You are also responsible for the welfare of your unwed sister."
"Rexana," the lad said.
"Aye, the Lady Rexana." An image of Darwell's hand, fondling the plump orange, flitted through Fane's thoughts. Mayhap one day soon, he would meet the lovely lady for himself.
Villeaux's gaze sharpened. "If you dare hurt her —"
"I have no intentions of harming her," Fane said easily. "Yet, her fate depends on yours, does it not? If you die a traitor, you stain not only your honor, but hers. The crown will seize your holdings and grant them to another lord. What will happen to Rexana?"
The lad's mouth trembled. His gaze darted past Fane to the other conspirators' cell. "What do you care?"
Fane shrugged. "I have not even met her, yet I vow she is important to you. You would be wise to think of her, if you have not already done so, before you make a final decision on whether to cooperate."
The brooch tilted in Fane's curled hand. A reminder. The warm metal represented a promise. Before this meeting ended, he would have an answer to the question that chewed at him like an annoying camel.
His thoughts turned to the dancer awaiting his return, and desire stirred his blood. He fought to keep his voice controlled. "There is another woman, as well, you must consider." Fane shifted his hold on the brooch, caught the little arrow from pointed tip to feathered fletching, then raised it between his fingers. He held it to the bars.
In the shadowed, smoky light, Rudd's face paled. "Where did you —"
"A fetching wench, aye? Exquisite breasts. Long legs-"
"Wench ?" Chains clanked, a violent sound. "How dare you speak so of her? God's teeth! Where is she?"
Triumph coiled through Fane. At last, he had found leverage with the boy. Though, he noted with dismay, Villeaux seemed to care more for the dancer than his own sister. "She awaits me in my private solar," Fane said, holding the lad's shocked gaze. "I look forward to seducing her."
Villeaux lunged to the end of his chains. His breathing turned ragged. Furious. Desperate. "Do not touch her, Linford, or I swear to God, I will kill you."
Fane laughed. Leaning one shoulder against the cell's bars, he dismissed the threat with a flick of his wrist. "The dancer told me you gave her this bauble. What, exactly, was she to you? You see, I have claimed her for my own."
The lad's eyes narrowed to angry slits. " Dancer? Your mind is addled. That brooch belongs to my sister. I paid a goldsmith to design it, and gave it to her myself."
Warning buzzed at the back of Fane's mind like a noisy, blood-sucking horsefly. Stunned fury crashed through him, even as he bit out the word: "Sister."
The lad nodded. "Rexana."
Anger roared through Fane, hotter and fiercer than the lust in his veins. His fingers tightened around the brooch. The dancer's exotic mysteries vanished. Evaporated, like the thin smoke from a stick of burning incense.
Cursed fool! He had sensed many contradictions in her, yet he had ignored them. He had allowed lust to rule his head — a mistake that, months ago, would have cost him his life.
Villeaux's voice slashed into Fane's thoughts. "How did you get her brooch? What have you done with Rexana?"
A harsh laugh exploded from Fane. "Naught yet." He turned and stalked across the dungeon. The darkened chamber blurred in a haze of angry red.
"Linford!"
Fane ignored the lad's urgent cry, the guards' startled mutters, and the frigid draft that swept over him as he lunged up the stairwell. He thundered toward the solar.
Lady Rexana owed him an explanation.
She owed him far more than that.
"See, milady? I told you we would safely leave Tangston."
Huddled in a corner of the moving wagon, jostled from side to side, Rexana glanced at Henry through the foggy night air. She ignored a prick of disquiet. How foolish to doubt their success. Each grinding turn of the wagon's wheels took them further from Linford's keep. She smiled. "You did. Thank you, kind sir, for your escort as well as your
"Rexana," the lad said.
"Aye, the Lady Rexana." An image of Darwell's hand, fondling the plump orange, flitted through Fane's thoughts. Mayhap one day soon, he would meet the lovely lady for himself.
Villeaux's gaze sharpened. "If you dare hurt her —"
"I have no intentions of harming her," Fane said easily. "Yet, her fate depends on yours, does it not? If you die a traitor, you stain not only your honor, but hers. The crown will seize your holdings and grant them to another lord. What will happen to Rexana?"
The lad's mouth trembled. His gaze darted past Fane to the other conspirators' cell. "What do you care?"
Fane shrugged. "I have not even met her, yet I vow she is important to you. You would be wise to think of her, if you have not already done so, before you make a final decision on whether to cooperate."
The brooch tilted in Fane's curled hand. A reminder. The warm metal represented a promise. Before this meeting ended, he would have an answer to the question that chewed at him like an annoying camel.
His thoughts turned to the dancer awaiting his return, and desire stirred his blood. He fought to keep his voice controlled. "There is another woman, as well, you must consider." Fane shifted his hold on the brooch, caught the little arrow from pointed tip to feathered fletching, then raised it between his fingers. He held it to the bars.
In the shadowed, smoky light, Rudd's face paled. "Where did you —"
"A fetching wench, aye? Exquisite breasts. Long legs-"
"Wench ?" Chains clanked, a violent sound. "How dare you speak so of her? God's teeth! Where is she?"
Triumph coiled through Fane. At last, he had found leverage with the boy. Though, he noted with dismay, Villeaux seemed to care more for the dancer than his own sister. "She awaits me in my private solar," Fane said, holding the lad's shocked gaze. "I look forward to seducing her."
Villeaux lunged to the end of his chains. His breathing turned ragged. Furious. Desperate. "Do not touch her, Linford, or I swear to God, I will kill you."
Fane laughed. Leaning one shoulder against the cell's bars, he dismissed the threat with a flick of his wrist. "The dancer told me you gave her this bauble. What, exactly, was she to you? You see, I have claimed her for my own."
The lad's eyes narrowed to angry slits. " Dancer? Your mind is addled. That brooch belongs to my sister. I paid a goldsmith to design it, and gave it to her myself."
Warning buzzed at the back of Fane's mind like a noisy, blood-sucking horsefly. Stunned fury crashed through him, even as he bit out the word: "Sister."
The lad nodded. "Rexana."
Anger roared through Fane, hotter and fiercer than the lust in his veins. His fingers tightened around the brooch. The dancer's exotic mysteries vanished. Evaporated, like the thin smoke from a stick of burning incense.
Cursed fool! He had sensed many contradictions in her, yet he had ignored them. He had allowed lust to rule his head — a mistake that, months ago, would have cost him his life.
Villeaux's voice slashed into Fane's thoughts. "How did you get her brooch? What have you done with Rexana?"
A harsh laugh exploded from Fane. "Naught yet." He turned and stalked across the dungeon. The darkened chamber blurred in a haze of angry red.
"Linford!"
Fane ignored the lad's urgent cry, the guards' startled mutters, and the frigid draft that swept over him as he lunged up the stairwell. He thundered toward the solar.
Lady Rexana owed him an explanation.
She owed him far more than that.
"See, milady? I told you we would safely leave Tangston."
Huddled in a corner of the moving wagon, jostled from side to side, Rexana glanced at Henry through the foggy night air. She ignored a prick of disquiet. How foolish to doubt their success. Each grinding turn of the wagon's wheels took them further from Linford's keep. She smiled. "You did. Thank you, kind sir, for your escort as well as your
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