Heather Graham (33 page)

Damning both kings, she closed her eyes and wished that she could hate Adrien. It would be far easier to hate him than to want him.

At length, she stretched before the fire and slept.

In the days that followed, she was watchful, lest another messenger should arrive from Adrien or Prince Edward’s army and she not be apprised. But no one appeared.

It was almost a week later, while she was in the great hall going over accounts, that Monteine appeared with a tall, handsome priest anxious to speak with her. She dismissed the accountant when she saw that the priest wished to see her alone. Monteine started to protest, but Danielle firmly pressed her to leave them alone after introducing her to Father Paul of Valois.

“Ah, thank you!” the young priest said, taking a long swallow of the wine she had given him. They sat before the fire and he leaned forward to speak with her.

“I am, my lady, distant kin to our good King Jean, as you are yourself. And I am heartily worried about the events taking place in our country.”

“War ravages,” she agreed.

“The greed of the English is never ending.”

“Father, King Edward’s mother was French,” she reminded him. “It seems he feels he has an equal right to the throne.”

He waved a hand in the air, not about to accept such a reminder with patience.

“In fact, Father,” she murmured, disturbed to be remembering Adrien’s observation, “the kings are more closely related to one another than we are to Jean—as more distant relations.”

“Your mother met defeat at Edward’s hands. She accepted marriage with an Englishman, but she remained true to the house of Valois throughout her life. By God, lady, you are her daughter! Would you so dishonor her by doing less?”

Danielle sipped her wine, stalling, as she stared at him. “Father, would you have me betray the man to whom I am legally wed in God’s own eyes?”

He sighed. “Never, my lady. But you needn’t betray your husband if you were to warn King Jean if the English had a design upon him, if you knew when a battle was to take place, if you could help to save his very life. We can’t control the great forces of the armies—men will battle men, and one leader will be a victor while the other tastes defeat. But if King Jean can just be warned of the greatest dangers, he can hope to cling to life and liberty, and perhaps save all of France.”

“What exactly do you want from me?”

“Fair warning if his life is at risk. You will know how to make contact when necessary, I am certain.”

“I don’t know much, Father. I am here—the armies are elsewhere.”

“Your husband will surely warn of the danger if a massive battle is to take place.”

She lowered her head, suddenly wishing with all her heart that she didn’t have to be in such a position. But she had given her mother a vow to honor the French king. To honor France.

“Naturally, if King Jean’s life were threatened …” she murmured. Then she stared at him. “I am caught in the crossfire, Father. I can swear to you that I’ll do my best to get warning to King Jean if I know of English attempts upon him, but I can do so only once. Once, and that is all.”

“Once will be enough.”

Father Paul stood. “A vow before Christ now, my child. You must use what you learn to protect our rightful king. Bless you—you will sit with your mother among the saints one day, lady.”

She rose with him, praying that she wouldn’t sit among the saints because her husband or Edward would be determined to have her head for being a traitor.

Monteine swept back into, the room, carrying a tray with lamb stew and fresh bread. Father Paul thanked her and praised the food as he ate, then spoke casually of books, musicians, and the stars. When he finished the last morsel and seemed about to be on his way, Danielle invited him to stay the night. He thanked her but told her it was early still, and he intended to ride for several more hours before sleeping beneath the stars.

When he had gone, Monteine looked after him suspiciously, though Danielle didn’t understand why; the priest had been nothing but polite and casual while Monteine was with them.

“A very handsome man to be a priest,” Monteine commented dryly.

“Monteine, the priesthood is a vocation,” Danielle reminded her.

Monteine sniffed. “Indeed. The priesthood is a place for younger sons when great men have wives who bear a surplus of sons.”

Danielle shrugged. “I don’t understand your point. Father Paul is a handsome man, and perhaps you’re right—he
was
a rich man’s younger son and was given little choice.”

“I don’t think he’s really a priest.”

“Oh, Monteine!”

“He looked at you quite … strangely.”

Danielle sighed again. “He must be a priest, and you’re being ridiculous. I mean—”

“What?”

“Well, priests make a vow of celibacy, but …”

“But we all know that even the men who serve the pope have mistresses and bastards.”

“What difference does it make? If men of God falter, who are we to judge? Besides, the fact that the man is good-looking does not make him guilty of … of …”

“Lechery,” Monteine provided. “Well, if he is not guilty …”

“Yes?”

Monteine grinned suddenly. “Then he should be, for surely, it would be quite a waste if some fair lass were not to enjoy such a man.”

Danielle threw up her arms in exasperation. “Monteine, you’re suspicious of him, while thinking that he looks so charming that he should sin. I’m worried about you. I think we’ve waited far too long to find you a proper husband.”

Monteine smiled. “Ah, Danielle, I’m not a richly-landed heiress! I’ll tend to my own situation, thank you. Shall I call the accountant back?”

“Yes, please.”

Monteine smiled, and left Danielle.

That night, Monteine spent endless hours pacing in her room, wishing she might have heard more of what the priest had said to Danielle.

Once, Danielle would have readily told her everything. No more. And that disturbed Monteine. Even more than the priest.

And once, she admitted to herself, she would have readily done anything to hurt the English cause—or any Englishman, for that matter.

But now, she felt a deep, unsettling fear. King Edward was powerful, his men were powerful, and worse, they were determined. And Adrien MacLachlan had his own particular brand of power and prowess—and justice and mercy. The young Scotsman had stayed his sword against Simon when he might well have skewered the man through with no one to blame him. He had dealt justly with Danielle at every turn. There was just one thing to fear: that he might be betrayed again. For if he were …

She trembled, wondering what she should do.

She had never had such an uneasy feeling. The priest had been … no true priest.

She quit pacing at last, left her room, and quietly slipped down the stairs. It was very late, but she knew that one of Adrien’s men would be on guard in the great hall throughout the night. At all times, men-at-arms walked the parapets and guarded the walled village of Aville, but with Adrien’s absence, there was always a man on guard in the great hall as well. She wondered if Danielle knew.

Tonight, it was Daylin.

He sat in a chair before the fire, somewhat sprawled. Monteine thought that he slept. What if she was making a terrible mistake? Perhaps she was wrong. She felt foolish, standing in the great hall in her nightgown and bare feet with the fire burning against the shadows of the wee hours while even their guardian slept!

She turned about, ready to race back up the stairs.

“Monteine? What is it?”

She froze, and held dead still. A minute later, she realized that he stood behind her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, and he turned her slowly around to face him.

“Nothing, I …”

“It’s not nothing. What’s wrong?” He smiled as he spoke, and smoothed back a strand of her hair. “How strange! I’ve never seen you like this. All these years we’ve known one another, and I’ve never seen your hair down and so pretty, so wild …”

She felt warm, captured by his gaze. Speechless. She needed to draw away, murmur some excuse, return to her room.

“The priest was so strange!” she heard herself babble. She gathered her wits about her. “Oh, Daylin, I’m worried. A priest came this afternoon—”

“Priests, monks, and pilgrims travel our way often,” he said carefully.

“I know. But this priest insisted on an audience with Danielle—I knew when I came back that Danielle was uneasy. The priest was fine, composed, and spoke easily about many things, but while I was gone, I think he asked her for something. I think he wanted something.”

“Did she intend to give it?” Daylin demanded.

“She was unhappy, so I don’t know.” Monteine said and sighed as his eyes searched hers. “You see, he said that he was kin to the house of Valois. I shouldn’t have come to you. I’m just so worried …”

Daylin nodded slowly. “These are dangerous times.”

“What will you do?”

Daylin arched a brow. “I’m not sure yet—I’ll speak with Sir Giles. But you needn’t worry. Adrien is not really so far away. He has often said that he would come home if he didn’t feel it was important to be ready and to keep their numbers intact and powerful as they battled Armagnac. If there’s really a problem …”

He shrugged.

“Then?” Monteine whispered.

“Then he will come back.”

The houses were burning, the dead and dying lay strewn about like broken tinder. Armagnac’s men struck swiftly, decimating the peasant villages, stealing what poor treasures they could find, then fleeing with fierce speed. Today, however, Adrien’s men had been given a warning of the attack, and they had ridden to the village in time to prevent mass slaughter.

From the hill crest above the valley, he had let out a blood-chilling war cry and thundered down upon the attackers, his sword swinging. They battled the attackers, who did not retreat quickly, with little mercy, his fury fueled as he saw lads little more than children among the dead.

One of Armagnac’s men came rushing from a burning house, ready to leap atop his horse and escape. He saw Adrien bearing down on him and stopped to fight, attacking with a battle axe. Adrien urged Luke hard forward, leaping from the horse, ducking the swing of the axe, and rising to slice the man from throat to gullet. He fell. As Adrien turned, he heard a woman screaming and shrieking, pointing to a horseman riding toward the forest with a young woman thrown over his horse’s haunches. Adrien whistled for Luke, mounted, and raced after the abductor. The man turned and saw him in pursuit. Pausing, he dropped the girl on the path and raced onward. Adrien reined in, wishing that someone had seen him and followed, but no one had. He couldn’t pursue the man; he stopped for the girl, hoping that her bones hadn’t been shattered or her head crashed in the fall.

He dismounted and helped her up. She was young and pretty, and unhurt. She looked up at him with dark, adoring eyes. “Thank you, thank you, my lord.”

“You’re not hurt?”

“No.”

“Then all is well.”

“You saved my life.”

“Perhaps just your honor.”

“It is yours, my lord,” she told him gravely.

“Well,” he murmured, “I don’t ask such a payment. Come, let me bring you back to your mother.”

She slipped her arms around his neck and he carried her back to Luke. They rode to the village, where he set her down to wild cheers and the teary-eyed gratitude of her mother.

“Terese is all I have, my lord,” the woman told him. “I would do anything for you. You only need ask.”

“Please, you are loyal to Edward as your duke. It is my duty to protect you.” He smiled as he spoke, removing any hint of rebuke from his words. Many of his men joined him and he called out orders about helping with the wounded and the dead. He dismounted from Luke, and as he did so, he was surprised to see Sir George riding toward him with Michael, one of the young men he had trained and left behind to guard Aville.

As they came closer, he saw that Michael’s tunic was muddied, and red with blood. His heart quickened with fear. Aville was a great prize, and could sway the entire balance of battle. Had the wily French Jean found a way to seize it? Aville could stand—should stand—against any assault. The only way it could fall was from within.

He strode quickly toward the men as they approached. “Is something wrong?” he demanded, reaching up to help Michael from his mount. “Where are you injured, boy, and how badly? Woman!” he shouted suddenly, turning back to Terese’s mother. “Get me help for this man, quickly.”

Michael winced. “ ’Tis not mortal, my lord, though I bleed like a pig!”

“Aville—”

“All is well at Aville—I’ve only a strange story to tell.”

The woman had come to his side, Terese with her. They worked quickly and well together, Terese fetching water, her mother removing Michael’s tunic and shirt, and the two of them bathing the long slash on his chest.

“I will be anxious to hear it,” Adrien said, then raised a hand. “Bring him to the house yonder. I will be right along.”

He asked Sir George to see that the fires were extinguished as soon as possible, that the wounded were all cared for—and the dead buried. Then he followed those who had carried Michael twenty feet to the small house with the thatched roof.

The house was empty; Terese told him the owner had been the first to die. Michael had been helped to a rope bed, where he lay on a heavy comforter, his wound poulticed and bandaged. Adrien thanked the women and sent them away, then sat beside Michael, alone.

“Tell me what has happened.”

“First, my lord, Comte Langlois arrived with a small party, bearing gifts.”

“For Danielle?”

“Silk for her, a sword for you. Sir Giles said to assure you that they were not alone for so much as a heartbeat; the countess was polite and firm, stating that you held Aville together, but that you were with Prince Edward and she heartily wished the fighting would stop.”

Adrien arched a brow, dismayed at the pleasure he felt simply because Danielle had remembered a vow to him.

“Then … ?”

“Then the priest came.”

“The priest?”

“He claimed he was Father Paul de Valois. The countess agreed to speak with him in private. He departed quickly, but her woman, Monteine, felt distressed by his visit and came to Daylin, who ordered me to follow the man. I did so, only to encounter him in an old hermit’s cottage deep in the woods, where he was meeting with others. I did not learn their whole purpose, but neither did they learn mine. I believe they were all to travel to different parts of the country, watch King Edward’s forces, and discover where King Jean might find weaknesses among Edward’s holdings. I was seen, and attacked. I did fight back, my lord, and I gave a good accounting of myself, I swear I did. But I pretended I was dead when I fell over my horse … and had the good beast race like the wind out of there! I looked as hard as I could for your position, and most luckily stumbled among Englishmen with Prince Edward’s men. I knew my wound was not so severe as it seemed, and so insisted I be sent straight to you.”