Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels) Page 12

  The healer shrieked. “Stop! Please.”

  Landon wheezed. A dark crimson stain oozed across the front of his garments. When Veronique stabbed him again, he lunged for her. Giggling, she darted out of his reach. With a gurgled groan, he collapsed on the floorboards.

  Sobs breaking from her, the healer knelt beside him. The parchment slid from her sleeve as she lifted his tunic to examine his stomach wound. “Milord,” she cried, but the life was dimming from his gaze.

  Veronique snatched up the parchment. She crossed to the fire and tossed the document into the blaze. Flames licked over it, devoured it.

  She spun, to find Azarel pushing to her feet. Tears streaked her face, and her shaking hands were coated in blood.

  “He is dead?” Veronique demanded.

  Azarel nodded.

  “Good. Now, you will do exactly as I say. You will set the coins he gave you on the table. Then find mercenaries to get rid of this body. Do not try to betray me.” Veronique trailed a finger along her bloody knife. “If you disobey me, you jeopardize not only your lover’s life, but Edouard’s and Juliana’s, as well.”

  ***

  Fear tingled across her skin like an unwanted caress when she stared up at the dark-haired man who held her in his arms. The bold way he grinned at her left a chill inside her, for she sensed an element of unruliness about him. In his snug hold, she felt . . . vulnerable.

  Somewhere close by, men’s voices retreated and then a thud echoed—the sound of a door closing. Merciful God, what had taken place earlier, that she’d be shut in a chamber while in this knave’s embrace?

  Should she know him? A hint of remembrance skittered across her thoughts, and she tried to probe the blankness wrapped around her mind. The inkiness seemed to shift like a murky sludge, to fill in the attempted intrusion with more blackness.

  Dull pain settled in her brow. Dizziness taunted, threatening to snatch her consciousness, and when she’d just found Edouard. The dizziness mustn’t triumph. In a moment, her head might quit spinning; then she’d try to squirm out of this man’s embrace—

  “Juliana,” he murmured, his voice deeper than Edouard’s. “Are you all right?”

  “Of course she is not!” Edouard snapped.

  This dark-haired man had called her Juliana, too. That must be her name. How, though, did he know her? “W-who are you?” she whispered to him, trying not to heed her headache or the thudding of her pulse.

  The man’s expression darkened with suspicion. “You know full well who I am. If you are trying to trick me—”

  “Nay!” she croaked.

  “Enough, Tye,” Edouard growled. “’Tis not a deception.”

  The man named Tye snorted, a sound rife with scorn. “I should trust your explanation?”

  “I was with her when she first woke. She did not recognize me, despite us having met before. She has lost her memory. Due, I expect, to the blow to her head.”

  Lost her memory. That would explain a great deal.

  “You know who did this to Juliana.” Edouard’s tone hardened. “Were you the one who struck her?”

  “As much as you would like to hear me say ‘aye,’” Tye answered, “I did not.”

  “Who did?”

  Tye chuckled, but didn’t answer.

  Juliana sensed Edouard’s intense gaze, and carefully turned her head to look at him, standing in a swath of sunlight. His stare held fierce concern.

  When unexpected tears brimmed along her lashes, his eyes widened. He took a step toward her. Metal clanked, drawing her attention to his wrists.

  He was chained. A prisoner!

  Shock raced through her. Bracing one hand against Tye’s shoulder, she scrambled to sit up. Pain scraped down the back of her skull. Tendrils of agony speared through her forehead and neck, before spots swarmed into her vision.

  “Careful!” Edouard cried.

  Juliana groaned, fighting an upsurge of nausea.

  Her vision swam, and then her cheek met solid warmth: Tye’s arm. She’d fallen back into his hold.

  “Juliana.” Edouard’s worried voice called to her, luring her from the edge of that cozy blanket of oblivion. How easily she could slip into it, but that would mean abandoning him. She couldn’t, for she had many questions—among them, why he was a captive. What had happened to put him in peril? And what had happened to her? Warning trailed through her, for she had no doubt his imprisonment meant danger for them both.

  By sheer willpower, she forced her eyes to open. To find him again.

  As their gazes met, he released a rush of breath, a sound that implied she was important to him. A friend. His lover . . .

  His Juliana.

  If only she could remember what they meant to one another!

  He tried to take another forward step, but his chains snapped taut. His muscles bulged beneath the fabric of his tunic, while he scowled at Tye. “She wishes to be free of you. Put her down.”

  At the possessiveness in his voice, tiny shivers darted through her. Why couldn’t she remember their relationship? What else didn’t she recall that, for her and Edouard’s well-being, she really should?

  Tye vowed he hadn’t wounded her, but he could have held her down whilst someone else hit her. Had Tye imprisoned Edouard? Was she to be a captive, too, for reasons she didn’t even know? Oh, God, nay. She shoved against Tye, forcing herself to fight through her rising pain. “Edouard is right. Set me down.”

  Tye tsked. “I doubt you can stand upright.”

  Her body, indeed, felt weak. She’d rather crumple on the floor, though, than spend another moment in this knave’s arms.

  “Set me down. Please.”

  Tye’s brows raised. Then, he eased his arm out from under her knees and lowered her legs to the floorboards.

  Her feet brushed the dusty planks. Her wobbly legs took her full weight for one breath. Two—

  Her knees folded.

  Just as she plummeted to the floor, Tye’s arms slid around her waist from behind. “I have you.”

  Tye drew her back against him, supporting her quivering body with his strength. Dizzy with the effort of standing, she slumped in his hold. When her head landed against his shoulder, she gasped at the spike of pain. Darkness swirled into her mind, beckoning her to yield.

  “Juliana!” Edouard shouted. “Stay awake.”

  For you, Edouard, I will.

  She fought the weightiness of her eyelids, focused on the emotions churning inside her to give her strength. How she loathed being dependent upon Tye. Hated the manner in which he held her. His arms shifted; as one swept higher, touching the underside of her breasts, she shuddered.

  “Tye,” Edouard growled. His fists clenched, causing his chains to rattle, an eerie echo of the laughter rumbling from Tye.

  “I would like to sit,” she said quickly, gesturing to the wooden stool. That simple movement sent more dizziness rushing through her head. Edouard spoke again, but his words grew fainter, as though she’d plunged through a hole in the floor.

  Dragging up the last of her strength, she concentrated on his voice. On the excitement that raced through her when he looked at her with such fire.

  “—is fainting!” she heard Edouard say. “Hurry!”

  “Edouard,” she managed to rasp. Her eyelids fluttered, while she sensed Tye sliding his arm under her knee once again. A rough scrape—the sound of wood grating across wood—carried before cool roughness touched her calves, and an even colder hardness touched her back and head. When the whirling chaos in her head slowed, she realized Tye had set her on the stool and propped her up against the stone wall.

  Opening her eyes, she saw him standing beside her with his hands on his hips, studying her as if to see whether she’d stay upright. Her attention slid past him to Edouard, also watching, his expression a touching blend of relief and anxiety.

  Holding on to the stool for added support, she smiled at Edouard. He smiled in return.

  Muffled voices sounded from outside the
chamber.

  A moment later, metal grated. The panel swung inward.

  Two armed guards stepped inside, followed by a woman.

  As she strolled farther into the room, the strong scent of rosewater drifted to Juliana. Light slipped over the woman’s snug-fitting silk gown and red hair that snaked down to her girlishly small waist. Her hips swayed in blatant enticement; her stride also, somehow, conveyed that she had a right to command all those around her. Tall, slender, viewed from the back, she might be mistaken for a much younger woman. Her severe features, however, bore evidence of her years in the faint lines about her eyes and mouth. Most telling were her hands, for her fingers were swollen and bent with age.

  “Hello, Mother,” Tye said.

  Juliana fought light-headedness and a rush of foreboding. This newcomer was Tye’s mother. A lady, judging by her gown; ’twould explain her imposing manner.

  “All is in order, Tye?” she demanded.

  “Aye. I was about to come find you and update you on the situation.”

  The woman halted several steps from Edouard. As her keen gaze traveled over him, she grinned. “What a pleasure to see you again, Edouard.”

  Disdain threaded through her words, and Edouard’s features tautened. He looked truly formidable. Whoever this lady was, he despised her. “Are my men all right?” he demanded. “Unharmed? Their wounds tended?”

  “They are well enough, I expect.” Then, as though sensing Juliana’s stare, the woman looked right at her.

  The force of the lady’s piercing, amber gaze made Juliana gasp. Her hands, on either side of the stool, clenched the rough-hewn wood.

  “So, Juliana,” the woman said. “You are awake.”

  This woman recognized her. Addressed her by her first name. Juliana’s fingers tightened to a painful grip. What relation was this lady to her?

  “Juliana roused only moments ago, Mother,” Tye said. “I planned to inform you, when I found you.”

  The older woman’s stare sharpened. “What did she tell you?”

  “Naught. It appears she has lost her memory.”

  Panic quickened Juliana’s heartbeat, for the lady’s expression had turned menacing. Why? What had taken place between Juliana and this woman? Juliana pressed her hand to her throbbing, sweat-beaded brow, for her instincts screamed for her to beware.

  Flexing her hands, the woman advanced on Juliana.

  “Leave her alone, Veronique!” Edouard bellowed.

  This lady was called Veronique? A flicker of alarm sped through Juliana’s thoughts, a sense that the name should be important to her. As fast as the warning flared, it dissipated, swallowed by the greater pressure of blankness.

  Fear pressed against Juliana’s breastbone. Silk rustled as Veronique neared, teeth bared in a smirk. “Juliana is fooling you, Tye, with her expressive eyes and beauty. She remembers all.” She thrust a gnarled finger in Juliana’s face. “As soon as you have the chance, you intend to betray us.”

  Juliana shook her head, and the room whirled before her. Shoving back against the wall, she tried to stand, but her limbs gave way. She fell back down on the stool.

  “Do I frighten you?” Veronique cackled, near enough now for Juliana to see the crimson smear on her silk sleeve. Blood. From what . . . or whom? “You were afraid the last time we spoke,” Veronique continued. “You should be terrified now, because—”

  “Leave. Her. Alone,” Edouard roared.

  “Patience, Edouard. You shall have your turn with me.”

  Unshed tears stung Juliana’s eyes as she wrenched her gaze from Veronique’s bloodstained sleeve. How brave of Edouard to try and spare her from this woman. Yet part of Juliana desperately wanted to know the situation Veronique spoke of.

  “Your battle is with me,” Edouard went on. “Not her.”

  “Not true.” Veronique smirked. “Go on, Juliana. Tell him, if you have not already.”

  “I . . . cannot remember.” She trembled, but she had to ask the question gnawing inside her. “What did happen?”

  Veronique’s eyes widened, before she loosed a shrill laugh. “You are either very brave or completely witless.”

  Tye grunted. “I told you she lost her memory.”

  “Because of you, no doubt, Veronique.” Edouard’s chains clattered. “Tye insists he did not injure her. Did you?”

  Veronique smiled and turned around. A giddy breath whooshed from Juliana; she’d won a reprieve for now. When the older woman reached into her sleeve, though, and drew out a knife, Juliana’s stomach roiled. Was she going to spill more blood?

  Edouard’s blood?

  “What happened to Juliana is not your concern right now,” Veronique said to him.

  “Why not?”

  She strolled toward him, the dagger in plain view. “I did not come to this chamber to discuss her. Only you.”

  “Me?” His throat moved with a swallow. He didn’t step back, or otherwise acknowledge the threat the older woman posed, but Juliana saw tension creeping into his features.

  Veronique halted before Edouard, just beyond his reach. “I looked through your saddlebag but didn’t find much of interest. However, as we both know, you would keep your most important possessions close to you.” Her gaze wandered over him. “I cannot take the risk you have weapons or documents concealed in your . . .”—her stare focused on his groin—“clothes.”

  “Hellfire,” Edouard growled. “You are not—”

  “You must be searched. I will undertake the task myself.”

  A KNIGHT’S PERSUASION

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Edouard forced down an oath as Veronique’s fingers shifted on the dagger’s hilt. He could only imagine what her search would entail, the intimate violations she’d force upon him in front of the mercenaries, Tye, and most importantly, Juliana.

  He dared not look at Juliana, although she’d gasped in horror a moment ago. He couldn’t risk Veronique glimpsing his fear of humiliation. If she saw, she’d know how to control him; he wouldn’t disappoint himself, or his father, by revealing weakness.

  “What would Landon say about your searching me? ’Tis his keep. He is responsible for every person within its walls, including prisoners.”

  “Not any longer.” Her mouth twisted in a nasty grin. “He is dead.”

  “You killed him?” Shock thinned Edouard’s voice. He’d thought she depended upon Landon to keep her influence over the servants, but mayhap, if she had enough mercenaries, she no longer needed him. That meant she must also have the ring entrusted to Landon by Edouard’s father.

  God’s blood, Edouard had to know for certain. If she possessed the jewel, she had all that she needed to get close to his sire and murder him. She’d kill Edouard, too, and thus remove any impediment to her and Tye controlling Moydenshire. Without doubt, a woman as corrupt as Veronique knew exactly what to offer King John so her and Tye’s conquest wouldn’t be challenged.

  Bracing himself for her gleeful cackle, Edouard asked, “Landon gave you the ring, then?”

  Sighing, she shook her head. “He became willful.”

  Relief coursed through Edouard. Before he left Waddesford, he’d find that ring; she must never get hold of it.

  “I will find it myself,” Veronique said. She gestured to her blood-darkened sleeve—blood that wasn’t yet dry. “’Twas a shame he tried to send word to your father about your capture. I could not allow it.”

  Landon had tried to save him. A tremor tore through Edouard, tightening the sickening pressure in his chest. Whatever wrongs Ferchante had committed in recent days, he’d died with some honor.

  Would Veronique kill him, also, for her perverse amusement? Or did she need Edouard alive, to bargain with his sire for his life? Either way, she still might mutilate him.

  He steeled himself against the revulsion crawling like invisible ants over his skin. He’d cooperate as long as it took for him to gain an advantage. After that, he’d do all he could to gain his and Juliana’s freedom. He’d br
ought her into this danger; he’d get her safely out.

  “Now,” Veronique murmured, “to the reason I am here—”

  “I hope you will not send me and Juliana away.” Tye leaned against the wall near Juliana. “This search could be entertaining.”

  Only for you, bastard.

  A scraping sound drew Edouard’s gaze to Juliana. One hand pressed to the wall, she rose on unsteady legs, her face ashen. “W-what are you going to do to him?”

  “As Mother said, search him.”

  Fear flickered across Juliana’s features. “Why does she have the knife?”

  Because she’s a cruel bitch, who enjoys inflicting pain.

  “To protect herself. You see, Edouard has a violent nature. ’Tis why he is chained.”

  Edouard snorted. He sensed the bloodlust coursing through Veronique, saw it in the eerie brightness of her eyes. She longed to cut him. She couldn’t hurt his sire, thus she’d take out her twisted revenge upon him.

  “Edouard does not seem violent.” Juliana sounded bewildered—lost, even—and his heart ached for her.

  A throaty laugh broke from Veronique before she glanced back at Tye. “How little she knows about Edouard.” She motioned to the pair of mercenaries looking on. “Stay close. I will need your help.”

  “Aye, milady,” the men said.

  Milady? She was a bold wench!

  “Tye, I want you here, too, in case your brother needs some persuasion.” Veronique’s gaze slid to Juliana, then back to Tye.

  With a lopsided grin, he nodded.

  The ghastly tightness within Edouard intensified. If they didn’t get what they wanted from him, they’d hurt Juliana? Not if he had any choice in the matter. Fisting his hands, he waited for the assault to begin.

  Veronique nodded to the mercenaries. “Hold him.”

  Metal rasped, the sound of knives being unsheathed. He stepped back, slackening his chains to give him more range of movement, but the mercenaries hastily advanced. He swung at the lout on his right, but the other man darted behind him, wrapped his brawny arm around Edouard’s neck, and forced his head back. Pain shot through Edouard’s neck, pinned at an unnatural angle, while the back of his head pressed to the mercenary’s shoulder.