Dance of Desire (47 page)

He spoke in jest, yet she visibly tensed. Her expression softened, and she laughed. "Milord, the only mischief I entertain is with you."

He chuckled. Leaning close, he began to whisper a naughty secret in her ear.

Footfalls rose above the hall's chatter. "Milord!"

Fane halted mid sentence to glance toward the commotion. Armed guards hurried toward him, their weapons drawn.

Silence fell in the hall.

"What has happened?" Fane snapped.

"Villeaux," a guard said. "He and the prisoners escaped the dungeon."

"What?" Fane slammed down the jug. Wine sloshed over the rim to stain the tablecloth.

"They are in the bailey. Villeaux has a knife. They have hostages."

Rexana gasped. "Nay!"

Barely holding back the fury scalding his lungs, Fane rose to his feet. "How did this happen? I gave orders —"

"I do not know, milord."

He exhaled on a growl. He looked down at Rexana, her face ashen. Anger and dismay roiled in his gut. Curse Villeaux for provoking a confrontation. Curse Villeaux for choosing to take hostages. The situation did not bode well for a quick recapture, for it could only lead to bloodshed.

How in hellfire had the traitors escaped their cells?

He yanked his jeweled dagger from its sheath.

Rexana's hand flew to her mouth. "What will you do?"

"Whatever I must."

Her chair squealed back. "I am coming with you."

"You will stay here."

Fane skirted the table, stepped down from the dais, and marched across the hall. The armed guards fell in behind him. He took the
forebuilding's
stairs two at a time, and threw open the door to the bailey.

Clad in a loose-fitting brown tunic and hose, Villeaux stood near the stables. His right arm was wrapped around a young boy's neck. Fane recognized the lad as one of the stable hands. A knife glinted at the boy's throat.

An eating dagger.

Fane scowled. He had forbidden implements of any kind to the prisoners. Who had dared to defy his orders? Rage blazed through him. He would find out, and they would pay dearly.

A pained grunt drew his gaze to the other three traitors who stood near Villeaux. They wielded swords, stolen from the dungeon guards. They stood over one of the guards, whom they had forced to kneel in the dirt. Blood ran down his face. He swayed from side to side, as though on the verge of fainting.

With measured strides, Fane crossed to Rudd. "Let the boy go."

Rudd smiled. The knife edged higher. The lad's eyes flared with fear. "He comes with me. I will not release him and let you kill me."

In the near distance, Fane heard a woman's scream. The boy's mother. Her cry became hysterical sobs.

"Mama." The lad's face crumpled. Tears welled in his eyes.

Fane sensed Rexana step into the bailey. For an instant, no more than the space of a blink, Rudd looked at her. Then, his gaze shot back to Fane.

Awareness of Rexana whooshed through Fane, even as his anger surged. He had told her to stay in the hall. He had tried to shield her from the inevitable fight. Did she really want to watch him subdue her brother with brute force?

Frustration pressed like an iron fist against Fane's ribs. Forcing his emotions aside, he weighed his options. The archers on the battlements could shoot the three men, but could not wound Villeaux without harming the boy. Tangston's men-at-arms could overpower the escapees, but again, the child could be injured or killed. So could the guard.

The knot in Fane's belly tightened. Did he risk harming a defenseless child to recapture Villeaux? Did he risk the guard's life, when the man was newly wed and his wife expected a babe? Did he risk killing Villeaux, likely one of the rebel leaders and thus a key prisoner Fane wanted alive?

Were such choices not barbaric?

A grim smile hardened Fane's mouth. Villeaux might not have the stomach to murder a child before a score of witnesses. Villeaux might be bluffing.

Yet, he did not know Villeaux well enough to know for certain.

As though sensing his dilemma, Rudd tipped his head to the stable. "I want four horses. You will clear the guards from the gatehouse and let us pass."

"If I refuse?"

Rudd's expression darkened. He no longer looked like a misguided youth, but a determined man. "I will slit the boy's throat. My friends will kill your guard. Their deaths will be on your conscience."

"You would kill a child?"

For the briefest moment, hesitation flashed in Rudd's green eyes. His fingers curled tighter around the knife's hilt. "Do not force me, Linford."

"Rudd," Rexana cried. "Nay!"

Fane heard her skidded footsteps a moment before she reached his side. She looked at him, her gaze frantic. "Let me go to him. I can reason with him."

"You will go no closer." Fane looked back at Rudd. "He is armed and trapped."

"He will not harm me."

Fane's jaw tightened until it hurt. His stomach twisted, as though a knife had plunged into his flesh. It was not mere coincidence that the day she delivered Rudd clean garments he escaped the dungeon. Had she slipped him the dagger? Had she brought about this wretched dilemma? He would ask her, as soon as he resolved the imminent danger.

Fane signaled to the men-at-arms who had moved into the bailey. Two approached. "Escort Lady Linford to safety," Fane muttered. "Keep her well away from these ruffians."

The men guided Rexana back toward the
forebuilding
.

"Fane!"

He shut out her indignant shrieks. Strode closer to the rebels. A decision consolidated in his mind. One he despised, but the only choice to avoid bloodshed.

Yet, his decision might lead him to the rat's nest of traitors.

"You will have your horses." He ignored the shocked gasps that rippled through the onlookers. "Let me send stable hands to ready them."

The tension in
Villeaux's
face eased. "A wise decision."

Murmurs rose behind Fane. Biting back his fury, he ordered four horses saddled and readied. He sent a man-at-arms to the gatehouse, with orders for the armed guards to leave.

The rebels abandoned the wounded guard to mount their horses. They grinned in triumph.

Rage boiled inside Fane and threatened to explode.

Yet, if his plan developed as he hoped, he would be the victor.

As Villeaux forced the terrified boy onto the horse, determination burned in Fane's blood. Villeaux might think he had won, but this battle was far from over.

With an insolent whoop, Rudd urged his horse toward the gatehouse. The other traitors followed.
Hoofbeats
thundered on the drawbridge.

Fane turned to the servants nearby. He pointed to the injured guard. "Get him to the healer. See that his wounds are tended, and find his wife." He looked at his soldiers. "To your mounts. Now."

"You let them escape," the mother wailed. She swooned into the arms of two young girls, a hand clutched to her breast. "My son."

"We will bring him home safely," Fane said. "This I promise."

Shouting to their squires, knights hurried to the stables. Bridles jangled. Men-at-arms and stable hands led out horses, including Fane's destrier, which snorted and flicked its tail. The air hummed with anticipation of battle.

Fane set his hands on his hips. He glanced at the dust rising on the road beyond the drawbridge, then looked to where the guards had taken Rexana. She would answer to him now.

She was no longer in the guards' care. She stood a hand's span away, her hair mussed. How hauntingly lovely she looked. He cursed the appreciative groan that even now rumbled inside him.

Her guards hovered at a discreet distance. With a nod, Fane dismissed them.

He stared at her. Hard.

"Rudd would not have harmed that child," she said with quiet conviction.

"You do not know that for certain."

"I do."

Fane snorted. "I vow the brother you once knew no longer exists."

Anguish shivered across her face. She glanced away, as though fascinated by the noise and activity at the stables. His mouth tightened. She would not escape so easily.

"You gave Rudd that eating dagger. Aye?"

Her chin nudged up, even as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. She had done that the last time they coupled, just before she climaxed around him and sent his pleasure soaring.

Emotions warred within him, the desire to yank her close and kiss her, as well as the urge to shake her. Instead, he cupped her chin, forcing her gaze back to him. "I want an answer."