Captured By Her Enemy Knight

‘You lie,’ he growled. ‘You lie so terribly, that even if I didn’t know it was a falsehood, I’d know you weren’t telling the truth. And you know this. God’s bones, do you know this. You are tied to that bed and I could starve you to death. Slowly scrape my blade across every inch of your skin until you bled out. Or I could pick up a blanket and smother you in an instant. And still you defy me.’ He looked wildly about before his gaze swung back to hers.

‘You waste time,’ he said, ‘but remember it’s your time you waste, not mine. Perhaps I should demonstrate the dynamics between us. I am free. You are not. A day? Perhaps two? A sennight, a fortnight. Trapped in here, tied to this bed, how long do you expect to live?’

Without a backward glance, he stormed out of the room, the lock crashing into place behind him.

Chapter Three

He’d…left her.

She waited one, two heartbeats, but not even the stamp of feet could be heard from the hallway. Immediately, she worked to loosen her bindings, her fingers on her left hand just long enough to reach the wrapping around her wrist to worry the fabric enough to slacken it.

All the while, the room echoed Eldric’s wrath. Reverberated with the words he’d targeted her with. He wanted her dead and she believed him. She’d frustrated him with her lies and, knowing him as she did, she hadn’t left him with much else to do but to harm her. Starvation was a brilliant decision on his part.

She could have answered him because she knew how long she could last before she became delirious with dehydration. It was a lesson her father had taught her long ago. And if she went longer than that, she would die.

But she couldn’t. Not because she had a sense of self-preservation. A weapon didn’t care if it lived or died. Her father had long ago stripped that weakness from her. It also wasn’t because she felt an injustice of being kept against her will. A weapon did not reflect on rights and wrongs; it merely did what it was told to do.

That’s why she’d always remained faithful to him. The rumour of the other daughter must be a lie. For years, her father’s sole focus had been to secure something the Warstone family desperately wanted: the Jewel of Kings. A legendary jewel which had influence much like Excalibur in King Arthur’s realm. Except Excalibur was merely a story; the Jewel of Kings was truth.

Since England now fought with Scotland such a legend could sway many. Such power was enviable and the Warstones coveted it. Her father had lost it when, six months ago, she disobeyed and didn’t kill Mairead of Clan Buchanan. When, for a mere moment, she thought him wrong to harm a brave woman. So she’d released her arrow and shot him in the shoulder instead. Mairead and Caird of Clan Colquhoun had escaped while Cressida was exiled from the only person she knew.

Her father was angry with her, testing her, but he’d never abandoned her. He gave her messages still. Further, he continued his training by sending warriors for her to fight. He must care for her still. She needed to be free from here. She couldn’t die with the doubt her father no longer wanted her.

She arched her whole body, stretched until the bed creaked and her muscles ached, then she relaxed as much as she could. She hoped she stretched the bindings, but her legs were still bound too tight, her right hand unmovable. The left-wrist binding was reachable with her fingers, but she couldn’t get the right angle. She needed to wedge a finger under, but couldn’t.

She eyed the heavy oak chair he’d abandoned against her bed, but it was out of reach to be used as any kind of leverage. Arching again, she curled her limbs in with all her strength. When she flopped against the bed again, she expected the chair to slide to the floor, but it was a heavy oak thing and refused to budge. As did her bindings.

It was her turn to huff. To simply rest against the bed, which was one of the most comfortable ones she’d ever lain on. Certainly, the ones in the abbey had never been well filled or secured with thick linens so that none of the straw was felt beneath her back.

The entire room was opulent, if sparse. Not that she could see that much under the chaos he had left, leaving the contents of the room as they were. The askew chair, the basin and flagon. Had he been this messy before? She wondered if it was a sign of his frustration, or a shortcoming in her observations of him. That night in Swaffham last winter, when she laid her arrow on his pillow…the bed had been unmade, the quilt crumpled on the floor.

She saw Eldric’s sloppiness as a weakness. One of her keys to self-preservation was to leave behind no trace she’d occupied a space. If a chair had been shoved under a table at an odd angle, she made sure to leave it so. If a mattress was so soft that the indent of her body could be noted, she slept on the floor.

Eldric left a wake of wreckage and he’d only been in the room mere moments. Water splashed against stone would be impossible to cover up. For a moment, she entertained the conversation she’d have with him on the subject, simply to offer survival help, and imagined how it would proceed. Poorly, no doubt.

A man secure enough to whistle wouldn’t care who found him. She couldn’t fathom being so cavalier, but then an arrow didn’t imagine itself a table. If she stretched her imagination, she could see herself as a sword, but that was only another weapon. To be a warrior and welcome an enemy instead of hide from one was too strange a difference to comprehend. Eldric lived and behaved so differently from her.

Unfortunately, wondering on their differences without knowing all of them wasn’t enough to fill in the time before he returned. Another deep breath as she waited…and waited again. When he didn’t storm back in, she started to count the objects in the room and to count the time she tapped her toes in her boots.

Whatever she could do to not fall asleep. It spelled her doom if she slept. But she hadn’t slept properly in weeks; her rest in the tree had been too brief and the exhaustion in her limbs from straining against her bindings had drained her. However, as angry as he was, surely he’d return. He’d left food here. Surely he’d want to eat. Surely…

Eldric stood over the sleeping form of the Archer. Hours had passed since he completely lost his temper. He didn’t even know he had one. In battle, he had unnatural strength and, certainly since he’d targeted the Archer, his rage had weathered and tightened to splintered wood within him.

But a temper where the rage burst from his being with no target to aim it towards? Never before. Only this time. With this enemy. With this woman who lied.

He expected those he captured to lie and, over the years, he’d learned what to do about it. Now, he could do nothing. Nothing. Threats wouldn’t stop her; she was too resilient for that.

And being in the room with her ever-watchful eyes? Even if he could get over their colour, the way she looked at him… It was as if she was waiting for something. Or knew something of him.

So he’d left, knowing that, no matter how strong she was, she couldn’t break her bindings. Remembering, too, to never underestimate her, he’d paid two boys to watch the room so he could walk the docks and come to terms with what was revealed to him.

To what he knew. On the battlefield, he’d held his friend as he died and made a vow to avenge his death. He vowed again to God now and burned a candle in church. He’d made another vow when he’d accepted a hunting horn from King Edward of England. Some would argue that vow could be the most important one of all. One that couldn’t be forgiven or altered as could be done with a deity or the dead.

With certainty, that meeting with Edward might prove the most fateful. For there in the monarch’s chambers he’d agreed to obtain the Archer for the King.

Eldric knew he’d made a deal with the devil and agreed to pay the price. And why not? The King’s wants and his own were the same. They both desired the Archer’s head. But it went further than that. Because by pledging this vow and loyalty to the King, he could also conceal the disloyal act he’d done.

Christmas past, Edward had ordered him to Swaffham to locate the traitor who had sent private messages to the Scots. A specific traitor who possessed a half-thistle seal.

The traitor was Hugh of Shoebury, a childhood friend, and one whom he’d trained with at Edward’s court. It was revealed that Hugh had a viable reason to convey certain information to the Scots…because Hugh was protecting Robert of Dent, Black Robert.

Robert, who was reported dead, was in fact hiding from the King. He did it so he could have his life with his Scottish wife, Gaira, and their adopted children. The private information was sent to Robert and his wife, Gaira of Clan Colquhoun, to specifically protect them.

And Robert… Robert was also his friend who needed any information that could be passed to him. For the last several months, he and the Colquhoun Clan had been searching frantically for the daughter who was stolen from them.

Of course, he’d immediately given his loyalty to his friends.

Eldric realised then that loyalty had many sides. Thus, he was left with only one choice. He’d lied to King Edward to protect them. Robert had faked his own death and, so, Hugh with the woman he loved faked theirs. Leaving him, a spy, to report that the half-thistle-seal traitor was dead.

Thus, three people Edward had concerns over no longer existed. It would risk too much to contact them again. Ah…but loyalty. Eldric knew he needed to make right with the world again. To make clear the lines of good and evil, right and wrong. Two lies to the King meant he’d doubly bound himself to the Sovereign.

So he vowed to bring the Archer to Edward and accepted the royal hunting horn, the coin, the royal papers to flaunt and terrorise with when needed. Because he knew last Christmas that if there was a price to pay, he’d make the Archer pay it. He’d do it not only for vengeance for his friends who were dead, but also to protect those beings who were alive and wished to remain hidden.

Edward must never know he was disloyal or the lies would unwind like pegs in a well-worn instrument. Hugh, Robert and their families must stay safe.

Except the Archer was a woman. Now, it wasn’t a simple matter of transporting an enemy to the Tower of London to be done with disloyalty and treason. Because now there were more falsehoods. He needed to make a decision: to hide or reveal them?

He could see now he should have been cautious last winter. Walking the docks, allowing the putrid air and the chaos to thump against him, he had examined the meeting with the King in a different light. He’d been so concerned and focused on his own words and deeds in that room, he hadn’t properly analysed the ruler’s.

The King had informed him he knew that Eldric had been pursuing the Archer because of his friends’ deaths. The King had been spying on his spy. It was a possibility the King knew the Archer was a woman. It was very likely he also knew what she was about, her deeds…and purpose.

The Archer being a woman changed everything.

Not because she was a female and wasn’t capable of murder. Knowing his own mother, he knew the strength of women. He didn’t argue the Archer’s skills either…he’d seen that first-hand.

No, it was the methodical way the Archer did such deeds that called them into question. So he made another vow, this one to himself. To keep her here until she confessed. To reflect on the ramifications and different angles of the pieces. To be more cautious. Something he should have done when he was summoned to King Edward’s private chambers when there wasn’t anyone else in attendance.

He couldn’t execute her without knowing who she was and why she did what she did. Would he have waited if she was a man? Would he have cared for reasons then? No. If the Archer had been a man, he wouldn’t have questioned anything. He’d have merely tied and slammed his enemy in the back of a cart to roll around for days until they reached London. Instead, he did wonder why and how a female was his enemy. Why it was different, he couldn’t say.

No. He did know. She was a surprise. An unknown. His world had always been simple. The fact she was not was unacceptable. Unwanted.

And whatever actions he needed to take to gain those answers would be acceptable. His monstrous strength did not pertain to this situation. If harsh words and harsh deeds were needed until she broke, he would do them. To keep his vows to his friends both here and gone, he’d have to break a lifetime of habit. With a determined heart, prepared to confront her, he entered the room…only to find her asleep.

His first thought was to wake her by pressing a blade against her heart so that each steady breath she took would prick until she awoke to the danger. Instead, he grabbed the bowl with filthy water and prepared to fling it on her.

She was…restless. Her stunning eyes closed, he could see more clearly the dark circles under them, hear her uneven breaths. Dreaming, or a nightmare?

Clenching the bowl in both his hands, he warred with himself as he had done all day while she was bound in this room. While he’d walked, returned to the inn, eaten, watched the day turning into twilight, he’d wondered how she fared alone in the room.

He had intended to wait even longer, but that plan failed. She’d escaped him too long for him to be sure she was truly trapped.

Now he stood over her, and wondered about her dreams? He hated this woman; shouldn’t care if she was awake or asleep. Shouldn’t wonder if she merely dreamed or if she was plagued with something darker. He needed these lies over with. The longer they went on, the more involved they became, the more likely they would unravel.

But he couldn’t bring her harm. She looked… She looked exhausted. The kind of bone weariness that only the hunted carried with them.

Beauty, that was still there. There wasn’t another woman like her and the sleep softened her exotic features to something almost unearthly. But he could see the sunken hollows of her cheeks from lack of food. Could recognise the tell-tale signs of exhaustion in her body as her limbs twitched because they were unused to rest, because she had to keep alert to nearby danger.

And she was in danger. He was her captor. She was bound, in an unknown location. The fact she slept when this vulnerable was a testament to her true depletion.

She gave the softest of sounds. A whimper. One that held a fragment of pain and he was brought back to reality. This woman was not music and no matter how great her beauty was, she was no angel. If she was, she was part of the fallen and very deadly. Lethal and ethereal.

He stood over her ruminating, but he could easily be the true enemy with a knife in his hand. He was death to her and she slept. Exhausted beyond her strength.

If she was as poorly rundown as this, how had she fought him? His face was throbbing; each breath he took pricked with the kicks she’d landed against his ribs. She was fierce. He’d returned as many blows to her. The fact they didn’t land wasn’t a saving grace. He didn’t cause her the same harm because he’d held back. She wasn’t as harmed as him because she had fought, blocked and fallen from a tree!

He’d heard and felt the impact when she hit the ground. How much more could she take? Could there be another way to gain his answers? Could he…pretend to befriend her? Or, at least, give her a false sense of safety? She could rest and gain the sleep she so obviously needed. He could feed her until the pallor of her skin disappeared. Maybe kindness could be a way to—

But the mere thought of his friend Thomas’s last breaths choked that idea. Knowing that Robert had a family laid rest to any kindness. He couldn’t do it. It was also clear the longer he stood over her, he wouldn’t be tossing the cold dirty water and interrogating her until she broke.

He’d trained to be a spy, knew the methods needed. Enemies didn’t confess or capitulate when they were strong, they only did so when they were weakened. He needed her sleep deprived, hungry, her position vulnerable. He needed to break her. Her brows drew in and she let out a keening whimper.

He felt his own brows furrow at such a helpless sound. A nightmare, then. What did a killer dream of? This woman was a weapon he must find the owner of before throwing her in the fire to be melted, far from anyone’s grasp.

God’s bones! With a frustrating reluctance, he lifted the chair off her bed and slammed it on the ground.

Chapter Four

Cressida thrashed awake. The clench of the ropes around her ankles panicked her, the ropes on her wrist cut deep. Her gaze locked on the man looming over her. Heart thundering, she felt the blood slam through her body, readying her to run, to fight. With instinct to survive battering her, she screamed.

Somewhere wood hit stone and water splashed. All she knew was the punishing grip of the man’s hands on her shoulders.

‘Enough!’ he roared.

Where was she? Not in an abbey, not in a tree. A room she didn’t recognise. A darkness enveloping it that jarred against her attempts to understand. It shouldn’t be dark.

‘Leave me!’ she cried, flinging her body up to break free, but the grip tightened, a weight pressing her deep into the mattress.

To suffocate her! She gasped deep, gathering as much air before it became too late. She fought harder.

The man loomed until his face was a breath from hers. ‘Stop this!’

Cressida blinked. Could that be Eldric?

She was dying, going into her dreams before sleeping for ever. She must be. Eldric wasn’t here, not this close, not touching her.

She wrenched on the cords binding her, welcomed the jagged bite as they drew blood. If she broke her wrist, if she lacerated the skin, the blood and loss of skin would loosen knots. Pulling, pulling!

The grip shook her body before it seized around her wrists, stopping her bid for freedom. ‘Nooo!’ she keened.

‘Wake, Archer! What are you doing?’

The voice…she recognised. Eldric. So close his hair waved down to brush across her cheek. To see the blue of his eyes altered by the darkness of his pupils. There was something there: concern.

Eldric in a room where he’d bound her. But she fought it, still, because it couldn’t be truth. She remembered when he’d stormed from the room. There could never be concern or caring when it came to him. ‘It’s dark. It was morning when you left. Morning.’

He released his grip, but her eyes had adjusted to the dim light; she could see all of him now. ‘It is turning to night.’

‘I slept all day?’

He canted his head and straightened, but did not move away from the bed. She could smell the sea on him and something else. Bread from his hands where he brushed her shoulders. He’d eaten. Time had passed.

‘You slept,’ he repeated.

‘You let me?’

His spine snapped straight, the concern she’d fleetingly witnessed gone. She’d said something wrong. ‘I was gone because as my enemy you were bound securely in this room. All day here to contemplate the uselessness of your lying to me.’

‘But I slept.’ She couldn’t get past that point. When was the last time she’d slept? And never when survival was tantamount.

‘And I woke you. You’ll feel it. The need to relieve yourself, your hunger, thirst? All of it must be beginning.’

She was too confused to feel anything else. Eldric touched her. It was rough, but the purpose of it didn’t feel as though it was to hurt her. He demanded she wake, he stopped her from harming her wrists. ‘Why did you try to wake me?’

He frowned. ‘So you could suffer.’

But she was suffering already when locked in a nightmare. It’d happened to her before when her father trained her too hard. There were moments when the truth of her torture clashed with what had happened to her weeks before, and weeks before that. And on and on until she didn’t know where or who she was. She’d only become a weapon who survived to be wielded again.

Which only made the truth more acute. She needed to be free, find her father, to become his weapon again because without that, without her father, she didn’t know who she was.

Just this little time in the presence of someone else, talking with someone else, was confusing. Like now. This Eldric was different than the one who’d stormed from the room. He’d behaved differently when he shook her awake as if he was desperate to wake her, to make her stop.

However, in the time she’d slept, he’d done things—maybe he had had second thoughts. Maybe he was the Eldric who whistled and laughed. Maybe this was the kind Eldric.

Her eyes swept to her wrist. ‘I’ve suffered. I’m hurting now.’

He glanced to her bindings, which were secure, but oddly hadn’t pained until she wrenched them in her panic.

‘Good,’ he said before his expression became absolutely resolute. ‘The entirety of this is your own doing.’

Not if she wasn’t who he thought she was. Not if she kept her ruse. ‘Where am I?’

‘It matters not where you are,’ he said.

‘I can smell the port, we can’t be far,’ she said.

He arched a brow. ‘And that would be significant because?’

Because her father could be in the port. He could be alone or with another daughter. In the worst case, they would be on a merchant ship already bound for France where it would be near impossible to find him.

When her whole existence in life was in jeopardy, she needed her freedom most. But to say anything would harm her relationship with her father. To reveal anything to Eldric would be fatal for him.

Even though it might irreparably harm her own life, she would tell Eldric nothing. She would, as she had always done, protect the man who hated her.

She jerked her chin and flexed her fingers, which tightened the rope around her wrists.

‘Because I need to be on the port.’

His eyes gleamed. ‘Why?’

To give him a reason he’d believe? ‘To meet my family.’

‘Tell me.’ His eyes never left hers.

Too much. Too close to the truth. There was still a chance to find her father. To repair whatever harm she had done. How had she fallen asleep? To be so vulnerable again! This time, she knew an enemy was there, knew Eldric was far worse to her than some faceless mercenary she could easily fight. Eldric had loyalties, he had vows and vengeance he wanted to exact.

‘None of this makes sense to me. You have to know none of it does.’ She spoke a lie, but it felt like a truth. ‘Let me free.’

‘No,’ he rasped. His chest heaved, his shoulder bunched.

‘Then tell me. Tell me what you intend to do with me.’

He took one more breath and stilled. Something changed in his eyes, as his gaze swept across her body to the tangled linens between her legs, up again to her bound hands. Stayed there and turned…calculating.

It wasn’t something she could readily comprehend, but it felt familiar, none the less. Oh, yes, he’d looked that way at her once before—when he’d held out his hand to dance with her. And, like then, her body tracked faster than her thoughts. His pupils dilating, a flush to his cheeks. On that day, he’d looked so deep into her eyes she thought she’d be discovered. Now, he looked everywhere but and it didn’t matter. Her body felt her reaction to him all the same. Except now, she didn’t have the protection of the mask and layers of clothing. Now, she was bound, exposed. And she felt something in her wanting to blurt out her words, to tell him—

He ripped his eyes away and cursed under his breath. ‘What game is it you think you play?’

Nothing, yet to have him look at her… Just a glimpse of something other than hatred. She’d give anything, yet she had to be wrong. He didn’t look at her with anything but loathing. It was her own longing, her own stupidity for not understanding people as well as she should.