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‘So you maintain that it is true that Henry is alive and well, and that Malvoisier lied to me about his death,’ he pursued.

Again he saw that flicker of feeling in her eyes. ‘It is quite true,’ she said. Her gaze dropped. ‘That is, Sir Henry is alive, but he has suffered some hurt.’

Simon felt a violent rush of anger and hatred. ‘At Malvoisier’s hands?’ He brought his fist down hard on the table. ‘I might have known it. Damn him to hell and back for what he has done!’

‘Sir Henry will recover,’ Anne said. He saw her put her hand out towards him briefly, but then she let it fall. ‘Your brother is young and strong, my lord, and given time…’ She stopped and the silence hung heavily between them. Simon knew what that silence meant. Henry would recover if he survived the assault on the Manor the next day. He would recover if Gerard Malvoisier did not use him as a hostage, or make an example of him by hanging him from the battlements.

He got to his feet in a surge of restlessness. He was torn. When he had thought Henry dead there was nothing to lose with an all-out attack on Grafton. But to attack now, knowing that his brother was a prisoner within…It was dangerous—perhaps even reckless—but he was not going to let a man like Malvoisier hold him to ransom.

He strode across the room, unable to keep still and contain the rage within him. ‘He sent me a body,’ he said, through shut teeth. ‘If Henry is alive, how is that possible?’

Anne’s very stillness seemed a counterpoint to his fury. She did not even turn her head to answer him, but he saw her clench her hands together in her lap and realised that she was nowhere near as calm as she pretended.

‘The dead man was one of Malvoisier’s own troops,’ she said. ‘He died of a fever.’

Simon felt revolted. He spun around to look at her. ‘Malvoisier denied one of his soldiers a true burial? His body was defaced to make me believe that it genuinely was Henry?’

Anne’s expression was sombre. ‘They were the same height and build, my lord. All Malvoisier had to do was to dress the body in your brother’s clothes.’

Simon’s fingers tightened about his wineglass so that the crystal shivered. He had never questioned that the dead man had been Henry. The body had been so mutilated that it had been impossible to recognise, and, drowned in his misery and regret, he had never once imagined that Malvoisier had deliberately played him false. He had buried his brother with all honour, had written to their father apprising him of his younger son’s death in action, and had laid his own plans for a cold and brutal revenge. No matter that to attempt an assault on the garrison of Grafton was a foolhardy undertaking. He cared nothing for that. All he wanted was to wipe out the stain on the family honour and grind Gerard Malvoisier into the dust.

‘Why did he do it?’ he asked softly. ‘Why make me believe my brother was dead?’

‘You are the strategist, my lord,’ Anne said. ‘Why do you think he did it?’

Simon considered. ‘He wanted me to believe Henry dead in order to provoke me,’ he said slowly. ‘He wanted to end the siege, to drive me out into the open so that he had a better chance to defeat me.’

‘Exactly so.’

‘So now he has two advantages.’ Simon was thinking aloud. ‘He has forced me into a rash course of action and he still holds my brother.’ He nodded slowly. ‘It is very cunning. I might almost admire his tactics.’ He came across to Anne’s seat and leaned on the table beside her, so close that his breath stirred her hair. ‘That is—if it is true, Lady Anne. Almost I believe you.’

He knew that to trust her was madness. Even now she might be lying to him, tempting him to withdraw his troops, tricking him to defeat. Every instinct in his body protested that she was honest, but he could not afford the weakness of allowing himself to feel sympathy for her. He was tired. His mind was clouded with fatigue and the prospect of the killing to come and he knew it could be fatal to his judgement.

Anne turned her head abruptly. Her dark glare pinned him down like the dagger’s point. She tried to rise, but Simon caught her arm and held her still. They were so close now. A mere hair’s breadth separated them.

‘I do not lie,’ Anne said disdainfully. ‘If I were a man, you would answer for such an insult.’

Simon pulled her to her feet so abruptly that her chair rocked back and almost fell. She felt taut beneath his hands, shaking with anger and resentment.

‘Fine words, my lady,’ he said. ‘Yet you must have lied to one of us, to Malvoisier or to me. And he is your ally now.’

Anne wrenched her arm from his grip, suddenly furious. ‘Do not dare to accuse me of disloyalty to my cause,’ she said. Her voice shook. ‘I serve the King and until and unless he releases me of that charge my loyalty is absolute. Malvoisier—’ She stopped, and there was an odd silence.

‘Aye?’ Simon’s voice was harsh as he prompted her. He was breathing fast. ‘What of him?’

Anne paused. ‘Malvoisier and I share the Royalist cause, but our other loyalties are different,’ she said slowly. ‘My first loyalty is to the King, but my next is to my people. I have to protect Grafton. So…’ She spread her hands. ‘I came here of my own accord this night to beg a truce, my lord. If you attack the Manor, you will almost certainly kill your brother along with half the population of the castle. You have cannon—we cannot survive such an onslaught! Call it off and spare Sir Henry’s life and that of my people!’

The silence spun out between them, taut with tension. It was, Simon knew, the closest that Anne of Grafton would ever come to begging. She had so much pride and she had humbled it to come here tonight to ask him to spare the lives of the people she cared for. And now he had to deny her. He shook his head slowly.

‘No. I will not call off the assault.’

He saw the shock and horror on her face and realised that she had been certain, convinced, that he would do as she asked. She straightened up, her eyes riveted on his face.

‘Do you not understand, my lord?’ she demanded. ‘Sir Henry is too weak to move—too weak to fight! When you attack he will be killed in the battle or, worse, Malvoisier will take him and string him up from the battlements! He is a hostage and Malvoisier will use him to barter for his freedom—or to buy yours! Whichever way you look at it your brother is a dead man!’

‘And do you care about that?’ Simon asked harshly.

‘Of course I care!’ Anne snapped. ‘Your father is my godfather, Lord Greville. Henry is as dear to me as—’ She broke off and finished quietly, ‘as dear to me as a brother.’

‘And yet you thought to use him to buy the safety of Grafton,’ Simon said bitterly, ‘and I cannot surrender to such blackmail.’

Anne stared at him, her eyes full of anger and disbelief. ‘What, you will do nothing to help him?’ she challenged. ‘I do believe you have run mad. You would sacrifice your brother for nothing!’ Her voice warmed into fury. ‘Why not tell me the truth, my lord? You will not withdraw your troops because you have committed to make the attack on Grafton and you cannot be seen to weaken. Henry counts for nothing! It is all about your reputation in front of your men. That is all that you care for!’