Box Set - Knights of Passion (7 Novels) Page 8

  CHAPTER SIX

  Edouard lifted a hand from his horse’s reins, shooed away a fly that had landed on his mantle’s sleeve, and squinted against the morning sunlight. The dirt road that he, Kaine, and three men-at-arms traveled ran alongside the slow-moving river to their right that continued through the village a short distance ahead, built close to Waddesford Keep.

  His gaze rose to the stone fortress ruled by Landon Ferchante. Memories drifted into Edouard’s mind of the wedding celebration at Englestowe. What a night that had been, one that had forever changed him.

  He struggled with the resentment that flared whenever he thought of his regrettable betrothal to Nara. However, he’d never dishonor his family by forsaking the code of honor that formed the mortar of his life and had bound him to her from the moment they’d kissed. Theirs would be a marriage of duty, never love.

  Stifling bitter regret, he tried to shove the recollections aside. Not long now until he and his men reached the castle, and he must conduct the crucial meeting on his father’s behalf.

  Not long, also, before he might see Juliana again.

  Anticipation wove through him, for he’d heard she still lived there as lady-in-waiting to Lady Ferchante. With him arriving at the keep as his sire’s representative, Juliana might at least make an appearance to greet him. ’Twould lift his spirits to see her lovely countenance. Most likely, though, she’d do all she could to avoid him, as she had since his betrothal was announced last summer.

  The resentment inside him became a dull ache in his chest. Nara might have succeeded in getting a betrothal, but he hadn’t stayed around to be shown off like a coveted bauble. He’d returned to Dominic’s keep, focused on his duties, and honed his fighting skills. By accepting every assignment Dominic offered to him, he’d managed to delay the wedding. But by the end of May—mere weeks away—he’d be a married man.

  Edouard sighed and lowered his arm to rest it upon his thigh. When he’d persuaded his sire to let him ride to Waddesford, he’d never imagined that he’d be this unsettled. Neither had he planned to journey to the keep, but while Edouard was visiting his parents, his sire had fallen ill.

  “You cannot ride to Waddesford,” Edouard had insisted when he’d come upon his sire scrutinizing the accounts ledger spread out on the lord’s table in the great hall. Edouard’s father had refused to rest, despite his lady wife’s protestations and the fever burning his brow.

  “I will go as planned.” Edouard’s sire hadn’t looked up from the ledger. “I intended to pay a surprise visit to Landon’s keep soon anyway to confirm all is as I expect, as I do of all of my estates now and again. I will also take the blanket your mother embroidered as a gift to celebrate the babe’s birth.” His voice softened. “But as you know, I aim to discuss another matter with him, and I—”

  “—should be abed,”Edouard said. Words his worried mother had insisted he work into the conversation somewhere.

  His sire, rubbing his sweat-beaded brow with one palm, sighed. “God’s teeth.” As he wiped perspiration from his flushed cheek, his hand shook.

  “You look wretched, Father.”

  “As I feel.” He tossed the quill on the table, splattering black ink, then dropped his head into his hands. “I cannot even stand the taste of wine. The mere smell makes me want to vomit.”

  “Then you will not be able to raise your goblet in a toast when Lord Ferchante agrees to join your rebellion. One more reason why I must take your place.”

  His sire, looking weary, shook his head. “I would not ask such of you. ’Tis too dangerous. If aught went wrong—”

  “’Twill not. Trust me.”

  His father had thrust his palm up in clear refusal to discuss the matter any further. “I will contact Dominic.”

  With effort, Edouard had reined in his disappointment. Dominic would undertake the mission if Edouard’s sire asked, but Edouard was capable of the task. Last autumn, after he’d helped to drive murderous thieves from a forest on Dominic’s lands, Dominic had ensured Edouard was knighted. The prestige of knighthood proved that Edouard was a skilled warrior and could be entrusted with important duties.

  Edouard’s father, always over-protective because of the remote chance Veronique could resurface in Moydenshire, might be reluctant to put his son in danger, but Edouard was ready for difficult responsibilities. Even a mission as treacherous as privately asking Lord Ferchante if he’d join other lords in trying to reinstate a charter created over one hundred years ago by King Henry I, a document that would set limits upon King John’s powers and help curtail his corruption.

  “Father,” Edouard had said, “with all due respect, sending a missive to Dominic and awaiting his reply will take several days. I can ride to Waddesford on the morrow.”

  A faint smile touched his sire’s mouth. “I appreciate your offer, Son, but you are not yet a lord. ’Tis not your battle.”

  Edouard pushed his shoulders back and refused to heed the awkward feeling he got every time he challenged his sire. “I believe ’tis my battle, Father. One day, I will inherit the honored title of Lord of Moydenshire from you. If I undertake and succeed in this vital mission, surely that better prepares me for my future responsibilities?”

  Edouard’s insistence had succeeded, for with a grudging laugh, his sire had relented and assigned him the mission. Thank God. Thinking of the upcoming meeting with Landon Ferchante wasn’t what made Edouard’s stomach cinch into a knot. Thinking of Juliana, though . . .

  “Oy! Edouard. Any chance we can stop for a piss?” Kaine called from behind him.

  Another of the three warriors escorting Edouard grunted in agreement.

  “Of course,” Edouard said over his shoulder. He looked at the bank sloping down to the shallows, where some industrious folk—fishermen, mayhap—had cleared away a section of the tall reeds that grew along the water’s edge. “’Tis a good spot, also, to water the horses.”

  “Quite picturesque, really,” Kaine said. “Good for all kinds of pleasurable pursuits.”

  Edouard snorted a laugh and, with a nudge of his heels, steered his horse down toward the river. Kaine seemed to think of naught else these days but seducing women. A pang of regret ran through Edouard, for he could only imagine what his best friend was enduring after his young wife’s death last winter from a virulent sickness. Kaine had loved her, and losing her had deeply wounded him.

  The closest Edouard had come to love were his feelings for Juliana. Somehow, no other woman compared to his memories of her. Whether she was truly as exceptional as he recalled, or whether his recollections of her had distorted since last year, he’d soon find out, when he met her again.

  Today.

  His gut tightened another notch as he halted his horse and slid from the saddle. Holding the reins in one hand, he led his mount forward, his leather boots sinking into the mud as he strode into the shallows. Small fish scattered like tiny arrows in the water, while he inhaled the heady scents of moist earth and vegetation. When his horse lowered its head to drink, Edouard turned his face up to the sunlight. How good the sunshine felt on his skin.

  Water trickled close by. “Ahh,” Kaine said, a sound of intense relief.

  Edouard chuckled. As he relaxed his shoulders and glanced downriver, a pale object in the reeds snared his gaze. Frowning, he stepped farther into the depths to discern exactly what he saw.

  A bare foot.

  The muddy hem of a garment, swaying in the stirred-up waves.

  He dropped the reins and crashed toward the reeds.

  “What is wrong?” Kaine called.

  The water grew deeper, soaking Edouard’s fine leather boots to the knee and the lower part of his mantle, but he forged on, his hand on the hilt of his sword. When he neared the portion of reeds crushed by the body, he slowed to assess the poignant scene before him.

  The young woman lay on her left side. Her long, dark brown hair splayed in a grimy tangle across her face, hiding her features from his view. The ends of her tr
esses had tangled up in the reeds’ stems. As he edged nearer, he saw that her head was resting on her left arm; it stretched up as though to grab a handhold in the muddy bank. Her right hand, fingers as pale as scoured bone, looked about to plunge into the muck and lever her farther out of the water. To safety.

  “Edouard?” Kaine shouted again, followed by splashed footfalls.

  Edouard caught his breath as he slowly crouched, ignoring the tug of his mantle as it soaked up more water. Her grubby garment looked to be one used as sleeping attire, or a chemise usually worn under a gown. Not a coarsely woven piece of clothing, as a peasant might wear. Judging by the border of tiny, embroidered flowers along her sleeve, ’twas a garment of superior quality.

  Foreboding buzzed through his mind, even as he reached out to gently move the hair from her face. He hoped she was still alive. She could tell him who she was, and what had befallen her.

  Small waves lapped against her body as Kaine crashed closer to Edouard. “What have you—? God’s blood!”

  “Aye,” Edouard said grimly.

  “Is she alive?”

  “I am not certain.” Edouard’s fingertips slid against her temple, easing the matted hair downward. At first touch, her flesh seemed deathly cold, but then . . . He sensed the faintest pulse of life’s blood.

  As the mud-knotted skeins slid away, they revealed her closed eyes and sweep of thick lashes, the smooth slope of her cheek, and elegant jaw line.

  He froze. He knew her.

  She looked older than he remembered, her features those of a woman rather than a maiden.

  Kaine sucked in a sharp breath.

  Dismay and anger, suppressed from months ago, broke free on a flood of memories. Edouard trembled at their force, while shock raced through him to settle like a cruel iron band around his heart. “God’s blood,” he whispered. “Juliana.”

  ***

  Darkness blanketed her mind. Blackness so thick and limitless, she was lost in it.

  Lost . . .

  She tried to draw together the fragments of her thoughts, to find herself, but the inkiness shifted. It wrapped around her consciousness, squeezing tighter and tighter, until the fragments disappeared. The darkness settled back into a vast swath of nothingness.

  So . . . cold.

  So . . . alone.

  Pain throbbed somewhere in the muzzy reaches of her mind. Sounds—muffled, distorted—sifted down to her. They brushed against her thoughts, taunting her, with all that she couldn’t comprehend.

  A tiny part of her began to struggle. To fight its way toward the origin of those sounds.

  I am here. In the dark. Find me!

  But the pain . . . It slashed down upon her, crushing her with its ruthless, invisible grip. Agony screamed within the huddled reaches of her being. How well the pain echoed the greater ache trapped inside her. That anguish hinted at something . . . ghastly.

  I am here. In the dark. Lost!

  The inkiness began to press in upon her.

  She had to find her way out of the darkness. Had to!

  If only she knew why.

  ***

  Unable to stop himself from shaking, Edouard smoothed his fingers down Juliana’s cheek. “Juliana, can you hear me?” He stared down at her ashen face, hoping his question got a response from her. However, he saw not the slightest sign that she’d heard him.

  “Juliana!” he cried, his tone hoarsening. The horror of finding her like this churned within him. He longed to slam his fist into something solid, to channel his ferocious turmoil. Losing his temper wouldn’t help revive her, though, or assure her she was among friends. With a strangled groan, he caressed her face again.

  “Why is she lying in the river?” Shock tautened Kaine’s voice. “What could have happened to her?”

  “I do not know. But I will find out.”

  Juliana had to live. She had to.

  Pressing his lips together, deciding the best way to take her from the water, Edouard looked at the reeds crowding at her back. His gaze fell upon a dark stain between her shoulders. With sickening dread, he realized what he saw wasn’t mud, but blood.

  The chill from the water seeped into his bones as he leaned over to examine the hair at her nape. Blood matted the strands together. A lot of blood. It had dried along her hairline and the neckline of her chemise. As his fingers eased aside the hair, an ugly, purplish mass came into view.

  His stomach lurched.

  “Someone hit her. Hard,” he said. “With a heavy object.”

  Kaine exhaled a ragged breath. “What you mean is they aimed to . . . kill her?”

  “Aye.” Rage and confusion burned inside Edouard. Who would want to murder her? Who had dumped her here, in the river? Who’d dare to consider her life to be as worthless as a sack of refuse?

  He would know the truth!

  “She was living with the Ferchantes, was she not?” Kaine asked. “Do you think his lordship knows of this incident?”

  A very good question. One of many that had sped into Edouard’s thoughts. “Landon Ferchante may indeed have some answers. Right now, though, we need to ensure that she survives. We must get her dry and warm. She needs a healer.”

  “There must be one in the village. Shall I ride ahead and find out?”

  “I will send one of the others. If she wakes, she will know us. That may be a comfort to her.” Or, mayhap not, considering their disastrous prior encounters. She might tell him to get his wretched hands off her and never touch her again. He’d be delighted if she roused with the strength to scorn him.

  Reaching down into the murky water, Edouard slid one arm under her upper body, gently tilted her toward him, and then slid his other arm under her knees. He lifted her into his arms. As he rose, water streamed from her gown and ran into his garments, soaking through to his skin. Her limp body slumped against him, her head falling to rest against his shoulder.

  He looked down at her, wondering if by moving her he’d encouraged her to wake. Hoping, hoping, that he had. Her eyes remained closed. His heart squeezed at the pitiful blankness of her features.

  When his gaze flicked down the rest of her body, a breath lodged in his throat, for he hadn’t anticipated how intimately her garment would reveal her feminine form. The muddy linen stuck to her body, defining the generous swell of her breasts, the outline of her nipples, and the curve of her hips. The thought of any other man seeing her this way, almost nude . . .

  He glanced up, to see Kaine’s attention lift from Juliana. Jealous rage, so savagely hot he almost choked on it, flashed through Edouard. “Fetch my saddle blanket,” he ground out.

  A flush darkened Kaine’s cheekbones. “A wise idea. I will bring mine, too.”

  “Send one of the men into the village to find the healer.” Turning Juliana away from Kaine’s view, Edouard said, “I will wait here. The others cannot see her until she is covered.”

  Water sloshed as Kaine plodded back to the bank. Edouard tightened his hold on Juliana, pressing her body even closer to his, hoping his body’s warmth might help revive her.

  Hurry, Kaine. Hurry!

  “What did his lordship find?” one of his men-at-arms said from the bank.

  “A lady, wounded and near death. Later, there will be time for explanations,” Kaine said. “’Tis urgent we see to this woman’s well-being.” More conversation, less distinct, took place, and then Edouard heard the clatter of hooves as one of the men raced off.

  Kaine returned to Edouard, two blankets tucked under his arm. “All is as you ordered.”

  “Thank you.” Edouard slowly faced his friend. “I realize I will need your help to enwrap her . . .”

  Kaine’s gaze steadily held his. “I am glad to assist.” Clearly doing his best not to look at Juliana’s bosom, he opened up Edouard’s blanket. Together, maneuvering her in Edouard’s arms, they managed to get the woolen covering all the way around her. Then Kaine unfolded his blanket partway and stretched it out over her.

  “She must be w
armer now,” he said.

  “Warm enough, at least, till we can set her in a hot bath by a warm fire.” A shiver ran through Edouard, for his feet were turning numb inside his water-encased boots. But he wouldn’t think about his discomfort. All that mattered was saving Juliana.

  With Kaine at his side, he headed toward the bank, taking care not to kick up waves and get water on the blankets. Her head shifted against him and her lips parted a fraction, revealing the even line of her front teeth. But she made no sound. Not the slightest cry or pained sigh.

  “You are safe now, Juliana,” he murmured, willing her to hear him. “I swear, upon my soul, no one will hurt you like this again.”

  Fear pressed in on him. Would she live, or was she so close to death her spirit would just slip away without him knowing? On the faintest breath . . . gone?

  Nay. She wouldn’t perish that way. Such a strong, kind, beautiful woman deserved justice for the grievance done to her. If he could do naught else for her, he’d see her assailant captured and held accountable for the heinous crime.

  As Edouard neared the water’s edge, his waiting men-at-arms exchanged glances. “Milord,” one of them called. “What are your orders?”

  “Prepare to ride. The healer cannot be far from here.” Edouard’s boots met firm ground and, when he accidentally jostled Juliana, he cursed. He glanced back at Kaine. “Help me get Juliana onto my horse.”

  “Shall we help?” another of the warriors asked.

  Edouard shook his head. Juliana’s body might be well concealed, and they were trustworthy men, but the thought of others touching her in any manner . . . Nay.

  Halting before his grazing horse, Edouard eased Juliana into Kaine’s waiting arms. Edouard mounted his steed, then, with his friend pushing her from below, pulled her up onto the saddle in front of him. He shifted her legs so she sat across his lap, settled the second blanket over her, then slid one arm around her body to draw her against him.

  When he took up the reins, her wet head shifted into the crook between his head and shoulder. Edouard paid no heed to the water dripping down his neckline; he’d change his damp garments and dry off once she was in the healer’s care.