Besieged and Betrothed

‘And his soldiers?’

‘I can take care of myself.’

He clenched his jaw, trying to restrain his temper. ‘Very well. I’ll speak with him before I leave.’

‘There’s no need.’

He sighed. Was there anything she wasn’t going to argue with him about this evening?

‘Would you prefer that I didn’t?’

‘I’d prefer that no one gets hurt.’

‘Then I promise only to talk.’

She regarded him dubiously for a moment before the arrival of two new soldiers at the stairwell seemed to distract her again.

‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ Lothar frowned, perplexed by the sudden look of anxiety on her face. What was it about the stairwell that bothered her so much? She seemed to get jumpy every time anyone went near it. ‘They’re just relieving the guards. No one will disturb you upstairs, you have my word.’

‘Thank you.’ She avoided his gaze as she picked up the remains of her second trencher. Despite her earlier protestations, she’d hardly touched any of it.

‘Still hungry?’ He lifted an eyebrow.

‘I might be later. Will I see you again before you leave in the morning?’

He threw a quick glance in the direction of Sir Guian. It seemed highly unlikely that the Baron would be in a fit state to talk about anything before noon. Beating some sense into him would be far easier, but now that he’d promised...

‘Yes. We’ll break our fast here.’

‘Then I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight, Sergeant.’

‘Goodnight, my lady.’

He tapped his fingers on the table-top as she hastened away, unable to shake the feeling that he was missing something. Despite their conversation, she seemed more of a mystery than ever. Why hadn’t she slept? She’d said that it was because she’d been keeping watch on her men, but that didn’t make any sense. She must have realised they weren’t in any danger quickly enough, so why hadn’t she taken the opportunity to rest? Something was definitely worrying her, too, even more than the threat of Sir Guian. She seemed more anxious about the stairwell than she did about him, as if she were afraid of anyone else going upstairs. As if she were hiding something...

He remembered the sound of moaning he’d heard earlier, the one that she’d dismissed as one of her guards having a bad dream. In all the commotion he’d forgotten about it, but now he felt a tendril of suspicion. Not what, but whom was she hiding?

He waited another minute and then pushed his chair back, lighting a candle in one of the braziers before making his way towards the far corner of the hall, nodding at his guards as he followed her up the curve of the stairwell.

The tower seemed deserted as he made his way silently past her chamber door and turned the handle of the one opposite. He’d half-expected it to be locked, but it opened without any resistance, swinging wide to reveal a large made-up bed, two sturdy-looking coffers, and a small desk in one corner. Other than that, the room was completely empty.

He stood stock-still in the doorway, feeling as though he’d just invaded something private. This was clearly her father’s old chamber, kept the way it had been when he’d last ridden out to battle, though it retained a strangely lived-in feeling. Even so, it seemed highly unlikely that Lady Juliana would let one of her guards sleep there. He must have been mistaken in what he’d heard earlier. Either that or the sound had come from elsewhere...

‘Do you want to sleep here?’

Her voice at his shoulder almost made him drop his candle in surprise.

‘No, my lady.’

He turned around slowly. How had she known he was there? He hadn’t creaked so much as a floorboard—though neither had she, for that matter—and yet there she was watching him, still fully dressed, though she’d removed her headdress at least, revealing two loosely tied braids falling over each breast.

‘This was your father’s chamber?’ He grimaced as she nodded. ‘Then I’m sorry for disturbing it.’

‘Were you looking for something?’

She sounded wary and he paused, trying to gauge her reaction. She looked as suspicious as he felt, her green eyes glowing like a cat’s in the candlelight, fixed on him with an intent feline gleam. What would she do if he confronted her with his suspicions directly? Would she bolt or unsheathe her claws? Either way, he doubted that she’d tell him anything.

‘I was looking for clues.’ He settled on a different excuse. ‘Something to remind me about what happened last night. I don’t like mysteries.’