A Knight's Persuasion (21 page)

Shifting the hand holding up her hair, she stole a sidelong glance at the healer. But Azarel was pushing the lid back onto the pot and wiping her fingers on a cloth. Naught in her countenance indicated that she’d spoken to Juliana. Neither did she acknowledge Juliana’s glance.

Frustration urged Juliana to softly whisper, “What babe? Please—”

“How is the wound?” Veronique asked, her voice drowning out Juliana’s.

“’Tis healing well, milady,” Azarel answered.

“Good.”

Juliana swallowed. Had Veronique seen or heard her speak to the healer? Not likely. Still, Juliana must beware. She mustn’t jeopardize Azarel’s safety.

“Thank you for your help, Azarel,” Juliana said loudly enough for all to hear.

Not looking up, the healer nodded once, then set the cloth and pot back on the tray, her movements controlled and efficient. Her hands, though, were shaking.

She rose. Her lashes flicked up, and for the briefest instant, her fearful gaze met Juliana’s, before she looked back at the floorboards and faced Veronique and Tye.

The older woman’s attention fixed on Azarel. “How much longer till Juliana’s memories return?”

“I cannot say, milady.”

Edouard rolled his eyes. “She cannot be expected to know that.”

“Silence, Edouard.” Veronique looked down at Juliana. “Azarel, what can you do to quicken the process for Juliana?” She flexed her misshapen fingers. “How about giving her a stronger potion?”

Juliana’s stomach rebelled at the thought of another vile drink. “I do not think—”

“We do not expect you to think, with a head wound,” Veronique cut in. “Azarel, I expect you to have an answer on the morrow.”

The healer’s shoulders stiffened, but she said, “Aye, milady.”

Chains clanked as Edouard leaned forward, his face set in a frown. “Why are you so interested in Juliana regaining her memories? What does it matter to you?”

A very good question. Hands clasped in her lap, Juliana waited for Veronique’s reply.

The older woman smiled—a sly, secretive turn of her lips—and motioned for Tye to open the door.

***

“What does she want from me?”

Juliana’s voice reached Edouard over the grating of the pebble on the wall. The daylight was fading, casting an intense, orange-red glow into the chamber. He had precious little time left to make progress on their escape.

Wiping perspiration from his nose, he looked at Juliana, sitting on her pallet, with her arms looped around her knees. How forlorn she looked. He fought a renewed pang of guilt that he’d brought her into Veronique’s dangerous realm.

“I do not know what she wants,” he said. “I
do
know, however, she intends to profit from what you remember.”

“I wonder . . .” Juliana sighed, as though greatly troubled. “Edouard, there is something I must ask you.”

He scraped the pebble again. “Mmm?”

“Do we . . . have a baby?”

Shock jolted through him, almost causing him to fall forward against the wall. Of all the things he’d expected her to ask, that wasn’t among them. Why would she imagine they’d made a child together? His mind raced, rousing an unsettling fascination. Did her feelings for him run so deep, she believed they’d shared the pleasure of their bodies?

Did she . . . desire him? Crave him, even half as much as he craved her?

A tremor rippled through him as he forced the tantalizing thoughts aside. It didn’t matter if Juliana desired him. She was forbidden to him, because of his betrothal to Nara.

While he gathered his wits again, the pebble slid from his fingers, bounced onto the planks, and rattled to a halt a hand’s span from the untouched tray of food.

“Why would you believe we have a child?” He didn’t mean to sound so astounded, but he simply couldn’t help it. As he looked at her, his innards clenched at the bewilderment shimmering in her eyes.

Juliana squared her shoulders; she clearly meant to get the answer she sought. “Azarel whispered to me while she tended me. She said, ‘The babe is safe, in the village.’ Our babe? If not ours, whose?”

Her earnest expression touched at the yearning for her he’d tried to lock away within himself. He longed to sweep his mouth over hers, to promise her all would be well, to offer comfort. Turning away from the wall, he faced her and sat down. He wiped dust from his fingers, then took in a careful breath. “Juliana—”

“’Tis
not
a foolish question.”

“I agree.” He continued to stare at his hands, scraped in a few places from grazing the wall while using the pebble. Refusing to acknowledge a rising sense of awkwardness, he said, “To create a child, a man and woman must . . .”

“Be in love.”

“Aye. And—”

“Desire to make a child together.”

Oh, aye. Desire certainly helped. Edouard choked down a helpless laugh. Hellfire, he’d just have to say the hot, sweaty, indelicate issue outright. “They must fornicate, Juliana.”

He dared to lift his gaze.

Her face had turned scarlet.

“Oh. Well,” she said, after a long, silent moment. “Does that mean you and I never—?”

“We never fornicated.” Although, of all depravities, he couldn’t help wondering what ’twould be like to lie with her, run his fingers over her naked flesh, and lazily explore all the delicious permutations of that hot, sweaty, indelicate issue before finding shuddering release in each other’s embrace.

His loins warmed. With a silent curse, he willed his lust to dissipate.

Juliana appeared relieved by the fact they’d never coupled, yet somehow also dismayed.

“What child did Azarel speak of, then?” she asked. “Whose babe would be important to me?”

Edouard started to shake his head, until he recalled the embroidered baby blanket he’d brought to Waddesford in his saddlebag. “The Ferchantes’ newborn daughter,” he said. “Azarel came here to assist with her birth. You likely helped Mayda care for her.”

“In the solar.” Juliana’s eyes widened. “That would explain why I felt that chamber was familiar.”

“Aye. Did you see the babe whilst you were there?”

Juliana frowned. “I saw no sign of a child, or truth be told, Lady Ferchante. Veronique told me she is dead.”

’Twas likely true, especially if Mayda had opposed Landon’s affair with Veronique and her growing control of Waddesford. Azarel must have somehow got the babe to safety, before Veronique could slaughter the last of the Ferchante family. Mayhap Veronique kept firm control over Azarel with a threat to snatch and murder the infant.

Grief crushed down upon Edouard. He
had
to get free of this wretched captivity,
had
to undermine Veronique’s treachery, before—

The pebble again rattled on the planks. As his gaze focused, he saw it rolling toward him, and Juliana straightening from pushing it his way.

He snatched up the stone, met her gaze, and smiled.

She smiled back, before her lashes dropped in shy hesitation. “There is one more thing I must ask you.”

A strange tension threaded together her words. Was she going to ask him if they’d
almost
fornicated?

“You didn’t finish explaining our relationship earlier. Edouard, why do I feel such strong emotions for you?” Her voice softened to a plea. “I realize you may be trying to protect me, but I
must
know. Please. Are you and I lovers?”

Her eyes glistened with the hint of tears. His heart squeezed tight. Fighting the awful pressure in his gut, he said, “Nay, Juliana, we are not lovers. We never can be, for I am betrothed to your sister.”

Chapter Fourteen

Juliana lay on her right side, her head pillowed on her bent arm, staring into the darkness. She saw the same inkiness when she shut her eyes. Yet for some reason, the pervasive blackness made her all the more aware of Edouard lying a short distance away.

We are not lovers. We never can be, for I am betrothed to your sister
.

His words whirled through her exhausted mind. His admission that he was committed to another had shocked the breath from her and left her numb. Shame, too, welled inside her. She might not remember his betrothal to her sister he’d told her was named Nara, but harboring such strong emotions toward him was surely improper.

“I am very happy for you and Nara.” She’d bravely forced out the words, while hating the way her voice wobbled.

He must have noticed, for his lips pressed into a line. Before she could ask when the wedding would take place, he’d turned away to attack the wall with the stone. His ferocious assault suggested he didn’t want to talk about the matter anymore, so she’d let him work in silence. He’d toiled until twilight, without saying another word. While he’d made some headway, he hadn’t yet managed to loosen the bolts, and his brooding silence had left her unsettled and unbearably lonely.

’Twas odd, how intensely she felt Edouard’s presence reaching out of the blackness to her. She sensed his body warmth, heard his rhythmic breathing and the occasional
clink
of chains, and sensed he, too, was awake and trying to deal with the thoughts racing around in his mind.

Why did she feel this way toward a man who wasn’t her lover?

A breeze slipped over her, coming from the open window. Shivering, she drew the thin blanket about her shoulders. Hoping for sleep. Wanting to escape this cell. Longing to finally recall all there was to know about herself, Lady Juliana de Greyne.

While she and Edouard hadn’t coupled and produced a child, and he was pledged to her sister,
something
had occurred between them. Her feelings for him wouldn’t be so intense or muddled otherwise.

He sighed. Fighting a pinch of guilt, she imagined the broad muscles of his chest expanding and contracting. The parting of his lips—so beautifully sculpted—as air rushed from them.

“Juliana.” His voice rumbled through the darkness.

She started. Had he sensed her thinking about him? “A-aye, Edouard?”

“I knew you were awake.”

She curled her fingers against the pallet. ’Twas unseemly of her, but she found pleasure in the rich timbre of his voice; it roused within her a comforting blend of reassurance and trust. A thrill raced through her, too, to know that he, somehow, had been so aware of her. Smiling, she asked, “How did you know I was not asleep?”

“A feeling. A kind of . . . sensing.” Metal scraped and she imagined him shifting on his pallet. “’Tis difficult to put into words.”

She knew, though, exactly what he meant. If only she understood what had forged a connection this strong between them.

Another gust swept across the floor, and Juliana shuddered before tugging the blanket all the way up to her chin. The night wind was strengthening.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“A bit cold.” Remorse poked at her, for while she was a captive, she didn’t have iron bands clamped around her wrists and could move about as she wished. He must be uncomfortable, trying to sleep while chained. “You must be chilled, too,” she murmured. “You are close to the window.”

He grunted. “I will manage.”

How nonchalant he sounded; she imagined his shoulder rising in a careless shrug. If she pressed him, he’d probably say he’d spent colder nights sleeping on the ground in midwinter, as part of his warrior training. Yet she discerned he was, indeed, uncomfortable; he likely didn’t want to admit such because that would give Veronique a small victory, and he was a proud man who didn’t yield easily.

“It must be near midnight,” he said.

“Mmm.”

“We should try and sleep. When dawn breaks, I will work again on my chains. Mayhap I will have better luck on the morrow.”

“There must be another way to escape,” she said.

“For you, mayhap. I am here till I break my fetters from the wall or they are unlocked.” He growled a sigh. “If only you knew how much I want to be free.”

“I can hear it in your voice,” she said softly. “I feel your rage and frustration, as if they were my own.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“We are one then, in our discontent.”

We are one
. Three little words that sounded wondrous strung together. Juliana closed her eyes and savored the heady glimmer inside her, ignoring her conscience that insisted she shouldn’t indulge such thoughts.

How curious, that she wasn’t as cold as moments ago, or as unsettled. She breathed in and slowly exhaled, allowing her muscles to relax for a moment; the constant ache in her head to dim; her mind to calm . . .

Ooooo
. . .

Her limbs jerked with the abruptness of her waking. Her heart pounded.

That cry . . . So haunting.

With a shaking hand, she pushed aside hair that had fallen over her cheek while she dozed. Was Edouard moaning because he was in pain? Mayhap he was asleep, enduring a nightmare. Or had she dreamt the noise?

Ooooo
. . .

The sound was akin to someone wailing. Not Edouard, though; the noise emanated from outside.

A chill crawled over her skin and she drew the blanket tighter about her. Might she be hearing a spirit? The ghostly presence of a prisoner who’d died in this chamber?

Chains rattled from the darkness. “Juliana?”

When her mind registered Edouard’s voice, she also heard short, ragged breaths: her own.

“What is wrong?” he asked.

“That n-noise.” Her voice emerged no more than a croak.

“’Tis the wind blowing past the tower walls.”

“It sounds like a person c-crying. A baby’s wail . . .” Her teeth chattered. She became aware of cooling wetness on her cheeks: tears.

“’Tis only the wind.” His gentle words were no doubt meant to console her. Somehow, though, the anxiety inside her furrowed deeper.

Ooooo
. . .

Edouard was right. The night gusts caused the eerie wail. However, the noise tapped into a place inside her that
hurt
. Oh, how she ached.
Why?
What had happened in her past to rouse such a devastating sense of loss?

She squeezed her eyes shut. If only she remembered! She
must
remember, for the anguish threatened to tear her apart.