A Knight's Temptation (17 page)

What she’d offered made Veronique want to retch; however, the missive had to be written, and Ransley was still slumbering. He mightn’t have agreed, either. “You shall have it,” she purred while stroking the baron’s sweat-dampened face. “First, though, we must send this missive.”

While Sedgewick rolled the parchment, she fetched a lit candle from beside the bed. “Whose seal will we use?” he asked. “Or will we forego the seal?”

She smiled. “We will use Ransley’s. That is certain to get Geoffrey’s attention.”

The baron looked puzzled. “Is that wise?”

“Geoffrey’s spies will soon warn him that we have taken control of this keep. By then, there will be plenty of mercenaries here to defend us from an attack.”

“How will you convince Ransley to let us use his seal?”

“Convince?” She swirled away and headed for the solar door. “Bring the parchment and follow me.”

Their footfalls carried in the dank passageway as she headed toward the great hall. When she stepped into the stone stairwell leading down, voices drifted up to her. Two men were climbing the stairs up to the hall while conversing in angry, secretive tones. She paused, holding up a cautioning hand for Sedgewick to stop and listen, too.

“Do ye not see what is ’appenin’?” a man said, obviously trying to keep his voice hushed.

“Aye,” another said, sounding nervous, “but what can we do? We are only servants.”

“We must be rid of that baron and false lady. Did ye know they ’ave taken over Lord Ransley’s solar?”

“So I ’eard.”

“A short while ago, some mercenaries arrived at the gates. More I vow are on the way. Next, the keep’s foin silver will start disappearin’. I tell ye, they are a wicked pair who’ll bring dishonor upon this keep. After all that Lady Leona’s done fer us—”

“Tell me what ta do,” the second man said, “and I will tell the others—”

Like hellfire he would
.

Veronique exchanged a glance with Sedgewick, who smirked and nodded. One benefit of their years together: he knew what needed to be done, without her having to say a word.

With brisk strides, she descended the stairwell and swept into the great hall, where servants were setting wooden boards of bread and ale jugs on the trestle tables for the first meal of the day. Several rough-looking men—mercenaries, who must have recently arrived—stood at the far end of the hall, talking. Still slumped at the lord’s table, Ransley slept on.

Her gaze settled on two men repairing a broken table leg. They rose to greet her.

“Milady,” the taller man with graying hair said before dropping into a half bow. Ah. The most vocal of the two dissenters.

“Good day.” She forced a smile. “Do not let me interrupt your work.”

After glancing at each other, the men again crouched by the table.

Veronique reached the dais and waved the baron over. Snatching a candle from a nearby table, she said, “Hold the parchment at both ends. I will do the seal.” As Sedgewick held the rolled missive, she tilted the taper, causing wax to drop onto the document’s rough edge. Then, she picked up Ransley’s hand, turned it to reveal his gold seal ring, and shoved the ring into the wax.

“What are ye doin’, milady?”

The two men approached.

“It does not concern you.” The wax had set. Veronique tossed aside Ransley’s hand and nodded to the baron. He tucked the parchment into his belt, next to his dagger.

“Why are ye placin’ Lord Ransley’s seal on that parchment? ’E is asleep.” The older man’s frown deepened. “Does ’e know what it says?”

The younger one—little more than one score years old—stepped forward. “Why are ye bringin’ mercenaries into this keep, milady? We do not want ’em ’ere.”

She smiled at the two men and motioned them closer. How fortuitous the other servants were watching and listening, as were the mercenaries.

“You are good men to speak your concerns,” she said, aware of Sedgewick nearing them. “Are there others here who are concerned about what is happening at Pryerston?”

Several of the maidservants blushed and looked down at the rushes, but said naught.

“Take note,” Veronique said, “for we appreciate your honesty.”

The baron now stood by the men. His gaze met hers, and, with a thin smile, she nodded.

He drew his dagger. As a stunned cry broke from the taller man, the baron plunged the knife into his stomach.

The younger man shrieked, as did the maidservants.

When the taller man gurgled and slumped toward the rushes, the baron yanked his knife free. Blood dripped from the blade while he stalked the younger man.

“Wait!” he pleaded, scrambling backward while the maidservants screamed. “I—”

With a sneered grunt, the baron slammed the knife into the young man’s chest. He gasped. Clutched at the knife. Fell to his knees. One of the maidservants raced to his side, weeping. “Nay!” she sobbed. “Nay!”

Sedgewick yanked his dagger free. As the body landed on the floor with a grisly
thud
, the baron bellowed, “Anyone else?”

Silence stretched across the hall.

Veronique crossed her arms and stared at each of the remaining servants. Some were wiping tears from their faces. Others stared in mute horror at the corpses. “Go back to your duties,” she snapped.

They turned back to their work, while Sedgewick summoned over the mercenaries. “Get rid of them,” he said, gesturing to the bodies.

Veronique strolled to his side. “Well done.”

“I am glad I . . . pleased you.” Sedgewick’s lips formed a lecherous grin. “Have I earned another reward?”

“Indeed, you have.” She tipped her head toward the mercenaries. “Tell me, which one shall I send to deliver the letter?”

Sedgewick motioned over a stocky, red-haired man.

The mercenary drew near, his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Milord?”

Veronique led him out of earshot of his colleagues. “I have an important task for you. One that will earn you twenty pieces of silver.”

“A tidy sum, milady.” The man’s eyes glinted with interest. “What will ye ’ave me do?”

“You are to take this missive to Lord de Lanceau at Branton Keep.”

Wariness narrowed the lout’s gaze. “De Lanceau?”

She didn’t like seeing doubt in the man’s eyes; he obviously knew Geoffrey hated mercenaries. She must know this idiot would follow through with the task. He might already be thinking about tossing the parchment into a lake and claiming he’d delivered it.

If he couldn’t be trusted, she’d have to kill him and find another more easily turned to her will.

“Only de Lanceau is to receive it.” She tapped the parchment’s end against the mercenary’s tunic, while bestowing upon him a flirtatious smile. “Are you a man who can do as I ask?”

“Aye.” He smiled back.

“No others. Only de Lanceau.” The parchment rasped as, with a deliberate stroke, she slid it down the front of his garment to his belly. “If his men-at-arms refuse to let you speak with him? If they try to turn you away?”

His gaze slid up from the parchment in a blatant perusal of her body. “I will force the guards ta let me in, even if I must kill them. They will take me ta de Lanceau.”

They would. Geoffrey’s men were sickeningly loyal. Once they’d subdued this fool, they’d haul him before de Lanceau on his knees. It didn’t matter how Geoffrey ended up with the message—as long as he did.

“Your answers please me.” Her gaze wandered over his torso in an inspection he’d no doubt interpret as womanly interest. He might be ruggedly handsome, but he wasn’t half as intriguing as that bastard Geoffrey.

She smothered her anguish, only to realize the mercenary was grinning. His very direct stare told her he’d noticed, and appreciated, her glance over.

Sedgewick shifted beside her. Judging by his scowl, he didn’t like her playing coy with this man. Unfortunate, but she’d do what she must to get that letter delivered.

She raised the parchment and held it out to the mercenary.

His fingers closed on it. Brushed against hers.

Now, to offer one last enticement, before she let him go.

Leaning forward to reveal more of her bosom, she trailed her fingers over his hand curled around the parchment. “When you return,” she murmured, “you will have the silver I promised. And, if you desire . . .”
Me
.

His lust-darkened gaze clung to her mouth. “Ten pieces now. The rest when I return.”

She laughed.

“Ye know ’tis fair, milady.”

With a seductive swivel of her hips, she turned away. “You will receive naught until you return. Not till I know you did as I asked.”

“How will I prove such to ye?”

She cast him a brazen wink. “I will know.”

***

A faint sound roused Leona from slumber. Eyes still closed, she focused her hazy mind to concentrate on the noise. Again, she heard the barely audible
whoosh
.

She opened one eye. Her blurry gaze focused on a smooth rock close to her face. She remembered Aldwin binding her hand before she fell asleep in the musty darkness, but, somehow, she’d ended up lying on her right side, facing the stone-ringed fire, the blanket still wrapped around her.

A slight headache reminded her of the liquor she’d downed yestereve. Raising her head a fraction, and trying not to wince, she glanced about.

The
whoosh
came again, followed by a soft trickling. The sound of someone . . . swimming.

Tilting her head, she glanced at her right arm, which had served as a makeshift pillow. She followed the rope snaking across the ground. Last night, Aldwin had tied the other end to his wrist; now that section of rope was secured to the fallen column nearby.

Caution tightened every muscle in Leona’s body. He might not be sitting by her, but he’d be keeping watch on her while he swam. He’d be looking for a sign that she was waking.

Could she fool him long enough to untie herself and run for the rope to freedom?

Just when she slipped her other hand up to the knot at her wrist, movement in the water snared her gaze. Aldwin surfaced on a near silent gasp, and then stood, his body rising from the water with almost no sound.

The broad muscles of his chest expanded and released as he drew a deep breath. Plowing both hands into his dripping hair, he tipped his head back to look up at the cavern ceiling. Sunlight caught the water sliding from his muscled shoulder; the droplets winked as they ran like tiny, liquid caresses down his rib cage to his taut abdomen, and lower still, to where his loins disappeared into the water.

Her breath caught. God’s holy teeth. He appeared to be . . . naked.

Most warriors she knew bathed nude. They saw no sense in getting clothes wet, if it could be avoided. She shouldn’t be shocked.

But shock didn’t quite describe the wanton sparks racing through her to settle in her most intimate of places.

If he was naked, she
did not
care. Nor would she indulge her nagging curiosity and look at his privates. She’d seen a man’s parts before. Why that odd-looking, dangling appendage was mentioned in countless jests, she’d never understand.

His head started to turn her way, and she quickly shut her eyes, willing herself to remain still. Did he sense she was awake? She didn’t dare breathe.

Water sloshed, and she cracked open her eyes again.

Bending forward slightly—and revealing his buttock’s enticing curve—Aldwin reached to a floating scrap of bark holding a white object: soap. His hand moved over his chest in broad circles, leaving behind a pale froth. He must have brought the soap in his saddlebag. When he dipped the bar into the river once more and began lathering his shoulders, a minty scent drifted to her.

He scrubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

The primitive sound of pleasure made her shiver. She frowned and, hauling her thoughts back to escape, began to work on the knot restraining her wrist. She didn’t care that he enjoyed his bathing—although ’twould be lovely to wash away the grime on her skin and feel refreshed.

Lying as motionless as possible, she dug her nails into the rope. Aldwin continued to scrub, bending forward again to do his back. Wet hair slid forward, masking part of his face, but she sensed he was still mindful of his surroundings.

But unaware so far that she’d awakened.

He dropped down into the water, rinsed off, and then rose again.

The knot loosened. He clearly hadn’t tied her as securely as before. Leona dug her nails in farther and managed to wiggle a fingertip into the knot. She smothered an elated gasp.

Pushing his wet locks back behind his shoulders, Aldwin began to scrub them with the soap. Froth soon enveloped his hair. His fingers made no more than a foamy whisper.

The knot loosened further.

He set down the soap. His chest expanded on an indrawn breath.

A slight brush against her skin, and the rope dropped away.
Free, at last
.

Aldwin’s eyes closed, and he submerged. He spun underwater and streaked through the sparkling depths.

Leona scrambled to her knees. Boots. If she didn’t put them on, she’d slice the soles of her feet on the rocks.

She grabbed her boots, shoved her feet in, and dashed across the bank.

Behind her, Aldwin broke through the water with a fierce splash. “
Leona!
”

His roar reverberated in the cavern. Panic shot through her, making her misstep, but she focused on the way to freedom. She’d got this far. She wouldn’t give up.

Water thrashed behind her. Glancing back, she saw Aldwin plowing toward her, waves churning at his waist. He looked angry enough to kill her.

She reached the bank’s edge and leapt onto the rock. Drying her sweaty palms on Aldwin’s tunic covering her, she gauged the distance to the rope.

“Stop! I warn you—”

She launched forward. Her hands closed on the rough twine as the rope swung with her weight.

Splashed water hit her ankles.

Just when she tightened her grip to start climbing, Aldwin’s hard, wet body crashed into her. His arms clamped around her waist, jerking her back and down against him with such force, she lost hold of the rope.