Cast Love Aside (2 page)

Her natural reaction to the sight of a
menacing stranger should have been a loud scream. He'd likely
slaughter her before she had a chance to make much noise, but at
least someone would hear her warning.

But
would
anyone hear her? The manor
house was oddly quiet. How had an unknown man sneaked past the
guards to penetrate to the upper level of the house, where the
private rooms were? Was he one of the men who came to visit her
uncle late at night, the men whose existence he refused to
acknowledge when Lilianne confronted him about them?

The stranger said nothing for a moment. He
stared at her with grim attention, as if she was the last person he
expected to meet, and his alert posture coupled with his perfect
stillness told her that he was as startled as she was.

Lilianne tilted her chin to look up at him.
It was a novel sensation for her, having to look up at a man. She
was so tall that most men were her height, or shorter.

She wished the stone-walled corridor were
better lit. A single flambeau stuck into one of the empty wall
sconces would have helped. All she could see of the man above the
collar of his tunic was a pale square of face, dark brows, and dark
hair. She caught her breath as she became aware of a tense, savage
quality in him that went well beyond the usual careless male
violence with which she was familiar. This man didn't need a weapon
to make him dangerous. She had to escape from him and raise the
alarm as quickly as possible.

Cautiously, she placed one foot behind her,
preparing to break away from him. She hadn't taken the first step
before the hand that wasn't holding his sword clamped down hard on
her wrist.

“Not a word,” he warned her in a rough
whisper. “Don’t make a sound and don’t attempt to escape from me,
or I'll be forced to knock you senseless.”

Lilianne nodded to indicate compliance with
his command. She hoped he'd see the quick, nervous motion in the
dim light.

“I want an empty room that's nearby.” He did
not release his grip on her wrist while he spoke again in the same
low, harsh tone. “Don't say anything, just nod your head toward
it.”

Silently, she indicated the room from which
she had just come.

“Open the door,” he ordered.

With her free hand Lilianne unlatched the
door. The stranger pushed her inside before she collected her
thoughts enough to remember that she was showing him into her
bedchamber.

He wasn't overly rough in his handling of
her, just very firm about what he was doing. Encouraged by the lack
of immediate brutality on his part, some of her initial fear of him
began to seep away. Still, caution remained. Four years of living
in the same household with Uncle Erland had taught her how quickly
a man's temper could change.

Rubbing the wrist the stranger had been
holding, she whirled to face him. He stood with his back against
the door, a position that left her with no place to go. The room
wasn't large and with him in it, there seemed to be even less space
for her to move, certainly not enough space for her to back away
from him as she wanted to do. The single window was too small for
her to squeeze through it and jump. Reluctantly, she gave up the
notion of escape. She stayed near the door, scarcely a step away
from him, only a few paces from her bed, and intensely aware of how
wrong it was to allow any man into her private chamber.

“Who are you?” he demanded, still
whispering.

“Oh, am I permitted to speak now?” she asked
in well justified annoyance.

“Keep your voice down.”

“Will anyone hear me if I scream? Just a
short time ago,” she said, “the men in the hall were drinking and
making their usual late evening noises. Now they are quiet. Why is
that?”

“Drugged wine.”

“Have you killed them?”

“No.” He sounded insulted by the
suggestion.

“Do you ever speak more than three or four
words at a time?” she asked.

“Occasionally.” One corner of his mouth
twitched, as if he was trying not to smile.

Lilianne counted the tiny movement as
encouraging. Upon noticing the peculiar silence from the hall
below, she had left her room to investigate, which was why she’d
been in the corridor. In her haste she had left the oil lamp
burning on a table near the bed, and by its soft glow she examined
the stranger's face and form.

He was wonderfully tall, actually several
inches taller than she. His black hair was trimmed short over his
brow in the blunt style worn by most fighting men. In complement to
the straight, uncompromising line of his hair, his face was hard
and bleak, with high cheekbones apparently carved out of solid rock
and a nose that looked as if it had been broken more than once. The
grey eyes glaring out of that stony face reminded Lilianne of the
winter sea just before a storm, with impending turbulence barely
contained beneath a deceptively quiet surface.

The shoulders under his tunic were so broad
that she guessed the rest of him was equally strong and well
muscled. His hands were large, the long, tapered fingers holding
his sword as easily as if it were a child's toy.

“Who are you?” he said again.

“Lilianne de Sainte Inge,” she responded.
“Who are you?”

“Magnus.” He bit out the single word as if it
pained him to utter it.

“You are well named, Magnus.” She managed to
produce a tremulous smile.

To her astonishment, he smiled back at her,
an incredibly beautiful smile that rocked her down to her toes. All
the harsh planes of his face softened, the bitter lines vanishing,
to be replaced by warmth and kindness, and by a gentle humor that
warmed Lilianne's lonely heart.

The smile lasted for only a moment, before he
resumed his chilly expression. The change left Lilianne longing to
see him smile again and to hear him laugh, if laughter was possible
for such a man.

“You are not supposed to be here,” he
said.

“Indeed? Why not? This is my brother's manor,
though you'd never know it from the way Uncle Erland acts. Is he
why you are trying to be quiet? Do you not want to alert Uncle
Erland?”

“You are one of Erland's nieces?” he asked,
ignoring her questions.

“The only one,” she told him.

“How many nephews are there?”

“Just one of those, too,” she said, frowning.
“If you don't know as much, then you cannot be well acquainted with
the count of Morvan.”

Something in her words or her voice made him
look hard at her. Lilianne knew what he was seeing; Uncle Erland
had told her often enough. She was too tall, her figure was too
round for ladylike delicacy, and she was much too colorful to make
any claim to beauty. Lilianne's hair was black and thick and her
eyes were almost purple. In Uncle Erland's critical judgment, she
looked like a blowzy peasant wench and thus she could never hope to
attract a noble husband. According to Uncle Erland, noblemen wanted
pale, slender ladies for their wives. A large dowry might have
helped, but her father's death had left Lilianne and her brother
unexpectedly destitute and completely dependent on their uncle's
charity.

“Where is the nephew?” Magnus demanded, the
question drawing her full attention back to the man who continued
to block her bedroom door.

“I wish I knew,” she said on a sigh.

“Oh?” The disbelief in his voice compelled
her to reveal the little she did know of her brother's
circumstances.

“Gilbert is fourteen and not in the best of
health. Uncle Erland claims the sea air is bad for his lungs, so he
sent Gilbert away. He refused to tell me where, or to let me go
along.”

“I was told that Erland's kin were all babies
and were living elsewhere.” Magnus looked annoyed. Then he
shrugged. “At least your brother isn't here at Manoir Sainte Inge.
That's something, I suppose, considering all the inaccurate
information provided to us.”

“Why are
you
here?” she asked again.
“What do you want?”

“I've come to see Count Erland.”

“You are no friend of his.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Uncle Erland has no friends.” Magnus had
mentioned inaccurate information. From what he'd said so far,
Lilianne guessed that he didn't actually know Erland personally.
Hope flared in her bosom. “Are you one of my uncle’s agents, come
to make a report to him?”

“No.”

She wished he'd be more communicative. Still,
his self-control and deliberate silences intrigued her, and her
heart assured her that she could trust him. In the four years since
her father's death she had learned not to trust anyone, but she was
about to place her trust in Magnus.

“Amazing,” she murmured.

“What is?” he demanded.

“I’ll strike a bargain with you, Magnus. I
will show you to Uncle Erland's private chamber, if you will make
him tell you where he has taken Gilbert.”

“I can find Erland without your help.”

“Finding him will require some time. I think
you are in a hurry.”

“That's not your concern.”

“No? How long will the drugged men-at-arms
sleep?”

He didn't answer. Lilianne had the feeling
that he was waiting and listening, perhaps expecting a signal from
his cohorts. She was sure he hadn't sneaked into the fortified
manor alone. For Gilbert's sake she couldn't afford to let this
opportunity pass untested, but she'd have to work quickly, before
his companions appeared.

“If you can learn Gilbert's whereabouts,” she
said, “I'll give you this.”

She tugged at the ribbon around her neck.
Magnus watched silently as she drew the ring that hung on the
ribbon from its concealment beneath her gown. She held the ring on
her palm, showing it to him.

Still with his sword in his right hand, he
came forward to examine it. His left hand was strong and capable,
the nails clean and neatly trimmed. His breath was clean, too.

Lilianne searched his face, seeking his
reaction to what she was offering. He looked up from the ring and
directly into her eyes. She held her breath, transfixed by his
intense grey gaze. Deep inside her a previously unsuspected pulse
began to flutter.

“This is an amethyst,” he said, “a fine stone
worthy of the official ring of an important bishop. It's not a
jewel to be owned by a mere pawn.”

“It was my mother's betrothal ring.”

Something in his flinty eyes softened at her
words. The grim line of his mouth softened as well. Lilianne’s
heart gave a sudden lurch as she wondered why she hadn't
immediately noticed how perfectly chiseled his lips were.

“You would give this valuable ring to me, in
return for information about your brother?”

“Of course. Gladly. Wouldn't you do the same,
to help a brother?”

His mouth opened, then closed firmly. He said
nothing, only laid the ring back on her palm and folded her fingers
over it. His hand was warm against hers.

She was so concentrated upon Magnus that she
was scarcely aware of the sound of footsteps in the corridor until
he turned his head to listen.

“Hide this,” Magnus said, thrusting their
clasped hands toward the neckline of her dress. “Quickly.”

When she didn't obey fast enough for him, he
let go of her hand so he could pull the edge of her dress outward
and drop the ribbon under it. His fingers scorched her throat until
the ring lay safely against her bosom. Then, raising his sword, he
stepped in front of her to face the door just as it burst open. A
young man stepped into the room and Magnus lowered the sword,
though he did not entirely relax his tense stance.

“I was beginning to worry about you,” the
newcomer said to Magnus. Blue eyes brimming with laughter regarded
Lilianne. “No wonder you were so quiet.”

“This is Count Erland's niece, Lady
Lilianne,” Magnus told him with repressive sternness.

“Sir Braedon, at your service, my lady,” the
young man said, bowing low.

“What have you learned?” Magnus snapped at
him.

“We can't find Royce's informant,” Braedon
said. “He may be among the men who are sleeping off the herbed
wine. If you want my opinion, we'll do better without him. Most of
the information he sent to Royce about this place has proven
worthless. I'm beginning to suspect the man is a double agent.”

“It's possible,” Magnus responded through
tight lips. “Where is William?”

“He's below in the hall, trying to subdue a
weeping wench who obviously drank none of the wine.”

“Alice!” Lilianne exclaimed, taking a step
toward the door. Neither man moved out of her way. “I must go to
her,” she protested.

“William won't hurt her,” Braedon assured
her, “though she's far from tame. She bit his hand, but he’s trying
to treat her as gently as a good knight should.”

“Who is this Alice?” Magnus demanded of
Lilianne.

“She’s a postulant from a convent just
outside Calais. Uncle Erland brought her here to act as my
companion. He said a noblewoman in a household of men requires the
presence of another gently born female. Even a noblewoman as ugly
as I am.” Lilianne wasn't sure why she bothered to mention that
detail, although it was exactly what Uncle Erland had said.

“Damnation,” Magnus muttered, shaking his
head. “Lady Lilianne, are there other females here? Or children? We
haven't seen any women except you, but that doesn't mean there
aren't any living here.”

“Alice and I are the only women at Manoir
Sainte Inge, and there are no children at all. The servants are all
male. As to why Uncle Erland keeps me here, which I’m sure is your
next question, I think it’s so he can watch me. He's afraid I'll
discover where he has imprisoned my brother and find a way to
rescue poor Gilbert.”

“Ladies held under duress, and an imprisoned
boy? I’m beginning to enjoy the prospect of abducting Count Erland
even more than I thought I would,” Braedon said with a grin. “Does
anyone have any notion where our elusive quarry can be found?”