The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles)

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “Don’t you see? I have gone past caring,” Amandine stated.

  “No, you haven’t,” Philippe disagreed. “I want to tell you something, something I haven’t told anyone else.”

  “I don’t want to hear your secrets.”

  Alan cleared his throat, hoping to remind the King that he was still in the room. But Philippe carried on regardless.

  “You will want to hear this one. Please, all I am asking you to do is listen.”

  “I cannot stop you from speaking, but it doesn’t mean I am going to listen to you.”

  “You are determined to make this more difficult than it already is, aren’t you?”

  Amandine shrugged her thin shoulders.

  “I will tell you anyway. You never know, you might learn something. The day before I became king, I asked the woman I loved to marry me.”

  “Why would I want to hear this?”

  “I had rehearsed what I was going to say a thousand times,” Philippe said, ignoring her. “I was both nervous and excited. All of this,” he waved his hand in the air, “I did for her. But, it turned out that she was still in love with…” He chuckled sadly with regret as he remembered. “Did you know Josephine threw herself over Merton’s body? She stopped the lashing, although by then, there wasn’t much skin left on him.”

  “Please don’t. Don’t tell me what you did to him. I can’t…” Amandine turned her face away from his and tried to steady her breath. She breathed out slowly, shakily. “Did you kill her too?” Amandine asked quietly some moments later.

  “Did I kill her?” Philippe scoffed. “Oh God, I wish. The little bitch. You see, my dear, she was still in love with Merton, even after everything he did to her. I will never understand what you both saw in him. But that is by-the-by. When Josephine found out about his love for you…something snapped inside her. You should have seen the hate in her face. She changed, right before my eyes. I thought I knew her well, I wanted to marry her, but she became unrecognisable to me. Josephine begged me to punish you, to disfigure you. She even offered to do it herself. I could see in her eyes how much she hated you.”

  “You are lying. Josephine was one of my oldest friends,” Amandine said, turning to face him, her eyes swimming with unshed tears.

  “She wanted to punish you because she was jealous that Merton loved you and not her. My dreams of marrying her died that day. I realised that I had mistaken her character. There was evil in her face. Pure evil.” The memory still made the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “I don’t know why but I felt compelled to protect you from that.”

  “You beat me, Philippe,” Amandine reminded him.

  “And I will regret that every day until the day I die. I was wrong to hit you. I was so angry with Merton, and in my rage, I took it out on the wrong person. You got in the way. I am not trying to make an excuse for my behaviour, but when I look back, I know I wasn’t thinking straight that day.”

  “What did you do to Josephine?” Amandine asked.

  For a moment he looked at her in confusion. “I didn’t do anything. She was last seen getting on a boat with some soldiers.”

  “Soldiers?

  “Bastian believes that is how Budic and Alden escaped the dungeons. Someone helped them, dressed them up as Breton soldiers. I guess that someone was Josephine, although I believe that monk, Sampson, had his hand in their escape as well.” He narrowed his eyes as he watched Amandine’s expression. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  “Budic is Josephine’s husband,” Amandine looked down at her hands as she spoke. “Of course she would try and rescue him.”

  “What did you say?” Philippe asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  Amandine looked at him in confusion. “I thought you knew. They married the day…the day you challenged Budic for his throne, in a private ceremony. They were going to keep their marriage a secret until…”

  “I don’t believe you,” Philippe said, rising to his feet, anger penetrating his words.

  “What could I possibly hope to gain by lying? You have taken everything from me.”

  Philippe stared long and hard at her, but she did not lower her gaze. Eventually, he sat back down, although he continued to stare at her. “She must have married him to spite Merton,” Philippe said after a long while of uncomfortable silence. “But Merton didn’t care, did he? Merton…” he chuckled with a mocking humour. “He didn’t care who she married because he didn’t love her. He loved you.”

  “Little good it did him,” Amandine replied softly.

  “I hated Merton,” Philippe said with passion. “I hate him still. I thought I could break him. I thought I would be able to bring him to his knees. But he was so stubborn. So arrogant. So—”

  “Brave?” Amandine offered the word.

  “Yes,” Philippe allowed. “Yes, he was. But then, maybe that was the demon inside him that made him so.”

  “There was no demon inside him.” How many more times did she have to repeat this? “There was nothing for you to purge and yet you did so anyway. I begged you to stop. I fell onto my knees and begged you.”

  Philippe looked away from her. “I know you did.”

  “He wasn’t a demon, or the devil, or a monster,” Amandine shook her head as she spoke. “You didn’t know him. You just believed the stories.”

  “Perhaps,” Philippe allowed. “Amandine, Merton’s dead and there is nothing either of us can do about that, even though we may wish it. I want to help you. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life behind a closed door. I want you to take your place in court again. I want to give you your life back.”

  “You cannot give life back to someone who is already dead,” Amandine stated tiredly. She didn’t want to talk of Merton with the man who had taken his life. And she did not want her life back, for her life had been destroyed absolutely.

  “You are not dead,” Philippe almost yelled the words. He blew out slowly, reining his temper in. He needed to tread carefully. Amandine was obviously in a very fragile state. He had been wrong to leave her for so long alone, but the truth was, he had dreaded this moment. He didn’t want to look into her face and see the damage that he had caused. He didn’t want to see the pain in her eyes. He wanted to forget. He didn’t want to have to face his past until the final judgement. She was looking at him again. Her eyes were running over his features as if she was searching for something. And then she looked away, for she had apparently not found what she so desperately searched for.

  “Soon I will be entertaining some very important guests. I am celebrating my victory over Budic and his broth—”

  “I need to know this because…?” Amandine queried, interrupting him. “Do you expect me to take part in the celebrations? Do you want me to dance on Merton’s grave? Will that satisfy the masses?”

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Philippe scoffed. “You are not invited. It is your skill I desire. You were married to Garren. You know how such celebrations are organised.”

  “You want me to plan it? Go to Hell.”

  “I saved your life,” Philippe reminded her again.

  “No you didn’t,” Amandine disagreed. “Don’t you understand? I died the same day he did.”

  “I know that you are an exceptional seamstress, and you can make even the mundane look beautiful,” he continued as if he had not heard her.

  “You are out of your depth, aren’t you?” Amandine realised, and a smile pulled at her lips. “You don’t know how to be a king, do you? You don’t know how to act, or how to entertain such influential people. You have no idea about the proper etiquette.”

  Philippe raised his head and looked calmly into her face. “If you don’t help me then I am sure the Church would love to take you back under their wing,” he threatened.

  But the threat did nothing to dampen Amandine’s amusement. “There are others you should ask. I am not the only one who knows how such things are organised and besides, no one would listen to me. You forget…I am damned,
” she continued to giggle at the irony.

  “I wasn’t expecting you to leave this room.”

  “I see,” Amandine scoffed.

  Philippe surprised her by kneeling down on the floor in front of her. Everyone knew that Philippe had a thing about cleanliness. He was obsessed with it. Kneeling on the floor was surely a no no, up there with petting the castle’s dogs. He must be truly desperate, Amandine thought but did not say.

  Philippe’s hand reached for hers and then he paused, thought better of it, and his hand dropped away. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but Merton was a cruel, evil man and with time, you will come to see that. I saved you from him. I saved you from the consequences of loving him. I need your help. I have invited many dignitaries. I have to impress. Please, show me how and I swear,” he placed his hand on his chest, where his heart rested, “I will protect you forever.”

  “Protect me?” Amandine laughed, although there was little humour in it. She watched as Philippe rose back to his feet. “I am a du Lac. You and I, we will always be enemies.”

  “I am a du Lac too, and besides, Jesus taught us to love our enemies,”

  “You are quoting the Bible?” Amandine couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You are quoting the Bible…to me? I am damned,” she shook her head as she too stood, the sheet falling from her hands. “How can you stand there and tell me to love my enemy? To love you. You killed him,” she cried, tears gathered in her eyes, and she reached out with her hands and pushed him back one step. “You killed the man I loved, and now you want me to celebrate that fact?”

  “Not his death, no. Just my victory.”

  “You ask too much. I don’t want…” she couldn’t speak now, for her tears were choking her. She turned away from him, her shoulders shaking.

  “Amandine,” Philippe stepped forward and hesitantly touched her shoulder.

  “Leave me alone,” she cried.

  Philippe gently took hold of her arm and turned her to face him. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I wish that things were different. I wish I could go back and change the past. I should have hung him, like you said, I don’t know why I didn’t…I just…Mordred,” he snorted and shook his head. “If I swear to keep you safe forever, will you help me? If you don’t then Mordred…” Philippe’s words faded, for he could not voice his fear aloud.

  But Amandine heard the unspoken fear. Mordred was powerful. If it hadn’t been for him, then Philippe wouldn’t have even contemplated challenging Budic for the throne. Mordred was a kingmaker, and such men were always dangerous.

  “I will help you,” Amandine said, surprising them both. At least is would give her something to do, something to concentrate on. She sniffed back the tears. “When can we expect your guests?”

  “First day of spring,” Philippe answered with hope.

  “I am a little out of touch, how far away is that?”

  “Three months, give or take a sennight.”

  “That doesn’t give us a lot of time. I need numbers.”

  “Is that a yes? You will help me?” The look of relief on Philippe’s face was very clear to see.

  “How many guests do you expect to come? I need an idea of how many people we need to cater for, including the servants, and the soldiers will need to be billeted. You will have to talk to Bastian about that. We will need tents, canvas, supplies, blankets. Budic’s silver will need to come out from storage—”

  “My silver,” Philippe corrected.

  “That’s what I meant. You’ll need to…um…send men to all the villages, seek out meat, wheat and oats, but don’t take it all. It is the Breton people that you are ultimately responsible for.”

  “Of course,” Philippe agreed.

  “Um…your guests will expect the finest of everything, only the best.” She rattled off names of wine merchants.

  “We need to write all this down. I’ll go and fetch some parchment.” He left the room in a hurry, leaving Alan alone in the room with Amandine.

  Amandine blew out unsteadily, and she looked at Alan.

  “You made him happy,” Alan mused, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “He is saying things I want to hear. He is using me,” Amandine said, sitting back down in the chair. “I don’t understand why, though.”

  “You were a princess once. He was always the illegitimate cousin. He doesn’t know what he is doing. Inviting all those warlords here, it is a disaster waiting to happen. Can you imagine Wessex and Clovis sat around the same table?” Alan chuckled at the thought. “Rumour has it he has even invited Alden.”

  “Alden?” Amandine shook her head in disbelief.

  “It gives new meaning to the words salt and wounds, doesn’t it?”

  “Alan,” Amandine rose and crossed the room until she was standing in front of him. “I can’t stay here, and I can’t carry on living like this. Will you—”

  Alan shook his head and backed away. “Don’t ask it…”

  “You don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

  “Oh, I do. I will continue to do everything in my power to keep anyone from harming you, including the King, but don’t ask me to help you escape. I am afraid that small window of opportunity has come and gone. This isn’t just about you anymore. There are things…things a foot that you wouldn’t even begin to understand.”

  “I am a woman, I forget how stupid that makes me,” she snapped. She turned and walked away from him and then sat back down in the chair and glowered at him.

  It was like being scolded by a sparrow, and for some reason, Alan found that incredibly amusing. He began to laugh.

  “I am glad I am a source of entertainment,” she stated, turning her face away from him.

  “My apologies, my Lady,” Alan bowed. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

  “Have no fear…I will never need you.”

  Alan grinned at her one more time and then left her alone. Silence once more settled over the room and Amandine felt an overwhelming sense of panic. She hated the silence. She hated it more than anything else in the world.

  “Merton, are you there?” she whispered. But there was no answer.

  7

  Castle Dor, The Kingdom of Cerniw, Briton.

  Alden du Lac, King of Cerniw, leant his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He felt his wife reach for his hand and squeeze his fingers in silent support. It was days like this when he appreciated just how much comfort she gave him. He sighed deeply before opening his eyes and staring at those who had gathered in his Hall with disinterest. Smoke swirled upwards from the fire pit, and the smell of roasting meat drifted in from the kitchens. Someone laughed, and Alden frowned. He had never felt less like laughing, and to see others without a so-called care-in-the-world, was very trying.

  His beautiful cú, which he had paid a small fortune to be brought over from Eire, weaved his lanky grey-furred body in-between Alden’s knights and guests as he made his way towards his master. Alden had given up trying to train the beast to hunt, for his children had taken a liking to the puppy and had spoilt him rotten. He was now nothing better than a common house dog. Alden held out his hand, and the dog wagged his tail, licked Alden’s fingers absentmindedly and then plonked himself down on Alden’s feet. He put his head on his paws and closed his eyes.

  A servant went to refill Alden’s goblet, but Alden shooed him away. The bottom of a barrel of ale would do nothing to ease the torment in his heart. He had tried many times to erase the memories with alcohol, but it never worked, and so he had given up trying. His memories were his cross to bear, and there was nothing he could do but endure.

  It had been five long months since he had sent Merton away. At the time he was so sure that he had been doing the right thing. But now…he doubted himself, and he feared he might have made the gravest of mistakes.

  He felt uneasy, his warrior instincts warning him of a threat yet known. If Merton were here, he could talk to him, tell him his fears, share the grief. But Merton wasn
’t here. And so he kept his peace. Refusing to voice his fears aloud in case he was thought of as being paranoid or worst still, a coward. But something wasn’t right. Alden knew who his enemies were, but there was a gnawing pit of doubt in the bottom of his stomach that was warning him he had missed something.

  His thoughts drifted back to Merton. It was the not being able to see Merton that hurt the most, and he had not accounted for that before they had parted ways. Alden had thought he would feel a sense of peace. Relief even. All he wanted was for Merton to be somewhere his enemies would never find him. But this longing to see for himself how Merton fared was eating away at his soul.

  To make matters worse, the look on Merton’s face when they had said goodbye haunted him every minute of every day. Despite the scarring and disfigurement, Alden did not see the defeated, broken warrior. Instead, he saw a little boy who had lost everything. Merton had the same expression in his eyes as he had when their parents had died, all those years ago. Alden didn’t know how to make that right for him. He didn’t have the vocabulary. No one did, except perhaps God, but he was, as usual, staying stubbornly quiet on the subject of Merton’s grief.

  Amandine had the most unimaginable cruel death — they had heard all about it from Josephine, who didn’t think to spare any details. Alden knew that Merton would never forgive himself for loving her. Merton once said that he should have known better. He should have left Amandine alone. If he had, then maybe she would still be alive.

  Alden, who knew all about torture, for he had suffered at the hands of Wessex, had a sudden epiphany. He realised that he had not sent Merton away to keep him safe but to protect his own heart from the pain of watching Merton fade away. Alden didn’t have the strength to watch Merton die. It was bad enough pretending that he was dead.

  Everyone believed Merton was dead and Alden had no intention of contradicting them. By right, Merton should be dead. No man, not even the blessed Jesus, had survived such horrific torture. Merton had lost his sword arm — a cruel fate for any warrior. But it was the flesh that had been lashed so cruelly from his chest and face that had caused the most problems. Luckily his vision had not been affected. However, his skin had knotted into red, tight, scar tissue, thanks to the fact that the only way to stop Merton from bleeding to death, was to put a heated blade to his skin. Alden could still recall the smell of blood and burning flesh. It was engrained into his mind, into his senses. He would never be rid of the smell. Consequently, Merton looked like he had been thrown into the fiery pits of Hell and left to burn. He was unrecognisable, for the most part. But, Merton had been far more than a handsome face. And if anyone were to look too closely into his eyes or listen to him speak, then they would know who was hidden behind the terrible scarring.