Commanded by the French Duke (Harlequin Historical)

by Meriel Fuller

  ‘...didn’t you, Alinor?’

  Alinor glanced up to find two pairs of identical blue eyes staring at her. ‘Sorry...I didn’t hear...’ she stuttered out.

  ‘Oh, Alinor.’ Bianca laughed. ‘I was telling Guilhem what you did, how you...’

  ‘How you saved Bianca’s life,’ Guilhem said. Admiration laced his tone. ‘My God, Alinor, I can’t believe what your stepmother asked you to do, what a risk you took!’

  ‘There was no other way,’ she said quietly. ‘Wilhelma asked me to...to poison Bianca, to get rid of her. If I had refused, then Wilhelma would have taken matters into her own hands, would have found some other way.’

  ‘She must be brought before the sheriff’s court and tried for what she has done, for what she had attempted to do,’ Guilhem said.

  ‘Where’s your proof? It’s my word against hers; there’s no blood on her hands.’

  He grinned savagely. ‘Oh, I’m sure I can find some way of bringing her in.’

  ‘She’s so desperate that Claverstock should go to Eustace, she’ll do anything. I’ve told my father so many times that I don’t want the estate; I’ve told him to disinherit me, that I’ll make my own way in the world, but he simply refuses to listen!’ Desperation clawed at her voice.

  ‘But...Alinor,’ Bianca said, worry creasing the space between her tawny brows, ‘if you do that, if you renounce your home, then you will have nothing. You will be penniless, without support.’

  ‘Unless I find...’ Alinor stopped. What had she been about to say? Unless I find someone to love me, to support me? But that was a ridiculous notion. Who would marry her? ‘I don’t care,’ she said, finally. ‘I don’t want Claverstock if I have to marry Eustace! I would rather be destitute and work the land for someone else. I would give it all up in a moment.’ She stood up abruptly. ‘And I am so sorry, Bianca that you have become caught up in all this family stupidity and my stubbornness. I do realise that if I had done as my father told me, then the Queen would never have arranged your own marriage! This is all my fault!’

  Guilhem saw the flash of determination, of despair, in Alinor’s eyes, and recognised it. Lord, but she was brave. Lesser women would have bowed to their fate months ago, but not Alinor. She refused to conform to her father’s wishes, despite the consequences. Thank God she hadn’t married her stepbrother, he thought with relief. Her life would have been a living hell.

  ‘Alinor, stop blaming yourself. You made the right decision,’ Guilhem said. ‘Bianca is safe now.’ He thought for a moment. ‘I will tell the Queen what happened; she can write to our mother and dissolve the marriage contract.’

  ‘Do you think that would work?’

  ‘Yes,’ Guilhem said. He glanced over at Alinor, her shuttered expression. A sense of something ending flooded over him. But a protesting, gnawing feeling in his belly told him that he didn’t want it to end. Alinor looked exhausted, sagging forward with fatigue, her lavender-coloured gown spread upon the flagstones around her. The urge to hold her in his arms, to comfort her, to tell her everything would be all right, surged over him. But how could he even begin to offer her comfort when his own mind and body were still ravaged by the demons from the past? How could he subject her to what he had done? Tell her the truth? She would be horrified, hate him for ever. He couldn’t risk that. He had no wish for her to hate him, no, he wanted her to...to what? Love him? Despair, black and coruscating, stumbled through him. How could he contemplate such a thing? He was not worthy of her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Beneath covert glances, heads ducking quickly down to study their porridge bowls lest they be caught staring too much, the nuns surveyed their unexpected guests at the end of the table. Alinor they knew, of course, but not this Alinor, dressed in her noble lady’s finery: the elaborately decorated gown, the silver embroidery and rows of tiny pearl buttons, her flowing silk veil. And the knight with his devilish eyes and hard-cut features was the same man who had been with Prince Edward. But the other lady, tall and elegant—who was she?

  ‘My Lord Guilhem!’ The Prioress swept down the refectory to the spot where Guilhem sat with Alinor and Bianca. Brown wooden beads, arosary, hung around her neck; a cross bounced gently against her chest. ‘I certainly did not expect to see you again so soon! It’s a pleasure, of course!’ Guilhem rose, bowing courteously. Maeve settled herself in her chair beside them. ‘How’s the arm?’ she asked. ‘Not paining you too much, I hope?’

  Guilhem rolled his shoulder, testing the muscles beneath. ‘In truth, I had almost forgotten about it.’ He laughed. ‘Almost as good as new, thanks to Alinor.’

  ‘It was nothing,’ murmured Alinor. Perspiration prickled in her hollowed palms as she remembered. The sleekness of his bare flesh beneath her fingers as she worked on the wound. She fidgeted with her linen napkin, shaking out the creases, smoothing the fabric flat across her lap, chewed distractedly on her bottom lip.

  ‘Too modest, as usual,’ the Prioress boomed at her, her manner jovial. ‘Your skill in healing is renowned, yet you go out of your way to hide it.’ A young novice placed a bowl of porridge before her, the steam rising from the hot oats like a white mist. ‘Sister Edith is up and about again, thanks to your care. ‘

  ‘That is good news,’ Alinor said. ‘Although I’m sure she would have improved eventually even if I had done nothing.’

  ‘No, Alinor, that is not true,’ said Maeve, her keen eyes swivelling to Bianca sitting quietly beside Guilhem. Her gaze trailed slowly over the young girl’s face.

  Guilhem followed her glance. ‘My apologies, allow me to present my sister, Lady Bianca d’Attalens,’ he said, smiling. Scraping out the last remnants of his bowl, eating with obvious appreciation, he threw the spoon in with a clatter.

  Maeve smiled at the blonde-haired maid. ‘I’m honoured to meet you, Bianca. You are welcome.’ Her brow creased. ‘But why are you all here? I thought you would stay at home once you had taken Lord Guilhem there, Alinor?’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Alinor, placing her wooden spoon down on the table, a precise careful movement. Hunger evaded her; her mouth was claggy, devoid of moisture, as if stuffed with wool. ‘One that I promise to tell you as soon as I can. But Bianca must go home as soon as possible, to France...?’ She trailed off, unsure, folding her hands in front of her. She wouldn’t be going anywhere.

  Guilhem shook his head, the light streaming down from the high windows catching his eyes, turning the irises a brilliant blue: a flash of pure colour, shocking, intense. ‘No, not yet. Bianca needs to come with me and talk to the Queen. Tell her what has happened in her own words.’

  ‘And what will you do, my dear?’ Maeve turned to Alinor, her manner shrewd, solicitous.

  ‘I’ll return to Claverstock,’ said Alinor, attempting to keep her tone brisk, level. A boulder of sadness lodged in her chest, huge, unwieldy. The thought of going back, of having to face Eustace again...but what other choice did she have? She had nowhere left to turn. Guilhem and Bianca would go and she would never see them again; the thought left her surprisingly bereft, forlorn.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Guilhem growled, thumping the table with one fist. He stood up abruptly, his muscled thigh knocking into the table so that all the pewter rattled; the Prioress jerked back in her seat, banging her head on the carved chair-back. Her sparse eyelashes flew up in surprise.

  Guilhem thrust one hand through his hair. ‘I can’t believe you would even suggest such a thing!’

  ‘What is it? What have I said?’ Surely returning to Claverstock was her only option, despite what the consequences might be. Her slim shoulders hunched forward. She had caused enough trouble already; maybe now it was time to accept her fate, give in.

  He bent over her, his head close to hers, warm breath tickling the side of her cheek, a strand of burnished hair brushing her earlobe. He braced his body wei
ght against the table, his tanned fingers splayed on the pale oak planks. ‘Have you forgotten what happened, Alinor? What nearly happened to you back there?’

  ‘Don’t say it out loud,’ she whispered, turning fractionally. The jut of his cheekbone, dusted with sunburn, was inches from her face. Her eyes flicked up, pleading silently with him. ‘Please.’

  He inclined his head, acknowledging her request. ‘You cannot go back there,’ he said, more calmly. His breath stirred the fine silk of her veil, pressing the gauzy fabric against her hair.

  ‘It’s my home.’ She smiled up at him tremulously. ‘I have no other.’

  Maeve leaned over, placed her hand on Alinor’s forearm. ‘You can stay here, with us, Alinor. The Priory is your home, too.’

  ‘Thank you, Maeve, it would certainly help—’

  ‘Out of the question.’ Guilhem interrupted. ‘I’m sorry, Maeve, but this is the first place that Eustace will look. And with the greatest respect, I don’t think a group of nuns will be able to stop him dragging Alinor away.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Maeve, quietly, surveying Alinor with worried eyes. ‘I didn’t realise it was quite that bad.’

  ‘Worse,’ said Guilhem. His voice was grim. ‘You can come with us, Alinor, at least until Eustace and your stepmother have been dealt with.’ He tried to keep the sense of relief from his voice; under the guise of protecting her, he could keep her by his side. He told himself it was a simple matter of chivalry: it was clear that Alinor had no one else to whom she could turn—she needed his help.

  Alinor peered at him closely, a trace of suspicion in her gaze. Her mind, confused, darted this way and that, skittering haphazardly in search of answers. Why was he doing this? He was not responsible for her. She had given him what he wanted in the form of Bianca. ‘Can I speak to you in private, please?’ she said, her voice awkward, truncated. Rising from the bench, she hoisted her skirts to step back over it, not waiting for his answer. She swept out of the refectory and into the storeroom next door. Shelves stacked with bulging sacks lined the dim chamber; small windows covered with slatted boards allowed cool air to filter in and keep the produce from spoiling. A smell of strong cheese permeated the air.

  ‘What is it?’ Guilhem said, immediately behind her. Pivoting on her heel, she turned to face him, reeling back suddenly. He was too close! His blue eyes gleamed down, radiant, intense.

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ she hissed. ‘You know Bianca will be safe; I am no concern of yours now.’

  Oh, but you are, he thought suddenly, his gaze roaming across her sweet, enchanting face, the plushness of her mouth. He couldn’t explain his reluctance to let her go; all he knew was that she couldn’t leave him, not just yet. She was so vulnerable, so alone, and yet she didn’t seem to recognise the danger she was in. ‘If you go back to Claverstock, that man will rape you, Alinor,’ he said harshly. ‘And that will be it. You will have to be his wife, for the courts will not accept the word of a woman over a man.’

  She flinched at his cruel words, hunching her shoulders forward, folding her arms across her chest. Guilt surged through him as if he himself had physically attacked her, as if he had punched her in the stomach, causing her slim, willowy frame to flex inward on itself. But she had to realise, had to understand the perilousness of her situation.

  ‘I’ve always been able to take care of myself,’ she replied, her voice mutinous, sticking her chin into the air. ‘You’re trying to scare me.’ She touched the short knife hanging from the belt at her side, as if it were a talisman.

  He followed the movement, mouth curling down, half-mocking. ‘Maybe you’ve just been lucky up to now,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe.’ Alinor shrugged her shoulders. ‘Or maybe now is the time to accept my fate,’ she replied dully. ‘I’ve fought against it for so long, but now I have nowhere left to run.’

  God, no!

  ‘I’ve told you, Alinor, come with us to Knighton Palace. It’s your only solution. I will tell the Queen what happened to you. Your so-called family can be brought to justice.’ Placing his big hands on her shoulders, he traced her fragile collarbone beneath the thin silk of her gown. ‘You have to trust me.’

  Her eyes were questioning as she glanced up at him, bewildered. ‘I don’t understand,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t understand why you are doing this for me.’

  Because I...

  Stunned, Guilhem dropped his hands, aghast at what his mind had been about to say. A muscle jumped in the shadowed hollow of his cheek. Something had sneaked beneath the armour-plated cladding of his soul, inching through the layers of horror and isolation, and had struck a flint against his cold, numb heart. And that something came from her: Alinor, hopping from one foot to another in front of him, her manner fierce and yet oddly defenceless, uncertainty eddying from her in waves. A sense of connection, an unspoken bond, flowed between them, like a thread of tangling yarn.

  He cleared his throat, raised one hefty shoulder as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. ‘You’d be doing me a favour. Bianca’s had a horrible time; she needs you more than ever at the moment. She values your friendship, surely you can see that. Come with us to Knighton, if only to keep her company.’ His suggestion was flimsy and he knew it, but it was all he could think of to keep her by his side.

  With a surge of relief, she tipped her head shakily in agreement, grasping at his proposal like a lifeline. He had given her a reason for staying, a platonic, viable reason; nothing to do with him, but to do with Bianca, to support her as her friend. ‘I will come,’ she agreed tentatively, ‘if you think it would help.’

  * * *

  The chalk track was dry, white dust flying up, caking the horses’ legs; heat saturated the air. A haze of mosquitoes danced in a cloud before the trio of riders. Bianca reached across with a gloved hand, seizing Alinor’s fingers; squeezed them. ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, her knees nudging against Alinor as she rode alongside.

  Alinor smiled at her. She was happy, too, and not just for Bianca’s sake. She studied the tall, broad figure riding up ahead of them, tracing the muscled rope of spine beneath the blue tunic, the wayward curl of hair. Her heart fluttered, treacherous. She was beginning to rely on him, rely on his solid, implacable presence; her sense of relief told her so. It was good of him to offer to sort out the problems with her family, but she had to remember that that was all it was; he was helping her, and nothing more. She had to remain stern, aloof around him.

  Bianca followed her glance. ‘Alinor...I am sorry for all those awful things I said to you; you did the right thing by bringing Guilhem to me.’

  Alinor smiled tersely. ‘I’m not sure “bringing” is the right word. After he found your ring, he made me tell him where you were.’ His mouth on hers in Ralph’s cottage, every sinew, every muscle in his body vibrant and alive, pressing into her delicate flesh. She shivered.

  ‘Oh, I know he can be an oaf with his soldierly ways.’ Bianca laughed, a tinkling sound, hitching forward in her saddle to adjust her seat. The piebald mare tossed her head up, fringed mane frothing sideways. ‘He spends most of his time with Edward’s army, so his manners can be tough, brutal sometimes. You mustn’t be frightened of him.’

  I’m not frightened of him.

  A pair of magpies stalked across the rough grass beside the path, wings blue-black, glossy, then flew away, chattering wildly as the horses drew level.

  ‘Oh, and, Alinor,’ Bianca chattered on, sweeping back her veil from her shoulder, ‘I am so sorry for what I said. Back at the Priory.’

  Alinor frowned. What on earth was Bianca talking about?

  ‘I accused you of being in love with him. Remember?’ Bianca snorted with amusement. ‘The very thought of it! I was confused and angry...I thought you had betrayed me; that’s why such foolish words came out of my mouth! I am sorry. To think that you are in love with him!
The very notion.’

  I am in love with him. A stupid, ridiculous infatuation.

  Alinor’s heart folded in on itself, again and again, until all that remained was the tiniest piece of emotion, of tenderness. He couldn’t know. He mustn’t know. She couldn’t stand to see the look of polite shock on his face if he ever found out. His mockery. She would die of shame. She glared fiercely at the rugged back, his stance easy in the saddle as he canted sideways to avoid a low-hanging branch.

  Bianca laughed at her. ‘My God, Alinor. You look like you want to kill him! Spare him the lash of your acerbic tongue, will you? He’s been through so much.’ Her voice lowered, a significant layer of meaning cloaking her simple speech. The sun, filtering through the trees, cast dappled shadows across her face.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Alinor asked carefully. Guilhem’s heart had beat rapidly beneath her fingers in the dark of the cellars. Sweat had slicked his brow. Did Bianca know the full story of what had happened to him? Anything, anything, to know more about this man, with his bronze-coloured hair and eyes of sapphire, who had burst into her world with such passion, such energy, and turned her whole life upside down.

  ‘Well, I don’t know exactly,’ Bianca continued slowly. ‘But there have been rumours. All I know is that he was fighting in Gascony with Prince Edward and then we received messages that he had been captured, thrown in a dungeon somewhere.’

  Her mouth tightened. She had witnessed the utter despair in his face, their bodies caught together in the stairwell. ‘Who did it to him?’ Alinor said. Her speech pushed out in a violent burst of sound. ‘What reason did they have for putting him there?’