Page 12 of The Captive Knight
He saw her throat flex and knew that she’d finally heard what her father had done, though he was sure neither she nor her father yet understood the enormity of the implications.
“Since Castelnau has remained in my family’s hands for two long centuries,” she said, “I am not the least bit worried.” She tugged on his worn, bloody shift. “Take this off.”
He eased away from the wall and then pulled the linen garment over his head before tossing it to where some dirty hay formed his pallet.
She turned her head this way and that, staring at his naked abdomen, bare above the waist of his linen braies. “Your bruises are finally fading.”
“No ribs broken.”
“And no injuries inside, apparently. But you must stay very still nonetheless. And your hand?”
He raised it to the light, turning it so she could see how much less swollen it was than before.
“I’ll survive now.” He dropped his hand and reached for a leg of fowl as well as a change of subject. “Why hasn’t your father sent me an envoy to raise the issue of ransom?”
“Be glad.” She leaned over his injured thigh, one long tress slipping over her shoulder to brush across his braies.
His stomach muscles clenched. “I don’t relish spending weeks in this cell.”
“Consider yourself fortunate. He’s not in the right state of mind for diplomacy.”
“Nor murder, since I live still.” But she was killing him in her own way, as that tress made tickling circles near his crotch.
“I didn’t think you’d be so eager to hand over Castétis, Sir Jehan.”
“I’m not.” He tossed the bone on the tray as he spoke around a mouthful of chicken. “I’d rather die from starvation first.”
She settled a level glare upon him. “If the way you’re eating is any measure, I doubt you’d choose starvation.”
Then Jehan saw himself reflected in her steady gaze, wearing nothing but his braies, eating like a beast, his chest covered with crumbs, and scowling at her. The ladies of the court at Bordeaux would swoon in fear rather than desire if they could see him now—yet this woman had the temerity to raise a brow.
He reacted by reflex. He didn’t really know why he did it, but suddenly he plunged his good hand in her thick, warm hair, watching himself do it with a measure of surprise. She startled but did not jerk away. He searched her features for similarity to her father so he would have reason to dislike her, but he lost his intent as her dewy lips parted, as her breath rushed between her white teeth, as the skin-warmed perfume of the woman rose up from the gape in her kirtle to make a muddle of his thinking again. Her eyes were like gilded brown velvet. Her skin had the dewy texture of a young peach.
The half-wit was on his feet and the guard had pulled his sword, but she waved a hand to ward them off.
“You’re feverish, Sir Jehan.” Her gaze was as steady as that of a tournament knight across a jousting field. “Release me so I can see to your leg wound.”
“You should fear me.”
“I know how weak you are.”
“You would be the perfect instrument of my vengeance.”
“I saved your life.”
“To make up for the murder of my men, my young squire?”
“Nothing ever will.” A flutter of remorse crossed her face. “But my father’s men tell me you’re a chivalrous knight, despite your thievery.”
Thievery.
The word plunged as deep as any dagger and made him loosen his grip. Her hair slipped through his fingers like silk. She couldn’t possibly know how he’d spent his years before bending a knee to the Prince of Wales. He wasn’t proud of the things he’d done on the hills of Gascony when he’d had only a sword and a good, if tattered, name. Chivalry wasn’t a code that leant well to survival, but he’d put all that behind him.
He said, “What’s this talk about thievery?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She gestured for the guard and the boy to ease their stances and then flung open a sack by her side. “You stole my dowry lands.”
“I gained Castétis fairly, by force of arms.” He couldn’t deny he’d known that the house of Tournan had some claim upon Castétis, but when he seized it, it had been all but abandoned. “No one was guarding it. No one came to defend it—”
