A Knight's Persuasion (23 page)

“I really am sorry, Edouard. You have been kind to worry about my well-being, and truly I . . . would never intentionally hurt you.” She sounded close to tears, no doubt because of exhaustion.

“Lie down,” he urged, patting her hand flattened to his torso. With a breathy sigh, she nestled against him, taking great care, he noted, not to rest any weight on his left leg.

“You cannot imagine how frustrating ’tis not to remember my life.” Her voice shook. “When I try to think of my past, I see only a void.”

He couldn’t bear it if she wept. “Juliana, listen to me—”

“I want to remember, Edouard.”

“You will.”

She sniffled. “When? I cannot wait to recall every bit of my life. Especially what we were, and are, to one another.”

His stomach twisted. He, too, wanted her to regain her memories. When she did, though, she’d be mortified to remember she’d lain in his arms. She might even accuse him of beguiling her while she suffered a weakened mental state.

Thus, he must be honest with her now. “As I told you before, we were not lovers.”

He felt her posture stiffen. “Close friends, then?”

“Acquaintances.”

“Never! Edouard, my feelings for you . . .”

“There are unresolved matters between us. Important ones you will remember one day.”

She fell silent a moment. “Did you reject my affections for another lady’s?” A pause. “My sister’s?”

The very thought made him want to spit out vile curses. “Nay, Juliana. I never chose Nara over you.” He struggled against a surge of ever-present resentment.

“Did you and I have an argument?” she pressed.

“We had . . . disagreements, for which I am entirely to blame.”

“Surely we are both partly to blame.” Her hand, settled now in the middle of his chest, gently rubbed across his tunic. “And those matters between us? I vow they can be resolved.”

“I truly hope so.” She might feel differently, however, when she remembered all.

“I sense your torment,” she said softly, her words muffled against his garment. “Your body grows tense.”

He rubbed his brow, ignoring the
clink
and bump of his chain. Tense didn’t encompass what he was feeling now, with shame and remorse churning inside him.

Damnation, but he had to be completely truthful with her. “You hated me, Juliana. ’Tis why you feel strong emotion toward me.”

“I could not hate you.” She sounded dismayed. “Why would you believe that?”

“’Tis difficult for me to speak of.” Purely on instinct, he turned his head toward her. “How I wish—”

Her breath puffed against his lips.

He froze, ensnared by the moment of possibility. Her face was very close. The sweet scent of her skin teased him.

If he turned his head the tiniest bit more, their mouths would meet.

At long last, they’d kiss.

Take the kiss! Claim her mouth, as you have wanted
.

Yearning seared through him. How he wanted to taste her. To show her how much he cared for her. To answer the need driving through his whole body; the fiery ache for her, the one woman he wanted, but could never have.

Edouard, you cannot. Do not prove yourself to be a dishonorable knave
.

He sensed her readying to nudge forward, to instinctively seal their kiss. With the last shred of his self-control, he jerked his head away.

Juliana’s exhalation blew against his neck.

He swallowed, his throat mercilessly tight. His lips burned, as though they really had kissed and the essence of her stayed on his skin.

Desire and regret pulled at him as he stared up at where the roof trusses would be, listening to the wind scrape past the outside walls. He waited, his muscles taut with strain, expecting her to ask what almost happened between them, but she lay quiet, still, and after a long moment, he decided she must have fallen asleep. He shut his eyes.

“Did you . . . almost kiss me?” Her words were a velvety whisper from the blackness.

Aye
, his conscience answered. Admitting that, though, wouldn’t be fair to her.

He drew deep breaths and pretended to be asleep.

***

Sunlight on her face brought Juliana from slumber. She stirred, savoring the divine heat against the side of her face and body. A warmth that . . . snored.

She squinted against the morning sunshine, to find herself staring at Edouard’s chin, easily within reach if she wished to touch him. Lifting her gaze from the stubble-shadowed line of his jaw, she saw his eyes were still closed. Thick, dark-brown lashes brushed the tanned planes of his cheeks and drew her gaze to his well-defined cheekbones. How arrogant he looked even while sleeping.

A muffled snort broke from him again, and her focus dropped to his lips, slightly parted. Her mouth tingled at the memory of his breath upon her cheek last night. His face had been very near to hers, and for one thrilling moment, anticipation had burgeoned inside her . . . before he’d abruptly turned his face away.

Had he thought of kissing her and then decided against it? Had he craved her kiss, but forced himself to rein in his desire? Nay. He was betrothed to Nara; he’d only want such intimacy with his future wife. Juliana fought a sharp twinge of jealousy, for Nara was lucky to have won the love of a man like Edouard.

For a moment, though, lying beside him, Juliana could secretly dream that he had, indeed, pressed his mouth to hers. The thought of his lips sweeping across hers left a strange, dragging sensation in her lower belly, and she couldn’t hold back a shiver.

She indulged her fascination, letting her gaze wander over his muscled physique to the chains snaking along the pallet, and her smile wavered. Last night, she’d hurt him. Accidentally, but his gasp had revealed his discomfort. Now that daylight illuminated the chamber, she’d look for that scar he’d spoken of, so she’d be certain not to touch that spot again.

Juliana dared to let her attention drift lower on his body. His left thigh, he’d said. That was close to his man’s parts . . .

Oh. She hadn’t touched him
there
last night, had she?

A stinging heat spread across her face. Surely he would have told her. Unless, like a gallant hero, he wished to spare her the embarrassment of knowing she’d touched his groin.

She couldn’t be sure what to believe. Even more mortifying, his left thigh was trapped beneath her left leg that, during the night, had slid from the blanket and draped over Edouard’s legs, likely in her attempts to stay warm.

The sight of their joined limbs stirred a peculiar warmth within her, followed by overwhelming unease. Was she hurting Edouard in the way her leg pressed against him? He didn’t appear to be in pain, but he was also sound asleep.

She’d have to move carefully, so she didn’t wake or hurt him.

As Juliana slowly pushed up to a seated position, sounds carried from outside the chamber door. Veronique, on a morning visit? What might she do if she discovered them lying together like lovers? At the very least, Veronique might accuse Edouard of all kinds of indiscretions; Juliana couldn’t allow that to happen.

She eased her leg from Edouard’s and scrambled to sit up, a bit too quickly. Pain and dizziness made the room spin around her, and she froze, silently begging her mind to settle.

That same instant, she sensed Edouard awaken.

The chamber stopped whirling, and she glanced at him, to find his keen gaze upon her. A molten awareness rushed through her, reviving her blush.

Before she could say a word, the key sounded in the lock.

She scrambled to rise, but her foot tangled in her blanket. The cloth slipped on the wooden floor. With a choked cry, she dropped back to her former position, bumping against Edouard, who’d just sat up.

“Careful.” He steadied her with his hands.

Before she could try to rise again, the door swung inward. Tye walked in, Azarel a few steps behind with a wooden basket on her arm. The door promptly banged shut.

Tye tsked and raised an eyebrow. “Well, well. Slept together, did you?”

Juliana bit her lip.

“We were both cold,” Edouard said. “’Twas the best way to keep warm.”

“Mmm,” Tye said.

“What Edouard said is true.” Juliana raised her chin to meet Tye’s lewd grin.

Azarel, as before, stood silent with her gaze downward, awaiting orders.

Today, might Juliana be able to ask the healer to contact Edouard’s father? Or help them to escape? Juliana would try to speak to her.

“Mother was not able to visit you this morning, as she is seeing to other matters. What will she say, Brother,” Tye mused, “when she hears Juliana spent the night in your arms? What would your betrothed think of it?”

An angry hiss broke from Edouard and stirred Juliana’s hair. “What choice did we have, but to share this miserable chamber? Whether she slept in my arms or alone on her bed, we would have spent the night together.”

Tye grinned. “True.”

“Unlike you,”—Edouard’s voice was almost a snarl—“I am a chivalrous man. Naught inappropriate happened between Juliana and myself. I suffer no shame. Will you, however, force disgrace upon her, by telling tales about us?”

As Edouard spoke, Tye’s gaze flicked over her. He stared as though he saw through her chemise and the blanket wrapped around her, and she fought a tremor. “Bold words, Brother.” Tye’s mouth slid into a lopsided grin. “They make me curious, though. With her loveliness so close to you, were you not once tempted to—”

“Nay,” Edouard growled.

Tye’s laughter rang in the chamber. “You do not even know what I planned to say.”

“I can guess.”

With a last chuckle, Tye gestured to Azarel. The healer hurried forward, her leather shoes making light taps on the floorboards before she dropped down beside Juliana’s pallet. The basket creaked as she rummaged within.

Tye’s stare bored into Juliana. “Return to your pallet, so she can tend you.” His smile hardened. “You might think that because Mother is not here, ’twill be easy to deceive me. Beware, Juliana. My brother might insist he is an honorable man, but I”—he slowly winked—“am an unscrupulous knave.”

***

Tye didn’t, as Edouard had hoped, leave as soon as Azarel had finished seeing to Juliana’s wound. Once the healer had completed her work in silence, she picked up her basket, rose, and faced Tye.

“Her injury is much improved from yesterday,” she said.

“Mother will want to hear of her progress.” Tye crossed to the panel, knocked on it, and stood guard while the door opened and Azarel hurried out. He exchanged a few words with the men outside—instructions Edouard couldn’t make out—then shoved the door closed.

With swaggering strides, he approached Edouard. Leaning back against the nearest wall—beyond Edouard’s reach—Tye crossed his arms over his tunic. For some reason, he wasn’t wearing his sword belt. Had he tumbled out of a maidservant’s bed and hauled his clothes on before coming to the tower, and forgotten his weapons?

A mistake Edouard must try and use to his advantage.

Leather creaked as Tye bent one leg and planted his boot’s sole against the stone, an indolent posture that suggested he meant to stay awhile. Indeed, as long as he liked.

Ugh
. Tye likely intended to taunt him further about his sleeping with Juliana.

Daring a glance at her, Edouard saw she’d scooted back on her pallet and curled her legs beneath her. Her wary expression told him she, too, suspected Tye’s intentions.

A smug warmth curled through Edouard; he was glad she disliked the bastard.

Edouard looked back at Tye, to find Tye studying him, his narrowed stare thoughtful.

“What do you want?” Edouard demanded in a tone he used only for the most witless of men. Usually it sent the fools scurrying.

Tye smirked. “Tell me about Father.”

Edouard scowled, the rise of hatred for Tye instantaneous and fierce. “I told you before. Do not call him such.”

Tye’s eyes glinted. “He
is
my sire. Do I not deserve to know a little about the man who slaked his lust with Mother and fathered me?”

“For all we know,” Edouard shot back, “what Veronique says about your paternity is a lie. She has always been interested in my sire’s riches.”

Tilting his head, Tye smiled. Then he pointed to his face. “Look at me.”

Edouard grimaced. “Must I?”

Tye leaned forward, his gaze bright. “Mother says my features favor our sire. Can you not see the resemblance?”

Edouard clenched his jaw. Tye’s hair was lighter brown than his sire’s, and his skin was more bronzed from the sun. Judging by the shape of Tye’s nose, it had been broken several times. Yet his features were similar to Edouard’s father’s. So was Tye’s muscular build.

“See?” Tye’s tone turned gloating. “You cannot deny I resemble him.”

“Looks are your only proof?” Mayhap if Edouard goaded Tye enough, he’d glean more details on Tye and Veronique’s schemes. Better still, Edouard might lure the conceited bastard into range of the chains. Then they’d see who was the son of Geoffrey de Lanceau.

“There is the timing of my birth,” Tye said. “Mother had no other lover but Geoffrey de Lanceau when she got with child. A fact, I am told, she tried to impress upon him when I was but a young boy, but he refused to believe her.”

“I cannot blame him.”

Tye’s hands slowly curled into fists while he leaned even farther forward. “How many times I have longed to stand before him and demand that he look upon me.
Me
, the bastard son he wishes was never born.”

A trace of anguish drove through Tye’s words. Edouard steeled himself against any notions of pity. Tye was a clever manipulator, just like his mother. “You will never get close enough to Father for him to look upon you.”

Tye pressed back against the wall. A grating laugh rumbled from him. “The day I kill him, I shall.”

Edouard longed to snarl that that wretched day would never come. However, this was a perfect opportunity to lure details from Tye. “What makes you believe you can murder him?”

“You must be aware of the missives Mother sent to Branton Keep. During our many years living in France, I trained with mercenaries who earned a living fighting for the French and English kings, whichever one offered the most coin to fight in a particular battle. I trained hard and, as my skills grew, won tournament after tournament. I am very good with a broadsword.”