Autumn Lord (22 page)

have a seventeen-year-old son was almost harder to comprehend. Simon looked to be in his early

thirties, a little weathered, but youthful and strong. She had to suppose that people matured faster here

than at home, and married earlier.

At home, a seventeen-year-old kid who gave his parents that kind of trouble might end up in therapy,

or in a group home, or would run away. Here they also ran away, then joined the army, and brought it

back to attack dad's castle.

Diane might have laughed, but there was nothing funny in this situation. So she looked questioningly at

Simon.

"The King of France is no friend of the elder Henry. So he harbors the rebels and supports them. He

is trying to influence those of us sworn to King Henry to join the rebels. The French king has been trying

to bribe his vassals to fight against Henry. Hence the invitation to his winter court." Simon smirked. "He

has made me an offer I can hardly refuse."

Diane gave Simon a sharp look. At the same time an intense emotion ripped through her that she

refused to identify as jealousy. She had no reason to be jealous of Simon of Marbeau. None at all. Not a

bit. Certainly not. Who the Baron of Marbeau married for diplomatic reasons even though he claimed to

be loyal to this Henry person was nobody's business but the Baron of Marbeau's.

And he didn't know he was paraphrasing
The Godfather
—but now she was stuck with an image of

the King of France looking like Marlon Brando with cotton stuffed in his cheeks. Not that she'd be seeing

the king, or anything like that. She didn't suppose. Just because Simon had said he was taking her to

court didn't mean she'd actually have anything to do with the movers and shakers of the time. Simon

would probably leave his household at a hotel or something and go off to this king's palace for meetings,

and receptions, and whatever, on his own. It wasn't likely that he was going to take her anywhere as his

date, all things considered.

She did wonder if she'd get invited to the wedding. Wondered, and decided she didn't want to think

about it. It was very frustrating not to be able to ask any questions. She had the feeling that Simon had

really told her very little. He'd only disclosed some of the whats, but none of the whys of what was going

on. She'd gone from being totally ignorant to having a vague notion of the shape of things. She was afraid

that knowing a little bit could be more dangerous than being totally in the dark.

Simon leaned across his horse's neck and put his hand over hers. Though he wore heavy leather

gloves, the warmth of his touch penetrated her numb senses. "Trust me, Diane." She turned her head to

gaze into the intense expression in his amber-gold eyes. "No matter what you hear or see," he said.

"Trust me."

Simon had no idea why it was so important to have her acknowledge this plea. Or why he had even

asked this of her. What Diane thought of him should not matter. Perhaps it was because she was the one

person who was completely innocent in all these machinations that made her goodwill seem important.

Perhaps it was for reasons best not considered too closely. All he could do was hold his breath and wait

while she silently considered his words.

He didn't know whether to be annoyed at her lapse of faith, or pleased that she took her time to think

his words through. He did let his breath out in a gusty sigh of relief when she finally gave one faint nod of

acquiescence.

He nodded back. "Good. I'm going to ride ahead," he told her. "To look for a campsite."

One of his steward's men had left the castle long before dawn to seek out a place to spend the night,

but Diane would not know that he lied. He truly only wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but didn't

know how to tell her so. He shouldn't have to tell her. He shouldn't feel the need to explain himself to

anyone. He never had before. These days he made excuses and asked for promises from a young

woman completely ignorant of all that was important and trivial in his world. A woman who had no

importance, except to him. She was becoming too important to him.

Diane might be uninformed, but she wasn't stupid. Dumb but not blind. She learned quickly, and could

comment correctly on a situation with the slightest change of expression or tilt of her head. Her mind

worked very well indeed, and he found that what she thought of him was important. She was not like any

woman he had ever known. He reacted to her as he had never done with any woman before. He wanted

her. Her beautiful, delicate golden body fascinated him. Her unspoken thoughts intrigued him. Her

company delighted him. She had seduced him without even trying.

Distracted him.

Made him feel alive again. More alive, in truth, than he had ever felt before.

Which made her the most dangerous woman in the world. More dangerous than Vivienne. More

dangerous than the situation with his daughter, Felice. More dangerous than the offer of peace through

marriage held out by the king.

She made him weak, vulnerable, almost hopeful that there could be more to his life than what duty and

honor demanded. It was safer for Diane to have her by his side, but more dangerous for him. He had to

keep his wits about him. He had to be careful.

He had to stop anticipating being alone in his tent with Diane tonight, and all the other nights of the

journey. Although he had fantasized about an interlude with her away from the world when he insisted

she accompany him, it could not be. It was only a fantasy. They would not become lovers on the road to

Paris. He would keep to himself. He would keep in control. It would be for the best to wait to make her

his mistress.

He would wait until her leg was healed, and he was no longer in immediate danger of losing his life.

Perhaps not even then.

She'd been wrong about
everything. Everything.

Her first misinterpretation of the situation had been a blow to her vanity. Maybe her pride. She had

secretly thought that Simon wanted her to come with him because he wanted to seduce her. They'd spent

five days on the road, and he hadn't made a single move. She felt like an idiot. She told herself that no

other emotions could possibly be involved, that she wasn't hurt and feeling rejected. She should even be

ashamed of herself. It would seem that Simon wasn't the sort of man who fooled around when he was

engaged to someone else.

Good for him.

Her second error was in thinking that she would never see the palace, or the king, or the court. It

turned out that noble visitors to Paris stayed at the palace. Actually, it looked more like a cross between

a fortress, a monastery, and a flophouse than a king's residence, and Paris didn't look anything like she

remembered from a trip there with her parents when she was fourteen.

She knew that she was on the Ile de la Cité because they'd crossed a bridge to an island in the middle

of a river, not from any familiar landmark. They had passed a building under construction that might be

on the site of Notre Dame, but that was speculation on her part. She wanted something to look familiar

just to make this world seem more real. Maybe it was better that it didn't. She was so confused by

everything, from Simon's ignoring her through most of the trip to ending in the palace that she didn't

know what she wanted.

She neither understood, nor liked, the communal way people lived in this time. When they had arrived

at their lodgings in one of the palace's halls, the servants had claimed a section of floor space for the

visitors from Marbeau. They then unpacked everything including screens for some small amount of

privacy, bedding, clothes trunks, and cooking utensils, and settled down as if they were at home. The

room was low-ceilinged, drafty, full of smoke from the open hearths, and dark. Diane found it creepy.

The discomforts of Marbeau were luxurious by comparison.

Diane had been stared at by strangers from the moment they arrived, even though she kept her head

down and her veil in front of her face as much as possible. She attracted unwanted attention, even in the

gloom of the hall. It didn't help that Simon disappeared soon after their arrival. While strangers stared,

pointed, and murmured, she stayed within the bounds of the household encampment. She got in the way,

and was bored, since no one would let her help, but she felt safe enough.

That is, until Simon returned and said, "The king wishes to meet you. It seems news of your presence

runs through the town like wildfire."

He glowered at her as though it were her fault. She noticed that he was wearing a long, belted,

sapphire-blue tunic embroidered in silver thread. His gold mane was combed to a glistening shine and

Yves had done an extra close job of shaving him. He never looked this elegant at Marbeau. Diane was

rather stunned by the effect that this handsome man had on her.

"What are you smiling at?"

When she shrugged, his frowned deepened.

He took her firmly by the wrist and led her out of the building. They went across busy courtyards and

along dark passages and through frostbitten gardens where people stopped strolling to gape at her, until

they reached an ancient tower that dominated the riverside. Once guards at the wide doors let them into

the tower, Simon took her up several flights of stairs and into a big room which had a fireplace and a

window. She welcomed the light and warmth until she saw how crowded the place was, and realized

that the man seated on a carved chair beneath a canopy of embroidered, blue velvet had to be the king.

He didn't look a thing like Don Corleone.

He did look old, and tired. He gazed at her from across the room with sharp curiosity. He beckoned

them with an impatient gesture.

Simon stepped forward. She refused to move. He stopped with a jerk, and looked back at her.

Annoyance blazed out of his amber eyes.

He said, "Be good," as he tightened his grip on her and tugged her forward.

It wasn't as though Simon hadn't expected this moment from the instant he'd decided to bring Diane

with him. It was just that he had hoped it wouldn't happen so soon. Perhaps this was for the best, he

supposed. Better to show the girl off and let her be a novelty for a few days, than to try to hide her and

let rumors of her extraordinary appearance grow out of proportion.

Courtiers closed ranks behind him and Diane as they approached King Louis. They crowded close,

these finely dressed men and women. Simon did not try to pick out individuals in the gaudily dressed

aggregate, though he knew many of the nobles gathered here. He already knew the ones he sought were

not in the audience chamber, so he ignored those who were. He could feel their emotions at his back:

bored, jaded, malicious, eager for distraction. A murmur ran through the crowd like the buzz of angry

flies.

Before them, on either side of the throne, were the king's clergy. These priests and monks in their

rough homespun habits of black and brown and gray, with their tonsured heads and pious expressions,

were the other side of the coin from the gaudy crowd behind them. Simon wondered which group

represented dark, and which light, in the microcosm of the king's court. He trusted none of them.

"Don't be frightened," he whispered to Diane.

He wanted to tell her that he'd- protect her, with his life if necessary, but this was hardly the place for

such declarations. The sidelong look she gave him in answer told him that she had no idea what she

should be frightened of.

Diane refused to let herself be impressed by the king. He was an old man, dressed in dull black, his

hairy ears sticking out from beneath a round, woolen cap. She told herself that this man might rule a

country, but it wasn't as if he'd had his picture on the cover of
Premiere
magazine or anything. This

helped keep her from being scared spit-less as she and Simon approached the throne.

She did remember to bob a respectful curtsy once she stood before the king, though.

"It seems the barbarian has learned some of our ways." It wasn't the king who spoke, but a tall,

white-haired priest who stood next to the throne. He looked Diane over critically. "Do your people not

usually grovel before their rulers and knock their heads against the floor to show homage?"

That'd really go over well at a business meeting, wouldn't it?
she thought sarcastically. My
people

shake hands.
Of course, her maternal ancestors, ancestors she'd been taught to respect, had showed

deference to royalty that way.