King's Warrior (Renegade Lords)

That caused the faintest flutter in her chest. Traitors were hung. If they were fortunate. “I do not claim for the English king,” she said.

“True, but neither will your French king like to hear how you have thwarted me.”

“I am not in France any more.” She was between worlds; the truth struck her now.

Sherwood smiled. “You are whatever I say you are, Magdalena. And you will be wherever I say you shall be. Do you not understand?”

He spread out a palm toward the door, and she looked. His soldiers stood in the corridor, sentries standing on either side of the door.

Her heartbeat slowed, her mind whirled. Sherwood could be brutal, had been brutal, might well rip Tadhg limb from limb, partly because of that awful open wound now scarring his face. But her, he would do nothing to her.

Not yet. Not until she openly defied him. Play along, then. Use the time to think, to plan…

“Let us speak openly, madame.” His voice was low, coaxing. “I can repair the damage done to your life. Get you back to France, out of this endless adventure that must no longer feel like an adventure so much as a nightmare, yes?” His eyebrows lifted. “I will see you safely to your home, or…”

Her eyes moved to his.

“To mine.”

“Your home,” she repeated.

“Yes. I have several, and will soon have many more, in France. We can travel, visit them all. And then, when I must leave to manage matters of state, as I will often have to do, you can stay at whichever you most prefer. In the south, perhaps? You will like it there. It is quite warm. None of this snow.” His gaze traveled down her body.

“You want to take me to your bed,” she said dully.

“Very much. But more than that. I offer you a life. What kind of life did Tadhg offer? But with me… Just think. No more worries about money, or food, or warmth. No more endless toil. No more extortions from fat little mayors who cannot see your true beauty.” He sat back slowly. “Think hard, Magdalena. These chances come but once in a life.”

She stared at the wall.

“Take your time,” he said softly. “We have all night. For Tadhg will be coming back. And you and I will be waiting.”

Horror rattled her, shook her so deep she began shaking. She realized she could not sit here biding her time, thinking of clever ways to thwart and anger this man. The longer she sat, the more likely Tadhg was to return—where had he gone? Would he return?

None of those things mattered now. They were for another hour, another minute, another beat of her heart. Right now, there was only escape.

Sherwood watched her with hooded eyes.

She backed up.

Sherwood shook his head. “There is nowhere to go, Magdalena.”

She kept retreating until she hit the wall. Then, hands spread behind her, she scooted along it toward the window.

Sherwo

od got to his feet. “Magdalena,” he said sternly. “We are on the second floor, you cannot—”

She hauled herself up on the ledge, swung one leg over.

He thrust out a hand. “No!”

She glanced down, swung her other leg over, grabbed hold with her hands, and dropped out.

She heard a loud shout, and clattering boots, then she hit the haystack beneath the window in the courtyard.

SHERWOOD’S SHOUTS drew his men into the room. They turned at once, drawing their swords and shouting for her, but Sherwood stayed them.

“Go quietly,” he ordered. “Follow her to make sure she does not engage with anyone before Tadhg returns, then grab her and bring her to me. But do not draw attention to yourself. She is not the prize.” Much as he wished she was.