Perhaps she ought to have enlisted his help with the English King—but it was too late now.
Anton had watched as his uncle’s wife greeted her visitor with pleasure. It was obvious that she was welcome here, which meant that he could leave with an easy heart. Had the Comtesse de Montcrief been turned away, he would have felt it incumbent upon him to extend his protection. Now he could simply ride away and forget her.
Anton had done his duty. He must think now of the future. The King might ask further favours of him, but for the moment his daughter was safe with Anton’s mother. When he had time to return for her, he would look for that sensible woman who would be a good mother for his child and ask nothing more than his name and wealth. It would be wrong to think of finding love again.
He hoped that the King would release him so that he could return to the child he loved and begin to make a new life for them both. He would think no more of the beautiful woman he had left with Claire Melford.
Yet the memory of her scent, and her laughter when he had watched her playing with her son, remained in his mind, like a haunting melody that he could not forget. Was he a fool to cut her from his life? He needed a wife—why should that wife not be Marietta?
No! He crushed the thought ruthlessly. He had learned that beautiful women were faithless. He would be a fool to give his heart to a woman like the Comtesse de Montcrief.
‘You say Montcrief was murdered?’ King Henry frowned. He took the letter, broke the seal, glanced at it and tossed it into the fire, watching as the parchment curled, turned brown and then crumbled into ash. ‘You did well to bring this back to me, Gifford. This man who has taken command at the castle—what is his name again?’
‘They call him the Bastard of Rouen, Sire. He has men to follow him, and I believe he is popular with the rabble.’
‘What makes you think that?’
Anton explained about the tourney and the way the crowd had reacted, cheering the Bastard until the last, when they transferred their support to him.
‘Did he not recognise you as the winner of the contest?’
‘Not immediately,’ Anton said. ‘I was not wearing armour that day—but he may have on reflection, for we were later attacked by rogues I suspect to be his men. I believe he must hate me, for he felt humiliated that day.’
Henry nodded, his gaze narrowed. ‘The widow—what do you know of her?’
‘Very little, Sire.’ It was not quite the truth, but Anton was wary of telling the King too much at this stage. He still felt protective towards Marietta, though he had determined to put her out of his mind.
Henry looked thoughtful. ‘If she has been unlawfully dispossessed of her husband’s estate something should be done. My brother of France might take a dim view, but I think some show of power should be made. When a bastard can take what rightfully belongs to Montcrief’s son the law is slighted. As for the widow, it depends whether she be guilty of murder or innocent.’
‘Your Majesty speaks truly.’
‘My father curbed the power of the barons here. It would do my brother of France no harm to copy his example.’ Henry glanced out of the window and smiled. ‘I must go down and walk with Mistress Boleyn. I shall think on this, Anton. When I have decided I shall speak to you again.’
‘Yes, Sire.’
‘We must set up a contest. I love to wrestle, and you sound a worthy competitor. I would like to see your silver arrow …’
‘I do not have it with me, Sire. Perhaps another time?’
King Hal nodded, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. ‘Come—we must not keep the ladies waiting …’
Anton could only acquiesce. He was impatient to return to his mother and enquire after Madeline, but for the moment he had no choice but to obey the King.
Marietta walked in the gardens near the house. She had been a guest here for three weeks now, and was becoming familiar with her surroundings. At first she had felt uncomfortable, but Claire and her daughter Annabel had been so kind that she had almost lost her fear of intruding in their family circle. It was not and never could be like her own home, but she would do her best to repay the kindness she was receiving and hope that one day she might have her own house again.
A sigh left her lips, because she could not see how that would ever happen. With a cloud of suspicion and disgrace hanging over her, it was unlikely that she would have many suitors. As the widow of Comte de Montcrief with her reputation intact she would have had barons queuing up to offer for her, but as a woman alone with little fortune she had small chance of finding happiness.
Perhaps she ought to have asked Anton for help. Had she done so, he might have interceded for her with the English King.
Marietta glanced round as she heard a twig snap somewhere in the shrubbery. She had been sitting on a wooden bench lost in thought for nearly an hour. Claire would be wondering where she was.
Getting to her feet, she saw one of the bushes move slightly and a chill ran down her spine. Was someone there? Was that person watching her?
‘Is someone there? What do you want?’
Silence. Marietta debated whether to investigate, but then she heard a voice call to her and saw Claire at the window, beckoning her to come inside.
Marietta walked towards the house. She told herself that she had been jumping at shadows. Why should anyone be watching her? She knew hardly anyone in England. It was foolish to worry. The Bastard of Rouen had all that he needed. Why should he come looking for her here?
She was safe in her kinswoman’s house. And if sometimes she wished for more to occupy her time, she must accept that she was a guest here. In time she would find a way of repaying her hostess’s generosity. Thinking on it would surely distract her, too, from her thoughts and feelings for Anton of Gifford.
Chapter Four
‘We have made our decision concerning Montcrief’s widow,’ King Henry said. ‘Bring her here to us, Anton. We would hear the lady’s story, and if we believe her innocent we shall use our influence with our brother of France. Her lands and all that has been lost shall be recovered if it be possible.’
‘I believe her innocent, though she was hunted for a witch, and would almost certainly have been burned had she been taken …’
‘I have no doubt the Bastard will kill her if he can. All the more reason for you to bring her to court. If she be innocent she needs our help.’ He held out his hand. A fine ring of heavy gold set with a deep red cabochon ruby adorned his little finger. ‘Find also the twin to this, if you can, and bring it to me. Montcrief had it and wore it always. If his widow took his jewels she may have it—if not it may be at Montcrief. I would have it if ‘tis found.’
‘Yes, Sire. I will ask if she has such a ring.’
‘Go, then. Bring the lady to court.’
‘As you wish.’
Anton bowed deeply and left the presence chamber. His mind was in turmoil. What was he to do now? Should he return to the home of his uncle and warn Marietta? King Henry was a fair man—but supposing he did not believe her story? The punishment in England for witchcraft was hanging; her body would be taken down after she was dead and burned so that she could not return to it—a cruel fate for one so fair.
Superstitious nonsense! Anton instantly dismissed the charge of witchcraft, but that of murder was not so easy to dismiss. Anton believed her innocent, but others might find against her and she could be hanged or beheaded…. No! It would be a crime to see her head parted from her body.
There must be some way of proving her innocence! Anton was frowning as he went out to the courtyard. He mounted his horse, signalling to his men to follow.
When Anton had left Marietta at his uncle’s house he had meant to forget her. She was beautiful, and she inflamed his senses, but to fall in love with a woman like the Countess of Montcrief might bring heartache and regret. Yet the sense of duty was ingrained in him: he could not disobey the King. He could take Marietta away, where she was not known, but would she ever be safe unless her
innocence was proven? To run away again would seem to prove her guilt. There was nothing Anton could do but take her to the King and plead her cause.
Marietta stared out of the window. The sun was warm that day, and she was tempted to go out for a walk, but of late she had had an uneasy feeling that she was being watched. She had said nothing to Claire or Annabel, because she did not wish to worry them. Had the Earl been at home she would have told him that she was afraid the Bastard of Rouen’s men had found her, but he was away on some business for his estate.
Yet perhaps she was imagining things. She only knew that she was reluctant to walk alone.
Hearing a knock at her door, she called out that whoever it was might enter, and smiled as Claire’s daughter came in.
‘Annabel,’ she said. ‘I was just about to ask if you would care to walk in the gardens with me?’
‘I should enjoy that,’ Annabel said, and blushed delicately. ‘My betrothed is here, Marietta. John would be happy to meet you—and to stroll with us.’
‘Oh, I have looked forward to meeting him,’ Marietta said. ‘Will the wedding be soon now?’
‘My father has sent word that he will be home in a few days. We shall make the arrangements then.’
‘I am sure you are impatient for the day,’ Marietta said, and picked up her cloak. ‘Shall we go down?’
‘We have been followed since we left the court,’ Anton told his men. ‘I do not know whether they merely mean to pursue us—or to attack once the light fades.’
‘We should plan a little surprise for them rather than wait,’ Miguel suggested. ‘I noticed them an hour since, and I think some of us should gradually split off and wait for them to pass. When you give the signal we shall come on them from behind.’
‘I agree,’ Anton said. ‘We shall come to the forest in a few minutes. Take your chance to slip away one at a time, and then meet up after they have passed. When we reach the clearing we saw as we came this way a month ago I shall turn and face them, and you will lead the charge from the back. We shall see then what they intend …’
There was a murmur of agreement, the men looking at one another, pairing up as they decided to slip away. It was dangerous to travel at any time, for there were bands of beggars and rogues that would attack the unwary, but this was different. They had been followed for hours, and they knew it might mean a fight to the death.
Marietta was at the top of the stairs when she heard a commotion in the hall below. Several people had entered and the voices were all male.
‘We were attacked on our way here.’ Anton’s voice carried to her, and his voice sent shivers down to her toes. ‘We drove them off, but it was a bloody fight and one of my men was killed—two more are injured.’
‘You were attacked?’ The voice belonged to the Earl, who had arrived home the previous day. ‘Damn the rogues! Have you any idea who they were—not simply beggars or itinerants if they managed to kill one of your men, Anton?’
‘Neither vagrants nor thieves, I think,’ Anton said in a cold, angry tone. ‘I think I know who sent them, for during the fight I was warned that I should die if I continued to protect her.’
‘Protect whom?’ Harry sounded puzzled. ‘Surely not the lady you brought to us? Who could wish to harm such a lovely creature? Claire adores her.’
‘Has Claire told you why she left her home? Perhaps you should know that she was accused of.’
Listening, Marietta felt ice spread all over her. She would have gone down to see if she could help with the injured men, but there were servants enough. The anger in Anton’s voice had shocked her. Why had he returned here? Had he come here to take her to court—was she to be tried for witchcraft and murder?
Filled with dread, she fled up to her chamber, locking the door behind her. She was trembling all over, her face hot, her eyes stinging with tears. Anton had sounded as if he hated her. She sensed that he was blaming her because of the attack that had left one of his men dead and others injured.
Marietta felt an overwhelming desire to weep. She brought bad luck to anyone she cared for. Her husband was dead, and now Anton had been attacked and threatened. If she stayed here she might cause trouble for her kind hostess—but where else could she go?
Claire would not hear of her leaving. They had grown fond of one another, and Marietta felt miserable at the thought that she might be forced to leave. Hot tears built behind her eyes but she would not let them spill. She raised her head. Whatever the future held, she must bear it.
Her first rush of emotion conquered, she knew that she must go downstairs and see if she could be of help. She had some skill in the stillroom and with healing. Anton might hate her, but she must remain calm and hide the pain his anger caused her.
Anton was in the hall speaking with Claire when Marietta went down to enquire if she might do anything to help. She was wearing a gown of pale blue cloth, her hair dressed back from her face and secured with combs, and amethyst earrings suspended from her lobes. His eyes dwelled on her for a moment, narrowing, it seemed to her, in deep suspicion.
‘You look well, lady,’ he said, inclining his head, a flicker of approval in his eyes. ‘Better than when I saw you last.’
‘Marietta, my love,’ Claire said, smiling at her. ‘We are tending the wounded and there is nothing for you to do—but you may talk to Anton. I believe you have something to say to him.’
As Claire walked away, the train of her dress brushing over the marble floor, Marietta found Anton’s eyes on her once more.
‘You wished to speak to me?’
Her stomach clenched with fear. When he looked at her so sternly she was afraid of his hatred and his anger, and the hurt struck deep into her heart. Dreams died hard, and she had cherished hers for so long, but the man of her dreams was a gallant youth and this stony-eyed man was someone different.
‘Claire thought that I should have asked you to intercede for me with His Majesty.’ She swallowed back the foolish tears. ‘I ask nothing for myself—but for my son.’
‘You ask me to plead for you?’
‘Yes…’ Marietta’s breath was expelled nervously as his gaze narrowed, becoming harsher. He looked at her so coldly that she trembled inside. ‘I know it is a great deal to ask of you, but Claire thought you the best person because of your position with the King.’
‘You have told me you are innocent, and I believe you, but I cannot promise that the King will find in your favour. He has commanded me to bring you to him and I must obey. What would you have me say to him on your behalf?’
‘I am guilty of neither witchcraft nor murder. It is true that I sent medicine to my husband that night, but it was the same that had eased him many times. He asked me for it in front of everyone. One of my ladies took it to his chamber, but Jeanne would not have dared to tamper with it. Yet I believe someone did, for I am sure that he was poisoned.’
‘Who added the poison—the Bastard?’ His eyes seemed to burn into her. ‘Did he have opportunity or reason?’
‘Perhaps. My husband intended that he should sign a paper relinquishing all right to the name and estate. Montcrief thought it the best way to protect our son, because his own health was uncertain and he feared for the future. Perhaps it made Rouen angry and he killed my husband rather than sign away what he believed his. I do not know.’
Anton looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Rouen accused you and you accuse him. Where is the proof?’
‘I have none.’ Marietta raised her clear eyes to meet his. ‘If you or others think me guilty I cannot prove otherwise—but I would never murder anyone. I sought to be a good wife and mother. I have made cures to help people but I do not use witchcraft. If these things are crimes, I am guilty.’
Anton met her unflinching stare. ‘The rogues that attacked me said I would die if I harboured the Witch of Montcrief. I believe you innocent, lady—but His Majesty has commanded me to take you to him.’
Marietta looked at him apprehensively. ‘Supposing the King does not
believe me?’ An icy shiver ran through her. ‘What will happen to me?’
‘I shall plead your case. I think it likely the Bastard killed your husband for his wealth—but the King is the law. If he finds against you there is little I can do.’ Anton reached out to touch her hand. ‘I would take you away to safety, but unless your innocence is proven you could be accused wherever you go. You would never truly be safe.’
Marietta inclined her head. Tears burned behind her eyes but she refused to weep or beg for mercy. ‘I do not mind so much what happens to me, but I fear for my son.’
‘Your son shall remain here. If you are cleared of blame I shall bring you back to him—if not I swear on all I hold sacred that he shall be cared for. I know that Lady Claire would care for him, but if you wish it I will take him into my household and he may grow up with my own children.’ His words were generous, but to Marietta his manner seemed remote, as if he were deliberately keeping her at a distance.
‘Thank you …’ Marietta’s throat felt tight. She gave no sign of the fear or the hurt his coldness aroused in her. ‘I know that Claire would care for my son, but he should be the Comte de Montcrief. You might be able to help him regain what has been stolen from him. If I die will you do what you can to restore him to his rightful inheritance?’
Anton hesitated, then, ‘You have my word. We shall leave for court tomorrow.’
‘As you wish, sir.’ Marietta turned away. She needed to be alone so that she could weep. Pride would not let her show weakness before this man, but the need was great.
‘Stay one moment. Your husband had a special ring he wore often—a large ruby set in heavy gold?’
A Wayward Woman Page 31
