Besieged And Betrothed. Jenni Fletcher

let alone how to act! What if she did it wrong? Bad enough that she was already damp and bedraggled, and he looked like the kind of man who’d be accustomed to plenty of female attention. If he rejected, or even worse, laughed at her, she’d be mortified. It was a ridiculous idea, too demeaning to contemplate, and yet she had to do something, no matter how potentially humiliating. He was already turning away. If she were going to act, it had to be now.

      ‘Lothar!’ She called his name out impulsively.

      ‘Lady Juliana?’ He looked back over his shoulder, though he didn’t turn around.

      ‘I don’t need an hour. I’ll surrender now.’

      ‘Now?’

      She nodded, trying to look as innocent as possible as he turned slowly back again, his expression as unreadable as ever. What was he thinking? She ran her tongue along her lips to moisten them, struck by a fresh wave of panic. How could she possibly hope to seduce this man of all men? He seemed to have no emotions at all. Surely a statue would be easier! But it was too late to retreat. If she were going to protect her men and keep her promise to Stephen, then this was the only way. At the very least, she had to try. And she was a woman after all, no matter what everyone else seemed to think. There had to be something feminine about her, something that might tempt him. Sir Guian had certainly thought so.

      She licked her lips again, fluttering her eyelashes in the way she’d seen the castle maids act around her soldiers.

      ‘Why don’t you come inside so we can talk?’

      * * *

      ‘You want me to come inside?’ Lothar repeated the question to make sure he hadn’t misheard.

      ‘Why not?’ Lady Juliana tossed her head, sending a cascade of wet ringlets tumbling over one shoulder. ‘So we can discuss terms.’

      That settled it. That time he definitely hadn’t imagined the coy tilt of her head or the glint in those luminous green eyes. For an alarming moment, he thought he’d let his imagination run away with him, distracted by the way her damp dress was clinging to her body in all the right places. But, no, unlikely as it seemed, she was actually batting her eyelashes at him—dark lashes so lush and long they seemed to be catching raindrops on the tips.

      ‘Perhaps you’d care for some refreshment?’

      Her voice sounded low and breathy all of a sudden, almost a purr, and he arched an eyebrow before he could stop himself. Normally he prided himself on never being caught off guard by an opponent, but the abrupt change in her demeanour took even him by surprise. He’d known enough women to know when one was flirting with him.

      And when one was pretending.

      He studied her for a moment, trying to work out what she was doing. He didn’t know quite what he’d expected, but she was nothing like the duplicitous shrew Sir Guian had described. Nothing like her father either, except for her eyes. They were the same shade of vivid jade-green, shining with the same spark of intelligence, too. The similarity had disturbed him at first, as if he’d actually been looking into the eyes of his dead friend, though the longer he’d looked at the daughter, the more he’d become aware of the innocence beneath the defiant façade. He’d been deliberately harsh when he’d spoken to her, trying to intimidate her into surrender, though he’d done nothing but tell the blunt truth. It was a tried and tested tactic, one that usually worked, too, even if he’d felt strangely uncomfortable using it on her, as if he’d been doing something wrong. He hadn’t wanted to intimidate her, even for her own good, though why she was different from any other opponent he had no idea.

      He thought he’d been on the verge of success, too, had seen the unmistakable look of defeat in her eyes just a few moments before, quickly followed by something else, a flash of nervous excitement that she was trying too hard to conceal. And now she was playing the part of seductress, though her lack of experience was obvious. Try as she might, she couldn’t hide the uncertainty behind her eyes or the heat in her skin—the vivid pink blush spreading all the way up from the throat of her gown to the very roots of her hair. Judging by the way her fingers were toying nervously with the ends of her belt, he suspected it was the first time she’d flirted with anyone. The idea was unexpectedly appealing. If it weren’t for the hint of fear behind her forced smile, he might be tempted to find out just how far her blushes spread...

      ‘You should take the time to consider, my lady.’

      ‘You don’t want me to surrender?’

      She opened her eyes wide and he felt a stirring in his loins, quickly suppressed. For someone so obviously new to the role of temptress, she was surprisingly good at it. She was watching him intently, biting her bottom lip between even, white teeth, though he suspected it was more of a nervous gesture than one designed to entice him. Even so, the effect was surprisingly potent.

      ‘Surrender?’ He lowered his voice huskily, responding in kind. Did she even know what she was suggesting?

      She gave a low murmur, something that sounded like agreement, before spinning on her heel and throwing a beckoning glance over her shoulder.

      ‘Shall we discuss it inside? Out of the rain?’

      He watched her go with regret, his gaze lingering on the way her red hair swung loosely against her slender hips and pert behind as she sauntered slowly back along the bridge. It was a shame she was only pretending, otherwise... He fought to bring his mind, not to mention his body, back under control. This was neither the time nor the place for such distractions, but there was something unusually winsome about her. It certainly wasn’t the way she was dressed. Her drab brown tunic didn’t do her justice at all. A Celtic queen ought to be decked out in jewels—emeralds to match her eyes or rubies to complement her hair. Maybe even gold... He frowned, surprised by the direction of his own thoughts. Since when did he care what women wore? Since when did he notice?

      He glanced past her, through the arch of the gatehouse into the bailey beyond. It was a trap. No enemy turned from hate-filled defiance to willing surrender so quickly. She was trying to lure him into the castle, but why? To shoot him? No, if she intended that then she could have given the order from the battlements. More likely she was planning something else, some last-ditch, desperate attempt to take him prisoner—but how would she do it? If the idea had only just occurred to her, as he was almost certain it had, then she was probably making up a plan as she went along. She couldn’t order her men to seize him straight away, not whilst he was still armed and with the drawbridge still lowered behind them, providing a possible route of escape. In which case, she’d need to draw him further into the castle, probably into the keep, and if she wanted to avoid bloodshed then she’d need to hold her men off, too...then find some other way to disarm him.

      He’d like to see her try. She had nerve, he’d give her that, but how far would nerve take her? Apart from his sword, he had a dagger in his gambeson and a seax in his boot, not to mention assorted poignards concealed about his person. She’d have to undress him completely to find all of them and he’d definitely like to see that.

      On the other hand, what would happen if he didn’t follow her? If he ignored her invitation and walked away, would she still be willing to surrender the castle in an hour? She didn’t strike him as foolhardy, but she’d already proven somewhat unpredictable. If she refused his terms then he’d have no choice but to launch an attack, and then all hell could, and most likely would, break loose. Whereas if he went with her, if he pretended to accept her offer, then he’d still stand a chance of convincing her. If she didn’t throw him into a dungeon first...

      He stole a fresh glance at the fortifications. The castle would make a reasonably effective prison, though not inescapable, and she’d have to catch him first. He hadn’t met an opponent who could outwit him yet and he had no intention of starting now. All he had to do was stay one step ahead. In the meantime, the thought of a warm hearth and some female companionship was distinctly appealing. He’d barely had a chance to breathe over the past few months, either fighting or riding between skirmishes on the Empress’s behalf. A brief rest, even with a woman who was trying to entrap him, would make an interesting change, and if by some