A Knight's Persuasion (33 page)

Tye’s mouth flattened, and his relentless gaze clashed with Edouard’s. Fury raced anew through Edouard. Digging his nails into his bonds, he vowed to get free and ensure his bastard brother never escaped this fight. “What of our hostages?” Tye said. “Shall we chain them back in the dungeon?”

“They are to come to the wall walk with me. There, we will not only survive this battle, but negotiate its bloody end to our benefit.”

“Mother—”

Annoyance flashed in Veronique’s eyes. “Do not make me question your allegiance, Tye. Especially not on the day we will confront your father.”

“Why would you? When have I
ever
given you a reason to doubt me?”

“Just do as I told you,” Veronique snapped.

Tye growled, then loped away into the crowd.

When Veronique’s attention returned to Edouard, he braced for a struggle. She might think she’d haul him up to the battlements, but he’d fight her. The sooner he got free of his bonds, the sooner he’d open the gatehouse to his sire. And his father would win.

First, though, with Tye no longer close at hand, he had to get Juliana away from Veronique. The older woman looked angry enough to kill Juliana out of spite.

A brittle laugh rippled from Veronique. “You are still thinking of escape, Edouard?” Her brazen gaze slid over him. “A pity you waste your stamina on such useless pursuits. Your life is mine to do with as I please. As”—Veronique turned to face Juliana—“is hers.”

“Run!” Edouard shouted, as the malevolence in the older woman’s expression crested. Just as Juliana attempted to dash into the throng, Veronique grabbed her arm. Screaming, Juliana tried to wrench free, but with a brutal yank, Veronique unbalanced Juliana and she half fell, her skirts dragging across the dirt—enough of a delay for Veronique to shove the knife against Juliana’s side.

Alarm, as biting as the flick of a whip, lashed through Edouard. Juliana slowly rose to her feet, her breathing shaky. Did she feel the pinch of the dagger’s tip through her gown? Was her flawless skin pierced? He should have tried sooner to get her to safety.

“Now,” Veronique said, raising her voice to carry above the growing din of battle preparations. “Juliana and I will proceed”—she tipped her head—“to that stairwell. Edouard and Kaine, you will follow. If you refuse, or try to fight the mercenaries escorting you, I will shove my dagger into Juliana’s flesh. She can still tell me where the jewels are, while she is bleeding to death. I will not repeat my warning.”

Juliana’s face paled, but she held her head high.

Stay strong
, a voice inside him said.
I will protect you, Juliana. Because I love you
.

“Walk,” Veronique ordered.

Juliana started toward the keep, walking as though terrified to misstep.

Edouard scowled. Never again would Juliana suffer at Veronique’s hand. Never!

Without waiting for the mercenaries to prod him, Edouard followed, aware of Kaine’s limping footsteps close behind. While walking, Edouard continued to work his nails into his bonds. He must undo the knot. He could fight with his hands tied, but if he could get them free, he’d be far more lethal.

The dankness of the stairwell closed in on him. He trudged up the narrow steps and, moments later, emerged on the wall walk. He stepped out onto the windblown stone, caught Veronique’s curse, and followed her gaze to the dust cloud churned up by the approaching forces, all the knights and men-at-arms his sire had been able to summon at short notice.

The faint pounding of hooves carried on the wind.

Veronique forced Juliana forward, until she stood almost directly opposite the entrance to the bailey. “Line Edouard and Kaine up alongside her,” Veronique said. “I want de Lanceau to see them when he rides in to give his surrender.”

Edouard loosed a disparaging snort. “My father will never yield. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

Veronique laughed. “Oh, but he will.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

The morning breeze stung Juliana’s eyes and tore at her garments as she stood on the battlements, held by two mercenaries. Shouts and the sounds of weapons being readied for the fight carried up from the bailey below. Her thoughts, however, hardly registered the commotion. All her sharpened senses were held hostage by the odors of her guards: a pungent blend of grubby leather and sweat.

The mercenary to her left obviously hadn’t washed in months. Juliana caught her breath and hoped the next wind gust past the castle walls would defray the smell.

Oh, God, ’twas selfish and senseless to focus on the mercenaries’ odors, when she—and of course Edouard and Kaine—faced far greater concerns. In truth, though, the very male smells cut sharper edges into her fear. Rebellion might seethe inside her, but the men restraining her were large, strong, and well trained with their weapons.

If, on Veronique’s orders, they tried to harm Juliana to prove their intentions to de Lanceau, she’d fight as fiercely as she could. The men, though, already had the advantage. The oaf to her left held her arm in a ruthless grip; he also held a dagger at her throat. The man on her right, his grasp equally as bruising, cut circles in the air with his sword, no doubt readying his muscles for the upcoming assault.

A giggle, tinged with hysteria, bubbled inside Juliana. On any day in her life, had she ever imagined herself standing on Waddesford’s battlements as a bound captive, an impending sacrifice to Veronique’s wickedness? Not likely.

Yet here she was.

How Juliana hated the cold touch of the dagger against her neck; despised the grim sense of helplessness; welcomed the anger churning within her, ready to be summoned to the fore. However the morning’s events unfolded, she wouldn’t be used to help bring about Geoffrey de Lanceau’s downfall—or Edouard’s death.

A shout from below drew her gaze through the gap between the closest stone merlons to the bailey. Mercenaries bellowed, ordering servants carrying longbows and arrows to the battlements. Women and children scurried to obey other thugs’ shouted commands. In the shadows of the gatehouse, she saw Tye talking to several men, gesturing as he relayed instructions.

A stifling sense of impending catastrophe seemed to linger in the air. How many people would die today? With so many men at his command, and having traveled many leagues, de Lanceau wouldn’t be denied what he wanted. The thought of the bloodshed to come . . . It made her feel ill.

A grunt sounded beside her, then the
crack
of a brutal slap.

“Bitch!” Edouard snapped, his focus on Kaine, who’d fallen on one knee. “You know his left leg is injured.” From Edouard’s lethal expression, he looked ready to break free of the mercenaries holding him and wallop Veronique, but one of the thugs pressed the tip of his sword against Edouard’s stomach, forcing him to remain still.

“Kaine will stand,” Veronique said, “or I will slay him now.”

His face white with agony, Kaine straightened. His left leg trembled, even as he forced a lopsided grin. “No need to kill me.”

Juliana offered him a sympathetic smile, for his attempt at humor took a great deal of inner resolve; he was clearly in pain. Edouard exchanged a glance with Kaine, then nodded, before his defiant gaze shifted back to Veronique.

With a smug arch of her eyebrows, she turned her back to him to peer down at the bailey. Standing as she was, the skirts of her dark red gown flapping in the breeze, she resembled a gaudy, deformed bird, waiting to swoop down and snatch unsuspecting victims below.

Juliana shivered and then sensed Edouard’s stare upon her. In his blazing eyes, she saw all her own emotions. While their gazes held, her spirit lightened, drawn to his inner strength. Inspired by the warrior force that was integral to who he was, to his father’s legacy, and to the noble de Lanceaus who’d come before.

In that moment, she wondered how love felt between a man and a woman. Was it as profound as what glowed inside her now? Was it anywhere near as wonderful as her memory of that breathless moment when she lay in the darkness, when she’d thought Edouard would kiss her?

Of all her regrets, she wished she’d experienced love.

With him.

As their stares continued to hold, she blinked away the sting of tears. If she had to die today, she’d make her last moments meaningful. She’d fight for Mayda, for little Rosemary, for all she wished she could have experienced with Edouard. To her very last breath, she’d do all in her ability to ensure Edouard and his sire triumphed.

As though guessing her thoughts, his eyes widened slightly, and then his gaze dropped to his bound hands. A deliberate gesture.

A signal?

He’d been working at the rope knot. She’d tried to dig her nails into hers as they climbed the stairwell, but the knot was too tight.

Had he managed to loosen his bonds?

An excited tingle swept over her skin. She forced herself to stare straight ahead again, not wanting to risk what Edouard had divulged.

The armed riders were near. The approaching group had separated into two lines that spread along the perimeter of the castle wall. Not so close that the riders were in range of the mercenaries, but near enough to make a formidable impression.

Once the riders had reached their intended destination, they halted, horses facing the castle. The distant
thud
of hoofbeats lessened. Then stopped.

Sudden silence, punctuated only by the whistling of the wind, spread down the wall walk. Even Veronique stood motionless, her attention fixed upon the riders, her hands splayed into the breeze, as though she sought insight from it.

Juliana curled her fingers against her bonds and dug her nails into the knot. If Edouard had loosened his bindings, she’d try, too.

Beyond the castle, a single rider separated from the neat line of warriors. He wore an iron helm that covered all but the lower third of his face, a flowing black cloak, and a surcoat decorated with embroidery that flashed in the sunlight.

“Geoffrey!” Veronique trembled and smoothed a hand over her windblown tresses.

Halting several paces ahead of the others, the rider lifted his head. A moment later, Juliana heard a shout, distorted by the wind. Had he ordered the castle to surrender? If so, battle was only moments away. She
had
to get free, so she could fight.

“Aim!” a mercenary bellowed, somewhere down the wall walk.

Veronique’s head swiveled. “Wait!” she shrieked. “Let de Lanceau draw closer.” The nearest of the mercenary archers, eyes wide with surprise, shouted her order to the other fighters on the battlements.

Clearly unafraid of the mercenaries watching him, de Lanceau urged his horse to a walk. He rode toward the gatehouse. As he approached the castle, he was blocked from Juliana’s view by the exterior stone wall.

Another shout carried, faint but distinct. “Veronique.” The shout repeated again and again, growing in volume as it blew up on the breeze. Now Juliana heard many men’s voices, calling in unison: “Veronique. Veronique.”

Setting her hands on the curve of her hips, Veronique cackled. “They are calling my name.
Glorifying
me.”

Juliana choked down a stunned laugh. Glorifying? Nay. The repetition of her name was menacing. A warning.

“Veronique. Veronique.”

Glancing at Edouard, Juliana whispered, “Why are they chanting?”

“I do not know,” he said quietly, his attention on the line of men. “I am sure my father has good reason for ordering it.”

Raised voices and a cry drew Juliana’s gaze again to the bailey. His drawn sword gleaming in the sunlight, Tye brushed through the crowd and looked up at the wall walk where Veronique stood. “Mother!”

“What?” Veronique threw up her hands in obvious annoyance. “I told you what to do. Why must you distract me?”

Tye’s expression hardened. “You said not to let anyone in.”

“Then do not!”

“De Lanceau is at the gate.
Alone
. He asked to speak with you.”

“What in hellfire?” Edouard muttered.

A gasp burned Juliana’s throat. She’d heard tales of his lordship’s bravery and cleverness. Surely, though, he realized confronting Veronique on his own put his life—and the lives of many others—in jeopardy. Why would he take such a risk? Did he believe that by speaking privately with Veronique—by reminding her of their long-ago liaison—he could negotiate for Edouard’s life?

Alarm whipped through Juliana, for in her mind, the likely sequence of events unfolded. Veronique wouldn’t negotiate. She’d kill de Lanceau and Edouard, relishing the gruesome spectacle before these witnesses. Juliana would remain a captive until she finally yielded the whereabouts of the important gold ring, whereupon she’d be murdered. Tye would use the ring’s influence to quickly seize control of Moydenshire and become ruler.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“Veronique. Veronique.”

Running a hand over her indecently tight bodice, Veronique tittered. “Mayhap, Edouard, your father believes he can save you. He has come to plead with me, to beg forgiveness for the past cruelties he inflicted upon me. To surrender to my demands, in hopes of sparing you, his precious wife, and the daughter he loves so much.”

Edouard snorted. “You truly believe that?”

She shot Edouard a smug glare before she called down to Tye: “You were right to consult me. Lower the drawbridge and let your father in. We will see what he wants.”

Tye frowned. “It could be a trap.”

“Aye. However, he is on his own.”

“Still, Mother—”

“
One
man, who, rumor has it, is still not recovered from his recent illness.” She cackled, drowning out the rest of Tye’s words of protest. “Weakened as Geoffrey is, he will not have his usual fighting prowess. He will be easily defeated. Once his men learn he is dead—and that Edouard is doomed to die, too—they may not bother to stay and finish the fight.”

Juliana couldn’t stop herself from looking at Edouard. Hatred and suspicion lined his features. How lonely he seemed, doubtless torn between the shock of all he’d heard and the questions whirling in his mind.