Autumn Lord (33 page)

was the holiday celebrated on a different date, the customs were obviously different. "I might as well get

with the program," she said. "I'll just have to enjoy it however you observe it."

She wasn't sure how she felt about leaving Simon's chamber. She was aware that at least a couple of

weeks had passed since they'd gotten back from Paris, but it hadn't seemed like any time at all. She felt

safe here. Which was just the way Simon wanted her to feel, she knew. She supposed she should try to

make a place for herself. She'd made that vow before, and then backslid into concentrating on loving

Simon. His world was part of what he was. She belonged where he was, whether she was wanted by

the rest of that world, or not. Time to get out and about again.

"What shall we do first?" she asked.

"A Christmas feast is customary," Simon said. "And visiting church to celebrate the holy days."

Jacques waved his hands with a flourish. "And, a bit of magic from the resident wizard, of course."

"You just like to show off," Simon told him.

"That I do, lad."

The exchange between Simon and the wizard reminded Diane of something that had been bothering

her. "When I first came here," she said, "I thought I was in some sort of alternate universe, or something.

Some Tolkienesque or Jim Henson sort of land where magic works."

"Of course magic works," Simon answered.

Jacques peered at her curiously. "Do you know the Hynsyns? They're a mighty clan of sorcerers."

"Uh, yeah." Diane decided not to pursue that line of inquiry. "What I'm trying to say, is that my world

doesn't have magic. You tell me I'm from your future, but how can that be?"

Jacques stroked his beard. "You don't think your world has magic?"

"Of course not!"

"What makes you say that?"

She thought about it for a moment, while Simon and Jacques watched her. It annoyed her that they

seemed amused at her puzzlement. "Listen," she told them. "I don't remember a whole lot of history from

school, but I know I did not read accounts of wizard wars along with what kings did in those boring

books I studied."

"Of course not," Jacques answered.

"Every great house has a wizard or sorceress allied with it," Simon said.

Diane twisted his hair around her fingers, and tugged. "Then why haven't I heard about it? Why isn't it

in the history books? Why didn't I believe in magic until I arrived here?"

"Well, you didn't need to, did you?" Jacques asked.

She gave him a stern look. "That's not an answer."

He pointed a finger at her. "Ah, but it was. We magicians don't like to be talked about, you see. If

someone really needs a magician in your time, I'm sure a magician will turn up."

"If you come from the right lineage," Simon added. "Magicians don't work for just anyone."

Jacques's eyes twinkled with merriment. "He's a noble, he would think that way," he said to Diane.

Before Simon could comment, he went on, "You won't read about us in any mortal chronicles. We don't

allow scribes to scribble down any of our doings."

"Wizards don't like publicity?"

"We like privacy."

"You mean you just magically make people forget about you?"

"About their deeds," Simon clarified.

"Precisely." The old man sat back and folded his hands over his stomach. He looked about as smug as

a well-fed cat. Diane expected him to start purring at any moment.

"Speaking of your doings," Simon said, wishing his dinner guest gone, "don't you have a spell you need

to be working on?"

"That's
not
a subtle hint, lad."

Simon laughed. "I'm not a subtle man." He gave Diane a meaningful look. "I have my own plans for

after the meal."

"Which don't include me." Jacques laughed. "Well, I brought these lonely nights without your company

on myself, I suppose."

"That you did," Simon replied. "Did I ever thank you for bringing Diane to me?"

"No."

"And I'm not going to now."

Diane laughed, but the men did not. In fact, a very serious look passed between them. A flash of anger

appeared in Simon's eyes for a moment, then was quickly suppressed as he turned a warm smile on her.

"I'm thankful to have you," he said. "But it was still wrong of Jacques to bring you here."

"I'm glad he did," she said. She looked at Jacques. "I thank you. Not for the stupid
geis,
though."

"That was an accident," Jacques reminded her. He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Or perhaps some

interference from Vivienne in the harmless spell I thought I was using."

"She can do that?"

"We throw curses back and forth at each other all the time. Some work, some don't, some alter the

magic we're attempting to perform. It's all part of this wizards' war she and I are fighting."

Simon said, "Good night."

He said it so firmly that Diane knew what he meant was that he didn't want Jacques reminding her that

there was trouble waiting outside this little paradise they'd created. Jacques bid them good night, but she

didn't let Simon get his way once the wizard had left.

"What's Denis like?" she asked.

Simon stiffened, and pretended he hadn't heard the question. He put his hand around Diane's waist

and pulled her down onto his lap. She settled with her breasts pressed against his chest, and put her arms

around his neck. He drew her into a lingering kiss while he let his hands roam. Though he felt the peaks

of her breasts turn hard with desire, she broke the kiss and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"What's Denis like?" she repeated. "Why do you have to fight him?"

To avoid answering one question, he answered the other. "Denis is like me," he said. "Taller, darker

coloring, like his mother, but with features like mine. A fine warrior."

"He must be gorgeous."

"I suppose he'd be called handsome. But he's rash, reckless, and high-tempered. The women like him

just the same. They say he has charm. He spreads that
charm
around far too much. I hope Marguerite

can tame his randy ways."

Simon put his head back against the back of the chair. He gazed past Diane, into the fire. How odd,

he hadn't known he had any thought about Denis's future and here the words spilled out without his

knowing they were there.

Diane leaned her head to one side. Her dark eyes were full of speculation. "Marguerite? Isn't that the

kid you were supposed to marry?"

He nodded. He touched Diane's hair, then traced the line of her jaw. "I preferred to make my own

choice of partners."

"She's going to be your daughter-in-law? How did this happen?"

Simon sighed, then explained about Vivienne conducting marriage negotiations for his son. "A task

that should have been mine," he added bitterly.

"Why not let him make his own choices?"

"Duty comes before choice. It's his duty to make a proper marriage alliance."

"You made a choice," she pointed out. "Me over—what? Safety? Protection from the king?"

He had hoped that she hadn't noticed that his loving her had caused him to make a major diplomatic

error. He took her face between his hands. "I would have turned down the king's offer, anyway," he

said.

"So, you didn't choose me over Marguerite?"

"Of course I did!" he answered without thinking. She gave him a superior look. "Very well, I concede

that point to you."

"Thank you."

"You are the only good thing I have ever known. I love you." He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her

temples.

She let him kiss her for a while, then she sat up straight. "Why do you have to fight Denis?"

"Because he's going to fight me," Simon answered. The weight of all the pain he had ever felt was in

those words. The loss from every betrayal, the regret of every mistake.

"Why?"

Anger flared at her foolish persistence. He was barely able to keep his voice patient. "I've explained

this to you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're on one side, he's on the other. He's mad because his mother died. He's

greedy for Marbeau. It still doesn't explain why you have to fight
him."

Simon stood abruptly, very nearly letting her drop to the floor in his annoyance. He steadied her

before she fell, but turned away when she put her hand out to him. "I have to," he said. "That's all there is

to it."

"Why?"

Simon whirled back to her. "Duty," he said. "Honor."

"The code of the West," Diane muttered under her breath. She planted herself between Simon de

Argent and the door, just in case the Lord of Marbeau tried to flee from this argument. "Why?" she

demanded again. "Do you think that I can't tell that it's tearing you up inside? You don't want to fight

him."

His face became an arrogant mask, the expression in his eyes so cold and forbidding that she took a

fearful step back. "What I do not want," he told her, each word chiseled out of ice, "is to discuss this

further."

She almost let it go. She almost backed down. He was the Lord of Marbeau, master of all he

surveyed. He was used to being obeyed. Just because he was used to it, didn't mean it was good for him

to always get his own way. For that reason alone, she made herself take a deep breath and stiffen her

spine.

"Why do you have to fight this war with your son?"

"I will not discuss it. No woman makes my policy."

"No," she snapped back. "Just a misplaced sense of duty and honor!"

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "Who are you to tell me about duty and honor? You are the one

who is misplaced."

"I've noticed that!" she heard herself shout. Something dark and ugly fought to take possession of her.

It was months of fear and frustration distilled into pure fury. She struggled out of his grasp. "I don't

belong here! Nothing you do makes sense!"

He stepped angrily after her as she backed across the room. His features were transformed by an ugly

sneer. "We make sense. You don't even try to understand!"

"I understand that you want to kill your own child," she spat at him. "What kind of savage kills his own

child?"

He jabbed his thumb against his chest. "This kind of savage!"

A part of her mind was alarmed at having lost control of the conversation, of herself. A part of her

was appalled at the hurtful words she hurled at Simon. The rest of her wanted to strike out as she never

had before. All the anger she'd suppressed boiled furiously to the surface.

"You're all crazy!" she shouted at Simon. "Every last one of you! Barbarians! You fight each other

because you love hurting people!" He reached out for her, but she batted his hands away. "Keep your

hands off me!"

She whirled and ran for the bed, where she buried her face in the pillows and began to sob like the

lost child she felt like.

Pain twisted Simon's heart at the sound of her crying. Pain and compassion. He had not seen her like

this since her first days at Marbeau. Even her reaction then had not seemed so severe, so heartbroken.

And heartbreaking. Of course, he had not been in love with that frightened, confused girl.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Simon knew this was all his fault. He had lashed out at her. He couldn't blame her for striking back.

He could tell that the blows had opened up a door to things she kept hidden deep inside herself. It was

the closed door to her own world, he supposed. The wonder was that Diane hadn't broken down from

reaction to what had been done to her before now. If he had been transported into her time, he thought

he would have gone mad instead of adapting the way Diane had.

He was ashamed of himself for what he'd said. She was not at fault because she couldn't understand

the principles he lived by. She was from another place, one so different that he barely understood a tenth

of the things she told him about it. Besides, she was a woman. She couldn't possibly understand why a

man must fight for his honor, even when all else was lost.

She turned on her side when he went to her. She sniffed and wiped away tears before she looked at

him. "I'm an idiot."

Simon sat on the edge of the bed. He tentatively stroked her hair. "You are a wonder and delight to

me," he told her as gently as he could. "And I am a boor and a fool."

She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek again. "I don't know why I lost it like that. I'm

sorry." She sat up.

"You lost nothing but a few tears," he told her. "You'll not miss them. I was the one—"

"Oh, Simon."

He was terrified that she would reject him—because he truly was a barbarian, a savage. He had never

felt more relieved in his life than at her loving tone. Except when her arms came around him.

Diane held him tight, and let him hold her. Crying had helped. Being within the circle of Simon's arms

helped more. All she had to do to get over this hysterical spell of homesickness was remind herself that if

Jacques hadn't brought her to Simon, they never would have met. She would rather live here, like this,