Chapter Eighteen #3
He put his face into the side of her head, his lips by her ear. “Listen to me,” he whispered, making sure that de Velt didn’t hear him. “You must return to Tate and tell him what has happened. I need you to take that message to him, do you understand?”
She was weeping fearfully into his neck but she still managed to comprehend what he was saying. “But I do not want to leave you,” she whispered, her lips quivering. “Please do not make me leave you.”
He smiled sweetly at her, cupping her face between his two massive hands.
“You will never leave me, sweetheart,” he declared, gazing into her eyes.
“You will always be with me, locked deep inside my heart. But I would like to see our son grow up and unless you take a message back to Tate, I am not sure that will happen. Please? It is important.”
Joselyn was struggling between hysteria and composure.
She wanted to go wild with what de Velt was suggesting yet Stephen’s calm words were sinking in.
If she wanted to see her husband live, then she must do as he said.
She had done all she could and it was clear the Scots would not release Stephen.
They were going to punish him for being English.
She just was not strong enough to free him herself. She needed help.
Her tears faded as she gazed into his blue eyes. “Oh, Stephen,” she breathed. “I am so frightened.”
He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “I know,” he whispered. “But you must force that aside and do as I say. You are my only hope and I need your help, not your tears.”
She swallowed hard, wiping her nose and looking hesitantly to Kynan, who nodded firmly.
“Come along with ye, Jo-Jo,” he reached out and grasped her arm. “Let’s take ye out of here.”
Panic flashed in her eyes but Stephen squeezed her gently, kissing her on the cheek. “Go,” he murmured. “I will see you soon.”
She threw her arms around his neck, kissing him furiously, painfully. “I love you,” she whispered between sniffles and kisses. “I love you more than life, Stephen, and I swear this is not the end. I swear it.”
Stephen returned her kisses, tasting her tears.
He seriously wondered if this would be his last taste of her.
“And I love you,” he said. “You are everything to me, Jo-Jo. Never forget that. Now hurry and leave before de Velt alters his decision and keeps you here. I could not bear it if that happened.”
She was a mess, sobbing and weeping, but she yanked herself away from Stephen and threw herself against Kynan.
Kynan took hold of her and very quickly took her from the room, fearful that de Velt would change his mind and not allow her leave.
The man could have just as easily made a whore out of a condemned man’s wife.
Once Kynan and Joselyn had fled the solar, de Velt turned to Stephen.
His dark eyes were cool, appraising. Stephen met his gaze without emotion, not wanting to hasten what was to happen to him by saying the wrong thing.
He needed to give Tate time to figure out a plan.
He needed to give Joselyn time to get free of Berwick.
If he thought about it, he was frightened, but not for himself; death did not hold fear for him.
But he was frightened for his wife and unborn child and what would become of them. He very much wanted to see his son.
De Velt chased everyone else from the room after Joselyn and Kynan fled, bolting the door when the chamber had emptied. It was a surprising move and one that had Stephen apprehensive. He watched De Velt closely as the man resumed his seat on the stool and faced Stephen with his cool demeanor.
“Now,” he said quietly. “You and I will speak of what Edward’s intentions for Berwick are. Why did he station you here, Pembury? Is he planning on launching invasions into Scotland to secure the country for himself?”
Stephen gazed steadily at de Velt, not surprised by the line of questioning.
As he had done to Kynan for weeks, now he was to be on the receiving end.
As he continued to watch de Velt, a thought suddenly occurred to him.
He deduced that he had nothing to lose by pursuing it. Time, and his life, was ticking away.
“I would rather speak of something else,” he countered. “You, for instance; everyone knows that your loyalty is to whoever pays you the most. There is no shame in that, of course, but I would like to know how much Moray is paying you to cut my head off.”
De Velt’s lips twitched. “Does it matter? Do you truly wish to know what you are worth?”
Stephen’s eyes fixed on him. “Whatever it is, I will double it plus grant you titles which belong to me. Let me go and it all becomes yours.”
De Velt lifted an eyebrow. “You think to bribe me, Pembury?”
“I think to make you a very wealthy man. What does it matter how you acquire it, so long as you do?”
He was not surprised that de Velt was interested in hearing him out. But the conversation did not end well. Stephen found himself back in the stocks by noon.