A Knight's Temptation (35 page)

Returning to the kitchens, she said, “Milord, please follow me.”

She led the men outside again through the back door, then across the bailey to the keep’s wall. With the moon hidden by clouds, they moved in inky darkness. Yet the men behind her made little sound, clearly aware of the mercenaries patrolling the wall walk above and the voices drifting from farther down the bailey.

After a moment of feeling her way along the wall, she found the wooden door. She inserted the key and, holding her breath, turned it. The door clicked open. After removing the key, she curled her fingers around it.

When she drew the panel wide, a breath of stale air wafted out to greet her. The musty scent whisked her thoughts back to when she’d listened in on her father’s meeting days ago, and she shuddered. Dreading what she’d find, but knowing she must go on, she stepped into the passage wide enough for only one person to travel at a time. A sticky cobweb floated down from the stones overhead, and she swiped it away, almost hitting Aldwin, behind her, in the face.

If only she had a torch to guide their way. But a burning reed would be noticed by the guards. They’d have to proceed in the dark.

She reached out for the stone wall and her hand touched another. Startled, she yanked her fingers back.

Behind her, Aldwin sucked in his breath.

Heat rippled through her, kindled by the raggedness of his inhalation. He stood so near, his breath stirred her hair. The anguish inside her sharpened.

She stretched out her hand again and found only cold, damp stone. Lifting her gown up a fraction, she set her foot on the next step.

Upward she traveled, with Aldwin, de Lanceau, and his men close behind. The tap and scrape of their footfalls surrounded her like a discordant battle chant. They
were
going to war, for Pryerston. What would they discover when they stepped out into her father’s solar? What of the rest of the keep?

The passage turned, and the dankness in the air began to clear. Faint light washed in through cracks in the wooden door ahead.

Reaching the panel, she pressed her ear to it and listened, but heard no sound from beyond. Was the chamber empty? Or were the room’s inhabitants asleep?

When the footfalls behind her quieted, she listened again. Not even the faintest snore. Still, to be safe, she’d keep her voice down.

“I may need help with the door,” she whispered over her shoulder.

“Remind me. Where in the keep are we?” de Lanceau whispered back.

“The solar. The door is concealed behind a tapestry. No one has used it for a very long time.”

“Are you certain the door will open?” Aldwin asked.

Nay, but we will get through this barrier, even if we have to smash it down
. She pushed the key into the lock and tried to turn it. The lock wouldn’t budge.

Leona wiggled the key. Withdrew it. Shoved it into the lock again. Still, it didn’t yield.

Sweat coated her palms. She dried her hands on her cloak, determined to try again.

“Let me.” Aldwin reached around her.

Before she could whisper a reply, he knocked her fingers from the key. His hand closed on it. Turned.

No engaging
click
.

“If I could get closer . . .” he said.

She frowned back at his shadowed profile. “How?”

“Turn sideways.”

“So we are belly to belly?” She hadn’t meant for her hushed words to end in a squeak.

A muffled snort echoed from one of the other men.

“’Tis the only way.” Aldwin didn’t sound happy about the matter, either. A faint rattle sounded, and she realized he’d slipped his quiver from his shoulder.

Step by small, awkward step, she turned her body sideways, her garments rasping when they brushed the wall behind her. Aldwin edged in front of her, his boots bumping her shoes.

“Sorry,” he muttered, his breath upon her brow. Their arms touched, and he grunted. As his lower body squeezed against her, she stifled a groan. If her father saw the two of them like this, he’d draw his sword and skewer Aldwin. And the way her innards shivered at her closeness to Aldwin was utterly . . . shameful.

He shifted against her while he turned the key and shoved the door at the same time. Once. Twice.

The lock released.

“Well done,” de Lanceau said.

The panel creaked open. With a muffled
thump
, it hit the tapestry beyond. Thrusting his hand forward, Aldwin eased the wall hanging over the other side of the door on a swirl of dust. His crossbow at the ready, he entered the solar.

Leona stepped out. Sneezed.

Gasped.

The solar might be empty, but her father’s bed—the one he’d shared with her mother for many years—was a rumpled mess. An array of items, including clothes, wine goblets, and cosmetic pots, littered the trestle table, as well as the bedside one. The scent of rosewater clung to the air.

Heaped in a shimmering pool before the bed was a red silk gown. It lay as though the wearer had let it slide down her body before crawling onto the bed—and not to sleep, judging by the tangled bedding.

“Veronique is sharing my father’s bed?” Leona said in horror.

Bile scorched the back of her mouth. Her father had loved her mother; he’d always love her. Had Veronique preyed upon Leona’s father’s loneliness to seduce him? Had Veronique decided that by coupling with him and pretending she cared for him, she’d make him more agreeable to her loathsome plans? Leona fought the urge to retch.

The rasp of metal alerted her that de Lanceau now stood beside her, his sword drawn. As his lordship handed Aldwin his quiver, the other warriors gathered in the solar. De Lanceau didn’t glance at the bed, although he must have noticed. “The great hall,” he said.

“Down the stairwell,” she choked out, waving to the chamber door.

De Lanceau strode to the door and threw it wide.

She blinked hard. She should go with him and his men, if only to support her sire. Yet as the warriors left, her feet seemed rooted to the floorboards. Her gaze riveted to the bed.

Her father was fornicating with Veronique? “Nay,” she muttered. “Nay!”

Someone touched her arm. Aldwin. He’d stayed behind with her.

“The bed,” she said hoarsely. “My father . . .”

“We do not know what happened here. Do not try to guess.”

Aldwin’s firm voice and rational words eased her dismay. “You are right.”

“Of course I am.”

Her gaze flew to him, to catch his wry grin.

“Arrogant turd,” she muttered, smiling back.

He winked. “That is the Leona I know.”

She balled her hands into fists. “I will find out exactly what has gone on here.” She spun toward the doorway.

“Wait.”

Faster than she thought possible, Aldwin cut between her and the embrasure.

“You cannot confront Veronique,” he said.

“Really?” Leona thrust her chin up, bringing her mouth closer to his.

“Really. If she believes you are a threat to her, she will kill you. Challenging her is foolish.”

“She will not murder me in my father’s keep. Not with de Lanceau’s men searching for her.” Barely holding down her temper, Leona tapped her foot. “Aldwin, if you do not move—”

“I would rather tie you to the bed and fetch you once the fighting is over.”

A flush skittered over her skin. The heat intensified with the darkening glint of his eyes.

“You promised not to tie me again,” she said, rather breathlessly.

“Regrettably, I did.” With obvious reluctance, he stepped aside.

She rushed past him and out into the passage, where a draft swept over her. Half-listening to his brisk pursuit, she hurried past the chambers reserved for her father’s guests, now empty—

A door immediately ahead swung open, spilling light into the corridor. Caution shrieked through her, and she lurched to a stop, a moment before Aldwin plowed into her from behind.

“Oh!” Leona pitched forward, tripping on her gown’s hem.

Aldwin staggered beside her, bracing his hand on the stone floor to break his fall. At the same moment, an object clattered by his feet.

“Tye!” a woman called from within the chamber.

A little boy raced into the corridor. Straight into Leona.

He smacked into her legs. Wobbling, he grabbed at her cloak to steady himself and peered up at her.

Straightening, Leona caught her breath. She’d seen this face before. While his features were softened by childish pudginess, the boy looked just like his lordship.

She glanced at Aldwin. “Why, he resembles—”

“De Lanceau,” Aldwin confirmed, before rising to his full height and glancing at the floor.

His lordship was this boy’s sire? Before she could consider that thought, a young woman stomped through the doorway. “Tye! Come back—Oh, Lady Leona!”

Leona smiled at the daughter of one of the stable hands. The young woman’s gaze slid to Aldwin, and she flushed. “I am sorry, milady,” she said. “’E is a ’andful, this ’un.”

Still clinging to Leona’s skirt, Tye sniffled. His mouth parted on a wail.

“Shush, now,” the woman grumbled. “Come back ta yer bed.”

“Want Mama.”

His forlorn cry touched Leona. She smoothed her hand through his tangled hair. “There, now. Your mother will be back soon.”

“When?” Tears spiked his lashes.

“Well, I—” A round object gleamed near her right boot. Did it belong to the little boy?

Before she could pick it up, Tye pulled away from her, clapped his hand around it, and raised it to his face. “Look.”

A piece of amber, surrounding a . . .
bee!

She choked down a shrill cry. She stumbled back, her hand at her throat, and glanced at Aldwin. The bee, held forever inside the resin, must be his.

His mouth flattened and he nodded.

“Bee!” Tye’s gaze brightened with awe. He ran his finger over the amber’s buckled surface, his misery forgotten.

“’Tis not yours,” the young woman said.

Tye frowned. “Mine!”

“How long have you had that?” Leona whispered to Aldwin.

“Years.” His voice sounded heavy with the weight of responsibility.

How many years? Had he found it the day she was stung, or acquired it later? She wanted to ask more, but he motioned to the stairwell. “Come on.”

“Your amber,” she said.

Aldwin was already striding away.

***

At a brisk pace, Aldwin approached the stairwell ahead. His face still burned. Thankfully the shadows hid his weakness, above all from her.

He’d never meant for the amber to fall from his pocket, or for Leona to find it. He’d never wanted to frighten her, or reveal how much that incident had shaped his life, most of all his desire to break from his past dishonor. His determination had hardened like resin, while he’d fought to reach the highest honor within his grasp: knighthood.

When Leona saw the amber, he’d felt, for a moment, as if he stood before her naked, his very soul exposed for her judgment.

Aware of her hurrying along behind him, he forced his difficult thoughts aside. If she resented him for keeping the amber, so be it. The resin belonged to Tye now. And, as much as Aldwin cared for Leona, and as much as he longed for her respect, he’d never abandon the duty that had made him who he was.

The pendant was somewhere here at Pryerston. He’d find it and see it delivered safely to de Lanceau.

The stairwell’s shadows fell upon him, and he slowed, keeping a tight hold on his crossbow. The stairs were well lit, a point in his favor. If anyone tried to attack, he’d see their shadow.

Faint footfalls sounded from lower down the stairwell. Then Aldwin heard a man’s gruff voice. His words sounded slurred.

“Father!” Leona brushed past Aldwin into the stairwell, her cloak wafting at her ankles.

“Wait!” Aldwin muttered, knowing even as he ran after her that she wouldn’t listen.

Down he followed her, until the passage led into a soaring great hall illuminated by blazing torches along the walls. Smoke rose from the huge fire burning in the hearth along the far wall. Dogs peered out from under a table, near the raised dais where a gray-haired man sat in a high-backed oak chair. Several wine jugs rested beside him on the table covered with a grimy tablecloth.

“Oh, God! Father!” Leona rushed toward the man.

As Aldwin glanced about the rest of the hall, two of de Lanceau’s men-at-arms rose from the bodies of three mercenaries sprawled near a table, where a game of sticks lay in disarray. Judging by the fresh blood on the rushes, the mercenaries had died only moments before.

“The hall is clear,” one of the men-at-arms called to Aldwin.

“De Lanceau is on his way down to the bailey,” the other added.

Aldwin nodded. Trying to tamp down the unease scuttling through him, he headed to the dais. After all of the years since Leona’s bee stings, the unanswered letters, and Ward’s passing, Aldwin would finally meet Leona’s sire. How senseless to worry what the old man thought of him, especially when Ransley could well be a traitor. Yet the past had finally caught up with all of them, a realization that brought a fresh sweat to Aldwin’s brow.

When he drew near, he saw Lord Ransley was bound at his hands and feet to the chair. Aldwin blinked against the overpowering stench of wine, sweat, and heaven knew what else.

“Who did this to you, Father?” With a strangled sob, Leona stepped onto the dais.

Ransley looked up. His bleary eyes struggled to focus. “Leona?”

“Aye.” She threw herself against him and buried her face in his hair.

His eyes closed, and his grizzled features softened with gut-wrenching relief and joy. Unwelcome envy tugged at Aldwin; he forced himself to look away.

“Thank God you are sshafe,” Ransley said hoarsely.

She sniffled and eased back. “Why are you tied to this chair? Who dared to do this to you?”

“Veronique.” Ransley’s lips twisted. “Dangerous.” His gaze filled with concern. “Leona, sshe is looking for you—”

“We must untie you.”

Ransley frowned. “Sshe will know you are here. Leona—”

She caught his face in her hands. “There are two men-at-arms keeping watch by the stairwell. ’Twill be all right. We will explain once you are free.”