laden with contempt, at the cowering regent —“will rouse the killing instinct in every lord and baron this side of the Channel.”
“I claim no part in this,” John declared loudly. “The princess is no longer in my care. Whatever happens now lies solely in the hands and at the fault of the Baron de Gournay!”
The Wolf’s grin slanted with amusement. “You always did have a knack for choosing loyal friends.”
“I have no interest in Princess Eleanor. She is free to leave the castle at any time, as are your men.”
“With me riding at the head?”
The Dragon scoffed. “Wrapped in a shroud, perhaps. Surely you would not consider leaving early at any rate. Think of the disgrace: the Scourge of Mirebeau slinking away like a cur with his tail tucked between his legs, his teeth chattering with fright. Your queen would be humiliated; my guests would be chagrined; and my lovely bride— think how distraught she would be at being so slighted.”
The steely eyes did not take the bait—not at once—but neither did the Dragon back down from the sudden tautness in his brother’s jaw.
“Lady de Briscourt,” he mused. “Such a sweet young thing, is she not? Spirited too, yet so refreshingly innocent in her passions. Well … perhaps not so innocent as she was before falling into your hands, yet eager enough to make up for her … shall we say … curiosity?”
The only response was a visible tightening of the already compressed, bloodless lips and the Dragon raised his hand, using the backs of his fingers to push the blade of the knife aside. “I would have thought you had learned your lesson with Nicolaa.”
“Where is she?” the Wolf rasped.
“Nicolaa? Why, I believe she is tending to Lady de Briscourt.”
“Where is Servanne?”
The Dragon smiled. “She is safely tucked away for the time being. Licking her wounded pride, I would imagine.”
“If you have touched her—”
The Dragon’s eyes glowed triumphantly. “Be assured,” he said viciously, throwing the Wolf’s own words back at him, “I have indeed touched her. And I will touch her again … and again, as often and as inventively as I so choose the moment she becomes my bride.”
The Wolf fought to keep his rage in check. His fist closed so tightly around the hilt of the knife, the seams of his gauntlet cracked and split the threads. He had lived by his instincts too long not to sense the jaws of a trap looming in front of him, but until he could determine the exact nature of the trap, and how many other lives were being placed at risk alongside his own, he had no choice but to endure Etienne’s baitings.
“You say my men are free to leave. I am curious to hear your terms for such generosity.”
“No terms. They are free to go—preferably within the hour, however, so my men will have something other than their own backs to watch. What is more, my guard will be glad to provide an escort as far as Lincoln to ensure they meet no dangers on the road. The forests, as you know, are riddled with outlaws.”
The Wolf ignored the sarcasm. It came as no surprise to hear he wanted the queen’s men out of the castle. With them gone, there would be no threat of an attack or rescue from within Bloodmoor’s walls. Locking them out would also effectively lock the Wolf inside, presumably alone, and here he spared a brief word of thanks for Friar’s foresight in insisting some of the men enter the castle as common folk. A dozen stout bow arms well placed gave him a fighting chance-providing there would still be the chance to fight.
“What of our challenge match? Surely you are not suggesting we forfeit the contest?” the Wolf asked dryly. “Or is this your coward’s way of avoiding a test you fear you cannot win on equal terms?”
The Dragon laughed. “God’s love, I would not dream of disappointing our avid audience. They are eager to see blood spilled this day, and by Christ, so am I.” His smile faded and his gaze turned brittle. “You should have stayed dead, but since you have not, I would not deny myself the pleasure of killing you again. The match proceeds as planned.”
“To what end … an arrow in my back if I win?”
“If you live to walk off the field,” the Dragon said seethingly, “all of this, including the blushing bride, is yours. If you lose—” He stopped and straightened, curbing his temper before