Autumn Lord (34 page)

than be with anyone else. Tonight they would make love, and rejoice in being together.

But that didn't mean she was giving up on the subject of Denis.

She was wearing a new 'dress.
It was deep blue, embroidered all over with silver Chinese

dragons. Simon had presented it to her as a Christmas present. Diane loved it, though it bothered her

that he'd given an order to the castle women to copy the shawl that hung over the fireplace and work

their fingers to the bone on a gift for her. She knew that was how things were done, but it seemed

wrong. She was grateful for Simon's thoughtful-ness, but she wished she'd done something nice for the

women who'd performed the real work of putting the dress together. She wished she had presents for

Simon, and Jacques and Joscelin and all the servants who took such good care of them.

She didn't have presents to give, but she'd helped Simon hand out gifts to his retainers at the chapel

door before church. That at least made her feel like she was doing something for Christmas. The gifts

had been of food and clothing. Simon had started with the lowliest pot scrubbers and midden cleaners

and worked his way up the social hierarchy through Jacques, and then herself. She had been delighted

with the dress, kissed him in front of a ribald, cheering crowd, and had been impatient for the service to

be over with so she could change clothes for the feast.

The little church had been lit with more candles than usual, and the air was full of incense for the

special occasion. Father Andre's robes were embroidered in gold, and he'd given a sermon. A long one.

She and Simon had held hands throughout the Mass, and given each other fond glances. The priest kept

glaring at them as he talked, as if he was afraid they were going to fall to the floor on top of each other in

an excess of passion. His sermon had dwelled heavily on Mary's purity and her subservience to the

Lord's command. Diane got the feeling that the priest wished she'd stayed holed up in Simon's chamber

and the hell out of his church.

And even though he was seated next to her at the feast, Father Andre was doing a very good job of

ignoring her.

Now, as Simon sat down on her other side, his chair placed exactly at the center of the high table, she

made herself forget about the priest's continuing animosity. She smiled at the man she loved. It didn't

matter what anyone else thought as long as she was with Simon.

"You look lovely," he told her.

"Thank you." She gave him a gracious nod. "And you are the handsomest man in the whole world.

Great outfit," she added.

Diane was delighted that he wore a blue surcoat embroidered in dragons that matched her new dress.

She assumed that there was some significance attached to their wearing the same clothing. She was

learning that this was a place full of symbolic gestures and signs and was trying to learn how to read the

unwritten cultural language. This time might be barbaric, but it was anything but simple.

Simon gave a self-deprecating smile at her words. He was hardly the most handsome man in the

world, or even at Marbeau. Sir Joscelin easily took that honor from him, but he was happy to see

Diane's belief in her words shining from her eyes. To her, he was handsome, virile, and strong. For

Simon, her belief was enough. She made him feel so alive, so young. So loved.

He sat beside her and took her hand in his. He kissed her palm, and each fingertip. "You are the jewel

of Marbeau," he told her. "A lady of amber and onyx and golden pearl."

She laughed. It was so wonderful to hear the sound of her voice.

"What amuses you, my jewel?"

"That," she answered. "You calling me a jewel."

"Why? You are."

"I'm flesh and blood, sweetheart, but my Chinese grandparents are jewel merchants, they deal in

precious stones. And since my father is a jeweler, it's all so—symbolic."

Past Diane, Simon heard Father Andre grumble into his winecup, "So his mistress is not only a

foreigner and a mountebank, but a merchant's daughter."

Diane blushed at the priest's words, but her hand tightened around his when Simon would have

reacted to the rudeness. "Merry Christmas," she said. "Peace on earth. What's for dinner?"

Simon forced himself to sit back in his chair, but he had to feign being relaxed to hide his fury. He

hoped the priest passed out from drink before he offered any more insult. Simon waved a wine server

forward to keep Andre's cup well-filled. From his own trencher he picked up a piece of pork simmered

in dried mushroom sauce.

"Shall I offer you the best of my dish for all to see?" he asked Diane.

She ran a hand lovingly across the embroidery decorating her clothing. "As long as you don't spill

anything on my dress," she told him.

"I promise," he said, and held the morsel for her to taste.

He ignored those who looked on as he demonstrated the depth of his regard for his lady, but was

aware that Diane was acutely embarrassed by the attention. So he refrained from offering her another

bite and they shared the trencher instead, with their heads close together so they could talk quietly above

the noise of the feast. A juggler and jongleur from a traveling troupe performed before the head table, but

neither he nor Diane paid them any mind.

"Why dragons?" she asked after the first meat course was cleared away.

"Dragons?" he asked as eels in broth were set before them.

She touched her sleeve. "Dragons are your device, right?"

"Nine dragons," he explained. "It is said that the de Argent who built Marbeau had to slay the dragons

who dwelt in the nine hills surrounding the fortress. It was a mighty battle that lasted nearly a year and left

my ancestor grievously wounded. Poisoned, in fact, and in pain for the rest of his life. It was the price he

had to pay to hold his land. Though Jacques tells the tale differently."

"What's Jacques's version?"

"That my ancestor fed them a magical potion. That they are but sleeping, and the poison was some of

the potion that he drank accidentally."

"Jacques would go for the magical touch."

Simon nodded. "I suppose he would."

"And what was this ancestor's name?"

He had hoped she wouldn't ask that. "Some say it was Simon," he answered.

She saluted him with the wine goblet. Her eyes glittered brightly above the silver rim. "I thought it

might be."

"But some say it was Denis," he added.

"I think I'd rather believe it was Simon. But speaking of Denis," she went on.

He frowned. "We were not speaking of Denis. We are not going to speak of Denis."

"You still haven't convinced me that you have to go to war with him," she relentlessly went on.

This was not the time or place to discuss Denis, war, or why he should need to convince her of

anything no matter how much he loved her. He wondered if all women in the future were so persistently

opinionated. Their men must not beat them enough, he concluded. Not that he ever thought beating a

woman did anyone any good. The men who did it were cowards, and the cowed women found subtle,

vicious ways to get revenge.

Perhaps it was better to let Diane speak her mind, but not now. Besides, he didn't want to hear what

she had to say. Her words made him think. He'd been sleepless and haunted about things he couldn't

change since their last confrontation. He didn't want to think about the future, about possibilities when his

way was clearly set.

Simon held hard onto his annoyance and refused to comment on any of these subjects. "You look

lovely," he told her. "The garb pleases you?"

Diane didn't want to let it go. She wanted Simon to stop his crazy plan to go to war with his own son.

Honor and duty did not cut it. It was stupid. Wasteful. This was also a Christmas party. It was no time to

get into a fight.

"It makes me feel downright imperial," she answered.

Or, like the emperor's favorite concubine,
she thought as she remembered Father Andre's earlier

comment.

Actually, she didn't blame a priest at being upset by her and Simon's relationship. Monitoring the moral

rectitude of his flock was his job. The disapproving looks she got from other people at Marbeau did

bother her. She was happy to be involved in an affair with Simon, but she couldn't help but notice what

the rest of the household thought of her reputation. She hated this communal life, and being the center of

attention because she was Simon's lover. Maybe she'd go back to hiding in Simon's room tomorrow. But

for now, she concentrated on having the best Christmas she could by Simon's side.

* * *

Diane smiled gratefully at the very serious looking Sir Joscelin. "Sure."

The meal was over, the tables had been cleared away below the dais and now the household was

involved in a game. It involved an apple, scarves and a great deal of whirling around. Diane could not

figure out the rules, though she'd initially enjoyed the whirling around parts. It had felt like dancing in

Simon's arms. Simon, however, had moved on to a new partner, and she had been passed along the line

to Joscelin. She welcomed the chance to quit the game before she did something stupid.

"In private?" When she hesitated he added, "Upon my honor, I mean no dalliance, dear one."

If Joscelin said he didn't plan to put any moves on her, she believed him. Like Simon, he was a man of

honor. She appreciated the whole honor thing, up to a point.

"All right."

"The solar is free. If you can bear the sight of the place where you were so shamed by—"

"Fine." She waved him toward the solar door. "No problem."

His brows knitted with concern. "You're sure?"

If he was so concerned about her psychological well-being, why had he suggested the women's

quarters in the first place? She led the way through the crowd. "I'm sure." He followed like a devoted

puppy.

Only one rushlight burned near the door of the room when they entered. Joscelin used it to light a few

candles while Diane stood in the center of the cold, dark room and tried not to think about Thierry. Once

some of the shadows were lifted by the addition of candlelight the place, with its loom, baskets of

colored, spun wool and stacks of bedding and cloth didn't seem so sinister to her. The bundles of drying

herbs that hung from the ceiling beams even gave the place a comforting, homey aroma. She'd tried

spending some time there not long after Simon had kicked Alys out. The women had given her a guarded

acceptance, just as they had during the siege. If she was going to be spending her life there, she

supposed she should make the effort to get to know them.

She smiled when Joscelin turned back to her. "It's nice here," she told him. "Not a bad place to spend

the day, I guess."

He stepped up to her and took a piece of folded cloth from his belt pouch. "This is for you," he said as

he held it out to her. "My device, a favor for you to wear when I am your champion," he explained when

she unfolded the strip of cloth to find that it was embroidered in a green-and-yellow geometric design.

"Normally, it is the lady who gives the man her favor, but I wanted some way to show my devotion to

you."

"A Christmas present?"

"If you will have it."

She kissed his cheek. It was freshly shaved, and his skin smelled of oranges and cloves. "Thank you."

"A present, and a promise," he told her. "Lord Simon has asked me to be your protector and succor

when he is gone," he explained when she looked at him curiously. "Your service is to him now, I know. I

ask nothing for myself, and mean you no disrespect. But there are things that need to be said between

us."

"There are?"

He nodded. "I knew not when we would be able to be alone again, since Lord Simon keeps you so

close—and rightly so." He put a hand on his breast. "It is his right, and his joy to guard you and keep you

closed in a tower while he consummates his autumn with your summer love."

"Right." She had no idea what the man was getting at. Considering his flowery speech pattern it might

be weeks before she did figure out what Joscelin was talking about. She tried to speed up the process

with a few pertinent questions. "You wanted to talk to me alone. Why?"

"It pleases my heart to know the sound of your voice at last," he went on. "Someday, if I am worthy, I

hope to hear endearments spoken to me from your honeyed tongue."

"Honey? Did Yves tell you about what Simon and I did with the honey?"

"I know nothing of servants' gossip." She could tell by the way he blushed that he was lying. "It is just

that I think your lips would taste of honey, and be as sweet as your words."

She backed away from him. "Uh huh. I thought you said you weren't going to try anything."