Dreams of Lilacs

by Lynn Kurland

  “Did that unfamiliar ground need to be the queen mother’s court?” she asked with a wince.

  “I couldn’t think of anywhere else,” Gervase admitted. “I don’t want to endanger your family or mine. This way, my guards and your brother’s can lose themselves amongst others without drawing undue notice to themselves, we can have at least a modicum of safety in a crowd, and hopefully the lot of us being in a relatively strange locale might force our attackers to make a misstep.”

  “Attackers?” she echoed pointedly.

  “At this point, whether they are two or one in the same, you and I are both in a fair bit of peril.” He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. “Short of locking you in my solar for the rest of your days, I’m left with very few moves on the board.”

  She held on to him tightly for a moment or two, then pulled away. “I understand your reasons. I just wish I had filched a gown from Nicholas’s wife. I fear I will be a great embarrassment to you.”

  “Let’s worry about that later,” he said. He kissed her briefly, then looked at Miles. “I believe I would be wise to accept your offer of sleep, but be careful.” He paused. “I hardly know whom to trust even in my own household.”

  Isabelle said nothing, and she didn’t dare look at Miles, but she understood the sentiment completely. She walked with Gervase from the hall and was grateful for the escort of Miles, Joscelin, and, trailing along behind them all with a handful of unpleasant-looking lads, Robin as well. She had to admit she agreed with Gervase’s plan. Losing themselves in a crowd at court might possibly be the only thing that drew their attackers out of the shadows.

  Unfortunately, as she knew very well, it was difficult to be seen when one was standing in the shadows, never mind where that darkness found itself.

  She only hoped that inability to see where danger lay wouldn’t be what killed them both.

  Chapter 24

  Gervase spared a fond thought for all the years he’d been at court as a simple knight instead of the lord of an extensive holding. That anonymity would have perhaps left him less able to move about freely than he was at present, but at least he could have made an attempt to blend in. As it was, he was genuflected to by everyone he passed, he had servants following him at all hours, and women he hadn’t seen in at least a year had suddenly found their way, individually and in some cases collectively, to his bedchamber to see if he might have a need for companionship.

  The woman he wanted to spend time with was so far away from where he was currently pacing that she might as well have been in England. He supposed she was safe enough with a pair of her brothers and Joscelin guarding her at all hours. That left Aubert to look after him, a fact for which he was, as usual, grateful. Silently.

  Their three-day sojourn at court had been a fruitless exercise so far. He had danced until his feet ached. He had made an obvious production of eating as much rich food as possible, which had invariably resulted in loud complaints about pains in his belly. He had gone to Mass every morning in order to ingratiate himself with Her Majesty’s priests, then loitered about afterward to see if he could admire their copywork. He supposed they had found it slightly strange that he’d wanted to admire a few contracts as well, but he’d pled the excuse of looking for a fair hand to perhaps supplement his own men at Monsaert. He supposed the only reason they hadn’t sent him away in irons was the strength of his grandfather’s name that he ruthlessly used to get what he wanted.

  He had seen nothing that had resembled either his missive or Isabelle’s.

  He had passed the rest of his time making a nuisance of himself in various salons, flattering every single bloody woman he saw with quill in hand so he might have a look at her scribbles on parchment. That had resulted in several rather personal notes being tucked into various parts of his clothing when he wasn’t looking, leaving him feeling rather like a stuffed goose and looking like a dolt.

  The only thing he regretted was not having retrieved the note of love he’d received in his own solar at home. That colossal piece of stupidity would, he feared, come back to haunt him at a future moment. In his defense, he’d been too busy spending all his time thinking about Isabelle de Piaget and her flawless face, but he supposed that was no defense at all.

  He suppressed the urge to draw his hand over his eyes. Did he ever manage to wed the woman, he imagined he would never again do a decent day’s labor.

  He followed his nose into the great hall, which was a poor description for the place. Monsaert was grand, true, but he was the first to admit that Louis’s palace was another level of spectacular entirely. He paused at the edge of the chaos and looked to see who might be there whom he could corner and force to show either the color of their sealing wax or an example of their handwriting.

  Truly, he had to solve the mystery of who wanted him dead before he lost what was left of his wits.

  He almost plowed over Robin, Miles, and Joscelin before he realized they were standing there in a little cluster, obviously watching something. He joined their group and looked for what they seemed to find so interesting.

  “Oh,” he managed.

  “Aye, oh,” Robin said, nodding knowingly. “Though I suppose you paid for the gown, didn’t you?”

  “A premium,” Gervase managed, because it was the truth. He had sent his fleetest messenger ahead with instructions to bribe at whatever cost necessary the finest couturier at court to make Isabelle at least two gowns.

  It would have been impossible, he had known, to match the color of her eyes, but he had to admit that the deep green silk had been a good choice. The price, he had learned upon arrival, was eye-watering, but he hadn’t cared. He simply hadn’t wanted her to feel inferior. Though he would have liked to have said he didn’t care anything for clothes and baubles, the truth was, he knew their value in certain situations. Given the way Margaret had treated her at Monsaert, he supposed his gold had been very well spent indeed.

  “Glorious,” Robin said, “and that’s my sister I’m speaking of, just so you know.”

  Gervase leaned his elbow on Robin’s shoulder. “I will never, ever manage a decent day’s labor.” He looked at Isabelle’s brother. “That was my thought earlier. It seemed prudent to give voice to it at some point, so when I don’t manage the same ever again, I’ll have a witness that I knew that before I wed her.”

  Robin smiled. “You’ll have to give the poor girl a bit of relief from your vile presence now and again. Perhaps you could trot out to the lists and attend to your sword skill.”

  “Is this experience speaking?”

  Robin sighed lightly. “Aye, lad, it is.”

  Gervase slapped Robin on the back of the head. “Stop calling me lad. And know that I realize the reason you continue to provoke me is to satisfy a desperate hope that I’ll meet you in the lists. I can see why you would want to, what with what has to be your endless desire to pit yourself against a superior swordsman.”

  Robin laughed. “My endless desire is that your leg heal fully so I might not have to tiptoe about you in the lists.” He nodded toward the middle of the chamber. “But until that happy day arrives, perhaps you might want to concern yourself with rescuing your lady. My eyes could be failing me, but that looks a bit like Evelyne of Coucy sweeping across the room with a purpose—”

  Gervase left him talking to thin air as he made his way also across the chamber with a purpose. He caught Evelyne ten paces away from where Isabelle currently stood, looking profoundly uncomfortable. He made her a low bow.

  “My lady Evelyne.”

  She was shaking with fury. “I understand you are sniffing at another’s skirts, my lord Monsaert.”

  Gervase pursed his lips. “I don’t sniff at skirts, my lady.”

  Evelyne pointed a shaking finger at Isabelle. “Then what are you doing with that?”

  “I’m not sure why what I’m intending to do with anyone else is your concern,” he said coolly. “Or perhaps I misunderstood your father’s visit to my hall
recently?”

  “That was before I realized you could walk,” Evelyne snapped.

  And I am not in the habit of plighting my troth with women who find it within them to throw others away when they’re no longer serviceable was almost out of his mouth before he bit the words back.

  The truth was, he had never had any feeling but resignation where Evelyne of Coucy was concerned. He’d needed to wed, she had been the most beautiful woman at court, she had obviously wanted him for reasons he didn’t suppose he wanted to contemplate overmuch, and the deed had been done.

  How fortunate he had been to have been rescued from that.

  He started to say the most innocuous thing that came to mind only to realize that Evelyne was no longer standing in front of him. She was now standing in front of Isabelle and her lips were moving.

  Gervase cursed himself and strode over to the pair. He took Isabelle’s hand in his, wincing a little at the coldness of her fingers, then looked at Evelyne.

  “If you’ll excuse us?” he said politely.

  “So you can trot off to bed with this uncultured urchin from England’s northern wasteland?” Evelyne spat. “Why you would choose her over me is something I simply cannot fathom. That and I will not allow it—”

  Gervase pulled Isabelle with him out of the chamber, leaving Evelyne talking to no one.

  “Gervase—”

  He shot Isabelle a look and continued on. She jerked so hard on his hand, he almost tripped. He spun around to simply command her to stop fighting him, then he realized that her visage was almost white. He closed his eyes briefly, then pulled her into a quick, tight embrace.

  “Please,” he whispered against her ear, “please come with me.”

  “Well, that’s better,” she said briskly.

  He smiled, then walked on with her. He opened several doors, interrupting at least one couple in the business of things they likely shouldn’t have been engaging in, then found an empty chamber. He had no idea to whom it belonged, nor did he care. He shut the door, then pulled Isabelle into his arms.

  She was trembling. “I don’t like it here.”

  He slipped his hand under her hair, looked at her seriously, then kissed her.

  He kissed her for quite some time, actually. It occurred to him at one point through the haze that had become his poor mind, that if he didn’t find a priest and wed her soon, he would be apologizing to Rhys de Piaget for more than just putting his daughter to work in his scullery.

  “You would not.”

  He blinked and looked at the woman in his arms. “What?”

  “You would not bed me before you wed me,” she said, looking as dazed as he felt.

  “Did I say I would?”

  She nodded solemnly.

  He frowned. “Well, I wouldn’t. Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind, especially at the moment, but I wouldn’t think to.” He paused. “Well, I would think to, but I wouldn’t.” He looked at her. “I think I should stop kissing you.”

  She laughed a little and threw her arms around his neck. She hugged him until he thought he might never breathe properly again, then pulled back far enough to kiss him until he thought he should ask her to stop.

  “I love you,” she whispered in his ear.

  “I love you much more, I’m sure,” he said, wondering if he would ever manage to let her out of his arms. He smiled at her when she sank back down to her heels. “Arthur of Harwych never kissed you, did he?”

  Her mouth fell open. “Of course not. I’ve never kissed anyone before. Well, save my family, but that’s different.”

  “Then allow me to present myself as someone on whom you might practice your skills. Repeatedly. At great length.”

  “You’re very generous.”

  He laughed and kissed her again, because despite everything, there was something about Isabelle de Piaget that inspired happiness in his poor self. He pulled back and smiled at her.

  “Have I told you today how lovely you look?”

  “Uncultured urchin that I am?” she asked lightly.

  “She’s jealous,” Gervase said dismissively, “and not because I can seemingly keep neither my eyes nor hands off your sweet self. You put every other woman here to shame.”

  “The gown is lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He shook his head. “Nay, Isabelle, you are lovely. The gown is simply a poor setting for the true jewel.”

  She looked at him as if she’d never seen him before. “What’s come over you?”

  Where to begin? He supposed there was no point in even attempting to tell her what she had done to him, not when he had to make certain he would be alive for the next fifty years to make a list for her each and every day, so he simply kissed her.

  “You,” he said simply. “You came over me.” He wrapped his arms around her, held her close for several minutes in silence, then sighed deeply. “We have to go back out there.”

  “I’d rather go clean the kitchens.”

  “I daresay I would prefer to join you there, but that is unfortunately not our lot.” He took her face in his hands, then kissed her softly. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “I should have found a blade in your armory,” she said thoughtfully, “so I might keep you—”

  “Iz, nay.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “What did you call me?”

  He opened his mouth to justify what he’d said, then decided he couldn’t. He suppressed the urge to shift. “It just came out.”

  She smiled. “I’m not complaining,” she said. She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment or two. “Coming from you, I daresay it was akin to a brief, sweet kiss.”

  He looked at her uneasily. “I think we should go before I beg you for kisses that are anything but brief.” He took her hand. “Let’s do what we must.”

  She only squeezed his hand and walked with him out of the chamber. He walked into his clutch of guardsmen before he realized they were there, which likely said more than it should have about his inability to concentrate on what was going on around him. Before he could protest, Miles and Joscelin put Isabelle between them and walked off with her. Gervase looked at his captain, but Aubert only shook his head slowly. You poor fool hung unspoken there in the air. Gervase turned to Robin.

  “Well?”

  “You were in there a long time, weren’t you?”

  “Kissing your sister, as it happens.”

  “I won’t stick you for it because she’s a grown woman,” Robin said thoughtfully, “but I will tell you that I have a hard time thinking of her as such. The last time I noticed, she was approximately ten-and-two. What’s happened since then, I just don’t know.” He glanced at Gervase. “You look distracted.”

  “I feel distracted.”

  “It would be better if you looked poisoned. Why don’t you think about kissing Evelyne of Coucy and see if that doesn’t produce the desired expression on your face?”

  “You have that aright,” Gervase agreed with a faint shudder. The thought was actually quite bracing, when looked at in the proper way. He looked at Robin. “I need to think.”

  “We could run the lists,” Robin offered. “If they have lists here, which given the sorry state of French soldiers these days, I seriously doubt.”

  Gervase considered, then looked at Aubert. “Watch over my lady, will you? I think Lord Robin and I can manage ourselves for an hour.”

  Aubert made him a sharp bow, then trotted off after Isabelle and her keepers.

  • • •

  An hour later, he was unfortunately much closer to thoughts he hadn’t wanted to think, all courtesy of running in circles about the lists with a madman who seemed to find the exercise absolutely delightful. He stopped on his way back to the palace and looked off over the gardens as things occurred to him that made him very uncomfortable.

  Why would a lad who had for all intents and purposes forced Isabelle to come to France want him dead?

  The truth was, while he had never se
riously considered trotting to England to vie for Isabelle’s hand, his father had actually mentioned it a time or two. He could remember sitting on the edge of several conversations between his father and grandfather where they had mentioned they were particularly fond of the de Piaget family. That was odd, wasn’t it, how their families seemed to be connected but not connected?

  He shook his head as he examined the truths he could no longer deny.

  Someone wanted him dead. Someone had convinced Isabelle to come to France or her family would die as a result. And, most recently, someone had told her to kill him. It was true that he’d discussed all those things with Robin at length on the journey from Caours to Monsaert, but he had to admit that he’d considered how they fit together merely as a possibility of what he might be facing.

  The very real probability that the person was the same was profoundly chilling.

  He looked at Robin. “I’m having thoughts.”

  “’Tis the running,” Robin said wisely. “Very dangerous business, that. Are you going to share these thoughts?”

  “I might be using large words,” Gervase said solemnly. “Are you up for that sort of thing?”

  Robin slung his arm around Gervase’s neck, slapped him so hard on the back of his head in the process that he saw stars, then started with him back to the hall.

  “I like you. I’ll advise my father not to kill you when he first claps eyes on you.”

  “Good of you,” Gervase said faintly.

  “Altruistic to the last. Now, come tell Uncle Robin your sorry tale and let’s see if we can’t make sense of these large words that I’m quite sure you don’t know the meaning of.”

  Gervase did.

  Chapter 25

  Isabelle stood at the edge of a large chamber and forced herself to keep her mouth shut instead of gaping as she so desperately wanted to do. She had thought for the whole of her life that she had lived in incomparable luxury. She supposed in a certain sense that was true. Artane was majestic, secure, full of fine food, lovely music, and family.