Fugitive Countess

by Anne Herries

  ‘But I shall not waste lives in vain. If there is a secret way into the castle some of us will go in when the enemy sleeps…’ His face twisted in an agony of remorse. ‘I must find her alive. I must. If she died because of my neglect I could not forgive myself…’

  Marietta lay fully clothed on her bed. She had not undressed, even though one of her own nightgowns had been brought to her and the serving woman had offered to help her. The woman’s name was Veronique, but she was new to the castle and Marietta did not know her.

  ‘Thank you, but I can manage alone.’

  She dismissed the woman and drank the cup of wine she had been given. A piece of coarse bread and some cold bacon had been sent with the wine. Her hunger drove her to eat what she could, even though it sat uneasily on her stomach.

  The walls of her chamber were still hung with the tapestries she had worked herself. All the possessions she had abandoned when she fled were as she had left them, though her lyre had been smashed. She had thought the Bastard might have rent her belongings to pieces, but he had left them undisturbed—all but the lyre, which he must have known was her prized possession.

  She touched the silken surface of the wood, which had been smashed apart, then shook her head. What did such things matter? She had left the lyre behind when she fled because her thoughts had been only for her child. His safety and well-being were still of paramount importance.

  She paced her chamber, torn between hope and despair. Where was Charles? Did Claire still have charge of her baby? Had he been taken from her—perhaps to become the King’s ward, as often happened when there were lands and money involved? The King of England would know that Charles was the rightful heir to a fortune and he might do something for her son—speak to the King of France on his behalf. She herself was beyond help, but it did not matter if her son was safe.

  Marietta’s lips moved in prayer. She could bear anything if her son were safe!

  She stiffened as she heard a key in the lock, and then the door of her chamber opened. She saw a large shadow enter and froze, because she knew instinctively that it was the Bastard. He came towards the bed, the sound of his steps heavy and uncertain. The smell of strong wine hung over him and she guessed that he had drunk deeply at table.

  Marietta kept her eyes closed as she sensed and smelled him near. He was looking down at her. Would he throw himself on her? Ravish her? Her stomach churned as the fear curled inside her. She would fight him, but she knew that he would take her for he was too strong for her.

  ‘Thought to escape me…’ The Bastard’s words were slurred with drink. ‘Mine now…always wanted…beautiful but a bitch…’

  Marietta tried not to move as she felt his breath on her face. Her only chance was surprise. If he thought she was sleeping he might be careless, giving her an opportunity to escape. She felt the touch of his hand on her hair. He lifted strands of it, sniffing it as if to inhale the perfume.

  ‘Witch…’ he muttered. ‘I’ll make you pay. Not tonight…must be wed…only way to get the gold. Need your signature…won’t give me the gold without it…’

  He was moving away, unsteady on his feet. She heard him knock into a stool and curse, then the door opened, closed again, and a key turned. Marietta had her answer. It was as she’d suspected. The Bastard needed her to get his hands on the Comte’s fortune. He believed that once she was his wife he could force her to do anything, but she would rather die than marry him! She was locked in for the moment, but somehow she had to escape…

  ‘The lord says you must come down—and you are to wear your best gown,’ the serving woman said the next morning. ‘He is waiting for you in the hall, lady.’

  ‘Tell your master that I cannot come,’ Marietta replied, giving a little moan. ‘I am sick and must rest. My head aches so much that I can scarce stand.’

  ‘If I tell him that he will beat me.’

  ‘Then tell him I will not come.’

  ‘Are you truly sick, lady?’ The woman looked at her uncertainly.

  ‘Look in the pot. You will see that I have been sick.’

  The woman fetched it out, recoiling at the sour smell. ‘You are sick, lady. I will show him this—but if he comes you must lie on your bed and groan, or he will blame me and I shall be punished.’

  ‘I am too ill to get up today.’

  Marietta lay back as the woman took the pewter pot with her. It was true that the coarse food she had been given had turned her stomach, but she had made herself sick by mixing some powders from her medicine chest with water and swallowing them. She was surprised that her herbs had not been taken as proof of her witchcraft, but perhaps the Bastard feared her powers? She had used the mixture before. In the case of poisoning, sometimes the only remedy was to make the patient sick. Sometimes the remedy worked, at others it did not—healing was not a precise form but a matter of trial and error, at least for her.

  The mixture had made her feel unwell, and her stomach heaved as she felt bitter bile in her throat. If the ruse worked it would be worthwhile—but would the Bastard accept her excuses?

  After some minutes had passed she heard a commotion outside her door, and then it was thrust open and the Bastard entered. She saw that he had shaved and was wearing his best clothes. For their wedding, she suspected.

  ‘What ails you?’ he demanded.

  ‘I am sick. Your men hit me too hard and I have been feeling ill.’

  ‘You were sleeping well enough last night.’ He looked at her and bent over her, but caught the rancid smell of vomit that she had taken care to spill on her covers. Recoiling in disgust, he glared at her. ‘Very well, you may rest today—but tomorrow I shall wed you. You are mine. If you please me I may let you live for a while…’

  Marietta gave a little moan and made a retching sound, pressing a cloth to her mouth. She lay with her face buried as she heard the sound of the door slamming.

  He was angry, but he could not force her to rise and go down to be married if she was ill. However, the reprieve might not last more than one day. She glanced up as the serving woman approached her.

  ‘Will you ask the lady Claudette to come to me, please?’

  ‘That one is a haughty bitch and will do only as she pleases.’ The woman sniffed. ‘I shall ask, but I do not know if she will come.’

  ‘Please ask…’

  Marietta lay back and sighed as the woman left her. Her head ached, though she could have risen and gone down to the hall had she wished. If Claudette truly wanted to be the Bastard’s wife she must realise that she needed to act quickly to prevent his marriage to Marietta, for he was determined to have his way. Marietta had managed to delay the ceremony but he would not be thwarted. Next time he would drag her from the bed and take her with him!

  ‘Please come for me…please…’

  Her only hope of salvation lay in the faint hope that Anton would feel it his duty to bring her back to face King Henry’s justice—unless she could persuade Claudette to help her…

  ‘Our scouts have spoken to local people. There are still some that remain loyal to their true lord’s wife, and they say she is a prisoner in the tower. She has her own rooms and has been given clothes and food. It is rumoured that she would have been wed today had she not been ill.’

  ‘Marietta is ill?’ Anton seized on the statement fiercely. ‘Damn him to hell for this! He deserves to be hanged for the way he has treated her.’

  ‘It is as well she was ill, for at least it has saved her from worse,’ Miguel said. ‘If Sandro delivers a way into the castle we may be able to get her out tonight.’

  ‘I pray that we are in time to save her…’ Anton’s expression darkened. There were worse fates than death, and he could imagine what the Bastard planned for the woman who had humiliated him. ‘It is a chance we must take. If she is too ill to walk I shall carry her.’

  Miguel nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘It is said that the Bastard drinks heavily. We must pray that he will indulge at the table this night, and his men w
ith him.’

  ‘I noticed that there were few guards the last time we visited. His men are ill-disciplined, and it may well be that they are in the habit of drinking too heavily at night…’

  Anton’s eyes glittered. He had come after Marietta because it was his duty to rescue her and deliver her safely to the King of England—and he would do all in his power to outwit the Bastard of Rouen.

  ‘You asked me to come?’ Claudette looked sulky as she entered the chamber. ‘I am not yours to command, even if my lord weds you. My obedience is given only where I choose.’

  Marietta met her challenging look. ‘I asked if you would come. I know I cannot command you, lady. If you would see me gone from here, I beg you to help me.’

  ‘My lord will kill me if he learns you have fled.’

  ‘He need not know you helped me. Come tonight, when the castle sleeps, and unlock the door. I ask nothing more of you.’

  ‘If he knew I was having his child he might wed me—if you were gone…’ Claudette looked thoughtful. ‘But he will send for you in the morning, and if you do not come he will order men to look for you. They would find you and bring you back. Nothing would be gained and I might be blamed.’

  ‘If I have enough time I might be far away by the time he realises I am gone.’

  ‘I do not see how that could be…unless…’ Claudette’s eyes gleamed suddenly. ‘I could change places with you—wear your gown and a veil to cover my face.’ She looked excited. ‘I shall wed him in your place. When he discovers the truth it will be too late. I shall be his wife and you will be far away.’

  ‘Are you certain you wish to do this?’ Marietta looked doubtful. The Bastard would undoubtedly be furious when he discovered that he had been duped. ‘What will he do to you when he discovers that you have taken my place?’

  ‘He may hit me and shout, but it has happened before. I do not fear him. He knows it, and that is why he loves me. Even if he wed you he would sleep in my bed, for you could not hold him.’

  Marietta made no reply. She did not wish to have the Bastard in her bed even on her wedding night, but she would not tell this woman for it would anger her.

  ‘How can you make sure that he does not discover what we have done too soon?’

  ‘I shall put a sleeping draught in his cup when he grows careless. He will sleep late, and when he wakes he will hardly know what he is doing for hours. By the time he realises what has happened you should have a good start.’

  ‘Thank you. I believe you are a brave woman, Claudette.’

  ‘I do this for me, because I love him. He took me when I was but a child. I should be his wife.’ Claudette looked her in the eyes, her expression one of pride. ‘If he catches you again he will kill you. You are no good to him unless he is your lawful husband. He wants your husband’s gold, and you are the key that will unlock the goldsmiths’ coffers.’

  ‘I expected him to kill me this time,’ Marietta replied. Claudette had confirmed what she had suspected. ‘I must think of a way to disappear so that he can never find me again…’

  After Claudette had left, Marietta paced the room. She was restless, impatient to be gone, but common sense told her that she must wait for night to fall. The Bastard was eager to make her his wife, and once he had her he would not spare her. He would not kill her immediately. She was useful to him for the moment. But once he had the gold he craved he would find a way to humiliate and destroy her. It would be a slow death and she would prefer to die quickly. If his men recaptured her she would die rather than be brought back alive.

  ‘Anton…’ She mouthed the word softly, not realising she spoke aloud. ‘Please help me…’

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. She was foolish to think of Anton. He had rescued her before, but he now believed she was a murderess. Why would he bother to look for her?

  He would not think it worth the trouble. Why should he? She must forget him and think of what she could do once she had left the castle. This time she would have no money, and no one to help her, but somehow she must make her way back to England.

  ‘Bring the witch down to me!’ the Bastard demanded. ‘I would have her sit by my side this night. I want her to join the celebrations for her wedding…’ He laughed and drank deeply from his cup, then wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe and belched. ‘More wine, dolt! What are you staring at me for?’

  ‘The lady says she is too ill, my lord…’ the luckless servant began, and received a blow that sent him staggering sideways.

  ‘Damn her! Damn her black soul to hell…’ The Bastard grabbed the wineskin from the serf who presented it and drank straight from the neck. ‘Bring her, I say!’

  As the frightened servant ran off, Claudette ran her fingers over his cheek, smiling at him. ‘Why do you send for that puling creature when you have me, my lord?’ She pouted her red lips at him. ‘Let us go to your chamber, and I shall please you so much that you will not want her.’

  ‘My sweet whore,’ the Bastard said, grinning at her. ‘Your turn will come soon enough, but you must learn to share me with my wife. She brings a fortune in gold. Besides, a man grows tired of too much complaisance. She will fight me, and the thought pleases me…’

  ‘I can fight if you wish for it. I will whip you and scratch you…’

  The Bastard caught her wrist as her nails scored his skin, his look suddenly threatening. ‘Be quiet, whore! When I want you, I’ll tell you.’

  Claudette drew back, smarting from his insults. If she was a whore he had made her so. He wanted the gold the late Comte’s wife could bring him, but she would do her best to see that his plans came to nothing.

  Keeping her smile in place, she took the wineskin he had laid down and filled his cup, slipping the potent liquid that would make him sleep into it while his head was turned. She placed the cup by his hand, and in a moment he reached for it and drank deeply, but he did not finish the contents.

  Claudette turned her head to look as she heard shouting, and a scream of anger. The servants had brought the Comtesse to the hall, but she was struggling and protesting, trying to break free of them. All eyes were on her as she was dragged to the high table, and no one but Claudette noticed when the Bastard drained his cup.

  ‘Witch…’ he muttered thickly. ‘You cannot defy me. I shall teach you a lesson…’

  He got to his feet and walked unsteadily along the back of the table where his chief men were seated, then negotiated the steps to the dais unsteadily, finally reaching Marietta. Towering over her, he thrust his hand out and grabbed her by the throat. Bending his head, he forced his mouth over hers. Marietta struggled wildly, and he gave a cry as her sharp teeth sank into his bottom lip. He roared with pain and anger and slapped her, making her stagger back.

  Marietta faced him defiantly. His fist curled, as if he would strike her again, then he muttered something and rubbed his hand over his face. A strange strangled sound came from him, his eyes rolling upwards. Sagging to his knees, he stared at her stupidly, and then fell flat on his face.

  For a moment there was a stunned silence. Claudette broke it by laughing.

  ‘My lord hath drunk too much,’ she announced. ‘Take him to his chamber and see that he sleeps well. He will need his strength for the morrow if he is to tame this one!’

  Laughter and some coarse remarks greeted her words. Several of the men moved to gather him up and carry him off; they grinned and winked at each other, clearly amused by what had happened.

  Claudette came quickly to Marietta. ‘You must return to your chamber, lady. I shall lock you in myself.’ She hurried Marietta away from the hall before anyone could deny them, her voice soft as she whispered, ‘I gave him a strong dose. He will sleep well into the morning. You must lock me into your chamber, so that if he is angry I can blame you. I shall say that you overpowered me and escaped.’

  ‘He will be very angry.’ Marietta looked at her in concern. ‘He may vent his anger on you.’

  ‘If I am his wife I shall tell
him that I bear his son—and that it was for my child’s sake that I took your place after you locked me in your room.’ Claudette smiled confidently. ‘Once you are gone he will forget you. But remember that if you return you will certainly die…’

  ‘I know it,’ Marietta said. ‘Thank you. We must hurry, for the sooner I am on my way the better…’

  Claudette went into the antechamber ahead of Marietta. The next moment she was seized from behind, a hand over her mouth.

  ‘We have come for your lady,’ a voice said in her ear. ‘Scream and it will be the worse for you.’

  ‘What is this?’ Marietta cried as she too was grabbed and held. ‘Who are you? What are you doing?’

  ‘Marietta?’ A shadow moved towards her out of the gloom. ‘We thought you were locked in the bedchamber. Are you at liberty to leave your room?’

  ‘Anton?’ Marietta’s heart leapt. ‘Is that you? I cannot see you…’

  ‘We snuffed the tapers, for we did not wish to alert the castle. We came to take you away from this place—if you wish to go?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Of course I wish to leave. I was about to make my own escape. Claudette was to take my place here. Let her go, for we must lock her in my bedchamber…’

  Anton had struck a tinder. Lighting one small candle, he held it high so that he could look at Marietta’s face. ‘Where is the Bastard?’

  ‘In his chamber. Claudette drugged him, and he will sleep for long enough.’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Claudette was on her guard. ‘If you mean him harm I shall scream and bring the guards down on you. You may take her and go in safety, but you will not harm my lord.’

  ‘He may have something I need—a ring.’ Anton’s hard gaze went over the girl. ‘He took it from the Comte de Montcrief as he lay dying. It is fashioned of heavy gold with a large cabochon ruby. Have you seen such a ring?’

  ‘He wears it on a chain about his neck,’ Claudette said. ‘If you give me your word that he will not be harmed I shall take you to him.’