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

by Mary Anne Yarde

  “The child wasn’t yours. It was mine. I gave her the knife. I encouraged her. I was terrified you would find out.”

  Alden felt like he had been punched in the stomach and the air knocked out of him. He stood up and glared down at Merton. “You betrayed me?” He could barely get the words out, so great was his astonishment and his anger. “How can you live with yourself, knowing what Edmee’s death caused? Or perhaps that was your intention all along. You did work for Wessex after all — you brought him here, didn’t you? That is why… How can you stand in my chamber, in my kingdom—”

  “You honestly believe that I would betray you — you — of all people? That I am so deprived and so disloyal that I would sleep with your Queen. And then give her the means to kill herself, to cover my own back. Do you really believe that I would let Wessex come anywhere near Cerniw? Do you not know me at all?” Merton shook his head, and his eyes filled up with tears. “How easy it was for you to believe the worst of me, to believe a lie, and yet, you don’t believe that I have it in me to love a woman. I loved Amandine, and that is the truth.”

  Alden stared down at Merton as he realised his grave error. Merton was playing him with words, twisting the truth to prove a point and he proved that point well. Alden sat back down heavily in the chair.

  “I didn’t bring Wessex down on your head,” Merton stated. “I didn’t give Edmee the knife. I didn’t encourage her to kill herself. And I certainly did not sire a child with that bitch. But your opinion of me is so low that you believed every word I said. I have been your staunchest ally through it all. My money rebuilt Dor and secured the kingdom, and yet you were willing to believe the very worst in me. What does that say about you? What does that say about us?”

  Alden felt like he had suddenly aged ten years and he took a moment to compose himself. “Don’t you ever lie to me like that again… I could have sent you to the cave and had you executed for treason.”

  “I loved her. I loved Amandine.”

  “Amandine was Garren’s wife,” Alden stated. “She was never yours to love.”

  “Garren was dead,” Merton replied. “We all thought he was dead, even you, by the end.”

  “Have you told him?” Alden raised his eyebrows as he asked the question. “Have you told Garren about the feelings you had for his wife and the feelings she had for you?”

  Merton nodded. “Garren said if she were alive he would have stepped aside for me so that the two of us could have married.”

  “That is easy for him to say, considering she is dead and he doesn’t have to make that choice,” Alden stated. “If she were alive, I believe it would be a different story. You would never have found happiness with her. Perhaps it is for the best—”

  “Don’t you dare say it,” Merton’s voice trembled as he spoke. “Don’t you dare…”

  “I wasn’t going to say it is for the best that she is dead,” Alden said, trying to defend himself. “Why would I say something like that?”

  “Do you hate me so much that you cannot bear the thought of me ever being happy?” Merton asked, with a pained expression in his eyes.

  “Now you are sounding like Budic. Don’t be ridiculous,” Alden said dismissively. “Of course I want you to be happy.”

  “No, you don’t. I want you to look me in the eyes and answer my question truthfully. Do you hate me because I chose Amandine over you?”

  “You didn’t choose her over me,” Alden contradicted. “For God’s sake, Mert…Galahad—”

  “I did choose her over you. Philippe said you and I could go free if I killed her, remember?”

  “Philippe had no intention of letting either of us go,” Alden believed that. Philippe had lost all reason that day

  “I would choose her every time,” Merton said as if he had not heard Alden speak. “It would always be her. You wanted me to go with Sampson, didn’t you?” Merton accused. “So you wouldn’t have to look at me and know that I chose her.”

  “I didn’t want you to leave with Sampson—”

  “You did, I saw the look on your face.”

  “I was scared for you,” Alden stated. “I was scared someone was going to find out you were alive. Galahad, you were not the only one who came away from Brittany with scars. You died in my arms. It is only with God’s grace that you are still with us. I have lost you once. I don’t want to lose you again. I thought you going with Sampson was for the best. I am not going to pretend that I wasn’t relieved when you decided to go with him because I thought that with him you would be safe.”

  “Right…” Merton scoffed.

  “I WAS SCARED,” Alden who rarely yelled did so now. “Can you not see what I have been trying to do? I am trying to protect you.”

  “I DON’T WANT PROTECTING,” Merton yelled back, rising unsteadily to his feet. “That is the last thing I need.”

  “Listen to me. LISTEN,” Alden insisted as Merton turned away. “If you go to Brittany, they will burn you on a pyre. But not before they have taken everything away from you.”

  “You are assuming I have anything left for them to take,” Merton replied bitterly.

  “Oh, you do, brother. You know you do. You are a du Lac. You cannot let anyone see your back. If they do, you will bring shame on our father’s name. The great Lancelot du Lac sired a cripple. Is that how you want him to be remembered?”

  “You bastard,” Merton hissed. And Alden watched with a fragile heart as a range of emotions crossed Merton’s face, none of them good.

  “I am simply saying what they will say. You are Lancelot du Lac’s son, as I am. The du Lacs do not die on pyres. Is that really how you want your life to end? On a bonfire? You have seen what death is like on a pyre. You have seen how terrible it is. You stood by my side and condemned it. How can you want that death for yourself? Ask yourself, would Amandine want that for you?”

  “I burnt a barn full of women and children. Death on a pyre is more than I deserve and besides, it cannot be any more painful than the pain I am in now, and I’m not talking about my back. Every day, for me, is a battle because she is dead. I am fed up of this war. I am fed up of this pain and this guilt. I want it to end.”

  “I will go in your place if that is what you want,” Alden stated. “But you…you are not going to Brittany, and that is final.”

  “You think me incapable of success, don’t you? You think I will embarrass you,” Merton yelled. “Oh, there goes the cripple, Lancelot’s son. Poor boy and poor Alden for having such a brother.”

  “Now you are talking like a fool,” Alden snapped back.

  “Give me a sword, and I will prove to you, here and now, that I can do it. I will have my vengeance and not you, nor God, nor anyone else will stand in my way.”

  “No.”

  “Give me a sword, Alden,” Merton yelled again.

  Alden shook his head. “Don’t ask this of me,” he all but begged.

  “A sword. Now,” Merton demanded. “And I will prove to you that I can look after myself and that I have no need for your protection.”

  Alden continued to shake his head. “Please, don’t do this Galahad.”

  “Give me a sword and let’s put this to bed once and for all.”

  Alden sighed heavily. “If that is what it is going to take for you to see reason…then so be it.” Alden forced himself to cross over to where several swords were hung up on the wall. He paused beneath them, wondering which one to give his brother. His fingers hesitated on a double-edged blade. This sword was as elegant as it was deadly, but it was also heavy. It would be too heavy for Merton.

  “That one will do,” Merton called from behind him as if reading his mind.

  “You won’t be able to hold it,” Alden said, not turning around to look at his brother.

  “I want it,” Merton stated, his tone resolute.

  “You want it?” Alden asked as he took the sword down from the wall. “Here. Catch it,” he threw the blade at his brother.

  It was a cruel trick.
Alden knew it was. This time last year, Merton would have stepped forward and caught the sword by the pommel, but not now. The sword rattled harmlessly to the floor in front of him. Alden didn’t want to do this because he knew how it would end. Merton had always been the better warrior. They both knew that. So if Alden defeated him it would be a harsh blow to Merton’s pride and one that he may never recover from.

  Alden sent Merton a look full of scorn as he unsheathed his own sword, which had once belonged to their father. The blade caught the light of the candles as Alden stepped closer to his brother.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Pick it up,” Alden challenged with malice. “But remember, you forced my hand in this. I have no desire to fight you.”

  With a glare, Merton gingerly reached for the blade. He lost his balance and fell to his knees. Alden winced. He longed to go to his brother, help him stand, but he knew this wasn’t what Merton needed, or wanted, so he held back.

  With a frustrated roar, Merton threw his walking stick away from him and reached for the sword.

  Alden’s heart broke as he watched Merton stagger back to his feet like a drunken man. This was going to be a complete disaster.

  “If you can beat me, then you can go to Brittany,” Alden stated, hating himself for issuing such a challenge. “But you are not going to beat me because you can hardly stand.”

  Merton raised his blade. Alden could clearly see the pain in Merton’s face but also the determination. Sweat had broken out on Merton’s brow, and his lips were pulled back from his teeth. Merton’s anger was great, but Alden doubted it would be enough. This fight wasn’t going to last very long.

  His blade scraped along Merton’s. “Are you ready?” Alden asked mockingly, and before Merton could answer, Alden attacked.

  30

  Pain shot across Merton’s shoulders and, like a strike of lightening, the pain ran down his arm and legs. It felt as if someone was forcefully ripping his muscles apart and that was just from holding the sword. When Alden’s blade crashed into his, it was all he could do to stay on his feet. A tingling sensation travelled down his arm, and he lost the sensation in his fingers. The sword slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a loud condemning clatter. He felt the implications of that dropped sword down to the very bottom of his soul. He had failed her…again.

  Merton sucked in an unsteady breath as Alden narrowly missed decapitating him.

  “By God’s Bones,” Alden roared. “I nearly bloody killed you.”

  “Sard off,” Merton returned as he took a defensive step back. A wave of dizziness washed over him. He would have fallen if Alden had not dropped his own sword and reached out with his hands to steady him.

  “I have to go back,” Merton stated, his body trembling.

  Alden shook his head. “You cannot fight, not anymore. For God’s sake, I beat you with one blow. Galahad—”

  “Then what is the point in living?” Merton yelled, angry tears rolling down his cheeks. “I am no good to man or beast. I am a burden, some poor bastard who needs looking after for the rest of his days.”

  “Don’t do this to yourself. You will never be a burden to me. Tell me, if Amandine were alive, would you still think your life was not worth living?” Alden asked, refraining desperately from shaking some sense into his brother. “Would you want to die if it were Amandine standing in front of you now and not me?”

  “But she isn’t standing in front of me, is she? She is dead.” Merton swiped angrily at his tears.

  “Come here,” Alden ordered with a sigh as he pulled his brother closer and embraced him.

  Merton did not resist his brother’s embrace, even though he didn’t want it. What was the point in fighting anymore? Alden was right. They were all right. He should have stayed in the monastery with Sampson. He had no place amongst able-bodied men.

  “Let’s sit back down,” Alden encouraged.

  Merton allowed himself to be led back to the chair. He leant heavily on Alden as he walked, for the pain in his back was blinding him. He should have known better than to try to lift a sword. Emotionally, however, he felt numb. Alden was right. He couldn’t go to Brittany. He would never avenge his love. Those who had tortured her and killed her would never be brought to justice.

  “Galahad, look at me,” Alden ordered, as he sat down opposite him once more.

  Merton reluctantly raised his eyes. He felt such a deep sense of shame, and he felt the loss of what he had been. What was the point of a heart that was so desperate for revenge, when the body couldn’t deliver?

  “We will avenge Amandine. I promise you this. And you will be there to see it.” Alden said. “You have to trust me. I will not let her death go unpunished. I won’t—”

  “I cannot ask you to risk everything and fight my wars for me,” Merton sighed. “You should send me away to some place far away and forget I ever existed.”

  “It isn’t your war. It is my war too,” Alden stated.

  A loud and persistent knocking on the door interrupted the conversation.

  “Come in,” Merton said as he watched Alden shake his head. The look on Alden’s face told Merton that this conversation wasn’t over, but it was. Too much that shouldn’t have been said, had been said. Things would never be the same between the two of them again.

  “I am sorry to interrupt,” Garren said, looking from Alden’s face to Merton’s. He had heard shouting. Everyone in the Hall had heard shouting. And he had been sat on the edge of his seat wondering if he should get up and find out what was going on. But reason held him back. He had no right to interfere in either Merton’s or Alden’s life unless they let him. So when a messenger had come running in with eager eyes and a compelling message, it had given him the excuse he wanted to enter the chamber and find out what the hell was going on.

  “A boat full of nuns has landed at Penventinue. I thought you should know…” Garren sensed that his interruption was unwelcome.

  “A boat full of nuns?” Merton repeated with a forced smile. “That should please Sampson.”

  “When Sampson heard, he got on his horse, and I think he rode the other way,” Garren grinned, but no one else thought it funny. He cleared his throat to cover up his embarrassment.

  “What shall we do with them?” Garren asked Alden.

  “I’ll come,” Alden said, picking up his sword from the floor and sheathing it. “We best not keep them waiting. Women of God, I have found, are even more impatient than the men. Are you coming?” Alden turned to Merton with raised eyebrows. “Penventinue isn’t that far. And I think it will do us both good to get out of here and get some fresh air.”

  “Whatever you say, Sire.” Merton bowed his head mockingly.

  “Good. I’ll see you outside then,” Alden strode away.

  “Tough day?” Garren asked a moment later. He still hovered in the doorway unsure of his welcome.

  “Tough conversation, but then the truth always is,” Merton replied, rising slowly to his feet. “Can you pass me my stick?”

  “Of course,” Garren said and went to retrieve it.

  “Is it normal for you two to fight?” Garren asked as he picked up the sword as well.

  “It goes up there,” Merton pointed to the wall. “And to answer your question, no it is not normal for me and Alden to fight. Annis will knock both our heads together when she finds out.”

  “You love the Queen?” Garren asked as he lifted the sword back into its place.

  “What is not to love?” Merton asked.

  “Do you love her like you loved my wife, I mean Amandine,” Garren said awkwardly.

  “Amandine was your wife, and as much as I hate that, it is the truth,” Merton said as Garren handed him his stick. “And the answer is no. Annis and I are friends. She is a sister to me.”

  “I am sorry for asking. The two of you were so affectionate towards each other earlier—”

  “We were teasing Alden, always have done. It used to work like a charm, but he is wise to u
s now,” Merton’s chuckle was forced and fooled neither of them. “A boat full of nuns, did you say?”

  “That is what I said,” Garren replied as he tried to make sense of the complicated relationship that Merton and Alden had.

  “This should be fun,” Merton said dryly, as he walked slowly towards the door.

  “I should imagine it will be as entertaining as when you sat on that ant hill when you were four,” Garren responded with a wry grin, trying desperately to find some common ground, a common memory. All he and Merton had was an all too brief childhood. And even then they had never been close. Garren wanted to change that because, Merton, out of all of his brothers, seemed to be the only one who didn’t mind being in his company. Which was odd because of Amandine. Since coming back here, Garren had felt so alone, he felt like an intruder. Merton didn’t make him feel like that.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Merton said over his shoulder.

  “Oh, you do,” Garren laughed, as he caught up with him. “You blamed me for having ants in your—”

  “No, I didn’t,” Merton quickly denied.

  “Yes, you did,”

  “I might have done,” Merton stopped and turned to look at him. “I remember you laughing at my expense.”

  “It was funny,” Garren answered with another grin.

  “You didn’t think it that amusing when a couple of days later you went up to bed and discovered an army of red ants had taken a liking to your mattress and had built a nest inside of it,” Merton stated.

  “That was you? You put that nest in my mattress?” Garren asked with wide eyes. “You little bastard. Do you know how many times I was bitten that night?”

  “You shouldn’t have laughed at me,” Merton said in his defence.

  “I will remember not to in future. Is there anything else you want to confess?” Garren asked suspiciously.

  “You can find your favourite hunting knife tucked between the rafters and the thatching of the stable block at Benwick. And your precious shell, that mother gave you, is still at the bottom of the well. And that tunic with the gold thread, the one you used to favour, I think I put that under the loose flagstone under the kitchen table. And that milk, you were right, it did taste off, well, the milk in your cup did, anyway.”