A Knight's Persuasion (17 page)

“Tye and I were living in Normandy, close to the prison. I knew several of the king’s men”—she grinned—“intimately. When I asked one of them about the finger bones, he gave me a bag full.”

“He—?” Juliana choked down a moan.

“I took them to an old crone who lived outside the town,” Veronique went on, clearly ignoring Juliana’s distress. “She cured them and showed me how to interpret them.” Not the slightest remorse touched her expression as she studied the haphazard arrangement of bones. “I ask a question of them. The way they fall reveals to me what will happen.”

“To . . . me?”

Veronique’s gaze flickered. “Not just you. Tye. Edouard. Tell me, what do you know of him?”

Juliana shook her head. “Edouard said we met last spring. I do not recall.” A blush warmed her face. “I intend to ask him, though, what he remembers about me, and who I am.”

The impassioned way Edouard looked at her, and the way her heart answered . . . They must have been lovers. They’d kissed, held hands, and made promises of love. That would explain the breathless excitement inside her every time she looked at him.

Veronique began gathering up the bones. “Beware, Juliana, of thinking kindly about Edouard. He will win your trust and then crush it. He is a deceitful bastard, just like his father.”

The older woman spat the word “father” with such ferocity, Juliana wondered what had taken place between them. Of all the people she’d met since she woke, though, Edouard seemed the most honest and compassionate. “Edouard seems so gallant,” she insisted.

Veronique snorted. “’Tis what he wants you to think. Once he has won your trust, he will ask you to help him escape. He insists he cares for you only because he needs your help.”

Could the Edouard she knew be that callous? “Why is Edouard in chains? What crime did he commit?”

Veronique’s hand brushed Juliana’s hair again. Those same fingers had held and cast the bones of tortured men. Shivering, Juliana turned her head to break the contact.

“There are too many of Edouard’s transgressions to recount,” the older woman said, picking up more bones and dropping them into her palm. “Above all, he will never accept that his half-brother, Tye, is deserving of his father’s acknowledgment and riches.”

Juliana pressed her hand to her head which had begun to ache anew. Edouard and Tye were siblings? She’d sensed the hatred between the two men, but never had she guessed they were related by blood.

If, that is, Veronique spoke the truth.

Her account, however, was the only insight Juliana had into what was happening at this keep, and her part in all of it; she must find out all she could.

“Edouard is jealous of Tye, then?”

“Exactly. He will do all he can to prevent Tye from one day inheriting what he is due. Did you realize Edouard came here to kill Tye? To eliminate the threat he poses?”

Juliana gasped. “Surely not.”

“He planned to murder me, too.”

“Why?” Juliana couldn’t stifle her shock.

“I am Tye’s mother. That alone makes me a threat to Edouard and his despicable family.”

“I . . . see.” Juliana didn’t. Not at all. Surely Edouard wouldn’t kill someone just because she was a bastard child’s mother. There must be more to the situation than Veronique wished to divulge. When she had a chance, Juliana would ask Edouard about the older woman’s allegations.

“I know ’tis a lot for you to consider, especially when you are wounded. But—”

A knock sounded on the chamber door.

Veronique smiled. “Enter,” she called.

The door opened with a
creak
, letting in torchlight from the outside passageway. A slim, blond-haired woman, who looked about Juliana’s age, stepped in, carrying a wooden tray. Her waist-length hair, tied back in a loose braid, swayed against the back of her brown woolen gown as she shut the door behind her and headed toward Veronique.

“Azarel,” Veronique said, before glancing at Juliana. “The healer.”

For the briefest moment, Juliana caught the woman’s gaze. “Thank you.”

Azarel nodded, and then her gaze dropped to the floor. Either she was afraid of spilling what was on the tray, or she feared Veronique. As she came close, Juliana tried to make out the design of Azarel’s necklace. Not clay beads, but various kinds of dried mushrooms, strung onto twine. Several were the same color as the decorative hairpin in Azarel’s tresses.

The healer hesitated a few steps from the bed. The objects on the tray were clear to Juliana now: an earthenware mug, one large and one small covered pot, and a wooden spoon. A peculiar, earthy scent wafted; it reminded Juliana of crushed leaves and wet rocks.

“Did you prepare the potion as I asked?” Veronique demanded.

“A-aye, milady. I brought honey to add sweetness, if needed. I-I also finished the facial cream for you, as you commanded.”

“Hand it to me.” Veronique took the small pot from the healer and strode to the trestle table. “Set the tray on the coverlet, Azarel. Stay here and wait till Juliana has drunk the potion.”

Azarel moved to the bedside and, with a slight tremble to her hands, put the tray beside Juliana.

“What is this drink?” Juliana tried not to sound leery.

“’Tis a calming draught to lessen your pain.” Veronique set down the pot of cream. After opening up a cloth bag, she poured the bones inside and drew the drawstring. “Go on. Drink it.”

Juliana clasped her sweaty hands together. Truth be told, she’d rather endure the pain than ingest that concoction. “I will manage.”

“Please, Juliana, do not be difficult,” Veronique went on. “Not after Azarel toiled to make that drink for you. What would Edouard say if he knew you refused the healer’s care? He was so insistent that you be properly looked after.”

Edouard. Juliana’s heart constricted and she looked again at the brew. If it healed her wound, and helped revive her memories, she must drink it. She wanted to be well again, for him.

The potion lurked in the mug; the brownish liquid reminded Juliana of a brackish pond. She quickly lifted the mug to her lips and sipped. The liquid sluiced onto her tongue. It tasted the way it smelled: earthy and raw. Tipping her head back, she downed the rest and, after wiping her lips, set the vessel back on the tray.

“Well done,” Veronique murmured. “I expect you will feel better very soon.” Setting aside the bone bag, she smoothed her hands over her gown and started toward the bed.

An eerie tingle swept through Juliana. Was she imagining it, or were her fingers starting to feel numb? She flexed them. “What herbs are used in that brew?” Juliana gestured to Azarel’s mushrooms. “Did you use any of those in—?”

The shadows in the room were growing fuzzy. She blinked. The inkiness was starting to creep in upon her.

“Why . . ?” Juliana managed to say, before her tongue became . . . heavy, akin to a . . . small pillow in her mouth. Her mind, too . . . was sluggish. Stagnant . . .

“Take her other arm,” Veronique said, sounding far away.

Hands . . . upon her. Pressing . . . her onto the bed.

Juliana groaned. And then, the shadows rushed in upon her.

Chapter Twelve

Veronique leaned over Juliana, lying on her side on the bed. The young woman slept deeply, eyelids still, jaw relaxed. A grin curved Veronique’s lips. Azarel had done exactly as asked.

But of course she would have. Azarel was a gentle soul. The threat of harm to Edouard and especially her friend Juliana—although Juliana, because of her memory loss, no longer recognized Azarel—was more than enough to convince the healer to make the pain potion a higher potency than normal.

“You may go,” Veronique said, not bothering to look at Azarel. “Take the tray.”

“Of course, milady.”

Veronique continued to hover, waiting until the chamber door closed. Then she exhaled a slow breath as she stretched out a gnarled hand and swept it down Juliana’s glossy tresses, drawing out strands to play over the coverlet. Years ago, when Veronique was younger and Geoffrey’s courtesan, she’d had hair that beautiful. Geoffrey had enjoyed running his fingers through it and for her to wear it loose and flowing.

Her jaw hardened on a stab of resentment as she studied Juliana’s face. Smooth, dewy skin. A delicate nose. Full mouth. Her gaze moved down Juliana’s slender neck to the swell of her firm breasts, then lower, to her belly and hips. The loose chemise didn’t conceal her beauty. No wonder Edouard desired her. Oh, aye, there was no doubt of it. She’d seen the yearning in his eyes, even though she’d heard he was betrothed to Juliana’s younger sister.

Tye, also, lusted for Juliana. This unexpected complication made her fate even more interesting. For two brothers who hated each other to want the same woman made for fascinating sport.

Tye, however, mustn’t lose his focus. Naught must interfere with his destiny to kill his sire and seize the de Lanceau empire. Edouard? Veronique smirked. Despite his noble breeding, he was still a man with carnal needs. If offered the right persuasion—a clean, beautiful, sweetly scented Juliana—he might not be able to resist her.

Imagine the dishonor that would befall his respected family, if he, the heir of Moydenshire’s lord and a soon-to-be-married man, ruined the sister of his betrothed, while being held captive. Even if Veronique ended up killing Edouard, she had ways to make sure that the scandal was well known.

How disappointed Geoffrey would be in Edouard. And the anguish the disgrace would cause the de Lanceau family? Wondrous!

Veronique trailed her fingertip down Juliana’s cheek. “If only you knew what lay ahead—”

“Mother.”

Veronique started. She whirled to squint at Tye, standing barely three steps away. She looked past him to the chamber door. Closed. That meant he’d entered and crossed the planks without her hearing. “When did you come in?” Veronique scowled. “Did you knock?”

Tye grinned. “As Azarel left, I stepped inside. You were so engrossed, I decided not to interrupt. We both know you do not like your concentration disturbed.”

True. The boy did have some sense, after all.

Walking to the bedside, Tye frowned. “Is she all right?”

Veronique smothered a smile. How quaint, that he was concerned. “She is sleeping.”

Tye snorted. “You drugged her.”

“To help with her healing.”

“Rather ironic that you are determined to save her, when days ago you wanted her dead.”

Veronique’s lips tightened at the derision in his tone. Did he believe he’d won the right to challenge her decisions? He hadn’t.

“As you well know, circumstances have changed since days ago,” she said. “We need her to survive, at least long enough to recall where Mayda stowed those jewels. I searched the solar myself earlier and could not find them. We do not have much coin left, you and I,” Veronique added. “I plan to sell the jewels left in Landon’s belongings, but with him dead, we need that money to pay the mercenaries to keep our position here secure.”

Tye nodded.  “A wise strategy.”

“Once we have Mayda’s jewels, we can hire more mercenaries. You will need an army of warriors to fight at your side when you conquer your sire’s holdings. With Landon’s ring in our possession—”

“We will devise a plan for me to kill my father, so I can seize power in Moydenshire.”

“Exactly.” Veronique winked. “How well you learn.”

A tautness crept into Tye’s features. “Does that mean, then, we do not need Edouard alive? If we get the ring and lure Father into a trap . . .”

“Edouard cannot die yet.” Veronique plucked a fallen, red hair from her sleeve. “I want Geoffrey to suffer. I want him to know the life of his beloved heir is
mine
, to do with as I please. That Edouard is as worthless to me as you are to your father.” She giggled, barely able to hold back her delight. “I have already sent a missive to Branton Keep, detailing that Edouard is my hostage and Geoffrey must surrender all to us. He will be devastated.”

“Will he?” Tye didn’t look convinced. “Father’s spies will soon alert him we can be found at Waddesford, if they have not done so already. He will not negotiate. He will send his army to crush us.”

Veronique rolled her eyes, as if she spoke with a dim-witted child. “If so, our mercenaries will defend us. In truth, ’tis all the better if he comes here. We will kill Edouard while Geoffrey watches, helpless to stop us. You”—she patted Tye’s cheek—“will then cut down your sire.”

“I will still have the gold ring,” Tye said, clearly following the progression of her thoughts. “’Twill win me audiences with the loyal knights and lords who paid fealty to him, allowing me to murder them, too.” He paused, and his gaze slid to Juliana, still slumbering. “If all unfolds as planned.”

“Why would it not?” Veronique held his gaze, excitement seething inside her like a murky brew. “All that we need to succeed is within our grasp. I promise, you will have your long awaited chance to kill your father.”

Tye was silent.

She waited, ready to crush his hesitation if he didn’t seem convinced.

His lips curved into a dark smile. “When I slay my sire, he will see the loathing on my face.” Rage glinted in Tye’s eyes. “He will know how much I resented his cruel rejection of me years ago. By my sword, I will
take
my right to be a de Lanceau.”

“You will.”

Tye growled. “Tell me of the day he spurned me.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “I have told you often enough—”

“Tell me again. Now,” Tye demanded. His fisted hands shook.

Touching her face, Veronique hid an elated grin. For him to be this rankled proved he would, indeed, pursue the destiny she’d prepared him for since he was a squalling babe. “That day took place years ago, when you were a little boy,” she said, her thoughts slipping back to the past. “I wanted your father to know about you, but since I was not sure how he would react to the news, I arranged a meeting in a meadow where he could not launch a surprise assault. He arrived with armed men. He looked coldly upon me, holding you in my arms. Even when I told him you were his son, proof of the passion we had enjoyed in his bed at Branton Keep, he remained unmoved.”