Free LadyOfConquest:SaxonBride by Tamara Leigh Page A

Christophe’s ungainly approach.
    What had not struck her before now did. Christophe had played an important role in his brother’s deception, aiding in her escape so Maxen Pendery could discover the location of Edwin’s camp. But had he done so knowingly? Or had he also been deceived?
    Christophe’s expressive eyes begged her to believe he had not known of his brother’s plans, but it was not necessary. In her heart, she knew the answer. He had been deceived.
    “What is it you wish, Christophe?” Pendery asked.
    “You have been injured!” Concern tightened his face as he considered the blood staining his brother’s tunic. “Perhaps I—”
    “You did not come to discuss my injury, did you?”
    Christophe shifted his weight. “I did not, but…” He shook his head. “If you would allow it, I would speak with Lady Rhiannyn a moment. A-alone.”
    “She is a prisoner, and no lady. Return to your books and squander no more time on her.”
    “But—”
    “I have spoken.”
    Christophe’s shoulders sank, and he retreated.
    Indignant over Pendery’s treatment of his brother, Rhiannyn said, “He is not a child and should not be treated as one.”
    “Not a child? What, then? A man?”
    “Soon—if you show him respect and not beat down his voice.”
    As if deeming her unworthy of such a discussion, Pendery spun her around to enter the tower.
    As the stairway was narrow, there was but one place for her—behind him. In her attempt to keep pace, she stumbled during their ascent, and it was his steely grip that kept her from falling on the steps.
    Upon reaching the uppermost floor, he threw open the door and pushed her inside. “Your new home.”
    Standing in the center of the small, rectangular room, she noted it was empty except for a pallet and basin, its stone floor without benefit of rushes. But it was more livable than the dungeon cell. Why?
    She turned and caught the shadow of pain and fatigue in Pendery’s eyes before he narrowed them. Though he disguised well the extent of his injury, he had been cut deep and lost an amount of blood that would have laid down most men. She nearly pitied him.
    “Why not the dungeon?” she asked.
    He thrust his chin at the opening in one wall that threw a wedge of light on the stone floor. “The dungeon has no windows.”
    With foreboding, she asked, “For what do I require a window?”
    He smiled. “I would not wish you to miss the sunrise. It can be quite spectacular when not hidden by English clouds.” The smile flattened. “And it will be spectacular. I promise you.”
    Doubtless, he took pleasure in her misgivings, but soon enough she would know what she did not wish to know. “How thoughtful of you,” she said and lifted her bound hands. “And this?”
    He strode forward and began loosening the knot. “So simple, Rhiannyn,” he said. “All I require is a name.”
    One she did not have. And it would be futile to continue the lie she had killed Thomas. However, she had to ask, “If I give you the name, will you leave the others be?”
    “Harwolfson’s followers?”
    “Aye.”
    “ Non . The rebels cannot be allowed to continue their assaults. Be it by bloodshed or Norman rule, they will be stopped.” He pulled the knot free and unwound the rope. “The choice is yours.”
    Stepping back, she rubbed her wrists.
    “As told before,” he said as he bundled the rope, “keep your secret and scores will die. Tell me, and they may live.”
    “I cannot.”
    “Then it is decided.” He crossed the room, stepped out onto the landing, and closed the door.
    Hearing the bar fall into place, she whispered, “Run, Edwin. Run, ere ’tis too late.”

CHAPTER TEN

    Holding his shoulders straight, though they ached from the weakening in his side, Maxen approached the far end of the hall where the lord’s chamber was situated.
    Of course, it could hardly be called a chamber, he thought as he regarded the screen behind which the simple trappings lay. The modest cell