Claire Delacroix (9 page)

Gabrielle’s eyes flashed a warning that Yves did not understand. “To my
son?
”

“It is he who lies at the root of this, is it not?” Yves asked. “And he whose position as heir you do not want to see compromised. My pledge would be evidence of my commitment to your path.”

If he had thought this would please her, it seemed that Yves had been wrong, though he could not fathom why. Gabrielle stared down at him, motionless upon her destrier, and Yves could not read her thoughts to save his very hide.

Leon cleared his throat. “If you cannot accept the sworn pledge of a knight of honor hired to your cause, my lady, then who will you trust?”

“And who
hired
that knight, Chevalier Leon?” Gabrielle demanded coldly.

The older knight looked to Yves and his lips twisted. “Surely, my lady, you do not expect the man to pledge his blade to
you?
”

Gabrielle’s violet eyes blazed, but before Yves could make sense of that, much less respond, she dismounted impatiently.

Leon followed suit, but Yves had eyes only for the lady who halted before him. She stood tall and straight, lifting the blade from his hands with the grace of one familiar with the weight of the weapon. She kissed the blade, her gaze unswerving from Yves’ own, then handed the sword to Leon.

It irritated Yves that she only did so at her loyal knight’s behest. She had chosen Yves to take her errand—surely she more than any should trust his word!

Surely that distrust—coming from a woman of sound good
sense—was at the root of Yves’ annoyance. Poor reason could be the only explanation for his most uncharacteristic emotional turmoil.

Yves folded his hands together, as though in prayer, and remained on his knees. Gabrielle’s hands closed over his, her grip firm and sure.

“Swear it before me, in lieu of my son,” she urged in a low voice.

Yves did not hesitate. “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, I pledge the weight of my blade and the loyalty of my heart to Thomas de Perricault, heir of Perricault and its environs, from this moment forth. I pledge to serve the Lady Gabrielle de Perricault in the place of her son until such time as my lord Thomas is restored to Perricault and Perricault is liberated from the invading hand of Philip de Trevaine.”

“So be it,” Gabrielle said. Her clasp tightened slightly and she urged Yves to his feet with a minute pull. He stood and she kissed him once on each cheek, her lips brushing against his skin as softly as the first snow.

The subtle scent of her flesh teased his nostrils, and Yves felt a primal desire to kiss the lady anew, to make her forget this Michel who had planted his seed within her, to convince her to abandon the shadows of the past to welcome a new future.

But what was he thinking? Yves would never risk caring for another person again, as he had foolishly done once before.

Especially a woman whose heart was securely held by a dead man.

Leon bowed low before Yves, then returned Yves’ own blade. “Your pledge changes matters between us two,” the older man said with a sharp glance. “I was pledged to the Lord de Perricault, and serve his lady and son since his death. Know that my service follows your lead in the retrieval of the lord’s son.”

Yves looked to Gabrielle as she stiffened slightly. “My lady? Does this meet with your approval?”

Her eyes flashed, but she turned to mount her steed so quickly that Yves wondered whether he had imagined she might be angry. Leon quickly offered his interlaced hands and Gabrielle mounted without looking back. When she looked down at Yves from her saddle, her expression was coolly dispassionate.

“It is why you were chosen, after all,” she conceded tightly.

Though that was the truth and matters seemed resolved in a most sensible way, Yves could not dismiss the impression that, beneath her calm expression, the lady was infuriated with him.

Before he could ask, Gabrielle turned her steed adroitly. “Daylight wanes, Chevaliers, and we still have far to ride this day,” she concluded with the crisp manner he had come to associate with her.

The lady wasted no time with frivolous nonsense, that much was certain. Indeed, he had never met another like her. Though in this moment, Yves was not certain whether that was a compliment or a curse.

Gabrielle did not wait for their agreement, but touched her spurs to the destrier and plunged into the forest, leaving the men to scramble into their own saddles and follow suit.

“Women,” Leon muttered under his breath, and Yves very nearly agreed aloud.

Men!

Gabrielle ground her teeth in frustration as she rode, determined not to give a single clue that might let the annoying knight guess at her anger. If Yves de Sant-Roux could hide his thoughts, then so could she!

Yet she had very nearly lost her composure when he had pledged his blade not to her—not to the Lady de Perricault who had chosen his blade—but to her son. How dare he assume
that she was a simpering fool, like all those decorative women one found at court?

She was the Lady de Perricault! She was the one to whom the knights should have pledged in Michel’s stead, but though those who remained had served her, they did not pledge to a woman’s hand. That was one circumstance Gabrielle had been forced to accept.

But to have a knight choose to pledge to a mere child—whatever his gender or status as heir—instead of to her was galling, indeed.

And it was worse, far worse, for Yves to be the knight who made that choice. The one asset of which Gabrielle was unduly proud was her intellect. That this purportedly perceptive man had failed to note that characteristic was insulting.

It could not be that his opinion of her mattered in the least. This was merely a question of respect, deserved but unfairly withheld. She had held the inhabitants of Perricault together; she had provided for their welfare and safety; she had sought out the leader they needed to reclaim Perricault.

And Leon, curse him, had immediately bent his knee to Yves! Since Michel’s death Leon had evidently never even imagined that he might pledge his fealty to Gabrielle!

Men!

Gabrielle rode Methuselah hard that afternoon, diving recklessly along the unmarked trail she knew as well as the palm of her own hand. Let this cocky knight keep pace with her, worthless woman that he deemed her to be!

Long after they left the road, a stream danced across their course, its water sparkling in the fading light. Vestiges of ice clung to the rocks that lined its banks, for the shadows were long here even at midday. Methuselah, well accustomed to this spot, bent to drink from the stream, while Gabrielle examined the opposite bank.

There was not a sign of another being, which was precisely as it should be. She noted how the moss had turned green on
the rocks, glanced at the deceptive shadows of the rushing stream. The water ran surprisingly fast and deep here. It was cold and many of the stones were slick with moss.

One must know one’s way to cross here without incident.

Yves drew alongside her and his steed followed Methuselah’s suit. The boy started to speak, but Yves held up a hand for silence and fixed his gaze upon Gabrielle.

Without even glancing his way, she knew that he realized this was a place of import She wondered whether he would be surprised when he saw what lay beyond, and noted that Leon’s expression was carefully impassive.

Perhaps this bold knight would soon have to reassess her intellect, after all!

Though, no doubt, he would grant the credit to Leon, despite whatever explanation was given. Irked at that thought, Gabrielle pursed her lips and gave a long clear whistle.

Two heartbeats later, an owl hooted from the forest on the far side of the stream. At least it sounded like an owl, but Gabrielle knew it was Franz acknowledging her cry.

And granting her leave to proceed.

Well aware of the way Yves’ glance darted from her to the apparently uninhabited forest, Gabrielle urged Methuselah across the stream. He chose his footing carefully, having taken more than one plunge into these icy depths, and gained the far shore with a nicker and a stomp of his hooves.

Despite herself, Gabrielle turned to watch Yves follow suit, fully expecting that he might discover the stream’s icy depths. A wicked part of her wished he would fall and lose some of his cursed composure, if only for a moment.

He did not plunge forward, though, but granted his steed time to pick his way across the precarious rocks. Once the black beast would have misstepped, but with a subtle click of his tongue and a touch on the stallion’s neck, Yves directed him to the precise place Methuselah had stepped.

When the pair gained the shore, Yves slanted Gabrielle a
knowing look that made her flush. He had guessed she had wanted him to stumble! Curse his powers of observation!

“Yah! Comet! Make haste!”

Gabrielle glanced up, just in time to see Gaston plunge recklessly into the current with his palfry. “No!” she cried, seeing disaster the instant before it happened.

Leon and his destrier leaped from the far bank in pursuit, just as Yves jumped from his steed’s back.

And the boy’s palfry stumbled.

Gaston yelped in terror as the palfry struggled furiously to regain its lost footing. Before Gabrielle could summon another word, Yves strode into the rushing water. The palfry nickered in fear and the boy screamed.

Then a curtain of water obliterated all from view.

G
abrielle was almost afraid to look at the result.

But there was naught to fear. A displeased-looking Yves stood thigh deep in midstream. He held his abashed and sodden squire by the scruff of his tabard and gave the boy a hearty shake even as Gabrielle watched. A shower of river water was loosed by Yves’ shaking and scattered about the pair like falling crystals.

To Gabrielle’s relief, the palfry had regained her footing only eight feet downstream, though she looked shaken and wet, as well. She had retreated of her own accord to the riverbank and stood shivering in the wake of her fright.

“How many times have I told you to look before you leap?” Yves growled.

Gaston clearly bore the full brunt of his attention now, and Gabrielle did not envy the boy, even though he was unharmed. Even Leon’s squire squirmed in sympathy on the far bank, for the knight’s brow was dark with disapproval.

Yves shook Gaston again, releasing another torrent of water from the boy’s tabard. At least, Gabrielle reasoned, the boy’s clothing had had a good rinse. She barely managed to restrain her smile at that, for it was clear Gaston was not one who showed much concern over such matters.

And the boy was in dire trouble with his knight.

“The most witless fool could see that this stream would be beyond difficult to cross,” Yves growled, “yet you plunge forward as though you would trod a garden path!”

The boy’s head hung even lower. “I am sorry, my lord.”

His contrition lasted but a moment though, before his head snapped up and eyes shone brightly. “But I thought of great knights dashing through rapids and storming to battle, like Percival rushing to the keep of the Fisher King, determined to find the Holy Grail…”

“You did not think at all,” Yves retorted. “And therein lies the problem. If you have no care for your own well-being, then at the very least, you should spare some consideration for your steed.”

The boy looked to the palfry, whose accusing glare and periodic shivers might have prompted guilt in the most recalcitrant soul. The squire’s lip trembled and he looked as though he might cry. “I am sorry, my lord.”

The knight’s voice lowered. “Gaston, mere words will not make compensation if you lose a steed through foolhardiness.”

It seemed Gaston had nothing to say to that.

Yves strode to the shore, set the boy down and surveyed him sternly. Gaston shuffled his feet and took great interest in the state of his toes until Yves sighed and shoved one hand through his hair. He squatted down so that the boy could not avoid meeting his eyes.

“Gaston, I beg you to begin using what is between your ears for more than the recollection of fanciful tales.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And on this eve, you will see that palfry thoroughly dried before you tend to your own needs.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Gaston sneezed then with a startling vehemence. He shivered, then turned obediently to collect his beast, his chin nearly dragging on the ground. It was clear to Gabrielle that
Gaston held Yves as his hero and anything that knight said to him was taken directly to heart.

Yves shook his head, then strode back to his own mount. Leon and his squire crossed the stream in silence. Even knowing the rebuke she was likely to earn, for the knight’s lips were still drawn in a tight line, Gabrielle felt obliged to intervene.

“The boy will catch his chill if he does not abandon that wet garb in short order,” she counseled in an undertone.

Yves did not look at her, but his brows tightened and she knew he attended her words.

Gabrielle braced herself for an ugly exchange, yet continued. “Let him at least take some hot broth before he tends the palfry.”

Yves swung into his saddle and granted her a look that might have burned through steel. To Gabrielle’s surprise, his tone was level once more, though his words were clipped. “The nights are cold in these parts?”

Gabrielle blinked to find her protest considered with evident seriousness. She hastened to continue, before Yves decided not to listen to her. “The chill comes down from the mountains, even this late in the spring. And our accommodations, as you will see, are less than luxurious.”

Yves took a deep breath, frowned at his squire, then glanced back to Gabrielle. “You make good sense, as usual, my lady,” he admitted with a faint hint of that heart-wrenching smile. “Forgive me for losing my temper with Gaston.”

Gabrielle blinked at his ready concession and unexpected apology. In her mind’s eye, she saw her father watching a disobedient squire be whipped at his own command some long-ago afternoon, his regal features tight with a disapproval not unlike Yves’.

And she recalled Michel raging at young Thomas when the child had accidentally broken a crock, not ceasing even when the boy wept in contrition.

Men Gabrielle had known neither softened their stance nor apologized. She marveled that this knight did both so readily, yet could not help but wonder why.

“He has a rare enthusiasm,” Gabrielle said gently, surprised by the pang that shot through her at the fleeting memory of her son. “And places great weight on your advice.”

Yves made a sound that might have been a wry laugh. “That enthusiasm is the trouble. He thinks of nothing but romance and battle and scaling castle walls.”

Gabrielle urged her steed to keep pace with Yves’ destrier. “Surely it is harmless?”

“For one other than a knight, it might well be,” Yves conceded, flicking a glance fraught with concern at the cowed squire. “But I fear that one day such distraction will cost Gaston his very hide.”

Gabrielle’s heart wrenched to see Yves’ fears for his squire. But no! Men looked to the fulfillment of their own needs alone! That was one thing Gabrielle had learned only too well.

An unexpected disappointment in that certainty made Gabrielle’s tone harsher than it might have been otherwise. “And you would have to train another boy,” she said tartly, “at much inconvenience to yourself.”

Yves glared at her, his golden eyes burning with anger. “My lady, I understand that you hold my character in low esteem, but such thinking would be beyond base. Surely it is not so preposterous that I should care for the boy’s survival?”

Gabrielle stared into the knight’s eyes and saw a sincerity gleaming there that humbled her. She had never imagined that any man could look beyond himself in concern for another’s well-being, but evidently this one did for at least his squire. Gabrielle did not know what to think, much less what to say, in the face of such unexpected consideration.

“I am sorry,” she said softly, feeling the words were hopelessly inadequate.

Yves nodded crisply. “In truth, none of this is your concern,
my lady, and I apologize in turn for burdening you with my troubles.” His tone was so devoid of emotion that they might have been discussing the weather.

Gabrielle felt suddenly that Yves had firmly closed a door, one that had momentarily gaped open and granted her a glimpse of his inner thoughts. And now she stood decisively outside that door.

She felt oddly bereft by that change.

But Yves merely arched a fair brow. “Shall we continue before boy and steed do catch that chill?”

Gabrielle clicked to Methuselah, noting only moments later that Yves had spared no concern for his own welfare, though he was as wet and undoubtedly as cold as the boy left to his charge.

Was it possible that all men were not quite the same?

Gabrielle gripped her reins and forced herself to recall what experience had taught her. Oh, she knew better than to be swayed by a handsome man’s charm!

By the time they left the riverbank, the shadows were beginning to grow long beneath the budding trees. Yves found himself shivering, the chill of his mail permeating the wet wool of his garb in a most troubling fashion.

He hoped they were not far from a site to camp, so that he could make a fire in short order. Gaston sneezed repeatedly and even the palfry seemed to be sniffling.

But Lady Gabrielle showed no signs of halting soon. All around them, trees and shrubs rustled slightly in the breeze, as though they whispered to each other of the company’s passing. Gabrielle led her stallion sharply to the right and toward what looked to be an impenetrable wall of forest growth.

She whistled once more, and again an owl answered within a pair of heartbeats. It could be no coincidence, yet Yves had no chance to consider the matter further.

He watched in astonishment as the wall of foliage parted
cleanly and opened like a pair of gates. A tall man garbed in green and brown stepped forward and separated himself from the shadows of the trees almost as though he had appeared by magic. He grinned and waved a greeting before disappearing behind the gates to open them more widely.

Gabrielle clicked her tongue and hastened her steed, Leon following suit from behind. Yves and Gaston were hustled through the amazing portal and it was shut securely behind them in a twinkling of an eye.

Yves looked back and found a gate woven of vines and adorned with leaves that helped it blend into the trees. It was opened with ropes, much as any other gate.

As his eyes adjusted to the long shadows, he perceived the woven vines that climbed to the top of the trees on all sides. Adorned with living growth, they made an effective shield between this place and anyone happening to wander past.

Marveling, Yves turned to find a valley he would not have guessed was there spread out before his very feet.

And the camp sheltered within was busy at this hour.

For a camp it most certainly was. There were horses tethered on all sides—destriers, palfrys and plow horses sharing feed bins. A pair of cows was being milked by two robust and warmly garbed woman. A trio of other women similarly dressed turned a spit of venison over the single fire.

Men of all ages and classes stomped their feet and blew on their hands, evidently waiting for the meat. Peasant farmer stood alongside knight and mercenary, squire and cowherd, each exchanging comment with the other. Tents and makeshift cabins were scattered beneath the trees, each draped in leaves and vines to hide it from prying eyes.

Stunned at the artfulness of this hiding place, Yves looked at Gabrielle, only to find assessment in her eyes.

“What remains of Perricault, village and keep, is sheltered here,” she said firmly. “These people are what remain of my responsibility, and should you be fool enough to betray the
confidence vested in you on this day, you will have to answer directly to me.”

There was a new thread of steel in her tone, yet Gabrielle’s protectiveness of those beneath her hand only made Yves admire her even more. And he already was impressed with this camp, for it was no small accomplishment to have conjured this place from the forest itself.

“It is astonishing,” Yves said simply, and unable to help himself, he scanned the camp wonderingly again. “I never would have guessed it was hidden here, and I have made a career of discerning such concealment. Your husband was wise indeed to contrive this place before his untimely demise.”

Gabrielle’s gaze did not waver, though her lips twisted wryly for an instant as though the idea was unspeakably ludicrous. Yves was momentarily confused, for such a response did hold true with her regard for that man. But then her words surprised him.

“Michel had nothing to do with this refuge.”

Yves frowned. “I do not understand.”

Gabrielle lifted her chin proudly. “We built it, after Perricault was lost, by the labor of our own hands.” She dropped her voice and glared at him, as though daring him to believe her. “And at my design.”

The import of her steady gaze stunned Yves. She told no lie.

But to think that a woman unversed in war had created this place! He scanned it once more, unable to hide his awe.

Too late Yves saw that he had not given Gabrielle and her quick mind the credit either deserved, and he resolved to do better in future. The lady was an asset he could not afford to ignore.

When their gazes met again, hers had not softened.

Yves inclined his head. “I salute you, my lady, for this is no mean feat. Clearly I spoke too soon in telling you that a noblewoman could know nothing of the art of war.”

Gabrielle flushed and turned away at that, gesturing impatiently toward the blaze. “There will be a fire for only a little longer, for we light it for short duration. You should make haste to ensure that you and Gaston are dry before it is smothered.”

Before Yves could respond, a heavyset man strode to the lady’s side and grasped the stallion’s reins. He was dressed as simply as the others, but was uncommonly tall and broad. Yves thought he might have been the man who opened the gates.

“Lady Gabrielle!” he cried. “Your return is welcome indeed!” He reached up and she shook his hand.

“I thank you, Franz,” she said with a smile more sunny than any Yves had ever seen from her.

Noting the change in her manner when she greeted the gatekeeper irritated Yves, though he knew his response to be completely unfounded. What matter to him if the lady greeted another with a smile?

As Gabrielle inquired after events in her absence, talk began to spread through the ranks of those encamped there. One could almost watch the news of their lady’s return spread through the assembly.

People left their tasks to come forward and greet her, and Gabrielle, to Yves’ surprise, dismounted to meet them. Many of them were clearly common people, but Gabrielle greeted them as old friends. She kissed cheeks and shook hands, inquired after ailments and passed gentle fingers over troubled brows.

And Yves saw the relief of one and all that she had returned safely to them. To find such emotional ties among those carving their living from an estate was something unknown to Yves. To be sure, the count was always anxious to hear Yves’ news when he returned, but there was a warmth among these people alien to him.

This was their home.

Just when Yves was certain their party had been forgotten, Gabrielle turned and gestured to him.

“I have brought the count’s own champion to aid our fight,” she said clearly, and all eyes turned to Yves in expectation. “Make way for both him and his squire, for they have need of the fire.”