Autumn Lord (26 page)

Felice crossed herself, and looked at her husband, head meekly bent. Gilbert began to smirk

triumphantly. Then she said, "Kill him, father. I'll pray for his soul in the convent."

"As you wish, child."

As Simon threw off his cloak to free his movements Gilbert slapped Felice to the ground. This blow

sealed the young fool's fate irrevocably.

Simon's movements were as graceful and deadly as a hunting cat's. Gilbert moved more like a snake,

weaving and sinuous. Diane watched in fascination as the swordsmen met in the center of the courtyard.

Torches and moonlight illuminated the clash of the heavy swords, making them seem to be almost magical

weapons as the men engaged. One moment the flashing metal looked on fire, with the next thrust or parry

the blades turned to ice. The men kept their gazes fixed on each other as they circled cautiously around

the center of the courtyard. Diane watched the swords.

Errol Flynn hadn't fought like this.

There was no exchange of banter, just quickened breathing as swords met over and over. The sound

the heavy weapons made as they struck each other defined the term "clash of weapons" for her. They

didn't make a polite metallic clatter as they crossed. The noise was deeper than that, more serious, it had

gravity and killing purpose.

The one sound she did recognize as absent was the tinkle of chain mail. The men were using big,

chopping, slicing and dicing weapons, and neither was protected by any kind of armor. Simon was still in

his blue and silver court garb, the torchlight illuminating the rich color and glitter of his finery. Finery that

was no protection from Gilbert's sword. The men were exposing vulnerable flesh to sharp steel, and

neither seemed to be frightened of the deadly consequences.

Diane was. Terribly frightened. More frightened as she watched this fight than she had been at any

other time in the weeks she'd spent in the past. She wanted it to be over, but was afraid of how it would

end. She wanted to close her eyes, turn away, run for the guards to put a stop to it. She knew there was

no stopping this, and that to look away was impossible. She waited, rigid with tension, her nails digging

into her tightly clenched palms.

Eventually, blood began to dim the reflection of fire and moonlight on the blades.

Simon knew his left arm was cut. It was inconvenient, but not serious. He wished he had his shield. He

wished he was fighting from horseback. He wished he wasn't so aware that Gilbert's well-armed friends

were waiting in the shadows. He didn't let any of his wishes matter as he moved in for one last attack.

Simon had gotten a good slice in across his opponent's upper left thigh, and a quick nick on his

forehead. The lad was a fine warrior, faster than most Simon faced. But Gilbert had blood in his eyes,

and a weakened leg. He didn't move fast enough when Simon feinted to the side, then brought a quick

stab upward underneath Gilbert's raised sword arm and into his chest. Gilbert sank to the ground, dead

before he hit it.

Felice gazed down at her dead husband with no expression on her face. Alys hissed furiously from the

shadows. Simon could not see Diane from where he stood. He longed to turn to her, but the danger was

not yet past.

Simon wanted to drop to his knees when Gilbert fell. He wanted to rest, to forget that he'd just killed a

man. Duty wouldn't let him show tiredness now, or regret. Duty was all that kept him going. He had

wanted Gilbert dead for good reasons. Now that it was done he didn't want to gloat, he just wanted to

gather his child and his woman up and get them away from the scene of the' carnage.

He had Gilbert's friends to deal with first. He looked around slowly, raking his gaze across each man.

"Next?"

The larger of the pair stepped forward. Simon tensed, prepared to fight again. "I have no quarrel with

you, Lord Simon."

"Nor I," the other one told him. "If Father Raymond thought your cause just, I'll not argue with him."

Simon didn't show his relief that these were courtiers who went with the winds of politics, not the

loyalties of friendship.

"Wise of you," he said. He waved them away with his sword. "Begone, then."

They didn't hesitate to gather up their servants and head for the courtyard entrance. Simon kept his

sword at the ready as he watched them go.

Simon didn't see the woman who rushed toward him. The long dagger in her hand was raised to strike

his unprotected back. Diane saw. Her hand flew to her throat.

"Simon, look out!"

Take that, Viv,
Diane thought triumphantly as she watched Simon snatch the dagger out of

Alys's hand. /
can talk without any help from you, thank you very much.

Diane was very glad she had told the sorceress to go to hell when she'd figured out how much

Vivienne was messing with her mind.

"Wait a minute. I'm talking."

Simon pushed Alys away and looked over his shoulder at her. "Why, so you are."

The self-satisfied grin on his face would have been an insufferable smirk on anyone else. It was a

smirk. It was just that on him it was—

Lovable.

Diane blinked. "This is a hell of a time to find out I'm in love," she muttered. Then she hurried forward

to do something about Simon's bleeding arm.

She snatched up Simon's cloak and threw it around his shoulders as she reached him. "Hi," she said to

the staring Felice, "I'm Diane. Let's— "

"Hush, woman." Simon pulled her into an embrace with his good arm, and kissed her.

The fiery touch of his lips drove words right out of her head. She had a great deal to think about, a

million things to talk about, but time stopped, the cold winter night heated around her, and the heady

glory of kissing Simon de Argent filled her world. She'd never been kissed like this before, and it didn't

last long enough.

She wanted to cling to him, press herself against him and let the words spill out. She remembered the

dead man on the ground and Felice who stood nearby. "Are you in really deep trouble?" she asked as

she watched Simon look carefully around.

He tilted an eyebrow at her. "Possibly."

"Do we need to get out of town?"

"Definitely."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"For the city gates to open at dawn."

"Oh." She searched the night sky. "How long is it until dawn?"

Diane remembered the guards she'd hoped would show up to stop the fight. Now she hoped they

were sound asleep and hadn't heard anything. Why did things have to be so complicated? Why couldn't

she just take this man to bed? She wanted to revel in having her voice back, and in being in love with

Simon de Argent.

She did have him, didn't she? She wasn't the only one in love, was she? Should she ask? Should she

have to? She might have her voice back, but the question froze in her throat. Maybe she didn't want to

know. Maybe it would be better to concentrate on the problems of the moment and not dwell on all the

ramifications of having taken Jacques's cure for the magic spell.

She watched in silence as Simon took Felice in his arms. "I am so happy to have you safe."

The girl clung to him. "I love you father. You've brought me peace."

Alys was on her knees at Simon's feet. Her face was tear-stained and full of hatred as she looked up

at him. "What of me?" she demanded. "What have you brought me?"

Diane stepped angrily between Simon and Alys. "Oh, no, you don't," she told the woman. "Don't you

dare blame your mistakes on him." The man took enough responsibility and guilt on his shoulders. Fierce

protectiveness for Simon burned in her. She was prepared to fight off anyone who tried to hurt or use

him.

"Get out of here before I call the police."

"The what?" Simon asked.

Diane ignored him. She was too intent on chasing off Alys to consider the cultural differences between

them. "Attempted murder gets people in serious trouble," she told Alys. "Do you have any skills other

than screwing around? Get a day job or something, okay? But get out of Simon's life."

Alys looked terrified of her, as though a toy had come to life before her eyes. The redhaired woman

scrambled to her feet, grabbed her skirts in her hands, and ran.

Diane turned back to the watching father and daughter. She carefully did not look at Gilbert's body.

"Now what?"

Simon marveled at the change in his enchanted storyteller. He found that he was the one who was now

enchanted. By the sound of her voice, her confident attitude. He thought that the diffident, confused

woman who needed him, and that he'd come to care for, was gone forever. He was both delighted, and

terrified that when she had come to love him he had lost her forever.

Perhaps that would be for the best. For her sake, it would definitely be for the best.

He didn't point that out to her now, however. "Though I would love to stand here listening to you

chatter for hours, we'd best go."

"Where?" Diane asked.

"To the convent of Sacré Coeur," Felice answered.

Simon held his daughter out at arms length. He studied her grave face in the pale moonlight for a long

time. "Are you sure?" he asked at last. She nodded. He traced a finger along her bruised cheek. He

understood her need, but his heart ached just the same. "Must I get you back to lose you so soon?"

"I've never wanted anything else, Father." Her voice was soft, but full of conviction.

He sighed. He'd done all he could for her. She was safe from Gilbert now. She'd be safe from the

world at Sacré Coeur. Felice would be happy in the cloistered life, and out of the danger that loomed

back at Marbeau. It was time to let her go.

"I'll miss you," he said. "But it is for the best. Wait here a moment."

He left Felice and Diane in the'courtyard and went into the building. It took only a moment to pass the

dozing guards, wake Yves, give his instructions then slip outside again. The women were speaking in

whispers to each other. Whispers that broke off when he approached them. Talking about him, he

guessed. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what advice his daughter had passed on to the woman he

loved.

The woman he loved and should leave behind, as safe at Sacré Coeur as his daughter.

He gathered them up with a look. "Come along."

******************

"You'll like it here."

They were standing in the center of the cloister, on a raked, stone path lined with the dead, brown

remains of last season's herb garden. The rocks made uncomfortable bumps under the thin soles of her

leather shoes. She could hear the nuns singing their morning hymns in the nearby chapel as dawn bled

pink into the pale white sky. Felice was with them. Her smile had been radiant when the abbess accepted

her as a postulant. This was after Simon had woken the nuns up and explained his haste in bringing his

widowed daughter to the convent.

Diane had managed to get hot water, an herbal salve and strips of fresh linen from the convent's

infirmary. She'd tended to his wounds while Simon arranged Felice's generous admission dowry. It

turned out he'd been setting up her staying at the convent too. At the same time, he'd been checking in

Felice, he'd been making arrangements for her as well.

When Diane figured out what he was up to, they'd come out for a little talk while the good sisters went

off for their morning prayers.

Simon loomed over her, his hair mussed, beard stubble beginning to show on his cheeks. His amber

eyes were bright with the light of battle. He was trying to be autocratic again. She wasn't having any of it.

"I'm going back to Marbeau today, and you are staying here."

"Uh uh," she answered Simon.

He gestured around them, at the garden and the gracefully arched columns of the cloisters. "It's a

comfortable life. A quiet one, full of prayer and contemplation."

"Don't like to pray. Don't like to meditate, either. I'm not even Catholic, I'm Anglican, similar but not

the same. I'm not staying." Diane folded her arms and lifted her chin belligerently. "You can't make me."

Simon turned a mighty frown on her. "Of course I can make you."

"But you won't."

Simon found her sudden, teasing smile delightful. He was not happy about Diane's adamant refusal to

see sense. He was enchanted by the way the morning light caressed her gold skin. He wanted to reach

out and do the same. He jammed his thumbs into his belt instead and reminded her, "You've been

beaten, nearly raped, threatened by the most powerful sorceress in the world."

"And fought her off, too," Diane said. She gave a proud toss of her head. "She tried to make me think

you'd hurt me. Bad
film noir
stuff. No way did I let her get away with it. And there's no way I'm letting