Nicola Cornick - Lord Greville's Captive

She spun around so quickly that, on the table beside her, the wine cup trembled and almost fell.

‘You will not do it!’ Her voice broke, betraying her desperation. ‘I trusted you! I came here in good faith to negotiate a truce.’

She saw Simon’s expression harden. ‘As I said before, it is best to trust no one.’

There was silence for a brief second. Anne looked at him. Clearly, the memories she cherished of their previous acquaintance had been misleading. In her mind’s eyes she could still recall that long, hot summer at Grafton four years ago when Simon Greville had courted her—and kissed her with such passion and tenderness that she had tumbled into love with him. In all the time that had followed she had never met another man who had measured up to her memory of him. Consciously or unconsciously she had judged all men by his standard—and found them wanting. And now it seemed that it was her judgement that had been lacking. Simon Greville had no honour and no integrity and would use her for his own ends.

Physically he looked much the same. He had filled out over the intervening years so that now he was not only tall but broadly built as well. He was very dark, with the watchful gaze and the chiselled, patrician looks of a plaster church saint. Unlike his brother, he seldom smiled. But Henry Greville was little more than a charming boy. Simon was a man and altogether more formidable. He was powerful, cold, calculating—and merciless. She should have seen it. She should have run when she had the chance. Instead she had been lulled into a false sense of security by believing Henry and trusting her memories of his brother. She had put her safety in this man’s hands. She felt betrayed. All her disgust, with herself as well as him, rose to the surface.

‘I thought you a man of honour,’ she said. ‘It seems I was wrong.’

Simon was leaning against the door, arms folded, with a carelessness that she despised. It seemed so contemptuous. She could not see any evidence in his face that her accusation had stung him at all.

‘Perhaps there is no room for honour in war,’ he said. ‘You have played into my hands by coming here, madam. It would be foolish of me not to take the advantages I am given.’

Anne made a sound of disgust. ‘I thought you different.’ She clenched her fists by her sides. ‘Sir Henry swore that you were. It seems I made a mistake to trust him.’

Simon straightened up and faced her across the room. His presence was intimidating, but Anne was determined not to be afraid.

‘You thought that I was different from whom?’ he enquired softly. ‘Malvoisier?’

‘Perhaps. Different from most men—’ Anne caught herself up on the betraying words, biting her lip. She was not going to pour out all her hatred of Malvoisier here and now to this man who had proved himself her enemy. She had detested Gerard Malvoisier from the first moment he had come to Grafton, with his bullying cruelty and his way of riding roughshod over people to get what he desired. Their political alliance had held together by the merest thread. She had rejected his proposal of marriage and had been incensed that he had put about the rumour that they were betrothed. She looked at Simon, who was watching her with that dark, impassive gaze. He was not like Malvoisier—he did not bluster or shout or threaten—but he was twice as dangerous.

‘I mistook you,’ she finished starkly. ‘You are just like all the rest.’

She saw something like anger flare in Simon’s eyes, but when he spoke his tone was still even.

‘I cannot afford to let such an advantage slip,’ he said. ‘Surely you understand? This way I may exchange you for Henry and no one is hurt.’

Anne felt the hope surge sharply within her. ‘You mean that once the hostages are exchanged, you will call off the assault on the Manor?’

‘No.’ Simon shook his head. ‘I will exchange your freedom for that of my brother, but Grafton must still fall to Parliament.’

Anne’s heart plummeted into her shoes. ‘So all you mean to do is buy your brother’s life with mine and then attack my home and my people anyway!’ She put her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of despair. ‘Your callousness disgusts me, Lord Greville! You once promised my father to give your protection to this land!’

This time she heard the answering spurt of rage in Simon’s voice. ‘I regret that you see matters that way, madam,’ he said. ‘This is war—’

Anne’s voice was contemptuous. ‘Always you seek to justify your actions with that phrase!’ She braced her hands on the back of one of the chairs. Simon’s sword belt still rested there. She could feel the leather smooth beneath her fingers.

‘Let us hope that Malvoisier thinks this bargain worth the making,’ she said. ‘I am not certain that he will.’

‘Of course he will,’ Simon said. ‘You are the King’s god-daughter.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Anne said, and she could not keep the bitterness from her tone. ‘He will save me for that reason if no other.’

There was silence. The fire hissed. The room felt very hot now and heavy with the turbulent emotions between them. Anne suddenly flung her arms wide in fury, encompassing the table and its scattering of parchment. She was trying to keep her anger mute and under control, but it was difficult when she wanted to rail at him in her frustration and misery.

‘Send to him, then!’ she said. ‘Why do you delay? Tell Malvoisier that you hold me hostage. My father is dying and I would rather be by his side than trapped here with you.’

Simon drained his second glass of wine and placed the goblet carefully on the table. His precision maddened Anne when she felt so close to losing control.

‘I do not intend to negotiate with Malvoisier now,’ he said. ‘I will wait until the morning, when he drags Henry up on to the battlements to parley. Then I shall bring you out and strike a bargain with him.’

Anne whitened. ‘Damn you! In that time my father may die, and you keep me from him.’ She started to walk towards the door again. ‘Well, if you wish to restrain me you must do so by force. I’ll not go quietly with your plans!’

Simon moved between her and the door. He spoke quietly. ‘Do not resist me, Lady Anne. If you make a scene before my men, it will end badly for you. They may have let you in here, but they will not let you out against my orders.’

Anne flashed him a look of challenge. ‘Lay a hand on me, Lord Greville, and I shall bite you.’

‘That would be a mistake.’

He moved before Anne could respond, grabbing her by the upper arms, dragging her against his body and holding her close with an arm about her waist. His grip was fierce and unrelenting. She tried to twist out of his arms, but he held her cruelly tight.

‘Yield to me,’ he said in her ear.

‘Never!’ Anne tried to kick him. ‘You may go to the devil!’

Simon laughed. ‘No doubt I shall do so in my own time. Now yield to me.’

In answer Anne turned her head and fastened her teeth on one of the hands that held her. She knew it pained him and felt a violent rush of satisfaction. Simon swore savagely under his breath and wound his hand into her silky black hair, ruthlessly pulling her head back. It did not hurt, but it rendered her incapable of further struggle without causing herself pain.

‘Little wildcat!’ he said. ‘Surrender to me.’

Anne hesitated. She knew there was nothing she could do. She had to concede even though she hated to do it.

She relaxed a little and felt his grip ease in her hair. Her mind was whirling. She could not surrender to him. She surrendered to no one. There had to be another way…

‘If I promise not to run,’ she said, ‘you must release me so that we may talk.’