"My Lord," a thin man with a shock of white hair appeared in the entrance to the study.
"Jean-Claude," Leonn de Angel acknowledged his footman without glancing up, his quill flowing across the page in stark, bold script without pause.
"de Lauriers' man requests an audience. He believes he has something that is of great interest to you."
"Ah," Leonn murmured, resting the quill in the inkpot and leaning back in his leather chair to observe the servant patiently awaiting his orders.
Picking up his ruby encrusted dagger, he fingered the sharp tip. A sudden smile flicked across his face, a strange mixture of triumph and hatred.
"Show him in," Leonn ordered.
Jean-Claude bowed and silently departed to return a short time later with a man at his heels.
de Lauriers' man was dark as night, a fact which was further emphasised by the black leather breaches and vest. A long sword swung from his hip, the only weapon visible to the eye.
Leonn rose gracefully to his feet, easily the tallest man in the room. "Cain," he greeted. The black man bowed. "Stand up, there is no formality between us. Especially after knocking you on your ass on the practice field."
White teeth flashed momentarily in the dark face before he nodded in acknowledgement.
"What brings you to my door?" Leonn asked, folding his arm across his broad chest.
"My lord sends a token of his gratitude for your continued support." No more was said of the betrayal of one of de Laurier's closest aids that played a pivotal role in his father's death six-month's earlier.
"Such gifts are not necessary between friends," Leonn replied. "However, please convey my deepest gratitude to your lord for such an unexpected gift."
Cain nodded before striding to the door and barking out an order. A man quickly appeared carrying a young maid.
Leonns's amber eyes narrowed as they slowly moved over the unconscious form, taking in the cloud of scarlet that hid her face from view, the simple gray gown and the pink toes that peeked out from beneath the voluminous hem.
Leonn bid the man to place her on the low leather couch near the stone fireplace, his face impassive. Both Cain and Leonn remained silent as the man gently laid the tiny form on the couch before turning to leave.
"This is Isabella Margerite d'Alsace, the only living child of Count Fredrich d'Alsace," Cain said finally after the man had left.
"Isabella," Leonn murmured, testing the sound of her name on his lips. The daughter of the man responsible for the brutal slaying of Leonn's father. His hands clenched at his sides at the thought of victory so close at hand.
"I've had my men scouting England and France for traces of her existence for the past six months, with no trace of her," Leonn said, finally dragging his gaze from his prize. "Where did your men discover her?"
"A convent in the French Alps, my Lord," answered Cain. "A novice willingly gave over the information in exchange for her freedom."
"Freedom from the convent or from you?" Leonn inquired silkily.
"Why the convent, my lord. A right willing wench when she got the hang of things."
"And the girl?" Leonn asked with a casualness he was far from feeling.
"Untouched by my men. She yet claims to be a virgin."
"We shall see." Leonn slid open a draw and flipped the lid of a heavy silver box. He withdrew a pouch and tossed it to Cain. Leonn knew Cain and his men would be paid by de Laurier, but they had accomplished what his had not, and for that they deserved to be richly rewarded.
"You are most generous, my lord," Cain murmured, his astonishment at the Leonn's generosity quickly masked. "My men will no doubt be equally gratified."
"My servant will escort you and your men to the kitchens. Cook will see to your needs."
Cain bowed, realising he had been dismissed, and quickly departed.
Leonn moved to sit on the edge of the large mahogany desk, his arms crossed before him as he gazed thoughtfully upon his captive. She lay motionless on the couch, her fragile wrists bound with cloth. The fingers were long and shapely, the nails perfect pink ovals. Glossy scarlet waves hid her face from view, and Leonn's eyes traced the silken fronds where they fanned over the small peaks that rose and fell in soft, even breaths. The rest of her figure was a mystery, hidden beneath the heavy folds of her gray novice's attire.
Leonn moved silently toward the unaware creature. Her beauty, or lack of, was irrelevant for his purposes. She would succumb to his touch, willingly or not, and carry his bastard in her belly. And when the timing was right, she would be the bait to lure her murderous father from the depths of his hiding place.
