“Good,” Royce murmured. “Let us not speak of this again until it is time to give the gold to King Henry. Understood?”
The hairs on Leah’s neck prickled, and she sensed both were looking over at her. Tears blurred her eyes, making her wobbly stitches even more difficult to see. So Royce didn’t trust her. She wasn’t surprised.
And now she knew where the tithe was. And who to steal it from.
#
Leah stayed in the tent the rest of the afternoon, unable to concentrate on anything. The tiny dragonflies she’d been attempting to stitch had long since gone to the wayside, and she contented herself with stitching loose, careless lettering, daydreaming and trying not to think about what she’d have to do tonight.
Leah FitzWarren
, she stitched, then frowned at it.
Lord
Royce and Lady Leah
, came next, but the idea seemed so absurd and pretentious that she picked out all the stitches immediately and tossed the sewing aside.
I should be stitching Leah the Liar, or Leah the Jerk,
she thought moodily.
Leah the Half-fish. Leah the Failure, soon to be permanently dead.
She picked up the sewing and stared at it, imagining the hateful words. Could she do it?
Could she betray Royce like she planned?
Leah thought for a long moment, then began to stitch.
#
When the light had faded too much for her to see her stitches, Leah set down her sewing and rubbed her eyes.
The tent flap opened, and Leah shoved the embroidery behind her, thrusting it under the coverlets. Her back straightened and she smoothed her hair self-consciously.
It was only Christophe. She slumped a bit to see him, disappointment sucking the breath out of her lungs.
Christophe’s round face twisted in a smile. “Sorry to disappoint you, but Royce won’t be returning until late tonight. He’s dining with the king, and he asked me to check on you, and that I bring him…” He looked at her suspiciously. “…Something.” Something like a tithe. Leah swallowed hard, tension erupting through her body. Now was her chance. Now was her moment. The sun was low in the sky, which meant Father Andrew would return soon, and demand the tribute.
And so Leah fell to the ground, feigning a collapse, sliding in a graceless heap next to the bed.
“Leah?” Christophe’s voice wavered and cracked on the last note. “Are you well?” She forced herself to remain still, sliding her fingers around the never-used chamberpot that had been left for her convenience.
Calloused hands grabbed her by the arm and turned her over, and she blanched at the burning pain in her legs. “Mistress?” He turned her over slowly and tapped her cheek lightly, trying to waken her. “Madam?”
Her eyes slid open a crack.
He scowled at her. “‘Tis a cruel trick you pull—”
She slammed the chamber pot down on his head with all the force she could muster, and a resounding ‘crack’ echoed in the small tent. Christophe’s expression slackened, and his eyes rolled back and he collapsed on top of her.
Well, that had worked. Sort of.
She pried him off of her legs, sobbing silently at the bone-deep, fiery pain. No time to think about that now. Leah slid him over to the side, surprised at how heavy a man’s dead weight could be. Her hands shaking at what she just did, Leah searched his body for the key.
It wasn’t on him. The only thing she found were a few coins and a small, plain dagger at his belt.
She nearly burst into tears of frustration. Of course he wouldn’t have it on him. If it had been her, she’d have buried it somewhere and watched it from afar. Keeping it on you meant that you left it open for others to take. What was she going to do now?
Her gaze swung to the bed, and she remembered the small pouch that held her gold belt.
Father Andrew had never seen it. Joy shot through her, and she stumbled to the table on awkward, burning legs. Her fingers wrapped around the velvet bag, which she had embroidered with tiny swirls. The cord was a thick gold scrap of cording that had been too lovely to pass up.
It looked fancy. Throw in a couple of coins and a few stones, and it’d be a heavy pouch.
Surely enough for a tithe of gold coin or jewelry?
Heart hammering, Leah dug through Christophe’s pockets and tossed the coins she found there into the bag. It jingled a little, but the heavy weight of the necklace was comforting. She dropped a few other small items in the bag to flesh it out. A few pebbles that she found packed into the earth that made up the floor of their tent, a few buckles stolen from the remnants of
Royce’s armor, and within a few minutes she had a heavy, thick bag. The beautiful belt lay on top of the pile, and when she opened the bag, it winked out at her, reminding her of what she was about to do.
She didn’t even have to think twice. If giving up the chain that he’d given her – that she’d cherished – meant that she could save him, she was all for it.
Leah slid her shoes on over her painfully throbbing feet and went to find Father Andrew.
#
She found the priest just behind a nearby tent, which was a good thing, because her legs were going to give out on her any minute. Leah stumbled toward him, breathing heavily.
“Leah?” The priest held a note of surprise in his voice. “You are here early. I had not thought you would try to get away until much later into the evening. Did you get what we seek?” No ‘
how are you doing
’ or ‘
are you well
’ for her. Leah forced the wry twist of her mouth into a straight line and straightened herself, ignoring the blistering pain that it caused. Her fingers clutched the fake tithe close to her chest, and it was with feigned reluctance that she extended her hand and held it out for him to see.
Father Andrew sucked in a breath, looking at her incredulously. His fingers shook as he reached for the pouch, and glanced around furtively, as if terrified that someone would come and snatch it out of his hand. He loosened the cord and opened the bag, and Leah’s heart leapt to her throat as she watched his face. Would he discover her trick?
“Marvelous,” he breathed, closing the sack once more and tucking it into his belt. “You have done a wonderful job, Leah. For a time I thought you might not betray Lord Royce, since it
seemed by all accounts that you were truly in love with the man, but I suppose all women are weak creatures.”
Screw you, buddy
, she wanted to shout, but she shook her head and gave him a small half-wave, trying to communicate that she was done with him. All she wanted now was to crawl back into Royce’s bed and wait.
Leah turned away from the priest, intending to head back to her tent, and nearly bumped into a man that had come up behind her. A few other men melted from the shadows behind him, and Leah’s skin began to prick nervously.
“Well, well.” The voice was familiar to her, though she couldn’t place her finger on it.
Even more familiar, though, was the short, stocky form and the reek of old wine and unwashed skin.
“Fancy that we should meet the whore that the bastard FitzWarren has placed on high.” Baron Rutledge. Leah winced, backing away from the man. The way he stared at her made her skin crawl. A hand clasped her arm, pinning her in the spot, and Leah looked backward to stare into Father Andrew’s excited face.
“She has brought us his tithe, my lord. We can break him!” The baron’s eyes bugged as he looked at Leah, then slid back into the lazy, calculating smirk. “She did? Well now, she’s quite the brazen thing, given that Royce is dining with the king at the moment, and could return any minute now. Perhaps she’s tired of the bastard and wants a real man in her bed.” With one hand, he reached out to skim her breast.
She slapped his hand away, stumbling back against the priest. Her leg crashed into his, sending a wave of liquid agony through her body, and her knees buckled. She collapsed against the priest with a whimper.
“What’s wrong with her?” The baron eyed Leah as if she had the plague. “Is she carrying FitzWarren’s brat? Women are always fainting when they’re with child.” Father Andrew released her quickly, stepping to the side and leaving Leah to stumble, struggling to keep upright. “I don’t know if she is,” he said, scandalized. “I did not think about it.
She has not been sharing his bed long.”
Baron Rutledge grunted. “If she is, think what that’ll do to him. First, his good standing with the king, then his whore, carrying his first-born. The bastard’s bastard.” He roared with laughter, then glanced around furtively. “You said you had the tithe?”
“I do,” the priest confirmed. “Rich necklaces and much coin. Feel how heavy the bag is.” He held it out to Rutledge.
The baron hissed and waved a hand. “Keep it hidden. If Royce is still with the king, we still have time to escape before he realizes it’s gone.” He turned to his two guardsmen behind him. “Leave the tents, but tell the men to pack their gear. We leave in five minutes.” Leah could have cried with relief. They’d be gone and hopefully long down the road before they realized her treachery. Royce would give the king his tithe and they’d be safe. The pain in her legs was worth everything at the moment.
When the three men turned to leave, Baron Rutledge grabbed the closest one by the arm.
“You. Stay.” The baron glanced over at Leah, who stood off to the side, wilting. “Take the sick wench and put her on one of the horses.”
“My lord,” Father Andrew said, a hint of worry in his normally sweet voice. “Are you sure that is wise? The wench cannot tell Lord FitzWarren where we have gone – I do not think it would be a problem to leave her behind.”
Leah’s captor overpowered her, and even though she struggled, she was flung over the man’s shoulder. Her legs thrashed as she tried to get away, only to have the man put a tight, confining arm over her legs that made her shudder with a new wave of pain.
“On the contrary, my dear priest. This could not work out more perfectly.” Baron Rutledge stepped to the side, ignoring Leah’s heaving form. “The bastard will think that she’s gone and stolen his money and run away with me… just as he always feared. Did he not fling the wench at my feet, thinking she was a traitor? He’ll place the blame at her pretty feet and by the time he’s able to get the wench back, we’ll have his bastard son in tow. And he can pay a fine ransom for him, as well.” His evil giggle floated through the air. “Now come. We must leave, and fast.”
The man holding Leah jostled her, hard, and his hand slapped her rump. The pain that flared through her body was great enough that blackness swam at the edges of her vision, and she tumbled into darkness.
Chapter Nineteen
The first thing that Royce noticed when he returned to his tent was that Leah was gone.
The bed was rumpled but empty, and the rest of the tent was untouched. There was a plate of dinner sitting on a nearby makeshift table that was congealed and covered in flies. No doubt it had been there for several hours.
Unease pricked along his nerve endings, and he shot a quick glance through the darkened tent, wondering if he’d overlooked her. “Leah?” He wondered if this was a trick of hers, to frighten him, and he’d turn around and see her beautiful, pale face smiling up at him from underneath the thick fringe of mahogany hair. Her green eyes would light up at the sight of him and the pretty fabrics he’d wavered on, until he finally broke down and bought them for her as an apology for the way he’d been acting. He wanted to see her dressed in nice things. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t – wouldn’t – talk to him. He’d coax her and romance her into being comfortable with him on all levels and then she’d speak, and he’d learn all the secrets about her that plagued his sleep, even as her soft skin plagued his daydreams.
Heavens help him, but he was acting like a schoolboy with a woman he couldn’t even trust.
A groan in the far corner of the tent caught his attention, and Royce stormed through the tent, seeking its source. His heart froze in his chest at the sight of the crumpled form lying next to the bed, and he knelt, turning the figure over.
One quick touch made him immediately realize it was not Leah. The smell of sweat covered the slumped form, and the second groan that followed was decidedly male.
“Royce?” The figure mumbled on the floor.
“Christophe,” he said, his unease clenching tighter and tighter. “What has happened to Leah? Who has taken her?”
The squire sat up, his hand going to his head. “Leah?” He said, his thought slow and confused.
“Yes,” Royce said, trying not to shout at the boy. “Leah is gone. Did you see anyone in the tent? Who hit you?”
Incredulous, the squire stared up at Royce. “Why, my lord, she did.”
#
It didn’t make sense, Royce thought as he paced his tent. He’d gathered several of his men nearby and questioned them. It didn’t make an ounce of blasted sense.
Leah had knocked his squire out – the only one with the key to his precious tithe that he owed the king. The tithe that would allow him to keep Northcliffe despite the uncouth way he had retaken it. The tithe that meant everything.
At first, he’d assumed she’d stolen it, and his heart nearly turned to ice in his chest.
But then Christophe had produced the key, and the tithe.
She hadn’t stolen it after all. A quick search of her possessions showed that she’d left all her things behind – her gowns, her cloak, even her sewing. The only thing she’d taken was her necklace that he’d given her.
So she’d needed money.
He thought back to the voice he’d heard her talking to, several nights ago. The voice that still played in his mind.
“But… I love him.”
Leah had said, her head pillowed on her knees by the shore of the small stream. Her hair had been wet, and she was dressed in a damp shift that clung to her form.
Seductive clothing. Clothing that only a lover should see her in. Her words had ended in a broken half-sob.
“I never thought this would be so hard. What am I going to do if I can’t make
him love me? I have to. It’s what I came here to do.”
The other voice hadn’t cared about her agony.