledge of the keep and the people who lived within it. There must be a way to thwart Tye’s plans. They just had to stay strong and figure out what to do.
“When this Tye arrives, I will tell him exactly what I think of him and all he has done,” her ladyship said. “Why, he deserves—”
A door boomed shut, the sound rising from the stairwell leading up from the bailey. Lady Brackendale stiffened, and her clenched hands tightened, turning her knuckles white. At the opposite side of the table, Sarah shivered.
Booted footsteps echoed on the forebuilding’s stairs. Silence fell across the hall.
He was coming. Claire recognized the low rumble of his voice. Other people were walking with him and would soon enter the hall.
The hairs on her arms prickled. A sudden tightness formed in the middle of her chest, making each breath uncomfortable. Bracing her elbows on the table, she pressed her fisted hands between her ribs, against her bodice, to try and lessen the discomfort.
The mercenaries on the dais looked at the opening to the stairwell.
Claire resisted the urge to glance there too. Still, she knew the moment Tye stepped into the hall. Awareness skittered through her, making her acutely aware of the unyielding oak beneath her elbows, the coolness of the wood against her skin, and the scent of beeswax rising from the table.
Mary scooted even closer to Claire.
He is just a man, Claire told herself. Not a king or a god. Just a flesh and blood man, and a criminal at that.
Never must he know how much he intrigued her. She held her head high and stared straight ahead, at the table of maidservants who were gazing wide-eyed in his direction.
He strode to the edge of the dais, coming into her view at last. Sunshine skimmed over his wind-tousled hair, broad shoulders, and the folds of his cloak, rendering him in a wash of gold. As he shoved back the edge of his cloak and set his gloved hand on the hilt of his sword, the light played down his strong, muscular legs.
Mother Mary, but he was magnificent. Just a man—and a criminal—but the most beautifully formed male she had ever seen.
“At last,” Lady Brackendale muttered. “Now I will have some answers.”
“Please, beware,” Claire whispered. “’Tis a dangerous situation, and you…” are old and frail. “I do not want to see you come to harm.”
Her ladyship’s lips parted, as though she would reply, but then two more people walked into view: a slim, red-haired woman in a long cloak, holding a dagger; and a tall warrior holding a broadsword. They appeared to know each other well, judging by the seductive smile the ruby-lipped woman bestowed upon the man. The pair halted a short distance from Tye and studied the hostages, their stares hard and piercing. The woman looked especially ruthless.
“Who are those two?” Mary whispered behind her hand.
“Hush,” Claire whispered back, hoping not to attract the cruel-looking woman’s notice.
“I cannot be
ar this day,” Mary said softly.
At the dais, Tye spoke quietly to the three mercenaries, who grinned. Then he stepped onto the raised platform and walked along behind the massive table, the hollow echo of his steps carrying through the hall. He stopped at the imposing, carved oak chair pushed against the table, where the lord of the castle would sit, then drew out the chair and moved in front of it. Looking down across the room, his gaze seeming to travel over every face staring back at him, he pulled off his gloves and dropped them on the tabletop.
Bracing his hands flat on the table, Tye leaned forward, like a displeased lord about to lecture his serfs. Strands of dark brown hair, loosened from the strip of leather at his nape, slid along the fur collar of his cloak and accented the hard line of his jaw.
Lady Brackendale huffed. “Look at him.”
“I am,” Claire said. He was handsome, frightening, and compelling; she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
Tye’s stare settled on Claire. The corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk that reminded her of every word and touch that had passed between them earlier. A wild heat raced through her, straight to the tips of her toes. She instinctively dropped her gaze to the tabletop.
Regret clamored inside her. You should not have been the first one to look away. Hold his stare and do not break it. He will see that you are not meek and helpless, but strong and proud, as both Henry and Lord Brackendale would have wanted of you.
She forced her chin up and glanced back at the dais. Tye’s attention was no longer on her, but Lady Brackendale. The bench beneath Claire wobbled as her ladyship, shaking with anger, rose to standing.
“I demand an explanation for today’s outrageous attack,” she said, her tone sharp enough to chip stone.
“That is why you were brought here,” Tye answered coolly.
“Explain, then.”
A terse smile curved his lips. “Soon.”
“Soon? Ha! I vow you have no reasonable explanation,” Lady Brackendale said. “Whoever you are, you have no right to stand on that dais.”
Anxious mutters rippled through the hall. Claire swallowed hard as the two mercenaries hovering near the table strode toward her ladyship.
“You are not a lord, Tye!” Lady Brackendale clawed at the thugs who grabbed her arms. “You are a greedy, lowborn, selfish ruffian who—”
“I am a lord,” Tye said, his voice ruthlessly calm. “As of this day, I rule this fortress.”
“Never!” Lady Brackendale struggled. The mercenaries had trapped her arms and were trying to force her to sit back down. Claire winced at their rough treatment. At the very least, their punishing hands would leave nasty bruises on her ladyship’s skin.
Claire leapt to her feet. “Please.” She met Tye’s stare. “Lady Brackendale will be injured. ’Twill not help matters.”
“She should sit down and be quiet,” Tye growled. “So should you.”
Claire knotted her hands together. How she wanted to remain standing, to show loyalty to her ladyship and prove to those around that she wasn’t afraid to confront the conquerors, especially Tye. Yet, as his stare lit with an unpredictable glint, her shaking legs collapsed, and she sat.
“You have no right to give orders in this keep!” Lady Brackendale finally sat, pinned by the imprisoning hold of the mercenaries, her eyes blazing, and the neckline of her gown askew. “Do not listen to him, any of you! He speaks lies.”
A dark flicker crossed Tye’s features. “Do I lie? I assure you, my blood is as noble as yours. Some of it, anyway.” He motioned for the thugs to release her ladyship and move away. They obeyed, but remained close enough to restrain her again if needed.
“You are of noble lineage, you say?” Lady Brackendale challenged. “To what esteemed family do you belong?”
“The one that has ruled this castle for almost one-hundred-and-fifty years.”
Her ladyship made a choking sound. “You cannot mean—”
“My sire is Geoffrey de Lanceau.”
“What?” Lady Brackendale gasped.
A stunned cry broke from Claire. This man was Lord de Lanceau’s son? Impossible. Surely. She’d met his lordship’s charming heir before. His name was Edouard.
Yet, there was a striking resemblance between Tye and his lordship. Did that mean Tye was de Lanceau’s illegitimate son? If so, Tye wouldn’t be the first bastard sired by a wealthy lord.
“What you claim is a lie!” Her ladyship’s voice shook.
“’Tis the truth,” the red-haired woman said with a smug smile. Her fingers shifted on her knife in a manner that turned Claire’s innards as cold as ice.
Her ladyship glowered. “I know Lord de Lanceau and his wife, Elizabeth. They do have a son, but his name is Edouard.”
“Edouard is my half-brother.” Tye’s mouth flattened. “I am a bastard, the son de Lanceau wishes had never been born. This”—he gestured to the red-haired woman—“is my mother, Veronique Desjardin.”
Lady Brackendale’s gaze slid over Veronique, and then she sniffed loudly, a noise of intense disdain. “Lord de Lanceau would never—”
“Betray his lovely wife? Spill his seed into someone other than the mother of his children?” Mockery dripped from Veronique’s every word. “Do you really believe he would refuse other women who spread their thighs for him?”
Mercy. Did Veronique have no shame? To speak of a highly respected lord in such a way wasn’t just ill-advised, but unforgivable.
A flush reddened her ladyship’s cheekbones. “You speak in a most vulgar manner.”
Veronique laughed. “I only say what we all know to be true. His lordship is no different in his lusty desires from any other man—except that through his cloth empire, he has distinguished himself by becoming one of the richest and most powerful noblemen in England.”
Tense silence stretched across the hall. Shock registered on the faces of the servants who bore witness to the conversation.
“If I understand you correctly,” her ladyship said carefully, “you are one of the women who, as you put it, ‘spread their thighs’ for his lordship? Tye is the result of that joining?”
“That is correct,” Tye said.
Veronique smiled. “I satisfied Geoffrey’s every need the night Tye was conceived.”
“I see.” Lady Brackendale’s face had turned ashen. She looked about to be physically ill. “Furthermore, if I understand you correctly, his lordship betrayed his wife, whom he is said to love very much, to lie with you?”
Veronique’s gloating smile faded. Rage tightened her features.
Tye answered for her. “Veronique was my father’s lover many years ago, before he met Lady Elizabeth. He took the lady to be his wedded wife.”
“Ah.” Her ladyship’s expression brightened with relief. “So, if I understand you correctly, Veronique… You did not satisfy his lordship’s every need, after all?”
Claire smothered a startled giggle.
“Oh, my,” Mary whispered.
“Bitch!” Veronique shrieked. The man beside her scowled. She strode toward her ladyship, glee in the overly bright gleam of her amber eyes. “Just you wait.”
The air turned thick with danger. Claire lunged to her feet again, fear pounding in her veins. “Please,” she cried to Veronique. “None of us wants more bloodshed.”
Veronique didn’t acknowledge Claire or slow her strides. Her cloak snapped about her legs, the noise ominous in the ugly silence.
Sweat dampened Claire’s palms. Why had her ladyship spoken so boldly? Had she intended to come to harm? Had she deliberately provoked Veronique to prove the brutality of the conquerors? If so, that plan bore grave risk. Deadly risk.
Her teeth bared in a malicious smile, Veronique neared their table. Her posture rigid, head raised high, her ladyship waited, as though resolved to accept whatever unpleasantness would occur next.
Just steps from her ladyship, the red-haired woman raised her knife.
Claire’s panicked gaze flew to Tye, who stood silent
and watchful on the dais. In the dim lighting, the angles of his face were defined by shadow, his expression unreadable. Why was he not stopping his mother? Was he going to let her stab Lady Brackendale? Desperation flared until Claire could barely breathe past the pressure crushing her ribs.
“Stop her!” Claire shouted at Tye. “If Lady Brackendale is harmed, you will win the loathing of every person at this keep.”
Tye’s gaze pinned her where she stood. “Is that so?”
Claire fought the panic trying to overwhelm her. Now was not the moment to stay silent. She must save her ladyship. “Aye.”
Tye straightened, his hands lifting from the table. His carefully controlled movements reminded her of an angry cat readying to attack.
Halting behind Lady Brackendale, Veronique shoved the dagger against her ladyship’s neck. Steel glinted against pale, wrinkled skin. One slight move, even the barest flinch, and Veronique’s dagger would draw blood.
“Please!” Claire cried. Her stomach lurched. Oh, mercy, she was going to vomit, right here, in front of everyone.
Worst of all, in front of him.
As she fought the mortifying urge to retch, Tye crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”
Chapter Nine
Across the distance that separated them, Tye watched Claire’s eyes widen with shock and trepidation. Her lips parted on a sharp inhalation that proved she hadn’t expected him to challenge her in such a manner.
She should have. She was akin to a spoiled kitten who’d just indulged in a whole lot of reckless mewling—and who’d suddenly come face to face with a battle-scarred tom. Her claws were no match for a seasoned cat who could quell an adversary with one strike.
This was his hall now, with everyone in it beholden to him. Claire, of all people, should have yielded to his authority by now. The fact that she hadn’t… Fury growled in Tye’s gut. He admired Claire’s defiance, but no way in hellfire was he going to lose this clash of wits and words to a woman, especially in front of so many witnesses.
This was one battle he was going to win.
By whatever means necessary.
Romantic Legends Page 106