Lord Greville's Captive

‘What can we make the toast,’ he said, ‘given that we support different causes now?’

‘All men’s loyalties are tangled and confused by this conflict,’ Anne said. ‘It spirals out of our control. I know not where it will end.’ She hesitated. ‘I had heard that you were estranged from your father because of your allegiance—’ She broke off, colouring slightly.

‘You heard correctly,’ Simon said abruptly.

Anne looked away. ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered.

Simon felt her grief touch his own heart. His estrangement from his father was never far from his mind. Less than five years before he had sat beside Fulwar Greville in Parliament. Looking back, it seemed that the country had slipped almost insensibly into civil war. Fulwar had not approved of the King’s arrogance towards his subjects, but he had served the crown for forty years, had broken bread with his sovereign and could not forsake his allegiance now. Simon, on the other hand, had seen only a monarch who had gathered an army to fight his own countrymen and whose power had to be curtailed. When he had signed the militia oath to protect the Parliament he had seen his father’s face grow old before his eyes. They both knew what it meant. Did he honour his father or his country? His loyalty was torn for ever.

‘Perhaps the only true toast can be to loyalty itself,’ Simon said, ‘though it may mean different things to different men.’ He touched his glass to Anne’s and a moment later she smiled and raised her glass in silent tribute, taking a small sip of the wine.

‘Loyalty,’ she said. ‘I can make that my pledge.’

A flush crept along her cheek, rose pink from the fire and the warming effects of the drink. It made her look very young.

Simon sat back. There was no sound, but for the brush of the snow against the roof and the crackle of the fire in the grate. For a moment the room was as close to peace as it could come.

Then Anne broke the silence. ‘So,’ she said, ‘will you stand down your troops, Lord Greville? Do we have an agreement?’

‘No,’ Simon said. ‘Not yet.’

Anne started to get to her feet. Her hand moved to take the dagger from the table, but Simon was too fast for her. He caught her wrist in a bruising grip.

‘You are too hasty.’ His tone was smooth, belying the fierceness of his clasp. ‘There are questions I wish answered before we strike a bargain. Stay a little.’

He released her and Anne sat back, rubbing her wrist. Simon picked up the knife and turned it over in his hands. The firelight sparkled on the diamonds in the hilt.

‘This is a fine piece of work,’ he said.

‘My father gave it to me.’

‘And no doubt he taught you to use it too.’ Simon pocketed the knife. ‘You will forgive me if I keep it for now. I have no wish to feel it between my shoulder blades.’

Anne shrugged. Her gaze was stormy. He knew she was angered by his blunt refusal to agree terms, but she was unwilling to let it show.

‘I have little choice, it seems,’ she said. She looked at him. ‘You said that you had questions, my lord. Ask them, then.’

Simon nodded slowly. ‘Very well.’ He paused. ‘Is it true that General Malvoisier does not know that you are here and is not party to your decision to tell me about Henry or to bargain for the safety of the manor?’

Her gaze flickered at his use of Malvoisier’s name, but it was too quick for Simon to read her expression. ‘It is perfectly true,’ she said. ‘Malvoisier does not care for the welfare of the people of Grafton as I do. He would not have agreed to try to come to terms with you.’

‘So you have betrayed your ally?’

The look she gave him would have flayed a lesser man alive. ‘I am the ally of the King. I have not betrayed my Royalist cause and never would I do so!’

Simon inclined his head. She was not going to give an inch and would certainly do nothing to compromise her loyalty. He could feel the conflict in her; she wanted to tell him to go to hell, but too much was at stake. He could also sense her desperation. She cared passionately about the fate of Grafton. It had to mean that she was telling him the truth about Henry. Either that, or she was a damnably good actress.

‘So you maintain that it is true that Henry is alive and well, and that Malvoisier lied to me about his death,’ he pursued.

Again he saw that flicker of feeling in her eyes. ‘It is quite true,’ she said. Her gaze dropped. ‘That is, Sir Henry is alive, but he has suffered some hurt.’

Simon felt a violent rush of anger and hatred. ‘At Malvoisier’s hands?’ He brought his fist down hard on the table. ‘I might have known it. Damn him to hell and back for what he has done!’

‘Sir Henry will recover,’ Anne said. He saw her put her hand out towards him briefly, but then she let it fall. ‘Your brother is young and strong, my lord, and given time…’ She stopped and the silence hung heavily between them. Simon knew what that silence meant. Henry would recover if he survived the assault on the Manor the next day. He would recover if Gerard Malvoisier did not use him as a hostage, or make an example of him by hanging him from the battlements.

He got to his feet in a surge of restlessness. He was torn. When he had thought Henry dead there was nothing to lose with an all-out attack on Grafton. But to attack now, knowing that his brother was a prisoner within…It was dangerous—perhaps even reckless—but he was not going to let a man like Malvoisier hold him to ransom.

He strode across the room, unable to keep still and contain the rage within him. ‘He sent me a body,’ he said, through shut teeth. ‘If Henry is alive, how is that possible?’

Anne’s very stillness seemed a counterpoint to his fury. She did not even turn her head to answer him, but he saw her clench her hands together in her lap and realised that she was nowhere near as calm as she pretended.

‘The dead man was one of Malvoisier’s own troops,’ she said. ‘He died of a fever.’

Simon felt revolted. He spun around to look at her. ‘Malvoisier denied one of his soldiers a true burial? His body was defaced to make me believe that it genuinely was Henry?’

Anne’s expression was sombre. ‘They were the same height and build, my lord. All Malvoisier had to do was to dress the body in your brother’s clothes.’

Simon’s fingers tightened about his wineglass so that the crystal shivered. He had never questioned that the dead man had been Henry. The body had been so mutilated that it had been impossible to recognise, and, drowned in his misery and regret, he had never once imagined that Malvoisier had deliberately played him false. He had buried his brother with all honour, had written to their father apprising him of his younger son’s death in action, and had laid his own plans for a cold and brutal revenge. No matter that to attempt an assault on the garrison of Grafton was a foolhardy undertaking. He cared nothing for that. All he wanted was to wipe out the stain on the family honour and grind Gerard Malvoisier into the dust.

‘Why did he do it?’ he asked softly. ‘Why make me believe my brother was dead?’

‘You are the strategist, my lord,’ Anne said. ‘Why do you think he did it?’

Simon considered. ‘He wanted me to believe Henry dead in order to provoke me,’ he said slowly. ‘He wanted to end the siege, to drive me out into the open so that he had a better chance to defeat me.’

‘Exactly so.’

‘So now he has two advantages.’ Simon was thinking aloud. ‘He has forced me into a rash course of action and he still holds my brother.’ He nodded slowly. ‘It is very cunning. I might almost admire his tactics.’ He came across to Anne’s seat and leaned on the table beside her, so close that his breath stirred her hair. ‘That is—if it is true, Lady Anne. Almost I believe you.’

He knew that to trust her was madness. Even now she might be lying to him, tempting him to withdraw his troops, tricking him to defeat. Every instinct in his body protested that she was honest, but he could not afford the weakness of allowing himself to feel sympathy for her. He was tired. His mind was clouded with fatigue and the prospect of the killing to come and he knew it could be fatal to his judgement.

Anne turned her head abruptly. Her dark glare pinned him down like the dagger’s point. She tried to rise, but Simon caught her arm and held her still. They were so close now. A mere hair’s breadth separated them.

‘I do not lie,’ Anne said disdainfully. ‘If I were a man, you would answer for such an insult.’

Simon pulled her to her feet so abruptly that her chair rocked back and almost fell. She felt taut beneath his hands, shaking with anger and resentment.

‘Fine words, my lady,’ he said. ‘Yet you must have lied to one of us, to Malvoisier or to me. And he is your ally now.’

Anne wrenched her arm from his grip, suddenly furious. ‘Do not dare to accuse me of disloyalty to my cause,’ she said. Her voice shook. ‘I serve the King and until and unless he releases me of that charge my loyalty is absolute. Malvoisier—’ She stopped, and there was an odd silence.

‘Aye?’ Simon’s voice was harsh as he prompted her. He was breathing fast. ‘What of him?’

Anne paused. ‘Malvoisier and I share the Royalist cause, but our other loyalties are different,’ she said slowly. ‘My first loyalty is to the King, but my next is to my people. I have to protect Grafton. So…’ She spread her hands. ‘I came here of my own accord this night to beg a truce, my lord. If you attack the Manor, you will almost certainly kill your brother along with half the population of the castle. You have cannon—we cannot survive such an onslaught! Call it off and spare Sir Henry’s life and that of my people!’

The silence spun out between them, taut with tension. It was, Simon knew, the closest that Anne of Grafton would ever come to begging. She had so much pride and she had humbled it to come here tonight to ask him to spare the lives of the people she cared for. And now he had to deny her. He shook his head slowly.

‘No. I will not call off the assault.’

He saw the shock and horror on her face and realised that she had been certain, convinced, that he would do as she asked. She straightened up, her eyes riveted on his face.

‘Do you not understand, my lord?’ she demanded. ‘Sir Henry is too weak to move—too weak to fight! When you attack he will be killed in the battle or, worse, Malvoisier will take him and string him up from the battlements! He is a hostage and Malvoisier will use him to barter for his freedom—or to buy yours! Whichever way you look at it your brother is a dead man!’

‘And do you care about that?’ Simon asked harshly.

‘Of course I care!’ Anne snapped. ‘Your father is my godfather, Lord Greville. Henry is as dear to me as—’ She broke off and finished quietly, ‘as dear to me as a brother.’

‘And yet you thought to use him to buy the safety of Grafton,’ Simon said bitterly, ‘and I cannot surrender to such blackmail.’

Anne stared at him, her eyes full of anger and disbelief. ‘What, you will do nothing to help him?’ she challenged. ‘I do believe you have run mad. You would sacrifice your brother for nothing!’ Her voice warmed into fury. ‘Why not tell me the truth, my lord? You will not withdraw your troops because you have committed to make the attack on Grafton and you cannot be seen to weaken. Henry counts for nothing! It is all about your reputation in front of your men. That is all that you care for!’

They stared at one another for a long moment, dark eyes locked with dark.

‘Even if I called off the attack, I could not free Henry,’ Simon said. He tried to ignore her taunts and the anger they stirred in him. ‘You are correct—he is Malvoisier’s hostage. The only way I can save him is through taking the Manor.’

Anne grabbed her cloak. ‘Then I am wasting my time here. Henry said you would listen to reason. Clearly he overestimates you.’

Simon reached the door in two strides and blocked her path. He leaned his shoulders against the panels and folded his arms. Anne had come to a halt before him and was waiting impatiently for him to let her pass. He did not move.

‘Of course it is the case that you have given me the means to counteract General Malvoisier’s plan,’ he said quietly.

Anne looked up at him and he saw the bewilderment in her eyes.

‘What do you mean?’ she said.

Simon gestured about the room. ‘It is true that Malvoisier holds Henry, but you are here now, in my power. A hostage for a hostage, a life for a life.’ He held her gaze. ‘I will use you to free Henry, Lady Anne. You are my prisoner now.’

Chapter Two

The disbelief and disillusionment hit Anne with a shattering joint blow. For a moment all she could do was remember Henry Greville’s words:

‘My brother is an honourable man. He will thank you for your intervention. He will treat you with all respect…’

And she had believed him. She had remembered the Simon Greville that she had known all those years ago and she had believed without question. How unutterably foolish she had been. In her desire to do the right thing, to tell Simon Greville the truth about his brother and save both Henry and her own people, she had walked directly into peril and into the hands of a man at least as dangerous and ruthless as Gerard Malvoisier himself. She had risked all for justice and this was how Simon Greville, her former suitor, had repaid her.

She spun around so quickly that, on the table beside her, the wine cup trembled and almost fell.

‘You will not do it!’ Her voice broke, betraying her desperation. ‘I trusted you! I came here in good faith to negotiate a truce.’

She saw Simon’s expression harden. ‘As I said before, it is best to trust no one.’

There was silence for a brief second. Anne looked at him. Clearly, the memories she cherished of their previous acquaintance had been misleading. In her mind’s eyes she could still recall that long, hot summer at Grafton four years ago when Simon Greville had courted her—and kissed her with such passion and tenderness that she had tumbled into love with him. In all the time that had followed she had never met another man who had measured up to her memory of him. Consciously or unconsciously she had judged all men by his standard—and found them wanting. And now it seemed that it was her judgement that had been lacking. Simon Greville had no honour and no integrity and would use her for his own ends.

Physically he looked much the same. He had filled out over the intervening years so that now he was not only tall but broadly built as well. He was very dark, with the watchful gaze and the chiselled, patrician looks of a plaster church saint. Unlike his brother, he seldom smiled. But Henry Greville was little more than a charming boy. Simon was a man and altogether more formidable. He was powerful, cold, calculating—and merciless. She should have seen it. She should have run when she had the chance. Instead she had been lulled into a false sense of security by believing Henry and trusting her memories of his brother. She had put her safety in this man’s hands. She felt betrayed. All her disgust, with herself as well as him, rose to the surface.

‘I thought you a man of honour,’ she said. ‘It seems I was wrong.’

Simon was leaning against the door, arms folded, with a carelessness that she despised. It seemed so contemptuous. She could not see any evidence in his face that her accusation had stung him at all.

‘Perhaps there is no room for honour in war,’ he said. ‘You have played into my hands by coming here, madam. It would be foolish of me not to take the advantages I am given.’

Anne made a sound of disgust. ‘I thought you different.’ She clenched her fists by her sides. ‘Sir Henry swore that you were. It seems I made a mistake to trust him.’

Simon straightened up and faced her across the room. His presence was intimidating, but Anne was determined not to be afraid.

‘You thought that I was different from whom?’ he enquired softly. ‘Malvoisier?’

‘Perhaps. Different from most men—’ Anne caught herself up on the betraying words, biting her lip. She was not going to pour out all her hatred of Malvoisier here and now to this man who had proved himself her enemy. She had detested Gerard Malvoisier from the first moment he had come to Grafton, with his bullying cruelty and his way of riding roughshod over people to get what he desired. Their political alliance had held together by the merest thread. She had rejected his proposal of marriage and had been incensed that he had put about the rumour that they were betrothed. She looked at Simon, who was watching her with that dark, impassive gaze. He was not like Malvoisier—he did not bluster or shout or threaten—but he was twice as dangerous.

‘I mistook you,’ she finished starkly. ‘You are just like all the rest.’

She saw something like anger flare in Simon’s eyes, but when he spoke his tone was still even.

‘I cannot afford to let such an advantage slip,’ he said. ‘Surely you understand? This way I may exchange you for Henry and no one is hurt.’

Anne felt the hope surge sharply within her. ‘You mean that once the hostages are exchanged, you will call off the assault on the Manor?’

‘No.’ Simon shook his head. ‘I will exchange your freedom for that of my brother, but Grafton must still fall to Parliament.’

Anne’s heart plummeted into her shoes. ‘So all you mean to do is buy your brother’s life with mine and then attack my home and my people anyway!’ She put her hands to her cheeks in a gesture of despair. ‘Your callousness disgusts me, Lord Greville! You once promised my father to give your protection to this land!’

This time she heard the answering spurt of rage in Simon’s voice. ‘I regret that you see matters that way, madam,’ he said. ‘This is war—’

Anne’s voice was contemptuous. ‘Always you seek to justify your actions with that phrase!’ She braced her hands on the back of one of the chairs. Simon’s sword belt still rested there. She could feel the leather smooth beneath her fingers.

‘Let us hope that Malvoisier thinks this bargain worth the making,’ she said. ‘I am not certain that he will.’

‘Of course he will,’ Simon said. ‘You are the King’s god-daughter.’

‘Ah, yes,’ Anne said, and she could not keep the bitterness from her tone. ‘He will save me for that reason if no other.’

There was silence. The fire hissed. The room felt very hot now and heavy with the turbulent emotions between them. Anne suddenly flung her arms wide in fury, encompassing the table and its scattering of parchment. She was trying to keep her anger mute and under control, but it was difficult when she wanted to rail at him in her frustration and misery.

‘Send to him, then!’ she said. ‘Why do you delay? Tell Malvoisier that you hold me hostage. My father is dying and I would rather be by his side than trapped here with you.’

Simon drained his second glass of wine and placed the goblet carefully on the table. His precision maddened Anne when she felt so close to losing control.

‘I do not intend to negotiate with Malvoisier now,’ he said. ‘I will wait until the morning, when he drags Henry up on to the battlements to parley. Then I shall bring you out and strike a bargain with him.’

Anne whitened. ‘Damn you! In that time my father may die, and you keep me from him.’ She started to walk towards the door again. ‘Well, if you wish to restrain me you must do so by force. I’ll not go quietly with your plans!’

Simon moved between her and the door. He spoke quietly. ‘Do not resist me, Lady Anne. If you make a scene before my men, it will end badly for you. They may have let you in here, but they will not let you out against my orders.’

Anne flashed him a look of challenge. ‘Lay a hand on me, Lord Greville, and I shall bite you.’

‘That would be a mistake.’

He moved before Anne could respond, grabbing her by the upper arms, dragging her against his body and holding her close with an arm about her waist. His grip was fierce and unrelenting. She tried to twist out of his arms, but he held her cruelly tight.

‘Yield to me,’ he said in her ear.

‘Never!’ Anne tried to kick him. ‘You may go to the devil!’

Simon laughed. ‘No doubt I shall do so in my own time. Now yield to me.’

In answer Anne turned her head and fastened her teeth on one of the hands that held her. She knew it pained him and felt a violent rush of satisfaction. Simon swore savagely under his breath and wound his hand into her silky black hair, ruthlessly pulling her head back. It did not hurt, but it rendered her incapable of further struggle without causing herself pain.

‘Little wildcat!’ he said. ‘Surrender to me.’

Anne hesitated. She knew there was nothing she could do. She had to concede even though she hated to do it.

She relaxed a little and felt his grip ease in her hair. Her mind was whirling. She could not surrender to him. She surrendered to no one. There had to be another way…

‘If I promise not to run,’ she said, ‘you must release me so that we may talk.’

Simon’s fingers slid through the strands of her hair as he let her go. It made her feel strange, almost light-headed. His touch was feather-soft now, gentle, caressing. She found that she wanted to turn into his embrace now rather than escape it. She remembered the hardness of his body against hers and the breath of his lips against her ear with the oddest quiver of feeling.

His hands slid down her arms to hold her very lightly. He kept his gaze locked with hers.

‘I agree,’ he said. ‘So promise me you will not try to flee.’

Anne hesitated. The touch of his hands and the steadiness of his gaze were confusing her. For a fleeting moment she remembered the desire she had seen in his eyes earlier in the evening. That had aroused a response in her that she had never expected to feel, did not want to feel. It reminded her too much of the pangs of first love she had felt when she was seventeen. Knowing that they had no future, she had tried to tell herself that her feelings for Simon Greville had been a childish infatuation. She had never quite succeeded in believing it.

‘Well?’ Simon prompted.

Anne inclined her head slightly, crushing down the treacherous ripple of feeling that coursed through her body.

‘Very well. I promise not to run.’

She expected him to let her go at once, but Simon also hesitated, still holding her close to him even though his grip was gentle now. Anne could felt the warmth emanating from his hands and his body, and with it a sensation of reassurance and strength. She found that she wanted to press closer to him again and draw on his strength to comfort her. She started to tremble, both at the perfidiousness of her own body and the wayward nature of her thoughts. This was Simon Greville, her enemy, the man who held her hostage. She could show him no weakness.

But it was too late. The expression in his eyes changed and he pulled her to him, not hastily but slowly, inexorably, until her mouth was about an inch away from his. And then he stopped. She could see the stubble darkening his skin where he had not shaved and the shadow cast by his eyelashes against the line of his cheek.

Anne’s throat dried. ‘Release me,’ she whispered. ‘I do not trust you.’

‘I know.’ Simon’s firm mouth curved into a smile. ‘You are wise to trust no one.’

He let her go slowly and Anne stepped back. Her heart was pounding hard and her legs trembled. She caught the back of a chair to steady herself and prayed that Simon believed her weakness stemmed from fear rather than susceptibility to his touch. She raised her eyes to meet his mocking gaze.

‘What would you like to talk about?’ he asked. His gaze raked her, as it had done earlier. ‘You know that you have nothing to negotiate with.’ He paused. ‘At the least, I assume you do not intend to try and bribe me with your body…’

Anne gave him a scornful look. Her fingers tightened on the chair back. There, beneath her hand was the sword belt. A plan was forming in her head. She prayed that she could carry it off. She had to keep him talking, distract him…