it would, yet there he was at her shoulder, following her into the bailey like just another one of her soldiers. She only hoped that disarming him would be so easy.
She hauled in a few deep breaths, making a conscious effort to swing her hips as she walked. If brazen was what he wanted, then brazen was what he’d get. Up to a point anyway. She’d led him to expect... Her courage baulked at the thought of what she’d led him to expect. She wasn’t even completely sure what it was, but she was a lady. There was only so far a lady could be expected to go. Wasn’t there?
She threw a quick glance over her shoulder and then wished that she hadn’t. Of all the soldiers in the Empress’s army, she doubted she could have found a more intimidating prospect. With his broad shoulders, Lothar put her in mind of a battering ram, though surely a battering ram would show more emotion. If he was remotely concerned about entering the castle on his own, he didn’t show it. On the contrary, his confident stride suggested Haword was already his for the taking. Well, it wasn’t, not yet. It was still hers, though if her plan failed, she might as well unleash a wild animal in the bailey herself. What would happen if he guessed her deception? How many men would it take to restrain him? More than she was willing to risk.
‘My lady?’ Ulf stepped out in front of them and her hopes plummeted at once.
‘Constable.’ She shot him a warning look. ‘This is Sergeant Lothar, the Empress’s envoy. He and I will be taking refreshments together in the hall.’
‘Then I’ll accompany you, my lady.’
‘That won’t be necessary, thank you. We have a great deal to discuss. In private.’
‘It isn’t seemly...’
‘Please see to it that we’re not disturbed.’ She spoke over him, jutting her chin out as his expression darkened mutinously.
‘He ought to surrender his weapons.’
‘Constable, you insult our guest!’
She whirled around, though to her relief their guest didn’t look remotely offended.
‘Not at all.’ Lothar shrugged, though his stony gaze rested on Ulf a little too keenly for her liking. ‘It’s a reasonable request. Though there’s only one of me and...’ he glanced nonchalantly around the bailey ‘...around fifty of you? Surely you aren’t afraid of those odds?’
‘Under the terms of a truce, it’s customary to leave your weapons outside.’
‘If this were a truce I’d agree, but I don’t recall anyone uttering the word.’ He quirked an eyebrow towards her. ‘Did you, my lady?’
‘I’m mentioning it now.’ Ulf’s tone was belligerent.
‘Did you, Lady Juliana?’ Lothar ignored him, his voice dropping to an intimate undertone. ‘Perhaps when I was distracted?’
She inhaled sharply, taken aback as much by the deep, honeyed tone of his voice as by the fact that he actually seemed to be smiling. The effect was unexpectedly disarming, like the sun bursting out from between storm clouds. For a fleeting moment, his stern features were utterly transformed, still rugged and yet even more strikingly handsome. He looked more like a knight from some chivalric romance than an enemy warrior, a man she might truly be tempted by...
She tore her gaze away, alarmed by the thought. That was impossible. She could never be drawn to such a cold-blooded, fearsome-looking warrior. It was only her fear confusing her, not him. Definitely not him.
‘Our guest may do as he pleases.’ She spoke with as much authority as she could muster. She had the distinct impression that Lothar was deliberately trying to provoke her Constable, and her Constable was letting him. If she wasn’t careful there’d be bloodshed before they even made it past the gatehouse.
‘There’s no truce, just...’ she groped for a suitable word, ‘an understanding.’
‘But, my lady...’
‘Stand down, Ulf!’ She held his gaze until he stepped begrudgingly to one side, then gestured towards Lothar. ‘Shall we?’
She didn’t wait for an answer, marching ahead as quickly as she dared without making him suspicious. It was approaching noon and the castle cooks were busy making the best of their meagre rations, doling out bowls of pottage to a line of soldiers waiting outside the kitchens. She winced as they passed. She hadn’t wanted Lothar to see that. Bad enough that he could already see the full extent of their defences, but now he could see the condition of her men, too. If he did somehow manage to escape, there’d be no stopping him.
They reached the steps of the keep and she pushed on the door with a sense of relief, glad to be out of sight of her soldiers at last. Judging by their shocked expressions, they were just as scandalised by her behaviour as Ulf. Well, they’d just have to think what they liked. She could explain herself—and accept their apologies—later. If her plan worked, that was. Otherwise...
She pushed her misgivings aside, sweeping through the antechamber and on into the hall, her eyes turning at once towards a chest in the far corner. It was where she stored what was left of the wine, as well as other more potent substances in a small wooden box, the key of which she always kept tied to her belt. She wrapped her fingers around it now, gripping the metal tightly as she made her way across the room. Now if she could just open the box, pour the wine and mix one of her remedies into it without him noticing...
She heard a loud scraping sound and spun around, letting out an involuntarily squeak of alarm as she saw her companion draw the last of the iron door bolts.
‘So we’re not disturbed.’ Lothar sauntered towards her. ‘Though I’d lay good money on your Constable being right outside.’
Her throat tightened. Locked in! Despite what she’d said, it hadn’t occurred to her that he might do anything to ensure they weren’t disturbed. She had no doubt that her soldiers were close by, but if she called for help now, it would take precious minutes for them to break through. Not that she needed any help, she reminded herself. She was the chatelaine and she’d come this far by herself. She’d work out the rest, too. She had to.
‘Of course.’ She forced a smile, gesturing casually towards the hearth. ‘Won’t you make yourself comfortable?’
She turned her back on him again, unlocking the box and extracting a small leather pouch, taking deep breaths to stay calm. It was only a door after all, and if—when—her plan worked then she wouldn’t even need an escape route. She just had to concentrate, had to pour two cups of wine and mix the poppy milk carefully, get the measurements just right and make sure there was no residue left behind. And she had to hurry. She could already hear the tread of his footsteps crossing the flagstones, the swoosh of his surcoat as he cast it aside, the metallic chink of his chainmail... Chainmail? Her stomach swooped. What was he doing with his chainmail?
She clasped a cup in each hand and moved haltingly towards him. To her horror, she saw that he’d already removed both his surcoat and chainmail, leaving only his undershirt, hose and leather boots.
‘They were wet.’ He jerked his head towards the discarded pile of clothing.
‘Your chainmail was wet?’ Her voice seemed to have become alarmingly high-pitched.
‘You’d be surprised at how heavy it gets in the rain. You should
