Her silent gesture knocked into him with the force of a crossbow bolt. His chin jerked up, a ruddy flush covering his cheekbones. Eva’s aquamarine eyes fixed warily on Bruin’s face, watching for the slightest change in his hard expression, desperately wanting him to believe her. A welter of emotions ricocheted through him; he should have been outraged, incensed by Eva’s accusation, but strangely, he was not. She was telling the truth. He saw it in the trembling of her bottom lip, in the fearful guarded way she held her body; had seen it yester eve in the forest, when she had thrust the flaming brand into his face, mistaking him for his brother.
The silence between them lengthened; an icy breeze whipped through the passageway from the open window. Eva bunched her fingers into tight fists at her sides. It was evident from Bruin’s lack of response that he didn’t believe her. ‘It’s all right. I don’t expect you to believe me. But it’s the reason I don’t want to go to Deorham with you.’
He came towards her, tall frame filling the constricted space. The toes of his boots knocked against her own, hidden beneath the flowing hemline of her gown. He cupped her shoulders. ‘Eva, I believe you.’
‘Really?’ Through the gloom, the diamond glitter of his eyes pierced her soul. She clung to them, grasping their brightness like a lifeline.
Beneath his hands, the bone structure of her shoulders was fragile, a delicate cage; absent-mindedly, he rubbed one thumb against the cloth of her dress. ‘I do,’ he confirmed. ‘My brother has lived in England for many years now; before seeing him at Deorham, I hadn’t seen him since—’ he stopped, unwanted memories crowding his mind. Steffen telling him what had happened to Sophie, a smug little smile crawling across his face; Steffen holding out Sophie’s wet shawl, the ends trailing in the mud ‘—since we trained as knights in Flanders.’ Shame washed over him, vile and coruscating. He stared over Eva’s neat head, the gleam of her circlet and through the window, to the washed-out blue sky beyond. A buzzard hovered above the flood plain, feathered wing tips ruffling upwards in the stiff breeze as it fought to keep itself steady.
Beneath the solid weight of his hand, Eva shifted, sensing his distraction. Relief flooded through her; he believed her. Fear, that leaden cloak draping her shoulders, fell away, leaving her light, aware. Did Bruin realise how close he was standing? His knees bumped against hers, rustling her velvet skirts. She could see the individual stitches on his surcoat: satin stitch, chain stitch, making up one of the embroidered lions, the gold thread interspersed with blue. A labour of love.
A bolt of longing shot through her; earthy and visceral. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp, air pleating her chest. His nearness acted like a balm, soothing her frayed nerves, easing out the tension in her back. But in truth, it did far more than that. A kernel of need grew at the base of her belly, slowly at first, like a newborn fire, smoking and spitting, until it burst into flame, incandescent. A wild insanity ripped along her veins, a primal yearning that stretched every sinew in her body to near breaking point, vibrating and aware. If only she could lean into him, rest her head against his chest and squeeze him tight to her. And more.
Her head knocked back at her own shocking thoughts. Never before had a man made her feel like this, or think like this. She had to step away, move back from him, before she made an utter fool of herself. ‘Thank you, Bruin. Thank you for believing me,’ she stuttered out. She placed her palm against his chest, a gesture of gratitude. Taut muscle ridged beneath her splayed hand. To her surprise, he gripped her fingers, holding them tight to his ribs when she would have pulled away.
‘What did he do to you?’ He stumbled over the question, tongue thick and awkward in his mouth, not wanting to think the worst. If Steffen had raped her… His mouth twisted savagely.
Eva dipped her head, biting down hard on her bottom lip. Silver discs, engraved, studded the worn leather on Bruin’s sword belt; they swam before her vision. ‘I said it all in the hall,’ she murmured in a thin brittle voice. ‘Don’t make me talk about it again.’
His jaw was rigid; a muscle twitched below his cheekbone. His grip was strong. ‘Tell me one thing,’ he said. ‘Did he—did he take advantage of you?’ For some insane reason, the question was of the utmost importance to him.
Eva tipped her face up, skin gleaming like a pearl in the shadowy half-light. ‘You mean, did he rape me?’ she replied bluntly. ‘No, he did not.’ Although Lord Steffen had threatened her with it, she remembered, if she had continued refusing to sign the papers.
‘Then how did he know about your birthmark?’ The words stumbled out of him. ‘Steffen told me to look for it. When would he have seen that?’
‘He didn’t. The maidservant who attended me told him about it,’ she explained. ‘He did allow me to have the occasional bath.’
Thank God, Bruin thought. ‘How could he have done such a thing to you?’ he murmured roughly. Fuelled by a need to comfort, his other hand lifted, wanting to erase the fleeting look of emptiness, of utter desolation, that tracked across her breathtaking features. His thumb slid over her cheek, tracing a warm arc. The texture of her skin was like silk, a polished whisper against his calloused pad. His touch drifted to her mouth, brushing the fullness of her bottom lip.
‘He wanted my money and that’s all there is to it.’ Eva shuddered, but not with thoughts of Steffen. ‘He didn’t want me; he had enough women around him to keep him happy.’ Her heart raced as Bruin’s fingers tingled against her skin. Her blood thickened, pooling dangerously. Move away now, she told herself. Move away before it’s too late. Her breath snared, laced with desire; her pupils dilated, black pools radiating outwards to flood the sea-bright colour of her eyes. The exquisite sensation of his touch captured her body, held her prisoner. If she moved, Bruin would stop. And she had no wish for him to stop. Her lips parted, air rushing out from her lungs, expelling the faintest whimper, an echo of desire.
Bruin heard the small sound. Recognised it for what it was. Rushed on by a growing need, his self-control splintered. Tilting his head, he leaned down, touching his lips to hers. He roped his brawny arms around her back, winching Eva against the broad heft of his frame. His mouth roamed along the delicate seam of her lips, a trail of fire, of sweet sensation. The fire spread downwards, flushing the sensitive skin of her torso, diving deep into the secret recesses of her belly, and below, ricochets of liquid desire arching through the very core of her.
His big body crushed against her and her back flexed beneath the pressure of his chest, the hard, flat plane of his torso as he gathered her close, bracing her body against the stone window sill. His knee nudged between her thighs; she arched beneath him, muscles slackening. Beneath the insistent torment of his lips, her mouth parted and he groaned, deepening the kiss, his tongue darting into that sweet hollow. Time flew away, suspended in an airy bubble, a dream that encased them both.
‘Eva?’ Katherine’s voice called out into the corridor. ‘Eva, where are you?’
The weight of Bruin’s body vanished immediately. Eva found herself lying against the sloping window sill, nay, sprawled, like a wanton, a woman of the night, her breath emerging in quick, truncated gasps. Beneath her dress, her breasts throbbed, tingled with awareness. Scowling, Bruin yanked her sharply to her feet. The muscled planes of his face were tight and hard, his expression inscrutable.
‘Oh—there you are!’ Spotting the two figures at the end of the corridor, Katherine moved towards them in a gracious sweep of her skirts. She frowned, sensing the unspoken tension in the air between them. ‘I hope you’re not upsetting her again?’ she barked at Bruin, folding her arms imperiously across her bodice.
Eva’s face was flushed. Desire shimmered in her eyes, violet-blue. Seeking stability, her arm flew out, touching the wall lightly for balance. ‘No, nothing like that,’ she stammered hurriedly, scrambling to answer for both of them.
‘Eva has told me everything,’ Bruin explained coolly, his long eyelashes dipping briefly as he turned towards Katherine. He was composed, his face set into stern lines. The angled light from the window highlighted the golden tips of his tousled hair. Nothing about his demeanour suggested what had happened a moment before: his body sprawled across hers, lips devouring, seeking. Eva frowned at him, resenting his composure. How could he recover so quickly? Flames of yearning licked through her veins, like the aftermath of a storm.
‘Everything?’ Katherine frowned, her brown eyes darting quickly to Eva. Out on the window ledge a pigeon cooed, the rounded sound echoing through the arched window space.
‘He knows about—his brother,’ Eva confirmed.
Katherine’s fair eyebrows flew upwards and she glared stonily at Bruin. ‘I can’t quite believe that you and he are related,’ she said slowly. ‘Since your brother came into the employ of the King, his behaviour seems to know no bounds. The things he has done.’ Her voice trailed away; she shrugged. ‘He’s made a habit of preying on young heiresses, dividing their fortunes between himself and the King. And my uncle supports him!’
Bruin grimaced, the memory of the childhood games with his brother twisting in his gut. ‘I cannot speak for what he has done, but I am sorry for it.’
Katherine inclined her head, acknowledging his apology. ‘So you can see why Eva cannot come with you. Why she cannot see him again. She must come with me and the children.’
‘I disagree.’ Bruin shook his head, a firm distinct movement.
‘Wh-what?’ His words struck Eva like a thunderclap. She staggered back against the wall, her shoulder grazing roughly against the unyielding stone. ‘But I told you what—I thought you believed me about what happened!’ she cried out.
‘I do believe you,’ Bruin said calmly, tucking his thumbs into his sword belt. His voice was low, melodious. ‘But despite what he has done, my brother is dying. I cannot refuse to grant him this last request. I know it will be difficult for you, but I will be there.’
Eva’s face paled. Her mouth pinched together, ringed with white. As if he had slapped her. Her flesh, lithe and malleable from his kiss, now tingled with apprehension. His kiss had been a jewel, a luxurious gift that she had accepted gleefully, foolishly, with all the naivety of an innocent; now, with his abrasive announcement, it was as if he ripped that gift away, leaving her open-mouthed and gasping.
She clutched at Bruin’s forearm, her oval nails digging into the links of his chainmail. Fear pulsed through her. ‘I cannot.’ Her voice climbed with panicky shrillness. ‘I told you. Lord Steffen is lying to you. What if he isn’t dying at all—?’
‘I saw him,’ Bruin said, his voice slicing through her speech like a steel blade. ‘The blood was running from his head, his breathing shallow. Do you think I don’t know when someone is on the brink of death? I have seen it often enough. Eva, you need to be ready to go before the noon bell. I will be with you the whole time. Nothing is going to happen to you.’
Every word he spoke exacerbated her terror, so that it rose, mountainous and forbidding, paralysing her mind. She couldn’t think logically. ‘Katherine—?’ In consternation, Eva pulled away from Bruin, plucking at her friend’s sleeve.
Katherine folded her cold hand within her own. Her brown eyes challenged Bruin. ‘How can you force her to go through with this? After what she has endured at your brother’s hands?’
Bruin sighed. ‘I will look after her, I promise. And bring her back to you after we have seen Steffen. You have my word on that.’
Katherine was silent for a moment. ‘So there’s nothing I can say or do to persuade you from this course of action?’
Bruin’s pressed his lips together. ‘Nothing.’
Fingers of terror gripped Eva’s heart, clawed into the very soul of her. Everything she had known for the last year or so, the restricted, ordered life that she had built for herself after the horror of her captivity, had been thrown up in the air, disordered, topsy-turvy. As if she were standing on a raft, tossed by unpredictable waves, the wooden planks slowly disintegrating beneath the churning power of the water until at last she disappeared into those sunlit green depths.
And all because of him.
Mouth tight with mutinous dislike, she scowled at Bruin, trying to summon up any last remnants of courage. For if there was a time to be brave, to stand up for herself, then surely it was now. She felt betrayed. Where had the man gone, the man that moments earlier had held her safe in his burly arms, and touched his lips to hers? Eva straightened her spine, lifting her chin towards Bruin. ‘Well, I don’t care about your plans for me,’ she announced boldly. ‘I am not going to Deorham; I am not going to see Lord Steffen again and that is final.’ She pinned her wide blue eyes on Bruin, her expression hostile, acerbic. ‘You will have to drag me there, kicking and screaming, against my will.’
‘Then that is the way it will be,’ Bruin replied. There was no softness in his eyes.
* * *
‘Eva, I don’t see how you can avoid travelling to Deorham with him.’ Katherine was on her knees beside the oak coffer. The carved lid was flung back against the plastered wall. Katherine pulled out another gown, folding the velvet cloth expertly: sleeves tucked inward, skirts pleated neatly. Rising to her feet, she carried the bundle over to the travelling trunk and laid the gown inside. Silver embroidery decorated the generous hem: a trailing chain stitch worked into leaves and flowers winked in the sunshine streaming through the chamber windows.
‘He has no idea what his brother is capable of,’ Eva replied, hollow-eyed. Her own small bag was already packed with her few possessions.
‘It does sound like Lord Steffen is capable of very little,’ Katherine replied softly. She fiddled with the gown in the trunk, tutting beneath her breath, adjusting the skirts so that the fabric lay flat. ‘You heard Lord Bruin: the man is on his deathbed.’
‘And I do not believe it,’ Eva whispered, biting down hard on her bottom lip. ‘That man will do anything, even fake illness to gain what he wants. He knows I have the ruby and he wants it. That’s why he’s asked his brother to find me. I am the only person who knows where it is.’
‘But even if Lord Steffen is pretending to be ill, Lord Bruin has said he will protect you, Eva.’ Straightening up, Katherine planted her hands on her hips. She stepped over to the window, glancing down to the snow-dusted grass where the children played. A drawn-out shriek echoed up from below; leaning closer to the wobbly, hand-blown glass, Katherine frowned. ‘Remind me to speak to Peter; he’s being too rough with those girls.’
‘I will go down to them,’ Eva said.
Katherine stalled her. ‘No, it’s nothing serious. Martha is with them. Besides, now everyone knows who you are, you can be my nursemaid no longer.’
Eva pushed her palm up against her forehead. ‘How I wish that man had never come here; he’s ruined everything!’ A pair of silver eyes mocked her. The sensual curve of his bottom lip. Her heart jolted, edged with resentment. ‘Lord Gilbert has guards posted at every door, but there must be some way out.’
‘You are determined, aren’t you?’ Katherine threw her a smile. ‘I bet you’d even jump from that window and swim away down the river, if it meant you never had to see Lord Steffen again.’
‘I’ve done it before,’ Eva said in a small voice. Fear snagged her chest at the memory: the walk along the battlements with one of Steffen’s soldiers, her delighted exclamations at the sunshine, the panoramic views, all to put her guard at ease. To him, her slight figure posed no threat. She had shoved at his chest, leaping up on to the stone parapet and then—jumped. The dank green waters of the moat had closed over her head and she had struck out underwater, deaf to the shouts above. Eva was a strong swimmer; after what had happened to her mother, her father had made sure of that. Thank God, for it had saved her.
‘Of course,’ Katherine replied quietly. ‘I had forgotten.’
‘My God, that’s it,’ Eva said. Her mind leapt on the idea with quicksilver clarity. She knew what she must do. ‘The rope and pulley from the kitchen storeroom. There may not be a boat at the bottom, but there is a narrow shoreline to walk along. I can go that way!’
‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Katherine’s voice rose shrilly. ‘I only said such a thing in jest! Listen to me, Eva. Scrap any notion of escape, for that man, Lord Bruin, is sure to catch you, one way or another. Why can you not trust him to protect you?’
Eva hesitated. A pair of frosted eyes, challenging, intimidating, loomed before her. Firm lips claiming her mouth, her sigh of release, of desire. Hot colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Because I’ve never had to rely on a man, or need a man’s protection. And I’m not about to start now.’
‘Then maybe you should,’ murmured Katherine.
‘And what if I end up imprisoned again?’ A shudder permeated Eva’s voice.
‘I think you underestimate Lord Bruin.’
‘Why do you leap to his defence?’ Eva replied petulantly. ‘Anyone would think you are on his side.’
Katherine flinched. Her mouth pursed into a grim, straight line, and she began ruffling through the stack of children’s clothes piled on the bed furs, her movements quick and agitated. She snapped the fabric through the air; dust motes swirled, golden specks catching the light. ‘I don’t think you are in a position to choose.’
Eva glanced at her friend’s tense expression, disquiet trickling through her. She was being mean and thoughtless. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You have been so kind to me and here I am, thinking only of my own salvation. You have so much to bear at the moment.’
‘I don’t blame you for trying to think of a way out.’ Katherine’s smile was stiff. ‘Given what you have been through, it would be strange if you did not. But I do not want you to kill yourself in the process.’
‘But I have to try to escape,’ Eva replied. ‘You know me well enough. I must try.’
Katherine nodded, her slim shoulders slumping with an air of resignation. ‘So be it,’ she said. ‘In all honesty, I expected nothing less from you.’ Clutching Eva’s elbow, she gave her a little push towards the door. ‘You must go. But promise me—that you will come back to me and the children.’
Tears rose in Eva’s eyes. ‘The worst thing about all of this is leaving you. You have done so much for me.’ She threw her arms around Katherine’s tall, elegant figure. ‘Thank you for being my friend and for helping me when I had nowhere else to turn.’
* * *
Heart lodged uncomfortably beneath her ribs, her leather bag slung over one shoulder, Eva crept down the steep stairs. She wore a hooded cloak belonging to Katherine over her green-velvet gown; the long train slipped down the steps behind her, a slippery, insidious sound. Her leg was less painful today; the skin around the wound was knitting together. No doubt Bruin planned to come and fetch her from the chamber at the noon bell. By her estimation, she had time to reach the kitchens without meeting him.
And yet. The man was fearsome, unpredictable. He wouldn’t care about any bell, or any time that he might have told her. He could run up this stair and fetch her at any time he chose, demanding that they leave. Her breath snared. The angled steps, worn, dipped from years of tramping feet, fanned out from a stone column that ran like a spine up the centre of the stairwell. She stumbled, fingers flying to the rope banister for support.
The kitchens were busy; along the trestle table, servants chopped vegetables, kneaded rounds of dough, the yeasty, fermenting smell permeating the air. Flour dust rose, hazing the air. Heaps of peelings, apple cores, carrot tops, littered the well-scrubbed planks. A great cauldron hung on an iron chain over the fire, the contents bubbling furiously, steam billowing out. Interested eyes turned towards Eva as she entered, covert glances sliding away quickly as the servants marked her rich, expensive garments.
‘Eva?’ the cook said tentatively, wiping her floury hands on a cloth and coming towards her. Her sleeves were pushed back to the elbows, revealing strong muscular forearms; her face was flushed, perspiring from the heat of the fire. A look of consternation crossed her fleshy cheeks. ‘Forgive me, my lady… I mean, Lady Eva.’ Holding her patched skirts up, the cook bobbed into a brief curtsy. ‘We’re all a bit surprised. We had no idea that you were—that you were a—a lady.’
‘Greetings, Maeve.’ Eva gripped the cook’s thick hands. ‘I’m still Eva underneath all this. A title doesn’t change people.’ Her voice lowered, threaded with urgency. ‘Listen to me; this will sound strange, but I need your help. Can you find two men to lower me down on the winch in the storeroom?’
Maeve’s sparse eyelashes flew upwards in shock.
Eva rattled on, wanting to explain. ‘I must leave the castle and leave it now, without—without Lord Gilbert’s soldiers finding out. I’m in trouble.’ A pair of sparkling eyes chased across her vision and her heart pleated inwards, creasing with fear. What would Bruin do to her if he found out she was trying to leave? Would he beat her, as his brother had done? A shiver rippled down her spine, unsettling, and she threw a quick, worried glance behind her as Maeve seized her arm, steering her towards a dark corridor.
The storerooms were on a floor below the kitchens, the castle provisions of beer and ale stacked along both walls, round wooden barrels arranged in neat rows up to the vaulted ceiling. At the far end was an opening that faced out on to the river, the tall arch framing the bright blue sky. Two men, breath puffing white in the icy air, operated a heavy wooden winch, one turning the large handle that wound up the rope on a spindle, the other reaching out to grab and swing the barrel into the chamber. Maeve walked towards them, her thick arms jabbing the air as she explained Eva’s situation in low, urgent tones. They listened with bowed heads. Then their faces sprang up in shock and they looked towards Eva with grave concern.
‘But, mistress, it’s not possible! It’s too dangerous!’ The older servant, his beard thick and springy over his wide jaw, addressed her directly. ‘We’re too high above the river!’
‘It’s my only option, I’m afraid,’ Eva said, walking forward with quick, neat steps. She lifted the long handle of her leather bag over her head and shoulders, feeling the weight of it settle against her back, diagonally across her chest.
‘But you might fall,’ said the other man. Sweat coated his brow from the effort of pulling in the barrel, thin wisps of blond hair sticking to his forehead.
‘Believe me, it’s a risk I am willing to take,’ Eva said, desperation lacing her voice. ‘I am strong; I will be able to hang on. All I ask is that you lower me down.’
‘Please, Giffard,’ Maeve prompted, jostling the older servant’s elbow. ‘She’ll be able to do it.’
‘Then stand on the barrel and hold tight,’ Giffard advised. He held on to the rope and the younger servant eased the barrel still firmly attached to the winch rope to the edge of the opening.
‘God speed, mistress,’ Maeve said. Her fleshy face creased into a worried smile.
Eva climbed on to the barrel, grabbing the thick rope. The coarse flax whiskered against her bare hands. ‘I’m ready,’ she said. The younger servant shoved the barrel outwards and into the open air, where it swung slightly before bumping gently against the stone wall. The rope creaked and strained beneath the load. A stiff breeze rising up from the river caught her veil, blowing the material chaotically around her head. The older manservant released the winch slowly and she began to move downwards, her heart pounding rapidly. She kept her eyes pinned to the huge stone blocks that made up the exterior wall of the castle. Her fingers ground into the rope, her knuckles white, aching with the effort of holding her own weight. High above her, in the periwinkle-blue sky, a circling buzzard shrieked.
Eva was halfway down when the rope stopped with a sudden jolt. She swung violently, bouncing in the air. An angry roar bellowed at her from above, muffled curses raining down. If she looked up she knew she would see Bruin’s face, savage with rage, at what she had tried to do. Fear slid through her like liquid poison.