A Promise of Tomorrow

by Aston, Alexa

  His mount was a suitable replacement for Lightning. He’d left the horse with John back in London. He didn’t know how long he’d be in France, much less whether he would return to England to live, so he’d chosen the best horseflesh he’d seen upon his arrival. Raven was a good sixteen hands high and jet black, with a steady nature. His owner told Ashby that Raven was a dependable horse, not easily frightened by noise or the elements. He gave the horse a friendly pat as they cantered along.

  He approached Chateau Branais from the north. When he reached its vineyards, he saw workers busy in the fields. He hadn’t ridden five minutes when he caught sight of Pierre, who waved at him and trotted over to meet him.

  “Bonjour, Ashby. We did not expect your return so soon. Is there trouble?” His face filled with worry.

  Ashby shook hands with him. “No, Pierre. Things are fine with Garrett and Madeleine. I am back sooner than we planned. I was going to stop by and visit with your parents.”

  “They will be delighted. They missed you from the moment you left.”

  “Then I will ride directly to their house.”

  Pierre wiped his brow with a rag. “I will see you when we dine later. Au revoir.”

  He made his way to the manor. A groom met him, praising his choice of horseflesh. He’d planned to care for Raven himself but Cadena appeared.

  “Ashby! What a delightful surprise. Please, come in. I am thrilled to see you.” She took his arm and led him into the house. He could smell apple tarts the moment they stepped inside.

  “I suppose you will have to put up with me at least until I have had some of those tarts. Apple is my favorite.”

  Cadena’s eyes welled with tears, surprising him. “Come and sit.” She called for soap and water to be brought and he washed the dust of the road from him.

  “I am here again on business for Garrett,” he told her as a servant assisted him with the water and towels, “but I also want to look in on Marielle’s parents while I am here. I want to let them know she is safe. Was the Comte de la Tresse fit to be tied when he returned to find her gone? I hope you did not bear the brunt of his wrath. Did he suspect your involvement in her disappearance?”

  Cadena’s lips trembled. She looked over her shoulder as the servant exited the room and turned back to him. Her entire demeanor had undergone a sudden change.

  “Oh, Ashby.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s horrible what that wicked man has done.”

  Every fiber of his being came to full alert at her words. “What has happened, Cadena?”

  “Marc imprisoned Marielle’s parents. He said they will rot in his dungeon unless Marielle returns to him.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “We learned of it just this morning,” Cadena continued, tears welling in her eyes. “Marc visited here not an hour ago. I have yet to share the news with Pierre.”

  Ashby led her to a chair and knelt by her side. “Tell me everything, Cadena. Leave nothing out.”

  She composed herself, mopping her tears with the apron she wore. “It wasn’t the first time he has been here since Marielle left. He came a month ago, right after he returned to Monteville from whatever business he had. He was frantic that Marielle disappeared without a word.”

  “Did he accuse you of aiding her?”

  “Not at first. We sent word that she decided to stay overnight with us. That was the day you left France. Etienne came over the next afternoon, worried that she had not returned. He thought mayhap she had fallen ill. I assured him she left Chateau Branais early after morning mass. I mentioned how eager she was to visit her parents since it had been so long since she had seen them.”

  Cadena frowned. “I hated lying to him but what was I to say? He and Donatien turned the countryside upside-down looking for her. I think they feared just how great Marc’s wrath would be when he returned.”

  Ashby asked, “And was it?”

  “That was the amazing thing. When Marc arrived, he seemed quite calm about the whole affair. Usually, he swings between being sullen and irrational. He displayed no temper whatsoever. He did question me thoroughly.”

  She twisted her hands nervously. “I knew Robert would not be up to it. His is a transparent face. He wears all his feelings on it for the world to see. I sent him to our chamber when Marc came that day, telling him that Robert was resting.

  “We thought all was well until this morning. We had not seen Marc again these last two weeks. Then suddenly, he turns up this morning. He asked to see Robert privately. Thank the Lord Almighty Robert was determined enough that I should sit in on this audience.”

  “What exactly did Marc say, Cadena? Try to remember as much as you can.”

  She reached into her apron pocket and extracted a piece of parchment. “Everything’s written here.”

  He looked at her in confusion but took the parchment she offered.

  “Read it. Once you have, come to our chamber. Robert has taken to his bed. He has not been strong since his illness last summer. This letter has done him in. He thinks so highly of Marielle and is so very worried.”

  She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and rose from the chair. She carried herself with a dignity and grace that Ashby often saw echoed in Madeleine’s bearing.

  He took the chair she’d vacated and opened the scroll. The script was dark and disjointed. He could almost feel the cold anger pouring from it as he read.

  Marielle –

  Gautier and Blanche Matesse now reside in the dungeon of Monteville. They may rot in there until the Christ comes again, for all I care.

  If you wish to gain their freedom, you will return at once to Monteville.

  Their fate is in your hands . . .

  Your loving fiancé,

  Marc

  Ashby tried to still the chills rippling through him. What kind of monster would toy with people’s lives in such a way? He read the text again more slowly, hoping his translation of the French was accurate. The wording was simple, though. De la Tresse’s message was clear. Marielle’s parents would die if she did not return to France and marry her brother-in-law.

  Despair gnawed at his soul. He’d played the gallant knight and rescued Marielle from Marc’s clutches. Now Ashby would be the very one to escort her back and feed her to the jaws of the beast. Everything within him rebelled at the thought.

  He decided at that moment to pay a call upon Marc de la Tresse.

  *

  Raven must have caught his mood. The animal had been very even-tempered the entire journey to Chateau Branais but Ashby sensed a different horse altogether. Raven held his head higher. His step was quicker and more spirited. He liked the changes in the horse. It gave him hope that if he were able to spirit Marielle’s parents away from Monteville, Raven would play a large part in that escape.

  He was arriving unannounced, which he thought wise. After speaking with Robert and Cadena, he decided to scope the lay of the land before taking action. He knew something of the castle’s floor plan, thanks to his prior visit, yet he had no idea where access to the dungeon lay.

  Ashby noticed during his prior visit that although Monteville had a thriving vineyard full of bustling workers, its knights were few. Several, with the men that had gone on the hunt being the exceptions, looked too well-fed and complacent. He wondered at the experience they had in defending their home, much less if they’d been used to warfare in general. He hadn’t noticed any training exercises his entire stay. All this gave his spirit a sense of hope.

  He covered the last hundred yards and waved to the gatekeeper. It was not the same one that had been on duty each time when he visited before. Before Ashby could call up a greeting and identify himself, the grim-faced watchman signaled for him to wait and the man disappeared from view. Another somber man took his place. The replacement eyed him carefully but made no move to address him, much less open the gate. It stirred Ashby’s curiosity. His eyes searched the walls and noted several sentries stationed at consistent intervals. He’d not
considered Monteville an especially well-defended property from his previous visit. That was no longer the case.

  A good five minutes later, the first watchman returned, joined by a man Ashby did recognize. He spoke briefly to the man Ashby had seen first, the one with the surly expression that seemed permanently etched upon his features. He glared down at Ashby a hard moment before giving the signal. The gate opened.

  Riding into the outer bailey, he immediately noticed the changes. Besides the additional guards along the wall-walk, the area bustled with activity. Ashby noted several groups of men involved in sword practice with full battle gear and shields in play. Two blacksmiths sat out in the open, fashioning mail coifs and hauberks with articulated shoulder plates. Two more made alavicas and ameures, their metal edges glimmering in the sunlight.

  A beefy knight on horseback approached him. “Be you Ashby fitz Waryn?”

  “I am he.”

  The man studied him a moment. “You were expected. Follow me.” He took off at a steady canter. Ashby didn’t like the fact that de la Tresse had anticipated his arrival. It didn’t bode well. He set off after the rider.

  They approached the stables and the guard slowed to a halt. He dismounted and tossed his reins to a stable lad that came running up quickly. Ashby recognized the boy from his previous visit.

  “Good day, Jacques,” he said pleasantly. “Will you care for Raven while I visit your master?”

  The boy looked hesitantly at the stout knight, who nodded back imperceptibly.

  “Yes, my lord. It’s a fine mount you have this time.”

  Ashby patted the horse. “Thank you. I plan to stay in France indefinitely and thought him a good investment.”

  He gave the reins to Jacques and turned to his escort. “May I see Monsieur de la Tresse now?”

  “Comte de la Tresse.” The knight’s words were sharp and their meaning clear. Marc was definitely in charge of Monteville now in every sense of the word.

  “Of course,” Ashby replied smoothly. “If the comte is seeing visitors, I wish to be one of them.”

  Without replying, the knight turned quickly and started to the keep. Ashby followed, taking in all the new changes. His planned rescue mission, only half-formed in his mind, fell flat. This was not a two-man or even ten-man attempt. It would take a small army to storm Monteville and spirit away Marielle’s parents.

  He was led past the great hall and directed to a large room that must serve as Marc’s study. It was not where Jean-Paul had conducted business. Ashby noted even this subtle change.

  Marc de la Tresse awaited him behind a large desk free of any papers.

  “Fitz Waryn. Good of you to stop by.” Marc looked at the escort. “That will be all, Gunther.” He waited until the knight left before he spoke again.

  “I find it . . . odd you have returned so soon to France. Especially when you know no Monteville land is for sale.”

  Ashby took the seat across from him without being invited. He enjoyed the angry flash that crossed Marc’s face before he smoothed his features into a calm demeanor.

  “I reported to Lord Montayne that the desired land was unavailable. Naturally, he was disappointed but I had searched the area near Chateau Branais for other possibilities.”

  “And?” Marc sat forward slightly, his fingers steepled, elbows on the desk.

  “We will go ahead as planned. Lord Montayne wants to try a new vintage, one separate from what his people now produce at the chateau under the Bouchards. I am commissioned to find suitable land close to what he now owns. I will remain in France indefinitely to spearhead this project.”

  “Ah.” Marc looked at him curiously. “You plan to live in France. Have you a wife that will accompany you? I do not remember you mentioning one on your recent visit.”

  Ashby knew Marc baited him so he replied evenly, “I am not married nor have any desire to enter that state.”

  “A man for whom one woman will not do. Interesting.” Marc poured some wine from a carafe and drank deeply. He did not offer his guest any. It amused Ashby that the new comte tried to assert his power in every word, every gesture.

  “I remember you yourself are not married,” he said. “Now that you are master of Monteville, will you choose a comtesse?”

  Marc drained the cup of wine and sat back. “Of course, I am interested in providing Monteville with an heir. Something my brother could not do.” He smiled. In that one smile, Ashby’s blood froze.

  “I plan to wed soon,” Marc informed him, leisurely studying Ashby. “You know the bride. It is my dear brother Jean-Paul’s widow. Marielle.”

  “I remember Marielle.” Ashby wondered where this cat and mouse game headed. “She was a delightful hostess. Mayhap I can visit with her when we have finished our conversation here. I’m always up for a challenging game of chess.”

  Marc slammed a fist down. “Enough!” he roared. “Do you really think you fool me? I know you assisted Marielle in her pathetic attempt to escape,” he sneered. “I traced you to Pauillac. You were seen together at the docks.”

  Ashby kept his composure though he longed to lunge at the bastard and wipe the twisted smirk from his face.

  The new Comte of Monteville laughed low. “What game do you think to play, fitz Waryn? Mayhap a gallant rescue attempt?” He studied Ashby carefully. “I think not. You see the changes I have made. Jean-Paul was a laggard when it came to defense. All he thought about was the grape. But I have rid Monteville of his broken-down knights and hired expert mercenaries in their place. I intend to produce not only the best-loved vintage in Bordeaux but I’ll also own the most efficiently run castle. No one will dare breech these walls.

  “I will also possess the most beautiful wife in all of France.” Marc narrowed his eyes. “So give Marielle this message for me. Return. Or your family will pay in ways you cannot begin to imagine.”

  Ashby saw madness glimmer in the new comte’s eyes. Even if Marielle did return and wed this man, he still might kill her for imagined indiscretions.

  Yet how could he keep the news from her? That her parents had been imprisoned in the de la Tresse dungeons. That they would remain prisoners of the Comte de la Tresse until they died.

  Unless Marielle came back and sacrificed herself for them.

  She had not spoken of her parents with any kind of fondness—yet Ashby knew that she would feel responsible for them being imprisoned by Marc de la Tresse. He decided to try and glean any further information he could from the madman sitting before him.

  “The comtesse has family?” he asked.

  “She does,” the comte said. “Parents who wished her to be gone, pushing her onto my dear brother.” He paused, an evil smile spreading across his face. “Marielle’s parents are now my guests at Monteville. In my dungeons. I have kept them as mere prisoners for the time being but if Marielle doesn’t return soon, they will be subjected to brutal, excruciating agony.”

  Shock rippled through him. “You would torture them? All because Marielle has chosen to live away from Monteville?”

  “She belongs to me!” roared de la Tresse, spittle flying from his mouth. “She always did. It was Jean-Paul’s fault. She should have been mine.”

  The comte rose and began pacing, his words tumbling out as he raged. “Marielle is the most beautiful woman in France. I deserve her. I did without for so long. Jean-Paul and his wife barely acknowledged me. He thought me immature and lacking in common sense. He never realized that I grew to manhood and that I had needs. Desires. I should have run Monteville all along, not Jean-Paul. He was an old fool.”

  Marielle had told Ashby of the jealousy that the younger de la Tresse had regarding his older brother. As the comte spoke, though, he seemed possessed by a deep-seated anger that must have festered for years. And somehow, Marielle had come to symbolize everything Marc de la Tresse wanted. If he possessed her, he would finally feel complete.

  And Marielle would spend the rest of her life in misery, tied to this cruel monster, who th
ought to control her by threatening to torture her parents.

  “You are the comte now,” Ashby said, trying to soothe the man’s temper. “You own land, rich and fertile, as far as the eye can see. Your estate produces magnificent wines. Why do even need Marielle? She was already wed for many years and did not produce an heir. You are young and handsome. You are a comte of France. You can have your pick of any woman. Find another. One sweet and young and eager to please you.”

  “I want Marielle,” the comte said, coming to a halt before Ashby. “There is no other like her. I will have her. I will get sons off her. Jean-Paul was weak and old. He never produced any children with either wife. The fault lay in him. Marielle will lie with me thrice a day until her belly swells with my child.”

  Malevolence flared in his eyes. “You will give her my message, fitz Waryn. You will implore her to return. Tell her she must—or I shall have her parents flayed. Their skin shredded. Ripped in layers from them until only their bones are exposed. Their screams will be heard throughout the entire length of France. And that is only the beginning.” He paused. “You will do this, fitz Waryn. You will make sure she returns to me.

  “Or I will do even worse to you.”

  Ashby wished to beat this arrogant man until he begged for mercy. He kept his fists by his sides, though, and his tongue from lashing out threats of his own. Somehow, some way, he would free Marielle’s parents to prevent her from sacrificing her freedom for them.

  As the comte glared at him, Ashby said, “I will return to England and deliver your message to Marielle. It is up to her whether or not she wishes to be escorted back to Monteville.”

  De la Tresse nodded sagely. “Oh, she will. She couldn’t live with herself otherwise.”

  Chapter Twenty