A Mortal Glamour (11 page)

"You? Suing for moderation? Pierre!” She laughed again, deep in her throat like a purr. “A new experience for you."

"Not as new as you might think. I have that office with you now, and not because you sheltered Aungelique."

"I should hardly call it sheltering.” She nudged her horse to move forward, shifting in the saddle so that her skirts would continue to cover her legs, though she wore leggings to keep the leather from chafing.

Pierre followed her, since they were on her land. “I am charged by Cardinal Belroche to ask you certain questions."

"Par Dieu! You sound so dire, Pierre.” She held her mount to a walk so that the gyrfalcon would not be disturbed on his perch. “He is in a temper today, my pretty Cupid here. He sulks."

"You will listen to me!” Pierre shouted at her. “Stop dallying with that infernal bird and listen to me, Orienne!” If he had not been on horseback, he would have stridden to her and shaken her well for her obstinate refusal to be somber.

"You seem to be sulky, too, Pierre,” she called over her shoulder. “Wait until we are back at my château, and then you may rail at me all you wish. Once I've taken Cupid to the mews, that is.” She tossed her head and began to sing, sounding like a carefree girl while her thoughts turned toward the trouble she might be embroiled in.

Behind her, Pierre accepted her demands for the moment, letting her horse set the pace for them both, while he tried to marshal his arguments for their confrontation—for confrontation it would surely be, he told himself grimly.

Two grooms hurried out of the stable at their approach, and waited to help Orienne and Pierre to dismount. They steadied the horses and held the massive stirrups for the pair, and then led the horses away.

Walking toward the garden where her bath was located, Orienne at last gave some of her attention to Pierre. “As soon as Jaques takes Cupid, I will hear you out. But tell me what we are to argue about, Pierre.” She had considered many possibilities, and none of them pleased her.

"First be rid of that bird,” he responded brusquely. “Then cast your mind back to your more recent ... entertainments."

"Very well.” It was not as bad as her worst fears, then. Her heart steadied. “To any particular event or person, or simply the entertainments themselves?"

They entered the garden and were met by a page who held out his gauntleted hand for the gyrfalcon to bear him away to the mews.

"Take good care of him. He is not very sweet today,” Orienne cautioned the boy. “One of my pages got careless and treated another of my falcons roughly. The bird took one of his eyes out before we could help the poor lad.” She laughed merrily. “It was amusing to watch him flailing about with his arms and screaming as loud as the bird while the talons were at his face."

"Don't think you will distract me with anecdotes,” Pierre said, his attitude bordering on surly now. He recognized his need and weakness for this woman and he resented it as intensely as he reveled in their lovemaking when she granted him access to her body.

The garden shimmered with sunlight and the wild orchards beyond were spangled with blossoms. The fresh breeze was filled with their fragrance and the rich smells of newly-turned earth. Bees and butterflies drowsed among the flowers, and in the far corner of the garden near the wall, one of Orienne's ferrets was killing a field mouse.

Orienne indicated a bench near her shell-shaped bath. “Come. Let us at least be comfortable while you tell me whatever it is you are required to tell me.” She spread out her long skirts so that the damask blue-and-lavender brocade outshone the flowers. “What dreadful thing has Cardinal Belroche decided I have done?"

"Don't make light of it, Orienne,” Pierre said, declining her gesture to sit, but putting one foot on the bench beside her and bracing his forearms on his raised knee. “It is not a time to be light with Avignon. His Holiness is a man at war."

"Then the more reason to turn his mind to strategies and leave me and those like me alone.” She pulled off her gauntlet in an absent-minded way and set it on the bench beside her. “I am not at war with anyone."

"That is precisely why I must speak to you.” Pierre could smell the sandalwood with which Orienne perfumed her hair, and the saffron in which her fragile underclothes were rinsed. It was difficult to keep his mind on his duty.

She tilted her head up to him. “Well? Are you going to ask me your questions, then? And tell me what this is all about at least? Or must I guess?"

"You know what I must ask you. You know that there have been men from Rome, coming into Avignon to spread doubt and dissension, and not all of them are priests."

"I've heard that,” she said, deliberately negligent in her attitude. “I've also heard that the Devil himself has sent his lieutenants to disrupt the entire court of Avignon. It is possible, I suppose, and there are those who believe it, but I ... I believe very little, after all."

"Don't mock, Orienne,” Pierre said harshly. “You endanger yourself if you do."

She concealed her new burst of terror with a light-hearted shrug. “What do you want of me, Pierre? Other than what all men want of me; I will do what I can on behalf of Avignon, of course, but it is unlikely that I will know of anything or anyone that presents a threat to the Pope.” She was petulantly flirtatious as a means to disguise the increasing fear. “Isn't it enough that the Devil sends the Plague? Must he also send Romans?"

Pierre saw the fleeting shadow of her apprehension pass over her face before she smiled, and it told him more than he wished to know about her thoughts.

Orienne got up from the bench and wandered over to her bath, where she ran her hand over the scalloped marble rim. “I am faithful to the true Pope Clement, but I am French. I don't know what will become of me: they say that's in the hands of God. I want to live here, in this pleasant place, and enjoy my life while I may. Why is it that there are those who will not permit me such a little thing? I am only a woman, and a widow, and I do not seek to rule through a husband or gain wealth through sons I do not have. I am ... harmless. Why do this to me, Pierre?"

"It is not I who wants...” He stopped abruptly, hating himself for being evasive. “I am sorry, Orienne, that you are placed in this predicament. It is nothing that we wish to do to you, not directly. It is ... the circumstance. You are in a position to learn and hear and see much. Those who come to Un Noveautie are seeking respite from their lives, from their duty and their anguish, and when they are here, they do not guard themselves as they might in another place. In passion a man says many things, and some of those things might bear on the hazards that—"

"And did it never occur to you that I might be one who does not wish to remember too much? It does not please me to think that my pleasures might be taken from me.” She shook her head in anger. “What a man says when he is in my arms has little to do with his duty, Sieur le Duc, unless it is his duty to please me. The rest is nothing to concern you; a compliment to my cooks or my cellar, a kind word on my falcons. No one speaks of matters of state, not here. There is no reason. The Pope and his court are the targets of these Romans. Let them be on guard, then, and leave me in peace."

Pierre glowered. “I am not permitted to do that. I regret...” He stopped, studying her, waiting for her to say something. “You are angry with me."

"Of course I am. I would like to see you run through. But that would only make my position here more dangerous than it is now, and so I will bide my—Give me a moment to collect myself, Pierre, and then you might as well say the rest. What does it avail me to refuse?"

He knew better than to assume she had truly capitulated, and he wisely held his tongue while he watched her pace down the weed-tangled path, then come back toward him with a fixed and artificial smile on her mouth. “Are you ready?"

"No. I will never be ready. But that means nothing to His Holiness.” She crossed her arms under her breasts. “I am not sensible to do this, but I am going to warn you that I will do you an ill turn when I may."

Pierre nodded. “I understand. In your situation, I would do the same. But in return, I will caution you: I am well-guarded and it would be foolish of you to make me openly your enemy.” He cocked his head toward the door. “Do you wish to go in now?"

"Yes,” she said with due consideration. “I believe I am cold.” Her eyes glared at his, but she did not flinch as he took her elbow to guide her out of the sun.

Seur Aungelique blinked and shook herself as she stood up to face the figure who approached her from the bank of the stream. The grafting twigs she held in her hands fell unheeded and were lost in the tall grass. Her mind was in turmoil as she squinted at the figure in pale blue who came toward her out of the brightness of the afternoon sunlight. “You,” she breathed, wondering if he were more than a vision conjured up by her loneliness and misery.

Thibault Col smiled as he approached her, one corner of his mouth lifting before the other. “So this is where you fled, my fledgling,” he said as he held out his hand to her.

"I...” She looked around in panic, terrified that someone might overhear them.

"There is only the Sister who tends the hives,” Thibault said, smiling more insistently. “I did not want to be ... interrupted.” His icy eyes were flatteringly insolent as they traveled over her habit.

"How did you...” Again she could not finish her thoughts.

"It was not difficult. Didn't you want to be found, sweeting?” He was very near, his voice light and persuasive, tantalizing. “Would you prefer I go away?"

Seur Aungelique shook her head vigorously. “No!” Impulsively she seized his velvet sleeve, her fingers crushing the fabric. “It's just ... Where did you come from?"

"Does it matter, so long as I am here?” He looked pointedly at her hand. “Well?"

Her fingers were shaking when she opened them. “You ... have surprised me."

"I have? But I had thought you dreamed of me, sweeting.” There were cloves and cinnamon in his laughter.

Seur Aungelique flushed deeply but she could not turn away from him. “I have ... thought of you."

"And remembered me in your prayers?” There was no mistaking the mockery in his tone, or the force he exerted over her through it. “But what prayers? What did you pray for?"

"Stop,” she whispered.

He took a step back. “If that is what you wish.” He looked around the orchards. “What is behind the brambles?"

"Nothing. An open field,” she said, confused by his question and still distracted by his presence. It was too much like a dream; she was half-afraid he would vanish if she turned away from him.

"Very convenient,” he chuckled.

She frowned toward him, wanting time to sort out her feelings. Confusion was uppermost in her mind, and she could find no means to end it. “You are..."

"Impertinent?” he suggested. “I am more than that, sweeting, if you desire. Would you not prefer me to be insolent?"

"Insolent?” she repeated, as if she did not know the word at all. “Why would ... you puzzle me, Chevalier."

"Do I? A strange thing.” He made no attempt to explain his remarks. “You did want to see me?"

"Yes,” she admitted. “I wanted to see you."

"Shamed, my fledgling?” He came to stand beside her, still not touching her, but close enough that he seemed to press against her. “How should you be shamed?"

"I ... I ... am made to do penance for what I have done.” She sounded like a chastened child who was resentful of her correction. “I fast, and I ... keep vigils and I pray and ... then I confess."

"And do you repent?” He lifted his long, narrow hand to touch her, but did not.

"I ... no.” She stared down at the grass.

"Does that trouble you?"

This time there was more force in her reply. “No."

"A-a-ah.” His fingers trailed down her cheek. “Do you miss Un Noveautie?"

"Yes."

"And me?"

She swallowed. “Yes."

"Most of all?"

"Yes."

Thibault touched the linen of her wimple. “More than your Pierre?"

Seur Aungelique's eyes grew round with shock. “How did you ... Did Orienne tell you about..."

He ran his forefinger over her chin. “Do not blame Orienne, sweeting. She said nothing to me."

"Then...” She stopped her next question before the words burst from her; she had been humbled enough already.

"I learned it from Pierre, if that is that you want to know. It is what you were going to ask me, isn't it?"

She tried to avert her eyes, but they were locked on his. How could Pierre have betrayed her so, and to this stranger? It was bad enough that he had come to the convent as her father's agent, but to have told Thibault Col of what was between them, that was beyond anything she could endure. She let out a little cry and clutched her hands together as if in prayer. “Oh, Bon Dieu."

"Do not curse him, sweeting,” Thibault chided her softly. “He did not know what he did. And I ... what would it benefit me to speak of it to anyone but you?” He bent and kissed her lightly on the mouth, then stepped back. “Could you not come to desire me instead, sweeting?"

Once more she felt the color mount in her face. “I..."

"Desire me already?” he prompted. “Do you want me to embrace you? Haven't you thought of that when you should have been at prayers?"

Seur Aungelique crossed herself and spun away from him, not heeding her steps or the hem of her grey habit. “Don't."

He caught her as she stumbled and held her tightly against him, imprisoning her hands in his own. “Take care, little fledgling; you may fall."

"No.” She squirmed in his grasp, though she did not kick out at his legs or scream for help. Her breath came more quickly and she looked away, refusing to see his mocking face so near her. “You mustn't."

"Why not? When it is what you desire? Isn't it your desire that I hold you? Have you not longed for me to embrace you and caress you? Then why do you treat me thus?” He kissed her again, as lightly and briefly as before. “Why do you deny me?"

She had no answer for him, and that disheartened her. She took one shuddering gasp and then started to weep, her overwrought feelings finding no other release. “You ... you are not..."