Besieged and Betrothed

‘Did you, Lady Juliana?’ Lothar ignored him, his voice dropping to an intimate undertone. ‘Perhaps when I was distracted?’

She inhaled sharply, taken aback as much by the deep, honeyed tone of his voice as by the fact that he actually seemed to be smiling. The effect was unexpectedly disarming, like the sun bursting out from between storm clouds. For a fleeting moment, his stern features were utterly transformed, still rugged and yet even more strikingly handsome. He looked more like a knight from some chivalric romance than an enemy warrior, a man she might truly be tempted by...

She tore her gaze away, alarmed by the thought. That was impossible. She could never be drawn to such a cold-blooded, fearsome-looking warrior. It was only her fear confusing her, not him. Definitely not him.

‘Our guest may do as he pleases.’ She spoke with as much authority as she could muster. She had the distinct impression that Lothar was deliberately trying to provoke her Constable, and her Constable was letting him. If she wasn’t careful there’d be bloodshed before they even made it past the gatehouse.

‘There’s no truce, just...’ she groped for a suitable word, ‘an understanding.’

‘But, my lady...’

‘Stand down, Ulf!’ She held his gaze until he stepped begrudgingly to one side, then gestured towards Lothar. ‘Shall we?’

She didn’t wait for an answer, marching ahead as quickly as she dared without making him suspicious. It was approaching noon and the castle cooks were busy making the best of their meagre rations, doling out bowls of pottage to a line of soldiers waiting outside the kitchens. She winced as they passed. She hadn’t wanted Lothar to see that. Bad enough that he could already see the full extent of their defences, but now he could see the condition of her men, too. If he did somehow manage to escape, there’d be no stopping him.

They reached the steps of the keep and she pushed on the door with a sense of relief, glad to be out of sight of her soldiers at last. Judging by their shocked expressions, they were just as scandalised by her behaviour as Ulf. Well, they’d just have to think what they liked. She could explain herself—and accept their apologies—later. If her plan worked, that was. Otherwise...

She pushed her misgivings aside, sweeping through the antechamber and on into the hall, her eyes turning at once towards a chest in the far corner. It was where she stored what was left of the wine, as well as other more potent substances in a small wooden box, the key of which she always kept tied to her belt. She wrapped her fingers around it now, gripping the metal tightly as she made her way across the room. Now if she could just open the box, pour the wine and mix one of her remedies into it without him noticing...

She heard a loud scraping sound and spun around, letting out an involuntarily squeak of alarm as she saw her companion draw the last of the iron door bolts.

‘So we’re not disturbed.’ Lothar sauntered towards her. ‘Though I’d lay good money on your Constable being right outside.’

Her throat tightened. Locked in! Despite what she’d said, it hadn’t occurred to her that he might do anything to ensure they weren’t disturbed. She had no doubt that her soldiers were close by, but if she called for help now, it would take precious minutes for them to break through. Not that she needed any help, she reminded herself. She was the chatelaine and she’d come this far by herself. She’d work out the rest, too. She had to.

‘Of course.’ She forced a smile, gesturing casually towards the hearth. ‘Won’t you make yourself comfortable?’

She turned her back on him again, unlocking the box and extracting a small leather pouch, taking deep breaths to stay calm. It was only a door after all, and if—when—her plan worked then she wouldn’t even need an escape route. She just had to concentrate, had to pour two cups of wine and mix the poppy milk carefully, get the measurements just right and make sure there was no residue left behind. And she had to hurry. She could already hear the tread of his footsteps crossing the flagstones, the swoosh of his surcoat as he cast it aside, the metallic chink of his chainmail... Chainmail? Her stomach swooped. What was he doing with his chainmail?

She clasped a cup in each hand and moved haltingly towards him. To her horror, she saw that he’d already removed both his surcoat and chainmail, leaving only his undershirt, hose and leather boots.

‘They were wet.’ He jerked his head towards the discarded pile of clothing.

‘Your chainmail was wet?’ Her voice seemed to have become alarmingly high-pitched.

‘You’d be surprised at how heavy it gets in the rain. You should get out of those damp clothes, too.’

She stiffened instinctively before remembering to turn her look of affront into a smile. After all, she was supposed to be flirting with him. This was supposed to be her idea. It was ridiculous to be offended, no matter how insolent he was.

‘There’s no rush.’ She tried her best to sound playful. ‘You wouldn’t want me to surrender too easily, would you?’

His gaze flickered down to her legs before travelling leisurely up again. ‘Forgive me, Lady Juliana, but I was under the impression that you already had.’

She caught her breath, every part of her body tingling where his gaze touched her. He was right about her clothes being wet. She hadn’t thought about it before, but they were moulded so closely to her skin that he could surely see every curve of her body. Not that she had many of those, but she might as well have been naked for all the protection her tunic was giving her. Her mouth turned dry at the thought. Now that his warrior’s face was finally showing some sign of emotion she wished it wasn’t. She wished he was a statue again. He was looking at her in a way that suggested he wanted more, far more, than just a drink.

‘Some wine?’ She held the laced cup out towards him. ‘I offered you some refreshment.’

‘I don’t drink wine.’

His voice hardened abruptly, as if she’d just insulted him instead of having offered a drink, and she froze in panic. Had he seen through her deception already, then? Was that why he’d locked the door? She felt her hands break out in a cold sweat and her scalp tighten with dread. If he didn’t drink, then she’d have no chance of overpowering him. What would happen then? What would he do to her?

She licked her lips to loosen them, pretending not to notice the frosty shift in his demeanour. ‘It’s from one of my father’s best casks, for special occasions only. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’

‘Taste has nothing to do with it. I don’t drink anything stronger than ale.’

Black brows drew together in a fierce line and then suddenly softened again. ‘But perhaps just this once. Since we’re celebrating.’

He reached for the cup with one hand and caught her fingers in the other, lifting them gently to his lips as her heart seemed to stop and then accelerate again wildly. Alone in a locked room, somehow the gesture felt more intimate than if he’d actually pulled her into his arms. His lips felt surprisingly soft and warm, brushing her knuckles with just the lightest of pressures, and yet somehow making the whole of her insides start to quiver.