A Knight's Temptation (21 page)

“I did not know you were so easily tempted.”

As the words left her lips, she realized how coy they sounded.
Ugh!

She clambered onto Rom’s back, smoothed her clothing, and dared to glance down at Aldwin adjusting Rom’s bridle. His jaw looked hard enough to snap.

He hadn’t answered her. Why not?

Sweat dampened her palms. Before she could dry them, he drew Rom to a walk.

***

Sedgewick yanked open the solar door and shoved Veronique inside. His sweaty hands squeezed her breasts while he breathed in feverish pants. “Now,” he said, “my reward.”

“You shall have it,” she purred, her tongue clashing with his in a hot, slippery kiss. “First, I want to see the necklace.”

Sedgewick whined. “Later.” He nuzzled her while edging her toward the bed.

Setting her palm against his chest, she kissed him while easing away. “I want to wear it. Once we sell it, ’twill be gone.” She bit his lip on a wild little moan. “I want to feel that ruby rubbing against my skin, while you—”

“While I what?” he urged.

Veronique laughed. “Whatever you desire.”

His eyelids dropped on a lusty shudder, and she took the opportunity to step toward the small, rectangular chest on the table. Ransley had put the pendant inside during their meeting, promising no one would touch it since this was his private chamber.

She tried to lift the lid, but the box seemed to be locked.

“Where is the key?” she muttered.

Sedgewick sighed. “I do not know.” His hands slid up her waist from behind to fondle her breasts. “Forget the pendant.”

Foreboding gnawed at her, a gut instinct she couldn’t ignore. She had no reason to distrust Ransley. Did she?

“I want to see the jewel.” Veronique pulled out of Sedgewick’s grasp.

“If the box is locked—”

She grabbed it from the table and hurled it against the stone wall. One of the sides splintered, but the wood held together.

Rage flared as she snatched the box from the floor. With an angry shriek, she threw it again. The box collapsed. Bits of wood and items from inside landed on the planks.

She bent and examined the rubble. Gold rings that had likely belonged to Ransley’s wife; a delicate circlet; a heavy silver pin wrapped in cloth; and—

Sedgewick swore, even as shock crashed through her. No ruby pendant.

After pocketing the rings and pin, Veronique stood. Fury blazed inside her. “Where
is
it?” She whirled on the baron. “Did you take it?”

“Of course not! I saw Ransley lock it away.” Sedgewick scowled. “Which means someone else who knew of the chest came into the solar and took it.”

“More likely Ransley,” Veronique said. “He means to deceive us. Betray us to Geoffrey.”

“He hates de Lanceau.”

“Does he? Or was that all an act?”

The baron’s face paled. “God’s blood!”

Veronique strode to the door, drawing her knife from her sleeve’s hem, aware of Sedgewick’s jostled strides behind her. Without slowing her pace, she hurried down to the great hall, where Ransley was standing beside the lord’s table, one unsteady hand gripping the oak to hold him upright while he raked his other hand through his hair.

He motioned to a maidservant. “Where is Leona?”

Leona. Veronique ground her teeth. She hadn’t been included in the meeting, but mayhap she’d found out about the pendant. Would Ransley’s daughter have decided to take her father’s loyalties into her own hands?

The maidservant curtsied. “I have not seen Lady Ransley today, milord.”

“I wish to speak with her.” He rubbed his brow as though battling a brutal headache. “Tell her I . . . ’twould please me very much.”

The girl’s gaze slid to Veronique and widened with fright before she said, “Aye, milord,” and hurried away.

Ransley’s bloodshot gaze met Veronique’s as she approached. “Have you seen my daughter?”

“I have not,” Veronique said, careful to steel the anger from her voice. “How odd, but I do not remember seeing her since we arrived.”

“Nor do I,” Sedgewick muttered.

Ransley’s frown deepened. “’Tis not like her. She must be busy about the keep.”

“Or she has run off.”

“What?” Ransley roared, and then grimaced. “What do you—” His gaze dropped to the dagger in her hand. “Put that knife away.”

“Where is the pendant?”

Ransley’s mouth tightened. “I ordered you to put the knife away.”

Veronique’s fingers flexed on the handle. “I asked you about the pendant.”

Ransley’s unshaven face reddened as he thrust a finger at her. “You are a guest of my household. When I order you to—”

“Shut up!” She raised the dagger, aiming it at his chest. “Where is the pendant?”

“Why, you impertinent— Guards!” Ransley bellowed. “Arrest this woman!”

Wretched, naïve fool!
A harsh laugh grated from Veronique’s lips, an unearthly sound that echoed in the quiet hall.

“Guards!” Ransley bellowed again.

“Summon them all you like,” Sedgewick sneered. “Your men will not help you.”

Ransley motioned to the men-at-arms standing near the wall. They dropped their gazes. He started toward them. “Look at me! I am the lord of this keep. I order you—”

“I order
you
,” Veronique said coldly. “The pendant. Where is it? I will not ask again.”

Ransley spun, his eyes as hard as stone. “Do you
dare
to threaten me?”

She raised her eyebrows. Oh, she dared. Tipping her head, she motioned to the mercenaries lingering near the entrance to the stairwell. “Tie him to his chair.”

Ransley reached for his sword. The scabbard was empty.

“I took your blade last night,” she said, gloating, as the mercenaries grabbed Ransley’s arms and hauled him backward to the dais. He fought, but was no match for the four large men, who bound him hand and foot to the oak chair.

“I demand that you untie me,” Ransley yelled.

“The baron and I make the demands now.” Veronique stepped up on the dais and, pressing her palms flat on the stained tablecloth, leaned over him. “Now, you will tell me about the pendant, or—”

The chair rocked as he struggled. “’Tis safe in the box where I left it. You saw.”

She shook her head. “’Tis gone.”

He stilled. Shock widened his gaze. “Where is it, then?”

“You tell me.”

“I do not—”

Despite the odor of his filthy garments, she leaned even closer, fixing him with a frosty glare. “You might not have taken it, but you could have told Leona where ’twas hidden.”

“Leona?” Worry darkened his eyes. “I told her naught.”

Veronique raised the knife, holding it so light glinted off its surface. Glancing up at the nearest mercenary, she said, “Search the keep. Find Leona Ransley. Bring her to me.”

Chapter Thirteen

Refusing to look back at Leona, even though he sensed her questioning stare, Aldwin led Rom back to the fallen tree where he’d fought the poachers.

I did not know you were so easily tempted
.

Her words repeated in Aldwin’s mind. She’d spoken with such guilelessness. But those words were another reminder that he couldn’t trust her. After their tousle in the cavern, she knew the physical effect she had upon him.

He
was
easily tempted. By her. That knowledge both infuriated and fascinated him, for if she decided to pursue that temptation, he knew, without doubt, he’d lose to his rash nature. God only knew what might happen then.

He halted Rom by the fallen poachers. Leaving them to their comrades, he clenched his teeth against the pain in his side and hoisted the stag up behind her. Then he headed to the river and tossed the carcass into the water. When the poachers returned, they wouldn’t find their illegal spoils still waiting for them.

He washed his hands in the water. Then, drawing in a fortifying breath, he swung up into the saddle behind Leona.

I did not know you were so easily tempted
.

Her words teased again as he settled against her, trying to ignore his hose dragging against her gown, her hair brushing his arm, and her scent. His loins stirred.

He spurred Rom into the forest, even as he heard once more:
I did not know you were so easily tempted
. This time, her voice sounded husky with desire—the way she’d speak when she meant to seduce him. Aching heat stretched his groin, not helped by the jostling together of their bodies when Rom traveled uneven ground.

His side ached, too, but in a very different way. Once he got Leona to safety, he must see to his wound.

Leona shifted forward, putting distance between them, as she had the other evening when they rode to the forest. Not enough distance that he could forget her sitting between his thighs, but he’d endure. She looked uncomfortable, though, with her back as straight as a roofing truss. If a leaf dropped on her shoulder, she’d likely shriek and jump in the air.

He glowered at her lustrous hair, close enough to seize in his fist. How his fingers itched to pluck a leaf from a branch and toss it at her, to see her flinch. To torment her, as she tormented him.

Such unchivalrous thoughts. He should not indulge such folly.

Aldwin forced his attention to the forest. No sign yet of the poachers’ return. He steered Rom toward the road.

Leona’s head turned. Sunlight softened the curve of her cheek as she asked, “Where are we headed?”

“A village where we will spend the night.”

Did her posture stiffen even more? He hadn’t thought it possible.

“Where, exactly?”

“Does it matter? You will go where Rom and I take you.”

Her eyes hardened beneath the sweep of her lashes. “I am, indeed, going where you say. Thus, because my question is of little consequence, you have no reason to deny me an answer.”

She’d mimicked his exact tone when he’d challenged her refusal to obey him a short while ago. Laughter rumbled in his chest. “Very well, then. We are headed to a village north of this forest, a day’s journey from Branton Keep.”

“Oh, that one.”

He grinned.

The trees ahead thinned. Moments later, Rom’s hooves clopped on the hard-packed dirt road.

“Hold onto Rom’s mane,” Aldwin said.

“Did you see poachers?”

“Nay, and I do not wish to.” Aldwin kicked Rom to a gallop.

Even when they’d cleared the forest, he kept Rom at a brisk pace. Twice, he stopped to water Rom at the river and give Leona a moment to stretch her legs; while she attended to her private needs, he washed his wound. In a small town where boats bobbed at a dock, he halted only long enough to lean down from Rom’s back and buy two pork pies from a street vendor before nudging the destrier onward.

When the afternoon sun slid toward the hill ahead, he knew they neared their destination. Good. From the pain in his side, he knew he’d be wise not to travel much farther this day.

“We are almost at the village,” he said, breaking the silence between him and Leona that had persisted most of the day. He’d tried to initiate conversation, without much success. No matter. Once they were settled for the evening, he’d ask her how she got the pendant, as well as the other questions he’d thought of during the ride.

“This landscape seems familiar.” Leona’s gaze fixed on the church steeple rising from behind slate-roofed buildings. “Is this Anwenbury?”

“Aye.” Hellfire. If she knew her surroundings, she might know the roads away from here.

“My parents brought me and Ward to a fair here when we were children,” she said over her shoulder. “My father pointed out the church because of the stone carvings above the door. My mother found silk for a special gown for me. I wore it when . . .” She shrugged. “Never mind.”

“When you were stung,” he finished for her.

She nodded. He sensed her retreating into her thoughts again.

“This evening, we will eat well and rest,” he said. “’Tis safest for both of us if you do as I ask tonight. All right?”

“I will not pose as your wife and share your bed. If you even
think
to ask that of me—”

Aldwin laughed.

“’Tis not amusing.” She rammed her elbow back, knocking his arm against his side.

He groaned.

She twisted to look back at him. “Oh! I am sorry.”

He exhaled a shuddered gasp and willed the agony to diminish.

“I did not mean to . . . I am sorry,” she repeated, her expression one of genuine regret.

“I am all right,” he ground out. How he wished for a strong pint of ale. That would dim the pain as well as quench his thirst.

He turned Rom off the main road and down a narrower one dotted with wattle-and-daub cottages. Squinting against the dust, he looked for the sign: a carved wooden chicken hanging from a post by the road. There. Two cottages down.

He guided Rom into the dirt yard. Hens scratched in the earth beside the low-roofed barn while a black and white dog darted to and fro, keeping them herded together. Neat rows of vegetables grew in a fenced area beyond the home. When they drew near, the dog rushed forward, barking.

The cottage door flew open, and a man with dark brown hair trudged out. When his gaze lit upon Rom, his eyes widened.

“Are you Neale Vale?” Aldwin called.

“I am.” As the dog raced around Rom’s legs, Neale hurried forward. “Soot, come ’ere.” He grabbed the leather strip around the dog’s neck and pulled her back. “Hush.”

Tongue lolling, Soot barked once more and reluctantly sat, while casting a baleful glance at the chickens straying from their neat grouping.

“My name is Aldwin Treynarde. My lord, Geoffrey de Lanceau, said I could call upon you if needed.”

Neale bowed.

Aldwin flicked aside part of Leona’s skirt to reach into the saddlebag and draw out a sealed parchment. “He said to give this to you.” Leaning down—and wincing at the pain—he offered the document to Neale, who took and unfurled it. A moment later, his gaze rose.

Aldwin waited for the exchange that must come next. If one word was incorrect, he must turn Rom and gallop away.

“I ’ave ’eard tales of a mighty boar in this county,” Neale said with care.