Suzanne Barclay - Knights Divided

She couldn’t afford to let him stay. “How much do you need?”

Cedric pursed his lips, but she saw the triumph edging them. “Ten pounds would see me out of debt.”

“Ten! What did you buy, half of London?”

“Nay. ‘Twas a scheme gone bad, naught more.”

“You have more schemes than a dog has fleas, and they always go bad. I don’t have much, but I’ll give you some of the precious spices, saffron and cinnamon, which you can sell in London.”

The crafty old devil shook his head. “I could not take your trade goods. I’ll just bide here till you have the coin.”

“I don’t have that much profit in a year.”

“I don’t mind rusticating a bit. London has grown tedious.”

Dangerous, more like. But naught short of a fire would drive him away. “I’ll tell Molly you’re staying, but I’ll not give up my bed. You can sleep in the workroom with Peter.”

“A pallet here in the solar would be warmer.”

“I’m certain it would be, but I’ll not spend my nights listening to you snore.” Her chamber adjoined the solar. If he slept there he’d see her coming and going from the storeroom.

“Very well.” Having gotten most of what he wanted, and doubtless smelling secrets in the air, Cedric smiled. It was the same, unabashedly roguish grin that Jamie Harcourt had worn when he attempted to seduce her.

Damn both men, Emmeline thought as she stamped off to inform her cohorts in crime that fate had added a new wrinkle to her own already precarious scheme.

The candle had long since gutted when Jamie heard the key scrape in the lock. As the door eased open, he closed his eye against the blinding flood of light and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Lying alone in the dark with naught but pain and the prospect of his failed plans for company had been a humbling experience. He’d been afraid they’d leave him here to die.

Jamie opened his eye. The fact that they’d left the patch on his left one gave him a measure of comfort. He hated exposing the worst of his scars to others. Especially Emma, for some reason. “I thought you’d decided to starve me to death.”

Toby ducked into the cell, a tray in his hands, a chamber pot dangling from one stubby finger. “Serve ye right if she did. Us waiting on the murdering scum like he was royalty.”

“That’s enough, Toby.” Emmeline followed him in, carrying linens and a candle. “Set the things there.” She jerked her chin toward a table in the corner. Above it hung shelving loaded with crocks. Jamie had tried and failed to reach it, thinking to break a pot and fashion a weapon. “Then go out and lock the door.”

‘I’m not leaving ye in here alone with him.” Emmeline sighed, and Jamie noted with grim glee the lines of fatigue bracketing her mouth. “He’s chained to the wall and cannot hurt me. I need you to stand lookout”. For whom? They’d not done that before. Was there someone about? Customers in the shop, mayhap? Jamie’s dulled hopes flared, but he kept his expression bland as he watched Toby go.

When the door closed, Emmeline moved in, stopping short of Jamie’s feet. Her gaze went to the linen wrapped around his head. The candlelight picked out the green flecks in her hazel eyes, making them glow like gemstones. “There’s blood on the bandage. I warned you not to move about or you’d reopen the wound.” “What did you hit me with, a sword?” “You cracked your head on a rock when you fell.” “Tripped…over a rope, I think, coming to your aid.” Her gaze dropped. “I do not normally resort to trickery.”

“Really? Your cry of pain sounded authentic,” he taunted.

She flushed, her expression remorseful. “I had to—” “So, you believe the end justifies the means?” “Only in this case.” She set the candle down and knelt to rummage through her supplies for a roll of linen and a small knife. “I’m going to cut away the old bandage. If you attempt to take the knife, I’ll stick it in you. Is that clear?”

“Very. Never argue with a wench wielding a blade. If you think I’m guilty, why did you not kill me in that glade?”

“I want justice.”

“Ah, a kidnapper with scruples.”

Her brows jammed together. “If you do not stop trying to bait me, I may be forced to bend my morals.”

“And cheat yourself of torturing me?”

“I am not torturing you.”

“What else would you call leaving an injured man in this dank cellar with a host of hungry rats?”

“Rats!” She pulled her skirts close and gazed into the shadows. “I don’t believe you.” An obliging vermin chose that moment to streak toward the table, likely drawn by the smell of his supper. Emmeline shrieked, leapt up and shooed it away.

“If you rattle your chains at them, it keeps them at bay.”

Emmeline looked disconcerted as she set the food down at his right side. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…” She blinked and glared at him. “Why am I apologizing to you?”

“Mayhap because you realize you are wrong to hold me here like this. Sir Thomas has already cleared me of the charges.”

“He no more believes in your innocence than I do.”

“Is he in this with you?” When she shook her head, his temper boiled over. “Idiot woman. What do you hope to prove by this? Don’t you realize that a confession obtained under such conditions would carry no weight with the courts?”

“It will.” Her face was so close to his he noticed the freckles on her nose. They made her look younger, more vulnerable. “When your sailors hear you have been arrested and are unable to coerce them, they will tell the truth, too. They’ll tell Sir Thomas you weren’t aboard your ship that night.”

How could she know that? Jamie groaned inwardly. Damn. Most of his men had been with him for years; they’d lie for him till the bitter end. But all it would take is one mistake to bring this whole scheme down. “I have no time for this,” he snapped. “Look, I have vital business elsewhere. I’ll do anything you say, if you’ll let—”

“Will you confess?”

“To a crime I didn’t commit? Certainly not.”

“Why? If such a confession is worthless, why not admit—”

“I may be many things, mistress, but I am not a coldblooded murderer of women, and naught will get me to say so.”

“Then I guess you are stuck here.” She uncorked a flask and dabbed a vile-smelling potion on his wound. It burned like fire.

Jamie yelped and flinched away, setting his chains to rattling. “You will rue the day you did this,” he said through his clenched teeth. Though he’d left a trail of broken hearts behind him, he’d never consciously harmed a woman before. But he’d make an exception for this one.

“Did you say something similar to Celia?” she asked.

Jamie swore vilely, but took no pleasure in her shocked gasp. He wanted more. He wanted her to pay for ambushing him and endangering his plans. But most of all, for making him want her, then deceiving him. “I never harmed your sister. Nor any other woman. I like women, and they like me.”

She snorted in disgust. “I despise you.” Fire bloomed in her cheeks, transforming her face, making it glow from within. Untapped passion trapped in a nun’s icy reserve.

The impact of her unconscious appeal caught Jamie like a mailed fist to the gut. The desire had blazed between them from the first. He’d admitted as much to her, and she’d used it to entrap him. No one used him.

Jamie struck with the swiftness that made him an excellent swordsman. Chains rattling, he snagged her around the waist and dragged her across his body. The impact caused the air to whoosh from her lungs and sent pain jarring through his head. He was too angry to care. There was enough play in the chain for him to roll over, trapping her beneath him. He had a moment to savor her panicky expression before she opened her mouth to scream.