“I'm sure we can take care of him.”
Him. Did they mean the new physician? That was, Brother Alexandre? Himself?
“Well, do your best,” Claudine's uncle said testily. “Heaven forbid if anyone find out.”
The first voice chuckled harshly. “Never you fear, my lord. We would both be...most unhappy...were that to happen. I will ensure it does not.”
“I'm sure of that,” Uncle Lucas replied crossly. “For your own safety, if nothing else.”
“Indeed, my lord.”
Francis shivered. There was something very unpleasant about that voice. He heard footsteps cross the lawn and stayed where he was, letting his lids droop over his eyes as if he was sleeping. He heard footsteps pause and then, after a long moment, continue away again.
Someone was watching me.
He shivered. If anything made him sure that the “him” was himself, that did. Why would the sinister-voiced man stand and watch him for that time? Someone had guessed he was not who he seemed. If that was the case, it was only a matter of time before they found out who he was. If they did? He shuddered again. They had a plan to take care of him. He was fairly sure that, whatever sense they meant that, it was not the way physicians usually used the term. They meant to remove him permanently.
But why?
He stood and walked briskly across the lawn to the gate. He needed to get out of this castle and think.
“Where are you going, Brother?” one of the sentries called out in a challenge.
“To the forest. I must collect wild herbs,” he murmured.
He headed hurriedly to the woods, walking with his head down to avoid anyone noticing his eyes or the faint line of red hair that showed below the habit. In the cover of the woodland, he let his mind return to the matter at hand.
“Why does the count want me gone? And why so soon?”
It was the count and the physician that were plotting together. Why though?
It's against Claudine that they plot, clearly. But why? Why would the count wish Claudine to be ill?
It made no sense to Francis. Claudine was the only child of the duke – Yves had confirmed that fact for him when he asked. That meant there was only one hope for the house of du Pavot: that Claudine could have a child.
It would be Claudine's son who would inherit the estate. However, if she couldn't have one...
Francis felt as if someone had slapped him. His heart missed a beat and then started to pound again, rapidly. Of course! How could anyone have been so blind?
If Claudine could produce no heir, then the estate – all of it – would pass to the duke's younger brother. Uncle Lucas.
The thought horrified Francis. “How could I have been so stupid? They want her to die!”
It didn't seem possible and yet he knew it was. Claudine's uncle had no reason to wish her well. He was trying to ensure her illness lasted as long as possible. That was why he wanted her to receive no new treatment. He wanted her to die from this strange malaise. Which meant he and Claudine were both in grave danger.
They want Claudine to die. Would they try and make that happen faster?
The words he'd overheard came back to him with sickening clarity.
We don't have much time.
Heart thudding in his chest, Francis gathered the robe up into his hand and started to run. Back toward the castle. Before it was too late.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DANGER AND DECISION
DANGER AND DECISION
Claudine and Bernadette were sitting on the terrace together in the sun, sewing their tapestry work. Claudine felt the wind ruffling her hair and realized something. She felt better today.
“I feel so good, Bernadette,” she murmured. “I feel sure it's because...” She blushed, not wanting to say more. All day she had been able to think of nothing besides Francis. He occupied her thoughts in every waking moment.
“It's the happiness of having him here that's doing you good, milady,” Bernadette agreed. “I've not seen you look so well in years.”
Claudine smiled. “I know. I haven't felt so well in years.”
Bernadette stretched. “I suppose we should go inside, milady. You've been out in the sun for quite some time.”
Claudine yawned and grinned at her. “I suppose. I do feel fatigued. But nothing like I usually do at this time.”
“In that case, my lady, let us stay out awhile. I'm just going in to fetch more thread. Excuse me. I...oh!”
Claudine frowned, hearing Bernadette give a frightened gasp. When she turned, she too gasped with surprise. It was her physician – the real one, Father Jeremy, was in the doorway.
“My lady,” he said harshly. “Forgive me, but what on Earth are you doing out in the full sun? It's dangerous for your health. Your maid should know that,” he added, glaring at Bernadette. “I will suggest to the count that she is removed as she clearly has no regard for your health.
Claudine felt anger fill her and tried to stand. She managed to, slowly.
“Forgive me, Father Jeremy,” she said tightly. “But Bernadette was only obeying my orders. I wished to stay here.”
“Oh.” Father Jeremy went still. “As you say, milady. But come inside now. Your health will suffer for it.”
“I don't wish to. I...oh!”
Henri lumbered in. Jeremy nodded to him and he grabbed her, lifting her up in his arms as if she was weightless.
“Father Jeremy!” Claudine said coldly. “I insist that you listen to my orders on this,” Claudine protested, but no one was listening to her. She looked imploringly at Bernadette, but she only looked back haplessly as Henri carried her inside. Claudine felt a first shiver of fear.
How dare this man think he can order me about! He is the one in my uncle's employ! Not the other way around...
She winced as Henri lowered her to the bed. Her joints were starting to ache again with the rough handling and she felt a pain where her heart beat overly fast.
“There,” her physician said acidly. “Now. Miss Bernadette. Can you tell me when your charge last had her medicine?”
Claudine felt desperate. She hadn't taken it yesterday or today. However, it had been at her orders! Bernadette had done no wrong.
“I haven't taken it for two days,” she said rapidly. “But blame not my maidservant. She but followed my orders. As Henri followed yours,” she added coldly.
“Indeed,” the man replied. His voice was mild. “Well, in that case, I suggest your maid overrides your preference in this regard. With all respect my lady, you do not know what ails you nor how best to treat it. I know both. And I insist you take the dose...”
“You say you know what ails me,” Claudine said angrily. She sat up to face him, color bright in her cheeks. “And yet you have failed utterly to cure me for the last two years! I have felt better in this week than I can remember and I believe that is more important than your say so.”
She felt a squeezing pain in her chest as she talked, head pounding as the blood flowed stronger to it. All the same, she knew she had to defy him. Something within her had taken wing since Francis told her he loved her. She was not a burden, not a wretch. Francis loved her! These men had no right to treat her as if she didn't matter!
“You have said enough, milady,” the physician said darkly. He was white with rage. “I will brook no interference with my treatment, from you or another. You will be silent and do as I say. Or Henri will dose you himself. Yes? Henri?”
The vast manservant looked at his hands miserably. However, he nodded. “Yes, Father Jeremy.”
Claudine felt her heart ache as her last source of support melted away. If only Francis were here! Yet what would he be able to do? As Brother Alexandre, he too was in danger. If any discovered the ruse, he and she would both be thrown out of society for good.
“Bernadette,” she whispered.
Bernadette was crying. She shook her head mutely. “My lady, I can't,” she said.
Claudine knew what she m
eant. She couldn't offend Father Jeremy, or risk offending her uncle any further. If she did, she would lose her position in Claudine's home and never be there to protect her again. They had to do as this odious man said.
“I trust you will see sense,” the physician said smoothly. He reached for the goblet in which Claudine usually took her medicine. “Now. If you will take your medicine today? I trust it is not already too late to do you any good. You are a foolish girl sometimes, for all your apparent age and maturity.”
Claudine felt her heart sink. She sighed. He was right. Why was she resisting this so hotly? It was medicine. He meant well. He had treated her for years and this was the first time they had ever argued about anything.
“Very well,” she said. “I'll take it.”
She was surprised by how relieved he looked.
“Good,” he said softly. “Well, then. Here. I will remain at your bedside until you have taken it all.”
“There's no need,” Claudine protested quietly. However, he smiled. It was not a pleasant sort of smile.
“If you think I'm going to let you fool me, you have underestimated me,” he said quietly. “These womanish wiles have gone on too long,” he added, looking stonily at Claudine and at her maid. “Drink it all.”
Claudine felt miserable but she did as he suggested. She raised the cup and drank.
The bitter undertone of the medicine caught her throat as always, and she wanted badly to be sick. She fought to keep it down, swallowing slowly, one mouthful at a time. It seemed, if anything, that after two days without it, the taste was more noxious than before. How had she ever thought the sweet berry taste disguised it?
Choking bile, she swallowed the last drop.
“There,” she said thinly. She handed him the empty goblet with the merest trace of powdery residue left within.
“Ah. Excellent,” he said. However, whatever he said afterward was lost on Claudine, who felt herself falling into an oppressive sleep.
When she woke, it was dark. Her head swam and her belly ached sourly. She turned over and fought the desire to vomit. Then she sat up.
“Bernadette?”
When no one answered at first she felt a hot flood of foreboding. Where was she? Surely nothing had happened to Bernadette? Surely her uncle...She paused.
“Here, milady,” the familiar voice whispered.
“Bernadette! I...oh!” Claudine felt her stomach roil and gestured helplessly to Bernadette, trying valiantly not to be sick. When the nausea finally passed she looked up at her friend, her own vision blurry and hazed. “I'm sorry. I feel awful. What are we going to do?”
Bernadette shook her head. “Milady, I don't know. I can do nothing. I know they're watching me. Your uncle had...words...with me while you were sleeping, milady. He said my days were numbered.”
Claudine felt despair clutch her heart. “They wouldn't...Bernadette! But why? Why would they send you away? You're my best friend. My only companion.” She wanted to cry.
Bernadette was quiet. The darkness of the room rendered her a pillar of shifting shadow, the silvery light illuminating her pale skin and highlighted how big and wide and blank her eyes were.
“My lady,” she said at length, “I do not know. All I know is that something wicked is afoot. And you and I cannot right it. Not alone.”
Claudine nodded. “No, we cannot. Especially not me. I feel so awful.” She shook her head sadly. She wanted to weep. A few hours ago she had felt so much better! She had almost recalled how it felt to be free of this terrible malady. Now here it was, closing her in.
“I know, milady. Oh, poor Lady Claudine.”
Claudine saw Bernadette start to cry. She was surprised by the impatience she felt. She was not someone who needed pity! She was a strong young woman. A woman who, only a few hours ago, had recalled how it felt to be free of pain. Now she would do anything to feel that way again.
She was strong. Francis loved her. He wanted her as she was.
She sat up.
“I'm going to get to the bottom of this,” she said softly. She shifted on the bed, slid her legs over the side and stood.
“My lady?” Bernadette looked almost frightened. Claudine stared at her, feeling the room pulse in and out of her focus. “What are you doing?”
“I'm going,” Claudine said tightly, “to find my uncle. This has gone on long enough.”
She was going to put a stop to it.
Bernadette looked at her unhappily. “My lady, what are you going to do? It's dangerous.”
Claudine nodded. “I know it is. But I have to do something. I've sat and let this take up my life for long enough. Now. Will you arrange my hair for me, please, Bernadette? Something striking. I want to look dignified.”
Bernadette nodded miserably. “If you insist, milady.”
Claudine chuckled, feeling some of her old humor restored to her. “I do.”
Bernadette gave her a small smile. “I can't refuse then, can I?”
“No.”
They were both smiling as Bernadette lit a taper on the dressing table and started to arrange her hair. While she worked, making an elaborate selection of plaits, Claudine allowed her mind to plan ahead. She was not going to put up with this. Her uncle was not even formally her guardian. That was still her father's prerogative. It was up to him to decide how her illness was treated.
She snorted grimly. He had cast her off. The least he could do was support her in a matter that, she felt, was affecting her health to the point of life or death.
I need a new physician. And if Uncle will not allow me one, I will speak to Father. She shivered. She hardly knew her father, having lost all contact with him – which had been brief all her life – when she was eighteen and had fallen ill. How would she approach someone she hardly knew with a request like this? When she was barely able to walk, let alone supplied with strength to face down an enemy?
“My lady?” Bernadette asked. She was looking concernedly at Claudine in the mirror and she realized her shoulders were shaking though it was a summer evening and not even remotely cold.
“I'm well,” she said thinly. Then she snorted. She was far from that! She had not been well for the last two years. Then, at least if she confronted her father about this, if he changed her treatment, she might have some hope of being so!
“Help me into my traveling cloak, Bernadette, and summon the coach.”
“My lady! It's nine of the clock, and dark outside! Where are you...” she trailed off as Claudine pushed herself to her feet and, silent but vehemently, she faced her down.
“We are going,” Claudine said thinly but distinctly, “To Pavot. To face my father.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
FLIGHT IN DARKNESS
FLIGHT IN DARKNESS
Francis woke when he heard the scream. It tore into his heart like a knife-thrust and set him sitting suddenly upright. He was dressing before he'd thought about it.
“Claudine! No!”
He grabbed his tunic and trews and threw them on, then reached for the belt-knife he'd concealed under his monk's robe. It was only as he ran down the stairs that he realized he'd left the robe off. He was Francis, son of the count of Annecy. Red-haired, broad-shouldered, unmistakable.
He was also enraged.
“Claudine!” he screamed, hearing the cry, louder now, echo again.
“Help!”
He ran blindly down the hallway and was met with chaos.
Claudine was pinned to the wall, a wraith-like presence looming over her. He saw the presence draw a knife and he screamed in rage and anger and fell on it from behind. His own knife was in his hand and before he had thought it through he was stabbing the figure in the back.
The man yelled and spun round and Francis felt the blade scrape against chain-mail. His adversary glared at him, eyes narrowed. He stared. It was the physician.
The man's no more a priest than I am, he realized, horrified. At least, if he was, he was a priest who was wearing a jerkin
of mail under his habit, and who carried a knife. He also knew, it seemed, how to use it.
Francis watched with dream-like dissociation as the man rushed him with the knife. He knew at the last minute that he would never be able to move aside quickly enough. He felt himself resign himself to the swift, slow strike of the knife in his ribs, knew he would soon feel the cold almost-pain of the impact and then, later on, the impossible pain of the strike.
Claudine, he thought dully. I have to survive. To help her...
He moved sluggishly, too slow. The man reached him and his knife almost went into him. Then abruptly he fell away.
Francis stared, horrified, as the man gargled and yelled, and then fell to his knees, out cold.
He stared at Bernadette, who stood behind him.
“That took care of that,” she said thinly.
Francis wanted to cheer. Then he turned to see Claudine. She was leaning against the wall, her face ghost white.
“Claudine!” he said, running to her. He caught her up into his arms and she leaned on him heavily, heart thudding in her chest like a bellows.
“We have to go,” Bernadette said quickly. “The guards will be on us in a moment. Don't expect that they're our friends either.”
“Right,” Francis said quickly. “Better run.”
He lifted Claudine in his arms, feeling her head cradled against his chest. Then he turned and ran back down the hallway the way they'd come.
Bernadette followed them. He could hear her shoes clicking on the stairs as he rushed blindly down, heading with desperate haste for the entrance to the fortress.
He also heard the sound of the guards, clattering and thronging down the stairs behind.
“Run!” screamed Bernadette.
Francis didn't need to be told. He ran to the door. When he reached it, he bulled his way toward the sentries.
“Out of the way! By order of the count of Blanchard.”
The men jumped aside on reflex, and Francis and Bernadette passed through. It was a few seconds later that they heard the yells of consternation.
Soul Of A Highlander (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 17
