Dragonblade Trilogy - 03 - The Savage Curtain (43 page)

De Velt exhaled sharply, collecting
himself, as he returned his focus to Joselyn.  She was still clutched against
Stephen’s chest, her pale blue eyes peering out of the safety of his protective
hand.   When her eyes met de Velt’s, he smiled at her.

“Lady Pembury,” he said, sounding
calm. “I was unaware you were here. You were not here during the battle, were
you?”

Joselyn looked at Stephen, who
removed his hand from her head and answered for her. “Nay,” he said quietly.

“Then how did she get here?”

“I rode from Forestburn
yesterday,” Joselyn found her tongue, thinking that it would be a good time to
ask for her husband’s freedom now that she had de Velt’s attention. “As the
daughter of Alexander Seton, I demand that you free my husband.  If you release
him, the king has promised to release my father.”

Stephen looked at her sharply,
wondering what in the hell she was doing making that kind of proposal.  Edward
would surely never agree to anything like that and he cursed under his breath
at her bold foolishness.  De Velt, however, never took his eyes from her,
becoming increasingly interested in the very beautiful young woman before him. 
If he thought her proposition was ridiculous, he didn’t let on.

“You are a de Velt,” he said
after a moment, completely ignoring her offer.

Joselyn nodded. “My mother was
the daughter of Micah de Velt, Lord Carham.” She pointed to Kynan, standing
over by the door. “Kynan is my cousin. His mother and my mother were sisters.”

De Velt nodded, glancing back at
Kynan. “Are you the one who admitted her to Berwick without my knowledge?”

Kynan shook his head. “The guards
did that. I happened tae see her in the bailey and brought her in here for her
own safety.”

De Velt digested that,
understanding a little more of the lady’s mysterious appearance, before returning
his focus to Joselyn. “Micah was my father’s brother,” he told her.  “Micah was
the oldest of fourteen children and I am sorry to say that I do not keep track
of all of my kin. But It would seem that you and I are related, Lady Pembury.”

“And Kynan, too.”

He nodded slowly. “And Kynan,
too.”

Joselyn was not sure if that was
a good or bad thing.   She pushed herself off of her husband and rose,
smoothing her gown and trying to convey a somewhat presentable and collected
appearance.   She didn’t want to come across like a groveling wife, as de Lara
had warned her. She wanted to present a strong, determined front.

“Since we are related, I would
ask you, as my kin, to please release my husband,” she said firmly. “He is
injured and I wish to take him someplace safe where he can heal.”

De Velt scratched his head,
inspecting Lady Pembury’s delicious figure beneath her soft yellow surcoat.  
She had luscious full breasts and he found himself staring at them.

“I am not sure that is possible,
lady,” he replied. “I understand that Pembury hanged your brothers as you and
your family watched from the battlements. Is this true?”

Joselyn looked stricken,
struggling not to appear off balance.  “My brothers were hanged,” she
confirmed. “But Stephen did not personally do it.  He has, in fact, done many
wonderful things for me and my family since the event of our marriage.  He is a
good man.”

De Velt looked at Stephen. “She
lives in a dream world where you can do no wrong,” he said. “You will tell me
the truth, Pembury; did you personally hang her brothers?”

Stephen sighed faintly, looking
up at Joselyn, who was now staring back at him with some fear.  He averted his
gaze, thinking carefully on his answer.

“I was Thomas’ guard the entire
time he was Edward’s hostage,” he replied quietly. “He was a fine young man who
never stopped believing that his father would seek his freedom.  When Alexander
Seton did not honor the terms of the hostage agreement, it was my duty to
present the boy to the executioner.”

De Velt’s gaze was riveted to
him. “Ever the obedient knight,” he said, bordering on sarcasm. “Did you put
the noose over his neck?”

Stephen’s cornflower blue eyes
were intense. “Nay,” he replied hoarsely. “Tommy did it himself, weeping as he
did so, because his father had failed him. The boy put that noose on his own
neck and stepped off the scaffold under his own accord. None of us had to make
a move because the boy took his own life.”

Joselyn suddenly turned away,
weeping softly, and Stephen reached out to put a comforting hand on her.  De
Velt’s gaze was intense on Stephen.

“Many Scots witnessed this
hanging,” he said. “I have not heard mention of that particular version.”

“As if they would tell you,”
Stephen’s gaze was equally intense. “I would not lie to you.”

“I believe you,” de Velt said in
a surprising show of reassurance. “You are a man of honor from what I am told.
I would not expect you to lie to me to save yourself.”

By this time, Joselyn was wiping
her tears away, struggling to put the details of Tommy’s death aside. There
would be another time to grieve for her little brother.  Squaring her
shoulders, she faced de Velt with resolve.

“I want my husband released,” she
told him. “He has told you that he did not hang Tommy or Willie. His only crime
is that he fought for the English king.  He is Alexander Seton’s son-in-law and
you will let him go.”

De Velt looked at her, the manner
in which his eyes drifted over her body causing her skin to crawl.  Stephen saw
it and he stiffened with outrage but made no move against de Velt; injured as
he was, he knew he would not last long in a fight.  If he was going to attack
the man, then let it be for something more than a lascivious glance.

“Alas, my lady, I cannot,” de
Velt replied after a long, lustful moment. “I have come to tell your husband
that I received orders from the Earl of Moray this morning.  It would seem that
the earl is to make an example out of your husband to show the English what
will happen if they make another attempt to capture Berwick.”

Joselyn’s blood ran cold; her
heart began to pound and her body to shake. She could feel Stephen grasping her
by the wrist, pulling her over to him.  As he put his massive arm around her,
she struggled against him. She was not interested in being held at the moment.
She wanted de Velt to clarify himself.

“An example?” she repeated, both
angry and terrified. “What does that mean? What foolishness is this?”

De Velt shook his head. “No
foolishness at all, I assure you,” he replied without a hint of distress in his
voice. “Your husband is an enemy of Scotland and all enemies of Scotland are
harshly dealt with. In two days, at dusk, Pembury is to be drawn and quartered,
and parts of his body distributed along the border as an example to all who
oppose young David as the king of Scotland.  His head will be sent to Edward
himself.”

Joselyn coiled like a spring,
making a lunge for de Velt even as Stephen held on to her. “You cannot make an
example of my husband,” she screamed. “He belongs to me and I am taking him
from this place. I shall kill you if you try to stop me; do you hear? I will
kill
you!”

It was as much passion and anger
as Stephen had ever heard from her. She was all fury and fight.   He pulled her
back against him, trying to soothe her, as de Velt almost seemed amused.

“I believe you,” he said
sincerely. “Which is why I will have Kynan remove you. Go home, little lady. Go
home and forget you ever had an English husband for soon he will fade into
memory.”

Joselyn went mad; she screamed
angrily and grabbed the nearest thing, which happened to be an empty pitcher
from their meal the previous night. She threw it at de Velt, who ducked,
allowing it to sail into the man behind him.   Kynan was already moving towards
her, putting himself between Joselyn and de Velt. He grabbed her by the arms,
forcing her down beside Stephen as the weakened man tried to keep a grip on
her.

“Stop it,” Kynan hissed. “If ye
sufficiently anger him, he’ll make an example of you, too!”

Stephen wrapped both his arms
around her, pulling her against him.  His ribs were screaming with the exertion
but he had little choice; Joselyn had turned into a wildcat.  He trapped her,
forcing her to face him.

“Sweetheart, stop,” he murmured.
“Stop your fighting. You will listen to me and listen well.”

She interrupted him as the angry,
terrified tears began to come. “I am not leaving you!”

He put his face into the side of
her head, his lips by her ear. “Listen to me,” he whispered, making sure that
de Velt didn’t hear him. “You must return to Tate and tell him what has
happened. I need you to take that message to him, do you understand?”

She was weeping fearfully into
his neck but she still managed to comprehend what he was saying. “But I do not
want to leave you,” she whispered, her lips quivering. “Please do not make me
leave you.”

He smiled sweetly at her, cupping
her face between his two massive hands. “You will never leave me, sweetheart,”
he murmured, gazing into her eyes. “You will always be with me, locked deep
inside my heart.   But I would like to see our son grow up and unless you take
a message back to Tate, I am not sure that will happen. Please? It is
important.”

Joselyn was struggling between
hysteria and composure; she wanted to go wild with what de Velt was suggesting
yet Stephen’s calm words were sinking in. If she wanted to see her husband
live, then she must do as he said. She had done all she could and it was clear
the Scots would not release Stephen. They were going to punish him for being
English. She just was not strong enough to free him herself; she needed help.

Her tears faded as she gazed into
his cornflower blue eyes. “Oh, Stephen,” she breathed. “I am so frightened.”

He stroked her cheeks with his
thumbs. “I know,” he whispered. “But you must force that aside and do as I say.
You are my only hope and I need your help, not your tears.”

She swallowed hard, wiping her
nose and looking hesitantly to Kynan, who nodded firmly.

“Come along with ye, Jo-Jo,” he
reached out and grasped her arm. “Let’s take ye out of here.”

Panic flashed in her eyes but
Stephen squeezed her gently, kissing her on the cheek. “Go,” he murmured. “I
will see you soon.”

She threw her arms around his
neck, kissing him furiously, painfully. “I love you,” she whispered between
sniffles and kisses. “I love you more than life, Stephen, and I swear this is
not the end. I swear it.”

Stephen returned her kisses,
tasting her tears. He seriously wondered if this would be his last taste of
her. “And I love you,” he murmured. “You are everything to me, Jo-Jo. Never
forget that. Now hurry and leave before de Velt alters his decision and keeps
you here. I could not bear it if that happened.”

She was a mess, sobbing and
weeping, but she yanked herself away from Stephen and threw herself against
Kynan. Kynan took hold of her and very quickly took her from the room, fearful
that de Velt would change his mind and not allow her leave. The man could have
just as easily made a whore out of condemned man’s wife. Once Kynan and Joselyn
had fled the solar, de Velt turned to Stephen.

His dark eyes were cool,
appraising.  Stephen met his gaze without emotion, not wanting to hasten what
was to happen to him by saying the wrong thing.  He needed to give Tate time to
figure out a plan.  He needed to give Joselyn time to get free of Berwick.   If
he thought about it, he was frightened, but not for himself; death did not hold
fear for him.  But he was frightened for his wife and unborn child and what
would become of them. He very much wanted to see his son.

De Velt chased everyone else from
the room after Joselyn and Kynan fled, bolting the door when the chamber had
emptied.  It was a surprising move and one that had Stephen apprehensive.  He
watched De Velt closely as the man resumed his seat on the stool and faced
Stephen with his cool demeanor.

“Now,” he said quietly. “You and
I will speak of what Edward’s intentions for Berwick are. Why did he station
you here, Pembury? Is he planning on launching invasions into Scotland to
secure the country for himself?”

Stephen gazed steadily at de
Velt, not surprised by the line of questioning. As he had done to Kynan for
weeks, now he was to be on the receiving end. As he continued to watch de Velt,
a thought suddenly occurred to him. He deduced that he had nothing to lose by
pursuing it; time, and his life, was ticking away.

“I would rather speak of
something else,” he countered. “You, for instance; everyone knows that your
loyalty is to whoever pays you the most. There is no shame in that, of course,
but I would like to know how much Moray is paying you to cut my head off.”

De Velt’s lips twitched. “Does it
matter? Do you truly wish to know what you are worth?”

Stephen’s cornflower blue eyes
fixed on him. “Whatever it is, I will double it plus grant you titles which
belong to me.  Let me go and it all becomes yours.”

De Velt lifted an eyebrow. “You
think to bribe me, Pembury?”