Читать книгу Knights Divided - Suzanne Barclay - Страница 11

“Why do ye not let me get rid of him for ye?” Toby asked as they trudged up the steps from the cellar.

“I do not want the death of an innocent man on my conscience,” Emmeline said indignantly.

Toby snorted. “So, he’s charmed ye into changing yer mind.”

“Nay, he has not.”

“Has not what?” Molly asked as they emerged into the small room at the back of the house that served as a kitchen.

“Made me change my mind about him.” But he’d shaken her resolve and a good deal more. To hide her confusion, Emmeline walked over and poked at the pottage simmering in a pot suspended over the fire. Behind her, she heard Toby bolt the trapdoor and slide the woven mat and worktable over it. “I do want him to pay for what he’s done,” she said, half to herself.

Yet she felt a qualm when she relived their ambush in that little glade: the swiftness with which Jamie had charged to the rescue when he’d thought she’d hurt her ankle, followed by a curse as he tripped over Toby’s rope, and the ground-shaking thud of his big body hitting the dirt…the rocks. One of them had gashed open his skull and rendered him senseless during the long journey home in her grandfather’s wagon. They’d stanched the bleeding, of course, and she’d stitched the wound after the three of them had wrestled his deadweight down the cellar steps, but—

“Ye’re certain he’s guilty?” Molly asked.

“Aye.” Calmer now, Emmeline turned to her servants. “Well, he’s surely the greatest rogue and womanizer ever born. Why, he reminds me of that little brown man we saw at the fair, the one who coaxed the snakes from a basket and held them in thrall with the power of his music. Lord Jamie’s magic is in his words. They flow smooth and free as warm oil, slipping around every question I ask. But when he said he was not in London the night Celia died, there was something in his eyes…his eye. I know he was lying. I know it. Is it so wrong to want him punished?”

“Of course not,” Toby and Molly said in unison. They’d been with her family forever and would support her no matter what.

“But he’s a tough one, make no mistake,” Toby added. “A man doesn’t lose an eye or get the kind of scars he bears on his body by being a coward.”

“Scars?” Emmeline said faintly.

“Aye. When I removed his clothes for ye, I saw someone had taken the hide from his back. ‘Twas years ago, but—”

“Oh, dear,” Emmeline murmured. She had no qualms about imprisoning him, but if he didn’t confess, would she have the stomach to apply physical pressure? “He’s anxious to be free and about important business in Cornwall. Mayhap if we just wait—”

“Mistress! Come quick!” Peter catapulted into the room, eyes agog. “’Tis Sir Cedric. He’s here. In your solar.”

“Father?” Emmeline gasped, forgetting she hadn’t called Cedric that since the day she’d discovered the truth about her parents’ marriage. Or non-marriage. “Why?” But she knew why. There was only one reason why Cedric came visiting. Money.

She found him seated in her chair before the hearth, swilling the expensive Burgundy from her only glass goblet. Swine! “How much do you want this time?” Emmeline demanded.

Cedric turned, the handsome features he’d passed along to Celia blurred by drink and hard living. “What a way to greet your father.” The sensual mouth that had cajoled her mother into trusting him now turned down in perpetual dissatisfaction.

“Why lie to ourselves, Cedric. Money, or your constant lack thereof, is the only reason you seek me out.”

“Tut-tut, my dear. Such cynicism is why you’ve reached the age of two and twenty and are unwed.”

“Is it?” She glared at him, seeing through the veneer of polish to the soft, weak core. The only reason he hadn’t wed her to someone was because he didn’t want to lose the profits from the shop, which would go to her new husband. The gross unfairness of the whole thing made her furious. Her mother had left the shop to her. She ran a successful business and was a member of the guild in her own right. But simply by virtue of the fact he was her father, Cedric had control over her life. If he received a lucrative offer, he could marry her to the worst dog in all Christendom and no one would say him nay.

Emmeline curled her hands into fists. Men! A pox on all of them. “Why have you come?”

“Actually, I have got myself in rather a fix.” Cedric sighed, an affectation that always preceded a particularly huge demand. His smooth, supple fingers lazily stroked the arm of the chair. Minstrel’s hands, capable of coaxing a tune from harp or trumpet, but he had wasted his talent.

Jamie’s palms were callused, the backs sprinkled with the same fair hair that swirled over his chest. The capable hands and taut muscles of a man who worked for a living. Or wanted to impress a woman when he undressed for her, a sly voice taunted.

”…could use the money, but what I really need is a place to stay,” Cedric was saying.

“Stay?” Emmeline gaped. “Here? Now?”

“Why not?” One sand brow rose. His bloodshot green eyes grew frankly speculative. “Never say you’ve got yourself a lover hid in the cellar and don’t want your dear father around.”

Emmeline knew him well. One hint he was onto the truth, and he’d pick at her like a dog on a bone. “Ha! As if I’d let a man into my house much less my life,” she snapped.

“Did Margaret and I set such a poor example of wedded life?”

“Wedded, ha! ’Tis called bigamy, and you are lucky Mama was too ashamed to report you to the church.”

He flushed and dragged the lank blond hair away from his face. “I was happy with Maggie as I never could be with the wife my father foisted on me.” He glanced sidelong at Emmeline. “Your mother gave me love and children. We were happy here.”

“Until she found out how you’d betrayed her.”

“I loved her,” Cedric whined.

“You used her.” Margaret Spencer, plain only daughter of a wealthy spice merchant with lofty aspirations. He’d been thrilled to wed his daughter to the son of a noble family. But Cedric’s title had been as false as the rest of his story. Emmeline had been twelve and Celia ten when the truth came out. They were bastards, daughters of a glib-tongued rogue with a wife in London. He’d run through his wife’s money and been cast out of the Golden Wait for stealing their instruments and selling them. “All you ever wanted was the money from the shop to augment what you earned when you played in Grandfather’s Wait.”

“He never paid me what I was worth.”

“So you stole their instruments and sold them…except for the lute, which you gave me as a gift”. Alford had found out, of course, and ordered Cedric to leave London or face arrest. Cedric’s wife, Olivia, had decided to follow him to Derry and discovered his guilty secret. “Your lies ruined our lives.”

“I did not mean to. I loved your mother. I would have married her if I could have shed Olivia.”

“Liar. You did not care one whit for our pain and shame so long as you had what you wanted. You cheated us all, Cedric.” Tears welled, blurring her vision. She turned away to pour herself a cup of wine, unwilling to let him know his betrayal still had the power to hurt her.

“Celia forgave me. I went to see her in London, and she—”

“Don’t you speak to me of her,” she said, rounding on him. “If you hadn’t filled her head full of tales of the splendor of court life, she never would have eloped with Roger de Vienne.”

“Roger made her laugh. He helped her escape from the dull—”

“He was a scoundrel. If he hadn’t taken her to London, she never would have gotten herself killed by James Harcourt”.

“Celia hated being stuck in this dreary town as much as I—what’s that? I thought Harcourt had been cleared of her murder.”

Drat her hasty tongue. “So I heard.”

“Pity, I’d like to see her murderer caught.”

“But not enough to bestir yourself to pursue the matter?”

“Lord Jamie has an alibi.”

“Hmm. So I’ve been told.”

“You are up to something. I know that mulish look of yours.”

“What could I, a poor apothecary, do against such a man?”

“That has not kept you from tackling lost causes in the past”. He stared at her intently, then settled back in the chair, stretching his feet toward the fire. “But this is beyond even your stubbornness.” There were holes in the heels of his hose but he looked about as movable as a rock.

She couldn’t afford to let him stay. “How much do you need?”

Cedric pursed his lips, but she saw the triumph edging them. “Ten pounds would see me out of debt.”

“Ten! What did you buy, half of London?”

“Nay. ‘Twas a scheme gone bad, naught more.”

“You have more schemes than a dog has fleas, and they always go bad. I don’t have much, but I’ll give you some of the precious spices, saffron and cinnamon, which you can sell in London.”

The crafty old devil shook his head. “I could not take your trade goods. I’ll just bide here till you have the coin.”

“I don’t have that much profit in a year.”

“I don’t mind rusticating a bit. London has grown tedious.”

Dangerous, more like. But naught short of a fire would drive him away. “I’ll tell Molly you’re staying, but I’ll not give up my bed. You can sleep in the workroom with Peter.”

“A pallet here in the solar would be warmer.”

“I’m certain it would be, but I’ll not spend my nights listening to you snore.” Her chamber adjoined the solar. If he slept there he’d see her coming and going from the storeroom.

“Very well.” Having gotten most of what he wanted, and doubtless smelling secrets in the air, Cedric smiled. It was the same, unabashedly roguish grin that Jamie Harcourt had worn when he attempted to seduce her.

Damn both men, Emmeline thought as she stamped off to inform her cohorts in crime that fate had added a new wrinkle to her own already precarious scheme.

The candle had long since gutted when Jamie heard the key scrape in the lock. As the door eased open, he closed his eye against the blinding flood of light and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Lying alone in the dark with naught but pain and the prospect of his failed plans for company had been a humbling experience. He’d been afraid they’d leave him here to die.

Jamie opened his eye. The fact that they’d left the patch on his left one gave him a measure of comfort. He hated exposing the worst of his scars to others. Especially Emma, for some reason. “I thought you’d decided to starve me to death.”

Toby ducked into the cell, a tray in his hands, a chamber pot dangling from one stubby finger. “Serve ye right if she did. Us waiting on the murdering scum like he was royalty.”

“That’s enough, Toby.” Emmeline followed him in, carrying linens and a candle. “Set the things there.” She jerked her chin toward a table in the corner. Above it hung shelving loaded with crocks. Jamie had tried and failed to reach it, thinking to break a pot and fashion a weapon. “Then go out and lock the door.”

‘I’m not leaving ye in here alone with him.” Emmeline sighed, and Jamie noted with grim glee the lines of fatigue bracketing her mouth. “He’s chained to the wall and cannot hurt me. I need you to stand lookout”. For whom? They’d not done that before. Was there someone about? Customers in the shop, mayhap? Jamie’s dulled hopes flared, but he kept his expression bland as he watched Toby go.

When the door closed, Emmeline moved in, stopping short of Jamie’s feet. Her gaze went to the linen wrapped around his head. The candlelight picked out the green flecks in her hazel eyes, making them glow like gemstones. “There’s blood on the bandage. I warned you not to move about or you’d reopen the wound.” “What did you hit me with, a sword?” “You cracked your head on a rock when you fell.” “Tripped…over a rope, I think, coming to your aid.” Her gaze dropped. “I do not normally resort to trickery.”

“Really? Your cry of pain sounded authentic,” he taunted.

She flushed, her expression remorseful. “I had to—” “So, you believe the end justifies the means?” “Only in this case.” She set the candle down and knelt to rummage through her supplies for a roll of linen and a small knife. “I’m going to cut away the old bandage. If you attempt to take the knife, I’ll stick it in you. Is that clear?”

“Very. Never argue with a wench wielding a blade. If you think I’m guilty, why did you not kill me in that glade?”

“I want justice.”

“Ah, a kidnapper with scruples.”

Her brows jammed together. “If you do not stop trying to bait me, I may be forced to bend my morals.”

“And cheat yourself of torturing me?”

“I am not torturing you.”

“What else would you call leaving an injured man in this dank cellar with a host of hungry rats?”

“Rats!” She pulled her skirts close and gazed into the shadows. “I don’t believe you.” An obliging vermin chose that moment to streak toward the table, likely drawn by the smell of his supper. Emmeline shrieked, leapt up and shooed it away.

“If you rattle your chains at them, it keeps them at bay.”

Emmeline looked disconcerted as she set the food down at his right side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” She blinked and glared at him. “Why am I apologizing to you?”

“Mayhap because you realize you are wrong to hold me here like this. Sir Thomas has already cleared me of the charges.”

“He no more believes in your innocence than I do.”

“Is he in this with you?” When she shook her head, his temper boiled over. “Idiot woman. What do you hope to prove by this? Don’t you realize that a confession obtained under such conditions would carry no weight with the courts?”

“It will.” Her face was so close to his he noticed the freckles on her nose. They made her look younger, more vulnerable. “When your sailors hear you have been arrested and are unable to coerce them, they will tell the truth, too. They’ll tell Sir Thomas you weren’t aboard your ship that night.”

How could she know that? Jamie groaned inwardly. Damn. Most of his men had been with him for years; they’d lie for him till the bitter end. But all it would take is one mistake to bring this whole scheme down. “I have no time for this,” he snapped. “Look, I have vital business elsewhere. I’ll do anything you say, if you’ll let—”

“Will you confess?”

“To a crime I didn’t commit? Certainly not.”

“Why? If such a confession is worthless, why not admit—”

“I may be many things, mistress, but I am not a coldblooded murderer of women, and naught will get me to say so.”

“Then I guess you are stuck here.” She uncorked a flask and dabbed a vile-smelling potion on his wound. It burned like fire.

Jamie yelped and flinched away, setting his chains to rattling. “You will rue the day you did this,” he said through his clenched teeth. Though he’d left a trail of broken hearts behind him, he’d never consciously harmed a woman before. But he’d make an exception for this one.

“Did you say something similar to Celia?” she asked.

Jamie swore vilely, but took no pleasure in her shocked gasp. He wanted more. He wanted her to pay for ambushing him and endangering his plans. But most of all, for making him want her, then deceiving him. “I never harmed your sister. Nor any other woman. I like women, and they like me.”

She snorted in disgust. “I despise you.” Fire bloomed in her cheeks, transforming her face, making it glow from within. Untapped passion trapped in a nun’s icy reserve.

The impact of her unconscious appeal caught Jamie like a mailed fist to the gut. The desire had blazed between them from the first. He’d admitted as much to her, and she’d used it to entrap him. No one used him.

Jamie struck with the swiftness that made him an excellent swordsman. Chains rattling, he snagged her around the waist and dragged her across his body. The impact caused the air to whoosh from her lungs and sent pain jarring through his head. He was too angry to care. There was enough play in the chain for him to roll over, trapping her beneath him. He had a moment to savor her panicky expression before she opened her mouth to scream.

“Nay.” He sealed her mouth shut with his own. Her silent cry vibrated against his lips, sent a shudder through his body.

Triumph. He might be chained, but she was powerless in the grip of his superior strength. His to do with as he would. He took ruthless advantage of her weakness. Driven by endless hours of impotent rage and savage frustration, he seared her flesh with his, determined to lesson her.

She whimpered. The tiny sound, more felt than heard, slipped past his fury to touch on his worst fear. That one day, if he wasn’t careful, the dark side of his nature would break the leash of his iron will. Nay, he wouldn’t let it. Digging deep, he found the patience to gentle his hold on her and set his mouth to apologize. In that instant, everything changed. The kiss intended to punish took on a life of its own.

Her cry of distress became a soft sigh, her hands ceased to claw at his arms. Beneath the persuasive pressure of his mouth, hers turned pliant. He’d been right to judge her inexperienced, but her untutored responses sent a shaft of lust arrowing down to his groin. How-easy it would be to forget his anger and lose himself in her.

Lifting his head, he stared into her flushed face. Passion transformed her, heightened her beauty. Her lips were wet, swollen, her pupils dilated and dazed. A feeling of intense male satisfaction filled him. “Emma, unchain me.”

“Wh-what?” She blinked, passion fading, awareness returning. With a gasp of outrage, she began to thrash.

“Damn. Hold still…argh,” he cried when a blow caught him in the ribs. He loosened his grip, setting her free.

Emmeline scrambled from under him and huddled in the corner, struggling to gather her scattered wits. How could she have let him kiss her? She should have screamed the moment he’d grabbed her, instead she’d…she’d…

Nay. Don’t think of it. Nearly sobbing with reaction, she scrubbed a hand across her lips, but the taste of him lingered. She had to get away, had to wash the feel of him from her skin. Legs trembling, she got to her feet, walked to the door and called for Toby to let her out. The moment the door opened, she brushed past her startled servant and bolted for the stairs. “See he’s locked in,” she called in a voice she didn’t recognize.

As the door clanked shut again, Jamie sighed and lowered his head to the floor. Damn. How had he lost control of the situation? He had her in his grasp. He could have put his hands around her slender throat and threatened to strangle her if she didn’t release him. Instead, he’d…

He’d kissed her and lost himself totally.

Damn. That hadn’t happened to him…ever. He’d been with more women than he could count, most of them more beautiful than Mistress Emmeline Spencer, and kept his wits intact. Why her? Because she was different. He’d sensed it the moment they met, and every exchange between them since had strengthened the notion.

Forcing his eyes open, he tried to plan his next move. His eyes caught the dull glint of metal on the floor. The knife. In her haste to leave, Emmeline had dropped it. Mayhap he hadn’t blundered so badly after all, Jamie thought as he retrieved the weapon. Not large enough to kill, but just the right size to pick the locks on his shackles.

Jamie levered himself into a sitting position and was immediately swamped by dizziness. As he sagged against the wall the press of cold stone against his bare back had the rousing effect of a lash. He didn’t have much time. Convincing Mistress Emmeline of his innocence was a lost cause. Nor could he count on the slim hope of rescue. Harry would worry when he didn’t arrive as expected at the Hound and Stag and send word to the ship. But they’d never think to look for him so far from London.