Elizabeth Elliott (40 page)

He tried to content himself with images of Claudia’s brother being subjected to every hideous torture imaginable. Strangely, Dante’s silent presence provided not only fuel for his rage, but a measure of hope. Guy knew Claudia’s emotions so well that her brother’s proved equally transparent. Gone was the look of desperate grief in those familiar green eyes, replaced by grim relief. Guy knew then that Claudia would live.

He rolled his head from side to side and tried to ease muscles cramped by hours of tension. An oil lamp set on a campaign chest near the doorway provided the only light in the large tent. The flame sputtered and cast strange, distorted shadows against the linen walls as an evening breeze ruffled the vented canopy. The breeze carried a faint scent of rain, followed by the distant rumble of thunder. A sudden crack of lightning heralded the storm’s arrival, and the walls of the tent shuddered before a sudden gust of wind.

Claudia moaned, and Guy clenched his fists against his need to hold her, to reach out for the comfort it would give him just to touch her. Whatever pain caused her brow to furrow eased away, and he sensed that she drifted deeper into
sleep rather than unconsciousness. The storm grew louder around them, but she didn’t stir.

“When will she awaken?” Guy demanded.

From his seat opposite Guy, Dante rubbed his hands over his face as if to push away the last thoughts of sleep. “Tomorrow, perhaps sooner. The sleeping draught I gave her is not a strong one. There was still too much poison in her to risk anything stronger.”

“Too much of
your
poison in her,” Guy clarified. The sound of the rising storm covered their quiet conversation. “I find myself growing restless to see you pay for that crime. I may kill you yet, even if she does survive.”

“You may try.” Dante folded his arms across his chest, but he looked more tired than defiant. “At the moment, I would not put up much of a fight.”

“I should do it now, when I will not have to worry that Claudia will throw herself in front of another coward’s dagger.”

“Aye, you should.”

Guy was silent a long moment. “I vow ’tis pointless to goad you. I have never met a man who cares less whether he lives or dies. ’Tis a wonder you are still alive.”

“I will live long enough to thwart your plans for my sister,” Dante said. “Claudia is all I have left of my family, and yours already murdered one Chiavari. I will not hand you another.”

Guy arched one brow. “You think I will allow you to take her away from me again?”

“ ’Twas not such a difficult feat the first time.” Dante stretched out his arms and yawned. “Once I have her within a convent’s walls, she will be safe from you and your family forever.”

“You sound very sure of yourself,” Guy mused. “I wonder why, when I hold you and your knights prisoner. The only thing that keeps you from chains is the misery you inflicted on your own sister. Once she is recovered, I have no use for you. Few would find it strange to hear that a man such as
yourself suffered a fatal accident. Indeed, I feel certain there are many who would be thankful for such news.”

“Think well before you murder me, Baron. The men you hold are not the only in my hire, and their orders are clear. My murder signs your own death warrant.” A shadowy smile touched Dante’s lips. “Aside from that, Claudia would never forgive the death of a second brother at the hands of a Montague, nor will she come to you willingly, knowing it means the death of one or both of us.”

“Do you think I care what her thoughts are on the matter?” That wiped the smug expression from Dante’s face. Guy forced his own features into a mask of indifference. “A willing wife is not a requirement for marriage. What I want from your sister is her dowry and a healthy heir.”

“You care for her more than you would like me to think,” Dante said. “I saw you together at Montague. I would say you care for her a great deal.”

“I will admit to a certain fondness for every woman I take to my bed. However, being poisoned tends to put a damper on a man’s affections. I will take measures to ensure that she does nothing so foolish in the future.” Guy waited for Dante to deny Claudia’s involvement in his poisoning, to speak of something he knew to be truth. It was an old bargaining tactic. Hearing Dante speak the truth would provide a measure to determine the lies. Unfortunately, Dante did not seem inclined to fall into the trap so easily.

“You would not marry Claudia for Halford alone.”

“I should allow Halford to fall into the hands of another, when all know its worth to me? Your uncle demanded four hundred gold florins, and I agreed to his price before he betrayed me. An unwilling bride seems a much more profitable bargain.”

“You bastard.”

“Nay, there is no question of my legitimacy, Dante. However, your sister tells me there is some question as to your own, and hers as well. She also mentioned your determination to exact vengeance against the man who labeled you
bastards. Is that the reason you placed yourself in Edward’s hire?”

Dante’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of my work for the king?”

“I know you are Edward’s Enforcer,” Guy said, “an assassin hired to rid him of those he finds troublesome. Do you find some pleasure in what you do? Or is it the gold Edward pays that attracts you?”

Dante’s brows drew together, and he directed a scowl toward Claudia. “I am not such an animal that I hire myself out for murder simply to slake my thirst for blood. Nor do I murder for gold.”

“There are many at court who neither seek gold nor remain in that nest of vipers for their own pleasure. They seek Edward’s favor, a means to bend a king’s will to their own. A king could influence a great many matters, such as the Church’s decree that a man is illegitimate. A reversal of such a decision would make you the heir to a very great estate, would it not?”

The corners of Dante’s mouth tightened. A small reaction, but telling just the same. Guy had happened upon Dante’s weakness, and every man with a weakness had a price. “There is nothing you can do to prevent my marriage to your sister, but I realize you will be a threat to me as long as you remain in England. As I see it, there are two possible solutions to the problem you present. Either I rid myself of you for good, or I take steps to ensure that you are too far from England to cause me any trouble.” Guy spread his hands in a congenial gesture. “You know as well as I that your execution would complicate matters. Your exile holds more appealing possibilities.”

“Now who sounds cocksure of himself?” Dante scoffed. “Edward values my services too highly to stand idle while you spirit me from his services.”

“It would be a mistake to underestimate my influence in matters that involve the king.” Guy let that quiet warning sink in for a moment before he continued. “It is within my
means to have you leave England willingly, and in my best interest to ensure that you are too busy with your own affairs to interfere in mine. Perhaps you underestimate my influence in Italy as well. The vengeance you seek is within your grasp, Dante.”

A flash of lightning turned the walls of the tent an eerie shade of blue. Neither man flinched. They stared in silence at one another, the air charged between them. At last Dante looked away. “You will not bend me to your will, Baron. Nor will you live long enough to see me curry the favor of a Montague. I would sooner slit your throat.”

Guy shrugged his shoulders. Better to give Dante time to think the notion over in his mind. Time and patience
would
bend Dante to his will.

Claudia closed her eyes again before either man realized she was awake. The words they had spoken made her want to cry, but her eyes felt dry and bloodshot, as if they could produce sand sooner than tears. The storm outside the tent grew in intensity until it matched the storm that raged inside her heart. Dante wanted her placed in a nunnery. Guy wanted her for nothing more than her dowry. She was a burden to Dante and a possession to Guy, her worth calculated in gold and land.

Guy’s presence at her side was but another part of her torture, having him so close, knowing he was almost always nearby. It hurt just to look at him. He would marry her because she would bring him Halford. He had been foolish enough to tell Dante as much. That frightened her most. If she married Guy, someone she loved would die as a result.

The silence between the two men continued, and the summer storm faded to the steady patter of a gentle rain. The pain in her body warred with the pain in her soul, and at last she fell into an exhausted slumber. The next time she awoke, muted rays of morning sunlight streamed through the tent walls and Guy was gone. She was alone with her brother.

Dante sat on a stool pulled up next to the bed, his head
bowed with his fingers laced through his hair. His eyes were closed, and the ravaged look on his face spoke of little sleep.

She tried to speak, but made a small croaking sound instead. Dante lifted his head and slowly opened his eyes. “Do you need the bucket again?”

She considered the somewhat settled state of her stomach and shook her head. “Water.”

After the long drink her voice did not sound so harsh. Weak, but understandable. “Why, Dante?”

A look of pain and regret flashed in his eyes. “I would never hurt you on purpose, cara. The dagger was meant for Montague.”

“I know that,” she assured him. “What I want to know is, why did you challenge him? Why do you hate him so?” She lowered her head and stared at her clasped hands. “What makes you hate him so much that you would lie to me? Your words alone convinced me to leave Montague. Why would you say such horrible things, knowing how much they hurt me?”

“You expected me to leave you there? He thinks you poisoned him, Claudia. The lies I told you would be truth, if you had stayed.”

“You are wrong,” she whispered. “Guy would have believed in my innocence if I had remained at Montague. Running away only confirmed my guilt in his mind. He will never trust me again.”

“His lack of trust does not matter, and he is not worthy of yours. I intend to take you away from here. You will never have to see him again.”

“We are his prisoners,” she reminded him. “At Montague, his brothers were convinced that he would marry me just to gain Halford and my dowry, but I did not believe them. Now I do. Halford means more to him than you know. He will never let me go.”

Dante squeezed her hand. “While I live, Montague will not have you.”

The words struck terror in her heart. She would be married
to a man who cared nothing for her, and her brother would be dead. She could see that future as clearly as she could see the determination in Dante’s eyes, the knowledge that he would die for her. His death would change nothing. “Guy will kill you if he must. He is possessive, Dante. More possessive than any man I have known. There is a stubborn streak in Guy that makes him close his eyes to the consequences of that stubbornness. Once he makes up his mind, there is no changing it. His belief that I betrayed him only makes him more determined to marry me. There is no better vengeance. His control of me will be absolute.”

“You think I should leave you to that fate? To know you will spend your life paying for a crime you did not commit?” Dante shook his head. “What kind of monster do you think I am?”

“You misunderstand my meaning, Dante. ’Tis doubtful Guy will beat me, or see me suffer physical harm. He is not a violent man.”

“He is a man,” Dante bit out. “You will suffer at his hands.”

He was right. Guy would make her suffer. Claudia forced herself to look away from Dante before he could read her thoughts. She needed time to sort them out. “I am very tired. Do you mind if I close my eyes and rest for awhile?”

Guy turned away from his tent and walked blindly toward Kenric’s. He parted the flap and stepped inside. Kenric and Fitz Alan sat on camp stools, with a chest between them that served as a makeshift table. Loaves of fresh bread from the abbey and a pitcher of thin ale sat atop the chest. Whatever they saw on Guy’s face made both men set their morning meal aside. Kenric reached beneath his cot for another wooden goblet and a flagon of wine. He poured a healthy measure for Guy, then spoke in a hushed tone as he offered the drink. “She is dead?”

Guy managed to shake his head. He tilted the goblet and let the numbing liquid flow into him in one long drink. The
last swallow was barely past his mouth when he extended the goblet toward Kenric. “More.”

Kenric gave him a considering look. “I think not. You spent the past two days in your tent, but I doubt you ate or slept at all during that time. Wine is not the answer to what ails you. Another goblet would see you retching.”

“As usual, you are right,” Guy admitted. The wine felt sour in his stomach already. He set the goblet down, then took a seat on one of the cots and leaned forward with his hands propped on his knees. “I need a stronger cure than wine for what ails me. Claudia is awake, and ’tis certain she will recover.”

“That is indeed news to celebrate,” Fitz Alan offered, “but judging by your expression, I suspect a celebration is not what you had in mind.”

“I left her for no more than half an hour,” Guy said, “just long enough to give orders to the morning patrol. When I returned to my tent I overheard her talking with Dante, asking why he lied to her at Montague. Whatever that bastard told her was enough to make her flee with him.”

“You do not know?”

Guy’s head shot up and his eyes narrowed on Fitz Alan. “You do?”

“Aye,” Fitz Alan answered. “Dante told her that you awoke soon after the feast and knew of her imprisonment, that she would hang by your orders the next morn.”

Guy’s hands became fists and he pictured them doing serious damage to Dante. “Why didn’t you tell me this the day you brought her back?”

“This is the first time I could speak with you outside her brother’s presence.” Fitz Alan tore apart a loaf of the crusty bread and its rich aroma filled the tent. He tossed half to Guy. “And this is the first time you asked. On the ride to the abbey, Lady Claudia told me that Dante’s sudden appearance in the dungeons and the tale he told her both came as a great shock. Locked in the bowels of the castle, ’tis not hard to imagine how true Dante’s words rang in her ears. He is her
brother. She had no reason not to believe him, although she claims to have had doubts about his story from the start. According to the lady, ’twas fear for her brother’s safety as much as her own that made her flee.”