A Knight's Temptation (36 page)

Stepping forward to the edge of the dais, Aldwin handed over his knife.

With a grateful smile, Leona took the dagger and cut the ropes. The bindings tumbled to the floor.

Ransley groaned as his arms fell back into their natural positions. “Thank you.” He rubbed at his wrists gouged by the bindings.

“Can you stand?” Leona asked.

With an unsteady nod, Ransley lurched to his feet. He flattened his hands on the table, while his body swayed from side to side. As he gathered his balance, his gaze settled again on her. “Where have you been?”

Aldwin sensed her disappointment in the stiffening of her spine.

“When Twig and Sshir Reginald came russhing into this hall, sshaying you had been kidnapped from sshome tavern by one of de Lanceau’s men—”

“’Tis true.”

Leona’s attention slid to Aldwin. Without looking away, he repositioned the quiver on his shoulder. Whatever she told her sire about her abduction, Aldwin would answer to it.

“You took the pendant, assh well.”

“Aye. After overhearing your meeting with the baron and Veronique—”

“You lisshtened? Why, you—”

“I decided since the jewel rightfully belonged to de Lanceau, it should be given to him. I arranged the tavern meeting.”

“You put yoursshelf in danger, assh well assh Twig and Sshir Reginald. What a foolissh, rassh thing to do!” He wavered while he thrust an unsteady finger. “Did you know Veronique hassh a reward out for you, Daughter?”

Leona’s gaze sharpened and her chin raised. Aldwin almost laughed; he’d seen that reaction often in the past days. “I am sorry to have worried you, but ’twas the best decision for all at Pryerston. Father, you must listen—”

“Lisshen?” he roared. “I want the basshtard who abducted you.”

“Father—”

“Where issh he?”

Aldwin fought a crushing sense of inevitability. “I am here, milord.”

Ransley’s head swung and he glared at Aldwin. “You?” He slammed his hand down on the table, knocking the earthenware jugs together. “You dare to sshtep within my keep? You will sshtand before me with that sshmirk on your lips? Why did you come? To demand a ransshom for my daughter’ssh return? Well, you will not get one.”

“Father, if you will listen—”

“To what?” He threw up his hand. “Next, you will be sshaying he lay with you and that ’tissh perfectly acceptable!”

Aldwin bit back a curse.

Leona’s face clouded with an expression of such anguish, Aldwin wanted to slip his arm around her. He should have guessed Ransley would believe Leona had been violated; any father would think such. Because of Ransley’s assumption, Aldwin stayed as he was—although he yearned all the more to draw her close and comfort her.

“Lay with me, Father?” Leona said in a whisper-thin voice. “As you did with Veronique?”

Ransley’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean?”

“I saw the solar.” Her body trembled through a shudder. “Her gown by the bed.”

“Do you really believe I would . . .” Ransley shook his head. “I would never betray your mother that way. I sshwear to you, I have not been to the ssholar in dayssh. Veronique and the baron must have sshlept there, while I”—he flinched—“wassh tied to my chair.”

“While she kept you drunk,” Leona said, “and threatened to kill anyone who helped you.”

Remorse tightened his features. He glanced at the nearby jugs and swallowed, as though he craved a drink.

“Father, nay.”

Ransley scowled.

“No more drink,” Leona said.

The hurt in Leona’s voice roused fierce protectiveness within Aldwin. Did her sire not see how his drunkenness had hurt Leona? Did he not realize how much ruin he’d caused, when, as lord, he was responsible for the welfare of all within his jurisdiction—especially that of his daughter?

When Ransley didn’t draw his gaze from the jugs, Aldwin leveled his crossbow. “Listen to her.”

Ransley lifted his brows, for the weapon pointed at his chest. “You bold knave. You dare to threaten me?” He raised his hand.

“N—” Leona cried.

A
click
, and the bolt leapt from the crossbow. Ransley gasped. The bolt slammed into the jugs, sending them smashing together. Wine sprayed. Bits of pottery scattered across the table and onto the rushes.

The men-at-arms whistled.

Wine running down his hair, face, and tunic, Ransley blinked at Aldwin. “Who in hellfire
are
you?”

“Aldwin Treynarde, milord.”

Wiping his face with his sleeve, Ransley froze. “Treynarde, you say?”

“Aye.”

“His skill with the crossbow is hailed in a
chanson
,” Leona said, glancing at Aldwin. A smile touched her mouth, a sign she approved of his dramatics.

Grinning in return, Aldwin looked back at her sire. Instead of the awe or anger Aldwin expected, sadness shadowed Ransley’s face. He stared down at the filthy tablecloth as though his thoughts had slipped back into the past. “I know the name well, and not because of the
chanson
.”

A frown creased Leona’s brow. “How—? Wait. You met Aldwin after I was stung. You saw him when you carried me away from the river.”

Ransley nodded. Still, Aldwin sensed he wasn’t thinking of that tragedy, but one more recent: Ward’s death.

He didn’t want to discuss Ward; later, when Pryerston was in de Lanceau’s control, Aldwin might venture down that painful path. “Since you know who I am,” Aldwin said, “you also realize I fight for Moydenshire’s lord, Geoffrey de Lanceau. He is here—”

Ransley’s eyes flared. “At Pryersshton?”

“Aye, Father. He has come to save the keep.”

With a low cry, Ransley swept his hand over his soiled tunic.

Before Aldwin could ask Ransley about Veronique and the baron’s whereabouts, Leona caught her sire’s hands. “Please, help us get the pendant for de Lanceau. Help us take Pryerston back from the baron and Veronique. ’Tis what Mother would have wanted. So would Ward.”

Ransley’s mouth pinched. “Of all the moments to speak of your brother.”

“If he were here now, he would pick up a sword, join de Lanceau’s men, and fight.”

Aldwin shifted his attention to the men-at-arms, who were clearly listening to the exchange while keeping watch on the entry to the hall. Looking at them was far easier than seeing in Ransley’s gaze an acknowledgment of Ward’s demise.

“Why do you look so?” Leona demanded.

Aldwin glanced back. Moisture glistened in Ransley’s eyes. Wavering, he straightened away from the table.

“What have you not told me about Ward?”

“Leona,” Aldwin said, determined to stay focused on his duty, “we cannot discuss such now. We need to get the pendant. Lord Ransley, where should we start—”

A
crash
echoed in the stairwell: a door slamming against a wall.

Leona jumped. Her fingers tightened on the knife she still held.

The men-at-arms raised their swords.

Ransley bent and snatched up a section of his cut bonds.

Footsteps sounded in the stairwell leading up from the bailey. Over shouts, clashing swords, and other battle noises floating up from outside, Aldwin determined that several people approached.

Friends? Or enemies?

“Stay behind the table,” Aldwin snapped to Leona, as he cocked his crossbow.

The whistle of a crossbow bolt came from the stairwell. One of de Lanceau’s men cried out as the bolt pierced his chest and jutted from his back. He staggered backward before collapsing on the floor.

The other man-at-arms raised his sword. Five men wearing boiled leather hauberks—mercenaries—rushed into the hall. Aldwin raised his crossbow, aimed, and shot one of them. But the man-at-arms was quickly overpowered and fell to the rushes, dead.

“God’s blood,” Aldwin muttered, reloading his weapon.

“Aldwin,” Leona cried.

As he raised the crossbow, he became aware of the unnatural silence. The mercenaries had quit fighting? Why?

He caught the cloying essence of rosewater.

Her crimson-painted lips easing into a smile, Veronique stood in the great hall, surrounded by more mercenaries. She’d raised one slender hand in clear command to hold fire. Her other hand gripped a bloody dagger. More blood spattered across her snug-fitting gown.

Close behind her stood Baron Sedgewick. His sword glistened with blood, and, as his gaze settled on Aldwin, he grinned.

“Aldwin. Leona,” Veronique murmured. “How perfect to find you here.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Sweat dampened Aldwin’s hands, but he refused to look away from Veronique’s cold stare. In the instant before their gazes met, he’d noticed her face had aged a bit since he saw her years ago, but her chestnut brown hair was still long and lustrous, her body as supple as a young woman’s.

Many men would find her desirable. Beautiful, even. Those fools couldn’t sense the malevolence surrounding her like a dark veil. The sensual way her fingers curled around the knife handle—a kind of perverse caress—made goose bumps ripple across his skin.

She wouldn’t hesitate to use that dagger again. On him, Leona, or Lord Ransley. Or anyone else she deemed a threat to her ambitions.

Aldwin’s fingertip touched the crossbow’s trigger. A quick shift to the right, fire, and he’d kill her. A clean shot. One so easy, he’d not get it twice. A swift death, however, was too merciful for all the evil she’d wreaked upon others over the past years, especially de Lanceau; moreover, his lordship wanted her and the baron alive to face punishment for their crimes.

Hellfire!

His gaze shifted to the baron. Triumph glittered in the bastard’s piggish eyes.

“You cannot win a fight against us,” Veronique said, her narrowed gaze sliding to Leona and Lord Ransley. “Put down your weapons.”

“If we refuse?” Aldwin demanded.

The baron tugged on Veronique’s sleeve. “De Lanceau will be upon us soon.”

She shoved him away. “He will not dare to harm us, for you see”—she smiled—“we now have three hostages.” Signaling to the mercenaries, she said, “Injure them if you like, but do not kill them. I want them on their knees.”

“Nay,” Ransley yelled. “Sshtop this—”

“Shut up, fool.”

Ransley’s face reddened with fury.

Out of the corner of his eye, Aldwin saw Leona raise her dagger. Fear for her lanced through him. He had to protect her, keep her from the bloodshed . . .

“Go back through the solar,” he called over his shoulder. “Warn de Lanceau.”

“Aye, Leona.” Ransley flicked his hand. “Go!”

Aldwin half-expected her to protest. But she must have realized the urgency of her task, for she nodded, turned, and ran for the wooden stairs leading to the keep’s upper level.

Straw crunched as the mercenaries advanced. Aldwin spun and squeezed the crossbow’s trigger. The bolt plowed into the closest man’s chest, spraying blood. He fell backward with a grisly
thump
.

But two more mercenaries were already upon Aldwin.

“On their knees,” Veronique shrieked, her words becoming a wicked laugh.

He would
not
be helpless before her and the baron. Never again would he be prey to their manipulations. When the mercenaries thwarted his attempt to reload his crossbow, he swung it like a club, while trying to draw his sword. With a stunning slash of his broadsword, one of the mercenaries knocked the crossbow from Aldwin’s grasp. Splinters of wood flew from the bow as it skidded across the floor. The other mercenary grabbed hold of Aldwin’s sword arm, preventing him from drawing his blade.

Heedless of the pain in his side, Aldwin kicked. Shoved.

Behind him, Leona screamed in pain.

He recoiled, fear crashing through him.
God’s blood, nay!

He risked a glance. A mercenary had caught her before she reached the stairs. She struggled to free her wrist crushed in his scarred hand, her face white with agony.

“Leona!” Ransley lurched off the dais toward her. “Stop! You are hurting her.”

A solid weight slammed into Aldwin’s gut. He groaned and lashed out with his fists, unable to stop one of the mercenaries from hauling the quiver from his shoulder and tossing it aside.

“Stop!” Ransley roared.

“Shut up,” Veronique screeched. “Get back on the dais.”

“I will not!”

“You will,” she bellowed, “or your daughter dies.”

Aldwin tried to shake away the fog clouding his mind, just as a boot slammed into his back. Pain raced through his body. Still, he fought as the mercenary shoved him down to his knees. But the blow, combined with his throbbing side, sapped Aldwin’s strength.

He sagged to the floor, panting, with sweat running down his brow. The mercenary stood behind him, his sword at Aldwin’s neck.

“There.” Veronique’s gown whispered as she crossed to him. “Much better.”

Only for you, bitch
.

With a huffed breath, Leona landed on her knees beside him. He stole a quick glance. No blood or visible wounds. He hoped she wasn’t badly hurt.

“Leona,” Ransley moaned from the dais. An admission of defeat.

The scent of rosewater mingled with the musty stench rising from the rushes. Hips swaying, Veronique drew near. She tapped the flat of the dagger blade against her palm, smearing blood across her skin.

Swish. Tap. Swish. Tap
.

Pushing his shoulders back, Aldwin stared straight ahead, refusing to look up at her, even when she stopped close enough to gently brush aside hair that had fallen over his right eye. He jerked away from her touch.

“Still stubborn, I see.” Her voice sounded akin to a purr.

He clamped his jaw.

“Tsk-tsk.” Her fingers skimmed down his hair. Despite the sword at his neck, Aldwin tried to turn his head away, but her clever hand followed. Her throaty laugh taunted him, mocked his cursed protest, while her fingers slid under his chin. Tightening her grip to a painful pressure, she forced him to look up at her.

Muscles at the back of his neck cramped and pain knotted his shoulders. His breath hissing through his nostrils, he glared back at her.

She smiled. “De Lanceau values your life.”