What Wild Moonlight

by Lynne, Victoria

  Fortunately the Comtesse displayed the utmost discretion, acting as though she were blind to the fact that the relationship Katya and Nicholas enjoyed had been profoundly altered. Although Katya knew the regal older woman would never comment on their newfound intimacy, her expression indicated approval.

  “Do come in and see the costumes I sent for, Miss Alexander,” she said. “It has taken an inordinate amount of time for them to arrive, but at last they are here.”

  Katya stepped into the room. “Costumes?” she asked. She stopped as her gaze fell on a pair of richly detailed medieval robes that were laid out over a chintz-covered settee. The first was clearly a woman’s gown: a long-sleeved smock of soft, misty green, made from a linen so sheer that it was nearly transparent. Over it was a surcoat of rich silver brocade. For Nicholas there was a cream-colored chemise woven from soft flax, a sleeveless tunic, a pair of coarsely knit braies in a deep copper color, and a rich indigo cape heavily studded with jewels. A wide leather belt with a loop that held a glistening dirk completed the ensemble. As her fingers brushed the gleaming blade, a shiver of ominous forewarning raced down her spine.

  “If you don’t like them—” the Comtesse began.

  “Not at all,” Katya said, sending her a wan smile. “It’s just that they’re so… authentic.”

  “They should be. My first husband was an amateur scholar with a particular fondness for medieval lore. He ordered the costumes years ago for a ball we attended in London. He designed them himself and was meticulous in every detail, right down to the very thread with which they were sewn together.”

  “I see.”

  “If they meet with your approval, I thought they might be suitable for you and Nicholas to wear to the Fete du Tarasque.”

  Katya turned to Nicholas with a soft frown. “The Fete du…?”

  “Tarasque,” he supplied. “It’s an annual festival here in Monaco. The Tarasque is a man-eating creature of mythic appearance, part dragon and part lion. You’ll find it on many of the heraldic flags in the area. Legend has it that the beast roamed the countryside, laying waste to the towns and villages in its path. Although many powerful knights attempted to slay it, it was a beautiful maiden who finally soothed the ferocious beast with her awesome beauty. Once under her spell, the Tarasque fought alongside the knights against the Saracen invaders who stormed the region.”

  He paused and folded his arms over his chest, resting against a sturdy mahogany desk. “The taming of the Tarasque is now celebrated with a day of bullfights, outdoor concerts, wine festivals, and a parade in which the beast is carried through the streets in effigy and ultimately tamed by a town maiden. The celebration culminates at night with a huge gathering in the ancient quarter of town.” He nodded toward the clothing the Comtesse had sent for. “It’s traditional for those attending the gala to dress in medieval garb, hence the costumes.”

  Now that the reason for the attire had been explained, Katya felt somewhat better. Somewhat. But a lingering sense of apprehension remained as her gaze moved over the clothing. Putting aside her reservations for the moment, she turned to the Comtesse and said, “The costumes are exquisite, but there are only the two. Won’t you be joining us?”

  An expression of haughty astonishment flashed across the older woman’s face. “Heavens, no. That’s far too parochial a spectacle for me.” She released a mock shudder. “As far as I can tell, the festival is nothing but a blatant excuse for everyone involved to behave with abysmal taste and make complete fools of themselves—not that they need an excuse on any other day of the year, mind you.”

  “Yet you encourage Katya and me to attend,” Nicholas pointed out with a sardonic smile.

  She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. “It is entirely proper that youth be wasted in foolishness. I, however, am too old to make a mockery of myself parading around town in the guise of a virtuous medieval maiden. I much prefer to remain here in the company of my servants and my books.” She turned to Katya and fixed her with a stern stare. “Provided that you supply me with a full and detailed report as to who attended, what they wore, and what they said—all the latest on dits. The more persnickety the gossip, the happier I shall be.”

  Katya smiled. “Very well.”

  “Then we are agreed.” She gave her cane a decisive thump on the parlor’s thickly padded carpet. “Now help me up, Nicholas. I have far too much to accomplish today to waste any more time here.”

  Nicholas crossed the room and extended his arm, helping his aunt to her feet. The Comtesse gave a cool nod of parting as she strode regally from the room, her ice-blue skirts trailing in her wake.

  “She is quite something, isn’t she?” Katya remarked once they were alone.

  “Indeed.” He moved to where she stood and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her tightly into his embrace. His lips on hers, he kissed her with a hungry ferocity that warmed her to her toes. After a long, breathless moment he pulled back and softly stroked her cheek. “I consider myself extremely fortunate to have two such remarkable women in my life,” he said.

  Katya smiled softly. A tight knot of emotion filled her throat as, warmed by the stark sincerity that blazed from their ebony depths, she studied his eyes. There was an underlying current between them, a wealth of emotion that she could feel, even though the words were not expressly spoken.

  “If you’re ready,” he said, “the groomsmen should have the horses saddled by now. I believe Cook has prepared a basket lunch for us as well.”

  “I’m ready.”

  They moved through the villa and out to the elaborate stone courtyard fronting his home. Ignoring the groomsmen who were waiting to help Katya onto her mount, Nicholas locked his hands around her waist and lifted her effortlessly into the saddle of a chestnut mare. “Be careful,” he admonished solemnly, “her temperament matches her name.”

  Katya nervously gathered the reins in her hands. “What is her name?”

  “Daisy.”

  She arched her brows as an impish grin curved her lips. “Daisy, is it?” she said, stroking the mare’s thick mane. “In that case, I believe I’ll manage.”

  He gave her calf a light squeeze and turned to his own mount, swinging easily into the saddle. A groomsman handed him two picnic baskets. He strapped them on either side of his saddle, then tapped his heels against the powerful black’s flanks and sent him into an easy canter; Katya quickly followed. They rode side by side as they moved out onto the quiet road that led away from his villa. But rather than heading east, as they normally did when going into the principality, Nicholas directed them west.

  They rode away from the steep banks and rugged cliffs that plummeted to the sea and moved inland instead. Soon they were surrounded by gentle rolling slopes and smooth grassy hills. They moved through fields of wildflowers and moss-covered boulders, past small gurgling streams and dense patches of scrub oak. There was a quiet, subtle beauty to the land that was immediately soothing. While the dramatic cliffs and sparkling sea shouted for attention, the inland areas claimed their praise with a mere whisper.

  As they crested a hill they were rewarded with a view of a shallow dale filled with lush, verdant grass interspersed with the brilliant blooms of bright red. Caught up in the beauty of the scene, she shot Nicholas a mischievous look of silent challenge and leaned down low over Daisy’s neck. She spurred on the gentle mare with two sharp kicks that set her galloping across the meadow. Katya bounced merrily in the saddle, giving a shout of laughter and delight as the wind whipped across her face.

  Nicholas caught up with her easily, but gallantly held his horse in check so that the race was neck and neck as they sped down the gentle slope. When they neared the tall chestnut that stood as an obvious marker ending the race, he let her pull ahead. She let out a victorious whoop as she reached the tree and pulled on the reins. With a smile of glowing exuberance on her face, she turned to Nicholas and gloatingly announced, “I won.”

  For a moment it looked as though he w
ould chastise her for her recklessness. Instead he bowed his head in gracious defeat. “So you did.”

  She let out a deep, contented sigh. “That was wonderful,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

  Closing the distance between them, she leaned over her saddle and wrapped one hand around Nicholas’s neck, pressing a warm, laughing kiss against his lips. She pulled back abruptly, startled and a little embarrassed by her impetuous gesture. The intimacy she and Nicholas shared had always been a prelude to making love; they hadn’t yet established a place for spontaneous gestures of affection. Forcing herself to meet his gaze, she searched his eyes for a sign that her kiss had displeased him. But his expression was unfathomable, offering her no clue as to what he was feeling.

  Slightly disappointed, she looked away and lifted her hand self-consciously to her hair. “It appears as though I’ve lost my hat.”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  He tapped his heels against the black’s flanks and sent the animal racing across the meadow, its powerful hooves tearing up the turf as it ran. Once he spotted her straw boater, he leaned out of the saddle and swept it up in a breathtakingly fluid movement of grace and daring. He wheeled around without a break in stride and urged his mount back toward her, presenting her hat with a flourish.

  “You ride beautifully.”

  “Do I detect a note of surprise?” he asked, picking up on the mild astonishment that filled her tone.

  She gave a light laugh. “Frankly, yes. The last time you were out riding, you came into the casino looking as though you had been dragged behind your mount, rather than sitting astride him.”

  “Not my finer moments,” he admitted.

  “Like the day we met, when you nearly sent our team over the cliff?”

  He winced. “Generally I do better than that—although occasionally I have lapses.”

  “Oh?” she said, sensing a story behind his words. She relaxed back into her saddle as they guided their mounts in a smooth, easy walk.

  “When I was sixteen,” he began, “there was a certain sophisticated, older woman of twenty-three I was determined to impress. After much careful thought and consideration, I decided that the best way to prove my manhood and win her affection was to demonstrate my prowess on the field of honor—in this case, a local horse race.”

  Katya smiled. “Did you succeed?”

  “That depends on how you define success. I certainly managed to make myself noticed.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was a crowded race, perhaps twenty riders, but I held the lead from the outset. By all accounts, I should have won… had I not fallen off my horse as I rounded the last bend.”

  Her brows shot skyward in alarm. “You did what?”

  “Fell off,” he repeated. “Actually, my entire saddle slipped from my mount’s back, sending me tumbling to the ground with it. The cinch had worn thin enough to break apart. Surprising, really, as it was a relatively new saddle. Apparently the leather was not the quality I had assumed it to be.”

  “Were you hurt?”

  “A broken arm and several bumps and bruises,” he replied with a shrug. “My pride was wounded more than anything.”

  “Because you fell?”

  A wry grin curved his lips. “Because I displayed the bad form of knocking down several other riders—and their mounts—when I fell. It had rained rather heavily the night before, so we all sloshed about in puddles of mud like a group of drunken quarrymen. As you can imagine, I turned the entire event into a rather outlandish spectacle.”

  “I see,” she replied solemnly, attempting to hold back her smile at the image his words conveyed.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” he entreated. “Richard and I certainly did—months later, of course.”

  “What about the woman you were so desperate to impress?” she asked. “Did she coddle your wounds and nurse you back to health?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “No?”

  “As I recall, she rewarded my noble effort to win her heart with a furious glare for having splashed mud on her silk skirts. Then she left arm in arm with a wealthy duke who was old enough to be her grandfather.”

  “That’s hardly a romantic tale, now, is it?”

  “Perhaps not. But the event did teach me two important lessons. The first was not to be overly impressed by a pretty face.”

  “And the second?”

  “Even more important. To check the condition of my saddle before racing headlong across a field.”

  Katya smiled softly as they rode on in companionable silence. From time to time Nicholas pointed out an interesting land formation, an unusual tree, or a scampering animal. Generally, however, they remained silent, content to enjoy the simple beauty of the day. At last they crested a sharply sloping hill where they had a view of a cluster of ancient stone buildings. A vineyard flanked the buildings to the east; rolling fields of lavender, orange blossom, jasmine, thyme, mignonette, and violet surrounded it to the west and south. The deep toll of a chapel bell echoed out to them from across the valley.

  “The Abbey St. Chamas,” Nicholas confirmed, following her gaze.

  “It’s lovely,” she breathed.

  A quiver of nervous apprehension surged through her as they moved toward the abbey that held the third and last portion of the scroll. So this is where it all ended, she thought. Where the final clue could be found as to the location of the Stone her ancestors had fought and died for. “It’s not what I expected,” she said after a minute.

  “No?”

  She shook her head. “I expected to see something far more warlike, with turrets, and towers, perhaps even a moat. After the king went to the trouble of sending his knights to lay siege to the two families, I would think he’d see to it that the scroll remained more tightly guarded.”

  Nicholas shrugged. “Perhaps the king only intervened because he had no choice—and because it had all grown rather tedious.”

  “Tedious?”

  “The plague that had swept across the region had been checked, a benevolent ruler sat on the throne, and the harvests had been plentiful for decades. With the exception of the constant raids and warring between the two families, it was a time of remarkable peace and harmony. When the clans failed to come to terms over the Stone, I suspect the king had reached the end of his patience. Therefore he simply removed the object of their rage—much as a parent might remove a toy from two bickering children.”

  Katya might not agree with his description of a glittering blue diamond the size of a man’s fist as a mere toy, but the rest of what he said made sense.

  “In any event,” he continued, “the third part of the scroll was useless without the portions the families held in their possession. And neither clan would have dared to raise arms against the monks who resided in the abbey. To do so would have been the ultimate sacrilege.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” she murmured in agreement. As they passed through the gates and entered the abbey’s wide courtyard, her attention was diverted by the boisterous shouts of children laughing and playing. She turned to Nicholas with a puzzled frown.

  “The monks abandoned the abbey decades ago,” he explained. “It’s now run by an order of nuns. The Sisters of Holy Charity, I believe. St. Chamas is the site of one of the region’s largest orphanages.”

  As he finished speaking a group of children ran into the courtyard, swarming around them with gleeful, excited shouts. Nicholas smiled and greeted them in French as he swung down off his mount. He untied the larger of the two baskets that had been strapped to his saddle and set it on the ground; then he moved to Katya and lifted her from Daisy. The children pressed closer, flooding them with a series of animated questions, each shouting to be heard over the other. As Katya’s gaze moved over the group of children, she noted that their ages ranged from those so small they still tottered when they walked, to young adults who shepherded the group.

  “I hope you’ll forgive the children’s excitement,” called
a soft female voice from behind her. “We don’t receive many visitors.”

  She turned to see a woman attired in the long brown robes and stiff white wimple of a nun; a thick wooden crucifix hung from her neck. Once the woman reached them, Nicholas performed the introductions. “Katya, I’d like you to meet Sister Helena, the abbess here at St. Chamas. Sister Helena, Miss Katya Alexander.”

  Sister Helena offered her a warm smile. “Welcome to St. Chamas, Miss Alexander,” she said. Katya returned her smile, immediately at ease in the other woman’s presence.

  Nicholas lifted the large basket he had untied from his saddle and handed it to the abbess. The sweet smell of almond and cinnamon wafted from within it, causing the children to clamor even louder for attention. The abbess smiled at their enthusiasm and turned to a pretty young girl of perhaps sixteen. “Trina, will you take the children into the kitchens, please?” she said as she passed her the basket. “Perhaps they would enjoy a little milk with their sweets.”

  Once the children had departed, Sister Helena turned to Nicholas and said, “I received your message, Lord Barrington, and the generous gift that accompanied it. If you like, I can take you directly in to see the scroll.”

  “Thank you.”

  They trailed behind her, exiting the courtyard and moving into the largest of the ancient stone buildings. It took a moment for Katya’s vision to adjust to the dimness of the Gothic interior. Once she could see, she noted that they had entered some sort of communal room. Huge rectangular wooden tables flanked by long benches filled the cavernous space. On the perimeters of the room were large bubbling vats and shelves filled with hundreds of tiny vials.

  “We are a working abbey,” Sister Helena explained. “In the spring we cut the flowers from the surrounding fields and distill the essence into perfume. In the fall we harvest the grapes from the vineyard and make wine. Our profit is small, but it is enough to pay for most of the costs associated with running the foundling home here at St. Chamas.”