A Mortal Glamour (22 page)

He folded his arms and scowled. “What is this? What sort of manner is this for a nun?"

Seur Aungelique grinned roguishly. “I need not worry about that with you, cousin,” she teased. “You know that I am here under duress. I need not pretend with you.” She reached out and took his arm. “Have you brought word from my father? Has he reconsidered? Will he let me go be a waiting woman?"

"Hush, girl,” he admonished her. “There are others here."

"Well, if you don't wish her to speak, I will listen to her,” Ivo called out, coming a little nearer. “You cannot mean to keep such a treasure to yourself, can you, mon Duc?"

"Curb yourself,” Pierre growled. “You don't know what—” With an impatient grunt, he pulled himself free of Seur Aungelique's hands. “No matter what your vocation may be, you should mind your conduct, cousin. These men are not monks and lapdogs. You would not want to ... fire them."

"Yes, I would. I want to fire the whole world.” Seur Aungelique laughed loudly, her attitude becoming more coquettish. “I would not mind if every one of your men fell at my feet and begged to kiss me. I would enjoy that, I think. It's better than spending half the night lying in front of the altar begging forgiveness for all the sins I wish to commit. Isn't it?” This last was a challenge and she faced him squarely.

"For the honor of your house, Aungelique!” Pierre hissed at her. “Keep a guard on what you say."

"Why?” she taunted him. “So that you can tell my father more lies? So that I can be immured here forever? That's what you want, isn't it? You, my father, all of them, they want to be rid of me, and this is better than having me strangled. Isn't it? Well?” Her accusations were hurled at him like weapons, and she was pleased to see him flinch at them. “Am I wrong, sweet cousin?"

"Not here!” he shouted at her, wanting to beat her for what she was saying.

"Not here!” she mocked him. “Because you don't want me to speak the truth? Or is it more than that?"

"Aungelique, I warn you—” He could sense the interest of his men and it shamed him that they should witness this encounter. “Whatever you wish to say, you will wait until Mère Léonie permits us to speak privately!"

"And if she will not? You'd find that convenient, wouldn't you? You could tell my father that you wanted to have words with me, but that Mère Léonie would not permit it. And that would let you continue to ignore me. I refuse to be ignored by you, my good, sweet cousin,” she said venomously. “You have caused me pain and suffering and this ... this imprisonment, and you will answer for it!"

Godellbert leaned down in his saddle. “Do you need a champion, Demoiselle?"

"Stop!” Pierre ordered him in such a dangerous voice that Godellbert backed his horse away from the Duc and his strange cousin.

"Why did you do that?” Seur Aungelique demanded, and now there was a hint of despair in her voice. “Do you refuse me everything? You will have nothing to do with me, and you keep me from the enjoyment of others. Pierre! I feel as if I am in my grave already. My cell is a tomb."

"For God's sake, Aungelique,” he protested.

"You're cruel, Pierre. You are destroying me. There are demons in the air, and you have abandoned me to them, yes. You don't care that I am damned for the desires you awakened in me! You want me to succumb to them, so that you will be free of me. Better demons than a man of flesh, that's what you—"

"Seur Aungelique!” Mère Léonie interrupted as she came through the ruined doors.

The place was suddenly silent. Only the soft sound of the Superior's sandals, like the beat of a rapid pulse, could be heard.

"Mère Léonie,” Pierre began when he had recovered himself. “We were sent to you, at the order of the Cardinal Belroche. He wants us to see to the repairs of your doors and whatever else you may require. I ... did not know that my cousin would ... be near."

"But you hoped, didn't you?” Seur Aungelique demanded stridently. “You cannot abide my love, but you seek me out because of it!"

"Be silent, ma Seur,” Mère Léonie said softly. “I will inform you when you have leave to speak again."

The look Seur Aungelique gave her Superior was acidic, but she did not disobey.

"Now,” Mère Léonie said, giving her attention to Pierre as if there had been no confrontation, “you say that you have been sent to help us rebuild?"

"At the instruction of Cardinal Belroche and the behest of Pope Clement,” he concurred. “We are also to afford you any protection you may require."

Mère Léonie nodded slowly. “There are more bands of heretics, then?"

"And agents from Rome; yes.” Pierre indicated his men. “We are armed and prepared to fight if we must. The Cardinal said that we are not to provoke attacks, but if such should occur, then we are to defend you and your Sisters to the death."

This was more to the liking of the men-at-arms, and they stood a little straighter at this suggestion. Ivo went so far as saluting the Superior.

"Surely your men do not wish to be humble carpenters?” Mère Léonie said.

"No, they do not,” Pierre admitted. “But they have been ordered to do this, and they are bound to comply."

"For fealty,” Mère Léonie said, and needed no confirmation. “I am grateful that you are here, little as you wish to be. We are in danger, as things stand now, and without your aid and goodwill, our danger will continue.” She let her eyes travel from one man to the next. “Your duties here may appear trivial to you, perhaps even demeaning? It may seem so to you, but to us, you are angels of mercy."

Ivo, his color heightened, coughed once. The others were still.

"Mère Léonie,” Pierre ventured when the silence again became awkward, “we must make a camp. It is not fitting that we stay too near your walls. What would you ... suggest we ...?"

She looked around. “There is the orchard, if that is to your liking, but there, beyond our vegetable and herb garden, you will be nearer the stream and at a better position, I would think, to keep watch on the convent and the road.” She looked directly at Pierre. “If that is to your satisfaction, I will instruct Seur Tiennette to be sure you are fed twice a day. We cannot provide breakfast, for we are then at prayers. But midday and evening, you may rely on us to fill your bellies."

Seur Aungelique gave a sound like a snort but no words escaped her.

"We thank you for that, Mère Léonie,” Pierre said, including his men with a sweep of his arm. “This afternoon we will assess what is to be done; in the evening, you and I should confer.” It would provide him an opportunity to be alone with her, and he was pleased at the prospect.

"That is satisfactory. For the time being, I will leave you to your tasks.” She reached out and took Seur Aungelique by the wrist. “Until this evening, then. Come, ma Seur.” She permitted no opposition to this order and it seemed to Pierre as he watched the two women that though both nuns walked at a sober pace, Mère Léonie was dragging Seur Aungelique back inside the walls of Le Tres Saunt Annunciacion.

Comtesse Orienne was picking over the remains of a roast swan when one of her pages came into the solar. “Yes?” she said, licking the spice-flavored fat from her fingers. “What is it?"

"There is a monk to ... a monk.” He was young enough not to know what more to say. He swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling. “He says he knows you."

"Another one of the messengers from Avignon, no doubt,” la Comtesse said wearily. “I hope they will tire of the game soon, and leave me in peace. Well, you had better show him in and see that he is offered food and wine. If he's like most of them, he'll spurn it, but still, we must offer. Hospitality requires it, though I don't want him here any more than he wants to be here.” She sighed in a languishing way. “Well, bring him to me. The sooner this folly is over, the better."

The page bowed and went to do as his mistress ordered. In the months he had served at Un Noveautie, he had come to think that none of the tales he had heard were true and that there were no intrigues beyond amorous ones enacted within the villa's walls. Now, perhaps, he would learn otherwise. And then his masters would reward him at last for all he had done for them.

"Will la Comtesse receive me?” the monk asked anxiously.

"Yes, mon Frère, she will. If you will follow me.” He turned and led the way through the halls, wishing he had an excuse to ask questions of the monk.

"So,” Comtesse Orienne said as the monk was escorted into the solar. “Have you come for more useless answers?” She was helping herself to sweetmeats and did not look directly at the newcomer.

"I trust not, Comtesse,” said the monk.

Comtesse Orienne turned at the sound of the voice, her eyes narrowing and the start of a predatory smile on her vixen's face. “Do they know you're out, ma Frèrée?"

Aungelique giggled as Orienne spoke. “By now, they must. The cry will be up.” She came across the room. “Is there any of that bird left? Or more sweetmeats? I'm famished."

Orienne reached up and pushed back Aungelique's hood in order to kiss her in welcome. “You surely look to be starving,” she said as she regarded Aungelique's sunken cheeks. “What have they been doing to you?"

The page, unheeded in the door, gasped in shock, then turned quickly and left the room, thinking that this might not be the sort of information he had been sent to obtain, but still could interest the men from Rome who were so curious about what went on at Un Noveautie.

"They have been giving me vigils and fasts, to drive the Devil from my flesh so that my soul may come to saintliness,” Aungelique answered, gulping back laughter. “I could not bear it any longer, and so I have come to you. You will not send me away, will you? There is nowhere else I can go."

"No, of course I will not send you away,” Orienne promised, perplexed at the way Aungelique behaved. “You are still the defiant one, ma Frèrée?"

"Yes!” The answer was more vehement than it had been when Aungelique first stayed with her, and that vexed Orienne.

"That could be difficult,” she said, indicating one of the other chairs in the room. “I will have wine brought. Then you may dine. If this is not enough"—she indicated the remains of her meal—"then I will have them turn a capon on a spit for you, and bring you white bread."

"My thanks,” Aungelique said, her mouth dry one instant and wet the next. “I'm hungry. I've been hungry for months."

"You need not hunger here. There may not be much I can do for you, ma Frèrée, but you will not lack for food here.” She leaned back in her chair. “What was it this time? Did they threaten to put you in a stricter Order?"

"No,” Aungelique said, resisting the urge to reach out for the wing of the swan. “It was ... many things."

Orienne was used to evasiveness and for that reason made no mention of it; instead she noted this in her mind and determined to pursue it at another time, when Aungelique was more disposed to speak frankly. She reached for a little brass bell and rang it sharply. “I will want food and drink for my friend,” she told the page who answered the summons. “Bring the wine at once, and bread. And ... yes, you had better tell the cook to put two capons on a spit with onions and apples inside them.” She saw Aungelique nod eagerly at this order, which pleased her. “Bring the wine at once,” she said as she waved the page away.

"I'm ... delighted. I'm overjoyed to be here. Orienne, I have missed this place and you so much. I would dream of it as I lay before the altar, when I should have been confessing my sins and begging forgiveness for all I have done.” Her giggle was high and frantic. “I knew that once I returned here, all would be well."

"Let us hope,” Orienne said circumspectly. “We do not wish to bring the wrath of your father down on us. Now that he has been made vidame, he has taken to making a show of himself. We will have to be a bit careful of him, so that he will not be able to complain to the Pope that I have debauched you.” It was a real concern of hers, as far as it went, but more than Aungelique's father, she feared what the Cardinal might demand of her in exchange for his silence and cooperation.

"Is my father in Avignon, then?” Aungelique asked with a quick, worried glance over her shoulder, as if she feared he might be lurking behind one of the tapestries.

"He was a little while ago, but not now,” Orienne said, seeking to calm her guest. “It may be necessary to ... prevaricate.” She heard her page approaching. “We'll decide what's best to do later. For now, get a meal into you.” She indicated what was left on the table as the page put a large earthenware decanter on the table. “Wine, and food, and a little rest and all will be clear to us."

Aungelique accepted the goblet of wine, taking one long draught of it; then she tore one of the wings off the swan and set to work gnawing on it.

Comtesse Orienne watched her, smiling, hiding the envy that filled her with a practiced courtesy. In time, she told herself, she would know how best to use her little runaway nun.

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In the end, it was Thibault who arrived at Un Noveautie. “Have you tired of piety, sweeting?” he asked Aungelique when he came upon her in the garden.

"I have been many things in my life,” she said with a toss of her head, “but never pious."

"Perhaps; there are many sorts of piety, are there not?” He was dressed in light blue, as before, but the clothes he wore now were brighter and of better cut than the first time she had seen him. He hoisted himself onto the lip of the fountain and looked down at Aungelique. “Well, little fledgling, are you still afraid to try your wings, or have you learned to soar without me?"

Aungelique was at once flattered and disturbed by the beautiful young man, and she tried to conceal this with banter. “What is that to you? What do you care?"

"Well, in the course of the world, I do not care. But here, in this place, with your face rosy and your eyes dancing, wouldn't I be a fool to turn away from you?” He reached down and tweaked one short, loose strand of her hair. “A delicious morsel like you would tempt more than me, sweeting."

"Only tempt?” she inquired audaciously. She was enjoying herself as much for the risk of her words as for the attention of Thibault Col, Chevalier de Bruges. She was glad to see that he could not entirely maintain his composure, for that gave her a sense of advantage she had lacked the first time they met.