Graham: Pirates of Britannia Connected World (Sons of Sagamore Book 2)

by Ruth A. Casie

  They made their way through the maze of stalls, wagons, and people. Donald’s nose twitched.

  Graham chuckled as he walked next to his brother. “Are you sniffing the air?”

  “What is it?” Donald took a deep breath and moved along faster.

  “You don’t smell it?” Donald pulled him along.

  “Of course I do.” The two hurried on.

  At the end of the lane, Graham looked up at the brightly painted sign of a copper kettle hanging over the doorway. Beneath the kettle was a painted ribbon, Auberge de Gilet. They stood in front of a large wood frame building with whitewashed daub. To the side was a fenced in courtyard with stables beyond.

  Window shutters stood open all along the front wall to let in the warm air and send out the aroma of a roast.

  “Are you coming or are you going to stand there with your mouth open?” Graham asked.

  They stepped into a large room with whitewashed walls and a clean wooden floor. Tables scattered around the room created a casual welcoming atmosphere. The tabletops were clean, inviting the next customer to take a seat. The brothers found a place and sat.

  The innkeeper approached them. “Bonjour.”

  Graham looked up at the man. “Bonjour. An ale and whatever that wonderful aroma is.”

  “Ah, my wife made roast lamb today.”

  “Two plates and ales, please.”

  “Clare,” the innkeeper called as he walked away. “Two plates of lamb for these gentlemen.”

  “I haven’t heard you speak French since Isla—” Donald stopped.

  He looked at his brother’s uncomfortable expression. “Don’t look so concerned. I had no need for French at Glen Kirk.”

  Was it all right? He still thought about his wife, the excitement and plans they had for their first child. When the loss and grief subsided, he gladly welcomed the numbness that replaced it. It left him with no desire to ever love so deeply again.

  “Excuse me. Donald?”

  Donald and Graham looked up at two men who stood at their table.

  “DuClare. Rodigio. How good to see you again.” Donald turned to Graham. “We met at Hugh’s office in London some months back.”

  Donald made the introductions and asked the two to join them.

  “We just ordered the roast lamb.” Graham signaled for the innkeeper.

  “Excellent choice. Gilet’s wife makes an excellent lamb,” DuClare said.

  The innkeeper came with two tankards of ale.

  “Gilet, what is this? Ale? Not for the Earl of Sagamore’s brothers. Wine. From Labatrelle. And two more plates of your goodwife’s roast. My mouth started watering as soon as I entered the square.”

  The innkeeper signaled his server.

  “DuClare,” the innkeeper said, a playful smile on his lips as he leaned toward the man, the ale in the two tankards he held sloshing over their edges. “She must know when you are coming to Châlons. It seems lamb is on the menu whenever you are here.”

  DuClare’s eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. “No, no, my friend. I distinctly remember having a delicious stuffed trout the last time I was here.”

  They both laughed.

  Donald and Graham didn’t understand the joke.

  “Pardon me. Clare, his wife, is my sister. Rodigio and I only come to Châlons on Tuesday when she makes lamb.”

  “Your sister’s name is Clare? Clare DuClare? She must have been happy to marry.” Donald gave him a stare his eyebrow raised.

  Rodigio slapped DuClare on the back. “My friend, their father had a sense of humor. Meet Claude DuClare. Thankfully, his parents only had two children.”

  All four men let out a great peal of laughter.

  “Ah, here we are.” DuClare rubbed his hands together as the server placed four goblets of wine on the table and walked away.

  “Now here is a good wine.” Rodigio held the goblet high. “To Maurice. The best wine maker in all France.”

  “Hear, hear,” the men said. They raised their wine, then drank.

  “Tell me about Maurice and his winery,” Graham said. Gilet returned with plates filled with sliced roast lamb, roasted carrots, peas topped with mint and grated cheese, and a loaf of warm crusty bread.

  Rodigio put up his hand to stop the conversation. He took a deep breath. “Good food and wine are like a good woman. They should be appreciated and enjoyed, slowly,” the Italian said.

  “Spoken like a Frenchman. You have been with DuClare too long,” Donald said as he took out his knife, but before he put the first bite in his mouth he turned toward his brother.

  “This must be Lagny’s best inn. The captain just arrived. You won’t have to worry about missing your boat.” He nodded in the captain’s direction then began to eat.

  Graham glanced at the captain who was already giving Gilet his order then turned his attention back to DuClare and Rodigio.

  “About Maurice?” Graham asked as he bit into the lamb.

  “God rest his soul. Maurice was a good man with many hidden talents. Perhaps because he was quiet, old, or a combination of the two. At first glance he appeared ordinary. But when you came to him with a problem, you always walked away with an answer, the right one. Are you going to eat those peas?” Rodigio eyed the bowl in the middle of the table.

  Graham passed the small dish to him.

  “He made an excellent wine.” Rodigio wiggled his knife in the air to make his point. “His vineyard was well established before he left for the Crusades. His foreman, LaBarge, took care of the winery and chateau while Maurice fought in Tunis. Maurice returned to a profitable winery and well-maintained chateau. He was an honorable and fair man. It did not surprise him when Monsieur Olivier, the Châlons guild master, mentioned that Maurice made LaBarge a partner. Together they created Labatrelle Winery.” Rodigio, his plate empty, finished his wine.

  “I wish I had met him,” Graham said.

  “He was an excellent archer and well trusted. Some say he served the Templars on the Crusade in more ways than just as a soldier. LaBarge understood he was close to the Templars, after former knights stopped to see him on their journey home. They talked about battles, their time together, and comrades. Some left with Holy Land relics Maurice brought back. The rest he kept locked in the chateau. Yes, he was a good man.” Rodigio put his goblet quietly on the table.

  “I agree. Maurice was smart,” DuClare said. “Miles had no interest in the vineyard. In the back of Maurice’s mind, he expected Miles would return to London. It was important to him that the winery be successful. It was a setback when Labarge died and his nephew took over. By then, Miles had taken over much of Maurice’s responsibility. In truth, I don’t think Nolan worked well with Maurice. Maurice never told him the secret to the wine. He alone did the blending. Even now, all these years later, the wines of the Labatrelle Winery are still sought after by many.”

  If Nolan doesn’t know the secret, how is the quality maintained?” Graham asked.

  “Over time he’s created his own recipe, close to Maurice’s, but not the same. That secret, my friend, died with him,” DuClare said.

  Graham sat back, his plate empty, and savored the last of his wine.

  “Excusez-moi monsieur.” The sailboat captain stood next to Graham. “I see you enjoyed your meal. The boat leaves soon.”

  “Thank you, captain. I’ll be there,” Graham said. The captain touched the brim of his cap and left.

  “You’re not staying with us?” Rodigio asked.

  “I’m on my way to Châlons,” Graham said.

  “Give my regards to Monsieur Olivier when you see him. He’s a good man who can be trusted.” DuClare turned to Donald. “Will you be going with him?”

  “No. I’m staying in Lagny a while longer. I want to put to rest any concerns surrounding Hugh’s business. I know you both have been very helpful. Hugh appreciates all you’ve done.”

  “Donald,” Rodigio got his attention, “Miles may be happy to know that there has been some i
nterest in Maurice’s Holy Land relics. Maurice used to speak of his trésor au-delà de toute mesure, treasure beyond measure.”

  “From what Charlotte told me, her grandfather never wanted to sell them, but rather return them to their rightful owners,” Donald said. “Neither Charlotte nor Miles knows if they are worth the expense of returning.”

  “I know a very bright and competent antiquities expert if you find you need one,” DuClare said.

  “His niece,” said Rodigio. “She’s beautiful and smart with one problem.”

  “Oh?” Donald said.

  If Graham knew his brother, that was enough to pique his interest.

  “She prefers her antiquities to people,” Rodigio said.

  “I can be a very old soul when needed.” Donald chuckled at his own joke.

  “Gentlemen,” Graham stood. “It was a pleasure dining with you, but I must go before the captain casts off without me.”

  Chapter Three

  Sailing down the Marne River

  The same day – Day One at the Winery

  Graham spent the next three hours enjoying the sail down the Marne River. Dotted with towns and villages, the landscape with its vineyards was serene and calming.

  “Here we are, Monsieur. Will you be returning to Lagny?”

  “Not for a week or two,” Graham said.

  “Be careful, Monsieur. Châlons is a special place. A week or two here can turn into a lifetime. Enjoy your stay.” Graham stood ready to disembark as the crew docked the ship.

  Lifetime? Not likely. The idyllic area was not for him. He was already eager to return to London.

  The gangplank in place, he left the ship, and headed for the Labatrelle Winery.

  The river town was lazy and peaceful. Across from the boat was his landmark, the ruins of the Châlons Cathedral. The breeze off the river did nothing to dispel the unusual heat and humidity of the day as he walked up the steep hill along the river to Rue du Labatrelle. It didn’t take long for his shirt to stick to him. He followed Hugh’s directions and found the Cantrelle home.

  The chateau was a sizeable, sandstone building surrounded by a stone wall. He didn’t try the front or side gates. Charlotte had told him those remained locked. He walked along the perimeter until he came to the back of the house.

  A breeze came up from the river and began to cool him off. He took advantage of his brief rest and had to agree with Hugh. The position of the chateau high on a knoll surrounded by the vineyard, winery, and river had a superb view. The expanse before him was serene and lush.

  But he did not have time to admire the scenery. His mission was to evaluate the situation, identify the problem, and correct it. If everything went well, he might be able to return to Lagny before Donald left for London at the end of the week. He went to the door and pulled the leather strap on the bell.

  “Can I help you?”

  He turned at the very feminine voice behind him and found a trim older woman, her hair swept back in a knot at her neck. Her dark blue bliaut suited her well with a clean white apron.

  “Bonjour, Madame.”

  “Oh.” Nervously she moistened her lips.

  Was that panic in her eyes?

  “You’re English. You must be Lord Eden’s brother. Of course you’re his brother. You look just like him.” She stood rooted in place and pulled loose leaves out of the empty basket she held.

  “Yes, I’m Graham Eden.”

  The woman let out a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “I’m Jeanne Marie. Isabella, my granddaughter, is going to be upset. She isn’t expecting you for two weeks.”

  Jeanne Marie opened the gate. They stepped into a large courtyard. To the right was a well-kept kitchen garden. Lavender, rosemary, sage, and mint mingled with columbine, lily of the valley, poppies, and roses. Benches stood ready under a row of fruit trees and nearby, raspberry bushes. Set back near the house was a gardener’s shed.

  Jeanne Marie locked the gate and led him into the chateau kitchen.

  “Grand-mère. We should put—” A beautiful young woman entered the room, startled he was there.

  Graham surmised she was Isabella. Hugh didn’t mention her beauty. When he thought about it, Hugh and Charlotte only mentioned that it would take time to win her over.

  She stepped into the room. Her dress moved with her, hugging her body and accentuating her curves. She wore her hair tied in a severe knot similar to her grandmother’s. For a moment, Graham imagined her in his arms, her black hair loose around her shoulders. Stunned, he blinked away the vision, and a soft cough rumbled in his throat. That hadn’t happened since the first time he saw Isla. Startled by the thought, he let it die.

  “This is Graham Eden. Charlotte’s brother-in-law,” Jeanne Marie said.

  Isabella’s eyes widened in shock before she was able to hide her reaction.

  “You’re not supposed to be here for another two weeks.” Her brisk tone didn’t impress him.

  “Yes, how nice to meet you, too. And you are?” His tone was courteous but patronizing as he studied her. A glance at the smile Jeanne Marie had difficulty controlling told him grand-mère was on his side.

  But, he tried to see the visit from Isabella’s perspective. He was the intruder, the uninvited guest. He would give her time.

  Her hands clasped in front of her, her lips puckered with annoyance.

  “It is nice to meet you Monsieur Eden—”

  “Bella, Lord Eden,” her grandmother said.

  “Please, call me Graham.” His eyes blazed at the game he played to win her over.

  “Graham.” She sucked in a breath and straightened her spine.

  She had his complete attention. Beyond her beauty, this woman was proud, bold, and secure. She was magnificent.

  “I’m Isabella Girard. Please join us in the salon. The countess’s brother-in-law should not be entertained in the servant’s salon.”

  “As you wish, Mademoiselle.” He inclined his head in compliance. Isabella led the way, followed by Jeanne Marie. He brought up the rear.

  They entered the salon, a cross between a library and a personal sanctuary.

  “Please make yourself comfortable while I bring you some refreshments.” Isabella left before he could say anything. Jeanne Marie hurried behind her.

  He was at ease as soon as he crossed the threshold. He stood in the center of the room and turned and took it all in.

  Floor to ceiling bookcases surrounded the door he entered and the adjacent wall which also had a large desk in front of it. Definitely the library side of the room. A long narrow table stood on the wall to his left with wine decanters and goblets. A tapestry of the vineyard hung above the table. From the large windows that flanked the hearth in front of him, he spotted the vineyard and the river beyond. Chairs and benches with colorful pillows graced the area in front of the hearth and created an inviting setting.

  He went to the window and enjoyed the view. In the quiet of the room, he could hear Jeanne Marie and Isabella in the kitchen.

  “Why are you encouraging him? Is he here to start a war, dressed like a soldier? You have no idea what he wants. And. His. Brother. The. Earl. He’s turned Charlotte against us.”

  “The is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Against us? The fact that the earl sent him should be enough. Our guest is the earl’s brother, a lord in his own right. He traveled from England across most of France. As for his clothes, he’s not a farmer. What he wears is not very different from others who travel through Châlons.” There was a pause. “What are you looking for?”

  “The message from Charlotte arrived three days ago. She said he would be here in two to three weeks.” Again there was silence. “Oh… look at this. The message is dated the first week of July.”

  He unbuckled his scabbard and stood it next to the hearth. He touched the hilt of his dirk then thought better of it. No, that was always with him.

  She mumbled something in French that Graham couldn’t make out.

  �
�Did he bring anything other than words from Charlotte? No. Just because the earl sent him doesn’t mean he’s to be trusted.”

  “Why? Because he’s English? Not every Englishman is like Eldon.”

  Something slammed on the kitchen table.

  “Don’t mention his name. Ever.” Isabella’s tense, clipped voice prevented further discussion.

  His internal warning sounded. He didn’t like the picture this woman was painting of Hugh. Jeanne Marie had a better temperament and it was clear to him the grandmother was not aware of her granddaughter’s letter.

  More than Eldon, whoever he was, did Isabella think her complaints to Hugh and Charlotte would get her more money? Aside from the vineyard accounts, Hugh shared the amount of payments he and Charlotte sent for the chateau and staff. It should have paid their expenses and then some.

  Graham moved behind the desk and examined the items on the bookcase shelves. He found scrolls and scraps of parchment. Placed amongst the books and scrolls in an attractive manner were statues, jeweled boxes, and small painted panels with beautiful scenes that he assumed Charlotte’s grandfather collected. The bookcase was more than shelves. Drawers and doors for storage were scattered throughout the piece of furniture.

  Jeanne Marie and Isabella returned. While Jeanne Marie set out a board of cheeses garnished with tempting raspberries, bread and sausage, Isabella went to the side table and poured a cup of wine.

  “The wine is from the Labatrelle Winery.” She handed him the drink. For a moment he thought to make nothing of the wine, but this woman was not to be teased. He took a sip.

  “This is excellent.”

  Isabella preened as if she was responsible for the good weather and soil that determined its quality. He was prepared to not like the wine, but it was good, exceptionally good. Better than what he had in Lagny.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Her grandmother gasped.

  He popped a raspberry in his mouth and enjoyed the sweet-tart-rose flavor. He did not need her cooperation. But, making her an adversary would get him nowhere. He went for an icy stare to make her aware of his position and observed her settle her shoulders and take a deep breath. Good. They understood each other.