A Knight's Temptation (32 page)

The fathers shook their fists and shouted.

“He is mad,” Leona muttered, her gaze on Clif, before she gasped. “Oh! He almost ran down that little boy!”

Forcing down a surge of frustration, Aldwin slowed Rom to a trot. De Lanceau forbade harming innocent folk, especially children. He rode past the cart and peasants, and then, seeing the route was clear, kicked the destrier into a canter.

Clif was no longer in sight.

Blinking against the dust, Aldwin glanced along the street. Where was the bastard?

“Oh, nay,” Leona whispered.

Aldwin reined Rom in while he scanned their surroundings. The hoofbeats behind them grew louder, masking any sounds from the nearby alleys. Soon—too soon—the other poachers would be upon them.

Neale had given only a rough idea of the town’s layout in his sketch that morning, and hadn’t mentioned any of the alleys leading off the street. Clif must have gone into one of the closest. The right one, or the left?

Both alleys looked much the same: grimy and well-traveled. But the thunder of pursuit forced Aldwin into the one on the right.

Rotting vegetables tumbled from several broken crates. The stench! ’Twas strong enough to make a man retch. Leona covered her face with her cloak sleeve. Flies buzzed up in a swirling mass, and she shrieked before pressing against him. Her body shook, as it had earlier in the cottage.

“Just flies,” he said against her ear.

“N-no bees?”

“None.” He waved insects from his face.

A triumphant shout came from behind them. One of the poachers had spotted them. From the resounding cacophony, several riders had entered the alley in pursuit.

Leona glanced over her shoulder. “Aldwin.”

“I know.”

He spurred Rom onward, past piles of splintered wood, broken pottery, and food scraps, his gaze on the end of the alley ahead. They raced into a street.

Hooves pounded in the near distance. A man came into view down the street. When he saw them, he smirked and raised his sword.

The poachers intended to trap them. And still, no sign of Clif.

Aldwin fought bitter dismay, for escape, not getting back the pendant, must be his priority now. He and Leona mustn’t be captured, for if they were, what they knew about the treachery at Pryerston Keep would die with them.

He urged Rom into another alley, shorter than the first. Cats feasting on scraps scattered as they barreled past.

When they emerged into yet another street, a woman carrying a basket of clothes gasped and dropped the garments in the dirt. Shaking her head, she bent to gather them up.

“Please. The main road to Branton Keep,” Aldwin shouted. “Which way?”

Thrusting a work-worn finger, she said, “Take the right fork.”

Reaching into his coin bag, he tossed her some silver. She beamed.

Dirt flew beneath Rom’s hooves as they raced down the street lined with townhouses. Then the route broadened, splitting a short distance ahead into two roads.

Shouts carried from close behind.

The scruffy-haired poacher—followed by several others—galloped toward them from a street ahead, clearly trying to cut off their escape. His drawn sword gleamed.

Leona tensed in Aldwin’s grasp.

Aldwin wielded his own weapon, clenching his teeth against the pain in his side. He mentally judged the distance to the right fork. They’d outpace the thugs, if they were lucky.

If they were not . . .

Muttering a silent prayer, he kicked his heels into Rom’s sides.

The huge horse soared forward and streaked past the scruffy-haired poacher. The man cursed, while Rom galloped onto the road’s right fork.

“Get them!” another poacher screamed.

The sun-drenched road swam before Aldwin’s eyes. He shook his head, fighting to stay focused; he wouldn’t yield to his agony.

He must have made a sound of discomfort, because Leona frowned back at him. “What is wrong? Are you—”

“I am all right.” He had to be, until she was safe.

Wheat fields spread on either side of the road. Farther ahead, he saw the fringes of a forest. If they couldn’t outrun the poachers, he’d try to outwit them in the woods. He had enough bolts left to put up a good fight, if need be.

The poachers’ horses sounded perilously close behind.

On they raced, until the trees’ shadows fell across the road. Long grasses and shrubs grew along the verge, some tall enough to screen a man hiding behind them. As the forest’s coolness swept over him, Aldwin searched for a way into the woods.

Hopefully, they were far enough ahead of the poachers for—

Leona cried out.

A man ran onto the road ahead of them, his sword raised.

And another man.

“Hold!”

Chapter Nineteen

A scream welled up within Leona as the two men neared. How unfair that she and Aldwin had escaped the poachers in the town, only to be captured by their cohorts in the forest.

She wouldn’t submit to these cutthroats. Neither would she and Aldwin be sold to Veronique for a reward. She’d rather die fighting than—

“Dominic?” Surprise lightened Aldwin’s voice.

With the gritty scrape of hooves, Rom’s strides slowed.

Leona swallowed. Aldwin knew the brown-haired warrior coming to their side?

“Aldwin.” Dominic grinned. His gaze slid to Leona, then down the road. “You are expecting friends?”

The
clop-clop-clop
of hoofbeats intensified.

“We are being chased by poachers. They have information on the baron and Veronique.”

“Just the two we are looking for.” Dominic’s gaze sharpened with interest. “We must chat with these poachers.” He signaled into the woods. Riders in full chain-mail armor emerged from the undergrowth. “Be sure our approaching guests are greeted properly,” he called to them. “Once they are disarmed, bring them to Lord de Lanceau.”

The riders galloped off toward the poachers.

Dominic waved Aldwin toward the deer path leading into the forest. “Geoffrey will want to speak with you. Oh”—he raised his brows—“I warn you, he is in a foul mood, due to a meeting with Veronique.”

“Meeting?” Aldwin frowned. “When?”

“Earlier this morning. ’Tis one reason why we are in this part of Moydenshire. I will explain all later. Then”—he nodded to Leona—“we will also make the proper introductions.”

Before she could reply, Dominic ran to the other warriors who’d taken up position along the roadside.

Rom’s bridle jangled as Aldwin urged Rom into the forest.

“How do you know these men?” Suspicion gnawed at her. “Can you trust them?”

“With my life. Dominic is a good friend of mine and de Lanceau’s best friend; they met while on crusade. The other men are from Branton Keep’s garrison.”

A low-hanging tree branch brushed against Leona’s leg. She hardly felt it, for she struggled with the awful realization she was headed toward a new kind of captivity. Sooner than she’d thought, she’d be facing Lord de Lanceau.

How did she explain all that had occurred at Pryerston Keep without implicating her father? She must. Would de Lanceau believe her, even if every word she spoke was true?

She forced down a rush of dread, while Aldwin steered the horse through the forest. The trees soon opened into a small meadow bordering the river. Armed men watered their horses. Others, bloodied from an earlier battle, sat on the grass while fellow knights stitched their wounds.

She glanced at Aldwin, wondering if the sight of the needles unsettled him.

He wasn’t focused on the injured, but a tall man with shoulder-length brown hair standing apart from the others. His back faced them, but an aura of authority lingered around him, snaring their attention without him turning their way or saying a word. He stood with his hands on his hips, his hair spilling around his surcoat’s shoulders; he looked down the river as though watching it wend its way into the distant fields.

This man must be de Lanceau.

“Aldwin,” one of the wounded warriors cried. “We were wondering what had become of you.” His gaze shifted to Leona and he loosed a low whistle. Other men noticed her, too. Several snickered.

Leona’s face heated. She stared straight ahead and tried to ignore the blatant ogling.

“I do not recognize that wench,” another of the men-at-arms muttered. “Do you?”

“She does not look like one of his lady types,” another said.

Wench? One of his lady types?
The ordeals of the past few days suddenly pressed up inside Leona, making her painfully aware of her worn garments, untidy hair, and tattered emotions. How she’d love to swing around in the saddle and screech at those men for talking about her. ’Twould not be a good start, though, to what might be a difficult meeting with de Lanceau.

Smothering the words burning in her mouth, she curled her fingers into her palms.

De Lanceau turned.

“Milord.” Aldwin dipped his head.

“Aldwin.”

De Lanceau’s attention settled upon Leona. Her startled mind registered handsome features, a commanding stare, and the narrowing of his gray eyes before she bowed her head. “Milord.”

“We spoke with Dominic a moment ago,” Aldwin said, his voice rumbling behind her. “He mentioned you met with Veronique.”

De Lanceau’s head dipped in a terse nod. “Not long after you left Branton Keep to retrieve the pendant, I received a missive from her, claiming she had it. Of course, I had my doubts, but I decided to meet with her, for I had hoped to finally arrest her and the baron. She also promised important . . . information.”

A chill rippled through Leona. The way he’d emphasized “information” and then swept his hand across his face indicated ’twas vital news indeed.

What had Veronique told de Lanceau? Had she portrayed Leona’s father as a traitor who planned to keep the jewel to defy de Lanceau, because of the tragedy that had befallen Leona’s mother? Leona knew little about Veronique, but wouldn’t dare underestimate the woman’s manipulative nature.

“Milord,” Leona began, determined to tell the truth about her sire, “the necklace—”

“—is not in Veronique’s possession,” Aldwin cut in, heedless of Leona’s frown. “At least, she did not have it before your meeting.”

“Where is the jewel?”

“I fear we do not know, milord.” The saddle creaked as Aldwin’s weight shifted. “We were attacked by poachers a short while ago in Anwenbury, and—”

“You were injured.” De Lanceau gestured to Aldwin’s side; his parted cloak revealed a crimson stain on his tunic.

“I was wounded yesterday, milord, in another skirmish with the poachers. However, in today’s fight, one of them took the pendant from around Leona’s neck.”

De Lanceau’s brows shot up, and Leona fought the renewed heat creeping into her face.

“You were wearing it?” he said.

Nodding, she struggled not to blush all the more.

“For safekeeping,” Aldwin quickly added. “She wore it while we traveled to Branton Keep to hand it to you.”

Leona pushed back her shoulders as de Lanceau gave her an assessing glance over. He must think her a brazen woman to presume to wear such a costly jewel that he intended for a lady other than her. Would that reflect badly upon her, and her father, in the coming days?

“Did you send me the letter arranging the meeting at the Raging Bull Tavern?” de Lanceau asked, his tone thoughtful.

“Aye, milord.”

“Who, exactly, are you?”

She cleared her throat. “Lady Leona . . . Ransley.”

“Ransley,” he murmured. “A name I know well.”

Her stomach squeezed into a knot.

“What relation are you to Lord Ransley of Pryerston Keep?”

“His daughter.”

“I see. Then you must know some of what is being reported to me by my local spy. Above all, that armed mercenaries are being recruited in the nearby town and sent to Pryerston.”

Trying not to let her shoulders slump, she nodded. “I heard such. My father did not hire them. That, I promise you.”

“Indeed?”

“He despises mercenaries. Veronique and the baron are the ones responsible.”

De Lanceau’s gaze shadowed. “A telling development in itself.”

Leona forced down a dismayed cry. From de Lanceau’s expression, she guessed what he was thinking: that Veronique and the baron had convinced her sire to turn traitor and Leona didn’t want to accept such.

“I assure you”—she refused to let her voice waver—“my sire is loyal to you.”

“The wax on the missive I received from Veronique bore your father’s seal.”

Shock tore through her. “They must have forced him to add it.”

“Knowing them, ’tis a possibility.” De Lanceau’s keen gaze slid past her to settle on Aldwin. “What I gather, then, from all you have told me, is that we are not much further along than when you began your quest days ago. The jewel is still missing and may still fall into the baron and Veronique’s possession to be used against me.”

Aldwin’s harsh sigh stirred Leona’s hair. She sensed his intense disappointment and how difficult ’twas for him to admit he’d failed his lordship. “What you say is true, milord. With all due respect, though, I do not consider my mission finished. We learned a reward was offered to the poachers for the pendant, as well as Leona’s and my capture.”

“A reward, you say?”

“Aye. I have no doubt Veronique offered it. The jewel is likely on its way to Pryerston Keep now. I would like to investigate my suspicions, milord.”

A wry grin tilted de Lanceau’s mouth. “I am certain you would.” When he set his hands on his hips again, his smile faded. “I, too, want to know what is taking place at Pryerston. We will ride on to the keep, whereupon I shall demand to speak with Lord Ransley.”

Oh, God
. If her father was drunk and in one of his rages, he might refuse to let de Lanceau in—especially if the baron and Veronique were encouraging a show of defiance.

“If he will not let me enter, we will besiege the keep.”

Besiege Pryerston?
Leona pressed a hand to her mouth. She’d never experienced such an attack, but had heard accounts of them. Good folk died, livestock perished, and to rebuild afterward could take months. To think of Pryerston devastated in that way . . . Nay. She couldn’t let that happen.