A Knight's Persuasion (Knight's Series Book 4) Read online

  When he’d spied her, she was walking toward the forebuilding with several other ladies. She hadn’t seen him. Not surprising, since the keep’s bailey was crowded with arriving guests. The instant he’d seen her, though, with her hair bound in a shiny braid down her back and her buttercup yellow gown drifting at her ankles, the world around him had seemed to freeze. Silence had enveloped him, one so intense, he’d heard the choked gurgle of his swallow. Laughing at something her friends had said, she’d disappeared into the forebuilding.

  He’d known then that he had to speak to her. Every day since their disagreement at Sherstowe, he’d thought of her and that kiss they’d almost shared. He couldn’t change the past, but he’d like to know she’d at least acknowledge him again.

  Finding the opportunity to talk to her? That had been a challenge all day.

  His shoulder bumped the keep’s wall. He cursed, turned his back to the wall, and slowly slid down it to a squat. He shouldn’t care so much about regaining her favor. It shouldn’t eat at his pride that months ago she’d said “goodbye” in a tone that implied she despised him.

  But it did.

  “Juliana,” he said on a groan. His muddled thoughts drifted to earlier that evening when she’d realized he was in the hall. Her elegant head had turned, as though she’d sensed him nearby. Her posture had stiffened, and when their gazes had locked, her eyes had become huge. Then she’d whirled around and disappeared into the crowd.

  During the lavish meal, where she’d sat one table away, she hadn’t once looked at him, although Nara, sitting farther behind, had caught his gaze and wiggled her fingers at him with annoying frequency. Later, when the dancing and revelry had begun, Juliana had stayed close to her friends and Mayda and had managed to be dancing whenever he’d thought to approach her.

  Coward, Edouard. You should walk back into that hall and demand to speak with her. Refuse to let her elude you. You are, after all, Geoffrey de Lanceau’s son and heir. She owes you respect.

  Aye. ’Tis what he should do. Would do.

  When he wasn’t quite as drunk.

  He sucked in another breath of night air, blinking as his head spun. God’s teeth, he shouldn’t have snatched up the challenge of that last drinking contest with Kaine and several other friends, but he hadn’t wanted to look a fool.

  He blew out a sigh. “Juliana,” he said softly.

  “Not Juliana,” a feminine voice said from the darkness, “but I hope you do not mind, milord.”

  Nara.

  He swallowed down an oath. How had he not heard her approach? Regardless of how he felt about her, his father wanted to keep good relations between their families, especially after the mishap at Sherstowe.

  Edouard rose on an awkward lurch, his woolen tunic scraping the stones behind him. To steady himself, he pressed back against the wall.

  Nara’s silk gown rustled as she stepped from the nearby darkness, another young lady at her side. Nara cupped her hand, whispered in her friend’s ear, and the young woman curtsied shyly to Edouard and then walked back to the forebuilding.

  “Hello, Nara,” he said, hoping he didn’t slur his words. He blinked to clear his bleary gaze, for her gown, exquisitely fashionable, plunged a little too low in front. The night air, or arousal, had caused her nipples to bead against the fabric.

  Unwelcome desire stirred. Nara might be a pretty creature, delightfully formed, but even tonight she didn’t compare to his memories of Juliana.

  “Good evening, milord.” Smiling, Nara strolled closer, her hips swaying more than was appropriate for a maiden. “’Tis a pleasure to see you. You are looking as handsome as ever.”

  He managed a grin. “Thank you.”

  Her gaze traveled over him, and he wondered, as his fuzzy mind sharpened slightly, what she intended by following him outside. Her being here in the dark with him, without a chaperone, wasn’t proper.

  Before he could ask what she wanted, she said, “Why are you out here all alone, milord?”

  “’Twas warm in the great hall, and I wanted some fresh air.” He raised his brows. “You should be inside, showing the young lads how well you can dance.”

  She laughed, a flirtatious sound. “The only lord I want to dance with is here before me.”

  Ugh. A sound must have escaped him, for her smile softened into a pout. “We never got our dance at the feast at Sherstowe. I regret that. Very much.”

  “As I recall, a great deal happened that day.”

  “Especially with Juliana. I heard you speak her name.” Nara raised her brows at him in coy accusation, while her slender fingers swept along her neckline, as though to draw attention to her cleavage.

  Shrugging, he looked out across the darkness. He didn’t have to explain himself to Nara. Caution tingled through his sluggish mind, for he didn’t doubt she was deliberately enticing him. He’d be wise to return to his friends as soon as he could.

  He glanced at the light streaming out from the forebuilding, a beacon leading him back to Juliana. “’Twas a pleasure chatting with you, but—”

  Nara stepped nearer. She stood so close, he could touch her if he wanted. He didn’t. He kept his hands firmly by his sides, wishing he’d had the sense to put distance between him and the wall behind him. “Nara—”

  “Have you spoken to Juliana tonight?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I will, as soon as I reach the hall.”

  Nara tsked and rolled her eyes. “May luck be with you.”

  He tried to ignore a pinch of misgiving. “Why do you say that?”

  “She cannot bear to even hear your name. Did you realize she was so upset after what happened at Sherstowe, she left?” Sympathy crept into Nara’s stare. “I doubt she will ever forgive you for pushing her into the well.”

  “You caused that to happen.”

  Nara smiled. “Me, milord?”

  “Aye.” He forced enough menace into the word that her eyes widened. “You kicked my foot. You made me fall against Juliana, and that caused her to go into the well.”

  With a careless shrug, Nara said, “An accident.”

  “Nay.” Emotions of that day simmered again inside Edouard. “That act was deliberate. You could have killed Juliana.”

  “Mayhap.” Nara’s hand slowly slipped down her throat, drawing his attention to the plumpness of her bosom enhanced by tight silk. “But all turned out well. Except for our dance.”

  He dragged his gaze from her enticing breasts, but not before she saw. She grinned, caught her lip between her teeth, and closed the gap between them.

  “Nara.” Cursing the way his blood heated with interest, he scrambled sideways along the wall, his clumsy legs slow to follow.

  Her arms slid around his neck. Pressing her supple body against him, she cooed, “Kiss me, Edouard. The way you were going to kiss Juliana by the well.”

  His drunken body responded to her enticing feminine scent; his loins stirred from her breathy plea. What are you doing? his mind cried. Shove her away, or you are doomed.

  “Stop, Nara.” His voice emerged a rasp.

  Her lips brushed his chin. “I am the one you want. I will make you forget my sister.”

  Edouard shuddered as her fingers caressed the hairs at his nape. He didn’t want to forget Juliana. He needed to go inside, to speak with her . . .

  Ah, God, he had to make Nara cease.

  “Nay,” he said. Hands on her waist, he began to push her away.

  Her hot, wet, hungry mouth crushed to his.

  ***

  “Come on.” Her eyes bright with excitement, Mayda snatched up Juliana’s hand and pulled her through the noisy crowd toward the forebuilding.

  “Mayda, wait!” Juliana dug in her heels, but her new shoes, bought to go with her gown for the wedding celebration, skidded on the freshly-strewn rushes and herbs on the floorboards. With a helpless squawk, she stumbled along after her friend.

  Mayda whirled around, her finest silk gown, chosen to be her wedding dress, floating a
bout her slender figure. Leaning in close, she murmured, “Do not be silly and protest, Juliana. We both saw Edouard go into the forebuilding. ’Tis the perfect chance for you to find and speak with him, now he is no longer amongst his friends.”

  Giddy anticipation swirled up inside Juliana. She did want to speak with him, but what was she going to say? What if he was still annoyed and didn’t wish to speak with her? Terror rushed up in a daunting wave. “I do not think . . .”

  Mayda narrowed her eyes. With a firm hold, she drew Juliana away from the singing, clapping throng to a quieter section of the hall. “You have been miserable every day since the incident at Sherstowe,” she said, not letting go of Juliana’s hand. “You know ’tis long overdue for you two to reconcile.”

  “True, but . . .”

  Mayda huffed. “Still, you protest. How many times have you told me of that kiss he almost bestowed upon you? The way he admired your beauty?” Her eyes shone with her impassioned words. “Are you not curious to know if he wants to kiss you again? If the feelings you hold for him are still worth cherishing?”

  “Mayda,” Juliana said softly. “He wooed me to win the bet. I do not know if he truly cared for me.”

  Mayda squeezed Juliana’s fingers. “What man could not care for you?”

  Tears pricked Juliana’s eyes.

  With the swish of silk, Mayda hugged Juliana. “I want you to be happy,” she whispered. “I want you to have a husband as charming as Landon. That man could well be Edouard.” Drawing away, she wiped at her lower lashes. “You must speak with him, Juliana. Tonight, before your opportunity is lost.”

  “All right.” Juliana smiled. Hand in hand with Mayda, she hurried to the forebuilding.

  Mayda led the way down the torch lit stairs, and then they were out into the dark bailey beyond. The cool night air touched Juliana’s face, but her cheeks felt hot and tingly. Oh, but she dared not yield to the happiness bubbling up inside her. If she became too overwrought, she’d not be able to say one sensible word to Edouard. She did not want to ruin this chance.

  “Where might he be?” Juliana’s breath caught. “Mayda, can you feel how I am trembling?”

  “Keep a lookout,” her friend said, still in front, glancing to and fro in the shadows while she drew Juliana forward.

  Mayda came to an abrupt halt.

  Juliana bumped into her. As Mayda’s head turned, her expression filled with shock and dismay, movement in the shadows claimed Juliana’s attention. “Nara,” a male voice said with a groan.

  Blinking hard, Juliana discerned a man and woman pressed against the wall, engaged in lusty kissing: her sister and . . .

  Edouard!

  A gasp lodged in Juliana’s throat.

  As though suddenly becoming aware of spectators, Edouard tore his mouth from Nara’s. His gaze, dazed at first, cleared and widened with astonishment. “Juliana,” he said, breathing hard.

  At the same moment, Nara looked over her shoulder, met Juliana’s stare, and smiled smugly.

  “I am sorry, Juliana,” Mayda said shakily. “I did not know.”

  Tears blurred Juliana’s vision. Drawing her hand from Mayda’s, she stepped back, away, her heart pounding so ferociously in her chest, she could scarcely breathe. What a fool she’d been!

  “Juliana,” Edouard called. “Wait.” His steps unsteady, he started toward her.

  Somehow Juliana managed to lift her chin and hold his gaze. How could he still look so handsome to her? Why did the agony inside her make her want to weep over this wretched rogue?

  “I was about to return to the hall and speak with you,” he said, his tone rough. Glancing at frowning Mayda, now standing beside Juliana, he dragged his hands through his mussed hair. “Look, I know how this must appear.”

  Juliana struggled to hold back the anguish almost choking her. Had he and Kaine made a bet tonight? Since Edouard couldn’t have Juliana’s kiss, he’d win her sister’s? She did not care. “You do not owe me an explanation, milord.”

  Silk rustled as Nara approached his side. “Indeed, he does not. You made it quite clear at Sherstowe that you did not want to be betrothed to him. You never wanted to see him again.”

  A frown darkened Edouard’s face. “Juliana, I never intended to kiss Nara.”

  Disbelieving laughter broke past Juliana’s lips. “It just happened?”

  Nara winked at Edouard and giggled. “Milord, you give the most pleasing kisses.”

  Juliana forced down a sob. To know her sister had enjoyed Edouard’s affections, to see her sister gloating . . . Refusing to let them see her pain, Juliana spun to face the forebuilding. Sorrow in her eyes, Mayda slid an arm around her, and they began walking toward the light.

  “Do not go!” Edouard called.

  Glancing back, Juliana fixed Edouard with a glare. “Tonight has further proven what I realized months ago, milord. You could never be my husband, for when a man kisses me”—her voice wobbled—“I want it to be meaningful. I want it to prove the wondrous love between us. I want it to reinforce that we were destined, out of all the men and women in this vast country, to be together.”

  He loosed a sound akin to a groan. “Juliana.”

  “What she said about a kiss?” Nara brushed up against Edouard. “’Tis how I felt when you kissed me, milord. I vow you were never destined to wed her. Our fathers will have the alliance they desire, for you will marry me.”

  Chapter Five

  Waddesford Keep, Moydenshire

  Late spring, 1214

  From the muzzy depths of sleep, Juliana heard a baby wailing.

  She snuggled deeper into downy softness—the pillows on Mama’s bed? She’d been dreaming of Mama. They sat together in the bed in Sherstowe’s solar, turning the pages of Juliana’s sketchbook, while talking about the drawings: her father’s favorite horse; the stillborn baby boy; and . . . the face of Edouard de Lanceau.

  Why, tonight, had she dreamed of Edouard? Why, after all that had taken place between them, couldn’t she forget him?

  The baby’s cry came again, shriller this time. This infant wasn’t part of her dream.

  Wake up, Juliana! her conscience urged. Little Rosemary is hungry.

  Trying to rouse her sleepy mind, Juliana rubbed her eyes. Her lashes were wet, as they were every time she thought of Mama. When she opened her eyes to darkness, her senses wakened, and she recognized the faintly musty smell of her straw pallet in the antechamber of Waddesford Keep’s solar. She’d slept in the small, adjoining room from the day she became Mayda’s lady-in-waiting, to be close by whenever her friend needed her.

  Why wasn’t Mayda putting her babe to her breast? At just over a week old, Rosemary needed her mother’s milk.

  Mayhap, like Juliana, Mayda was only just rousing to the baby’s cry. Lying motionless, Juliana waited to hear the creak of the large rope bed as Mayda slipped from it, crooning to her child.

  The only sound, apart from Rosemary’s crying, was the faint crackle of the fire.

  Unease tingled through Juliana. Was Mayda all right? She’d been restless and weepy earlier that evening, but had assured Juliana she was merely tired from being wakened often in the night to nurse Rosemary. A reasonable explanation. In most circumstances, Juliana might have accepted it. However, the arguments between Landon and Mayda had become more frequent over past weeks. The birth of the little girl, when his lordship had wanted a son and heir, had added to the strain.

  Juliana pushed aside her blankets, trying not to heed the other suspicions sifting into her mind. But they wouldn’t be ignored. They shoved to the forefront, as demanding as that wretched woman who’d arrived as a guest a short while ago and quickly settled in: Veronique Desjardin. Her rogue of a son, Tye, who looked close to Juliana’s twenty years of age, had also moved into the keep.

  When Juliana set her feet on the icy floorboards, her right foot knocked an object in the dark, sending it sliding away with a hiss: her current sketchbook. She’d set it beside the bed before snuffing
the candle to sleep. Groping in the blackness, she found the book, and then tucked it under her pallet. She didn’t want to slip on the tome again, especially if she returned to the antechamber carrying Rosemary.

  As Juliana walked into the solar, her eyes began to adjust to the shadows, tinged with a reddish glow from the hearth’s embers. Her gaze went to the rope bed. Empty. The bedding on Mayda’s side had been pushed to one side, suggesting she’d left the bed for some reason and hadn’t yet returned. The blankets on Landon’s side appeared undisturbed.

  How many nights, now, had he slept somewhere other than the solar?

  And with whom?

  Juliana’s heart squeezed, for she’d seen the scorching glances between Veronique and Landon—looks that went far beyond a lord being attentive to a guest. Not wanting to upset Mayda, Juliana had kept her suspicions of his infidelity to herself. That had become a kind of punishment, for she’d wondered if she should tell Mayda?

  Juliana, though, had no definite proof, and it would be all too easy for Landon to deny all and order Juliana to leave Waddesford; then, Mayda would have no one close to her to help her. In the end, Juliana had chosen to stay silent, while hoping Mayda would discover the affair for herself.

  No doubt, that was why Mayda wasn’t here. She’d gone searching for her husband.

  Juliana hurried across the plank floor to the wooden cradle, trying to ignore the unease racing through her. Mayda had placed Rosemary’s bed at the edge of the hearth tiles, hoping to keep the baby warm through the night, but a draft swept through the room.

  Juliana shivered, and not just from the cold. Mayda adored Rosemary. She’d never let her get so hungry.

  From when they were young girls, Mayda had talked in a dreamy voice about becoming a wife and mother. Despite the difficult pregnancy and ordeal of birthing Rosemary, the joy that lit Mayda’s face whenever she looked at the newborn with a tuft of wispy brown hair and blue eyes was unmistakable.

  “There, now,” Juliana murmured, leaning over the cradle. She slid her hands under the bawling Rosemary and the woolen blanket wrapped around her and picked her up. Humming a lullaby, Juliana tucked the baby into the crook of her arm and gently rocked her.