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

by Mary Anne Yarde

  The meal was an extravagance. Dish after dish was brought and presented to them — an array of meat, vegetables, and pastries was theirs for the sampling. Philippe was attentive, and he kept the conversation flowing. They spoke of the kingdom and Philippe’s plans for it. He was a visionary, and he seemed to be genuine in his concern for the people. He wanted to make life easier for his subjects. She had not known.

  “More wine?” he asked, picking up the jug.

  Amandine shook her head and placed her hand over her cup to stop him from refilling it. “I think I have had enough wine for one evening.”

  “But we are celebrating,” Philippe stated as he poured some more wine into his goblet.

  “We are?” Amandine asked. “I wasn’t aware of that. What are we celebrating?”

  “Your beauty,” Philippe said picking up a sweet pastry and holding it out for her to eat.

  She leant across the table and took a tiny bite. She didn’t know how much more of this romance she could take, it was too much. Fear was taking hold in her stomach that Philippe would expect this evening to end in his chambers. She wasn’t ready for that.

  “You have pretty teeth,” Philippe commented. “Straight, white.”

  Amandine burst out laughing. “No one has ever said that to me before.”

  “Not even Merton?” Philippe questioned, and Amandine’s laughter stopped abruptly.

  “I am sorry,” Philippe spoke quickly, quietly. “I just…” he shook his head. “I can’t understand what you saw in him.”

  “I thought…” Amandine picked up her goblet. She held the stem of the cup so tight that her knuckles showed white. She quickly took a sip and then another one and then she reached for the jug and poured herself some more. “I thought we agreed not to talk of him?” she said and took another sip.

  “We did,” Philippe said. “And now I have made you sad.” He leant back in his chair and regarded her with narrowed eyes.

  “You have to understand… Merton was like a flame,” she looked Philippe in the eyes as she spoke. “He burnt so brightly.”

  “You were a moth,” Philippe concluded. “You were drawn to him.”

  “He would never have burnt me. He kept me warm, and I had forgotten what that felt like.”

  Philippe raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You were lonely?”

  “Terribly so,” Amandine admitted. “I was in a loveless marriage. I had no friends, not real ones anyway. Anna was kind, but then she died, and Josephine was…” Amandine gave a little shrug.

  “I adored Josephine,” Philippe admitted. “I thought she was everything that I wanted in a woman. I could have loved her. I did love her. But like you said, Merton was a flame. Although, I will never understand what the two of you saw in him. To me, he was a monster.”

  To me, he was everything — Amandine bit back the words, for she knew it would be unwise to say such a thing in front of Philippe.

  “Maybe he was,” Amandine said instead. “Maybe the flame blinded me to what he was.”

  “Maybe,” Philippe agreed. “Or maybe he just made you feel alive.”

  His words hung between them, for he was right, Merton had made her feel alive.

  “Are you going to kill me, Philippe?” Amandine asked. She would rather know her fate than go on like this — pretending everything was all right when nothing was. “Are you going to arrange my death? If so, I would very much appreciate my death to be quick and somewhere private. The thought of having to walk through a crowd of people towards the gallows…” She sighed sharply. “I don’t think I am brave enough to do that, not after what the Abbot did.”

  Philippe reached across the table with his hand, and she placed hers in his cautiously and slowly raised her head to look at him. She was surprised to see tears in his eyes.

  “The Abbot paid with his life for treating you so appallingly. You will never have to walk through a crowd of people towards the gallows, I promise.” He leant across the table and with his other hand he touched her cheek with his fingertips. “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again.”

  “What about Mordred?” she asked, tears forming in her own eyes. He sounded so sincere — dare she believe him?

  “Mordred isn’t interested in you. He has never once asked for your life to be sacrificed, and even if he did, I would never sanction it.”

  “And the people? Your subjects?”

  Philippe rubbed his thumb over the back of her now trembling hand. “They will do as they are told. I am not going to let anyone harm you. I promise. Now,” he smiled at her. “I am missing that smile, where has it gone?”

  Amandine tentatively smiled at him.

  “That’s better. I hear Cook has prepared something rather special for us,” Philippe said, changing the subject, and food was always a good subject — unless you didn’t have any.

  “I don’t think I could eat any more,” Amandine said, looking down at her plate, which was a long way from being empty.

  “We will see about that,” Philippe said with a grin, he clicked his fingers, and the servants rushed forward.

  The rest of the evening passed quickly. When they had finished eating, they sat and listened to the castle bard as he sang and made the most beautiful music that brought tears to Amandine’s eyes again. The more time she spent with Philippe, the harder it was to hold onto her hate. He killed Merton, that voice was a constant companion, chanting the same three words to her over and over again. She knew what Philippe was. She knew what he had done. She didn’t want to have these feelings. Amandine didn’t want to like him. But she did.

  It was the early hours when Philippe finally escorted her back to her chamber. The smile fell from her face when she saw the door.

  “My prison,” she had not meant to say the words, they just popped out.

  “Not for much longer,” Philippe promised, opening the door for her.

  She turned to face him. “Thank you, for the most wonderful evening.”

  “It was,” Philippe said, taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips, “the most wonderful evening. We will do it again…soon. Ah,” he raised his head as Bastian, and another soldier came marching down the corridor. “Your guards have arrived. It is time for me to take my leave. Sleep well, my Lady.”

  Amandine watched him as he made his way towards his own chamber. He had behaved honourably, keeping his kisses to the back of her hand. Why had she been so afraid?

  Bastian took her arm, and without further ado, he escorted her into her room. He shut the door firmly behind him and stood in the candlelight and glared at her.

  “I am not dead,” Amandine said, twirling around slowly with her arms outstretched, “not a mark on me.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Bastian asked, and then he turned and left the room, the door shut with a soft click behind him.

  Amandine frowned at the door as she tried to figure out what Bastian was going on about. Philippe had promised her that no harm would come to her. She believed him. She decided to think no more of Bastian. He wasn’t worth her time.

  She quickly undressed, folded up the beautiful gown and placed it on the chair so it would be the first thing she saw when she got out of bed. Smiling to herself, she pulled back the covers and gasped in shock. There, folded up just as neatly as the pretty dress, was the blood-stained tunic she had worn the day Merton had died.

  She stared at it in shock for a long moment, and then she snatched it up and held it to her face, hoping against hope that it would still hold an essence of Merton’s smell on it. But instead of leather, horses and outside, it smelt of mould.

  On the bed was a note. She quickly reached for it with trembling hands. Going over to the candle she unfolded the parchment.

  “Just a reminder that he sacrificed his life for you.” There was no signature on the note, but considering Bastian was the only person who was allowed into her room, it didn’t take much of a guess to know where the note and the tunic came from. She just didn’t understa
nd why Bastian would do such a thing. She crumpled the note in her hand and threw it into the fire. Her evening had been almost perfect as well, and now it ended on this note. How dare he. How dare he do this to her…

  Amandine sat on the bed, Merton’s tunic still grasped in her hands and looked back at the dress.

  Merton was dead. He wasn’t coming back. But Philippe was alive, and he had promised to keep her safe. Merton had promised to keep her safe. Merton. Had. Promised. And he had gone back on his word. She closed her eyes and threw his tunic on the floor.

  “YOU PROMISED,” she yelled in anger and then sobbing she grabbed the tunic off the floor, clutching it to her chest. “YOU PROMISED,” she screamed again.

  Amandine collapsed on the bed in a heap. She brought her knees up to her chest and began to rock back and forth. “Merton, you promised,” she whispered as tears rolled down her cheeks. “You promised.”

  17

  Castle Aergol, The Kingdom of Dyfed. One month later.

  Snow had fallen thick and fast on the kingdom of Dyfed. The castle had been overcrowded these many weeks with stranded guests. But last night Garren had found a pleasant distraction to wile away the long, monotonous hours.

  “Hmm,” Josephine purred as she kissed her way across Garren’s sweat-covered chest. The furs on the bed were a tangled mess at their feet, and the scent of lovemaking hung heavy in the air.

  Garren played absentmindedly with Josephine’s long blonde hair and stared at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath. In fact, he had not caught his breath from the moment Josephine knocked on his door. Surprisingly, Josephine had come to him. He hadn’t pursued her. And although Garren liked the daydream of having a beautiful woman, such as Josephine, in his arms again, he found himself strangely reluctant to encroach on his brother’s territory — which could be considered odd, for he had never had such a problem before. Budic didn’t know that he and Anna, Budic’s first wife, had been lovers. Budic had been a careless husband, Garren always knew that he would be. How can you love another when you were so deeply in love with yourself? Budic had more than a touch of narcissism about him.

  His and Anna’s affair didn’t last long. It was like a lightning storm, intense, bright, but quickly blew over. What Garren hadn’t prepared for was what came after. The storm had left a trail of damage. Things were broken that could never be replaced. He could recall the sheer agony of trying to act normal when he and Anna were in each other’s company. They were so conscious of each other. So aware of each other’s presence. There were many times when he had longed to take her back into his arms. He had to physically ball his hands into fists to stop from doing so. Both knew that a wrong look here or the wrong word there, and their dirty little secret would be exposed for all in court to see. It would bring shame to the du Lac name and that, he wouldn’t allow. He had needed to get away from Anna. He had needed to break the tie. He had needed to find his own wife. When he had been offered Amandine’s hand in marriage, he had jumped at the chance, for this was a way out. He would have a woman in his bed every night, and she would be obedient and loyal and more importantly, his. What he had forgotten was that Amandine was younger than him. What he needed was a woman, but instead, he found himself married to a child. And there was no way he was taking a child to bed. He could remember cutting his hand on the night of their wedding so that the sheets would be bloodied. Amandine had watched him with wide, curious eyes. He didn’t say anything to her as his blood dripped on the sheets, he hadn’t explained. The poor thing had absolutely no idea of what should have occurred that night. She was completely innocent in both mind and body — he wouldn’t sully that, not yet. Instead, he tucked her in and spent an uncomfortable night on the floor by the fire and dreamt of Anna.

  Over the course of time, Amandine became like a sister to him. He indulged her childish whims. He gave her a bad tempered kitten once, which she carried around like a baby. He spoilt her with beautiful dresses and jewels. Secretly he dreaded the day when she came of age. The thought of sharing her bed made him feel ill. It would be like bedding his sister.

  But the marriage did serve its purpose. As the months passed, things became easier between him and Anna. When he was in Anna’s company, he could almost convince himself that he did not know the curve of her body or what it felt like to move inside her.

  He had felt grief when Alden had told him that Amandine was dead, but it didn’t come close to the pain that he had felt when he found out that Anna was dead as well.

  Garren had meant to send Josephine away — he had not intended to bed her. He had been about to give voice to the words when she threw herself at him. All of Garren’s good intentions were lost in her kiss. The taste of her lips and the feel of her body pressed close to his easily overcame any resistance. And the shred of honour that he had managed to hold on to during his time in captivity was sacrificed for a glimpse of paradise and the blessed, blessed, feeling of forgetfulness while he lost himself in ecstasy.

  Josephine knew her way around a man’s bed. He had never met anyone so sensual. And by God, she had a gratifying tongue that knew how to arouse a man to the brink of madness. They hadn’t slept. They had been too intoxicated with each other’s bodies to waste away what little time they had together with sleep. Garren was surprised that Budic let this very desirable woman out of his sights. If Josephine were his wife, he wouldn’t let her out of bed.

  The early morning was breaking through the two small windows and cast long shadows across the room. The room was a mess. There were clothes everywhere. A goblet of wine had been knocked over during a playful tussle, and a chair had been tipped over in the lover’s bid to get closer.

  “You should go,” Garren said on a long sigh as her lips followed the curve of his neck. He closed his eyes and tilted his head to give her better access. “You will be missed if you are not abed when your ladies come for you. And as much as I enjoyed last night, I have no intention of starting a war with my eldest brother.” It was the most he had said all night. They hadn’t exactly indulged in long conversations. He knew her personality no better now than he had when she knocked on his door.

  Josephine raised her head and frowned down at him. “I believe you are dismissing me, my Lord.” She then continued her onslaught to his senses, following the curve of his chin with her mouth.

  “I believe I am,” Garren smiled. “But, if you care to come again this evening, I would be more than happy to pick up where we left off.”

  Josephine leant over him and kissed him sensuously on the lips. “If you promise, I suppose I can force myself to leave you.” She smiled down at him and then moved away. Not at all abashed by her nakedness, she got out of bed and paraded across the room, retrieving various bits of clothing and putting them on slowly.

  Garren sat up, leant against the headboard of the bed and enjoyed the view. Even with her belly round with child, Josephine was a sight to behold. How could such a simple act of dressing make his body yearn for the joining again?

  “Why did you marry my brother?” Garren asked, for he was curious. Budic and Josephine seemed an unlikely couple. He could not imagine Budic staying up all night to satisfy his wife’s appetite.

  Josephine giggled as she pulled her dress over her head, covering her body from Garren’s appreciative gaze. “That is what Merton asked as well,” Josephine said as she pulled her hair free of her dress and draped the length of her hair over her left shoulder. “And I will tell you the same thing as I told him. Budic promised to make me a Queen, and I believed him. But instead, I find myself in this dismal little kingdom, in this mouldy old castle, with some of the most boring people I have ever come across. Present company excluded, of course.”

  Garren tilted his head in acknowledgement, but her words came across as whiny to his ears. He had always held a dislike for women that whined. He hoped to God she wasn’t a whiner.

  “Half the time I don’t know what the hell they are going on about, they speak so bloody fast in th
at ridiculous language of theirs, that I cannot make head nor tail of it.” She pushed Garren’s feet out of the way and sat down on the edge of the bed so she could put on her shoes, her back to him.

  “Merton called me a bloody fool, he said Budic would never make me happy,” Josephine turned to look at Garren.

  “Merton was right,” Garren said. “Budic doesn’t appreciate you. He doesn’t appreciate any woman.”

  “How do you know that?” Josephine asked, puckering her lips and trying her best to look irresistible and seductive.

  Garren paused before he said anything and he chose his next words very carefully, for his gut told him to speak only what he was happy to have repeated. “Because if he did, then you wouldn’t be here serving me.”

  “Perhaps you were serving me,” Josephine answered airily. “I saw you, and I found to my delight that I had an itch that needed scratching. There is only so much a woman can do for herself you know.”

  Garren chuckled awkwardly. Being enthusiastic in bed was one thing, but he detested vulgarity of any kind coming from a woman’s mouth. But he kept his silence. She was his lover, not his wife — it was up to Budic to chastise her for her dirty language. “That was one mighty itch you had. You were insatiable.”

  Josephine crawled up the bed until her lips were once again close to his. “So were you,” she whispered, taking his mouth with hers again. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, and he groaned. His grievance with her choice of words forgotten.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Garren warned between kisses. But instead of pushing her away, as he knew he should do, he pulled her closer and began tugging at her clothes.

  “Then we shall have to be quick,” Josephine answered, bringing her mouth back to his.

  “So what happened with Alden?” Josephine asked as she once again pulled on her dress.

  “Why do you think something happened with Alden?” Garren asked, his breathing laboured, for he still had not caught his breath. This time their lovemaking had been frantic, hard and fast. And although he tried to be mindful of his brother’s heir, she seemed to have no such concerns for her child’s welfare. Josephine rode him like a wild horse in need of breaking. He had been unable to refuse his rider’s command, and in the end, he gave her what she wanted.