Читать книгу Besieged And Betrothed - Jenni Fletcher - Страница 15

Chapter Six

It was dark when he woke.

Lothar groped his way back to consciousness, opening his eyelids and wincing as a dull pain assailed the back of his eyeballs. Drugged. He’d been drugged. He felt groggy and leaden and stiff all over, the way other men claimed they felt after a night spent drinking. Now he knew what they meant—something else he could blame Lady Juliana for.

Lady Juliana. He swore under his breath. Clearly he’d misjudged the woman. He’d known that she’d been plotting something, that she’d wanted to capture him, but he’d followed her anyway, into the hall where she’d offered him some wine...

What had he been thinking? He must have been mad, following her simply because he’d wanted to help her. Because of her father? Yes and no. Yes, because he’d valued her father’s friendship, no, because there was something else about her as well, some other enticement that had lured him over the drawbridge against his own better judgement. It hadn’t just been attraction, though that had definitely been a big part of it. If he didn’t know better, he would have said he’d felt worried about her...

Felt?

He scowled so ferociously that a stab of pain lanced through his head and down his spine. Felt? He’d felt worried? Since when did he feel things? He’d spent years not feeling. He didn’t want to feel—not ever! Then again, he hadn’t wanted any wine either and look what had happened there. He’d broken one of his own rules by drinking it, letting himself be persuaded by a pair of familiar green eyes in a deceptively innocent face. He had to hand it to her—if he weren’t so livid with rage, at himself as well as at her, he might have been impressed. She’d managed to trick and to capture him, succeeding where the rest of Stephen’s army had failed. He’d barely taken his eyes off her since they’d entered the bailey, but whatever she’d slipped into his drink had certainly been potent. Not to mention long-lasting. Judging by the darkness it was night-time already, the only illumination provided by a few thin slivers of moonlight filtering in through gaps in the window shutters.

Window shutters? He strained his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. So he wasn’t in a dungeon, then. On the contrary, he was lying on something that felt suspiciously like a mattress. Not bad for a prison, though something about his position felt peculiar. He tried to stretch out, only to find that he couldn’t, and not just because of the numbness in his limbs either. By the feel of it, his wrists and ankles were tied together, bound up tightly with rope.

He paused for a moment, considering what to do next, then let loose a volley of obscenities, not bothering to keep his voice down. If Lady Juliana were close by, he hoped she could hear him. They were the very least he intended to say to her. He supposed he ought to be grateful that she hadn’t gagged him as well, but right now, gratitude was the very last emotion he was feeling. If—when—he got out of this, he’d find a way to pay her back in kind!

A swell of desire coursed through him, the more potent for being so unexpected, bringing his tirade to an abrupt end as the thought of tying her up brought to mind a very different scenario, not to mention a far different response to the one he’d anticipated. He was still furious with her and yet his mind was beset by a confusing array of impressions—the feeling of velvety soft lips against his, of a supple body in his embrace, of spiralling tendrils of hair in his fingertips and the soft pant of breath on his neck. What the hell?

He heaved at his bindings, venting two very different types of frustration, but they held tight. Whatever she’d given him must have been even more powerful than he’d thought, making both his thoughts and senses run riot. The image of her in his arms was surprisingly detailed, right down to the silvery sparkle of raindrops in her hair, and so vivid that it seemed less like a dream than a memory, though it couldn’t be. In which case, what had happened? He dragged himself up to a sitting position, straining his memory for clues. His thoughts were still hazy, but he had a vague recollection of enjoying her company, even of feeling sympathy when she’d talked about her father. She’d argued, too, squaring up to him over the question of Stephen versus Matilda with a spiritedness that had taken him by surprise. Not many people ever dared to argue with him, and the fact that she hadn’t been intimidated—not enough to back down anyway—had been oddly appealing. His desire for her had certainly been real, more real than anything he’d experienced in a long time, as if there were more behind it than just a physical response, though as to what he’d done about it...

He shook his head in disbelief. No. Even if he had been enjoying her pretence of seduction—a little too much, perhaps—he would never have taken advantage of her in that way. He’d never touched any woman who hadn’t wanted him to and he refused to believe that any drug would have affected his behaviour so completely. The very idea was abhorrent. He wouldn’t have touched her, wouldn’t have kissed her, not unless... He blinked as another, even more surprising idea popped into his head. Not unless she’d thrown herself at him first...

He gave a hollow laugh, rubbing his wrists together behind his back in an effort to work his fingers loose. Now he was definitely imagining things. The last thing she would have done was throw herself at him, more’s the pity. The thought of finding out what those cherry-red lips tasted like was certainly tempting, but she was unlikely ever to offer him the chance. His current situation was proof enough of that.

He’d barely reached the conclusion before the door opened and the woman herself appeared, bearing a beeswax candle in one hand and a wooden cup in the other.

‘Lady Juliana.’ His lip curled at the sight of her. ‘Good of you to remember me.’

‘It would be hard to forget with all the noise you were making.’ She put the candle down on a coffer, though she didn’t look at him. ‘Your men can probably hear you on the other side of the moat.’

She kept her eyes cast downwards as she approached the bed, walking so slowly that he would have assumed she was doing it on purpose to taunt him if she weren’t so obviously exhausted. She looked even more tired than she had before, still dressed in the same nondescript brown tunic she’d been wearing in the rain, though she’d covered her hair with a cream-coloured headdress that only made the rings around her eyes look larger and darker by comparison, almost like bruises. Even so, the subtle sway of her hips was causing a definite physical response in his body. Damn it, what was the matter with him?

He dragged his gaze away from her hips and back towards the window. If he wasn’t mistaken, the thin sliver of sky between the shutters appeared to be lighter than before. Hadn’t she slept all night, then?

‘Your hospitality’s somewhat lacking, my lady.’ He pushed an unwonted flicker of concern aside, glaring at her instead.

‘Then you’ll be pleased to hear that I’ve brought you some ale. Poppy makes you thirsty.’

His scowl deepened ferociously. That was true. His throat felt red raw, though the thought of accepting another drink from her gave him definite pause.

‘You’ll have to forgive me being suspicious.’

‘Why would I drug you again? You’re already tied up.’

‘Really? I’d forgotten.’

She gave a weary-looking shrug. ‘You don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.’

He shot her a look that would have made grown men quail, though she was too busy stifling a yawn to notice. The sight made him doubly angry. Bad enough that he was her prisoner—she didn’t have to act as if he were an inconvenience as well! Even if she had been pacing the battlements all night, she could at least have the decency to pay him a little more attention.

‘How do you expect me to drink when I’m tied up?’ he challenged her.

‘Here.’

She held the cup to his lips, bending at the waist and stretching her arms out in an apparent attempt to keep the rest of her body as far away from the bed as possible. If it hadn’t been for his own position he might have found such a bizarre posture amusing, though as it was he was too thirsty to care. After a moment’s hesitation he drank, keeping his eyes on her face the whole time, though she kept her own studiously averted, blinking so rapidly it looked as if she were struggling to stay awake.

‘Am I keeping you up?’ He moved his mouth away, making his tone as scathing as possible. ‘Perhaps you need to go to bed, my lady.’

‘I can’t.’ She put the cup to one side with a look of relief. ‘You’re in it.’

‘What?’

He was so surprised that for a moment he actually forgot to scowl. Instead he looked around, reappraising the room in the flickering candlelight, finally noticing the tapestries on the walls and the small trinket boxes set on a table by the bed. Definitely not a prison, but what on earth was she doing, putting him in her bedchamber? He wasn’t easily shocked, but he could only imagine two types of woman who would drug a man and then tie him up in their bed—ones who were either extremely innocent or extremely experienced. Under the circumstances, he wasn’t sure which alarmed him more.

‘This is your chamber?’

‘Yes. I had my men carry you up. I thought you’d be more comfortable here.’

‘Comfortable? Tied up?’

‘Apart from that.’

He let out a shout of laughter, anger and shock turning to incredulity. ‘Your father always said you were one of a kind. I’m starting to think he was right.’

‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes shot to his face, meeting his for the first time since she’d entered. ‘My father told you about me?’

‘He said he had a flame-headed firebrand for a daughter. Foolishly I thought he was exaggerating.’

‘Truly? He said that?’

He narrowed his gaze, struck by the flicker of uncertainty in hers. Apparently what her father had said about her really mattered, as if she hadn’t known how he’d felt. Strange, but he’d had the impression they were close. Or had been anyway...

‘Something like that. I forget the exact words.’

‘Oh.’ Her expression wavered. ‘Did he say it like it was a bad thing?’

‘A bad thing?’ The question took him by surprise. ‘No, I wouldn’t say that...’

He leaned back against the wall, stalling for time as he wondered what exactly he would say. Generally he favoured the truth, no matter how blunt, but this was hardly the time for discussing her father’s fears for her future. He certainly wasn’t in any position to offer advice. Even if he wasn’t tied up, he was the last person in the world to talk to about any kind of paternal relationship.

‘He said he’d like to introduce us one day.’ That was true, he recalled with a jolt of surprise, though as to why William had said it, he couldn’t remember.

Her mouth dropped open. ‘You mean you were actually friends with him?’

‘For my part, yes. I told you we fought together at Lincoln, but we spent a lot of time on the march talking, too. He had a way of making people talk. He was one of the cleverest men I ever met.’ He paused meaningfully. ‘I should have known better than to underestimate his daughter. I won’t make the same mistake twice.’

She studied him intently for a moment as if considering whether or not to ask something else, before drawing up a stool.

‘Are you hungry? We only have pottage, but I can ask one of the guards to fetch you some if you want?’

He had to stop himself from laughing again. Of all the questions he’d anticipated, that hadn’t been one of them. She was certainly one of a kind. Now that she’d taken him prisoner, she seemed more concerned with his well-being than in interrogating or making any demands of him. She looked as if she’d rather close her eyes and go to sleep instead, though if the hour were really as late, or as early, as he suspected, then it wasn’t long until dawn. Which meant that they were almost out of time. If he were going to convince her to surrender, then he had to hurry.

‘You haven’t taken many men captive, I presume?’

‘Why?’ Her expression turned guarded. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘It’s not usual to care so much about your prisoner’s comfort.’

‘Oh... No, I’ve never taken anyone prisoner before.’

‘Then I’m honoured to be your first.’ He was gratified to see a faint blush spread across her cheeks. She’d noticed that sarcasm at least. ‘So what are we doing here, my lady?’

‘I’d like to talk.’

‘Isn’t that what we were doing yesterday?’

‘What do you mean?’ Her eyes jumped to his again, the look of exhaustion in them replaced by one of sheer, sudden panic.

He arched an eyebrow, surprised by such an extreme reaction. ‘You made quite a good defence of Stephen, as I recall.’

‘Oh.’ The panic receded slightly. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Was there something else?’

‘No! We talked, that’s all.’

‘Then what do you want from me, my lady?’

He started, struck by the sudden conviction that he’d said those words before and recently. Judging by the vibrant shade of Lady Juliana’s cheeks, she remembered them, too. Her skin was almost the same colour as her hair, as if she were embarrassed about something, but what? Just what exactly had happened between them? Surely none of the things he thought he remembered...

‘I want you to tell your soldiers to go.’ Her voice shook slightly.

‘Mmm?’ He was so busy trying to remember that he barely paid any attention to her words. ‘Just like that?’

‘Yes. Sir Guian’s, too. Tell them they have until noon to pack up and leave.’

‘Or?’

‘Or there’ll be consequences.’

‘Such as?’

‘Consequences!’

She looked so fierce that his lips twitched involuntarily. ‘You’ll need to be a bit more specific.’

‘It’s not funny!’

‘No.’

‘No, it’s not funny?’

‘No, it’s not and, no, I won’t do it. Just no.’

‘But you haven’t even considered it!’

‘I don’t need to. No.’

‘Stop saying no!’

‘Then I decline.’

‘You might change your mind when you’re hanging by your feet from the battlements!’

‘Ah.’ He gave a tight smile. There it was at last, the threat he’d been waiting for. He’d been starting to wonder if she’d even thought of one. ‘It might, though it wouldn’t make any difference. My men have their orders already.’

The colour seeped from her face in an instant. ‘What orders?’

‘The ones I gave them before we met on the drawbridge. I told you I intended to capture Haword today, though I admit this wasn’t quite what I had in mind.’

‘You can still countermand the order.’

‘I could, but it might look a little coerced if I’m hanging from the battlements.’

‘You don’t think your men will disobey orders to save you?’

‘I think they know what will happen to them if they do. I don’t tolerate disobedience, my lady. Not for any reason.’

‘Not even to save your life?’

‘Those are my rules. What kind of commander would I be if I changed them simply to save myself?’

‘I’ll tell Sir Guian, then.’ She sounded desperate this time. ‘He’ll call off the attack. He never wanted to fight anyway.’

‘True, but I think he’d enjoy the spectacle of me hanging by my feet too much to do anything to stop it. Besides, my men don’t take orders from anyone else. With or without Sir Guian’s permission, they’re coming.’

She shot to her feet so quickly that her stool toppled backwards, landing with a clatter on the floorboards. There were no rushes, he noticed, something else they must have run out of. After four months of siege, it appeared that both castle and chatelaine were reaching the end of their tether. He could see tension in every line of her body, as if she might snap at any moment.

‘What difference would it make even if they did retreat?’ He kept on pushing, hardening his heart against the bizarre urge to offer comfort instead. ‘You’d only buy yourself a few days, a week at the most, before the Empress sends them back again.’

‘Maybe that’s all I need.’

It was only a murmur, but enough to make his brows snap together at once. Was that why she was so determined to hold out then, because she was waiting for reinforcements? The last he’d heard, Stephen’s forces had been busy fortifying coastal defences against the threat of Angevin landings, but perhaps she knew something he didn’t. If Stephen were heading back into Herefordshire, then it made capturing Haword even more vital. In which case, he had to persuade her to surrender now...

‘What’s that?’ She twisted her head at a clamouring sound from outside, the clanking of metal over the dull hum of voices.

‘Take a look.’

He nodded towards the window and she ran towards it, unlatching the shutters and flinging them wide. Even from across the room he could hear her sharp intake of breath.

‘What are they doing?’

‘Hard to say from here, but at a guess I’d say they’re preparing for battle. I’d suggest that your men do the same.’

‘But I don’t want to fight!’

‘Then surrender. My offer still stands.’

She spun around, eyes widening with amazement. ‘You’d forgive me after I drugged you?’

‘Apparently so.’ He surprised himself with the answer. He could forgive her, though mercy alone knew why. ‘Although I think we can keep that part between ourselves.’

She stared at him mutely for a few seconds, her expression veering between defiance and uncertainty, before she reached into the folds of her gown and drew out a slim, though still lethal-looking dagger.

‘No.’ Her face took on a look of resolve. ‘I’m the chatelaine and this is still my castle. We’re going to the battlements.’