Free Defiant by Kris Kennedy Page A

careful.”
    He returned an equally mirthless grin. “Indeed. Pretty women should not play with them.”
    “Ah, but you see how it is so much enjoyment, I cannot stop.”
    “You’ll stop now.”
    He pulled her away from the wall, swung her about onto a short bench at the foot of the bed. She slid across its smooth surface a few inches, sending her braid bouncing over one slim shoulder.
    “Who took Father Peter?”
    She hesitated. “I cannot say for certain.”
    “Say it uncertainly.”
    She swallowed. “Some very well-armed men and a churchman.”
    He took her face between his palms, then dropped to a knee in front of her, so their faces were level and he could watch every shifting emotion that flickered across her beautiful, lying face.
    “Eva, let me demonstrate honesty, since you struggle so to make its acquaintance. Regard how it sounds: I am come from King John.”
    Slowly, her jaw fell, as it dawned on her this was not an example, but a revelation. Her face, already so pale, went absolutely white.
    Then, slowly again, bright spots of color flowed back onto her cheeks, so she looked like a painting being formed: white skin, gray eyes, wild coal-black hair tumbling over his hands, and the flushing red of anger and fear on her cheeks the only color to be had.
    “Mon Dieu,” she whispered. “You are from the devil himself. I ought to have known.”
    “You may call me Lucifer if you wish. Kingdoms rest in the balance of what I do, and now, you. If I am not successful in my hunt for Father Peter, a great many people will be sorry. If you are the reason why, you shall be sorry.”
    From her lips came a long, low exhale. He felt it whisper over his wrists.
    “Now tell me: who sent you for the priest?”
    He felt her trembling, but her gray eyes met his. “He is an old friend, I owe him a great debt, and I wish only to get him away from all this trouble. The archbishop called for his aid in the negotiations, and he came, foolishly. He is like that. You would be better off asking why your terrible king wants him than I.”
    “I am fairly certain why the king wants him, so that mystery is solved. But you, woman, are enigmatic. Unless, of course, one assumes you seek the priest for the self-same reasons.”
    She went still.
    “What say you, Eva?”
    Her eyes narrowed into thin gray slits, but she was able to emit a great deal of enmity from between them. “I say you had best watch your back, Jamie Knight, for I may be sticking you in it one day.”
    He clucked his tongue. “All that will do is keep you bound, Eva, perhaps for years, perhaps in the king’s Tower.”
    She gave a small, bitter smile. He recognized it; he’d dispensed it himself, many times. “Well, then, Jamie, I suppose I am sorry I ever met you. We are all so sorry now.”
    He moved his thumbs, a swift brush over her cheekbones. Someone watching might have called it a caress. They would have been in error. “I think you will be the sorriest one of all, Eva.”
    Ry strode back into the room, extending a coil of rope. Jamie got to his feet. “Roland the innkeep reports a party of riders left just before we arrived,” Ry said. “Going fast. They had a priest.”
    Jamie looked at him. Then the rope, then Eva. Back to the rope.
    “You are greatly troubled by your choices,” she observed.
    He looked up slowly.
    “You ought to leave me behind,” she suggested. “How do you say this? I am expendable, no? Expend me, then.”
    “I think you are misunderstanding the word,” he said drily.
    “But you should. I will be naught but a burden. I eat a great deal, and tire easily, and you’ve no notion of how I complain. Ask Gog. Truly, Jamie—”
    He grabbed her by the elbow and lifted her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Eleven
     
    E va felt very much like cargo, bumping down the stairs behind Jamie. This was the sort of thought that was not comforting.
    But the only other thing to think about was how his arm, thrust out behind him, appeared