Ensnared (Knights of Brethren #3)(2)

The bailiff glanced at the earl, who gave a curt nod.

It was time.

I had to say something. Even if it jeopardized my position as nursemaid to the earl’s children. Even if I could no longer provide the little I did for my family.

The bailiff shifted Lola, but the heavy weight upon her ankles made moving her cumbersome. He paused, and I prayed he would put an end to this scene and suggest locking Lola in prison instead. Though he seemed hesitant, he lifted Lola another inch.

Quiet anger pierced me. The bailiff was a coward and would have to live with the guilt of his deed for years to come. Then again, we all would have to live with guilt for not speaking up while we still could, for not trying to come to this woman’s defense, for not demanding the truth.

“I can’t do this,” I whispered, tugging to free myself from Frans.

He didn’t let go. Instead, his hold turned into a manacle. A thick-boned and brawny man, Frans was twice my girth and at least a head taller. Strands of his curly blond hair hung out from his woolen cap, only a few shades lighter than his scruffy beard.

I jerked my arm harder. I had no idea what I could accomplish, only that I couldn’t stand back and do nothing.

Frans nodded at his father on my opposite side. Just as big as Frans, Valter clamped my other arm. His hold was gentler but no less confining.

A scream of rage pulsed inside, one I’d tried to suffocate, but one that kept building with each punishment I was forced to watch. Would the guilt and remorse eventually burst inside me and leave me a madwoman?

“Please, Mikaela.” Frans spoke more firmly.

I could sense we were drawing attention, and sure enough, the earl was watching us. His brows came together in a scowl, and his lips pinched.

I quickly bowed my head, letting my hood shield my face as Nanna had taught me to do whenever I was in the presence of the earl, warning me that the more invisible I remained, the safer I’d be. She’d also done her best to keep me in the nursery and away from his roving eyes. Since the earl never came to visit his children, I hadn’t needed to concern myself with his unwanted advances.

Stop. Gather your wits. Stay calm. I silently chanted a litany of self-rebukes. I’d had to do it more and more oft of late.

At the prevailing tense silence, I peeked up to see Bernhard open his mouth as though to demand to know why we were causing a disturbance. Before he could speak, the wind brought us the heavy thud of horses riding toward us.

The earl’s sights shot to the newcomers—two knights and their squires. Their emblem, dragon heads on a background of red, belonged to the king’s knights. It was draped over their steeds as well as upon the cloaks they wore over their chain mail.

What were the king’s knights doing in Romsdal? And could I petition them for Lola’s life? If they knew she was innocent, they would save her from the earl’s death sentence, wouldn’t they?

I rose on my toes, needing to see above the other servants. The larger of the knights rode stiffly with a fa?ade of stone. Even from a distance, ’twas easy to identify the golden clasp at his throat, one crafted in the likeness of the Sword of the Magi. Though I hadn’t seen the ancient sword, I’d heard enough to recognize the special emblem belonged to only one group of knights, the Knights of Brethren, given to them by King Ansgar after he’d freed the sword from the case last autumn.

If these two were Knights of Brethren, then perhaps . . .

My heartbeat gave a traitorous extra beat even as I took in the second knight riding toward us.

Yes, it was Gunnar, the earl’s younger brother. He held himself more casually than the other knight, as if he didn’t have a care in the world—or had tossed them all upon the shoulders of his companion.

Underneath his hood, Gunnar’s dark-brown hair was loose and wavy, framing his face, which was just as beautiful as always. I didn’t usually resort to calling men beautiful. Handsome, good-looking, attractive. But beautiful was a term I reserved for glorious sunsets and majestic mountains.

In Gunnar’s case, however, beautiful was completely appropriate. His features were perfect. Full lips, slender nose, high cheekbones. And his eyes . . . were wide and framed by the longest lashes ever known to mankind. The dark blue of his eyes was oft like a summer night, sometimes playful and full of twinkling stars, but at other times sizzling and sultry with heat.

It was as if a great sculptor had chiseled Gunnar into the ultimate representation of what all men should aspire to look like. If only he had a flaw—even a tiny one, like a wart on his nose or bump on his forehead. But he’d always been too handsome for his own good. And he’d known it.

The closer he rode, the clearer it became that time had given him even more to boast about. His jaw and the set of his mouth contained a maturity and leanness that hadn’t been there in the past. His body, too, seemed more defined and muscular, as though he’d honed his strength and purpose.

I bunched my fists at my sides in a silent protest of my easy admiration. I needed to control my reaction to this man—couldn’t allow myself any longing or an inkling of attraction. I was past that.

In fact, he was my sworn enemy every bit as much as the earl, and I wouldn’t forget the way we’d parted five years ago when he’d been home for a few short weeks after completing his knight’s training.

Regardless of my personal issues with Gunnar, he’d become an important knight—one of the closest to the king. Surely, he could but say a word and stop his brother. He would take one look at the woman condemned to death by drowning and would demand to know her crime.