Secret Heart (17 page)

“
Jenia,
where are you going?”

“
To try
on the gown, as you suggested,” she said, not looking at him,
heading for the stairs as quickly as she dared without seeming to
flee from him and his sharp gaze and his too-accurate
questions.

“
I will
want to see you dressed as Lady Chantal,” he said.

“
No!” She
all but shouted her refusal. “You will not see me until tomorrow
morning. Until then, I will be occupied with my
preparations.”

“
The
maidservant who has been dressing you will go with us, of course.”
Roarke’s words were a decree, not a suggestion. “You will require
an attendant.”

“
No,” she
said again, more calmly this time. “I refuse to involve anyone else
in this, especially not an innocent servant who has been kind to
me. I will travel to Calean City with you, your squire, and
whatever men-at-arms you choose to take. No one else.”

She had been moving as she spoke and she was
partway up the staircase when she finished. If Roarke made any
further suggestions, or if he issued any other orders, she did not
hear.

The gown fit her almost perfectly, as she
knew it would.

“
We need
only draw the laces a bit tighter on either side, because you are
so slender,” the maidservant said. “I thought the gowns that Lord
Garit provided for you to wear were lovely, but this one far
surpasses anything in the clothing chest. He knows your coloring so
well, and the fabric is magnificent.”

“
Yes, it
is.” Jenia couldn’t force herself to speak another word. She felt
as though she was stepping into someone else’s life, a life as
close to hers as a twin’s, yet eternally distant. She cleared her
throat in hope of removing the hot obstruction that lodged there
threatening tears and then she made herself pay attention to what
the maid was doing.

The gown
was heavy green silk, dark as the shadows in the forest around
Thury Castle, and it was trimmed with wide bands of gold and green
embroidery at neck, sleeve edges and skirt hem. The neckline was
cut remarkably low and the fine linen shift that was made to wear
beneath the gown was cut low, too, so a good portion of Jenia’s
throat and shoulders were revealed.

She thought with morbid humor that when the
moment of her death arrived the headsman would find no obstruction
to his axe.

Her
fingers trembled as she tried on the jewelry Garit had sent;
earrings, two bracelets for each arm, and several rings, all made
of gold and flashing with inset green stones. No necklace was
included, but the maid fastened a matching brooch set with green
stones at the lowest point of the neckline of Jenia’s gown, so it
rested between her breasts. The veil she was to wear was sheer,
pale green silk, with a gold and green-stone circlet to wear atop
it. For this occasion she would leave her hair loose, the shining,
reddish-brown length of it reaching to her waist.

When she was dressed the maid held up a tiny
hand mirror, moving it about so Jenia could see herself in her
finery. Her reflection was dim, made worse by the tears in her
eyes, yet even to her worried gaze she appeared to be a noblewoman,
a lady worthy to face down and accuse a great villain.

“
Now,
help me to remove all of this,” Jenia said to the maid. “Then you
may go. Please report to Sir Roarke that the gown does fit, and
that I will be in the great hall tomorrow at the appointed
hour.”

She could not eat any of the bread and cheese
the maid brought to her later, though she did drink a cup of
wine.

“
I expect
you are too excited to eat,” said the maid, who knew only that
Jenia was to be presented at court. “Do try to sleep, my lady. I’ll
be back in a few hours to help with the gown.”

Jenia did
not sleep. She spent most of the night pacing while she rehearsed
what she would say when she reached King Henryk’s audience chamber.
She knew she would have to speak quickly, while the king and his
courtiers were still astounded by the unexpected reappearance of
Lady Chantal of Thury. In those few moments she would make her
accusations, citing the proof of treachery. She went over the words
again and again.

As the
night wore on she could not help wondering if anyone hearing her
would really care. Garit, certainly, would care deeply. Roarke
would probably care, too, though he’d be angry that she hadn’t told
him what she meant to do and whom she intended to
accuse.

Her quest
for justice, for retribution, had seemed so important in the
beginning that she could not think of anything else. But during her
last night at Auremont, with the opportunity for which she had
yearned fast approaching, she wasn’t sure whether her sacrifice
would make any difference at all.

“
My fate
doesn’t matter,” she told herself with stern resolve. “Oaths are
sworn to be fulfilled. Promises made, must be kept. What others do
after I am gone, the steps they choose to take, are not my
responsibility. My duty is to speak the truth and to demand
justice. I have to believe someone will mete out that justice in
full measure.”

* * * * *

They entered Caen quietly. As far as Jenia
could tell, they were unnoticed save for a casual glance from the
sentries at the city gate. The day was cool and grey, so no one
remarked upon the lady who rode with the heavy fabric of her hood
pulled up to preserve her coiffure from the gusty wind. As for the
veil covering her face, noblewomen often wore such veils to protect
their delicate complexions from the dust of travel.

King
Henryk’s castle was a strong fortress with thick walls and high
watchtowers. Once inside the bailey, Roarke’s party turned over
their horses to a groom who said he was waiting for them on Lord
Garit’s orders. Then Roarke and Elwin, who were both familiar with
the various entrances, conducted Jenia through a door that they
assured her was seldom used. In some haste they escorted her up
staircases and along corridors. They passed only a few servants,
who all ignored them, and they saw no nobles at all. Clearly, they
were using the servants’ passages.

Jenia knew the castle fairly well, yet she
was soon confused enough to be glad of her guides. She doubted she
could find her way out by the same route, but that scarcely
mattered. She did not expect to leave the castle alive. As they
moved farther into the keep her heart began to pound.

“
At
last!” Garit halted his agitated pacing when they entered his
chamber. “You are late; it’s nearly midday. The nobles will be
assembling now, waiting for King Henryk and Queen Hannorah to
appear. My lady, please keep on your cloak and veil for the moment.
Elwin and Anders, here, will hold them for you later, after you
remove them, until you need them again.”

“
I
understand.” By this point Jenia was so frightened she could
scarcely believe that she was still able to speak coherently. A
wild, panic-stricken part of her wanted to suggest that the squires
keep the cloak handy to use as her shroud, for they would surely
need a grave wrapping within the next hour or so.

She
looked around and saw the fair-haired, cheerful Elwin smiling at
her and noticed Garit’s squire, a dark, rather dour-looking lad.
She tried to smile at them and failed. Her lips simply would not
curve upward.

“
Are you
ready?” Roarke asked her.

Jenia nodded.

“
Remember,” Roarke said, offering a last bit of instruction
to his erstwhile pupil, “all you have to do is seem to be Lady
Chantal. Say as little as possible. Let your appearance provide the
illusion.”

“
The four
of us will stay close to you,” Garit promised. “No harm will come
to you. If the person who is responsible for Chantal’s
disappearance makes the smallest move toward you, we will stop
him.”

Jenia realized that both men were alert and
on edge. With a great effort of will she made herself stop thinking
about them and stop worrying about what would happen in the next
few minutes. She considered instead the words she must say to King
Henryk.

Then,
with Roarke on one side of her, Garit on the other, and the squires
trailing behind, they headed for the king’s audience
chamber.

The chamber was a large room and it was
crowded with nobles dressed in silks and fine woolens. The
glittering jewels worn by the lords and ladies caught the meager
daylight that filtered in though narrow windows. Tapestries on the
walls and beautifully wrought gold or silver ornaments shimmered in
the candlelight that was necessary if the king and the knights who
guarded him were to see anything at all.

Jenia was finding it difficult to breathe.
Her heart was pounding and her hands were damp as she clenched her
fists. When she caught slight of King Henryk as he entered the
room, fresh terror scalded through her, setting all her limbs
atremble. Yet she retained sense enough to remind herself that this
was her one chance to demand justice and retribution. She had made
a promise and, in addition, she had promised herself that she would
not give way to fear no matter what was done to her. She would see
her sworn duty through to the end.

“
Help me
now,” she whispered to the dear one to whom she had promised
justice. “Lend me your strength. Oh, guide me, please.”

Immediately, she felt gentle warmth suffusing
her frame. A sudden calmness stilled her treacherous quaking, and
she knew her plea had been heard and answered. Her heartbeat
slowed. The hand with which she pushed back her hood was steady.
She squared her shoulders in preparation. When Elwin lifted the
cloak from her and Anders carefully slid the concealing veil away
from her face, leaving the sheer green silk and the gold circlet,
Jenia stepped forward.

Clothed in green and gold splendor to equal
anything worn by the other nobles, she walked in perfect serenity,
her chin high, her back straight, hands clasped at her waist. She
kept her pace stately and deliberate, so everyone would have ample
time to see her face.

She heard gasps and the rustle of silk as
people moved aside to let her pass. She was aware of Roarke and
Garit at her right and left shoulders where they had promised they
would be, and she knew the squires walked with her, too. She even
knew that Roarke was staring at her as if he had never seen her
before.

But she
couldn’t spare a thought for Roarke; she could only move forward
through the crowded room. What sustained her during that long, slow
progress from the entrance of the audience chamber to the dais
where King Henryk and Queen Hannorah stood was the unseen presence
of the beloved soul for whom she was doing this.

At last she stood at the foot of the dais and
stared at the kindly, aging face of the villain whom she was
formally meeting for the first time.

Henryk, king of Sapaudia, was a tall,
powerfully built man in his middle fifties. His thick hair, once
black and glossy, was now almost completely grey. His clothing,
though made of rich fabric, was dark and plain, and the narrow gold
crown he wore was without decoration.

Beside him, Queen Hannorah looked like a
pale, blue butterfly in shimmering silk. She was much younger than
Henryk, a second wife wed in some haste after the death of his
first queen. So far, she showed no sign of producing an heir,
though Henryk kept her close to him and was said to be extremely
attentive.

Jenia looked upon the royal couple with cold
distain.

“
Welcome,
Lord Garit, and you, too, Sir Roarke,” King Henryk said in a loud
and cheerful voice that carried throughout the room. “I see you
have succeeded in your mission. After all this time you’ve brought
Lady Chantal back to us. My dear lady, my queen and I both welcome
you.” Henryk held out his hand as if to lift Jenia from the deep
curtsey that noblewomen were supposed to make when approaching the
king. She took one more step forward.

Jenia heard Roarke hissing at her under his
breath to curtsey as he had instructed her. She refused to bend her
head. She kept her back stiff and she glared at the king, noting
the puzzled expression that spread across his face.

“
I am not
Chantal of Thury, as you very well know,” she declared, speaking as
clearly and loudly as she could. “I am Chantal’s cousin, Lady
Matilda Jenia of Gildeley, whom you ordered imprisoned along with
Chantal, so you could steal her lands, and mine. You wanted us
dead. But I survived to accuse you. Murderer!” she cried, her voice
ringing in the suddenly quiet audience chamber.

She was
fully aware of the violent emotions swirling around her. She saw
King Henryk’s bewilderment and growing outrage. But no guilt showed
in his face. That surprised her. She had expected him to betray at
least a glimmer of remorse for what he had done. Even more strongly
than King Henryk’s reaction, or the scandalized murmurs of his
courtiers, she sensed Garit’s stunned horror at her words. And she
felt Roarke’s swift anger.

“
Is she
mad?” King Henryk asked of Roarke. “Is her madness why she
disappeared?”

“
I do not
think she is mad, my lord,” Roarke answered. “I know she wanted to
come to Calean City to fulfill some secret purpose, which she
several times referred to as a quest. It seems now that her purpose
was to accuse you of a crime that I know you would never
commit.”

“
Jenia,
please, I beg you,” Garit cried, his voice breaking with
undisguised anguish, “where is Chantal? If you know, please tell
me, so I can go to her.”