Claire Delacroix (6 page)

This was the story concocted by the count to disguise Gabrielle’s and Yves’ true intent. Yves scanned those gathered and wondered whether any guessed the true nature of their journey.

Were there those here committed to the fortunes of Philip de Trevaine? Or any who sought to win his goodwill? Yves could not say, and that uncertainty troubled him.

He would hate it if Lady Gabrielle’s mission was jeopardized before it was truly begun.

“My marshal takes a missive for me in that direction—a mere agreement for Lord de Rumiens’ marriage, that all the same must be delivered by hand. The Lord de Rumiens takes offense with wretched ease—” the assembly twittered with laughter at that “—and Yves would be delighted to accompany you, at my behest, as far as the convent.”

For the first time since he had entered the room, Gabrielle’s glance flicked to Yves. No expression crossed her features before she inclined her head slightly. “As you wish, my lord Count.”

Yves bowed deeply before the lady in turn. “I am at your service, my Lady de Perricault,” he said formally.

Gabrielle nodded, then turned to the count. “I thank you for the grace of your thoughtfulness, my lord.”

“And I for yours in seeking my advice,” the count responded. “I believe,” he continued with a firm glance at each of them that spoke volumes, “that this decision is the best one by far for all involved.” The count coughed into his hand, a sure sign to Yves that he meant to publicly utter a lie. “The sisters will be most pleased with your contribution to their coffers.”

Yves and Gabrielle nodded assent simultaneously, then the count gestured to the board. He raised his voice and flicked a finger to the musicians.

“Music! Please! Come join the repast. Make merry and celebrate our fine day of festivities!”

Chatter broke out around them once more, and the count stepped away to offer his hand to the countess, just now descending from the solar. That lady smiled and the two proceeded to the dais, arm in arm. Yves found Gabrielle’s gaze bright upon him, then noted the older knight standing slightly behind her.

“My escort thus far, Chevalier Leon d’Aquilare.” Gabrielle introduced the man and he stepped forward. His grip was firm, his brown eyes unerringly bright. He looked to be about forty summers of age, the first few strands of silver touching the temples of his dark brown hair.

“It is my pleasure,” he mumbled, obviously a man of unpolished social graces. “You fought well this day.”

Yves nodded acknowledgment of the gruff compliment, then gestured to the board in turn. “Perhaps we might dine together this evening and take the opportunity to plan our journey.”

“A fine plan,” Leon said with approval.

Gabrielle nodded. “I requested places be held at the end of the dais.” Her violet gaze was darker in this light and seemed filled with mysterious shadows. “I had thought that anywhere above the salt would be fitting.”

There was a question in her tone, so Yves nodded immediately. “I am certain your arrangements will suffice.”

They turned together, and Yves marveled at the difference between Gabrielle’s impassioned argument this afternoon and her cool formality on this evening. It was true that the hall was full of seeing eyes and listening ears, but all the same—and against all reason—he missed the Gabrielle he had glimpsed earlier.

Yves could only hope that once they left these walls behind, the lady would speak her mind with him once more.

“The count’s own marshal!” whispered someone within the assembly as the small group made its way to the board.
Yves’ ears pricked with interest, though he gave no outward sign of listening.

“To escort such a minor noblewoman.” The speaker clucked his tongue.

“And one without lands.”

“One would think the count’s marshal would have larger fish in the skillet than to escort her to a convent, the count’s concerns about Rumiens aside.”

“Aye, something is afoot, you can be certain of that.”

“Of course, you
know
about his parentage…” The voice dropped to a confidential whisper, though Yves had no doubt how the conversation continued.

But it was the earlier words that made his flesh creep, so close were they to his own concerns. He had to do something to allay suspicions.

He recalled suddenly the count’s certainty in Yves’ own attraction to Gabrielle, and knew something could be made of that. A witnessed kiss, a glance too long, and nothing more would be said.

The lady, being as clear thinking as she was, would see the sense of it all, Yves was certain.

The candles had burned low when the count retired, and Yves, anxious to set rumor to rest, immediately turned to Gabrielle.

“Might I accompany you to your chambers?”

Gabrielle blinked, as though confused. “Of course,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, then offered her hand that he might aid her to rise.

Yves, well aware of the many eyes upon them, bent and brushed his lips across the back of her hand.

Gabrielle’s flesh was surprisingly soft, as was the sharp inhalation of her breath. Her remarkable eyes widened, but Yves swept her to her feet undeterred. A whisper of speculation rose around them, but Yves still detected a current of skepticism.

He also felt the hostility emanating from the lady beside him when they gained the corridor. She directed him toward her chambers with a flick of her wrist, not deigning to speak until they stood outside her door. The torch in the sconce flickered orange overhead, and Gabrielle’s eyes flashed with anger when she turned on Yves.

“I had thought you were a man of honor!” she raged in an angry undertone. “What manner of trouble do you mean to make with such gestures?”

Yves barely heard her words, so intent was he upon his task. If only there was someone to note this “tender moment,” all would be well.

A maid ducked out of the adjacent room at that moment, her gaze flicking between the pair before she curtsied low. Yves had no doubt she would be the perfect vehicle for news.

It would be news that would ensure he could save Gabrielle’s son.

Gabrielle seemed not to notice the maid, her tirade continuing uninterrupted. “Surely you can see that—” she continued, before Yves caught her in his arms.

Gabrielle was strong and supple, long and lean, just as he had imagined she would be. The top of her head came to just below his chin. She frowned up at him and opened her mouth to argue further, but Yves granted her no quarter.

He captured those lips securely beneath his own and kissed Gabrielle de Perncault with all the artfulness he could muster. She tasted like wine, yet had a sweetness of her own that flooded his senses. Her curves fit against him in an intoxicating way that nearly made Yves forget his motive for kissing the lady.

Then the maid gasped audibly, recalling him to his senses. Gabrielle quivered within Yves’ embrace in a most bewitching manner, while the echo of feet scampering away filled his ears.

The news would be on every tongue within the hour!

Yves tore his lips from the lady’s with a decidedly unexpected
reluctance. It had been a long time since he had kissed a woman, after all, let alone one as alluring as Gabrielle de Perricault.

Perhaps once she understood his intent, the lady would kiss him again. Yves lifted his head, well satisfied with what he had wrought.

He was stunned by the force of Gabrielle’s slap across his face.

By the time he blinked, the lady had ducked into her chamber and slammed the solid oak door in his face. He stared at the door uncomprehendingly and heard a bolt slide securely home. His annoyance followed quickly on the heels of his astonishment.

What ingratitude the lady showed for his foresight!

A man of honor. Ha!

Gabrielle was still seething as the first gray light of the morning crept through the small window of her room. Rain beat against the walls, the gentle rhythm of its pattering making her shiver beneath her bed linens.

It would be a miserable day for traveling, one well suited to the company she was destined to keep! But the sooner she began, the sooner Thomas might be safely back within her care. And that was more important than any nonsense she might have to tolerate from the likes of Yves de Sant-Roux.

And his behavior was nonsense, indeed.

Gabrielle gritted her teeth and swung out of bed, more than ready to be moving after her sleepless night. Why could men never be satisfied with what they already had to call their own?

Oh, Gabrielle could just spit at her own stupidity! She should know by now that all men were selfish brutes!

Yet she had dared to trust a stranger—even against her instincts—when he had asked to accompany her to her chambers. She had thought he was being gracious—ha!

He had wanted only to warm her bed!

And that after accepting her condition for a match in name alone! Now she understood the import of his pledge to seek out no others—he meant to bed her despite granting his word!

What kind of man broke his vow within hours of taking a pledge? What kind of man launched a campaign of seduction after agreeing to set his needs aside?

Gabrielle should have recognized that lie from the outset She should have anticipated this amorous assault! She had been seven kinds of fool to let a man’s thoughtful manner disarm her!

But it would not happen again, regardless of what charm Yves de Sant-Roux used in his pursuit. Gabrielle folded her arms stubbornly across her chest.

She would
not
let that knight between her thighs, either before or after Thomas was safe and sound. Gabrielle had given her word, and that was worth something, even if Yves’ pledge was not. Should Yves save Thomas, she would wed him.

But he would never warm her bed.

Though the memory of his short, impassioned kiss was tempting, indeed. When had Michel’s kisses ever stirred such trembles within her?

Never.

The truth was enough to make Gabrielle squirm. Unwillingly, she lifted her fingers to her lips. She could still feel the imprint of Yves’ firm lips against hers, and her heart skipped a beat at the recollection of his sure touch. With shaking fingers, Gabrielle traced the outline of her own mouth, feeling as though it had somehow been changed by that brief embrace.

Would everyone within the hall be able to tell that she had been kissed?

And by whom?

What a weakness she had! It would have been so simple to deny Yves any response, to stand stock-still so he would
know exactly how unwelcome his embrace had been. But Gabrielle knew she had not done so.

Had Yves known how his touch had weakened her? Had he felt her quiver in response?

Was she doomed to repeat her mother’s mistake?

No! Gabrielle closed her eyes and prayed fiercely that Yves had not noticed, that he had been so fixed on his needs that any response of her own did not matter.

Surprise had been against her, she resolved firmly. Now that she knew the manner of tricks Yves was inclined to play, he would not catch her off guard again.

The issue resolved, Gabrielle dressed in haste. Her dark green surcoat was wrought of heavy wool, simple in line and warm beyond all. She unfurled thick knitted stockings, donned them and fastened the garters high above her knees.

The sturdy leather boots she had had made were more like a man’s riding boots than those made for ladies, but Gabrielle liked their solid strength. Her thoughts of Thomas grew stronger as she braided her hair into a single plait, and her fingers stilled with a sudden realization. It was as though she girded herself for a battle and a journey that would leave her life changed.

A pang shot through her heart at that thought. Surely she could not lose her beloved Thomas? Surely the boy would be saved?

Surely it was not too late?

Unable to bear the thought, Gabrielle fastened the end of her braid with hasty fingers. She hurled her homespun cloak over her shoulders, gathered her possessions into her saddlebags and strode from the room.

The keep was stirring to life, a rustle of activity in the hall revealing those who had already risen to break their fast. Gabrielle took a piece of bread and an apple wrinkled from a winter spent in storage.

A cluster of pretty noblewomen, obviously rousted at this
early hour by the demands of travel alone, chattered together in one corner. One pointed to Gabrielle and they giggled, their whispers now exchanged behind their hands.

Gabrielle refused to give them the pleasure of a response. She stoically finished her bread and drank her ale, achingly aware of the sensitivity of her lips. Could they see? Did they know? Her cheeks burned with the possibility.

“Well, good morning to you, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle glanced up to find a tiny, angelically beautiful woman sliding onto the bench opposite. Gabrielle forced a polite smile, wishing it could be anyone other than Lady Adelys de Mornay who chose to make conversation on this morning.

Adelys had visited Perricault for the first time while Gabrielle was roundly pregnant with Thomas. Adelys’ charming company and her love of the hunt had made her visit a welcome distraction for Michel, but Gabrielle had felt the noblewoman’s six week visit had been overstaying her welcome.

And twice a year for each year since—at least until Perricault had been lost—Adelys had paused at the estate, purportedly en route to one place or another. The way she settled in with a vengeance, not to mention the expenditure of housing and feeding her retinue, made Gabrielle suspect the woman came specifically to Perricault.

Though what Perricault’s appeal might be Gabrielle could not have said. Certainly, the hunting was renowned at Perricault, and Adelys had a lust for the hunt, rare in a woman.

Perhaps that was the sum of it. Undoubtedly, Gabrielle would never know more. She looked now at her companion, amazed once more that a woman could be so perfectly wrought.

The winters had been kind to Adelys, for she did not look the thirty-five years that Gabrielle knew she had seen. Though her features were shaped with an unearthly beauty and her long blond tresses were of the shade so many envied, there
was a brittleness in her green eyes that made Gabrielle wary of this widow.