her to surrender now...
‘What’s that?’ She twisted her head at a clamouring sound from outside, the clanking of metal over the dull hum of voices.
‘Take a look.’
He nodded towards the window and she ran towards it, unlatching the shutters and flinging them wide. Even from across the room he could hear her sharp intake of breath.
‘What are they doing?’
‘Hard to say from here, but at a guess I’d say they’re preparing for battle. I’d suggest that your men do the same.’
‘But I don’t want to fight!’
‘Then surrender. My offer still stands.’
She spun around, eyes widening with amazement. ‘You’d forgive me after I drugged you?’
‘Apparently so.’ He surprised himself with the answer. He could forgive her, though mercy alone knew why. ‘Although I think we can keep that part between ourselves.’
She stared at him mutely for a few seconds, her expression veering between defiance and uncertainty, before she reached into the folds of her gown and drew out a slim, though still lethal-looking dagger.
‘No.’ Her face took on a look of resolve. ‘I’m the chatelaine and this is still my castle. We’re going to the battlements.’
Lothar watched her approach in silence, wondering just how badly he’d misjudged her, before she reached down to his ankles and sliced through the rope bindings.
‘Time for my swing over the battlements?’ He lifted an eyebrow sardonically. ‘Am I allowed to wear my boots at least?’
She hesitated briefly and then walked to the end of the bed, picking up his leather boots and sliding them warily over his feet, as if she expected him to kick out at any moment.
‘Your hospitality’s improving, my lady.’
She didn’t answer, her face set with a look of grim determination as she made for the door and murmured something to the guards outside. She gestured back into the room as if she were telling them to fetch him, but he stilled their approach with a scowl, heaving himself unsteadily to his feet and making his own way across the floor. After a night spent lying in one position, his legs felt numb, but he’d be damned if he was going to be dragged around like a prisoner. Even if he was about to be hanged from the battlements, he’d bloody well get there himself.
He reached the doorway at last and leant his shoulder against the jamb for support, surprised to hear a faint sound like moaning coming from elsewhere in the tower. From the way Lady Juliana’s head snapped around, he could tell that she’d heard it, too, though it stopped almost at once.
‘I thought I was your only prisoner?’ He looked up and down the gallery suspiciously. As far as he could see there was only one other door. ‘Or do you keep a few of us for your entertainment?’
‘It must be one of the guards having a nightmare.’
She tossed her head and moved on again, leading him part of the way down the stairwell and through a side door out on to the ramparts. He limped stiffly behind her, peering over the walls to survey the battle preparations going on below. The sky was still a gauzy purple, but the army camp was clearly illuminated by the combined light of dozens of campfires, revealing the dark silhouettes of men carrying planks of wood towards the moat, ready to erect makeshift bridges and ladders. Most of them were already armed and armoured for battle. Not long until morning then.
They climbed up a few steps on to the gatehouse roof and Lady Juliana waved a hand, dismissing her archers.
‘You, too.’ She gestured at the guards behind him next.
Lothar watched them go with surprise. What did she intend to do, haul him over the side of the battlements by herself? Not that any of the men argued with her, he noticed. They obeyed her commands as if she were a seasoned battle commander and not an exhausted-looking slip of a woman clutching a dagger, though he had to admit there was an aspect of inner strength about her, that of the Celtic queen she’d first put him in mind of, the lone woman facing an army below. Under other circumstances, he might have admired her. As it was, all he could think about was getting her to surrender as quickly as possible—preferably before the first volley of arrows hailed down on them. Not that she seemed in any hurry to talk. Just like before, now that she had him where she wanted him, she seemed to have nothing to say.
‘You know, if you’re going to hang me over the edge then you might need some help.’ He broke the silence at last.
‘I’m not.’
She said the words in a flat, defeated-sounding voice, standing in the exact same spot where he’d first seen her the day before, though this time she looked desolate, her shoulders slumped so low that he was half-tempted to countermand his orders after all. Glancing down at his feet, he realised he was standing in the same space where her archer had been, as if he were the one protecting her now.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of such an unsettling idea. Clearly the poppy was still affecting him, reawakening that strange worried feeling that had made him follow her into the castle in the first place, and he had no time for feelings. She was close to surrender, he could sense it. A few brutal truths ought to do it. If he could bring himself to say them...
He took a cautious step closer, poised for any sudden movements, half-afraid that she was about to jump over the edge. He wouldn’t be able to catch her with his hands tied behind his back, but he could knock her sideways and pinion her beneath him if he had to. He’d tumble over the ramparts with her rather than let her surrender that way.
‘You’re outnumbered, my lady, and your defences won’t hold for more than twelve hours.’
‘I know.’ She turned her head, looking vaguely surprised to find him standing so close. ‘But I made a promise.’
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