A Knight's Temptation (29 page)

“Hush, Tye.”

“Hungry.”

She pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh—”

“
Hungry!
” He threw a clump of dirt.

“
Hush!
” Her hands fisted as she looked again at the meadow, then at Sedgewick, scratching his chin. Movement—a tiny branch swaying back into place—drew her gaze to the mercenaries standing in wait, a score of warriors paid to obey her and the baron’s every command. Armed with bows and arrows, crossbows, and swords, they’d protect them during the meeting and ensure she escaped unharmed.

Catching Sedgewick’s gaze, she said, “Send men to check on the watchers.”

“You heard the signal?” His voice caught on the last word.

“I am not certain. I do not want Geoffrey to surprise us.”

The baron nodded, then gestured to the three closest men. “Go check on the others. Whatever you do, do not give away our position.”

“Aye, milord,” the nearest man said. The three slipped into the undergrowth, moving as silently as shadows.

Sedgewick’s hand slid to the sword belted at his hip. “If ’twas the signal, we must be ready.”

Indeed, we must.
She couldn’t
wait
for what would happen.

Tye grumbled and threw another mound of dirt.

Ignoring him, Veronique smoothed a hand over her gown to check the knife strapped to her thigh. Then she touched her hair, left loose to fall to her waist; de Lanceau had liked when she’d worn it that way while they made love, and she meant for him to remember their passionate, exhausting trysts.

While her gaze traveled over the meadow again, she listened, hoping to hear a signal from the two lookouts posted in the brush alongside the road that ran past the meadow. One man looked to the north; the other, to the south. No one could approach without them noticing.

“Mama.” Tye’s face crumpled with frustration while he pushed to his feet. He ran to her side and tugged on her skirt.

“Tye—”

“Want to go home.” He stamped his foot, kicking up dirt beneath his grubby leather shoe.

With him complaining, she’d never hear the lookouts. Batting away his hand, she glared down at him, pleased when his eyes widened with uncertainty.

“Tye, be quiet. I told you—”

His mouth trembled. “Go home.”

A horse’s neigh carried from across the meadow. Veronique’s head snapped up. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides. Blood hammered with a thrilling urgency in her temple, and she strained to see what was unraveling.

He’s here, he’s here
, her pulse pounded. Her shaking hands ran over her bodice.

“Stand at the ready,” the baron muttered close by. Brush shifted behind her, indicating the mercenaries were preparing for the impending encounter.

Not a rider or warrior in sight.

Yet.

Sedgewick cursed. “Veronique, stop him.”

Grasses crunched ahead of her. Tye was running into the meadow.

“Tye!”

Still at a run, he jumped at the sound of her voice, shrieked, and kept running, his hair bouncing with each step.

Spitting an oath, she rushed forward. She caught up with him and snatched him up. He struggled to get away, but she shoved him onto her left hip.

Tye screamed. His fisted hands beat upon her breast.

Wretched child! He was ruining her glorious moment. “Stop fussing,” she snapped, “or I—”

A line of armed riders wearing helms and full chain-mail armor emerged from the opposite stand of trees. Stumbling ahead of them were the two sentries they’d posted. One lurched as he ran, an arrow jutting from his leg. Blood streamed down the other’s face.

Tye stopped squirming to stare wide-eyed at the approaching warriors. She followed his gaze, glancing at each rider. Which one was de Lanceau? She hadn’t seen him for several years. Yet she’d likely know him as soon as her gaze fell upon him.

The rustle of grasses grew louder as the running men reached her. Lurching to a halt, his hand pressed to his bloody leg, the first one dipped his head in an attempted bow. “Milady, we—”

“Out of my sight,” she said between her teeth. Later, she’d settle these two idiots’ failures.

“But milady.” The man’s face contorted with pain. “De Lanceau’s men surprised us. We did not—”

Veronique looked away in a cutting dismissal, while shutting out his pathetic pleas. She fixed her attention on the men riding toward her, their horses’ bridles jingling. The broad-shouldered warrior in the middle, wearing an embroidered surcoat over his chain-mail armor, thrust up his hand. The horses halted. Impressive, how that small gesture commanded so much.

“Mama.” Tye pulled on her gown.

Veronique jostled him on her hip. “Quiet.”

He grumbled and tugged again at her clothing, but she stared at the warrior flanked on either side by men with their weapons poised for attack.
Geoffrey
. Even from this distance, she recognized the hard set of his jaw. And his mouth . . . As skilled at issuing orders as ’twas at giving kisses.

A quivering ache wove through her. Of all the many lovers she’d taken, he’d been the best. How humiliating that after all he’d done to her, she still desired him.

He would suffer for that most of all.

Clearly confident in his men’s ability to protect him, he reached up and drew off his helm. Shiny brown locks slipped down to his shoulders. A strand of hair drifted across his cheek and he swiped it away with a mail-clad fist before setting the helm in his lap.

Veronique clenched her thighs against a potent flutter.
Handsome
was an inadequate word to describe his bold, masculine beauty. This day, he seemed more muscular than she remembered, his face more bronzed, his expression more calculating and commanding.

Misgiving slipped like cold fingers across her nape. He was certainly fitter than when she’d approached his bedside years ago, not long after Aldwin had shot him with the crossbow bolt during the battle for the keep at Wode. Holding a vial of poison, she’d stared down at Geoffrey’s ashen face slackened by unconsciousness and silently cursed his will to live. The steel-tipped bolt Aldwin had fired had pierced a hole in Geoffrey’s chest; Geoffrey should have perished then. But he’d stubbornly clung to life, and for that reason, she’d agreed to murder him herself—if not by poisoning, then by slamming her knife down into his heart.

How she’d craved that victorious moment when he died. No longer would Geoffrey stand in the way of the baron’s prior arranged marriage to Lady Elizabeth Brackendale. The wedding would’ve gone ahead and the next part of Sedgewick’s clever plot to seize control of all of Moydenshire would have fallen into place, bringing him and Veronique immeasurable power and wealth.

That is, if that bitch Elizabeth hadn’t foiled Veronique’s murder attempt. If Veronique and the baron hadn’t been arrested and imprisoned, before they managed to escape. If Geoffrey hadn’t recovered to marry Elizabeth and become lord of Moydenshire.

Tye squirmed against Veronique, and, forcing a smile, she glanced down at his tousled head. Her and the baron’s plotting had failed years ago, but much had happened since then. Now, ’twasn’t a matter of “if” they’d succeed in destroying Geoffrey, but “when”—for she had a new weapon now to bring about his ruin.

The swath of grasses and wildflowers between them stirred in the breeze, emphasizing the volatile silence. She smoothed Tye’s hair while holding Geoffrey’s gaze. When his focus shifted a moment to her hand, her grin widened.

“Show me the pendant.” Geoffrey’s voice boomed in the meadow.

Veronique refused to let her smile waver, although surprise rippled through her. His first words were about the wretched jewel. He hadn’t made the slightest attempt at courtesy. He hadn’t called her by her given name. Was she so unimportant to him that he didn’t feel he
had
to respect her in such a way? Even though she’d shared his bed for two years?

Anger flared anew in her breast. Forcing a pleasant tone, she said, “Good day to you, my lord.”

His head didn’t dip in reply. Neither did his fierce expression change.

“Do you have my ruby pendant?” He sounded even more threatening. “Where is Aldwin? Was that earlier missive I received at Branton Keep a ruse to draw him into an ambush?”

Earlier letter? Ambush?

Veronique steeled herself against the lash of Geoffrey’s words, while making note of what he’d revealed. If she guessed correctly, Leona had sent that first letter to him after taking the pendant from Pryerston, and Geoffrey had ordered Aldwin to get the jewel. That Geoffrey asked after the ruby meant it wasn’t in his possession—and never would be, if Clif accomplished what Veronique had asked of him.

She grinned at that thought and took a sultry step forward. Geoffrey might try to intimidate her and rule this meeting as he’d manage a matter of estate. But she’d waited a long time for this moment; she’d lead this day, as she had so many times in her dreams.

She tightened her arms around Tye, whose eyes shimmered with uncertainty. Then she laughed, a coarse chuckle borne from the desires in her soul.

De Lanceau cursed.

At last, a reaction.

“Not even a ‘good day, Veronique’?” She didn’t bother to soften her bitterness. “For shame, milord.”

His lips curled back from his teeth. “The pendant—”

“Do you not remember me? Have you forgotten how you sweated and groaned above me? How, in your bed, I wrested gasp after—”

“Silence!”

“—pleasured gasp from you?”

Several of Geoffrey’s men snickered, before others shot them warning glares.

Geoffrey’s face darkened with fury. His huge war horse shifted, tossed its mane, as though sensing his master’s irritation.

Pleasure glowed inside her like fiery coals. ’Twas dangerous to goad him further, but she enjoyed hurting him. “Do you not recall—”

“Still, you do not obey my order or answer my questions.” He sounded angry enough to draw his sword and cut her down where she stood. “Did you and Sedgewick deceive Aldwin? Did you bring the pendant today? Or is this meeting another one of your attempts to trick me?”

“Milord, the baron and I do not know of Aldwin’s whereabouts, an ambush, or the first missive you mentioned. I only ordered one letter sent to you.” Veronique arched an eyebrow. “Do you not recall it?” She couldn’t
wait
to reveal the truth to him. To witness that glorious moment when he realized his life was forever changed.

Tye whined and squirmed against her, but she held him tighter. Bending her head close to his in what would appear to be a tender maternal gesture, she hissed, “Stop.”

“You are overbold, Veronique. What I recall is that you and Baron Sedgewick betrayed and tried to murder me. For your treachery, you were arrested. You were locked in the king’s dungeons. All very good reasons to arrest you now.” Geoffrey looked to his men, as if to give a prearranged signal.

She laughed. Raising her free hand, she gestured to the trees. Vegetation rustled behind her, and she sensed the mercenaries edging out of the forest shadows, their weapons at the ready.

“Ah, I see Sedgewick now. He is sulking behind the hired ruffians.” Geoffrey’s mouth flattened. “Those thugs cannot protect you from me.”

“Is that so?”

“I shall take great pleasure,” he growled, “in chaining you and the baron to my dungeon wall. There, you will live, day after day, night after night, until the end of your wretched lives.”

Barely able to contain the excitement burgeoning inside her, she laughed. “You would be so cruel? To the mother of your
son?
”

Murmurs rippled through the line of riders.

“Son?” Geoffrey didn’t even blink.

“Aye, milord.” She looked down at her boy. “His name is Tye. He is living proof of the pleasure we shared. How good ’twas, when we coupled.”

Geoffrey’s mouth whitened. How she’d love to know the thoughts reeling through his mind. Astonishment? Anguish? She hoped the revelation cut him so hard and deep, he’d never again sleep well at night.

“This boy is not my child.”

She managed a shocked little cry. “Tye’s eyes are the same silver color. And his face.” She trailed her fingers down his grubby cheek. “The likeness is remarkable. You cannot see the resemblance?”

Doubt flickered in Geoffrey’s gaze for the barest instant, before his expression again hardened. “You”—he bit out the word—“are a woman of endless lovers—”

“Including you, my lusty lord.”

His eyes flashed with fury. “And how many others? You are more foolish than I thought, Veronique, to try to manipulate me in this way.”

Wound him again
, her mind screamed.
Make his soul bleed. Make him suffer for the way he cast you aside, like a common whore, for that bitch Elizabeth, who became his wife
. Pressing her hand to her bosom, softening her voice with indignation, Veronique said, “Do you mean to deny that we lay together?”

“Nay.”

“So you do remember our affair, then?”

“Regrettably, I do.”

Regrettably
. She almost choked on her fury. If she asked, would he say that he’d found no ecstasy in their coupling? That, certainly, would be a lie. However, before she taunted him further, she must make him see that Tye was his child. If he admitted to being the boy’s father, before all these witnesses, all the better. That could serve her well.

“One of our last nights we made love at Branton Keep,” she said, “I got with child. Mayhap even the evening before you rode off to demand vengeance for your father’s killing.” With a slow, sensual glide that mimicked the way she’d once caressed Geoffrey’s naked skin, her fingers slid between her breasts, where Tye’s innocent hand pressed against her. “Your passion was certainly fierce that night. ’Tis no surprise our union produced a strong, healthy son.”

The disdain in Geoffrey’s stare didn’t waver. “Your next lover was as likely to be the father.”

“There was no other,” she said, “not for a while.”

“A
while?
”

She forced down a shriek. Did he think she fornicated with every able-bodied man she met? Did he believe she had no discretion as to whom she took into her body? Rage seared through her in a brutal tremor, but she forced herself to concentrate on all she hoped to achieve this day. Screaming at Geoffrey now would achieve naught. And she’d lose sway over his men, some of whom looked unsettled, indicating her words were making an impact with them.