A Knight's Persuasion (35 page)

Beware, Father, for Tye is ready to run you through with his sword
.

“Tye is near you.” Veronique motioned to him. “Seeing you two together, there is no doubt he looks like you, as he has since he was a young boy. Ask anyone here if they can deny a resemblance. That, Geoffrey, is proof enough.”

Edouard’s sire glanced at Tye, whose expression held both anguish and loathing.

An odd look flickered over his father’s features. Surprise? Recognition?

“Hello, Father,” Tye ground out.

Edouard waited for his sire to reply. Silence carried, ominous and strained. Then, without a word, de Lanceau looked back at Veronique. “I told you before, and I will say so again. You have not proven he is my son.”

Tye chuckled, a bitter sound. “We expected your refusal.” From the front of his tunic, he withdrew a rolled parchment, tied with twine, and thrust it forward.

His eyes narrowed in a scowl, Edouard’s sire said, “I will never sign.”

“Never? That is a strong word, Father.”

Beware, Father. Beware!

“My answer is, and always will be,
never
.”

Come on, come on!
Edouard silently pleaded as he worked again on his bonds.

The knot loosened further.

“Your reluctance, too, was anticipated,” Veronique said with a wicked giggle. “I know we will change your mind.” She looked back over her shoulder at Kaine, then Edouard, then, with bright, glittering eyes, Juliana. “Kill her.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Veronique’s words slammed into Juliana’s mind.

She was going to die.

Now.

Before the horror fully bloomed in Juliana’s thoughts, the mercenaries eased aside their weapons to haul her forward, toward the wall walk’s edge.

Juliana dug her heels into the rough stone beneath her feet. She twisted her upper body to and fro, trying to break their punishing hold.

“Nay!” Edouard roared behind her. “Take me instead.”

“Edouard!” Juliana screamed, while she struggled. But the mercenaries were too strong. With brutal tugs, they brought her to the open space between the merlons, giving her an unhindered view of the steep drop to the ground and the shocked crowd below. The mercenary on her left shoved his knife near her face, a reminder of what was to come.

Sickening shudders ran through her. Her breath whistled sharply in her throat. She’d vowed not to yield. What more, though, could she do? How did she break free of these thugs and fulfill her vow to fight?

Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Edouard, my chivalrous protector, how I wish we’d never disagreed in the past. How I wish you weren’t betrothed to Nara. How I wish we were both free and could begin anew. I weep, in my very soul, that I never had the chance to love you
.

“Release her,” Lord de Lanceau bellowed from below.

“Kill her!” Veronique shrieked.

The mercenary at Juliana’s right, holding his sword at hip level, wrenched her arm and thereby tugged her body sideways as though to better thrust his blade into her belly. Ignoring the dagger close to her cheek—she’d die anyway, unless she got free—she fought the thugs’ hold.

In her mind, she suddenly saw Mayda, poised at the edge of the wall walk, fighting for her life.
Mayda, I am sorry. I failed in all you asked of me
.

The glint of metal warned her of the moving sword. Her tear-blurred gaze fell to Lord de Lanceau, his grim stare fixed upon her. Even as she struggled, her stomach clenched, preparing to feel the weapon’s sharp bite.

As though the passing moment had somehow slowed, she saw de Lanceau nod, the barest dip of his head.

The blond man beside him, holding a crossbow, aimed his weapon at her. Fired.

The steel-tipped bolt streaked through the air toward her. A merciful death. They’d taken the right to her life from Veronique.

Edouard, I am forever lost
—

The sword’s tip touched her stomach.

Blood splattered across her face and torso. It dripped from her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut and awaited agonizing pain.

Through a fog of expectation, Juliana heard the mercenary to her right groan, followed by the
clank
of metal by her feet.

The mercenary wielding the dagger gasped. Shouts erupted along the battlements. Veronique shrieked, her voice accompanied by the whistle of fired arrows.

Juliana opened one eye to see arrows flying down into the bailey, where servants and warriors had started fighting. The mercenary who’d aimed to plunge his sword into her had crumpled over, clutching at his chest, where the feathered fletching of the bolt poked out. His blood stained her clothes.

Relief and hope raced through her. As the wounded mercenary turned his bloody head to glare at her, and tried to pick up his sword, she brought her leg up and slammed her foot into his thigh. He reeled against the nearby merlon. With a strangled roar, he lost his balance, tripped on uneven stone, and fell over the side, down to the bailey below.

A sharp tug snapped her focus back to the other mercenary. His lips drew back from his blackened teeth, and the knife gleamed as he tilted it, clearly readying to strike. Before she could draw in air to scream, a crossbow bolt spliced through his neck, from throat to nape, with a grisly
fwoop
and
crack
of bone. Eyes rolling, he fell backward onto the wall walk, the dagger still in his hand.

She was alive.
Alive!

“Get her!” Veronique shrieked.

Dragging in a breath, Juliana dropped to a crouch before the fallen sword and sliced her bonds. Then she snatched up the weapon. Keeping an eye on Veronique and her lackeys, she glanced over the battlement, to thank de Lanceau’s crossbowman who’d saved her. Yet the bailey was a seething battle scene, with castle folk fighting mercenaries, the wounded crying for help, and the dead sprawled on the ground. De Lanceau and the crossbowman were nowhere to be seen.

Neither was Tye.

“Do not let her escape!” Veronique shrieked. Raising the sword, Juliana spun around to face a bald mercenary, one of the men who’d restrained Edouard. A knife flashed in the mercenary’s grasp.

She glared at him. Then, quickly, at Veronique. Juliana focused all her hatred and resolve into her stare; never would she let the murderous woman who’d caused so much grief at the castle win this battle.

Veronique’s stare sharpened. “I was right. You remember.”

“I do.
Everything
.”

“Get that sword from her,” Veronique snapped to the mercenary. “I want her as my hostage. Now!”

The mercenary lunged forward, and Juliana darted back several steps. She dared a glance at Edouard. Pride shone in his gaze, and he winked.

Juliana’s pulse fluttered—oh, how she savored that wink—even as she guessed he wanted her to keep this lout distracted. Her arms, though, had started to tremble from the weight of the weapon.

The mercenary grinned. “’Ow long, lovey, till ye ’ave ta put the sword down?”

She scowled, for Veronique was edging in toward her. She would
not
be Veronique’s captive again. At least this time, when facing Veronique, Juliana had a weapon.

A pained grunt, then the
clang
of falling metal came from behind the bald mercenary. As he spun, knife at the ready, Juliana saw Edouard had thrown aside his bonds. His remaining guard stood with one arm crossed over his belly, his dagger on the stones several yards away.

“Well done, milord!” Kaine struggled against his two captors.

His face dark with fury, Edouard’s guard staggered back, then reached into his boot, no doubt for another knife.

Edouard snatched up the fallen dagger and looked at Juliana. “Bring me the sword.”

As the bald mercenary swung back to face her, she dashed past him, keeping her blade aimed at his gut. He muttered, then advanced on her.

Another backward step, and she bumped into Edouard. The touch of their bodies sent bittersweet longing racing through her, but she didn’t dare meet his gaze. Not when the battle against Veronique had yet to be won.

Edouard’s fingers brushed hers as he exchanged the dagger for her sword.

“What now?” Holding the knife at the ready, she fixed her gaze on the mercenary, who obviously waited for a favorable moment to attack.

“Juliana, head for the doorway into the stairwell.”

He spoke calmly, as though he’d asked her to fetch a couple of pints of ale.

“Why—?”

“Find a safe place to hide. Stay there until the fighting is done.”

An awful tightness filled her breast; he was sending her away. “I am not leaving—”

“You are an important witness to what happened at Waddesford in the past days. I want you out of danger.” As though sensing her rising protest, he sighed, a sound of impatience. “Please, do not argue. ’Tis my duty, as my father’s son, to protect you and to fight for his cause. For this castle.”

“Moments ago, I almost died.” Juliana glared at Veronique, edging in alongside the mercenary. “To think I might never”—
look upon your handsome face again
—“draw another breath . . .” She shook her head. “Thanks to your father’s crossbowman, I have been given another chance to live. I will not waste it.”

“Juliana—”

“I shall fight. For my dearest friend who was murdered. For Rosemary, who lost her mother. For all the folk who have suffered or died at this keep because of Veronique.”

A chuckle interrupted her last words. “What lovely sentiments,” Veronique said, so close that Juliana caught her rosewater scent. “However, you should have done as Edouard asked.”

Over the gusting wind, Juliana caught sounds of a commotion, emanating from the stairwell. Shouts. Clashing swords. Pounding footfalls.

“Too late, Juliana.” Veronique’s words dissolved into a wicked cackle. “Too
late!
”

The mercenary lunged. Edouard stepped forward, his sword glinting in a well-executed strike. As the weapons collided, Juliana risked glancing at the stairwell.

Moving backward, his sword slicing the air with a deadly
fwhoop
, Tye emerged from the stairwell. Lord de Lanceau followed, with three of his men-at-arms a few steps behind. Sweat streamed down his lordship’s face. His sword was poised to attack, his expression stony as he pursued Tye.

More clanging rang out behind Juliana, reminders of Edouard’s ongoing fight, while Tye growled and swung his sword down, aiming for de Lanceau’s chest. With a metallic
crash
, their weapons met. The two men glared at each other, their swords locked.

Tye spun away.

At the same moment, Dominic hurried out of the stairwell.

“Go, Juliana!” Edouard shouted. “Now!”

“I am not leaving you!” She whirled to face the mercenary and Veronique, to see that Edouard had driven the bald fighter several yards back down the wall walk.

And Veronique?

Again, Juliana caught the sweetish tang of rosewater. Fear crawled up Juliana’s nape into her scalp. Just as she whirled around, Veronique grabbed her forearm in a crushing grip.

“Too late,” the older woman taunted. “Now, tell me where to find the jewels, or—”

Gasping, Juliana twisted her trapped arm which held the knife. She tried to slash with the dagger. Veronique’s bruising hold curtailed her movements. As the older woman dug the nails of her free hand into Juliana’s flesh, forcing her to let go of the weapon, Juliana kicked out at Veronique. The older woman twisted aside, avoiding the brunt of the blow.

With a triumphant grunt, Veronique snatched the dagger. Her painted lips formed a grin, and she released her grasp.

Juliana heard footfalls thundering toward her.

“Juliana!” Edouard bellowed. “Look—”

Someone slammed into her. A cry broke from her, as she pitched toward a stone merlon. She threw up a hand, desperate to thwart the imminent contact, when a muscled arm locked around her waist. She was hauled back against a broad man who smelled of sweat and hatred.

Tye
.

His breaths seared her temple. The sharp blade of a sword came into her sight.

“Do not come any closer, Father,” Tye growled, his voice rumbling next to her ear, “or I will slice her from ribs to belly.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

At the sight of Juliana pinned in Tye’s arms, Edouard’s fury heightened to a dangerous pitch. She’d endured so much already; more than a lady of her grace and loveliness should ever have to face. This . . .
this
was the last. It ended here. Now.

Rage scorched through his body, firing renewed strength into his tired arms. The bald mercenary lunged again, and Edouard thrust up his sword. The blades met, tension jarred through Edouard’s torso, and then he pushed with all his strength against the joined swords.

When the mercenary staggered back a step, Edouard lunged forward and swung the blade in a wide arc. The steel sliced the mercenary’s upper arm. Blood shot in a crimson streak across the man’s leather hauberk.

The mercenary screamed.

“Yield,” Edouard said between his teeth, “or I will kill you.”

The man’s anguished gaze shifted from Edouard to a point near Tye before he pressed his free hand over the wound, spun on his heel, and hurried away.

“—I will not ask again. Release her,” Edouard’s sire was saying, as Edouard dried his sweaty brow with his sleeve and faced the others.

“Why should Tye heed you, when you do not even respect his birthright?” Veronique’s tone darkened. “Do you have the parchment, Tye?”

“I do.”

“Geoffrey, you will sign it. Or Juliana dies.”

Edouard marched forward. His boots thundered on the stone. As Juliana’s sorrowful gaze met his, her eyes widened. Did she sense the lethal edge to his fury? By God, he’d cut Tye to bleeding pieces and—

“Edouard,” his sire said.

Blinking through the haze of rage, Edouard glanced at his sire, flanked by three men-at-arms. His father’s face was turned to Edouard in profile. Not looking at Edouard, he said, “I have this matter in hand. Free Kaine. Secure this section of wall walk.”