Champion of the Heart (16 page)

“Where is our guest?” his father asked.

“Guest?” Fox echoed blankly, still thinking of the invisible nobles roaming only in his father’s disturbed imagination.

“Lady Jordan,” Frederick said, his tone thick with the obvious.

Fox’s gaze shot to him, startled.

“Don’t tell me she has already left!”

“No. She dined earlier,” Fox lied, hoping his father would drop the subject.

Frederick nodded, accepting Fox’s answer. He took a now cold bowl of porridge and stared into it for a long moment. “It’s been a long time since we’ve last seen her.”

“Longer than you think,” Fox grumbled.

“She certainly has changed,” Frederick said.

Fox nodded in agreement, thinking of her large luminous eyes, the way her girlish figure had matured into curvy womanhood. The way her hair seemed so soft and vibrant. And her lips...

“She would make a good wife, don’t you think?”

Fox bridled. So that was where his father was going with this. “For someone,” Fox admitted.

“Why not you, my boy? You’ve always been fond of her. She’s quite a lovely creature. I’m certain Lord Harding agrees, don’t you, Edward?”

Fox looked over to see his father staring at an empty space opposite them. His father always amazed him, no matter how many times he sat to speak with him. He would be carrying on a normal conversation for a while, then suddenly address his ghostly companions. Only then would Fox realize that to his father these ghosts had always been in the room with them, listening and watching. Sometimes it was just downright eerie to be around him.

His father continued, looking back at Fox. “We could petition Lord Ruvane and –”

Fox stood suddenly. His jaw tightened and his eyes burned with rage and fierce anger. That was the past. He would not petition Lord Ruvane for a piece of bread, let alone his daughter. As Fox stared at his father, at his earnest expression, his look softened and he turned his gaze to the floor, shaking his head. “I don’t think the Lady Jordan would want to marry me.”

“Why Fox? Why do you say that?”

“She’s in love with Evan Vaughn.”

***

In love with Evan Vaughn. Saying the words aloud left a bitter taste in Fox’s mouth. He wasn’t sure why, because what did it matter to him who she loved? Whether it was a man marked for death or not.

Fox had taken his turn scouring the north side of the castle for intruders, but he had found evidence of none. He wasn’t surprised he hadn’t seen anyone. His thoughts were not on his duty. Not on his duty at all.

When he returned for the evening meal, the sun was setting and the wind had picked up. He entered the castle and noticed Mary Kate sitting in the inner ward near the stables. Fox smiled to himself. A wild dog had made her home in the stables and was expecting puppies any day. Mary Kate was anxiously awaiting them, checking every day for their arrival. Fox moved over to the girl and sat beside her. “No puppies yet?” he wondered.

Mary Kate shook her head and turned her large brown eyes to him.

Fox tousled the girl’s straight locks. “It will be any day now,” he told her. “Have you eaten?”

She shook her head.

“Come on, let’s go.” Fox stood and lifted the girl up, setting her onto his shoulders. He entered the Keep, being extra careful to duck into the opening so as not to bump Mary Kate’s head on the doorframe. He moved down the hallway and into the room.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Jordan eating at a table beside his father. What was she doing out of her room? Rage filled him, and he shot an accusing glare at Beau, who sat beside the door.

Beau shrugged helplessly. “Lord Mercer ordered me to,” he said around a mouthful of bread.

Fox lifted Mary Kate from his shoulders and set her on the floor. “Get yourself one of the trenchers,” he said and patted her bottom lightly before moving over to the table. He stood, meeting Jordan’s gaze for a long moment before his father looked up.

“Join us, my son!” Frederick exclaimed.

Fox clenched his jaw tightly. His father was still treating her as some damned guest rather than a prisoner. It was ludicrous. But it was no use arguing with him. Fox sat in the chair beside his father.

He looked past his father at Jordan. Rings of exhaustion darkened her skin beneath her clear blue eyes. Yet there was something bright and innocent and pure in those depths, something that instinctively called to Fox. He grimaced and looked away, taking a trencher of vegetables, bread, and roast duck. He smiled at the sight of the duck. Scout must have had a successful hunt today.

“Where have you been? Seeing to the peasants?” Frederick asked. He directed his next words to Jordan. “Fox is very dedicated to seeing his people get what is needed to survive. He is always making sure the woods are secure and the stores are plentiful for the winter.”

Fox didn’t look up. He didn’t need to reply to his father’s questions. He learned long ago his father would make up his own answers. Fox took a bite of the bread.

The uneasy silence stretched.

Fox chewed quietly, not even aware of the bread’s hardness. He chanced a glance over at Jordan, unable to avoid the temptation. She was finishing up with her portion of duck, her vegetables already gone. The rock-hard bread had one bite out of it, but then had been subtly pushed aside.

He watched her place the last piece of duck into her mouth. The way her lips closed over the piece of meat, the way the slight hint of the bird’s moistness glimmered on her lips, immediately enflamed desire throughout his body. Fox ground his teeth and tore his gaze from her. He lifted his ale to his lips, draining the cup.

Someone bumped his arm, and he looked over to see Mary Kate pushing her trencher next to his. She tried to pull herself onto the bench, struggling to climb onto the seat beside Fox.

Fox reached down and grabbed her arm, pulling her onto the bench. Mary Kate placed her bottom on the bench and looked up at Fox, smiling.

Fox couldn’t help but grin at the proud smile on the girl’s face. She immediately turned to devouring the duck.

“Who is she?” Jordan asked, drawing Fox’s attention.

Fox looked at Jordan for a moment, for some reason surprised she had even spoken to him. Her right hand was hidden from view in her lap, but she quickly placed it back onto the table as he gazed at her. There was an odd look on her face for a brief second, but then it quickly vanished. “Her name is Mary Kate,” Fox finally responded, looking down at the child.

“Lady Jordan tells me she is staying in the north tower,” Frederick said, holding his ale cup and gazing into it.

Fox groaned to himself. His father would think the room was not good enough for her. And it wouldn’t have been if she were truly a guest. But it was fine for an enemy. “That’s right,” Fox replied.

“Don’t you think it inappropriate for a woman of Lady Jordan’s stature?”

“It fits Jordan just fine,” Fox replied shortly. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s time Lady Jordan returned to her room.” Fox shot a meaningful look at Beau as he finished.

Jordan gave Fox a withering stare he easily ignored.

Beau climbed to his feet, setting his trencher on the floor. Doom immediately lumbered over to the food and ate it.

“But Lady Jordan hasn’t seen the entertainment! The minstrel has a fine rendition of the King Arthur –”

Fox rose. “I think Lady Jordan is looking weary. She begs for pardon, Father.”

Jordan looked hard at Fox, but then nodded at Frederick and stood. “Yes. Your minstrel will have to wait another day. Good eve, Lord Frederick.”

“Good eve, my child,” Frederick replied and smiled at her.

Fox took a step forward, but halted immediately when his father cleared his throat loudly. Fox groaned inwardly.

He knew his father was expecting him to personally escort Jordan back to her room. He looked back at Jordan, staring at her for a long moment. She was beautiful. Damned beautiful. If it had been another time, another life...

Fox reluctantly offered her his arm, steeling himself. But even his guarded preparation couldn’t lessen the effect of her touch. When she placed her hand on his arm, bolts of lightning pierced his body, sending tingles from his fingertips to the tips of his toes. He lifted his gaze to hers. Had she felt it as well? The blue of the bluest sapphire didn’t do justice to the color of her eyes. Like precious gems, they glinted innocently, unaware of the raw beauty emanating from them. His gaze dropped to her lips as if summoned to them. God’s blood, how he wanted to taste her!

He moved forward, jerking her into motion.

When they exited the room, he waited for her to break contact with him. But she didn’t. And he couldn’t bring himself to do it, despite knowing every moment they remained together, touching, he dropped another inch of his defenses.

They moved up the spiral stairway toward the tower. He wondered what she would do if he pressed her against the wall and kissed her.

As if sensing his intent, she dropped her hand from his arm and picked up her skirt to continue up the stairs.

Disappointment settled over Fox. Disappointment and frustration -- and a great sense of relief. He felt somehow he had just escaped a deadly trap.

The door to the north tower room rose before them. Fox opened it, allowing her entrance. He stepped deeper into the room to light the candle.

And turned back to find Jordan holding a dagger out before her, pointed right at him.

J
ordan held the small dagger before her, clutching it tightly. She had taken it from the dining table when no one had been looking and had managed to keep it hidden in the folds of her skirt.

Fox’s dark eyes glowed with grim amusement in the candlelight. “What do you plan to do with that?” he asked mockingly.

Insult speared through Jordan at the obvious ridicule in his tone. He perceived her as no threat to him, and his blatant scorn simmered her blood in her veins. “I plan to escape,” she said, and stepped toward him, brandishing the dagger before her. If he still doubted she knew how to wield a blade, then so be it. He would become a fast believer.

But Fox did not move away from her threatening step. His gaze remained locked on hers, not even bothering to look at the deadly weapon in her hand. “I will not let you go,” he said softly.

Jordan held the dagger firmly before her, adjusting her grip with her suddenly moist fingers. “Are your damned lands and title so important to you?”

He tilted his head quizzically, as if the answer was painfully, obviously staring her right in the face. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “Much more important than inconveniencing you.”

“I have more important reasons to leave than my inconvenience,” Jordan retorted. “And I will not let you stop me.”

He lifted his eyes to hers.

Jordan was shocked to see the fierce, deep anger whirling in their depths.

“Then you will have to plunge that dagger into my heart, Jordan. Only then can you be reunited with your lover. Take my heart and you can go to him. Go on. Take it. Take it, damn you! You tossed it aside once before. Surely you can do it again.”

Jordan stared at him, unable to move, unable to take action.

“Take it!”

The thought suddenly seemed horrific. She looked away from his intense glare, turning away from his harsh tone to stare at the weapon she held in her hand. A swirl of orange and red and yellow candlelight played along the metal, the colors flickering and flaming as they danced on the reflection of her eyes. Her eyes looked tired, haunted, almost as if she, too, might become nothing more than a specter in this eerie, decaying castle. Then she noticed a slight tremor in her fingers and willed them to be still. She looked away from the blade, back to Fox.

She could kill him, she realized, to get back to her children. She knew just where to put the blade, knew just where to throw it to stop him dead in his tracks. But then quick images, quick memories flashed through her thoughts. She pictured him again with the little girl, Mary Kate, seated on his shoulders as he entered the room. Mary Kate had been beaming with joy as he carried her. She obviously had great affection and love for Fox.

And then Jordan pictured Fox’s lips so close to hers the other night. The smell of his closeness flooded her senses, her memory taking on a ghostly life inside her mind.

Then she pictured Fox bleeding at her feet on the cold stones of the north tower floor, her dagger lodged deep in his heart. The thought was so sudden and so horrible she almost dropped the dagger. She couldn’t hurt him, not even after he had stolen the herbs that would have saved Maggie’s life. She could never bring herself to hurt the friend she remembered from long ago.

Fox acted immediately, taking advantage of the obvious doubt and confusion playing out across her features. He slapped the dagger from her fingers with a quick snake-like strike. “Little girls shouldn’t play with daggers,” he scorned.