Page 13 of When I Fall in Love (De Piaget #4)

N igel of Ledenham stood in the shadows of the forest near Wyckham and watched the party leave the keep. Unfortunately, there were more alive in that party than he cared to see. Obviously he would have to have a word with the lad who had sold him that poison.

He cursed under his breath. Damn that Nicholas de Piaget. Damn all the de Piaget brats. The lads were handsome, skilled with a sword, and had deep coffers. The gels were no less canny than the lads, and equally as rich. They were all also seemingly able to consort with witches without harm. Amanda de Piaget, their sister of astonishing beauty and terrifying independence, had proved that by wedding herself to a warlock. Ledenham was certain of it. He’d seen the man’s gear. He’d tried to convince everyone who would listen of the truth of that.

Unfortunately, trying to convince the king had landed him in his current straits—pouring all his gold into a damned abbey that would probably not stand fifty years.

Not that he cared either way, not being a religious man himself.

He returned to his list of particular grievances against the Artane lads. The list was long but satisfying, so he didn’t hurry himself. He frowned and stroked his chin.

He took to rubbing his nose for more inspiration and there hit upon something else to hate them for. He was fairly certain the last time he’d seen Nicholas de Piaget was the second time the whoreson had broken his nose.

Yet another reason to harm him in return—and succeed.

He cast about for something that might serve. Immediately, a vision of the flame-haired witch came to his mind. He considered the possibilities there. If de Piaget had any feelings for her, which he must have given that he’d rescued her, he would be grieved by her loss.

If she were captured, her gear would serve as proof of her evil nature. Ledenham was certain her gear was the same sort of stuff he’d stripped off Jackson Alexander Kilchurn a pair of years earlier. He hadn’t managed to put Kilchurn to the fire, but he would be damned if he didn’t find a way to see that Scottish wench there.

And if he could prove she was a witch, he might be able to redeem himself with the king. Then he could return to London where there was trouble more to his taste.

He would have to give thought to how to capture her. It would have to be when de Piaget was not about. The man had no personal guard, but he didn’t seem to need them. Ledenham’s own men were all cowards, as the encounter a fortnight before had amply shown. Obviously, he would need to find other more hardened lads to aid him.

Then he would somehow manage to separate the wench from her protector, and he would spirit her away and take her to the king.

He would watch and follow. After all, he was a very patient man and he was willing to wait for his revenge.

He was willing to wait quite a while.