Besieged and Betrothed

He heard Ulf call after him, but he kept going, taking the keep steps three at a time. He didn’t want it to end like this. At the very least, he wanted her to know that he hadn’t meant to insult her. More than that—worse than that—he couldn’t leave without seeing her one last time.

He stalked back through the hall and across to the stairwell, already mounting the steps to her chamber when he heard a noise coming from the opposite direction, from the stairs leading down to the cellars. It sounded like moaning again, the same as he’d heard the day before. He turned around instantly, going back to the hall for a candle, before heading down into the darkness. The stairs looped around twice before he found himself in the cellars, but the space was barren and empty, the castle provisions long since exhausted. Slowly he made his way around the cavernous chamber, but there was nothing suspicious—though nothing that might explain the noise either.

Perplexed, he started back up the stairs, one hand trailing along the wall, so that when it fell away suddenly, he almost tripped in surprise. Looking closer, he found a small archway hidden in one of the embrasures. He must have missed it on the way down, taking it for just another wall sconce, but peering through the darkness he could see that it was actually the entrance into another empty storeroom, nothing of any interest... He was just turning away when he heard the moaning sound again, accompanied by the faint murmur of a woman’s voice—Juliana’s voice, in a soft tone he’d never heard before, as if she were soothing someone...

He took a step inside and looked around, belatedly noticing another small door in the side wall. Cautiously, he moved towards it, ducking his head under the archway before stopping abruptly, rooted to the spot by the sight before him.

There, lying on a straw mattress on the floor, illuminated by the light of a single candle, was the unmistakable figure of William Danville, ashen-faced but still very much alive. And bending over him, holding a cup to his lips and murmuring softly, was his daughter.

He must have made a sound, though he wasn’t aware of doing so, because she looked up suddenly, letting out a small shriek at the sight of him.

‘What are you doing here?’

What was he doing there? If it hadn’t been for his friend’s wasted, almost skeletal appearance he might have laughed at her indignant tone—as if he had no right to be there, as if she had every right to keep her father hidden away like a prisoner, as if she had any right to be indignant at all! He didn’t know if he felt more stunned, outraged or horrified. All three emotions were clamouring so loudly in his head that he could hardly think straight. He’d suspected her of hiding something, but never in his wildest imaginings had he conceived of anything like this!

‘It’s not what you think!’ Her voice held a distinct quaver of panic.

‘Really?’ He took a step towards her, the red mist descending like a veil over his eyes. ‘Then tell me what I should think, my lady, and then tell me what the hell is going on!’

* * *

Juliana leapt to her feet with a mounting sense of alarm. What was Lothar doing there? How had he found her? Hadn’t she told him to leave? He had been leaving! She’d heard the trample of hooves in the bailey just a few moments before. So what was he doing there now, looking at her as if she were some kind of monster? She’d just finished giving her father a sleeping draught, much as she hated to do it, but from the look on Lothar’s face it might as well have been poison.

‘It’s not what you think.’ She repeated the words helplessly.

‘I think it’s your father. Or are you going to tell me it’s one of your men having nightmares again?’

She flinched, desperately trying to come up with a way to explain. How could she say that it was and wasn’t her father? He’d think she was mad.

‘So this is the bargain you made with Stephen?’ He looked her up and down furiously. ‘It’s one thing to want to be chatelaine, my lady, quite another to hold your own father prisoner!’

‘He’s not a prisoner!’ She felt appalled by the accusation.

‘No? According to you, an hour ago he wasn’t even alive!’

‘I never said that! It was Stephen’s men who spread the rumour.’

‘You never corrected it.’

‘I couldn’t. I made a promise.’

‘To let everyone believe your father was dead?’

‘Yes!’

She took a deep breath to calm herself down. Losing her temper wasn’t going to get her anywhere. She couldn’t exactly blame him for thinking the worst, but she had to find a way to make him understand, to make him see that the situation wasn’t as bad as it appeared, even if he seemed too angry to listen.

‘I can explain.’

‘Can you? Or will you just lie to me again?’ His eyes contracted to slits. ‘What wer

e you giving him just now?’

‘It’s a sleeping draught. It helps with the pain.’

Dark brows bunched together. ‘Was he injured in battle?’

‘No. I mean, yes, but that healed weeks ago. It’s not for that.’