Baron Rutledge’s rotund face turned dark red, mottled with anger. “Spy? What are you talking about?”
A quick flick of the wrist, and Royce gestured at Leah, who still sat on the grass before them, stunned and unable to react. “The wench. Your whore that you sent to seduce me.” Leah flinched at Royce’s words and averted her face. Humiliation shot through her at the titters of the audience around them.
Get up and leave
, her mind whispered.
Run away from this
place, away from the humiliation. He doesn’t love you.
But she needed him to love her.
Rutledge’s eyes had narrowed in his face, nearly disappearing behind his cheeks. His eyes turned to her and he squinted at her, studying her rumpled appearance. Then, he turned to stare, incredulously, at Royce.
“She’s yours,” Royce said quietly. “I don’t want to ever see her again.” The squeeze on Leah’s heart lasted two moments – and that was when Baron Rutledge began to laugh, a wheezing, high-pitched sound. “You’re… giving… her back?”
As Leah watched, Royce’s features became even more stark with anger. “I am. Do with her as you like.”
The baron erupted into more laughter. “I’ve never seen the whore before in my life. Did she tell you that she was mine?”
Color crept into the high cheekbones of Royce’s face. “She can’t talk. She’s a mute.” Mocking laughter erupted from Baron Rutledge. “A mute spy? Do you think I’d take up with a mute for a mistress?” He laughed, his goblet sloshing wine all over his jerkin. Behind him, the crowd tittered, even more loudly. “The wench has taken you for a fool, FitzWarren. It’s amazing you were able to wrest my keep from me, if you’re felled by an ugly deaf girl.”
Mute, not deaf
, Leah wanted to shout, her brows furrowing with anger.
As she watched, Royce became more still than ever, though he kept his face composed.
“She’s not yours?”
The man just roared with laughter.
Royce turned his furious gaze on Leah, and strode over to her. She struggled to get to her feet, her movements hampered by her skirts, but before she could even get upright, she was picked up and slammed over Royce’s hard shoulder. The breath whooshed out of her lungs, and she choked in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment, black swimming at the edges of her vision.
The ride was a short one, and within a span of minutes, Leah felt the tent flap brush against the back of her head and the world around her became dark as they entered the tent. That was all the warning she got before she was tossed to the pallet of blankets. She winced and opened her eyes slowly, sitting up in the bed.
Royce stared down at her with an unholy hatred in his dark eyes. His breath came from him in short rasps, and anger flushed his face. “I’ll give you exactly two minutes to tell me who you are….”
Her heart breaking, Leah sadly met his eyes and gave her throat a gentle tap, shaking her head. No speaking.
A growl of rage erupted from his throat. Leah flinched and cringed back on the bed, but he didn’t approach her – he flung aside a stack of equipment, scattering it across the tent. “No more lies, Leah.” He turned, running his hands down his face, and she could see the line of his jaw flex with frustration. “I’m sick and tired of all the lies.” He approached the side of the makeshift bed slowly, his eyes locked on her.
Leah shook her head at him and averted her eyes, unable to do anything else.
His hands were on her face in the next moment, angling her face so she could look him in the eyes. Gone was the unholy fury, replaced by a different, harder emotion. Determination.
“Speak, Leah. I know you can. I heard you, down by the stream two nights ago.” Her eyes widened with surprise and she jerked away from his hands, her breath coming in short, panting gasps. He’d heard her speak? The enchantment that Muffin had her under was very strict, but eavesdropping had gotten her into trouble before. She shook her head furiously, tapping her throat in a constant, frantic reminder.
“I know the truth, Leah.” His voice was deadly calm. “Tell me the real story for once –
none of these fabrications that you let me assume, hiding under a veil of silence. Give me the answers I seek and I’ll let you go.”
But she couldn’t tell him. The hard reality of his words broke Leah’s shaky resolve and she buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
Everything was ruined. Royce would never believe her again. He wouldn’t look at her with affection or tease her. He wouldn’t fall in love with her in the too-short week she had left, and their final days would be spent in anger and hatred.
She’d lost everything.
Warm hands stroked her hair, and she felt lips brush a gentle kiss against her brow.
“Leah,” he murmured, the heartbreakingly soft tone back in his voice when he said her name.
“Tell me. What are you protecting? What are you hiding with your silence?” But she couldn’t speak, frustrated sobs racking her form, and for long moments, he did nothing but hold her as she wept, stroking her back and rocking her.
Unable to fight the selfish need for comfort, Leah tilted her face toward his, her lips seeking his in an urgent, frustrated kiss. She just wanted to kiss him one last time, a memory to cherish when she left with Muffin and resumed her Afterlife.
To be fair, she expected him to pull away. It would have been just what she deserved, after leading him on a string of lies that ended in his humiliation. But to her surprise, he returned her furious kiss with a response of his own. He gentled her, turning her frustration aside with slow, sensual kisses that made her want to cry anew with the tenderness of it. Softly, his lips stroked hers, easing away her fury and replacing it with a burning warmth and exultation. He wanted her. He desired her, even if he didn’t love her.
She’d take it, Leah thought, as he laid her back amid the coverlets and began to touch her body. She’d take whatever scraps he’d give her, and happily, until the last time she was able to see his face.
Chapter Eighteen
When Leah woke that night, Royce was still beside her. It was pitch-dark in the tent.
Beside her, Royce slept the deep, dreamless sleep of the exhausted. She sat up in bed and looked down at him, at the dark hollows ringing his eyes. He was worn through and through, and the lines of worry creasing his brow and his jaw didn’t disappear tonight, even when he slept.
She was the cause of those worry lines, she knew.
He rolled over in his sleep, his back to her, and Leah breathed a small sigh of relief, easing her body carefully out of the bed. The movements made her legs protest, sending flashes of pain shooting through her limbs, flashes that she was able to blot out for the most part, quelling them by biting her lip hard enough to bleed. She dressed in her nightshift and stepped outside of the tent, instinct telling her what she would find.
Father Andrew smiled back at her, dressed in his simple, drab robes. “Shall we go someplace private to talk?”
She followed him as he led her out of the encampment, past the endless maze of tents.
Lightning flashed across the sky, but not a drop rained – for which Leah was thankful. The impending storm seemed to be keeping everyone inside, for the grounds were nearly deserted at this late hour, and occasionally when they passed a tent, she’d hear the soft jumble of voices and a low-pitched laugh.
When they were a good distance away from camp, he led her underneath a tree and stepped into the shadows. Leah eyed the sky warily, remembering the flashes of lightning, but followed his lead. He smiled at her, and her nerves splintered at the sight.
“Did you find it?”
Leah feigned ignorance, even as her spine stiffened, and blinked her eyes at him.
As she watched, annoyance swiped the smug benevolence off his face. “The tithe. Did you find it?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t even looked. She didn’t want to look.
Father Andrew pursed his lips, his posture revealing his agitation. “You must find it.
Baron Rutledge is anxious now that he knows that Royce suspects something. He plans on leaving the tourney tomorrow, and I must be with him,
with that tithe
.” He was leaving tomorrow? Oh, that was wonderful news. Leah bit her lip again to keep from smiling.
Father Andrew grabbed her by the arm. “You find this amusing, woman? Rest assured that if my plans do not work out the way I wish, I will make sure that Royce finds out your true nature, before king and all. How do you think his reputation would fare for all to learn that he had been consorting with a witch?”
Hatred swelled through her and she glared at him, fighting the urge to rub her arms from the chill he gave her. She no longer cared about her own safety, but the thought of him destroying Royce’s fragile reputation was enough to bring her in line.
He grabbed her by the arm. “I’ll have the tithe tomorrow?” She nodded, and privately vowed that she’d kill him before she handed him that tithe.
#
The next day, Leah’s legs were on fire.
It made it hard to concentrate on acting normal, and it was even more difficult when Royce pressed her body up against his and began to knead her ass, kissing her jawline. Leah’s inhaled breath was taken as excitement until he touched her cheek and felt the wetness there. He recoiled as if burned.
“Why are you crying?” Royce’s face transformed into all harsh angles, his eyes dark.
“Does my touch disgust you now?”
She shook her head and forced a half-smile to her face, her hands clenched, fingernails digging into her palms.
He wasn’t fooled. Instead, he stared at her as if she’d grown a second head. “I don’t understand you, Leah. How can you be so warm to me last night, and yet this morning my touch makes you cry?”
She began to gesture, to try and somehow explain. At Royce’s frustrated look, her hands dropped. She’d give anything to have her voice, to tell him the truth. Instead, she was stuck with feeble hand motions that no one understood.
Royce ignored her gesturing and glanced at the doorway to the tent. “No sign of my squire. No doubt he’s nursing a hangover or still locked in the arms of some cheap whore.” His eyes flicked her way. “I’ll need you to help me with my armor, Leah.” She nodded and took the item he held out to her, staring at the strange, shiny piece with the leather buckles. Now how was she supposed to figure out where this went? Her fingertips
touched a buckle and she studied his form, trying not to make it obvious that she had no clue as to what she was doing.
He was dressed in a thick, padded shirt that seemed too hot for the day. His leggings were dark and clung to his muscular legs, and she noticed he wore a different set of boots than he normally did. These were a thicker, darker sort. Maybe the piece of armor she held went over his boots? She glanced at the stack in the corner of the room. Each piece was wrapped in protective oilcloth, and, judging from the stack, there was quite a bit of armor to put on the man.
Leah shot a worried gaze at him. Was he jousting today? Wasn’t that dangerous?
Royce laughed at the expression on her face. “Worry not. I won’t die on the field today, and if I do, you’ll just have to find yourself another unsuspecting male to hoodwink with your big eyes and your long legs.”
She dropped the piece of armor on the ground deliberately, enjoying the angry color that flared in Royce’s face.
The tent flap opened, light spilling in. Christophe entered, rubbing his eyes, his hair a mess. Leah looked at him uncomfortably and stepped away, moving back to the bedside on feet that felt like they were being sliced by razorblades.
“My lord,” she heard, and winced at the scandalized tone in Christophe’s voice. “She has dropped your armor in the dirt!” The ring of betrayal in his voice was loud and clear. “You should have called me.” He bent over to pick up the armor piece, brushing off the shining surface with careful fingers.
Royce’s lips curled up in a self-deprecating smile. “You, I’m sorry to say, were three sheets to the wind and I had no one else available. And it was me that dropped the armor. I tried to buckle it on myself, with not much luck.”
“I see.” The disapproving tone in the squire’s voice did not change. “Allow me to help, then.”
He’s defending me,
Leah realized, and a blush settled over her cheeks. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or confused.
Leah sat down on the edge of the bed and grabbed the small embroidery hoop left out for her. It had struck her as odd yesterday that someone would have gone to all the trouble to pack her pathetic attempts at sewing, but now she was grateful for it. It gave her fingers something to do, and something for her to focus on. She watched as Christophe bent to one knee and began to strap the armor to Royce’s thigh.
Well of course
, she thought sarcastically.
Obvious that it should
go there.
Royce glanced over at her, as if sensing her thoughts, and gave her a thoughtful look as the squire strapped him in. She thought she saw his lips quirk up in a smile.
The minutes ticked on in silence as Christophe took each carefully wrapped piece of armor and uncovered it, then strapped it to his waiting lord. When he took one of the heavy arm-plates and began to strap it on, he frowned and turned to Royce. “Is there something already strapped here, my lord?”
“Indeed.” Royce glanced over at Leah, but she carefully averted her face, feigning disinterest, and picked at her sewing, using the needle to rip out a knot in the brightly colored embroidery thread. His voice lowered, and she saw him reach into the collar of his shirt. “I have kept the key to my lockbox safe with me at all times, though I cannot wear it during the joust.
Will you keep it safe for me? I trust you with my life when I trust you with this.” He handed a long, metal object to Christophe, whose features were lit up with solemn delight.
“I won’t fail you, my lord,” the boy promised fervently. “I’ve made sure to hide the box, and I’ll keep the key on me at all times. No one will know that I have it.”