Dance of Desire (50 page)

Yet, involving him was a risk. Word of the traitors' escape was not yet common knowledge, and Darwell's loose tongue could not be trusted. In no time, half of England would know that High Sheriff Linford, crusading spy hero, had failed to capture escaped prisoners on his own lands. That did not speak well of his abilities as sheriff. It bode far worse for his efforts to win his noble peers' respect.

Most galling of all, Garmonn would know. He would no doubt use the opportunity to his advantage. If he had ties to the traitors, as Fane strongly suspected, this could prove disastrous. Fane did not fear for his own life, but if the traitorous bastards got to Rexana —

Kester shifted in his chair. "Milord?"

Fane snapped his attention back to the tablets. A ruthless pain pounded at his brow. "Villeaux may be well hidden, but he cannot remain so for long. If he is not sighted in two days, I will order the search extended."

"Very well, milord." Kester rose. Then, as though reconsidering, he sat again. He cleared his throat. "I mean no disrespect, milord, but I must ask. Might Lady Linford know of her brother's whereabouts?"

With effort, Fane eased his crushing grip on the mug. "I have asked her. She refuses to cooperate."

"Still?" Kester said.

"Aye, still."

Fane rubbed the heel of his hand against his forehead. He remembered her frosty gaze as he quit the solar that morn. Her defiance gleamed as bright as the sunlight flashing off her brooch, which she had pinned to her fitted gown of blue wool. She looked ravishingly beautiful standing at the window, her hands clasped on the stone ledge.

Three days of confinement had not softened her resolve. Yet, after long, lonely nights of watching her sleep, burning for her body's sweetness, he had barely leashed his desire to cross to her, sink his hands into her hair, and seduce her. Despite the ache in his loins, he had resisted. Just as she, with infuriating stubbornness, resisted giving him any useful insights into her brother's character or favorite haunts.

He drained his mug and banged it down on the table. Why did the crux of his thoughts always return to her?

He froze. Why, indeed?

Kester stood, his chair scraping on the floorboards. "Have you finished with the tablets, milord?"

Fane nodded and waved a dismissive hand. The idea drifting through his thoughts gathered momentum like a spinning whirlwind. Why had he not realized such an option before now?

The answer to his dilemma was within his grasp.

Specifically, she was confined to the solar.

Rexana, of all people, could lure Villeaux out of hiding. She, of all people, could lead her brother into a well-laid trap, or lead Fane to him.

Yet, she would not do so of her own will. If she learned of the plot, she would fight it with every ounce of her willpower.

For that reason, she must not know. She must believe she acted of her own initiative.

Regret tempered Fane's excitement. He would have to deceive her. Betray her trust.

Bitter frustration cut through him. Had she not betrayed his trust by freeing her brother? Had she not chosen loyalty to her brother over loyalty to her faithful, wedded husband?

His anguish sharpened with an edge of fear, for his plan entailed danger, most of all for her. Yet, despite the rift between them, he would never let her come to harm. He would plan well, protect her life from a distance, and with his own life, if need be.

A hard smile curled Fane's mouth. When she realized he had used her to bring about her brother's capture, she would hate him. Yet, he had no choice. He had few options left, and he would not fail his king.

Fane shoved to his feet. He looked at Kester. "How soon can you arrange a meeting of the men-at-arms?"

Kester's
eyes widened. "Reasonably soon, milord."

"Do it. Now."

Rexana drew the wrinkled parchment from her sleeve and unrolled the tattered edges. As she reread the bold words, which she had long ago committed to memory, her vision blurred.

I am the randy bee. I cannot wait to suck your nectar.

She swiped at her damp lashes. How ridiculous to torment herself with Fane's poem. Yet, each day she found it harder to fight her misery. In her enforced solitude, longing taunted her. Yearning for what she and Fane had shared, his wondrous touch, and the pleasure he had shown her.

Irritation rubbed her raw nerves. She would accomplish naught by yielding to tears.

Footfalls and voices sounded beyond the solar door. If Fane found her weepy eyed over his poem . . .

Her face burned. Rising from the stool set near the window to catch the afternoon sunlight, she hurried to the bed and shoved the parchment under her pillow.

As she smoothed her sleeve, the door opened. Fane strode in, his face a mask of cool politeness. She saw no trace of the heat that had smoldered in his eyes before he left that morn.

The door slammed. "You are hale, wife?" His tone held an odd hint of foreboding and resolve.

"I am, husband."

"You looked flushed." He scanned the room, as though searching for what had consumed her attention before he entered. "What were you up to?"

She would not tell him a moment ago she had sniffled over his words of love. Pointing to the wooden stool, drowned in a pool of light, she said, "I am warm from sitting in the sun."

His lips twisted into a smile. "You watched the bailey?"

"I have few ways to pass my day." Resentment tightened her voice, yet she held his gaze. "Do you bring word of Rudd?"

When Fane's eyes flashed, relief rushed through her. He had not captured her brother. There was still a chance for Rudd to prove his innocence.

Fane spun on his heel and strode to the wooden chest. He bent down, flipped the lid, then rummaged through the contents. A leather belt slapped against the side. Coins jangled.

The clatter of horses' hooves rose from the bailey. Many riders were leaving the keep. Before she could hurry to the window to look down, a rolled parchment flew out of the chest and rolled across the floor toward her.

The list of traitors?

Rexana lunged forward, snatched it up, and whisked off the strip of leather binding it. She glimpsed scrawled handwriting before Fane grabbed her wrist and yanked the parchment away.

Her skin burned beneath his fingers. She jerked back. With a mirthless grin, he released her.

"Sorry, love. '
Tis
not the document you seek."

The bitter taste of disappointment flooded her tongue. "I know."

His gaze sharpened. "You do? How?"

Tremors shook her. Crossing her arms, she tried to warm the ice cold fist that had curled fingers around her ribs. She would not lie. "I saw it when I searched this chamber for the missive. '
Tis
a letter from your mother."

His dark eyes flashed with fury and disapproval. "Another betrayal, Rexana. Did you mean to tell me you had read my private letter, or keep that trespass to yourself?"

Rage blazed in his eyes, yet she stood firm, refusing to avert her gaze. She had good reason for looking through his belongings, and would not apologize for trying to save Rudd.

Fane crumpled the parchment. He pivoted toward the fire, swung his arm back, and looked about to hurl the document into the leaping flames.

"Do not!" Rexana darted forward.

He turned part way to face her, his profile framed by tangled hair. His teeth gleamed in a warning snarl. "I should have burned it long ago."

His unsteady voice quelled her anger. She could not bear to hear his torment. "Your mother loved you. From her words, she regretted what happened. She cared enough to write to you, despite her failing health."

Spitting a foul curse, Fane faced her. He stared down at the crushed letter. "This reminds me that everyone I have ever loved shunned me. Except Leila."

His words stuck like a physical blow. Rexana pressed her hands to her stomach and stifled a moan. "I did not shun you."

"Nay, you betrayed me." Shaking his head, he tossed the wadded missive into the chest.

His anguish wounded her like an invisible battleaxe. How she yearned to cross to him and soothe his hurt, yet he seemed unapproachable. He had erected a high emotional wall, one she could not scramble over, no matter how hard she tried.

Desperation welled inside her, along with an awful fear they would never again enjoy the precious intimacy they had built together. She had to broach the awful barricade, to bond with him again in friendship and love. To show him that despite all, she still cared.

He knelt before the chest. As he searched the objects inside, she said, "Tell me about your parents. Tell me why your father banished you."

Fane's head jerked up. "Why?"

"I am your wife. I would like to know. Please."

"So you have another means to betray me? So you can feed the rumors with details of my wretched past?"

His callous words stung, but she held his gaze. "The gossips have already voiced their thoughts on what happened between you and your sire. If you do not wish me to reveal what you tell me, I will not."