A Knight's Persuasion (11 page)

As though attuned to the flow of his thoughts, the rider added, “She has folk in the village who depend upon her herbs and ointments to ease their ailments. She has never abandoned their care before.”

“Then we must find out what is delaying her.”

The village gates loomed ahead. Edouard rode through them into the main street, shaded by stone buildings and filled with townsfolk, animals, and rumbling carts. He blinked against the churned-up dust, even as worry and impatience chafed at him. So many unanswered questions.

The barest change in Juliana’s breath against his neck, the faint shifting of her weight, snapped Edouard’s gaze back to her face.

Her eyes were open.

Chapter Seven

Sounds and smells rushed into the darkness filling her thoughts. Her groggy mind struggled to identify them, even as an onslaught of pain forced her consciousness up, up, into the brightness, like a bubble soaring up from the bottom of a river to pop on the surface.

Her eyes opened. A blur of colors careened before her. She blinked, and as her perceptions slowly focused, she recognized the sweet scent of horse, the metallic
tinkle
of metal, and the brush of cloth against her cheek.

“Juliana.”

The voice rumbled beneath her ear. A man’s voice, reassuring as it spoke the woman’s name. A glimmer of insight skated at the farthest edge of her thoughts. Something about the voice . . . She tried to chase the intuition, to mentally catch hold of it.

While she did so, she realized she was upon a horse and held in strong arms. She rested against the broad body of the man who’d spoken.

Misgiving skittered through her, heightening her sense of disorientation. How had she come to be upon a horse? Who was this man? Should she trust him, or fear him?

Her stomach clenched on a wave of agony. The ache within her skull threatened to obscure all else, to crush into nothingness the fragile hope blossoming inside her. But she couldn’t let it. These new sensations spoke to the loneliness inside her; they promised that at last, she’d been found.

Fighting her pain, swallowing down the bile rising to the back of her mouth, she tilted her head to look up at him.

Her gaze touched first his jaw dusted with stubble, then the taut plane of his cheek. Unable to resist the demand of his stare, she met his gaze. Concern shone in his thickly lashed blue eyes framed by dark, strong brows. Her heart lurched, a hard wallop against her breastbone, for this stranger had the most handsome countenance.

He looked upon her, however, as if he . . . knew her.

As though he
cared
for her.

A startled cry parted her lips. Panic whipped through her like hot sparks, and she tried to struggle, but . . . She couldn’t move her arms; they seemed to be trapped at her sides. And the pain—

“Juliana,” he said again, more urgently. “Please, do not be afraid. You are safe.”

Juliana? Why did he call her such?
Oh, God
.

“You remember me,” he urged. “’Tis Edouard. Edouard de Lanceau.”

The smallest tingle of acknowledgment brushed the fear and agony clouding her mind. Yet as soon as the sensation surfaced, it was sucked back down into the blackness trying to envelop her. Another hint of insight submerged.
Lost
.

“You remember me,” the man named Edouard went on, a plea now in his eyes. “We met for the first time last spring, at the feast at your sire’s castle. Sherstowe Keep.”

Feast. Sherstowe.

A rough sound of discomfort grated in Edouard’s throat. “I rescued you from the well.”

His words tumbled into her mind, rousing her loneliness. She didn’t remember.

His gaze shadowed with disappointment. “Surely you recall what happened . . . with Nara.”

She knew no one by that name.

Or did she? She didn’t remember. Not him. Not Juliana. Not the feast.

Naught.

A rasping noise broke into her racing thoughts. ’Twas the sound of her own breathing.

Noises swooped in upon her: voices; dogs barking; the squeaked rattle of passing carts. The sounds crowded one atop another, tangled together, until the cacophony raging inside her head threatened to split her apart.

The darkness coaxed.

“Juliana,” Edouard yelled, even as the creeping shadows began to dim the color around her and stifle the noises. How soothing, to fall back into the numbing inkiness . . .

I am here. In the dark. Find me!
a voice inside her shrilled.

And then, all went black.

***

“Nay!” Edouard choked, bending his head close to Juliana’s. “Stay awake. Please, Juliana!”

Her head lolled against his arm.

“She is too weak,” Kaine murmured.

Edouard’s eyes smarted as he studied her wan, expressionless features. A wisp of hair had slipped from the blanket to trail across her fine-boned cheek; it looked gut-wrenchingly stark against her pale skin, and he gently swept it away.

How he wished she’d open her eyes again, look up at him, and prove she wanted to fight the injury that sapped her strength. In that moment before her consciousness slipped away, though, he’d seen doubt in her eyes, and a raw sense of hopelessness.

“She did not tell us who wounded her,” he said quietly. “I should have asked her right away. Yet I wanted her to know she was among friends, for she seemed—”

“Frightened,” Kaine said.

Edouard nodded. Fear, however, didn’t quite encompass the emotions he’d glimpsed in her eyes. “As you no doubt noticed, she did not seem to recognize me, or even her own name.”

“The blow to the head.” Kaine sighed. “I have heard of such happening. It may be some time before her memory returns. Days. Weeks.”

Clenching his jaw, Edouard looked at his men. “We do not have weeks. I want to know what happened to her. I will not rest till I do.” He fixed his gaze upon the rider who’d gone to find the healer’s cottage. “You. Ride ahead to Waddesford Keep. Tell Lord Ferchante I will arrive shortly with Lady de Greyne, who urgently needs to be seen by the healer. I also have matters of estate to discuss with him, as an appointed representative for my father.”

“Aye, milord.” The man turned his horse and rode away into the crowd.

Edouard’s gaze settled upon the other two men-at-arms. Tipping his head to the closest one, he said, “You will return to Branton Keep and report to my sire. He should know of these unusual circumstances, as should Lord de Greyne.”

The man nodded, then rode past them, back toward the village gates.

Kaine raised his eyebrows. “That leaves only two of us to protect you, Edouard.”

“Me and Juliana.” Edouard brushed aside a curious tingle of unease; he, Kaine, and his fellow warrior were all capable fighters. “Is that too great a responsibility for you, my friend?”

Mirth lit Kaine’s gaze before he shrugged. “I will do my very best to protect your wretched arse. And Juliana’s pretty one, of course.”

How in hellfire did Kaine know Juliana had a pretty arse? Scowling, Edouard spurred his horse forward. “Enough. We ride to Waddesford Keep.”

***

Standing before the trestle table in Waddesford Keep’s sun-washed solar, Veronique swept a rosewater-dampened comb through her tresses, as she did every morning. The ivory comb whispered as it fulfilled the ritual she never neglected. Her perfumed, vibrant red hair, when trailed over eager, naked male flesh, had seduced many a lover. Including Landon.

A gloating smile edged up the corner of her mouth. Last evening, despite his reluctance, she’d not only wrested sweaty, gasping control of his body, but after fornicating, he’d fallen asleep in her arms.

Landon needed her. His emotions were hers to manipulate as she desired. That was most satisfying of all. If all went as she planned today, she’d finally have possession of the ring he’d been awarded for his trust and loyalty by Geoffrey de Lanceau.

A ring that, slipped onto her son’s finger, would let Tye into his lordship’s most trusted elite. Her grin broadened. What a perfect moment for Tye to run Geoffrey through with his sword. To at last destroy the Great Lord of Moydenshire.

“Oh, Geoffrey,” she murmured, “if only you knew what lay ahead.” For long, long years she’d waited to crush him—the one man, in all her life, who’d cast her aside. She’d never met a man as strong willed as Geoffrey, until she’d birthed Tye. At last, Fate was leading her to triumph. With a throaty laugh, she smoothed a hand over her breasts, then down the front of her green silk gown to her belly, where lusty tremors clenched her womb.

Just as her hand eased lower, footfalls sounded in the corridor outside. She recognized that gait; Landon walked like a plodding ox. She ran her comb through her hair one last time and, as the chamber door creaked open, faced him, resting her hip against the table to accentuate her body’s curves.

“Landon,” she cooed, before realizing another person approached as well.

Tye.

Determination blazed in his eyes as he strode in after his lordship, his shoulder-length brown hair tied back from his face with a leather thong and a sword belt buckled over his light gray tunic and black hose.

Naughty boy. Tye hadn’t even asked permission to enter the solar. Later, she’d warn him not to repeat that mistake. But right now—

“A rider arrived at the gates moments ago,” Landon said. Sweat shone on his forehead—almost as much sweat as she’d roused from him during coupling. How disgusting.

Veronique waved a dismissive hand. “Surely you can deal with him.”

“Mother—”

“A messenger”—Landon’s voice hoarsened—“sent by Edouard de Lanceau.”

Shock tightened her grip to crushing force on the comb. “
What?
” Edouard, Geoffrey’s firstborn son. His heir, destined to inherit a rich, flourishing empire. Hatred flared inside her, for she loathed every de Lanceau.
Loathed
them.

“Edouard is on his way here,” Tye said, his voice steady and cold.

“With Juliana.” Landon groaned. “He asked for the healer to tend her wound.”

Veronique hissed a breath. “Juliana is
alive?
”

“I do not want to believe it, either. How could she have survived?” Shoving his hair back with his fingers, Landon began to pace. “That injury should have killed her. I should have made certain. Left no doubt.” His unruly gaze locked with hers. “You assured me she was dead. ’Tis your fault.”

Rage whipped through her. “How
dare—?
”

“If she wasn’t dead by the time your mercenaries reached the river . . .”

“They believed she was. They would not have disobeyed me.” How unwise of Landon to blame her for this unforeseen complication. If he wasn’t of such use to her, she’d grab her knife and slice his flesh until he begged an apology. Still, she’d find those two mercenaries who’d taken Juliana away and, after questioning, would see them killed, for no one failed to do what she ordered of them.

Landon’s boots scraped on the planks as he continued to pace. “De Lanceau must have heard of Mayda’s death. He doubts she killed herself. ’Tis why Edouard has come.”

Veronique snorted. “I do not think so.”

“Why else would Edouard be visiting my keep? The messenger mentioned matters of estate, but . . .”

Shutting out the annoying drone of Landon’s voice, Veronique set her comb down on the trestle table and swept her hair back over her shoulders. Landon’s insecurities didn’t matter. Neither did Edouard’s reasons for visiting Waddesford Keep.

“Mother.”

Tye’s tone of voice compelled her to look at him.

“Edouard is riding here.” He spoke each word as if ’twas forced between his teeth, and pride kindled in her breast. She’d raised him well. He might have de Lanceau blood running in his veins, but he, too, shared her hatred of them all.

“’Tis an opportunity we cannot ignore,” Veronique answered, while her thoughts began to fashion a new plan.
Edouard, Geoffrey’s beloved son, so close by. Easily within her grasp
. Her breath caught, suspended by the enticing promise of vengeance. She’d have tremendous leverage over Geoffrey, if she owned his son’s life.

“Veronique,” Landon groused. He clearly didn’t like being ignored.

Her attention slid to him, while laughter bubbled within her; it broke free on a shrill cackle.

Landon threw out his hands. “You
laugh?
Why in hellfire . . .?”

Warning tingled in the back of her mind. She mustn’t lose his cooperation. Not till she had that ring. Softening her laugh, she crossed to him. “Do not be angry with me, Landon. In truth, Edouard’s visit could not be more perfect.”

He squinted at her as though she was mad. “We will turn him away at the gates. I will order my men to tell him I cannot speak with him, because . . . I am away.”

“Oh, come now. ’Twould not be very hospitable.” Tilting her head to one side, Veronique glanced at Tye. She nodded once.

The corner of his mouth tilted in a smirk. He turned, strode to the door, and closed it behind him.

Landon scowled. “Where is he going? I did not give him orders.”

Her hips swaying, her gown rustling like a cruel whisper, Veronique strolled to Landon. “Tye will make arrangements for Edouard.” With a breathy sigh, she slid her hand up under his tunic and stroked his sweaty chest.

Landon caught her hand, stilling it with a fierce grip. Sensual excitement rushed through her as he said, close to her cheek, “I want Edouard sent away.”

Did Landon really believe the keep was still in his control? That what he said or thought made any difference? Steeling the disgust from her expression, she lowered her lashes on a provocative flutter. “We would be wise to find out why he has ridden here. Also, we must know what Juliana has told him. That is, before we murder her.” Veronique nuzzled his cheek and then kissed him. “Aye?”

“How will we kill her? Edouard will know—”

Veronique pressed her fingers to Landon’s lips, silencing him. By the time Juliana died, Edouard would be in no position to save her pathetic life, or his own. But Landon didn’t need to know any details of what was to come. “We shall say poor Juliana perished from her wound.” A credible tale. Even witless Landon would agree.