"He is not well enough to be moved," she said firmly. "I am staying beside him in case he needs something during the night." She smiled at the older woman. "Unless, of course, you would like to sleep here." She pointed to the pillows on the floor. Alys huffed and grumbled, totally scandalized. "Well, at least keep an eye on him while I clean out the basin." Maríana lifted the metal pan soiled by Henri's illness and marched out the door.
A COLD, PALE light pulled Henri up out of sleep. A dream again. Not the abbey dream. He fought to retrieve it, but it had fled. Where was the agony that had sliced through his temples? His headaches always lasted for days, once they had taken hold. He had only hoped for a brief reprieve when he went to the girl. Yet the pain was gone. Even more amazing, he felt wonderful! But where was he? He saw stone walls covered with tapestries, not the curtains that surrounded his bed in the knights' room. Gray light of a mist-filled morning touched his face from a window behind him, and someone was snoring.
Henri looked around the chamber. Alys lay on her pallet, her arms flung wide and mouth hanging open. Well, that explained the snoring. He sat up and froze. Maríana de Reuilles was sound asleep on some patterned cushions on the floor beside him. Seeing her there, her long black lashes fanned out on her creamy, ivory skin, triggered a memory of the dream he just had. In the dream he had been holding her -- just simply, innocently holding her. He remembered the delight of exquisite sensations that washed over him in waves as he held her soft body in his arms and lifted the heavy weight of her fragrant hair.
Christ! How long had it been since he had a dream like that? What was he still doing here in her chamber?
He allowed himself another look at Maríana while she slept. Violet shadows smudged the fragile skin underneath her eyes. How late had it been when he came here last night, anyway?
He shook his head, then laughed out loud in delight. How long had it been since he had felt this way? For years, a dull ache behind his eyes had plagued him. He had not minded, as long as the gripping agony of his fierce headaches had not blossomed. What had brought the headaches back?
The abbey dream. Every six months he would dream of Fornault Abbey. Five years of his life had been spent there. Five years with his loins encased in leather and metal spikes.
But it had not all been bad, his time there. After the first two years, he had become accustomed to the restraint, and although he sometimes awoke in pain, he was able to bear it. It was at the abbey that he discovered he had a thirst for knowledge and devoured all the learning that the monks could give him. Eventually, he even made peace with the abbot. Perhaps the abbot was just doing whatever he had to do for Henri's spiritual development, however cruel it had seemed. But once they were on better terms, Henri had often noticed the abbot watching him, and the abbot had started touching Henri more often, brushing up against him, putting his arm across Henri's shoulders.
Then one evening, as he slept, Henri had felt soft fingers upon his chest that moved down his body, stopping at the restraint and circling his waist. He immediately awoke, rubbing his eyes to clear his vision. At first he thought it was a dream, but the feather touch continued down his back, enticing, familiar.
He had shouted and leaped up out of the bed, taking the intruder by the arm and swinging his own arm back to deliver a blow. His arm dropped to his side when he found himself looking into the glittering eyes of the abbot.
"Why?" Henri had breathed into the silence that hung in the room. "Why?"
The abbot had shrugged, spreading his hands and smiling. "To test you, Henri. Simply to test you." He had slipped easily out of Henri's bed and made his way to the door, but not before Henri saw the signs of the abbot's arousal through the fabric of his robe.
After that, Henri had quietly spoken to each and every boy who had been taken to the abbot's chambers and had come back whimpering and distressed. He found that all of them were orphans. They had no one to speak for them, no one to defend them. At first none would admit what had happened in the Abbot's chambers, but as time went on, Henri wore down their resistance with kindness, and they confirmed what he had suspected.
The rage he had felt during his first two years at the abbey threatened to overwhelm him again, but this time he was older, and hoarded his anger in icy depths that his boyhood self could not have imagined. Henri knew how to play their game. He sent a letter directly to the pope describing what the Abbot had done, bypassing the bishop who had given the abbot his post. This bishop was either in league with the abbot or somehow indebted to him. Bishop Durand. The same bishop who had later laid siege to the last stronghold of the Cathars. Montsegur!
Henri shivered and held his breath when Maríana stirred on the pillows next to the couch where he lay. He watched as her brow wrinkled, then smoothed. But his thoughts still ticked through the events that had haunted him for so many years. Before Henri wrote to the pope, he gathered evidence, enough evidence so that when the papal legate arrived to inquire into the matter, the only question the legate had to resolve was what they would do with the abbot. They swept it all aside, of course. It remained purely a church matter. No one thought to recompense the boys for what they had suffered. Why should they concern themselves with orphans? But the abbot was removed from the abbey and the belt of torture was removed from Henri.
Henri had no illusions about why they had allowed him to leave the abbey. His older brother had died, making him the next in line to inherit the Barony of Bauçais. The bishop was careful to make a conciliatory gesture to the future Baron of Bauçais, so Henri would not dig too deeply into Durand's relationship with the abbot. Henri had let it pass. What purpose could his persecution of the abbot serve? The Church protected its own and Henri was no longer a monk, no longer one of them.
Henri had left the abbey after that and spent the next year whoring and drinking his way throughout the Languedoc. He finally came to his senses in a rat-hole of an inn in Toulouse after a week he somehow could never seem to remember. For an entire month he stared at bugs crawling up the wall and felt the emptiness inside of him. Before his time in the abbey, Henri's universe had been orderly. God was in heaven, the kings ruled the earth, and people who lived good, or even just useful lives, were promised reward in heaven, as long as they were good Christians. As he watched the scurrying bugs, he came to the conclusion that everything was simply a senseless game. There was no God; there was only power.
Since then, he found the most satisfaction playing political games with the barons, so he traveled to Paris and offered his services to the French king. While he was there, he received word that his father had died. He was now the Baron of Bauçais. All of this meant little to him. He returned to his home only once, to help his mother retire to the convent at Fontevrault. He refused to speak with her or even see her, sending his men to escort her to the convent. "She is well cared for," he told himself. He left Bauçais in the capable hands of his younger brother Guy, who was only too glad to take over.
"I don't want to be restricted," he told his brother. "Run it any way you choose. I leave it to you." When his brother asked him what he planned to do, he laughed. "I will go wherever the wind blows."
At this time all of the pleasure went out of his life. Several times, he tried to make love, but he found that he could not. He wanted, wanted desperately, yet he could not complete the act. After two humiliating episodes, he gave up even trying. He took scant pleasure in eating and drink had little lure for him anymore. His universe narrowed to developing strategies and schemes to keep whomever he decided to serve in power. And that led him to... .
Henri veered away from thoughts of Montsegur. "Not yet," he told himself. "Not yet." He looked over the edge of the divan again and saw that Maríana was still asleep. Sitting up quietly, he pulled his robe more tightly around his body and got up from the divan, then straightened his back in a glorious stretch, hearing and feeling at least twenty bones pop. Alys snorted and blinked. Henri put his fingers to his lips, pointing at Maríana. When Alys nodded,
he gave a sweeping bow and padded silently out of the room.
Chapter 15
A GRAY shadow stopped him as Henri crossed the smooth wooden floor of the palais toward the long knights' room. He had not meant to spend the night in Maríana's chamber. The girl had aided him, but it would not do to be found lying next to her, even with Alys there. He drew back in surprise as the figure flew toward him, its feet barely touching the floor. "Ysabel?" He peered into the pale oval of her face.
She caught his arm and pleaded. "Henri, come with me now. I must speak to you!"
"What?" He stared at her again, noting the tremor that shook her. "Very well," he said.
She pulled him into her room and leaned against him, shaking.
"Ysabel, I should not be in here." What if de Reuilles came in? Henri pulled his robe tightly around his middle. First he spent the night next to Louis-Philippe's daughter, now he allowed the baron's wife to drag him into her chamber. What would Hughes des Arcis say? No, he must leave.
Then he saw tears glimmering on Ysabel's lashes. Tears. The sight of tears was always his undoing.
"We cannot talk plainly anywhere else." Ysabel slipped beneath his arm and rested her ear against his heart.
"What is it?" He grasped her chin and raised her head, so she had to look into his face.
"Henri. I need you." Her dark eyes were swimming with unshed tears. He led her over to a chair and sat her down.
"Now," he said. "What is the matter?"
She began weeping in earnest. "It is Louis-Philippe. He never comes to my bed," she cried. "I must have a child to secure my position. If I do not, he could set me aside! How am I to have a child if he never comes to my bed?"
Henri sat on a low stool in front of her, chin in his hand. Ysabel had curled her legs under her and held her arms crossed around her ribs. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped into her lap. She was dressed in a simple gown, yet the fabric clung to her form, showing her trim waist. Shifting her weight, she moved her legs so that her shapely ankles and tiny feet peeked out from beneath her skirt.
Well. This was the Ysabel he remembered. Why had Louis-Philippe not honored his marriage vows? What was wrong here? Why was it that Ysabel did not share a room with Louis-Philippe? Henri had heard of such things in Paris, but lesser nobles like de Reuilles usually shared a chamber with their wives. "I am not sure what to say, Ysabel," he said. "I hardly know de Reuilles and I am certainly not in any position to lecture him on his duties as a husband." He paused. "Have you tried going to the château priest, or better still, to Johanna? Johanna must have an interest in an heir for the château."
Ysabel shook her head. "No. I have not gone to them. Perhaps I will talk to her. Only," Ysabel's lower lip quivered and tears started in her eyes again, "would you please hold me for a little while?"
He drew back. "This is not right..." But Ysabel looked so like a child sitting there, tears spilling from her eyes. A sad child. She held out her trembling arms to him. He moved over to her chair and gathered her into his embrace.
He could not seem to stop stroking her hair. It had been so long since he allowed himself to feel desire for a woman that he was not sure what he was feeling until Ysabel took his hand, placing it against her breast and the aching heat in his groin sent waves of urgent need through his body. He moved around in discomfort, seeking to break free of their embrace, but Ysabel held him close and began running her thumb along the inside of his arm, humming.
She looked up into his face and caressed his cheek. "It has been so long, so very long," she said, her voice catching, "and I need love, Henri. Everyone does."
Now he could not move. The years after the abbey, years when he had wanted and needed -- and failed -- all disappeared. There was only the hot ache in his loins and Ysabel in his arms. Her scent and the closeness of her body were awakening fires that he thought he had put out long ago.
"Yes," he answered. "Everyone." The air fled his lungs when her nails ran down the length of his chest to his groin. Then he lifted her in one sweeping motion, and covered the distance to her bed in two large steps.
He tried to leave. After his seed had been spent the first time, he rolled out of the bed in a daze and grabbed for his robe. He did not particularly care for de Reuilles, but had never thought to dishonor the baron in his own house. As he poked his arms through the sleeves of his robe, Ysabel wound her legs around his waist, pressing her breasts up against his back. Shivers cascaded from his head to the base of his spine when she ran her fingers slowly down his naked chest, finally circling around and around his navel, never quite touching the organ that was rejoicing in her efforts. It was driving him mad. He pushed her down on the bed and took her again.
He lost count of the number of times they joined. Ysabel was voracious. Her hands, her mouth, her whole body caressed him everywhere. He should be glad he could feel again, could desire and take a woman. Yet he felt drained and curiously, not satisfied. His body responded to her touch, but he found himself recoiling after he had taken her. When he heard footsteps pattering outside in the corridor, he leaped out of her bed and ran to the door, but Ysabel followed, wrapping her arms around his neck and winding her legs around his middle again. "No!" Henri pulled at her hands, but she evaded his grasp, running her fingers over his chest, her nails scraping his nipples. Heat flashed through his loins. He leaned his head back and groaned, then grabbed the low chair next to her bed and dragged it across the floor, propping it against the latch. Ysabel still clung to his back, but now she slid down, her tongue making a line of fire along his back, his waist, coming to rest between his legs. He buried his hands in her hair and shuddered.
It seemed that hours had passed when he finally stumbled out of the bed, grabbing his robe and shoving the chair away from the door. He did not care if he ran into anybody out in the passage -- even de Reuilles, for God's sake! He had to get out of there.
The corridor was empty. He strode toward the knights' chamber and paused in surprise when he reached the entry. The room was dark. It was still early, although he could hear the other knights in the long room starting to stir. How long had he been with Ysabel? His vision blurred and he shook his head to clear it. It had felt like forever, but the sun was barely up even now and it had been just before dawn when he left Maríana's chamber. Parting the curtains surrounding his bed, he fell onto the mattress, sinking at once into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When he awakened again, it was early in the afternoon. His squire must have left him to sleep-the boy was nowhere in sight. He stretched his body languorously on the woolen blankets, feeling his strong muscles move against the powdery texture of the fabric. Wool usually scratched. De Reuilles must have had his people beat these blankets to make them so smooth.
Soft, silky cloth. He lifted a corner and rubbed it against his cheek. As he touched the blanket, he remembered the weight of Maríana's hair between his fingers as they sat in the meadow near the lake. His body responded quickly to his idle thoughts, a swell of wanting that he suppressed. Shaking his head, he scolded himself and rose up out of his bed, pulling on his breeches and shirt. As he opened the curtains that surrounded his bed, he stopped and frowned. What was he going to do about Ysabel? He could not believe that de Reuilles had not honored his marriage vows. It would be like Ysabel to create such a ruse to serve her purpose.
No matter. Ysabel would say nothing. How could she? She was Baroness de Reuilles now; she would not jeopardize her position here. He splashed water from the basin on his face and whistled through his teeth. If Ysabel continued to pursue him, he would keep his distance. But now he must return to Reuilles-la-ville to complete his mission. He strapped his sword to his side and unfurled the map Robert had drawn for him yesterday, then traced the twisting spiral of the route from the wharf to Antoine's house. He would make the crossing again by himself and find this fellow. Today, nothing would stop him.
HENRI STALKED the cobbled streets of Reuilles-la-ville, studying Robert's crudely drawn map and
the buildings surrounding him. Left here, then this curve to the right. Rue des Anciennes. Such a name! Street of the ancient ones.
Henri counted the houses from the corner and approached a small stone house with a large wooden door. Two low windows, their shutters open to the cool spring air, were set on either side of the door. The scent of baking bread wafted out into the street. His stomach started a conversation with him, gurgling in a hollow roar. He had skipped the afternoon meal to avoid Ysabel and was regretting this now. He had been asleep earlier, so he missed the morning meal too. He should have eaten. Taking a deep breath, he knocked firmly on the wooden door.
The door opened. A young woman with hair the color of a raven's wing, the kind of black that harbors a deep, burnished shade of red in bright sunlight, stood before him. Black lashes framed eyes the color of the angry sea, a dark gray-green. His breath caught in his throat. Except for the sallow complexion and the dark shade of her hair, he almost thought he was seeing Maríana. "Yes? What do you want?" the woman asked in perfect French, wiping her hands upon her apron.
He smiled. "I have come seeking a soldier who served in the bishop's army recently."
She stood very still in the doorway.
"He left some of his things behind when he disappeared and I want to return them to him," Henri continued, pulling Antoine's shirts and a stone attached to a leather thong out of his pack. Hughes de Arcis had given Henri clothing and trinkets that Antoine and Pierre had left behind when they fled Montsegur. It was a ruse, of course. Henri had no interest in returning the items. He only wanted to find Antoine.
The woman glanced at the shirts, her face still and her eyes hooded. Then she yelled over her shoulder, "Grandfather! Do you know of anyone who served in the bishop's army?"
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