“I will get her to Gariston as commanded and return as soon as possible. Then we must bring our petition to the king.”
Danielle watched as Joanna, with her bright blue eyes and sable hair, ran a delicate finger down the warrior’s cheek. It was a pretty motion, and somehow stirred Danielle’s heart—or perhaps would have done so, had the warrior not been MacLachlan. “My dear Scot’s laird!” Joanna said softly. “Aye, indeed, I would love to wed you. But …”
“Aye, but?” he demanded, glowering fiercely.
“Do you know, my noble laird,” Joanna asked softly, “that you do not truly love me?”
He seemed taken aback by her words, startled. He caught her hands, frowning. “Joanna, I have loved you a long time—”
“There’s a difference being loving and being in love.”
“Joanna, men and women are often wed as total strangers! Think of all that we have!”
“I do. And I am grateful. I just wish that—” she broke off, shrugging.
“We will wed—we are both happily agreed!” Adrien announced.
Joanna laughed softly. “Ah, Adrien! Indeed, we will wed, for you are my great and indomitable warrior, and I defy my father—or, heaven forefend, the king!—to stop us!”
He was going to kiss her. Danielle was deeply upset, hearing that MacLachlan was to escort her anywhere—much less to her noble father Robert’s home. And she certainly didn’t want to watch anything tender between MacLachlan and Joanna. She turned quickly on her heels, determined to escape them both for the moment.
She heard a sigh, and then a moaning sound that gave her pause. Afraid that Joanna might be suffering, she looked back. Joanna wasn’t suffering. She was clinging to MacLachlan, who seemed towering, all height and steel, as he held her.
Oh, he was a wretch! Danielle thought. By sheer luck he had taken a fine French knight at tournament, and now it seemed that he also had Joanna at will.
Danielle bit into her lower lip, unnerved by the strange warmth that filled her. She realized again that she might soon find herself a marriage pawn. She was considered an incredible prize because of her vast holding and watching these two, she felt newly afraid. Joanna wanted to be with her warrior. What would marriage be if a woman despised her partner?
Just how long would the king refuse all petitions for her hand, and why did he wait?
Dismayed that she had stood watching the two, Danielle, her face on fire, all but ran down the corridor until she stopped, holding the wall, gasping for breath.
Then she froze as she heard the booted footsteps of a man close behind her.
She shot quickly into an alcove and waited. A moment later, Adrien MacLachlan walked on past her. She held her breath while she watched him open one of the chamber doors and disappear into the room beyond it.
Private apartments lined this corridor. Only those most honored by King Edward were given these rooms. Many a knight slept atop another in the crowded sleeping chambers at court. At times, some even slept in the hall.
How could Joanna love MacLachlan? He didn’t deserve her. He had gained everything in life by his treachery against Lenore and Aville. And now, he was to escort her to Aville. How could the king be so cruel? Could he possibly think that she didn’t realize how bitterly MacLachlan had wounded her family?
She backed away as the door to his room opened. His squire came out, his laird’s boots in his hands. Danielle hurried along the hallway to escape, yet discovered that they walked in the same direction, toward the massive kitchens.
She pretended to have come for an herb as a headache remedy for the queen. As she waited, she saw MacLachlan’s squire sit on a bench to polish the boots. His task quickly accomplished, the lad moved away, while she still waited.
Curious to see where he had gone, she spun around, knocking an earthenwear jug off one of the great wooden work tables.
It plopped straight into a boot. Gasping as she quickly bent to retrieve it, she discovered that the jug contained honey—or had contained honey. Most of the sticky substance was now in the boot. She stared in dismay, then bit into her lower lip as she smiled. She hadn’t even done it on purpose, but MacLachlan was getting what he deserved. God, she decided, was on her side.
Adrien lay in bed awhile after he awoke the next morning. It was early, and he didn’t like the task of escort that lay before him.
He stared at the ceiling in his chamber, wondering when he would be able to speak with the king regarding Joanna.
A private audience with the king might be difficult now, since he was being sent on a fool’s mission with the girl. And the king had determined to hurry to the countryside himself; they would all be leaving that day.
Adrien had yet to see the plague, but he’d heard enough about the awful black fever to know that it cared little whether a man was noble or peasant, strong or lean. The best thing about it was that death often occurred with lightning speed. When it did not, pustules formed all over the body. Some people survived when they burst …
But many died, in great pain.
He did not fear death; he had faced it too many times. But he was afraid of his own weaknesses, and prayed that the disease would not strike him down.
The fear of the plague did not make him any more pleased to be leaving Joanna, even though she had assured him she would take the greatest care. “My noble lord, with the queen’s permission, I can either travel to my father’s marsher estates, far west of where the sickness encroaches now, close to the Welsh border, or else … I can journey to see my friend, the Countess of Gariston and Aville.”
The thought of Joanna arriving at Aville was a pleasant enough one, and maybe her father would give her permission to come. Adrien chafed anew that he had waited too long before seeking a marriage with Joanna, but there had been so much that was comfortable and easy between them that he had not imagined things could go wrong. Her father liked him, he liked her father. Since he had come home, their relationship had deepened; she had slipped into his chambers at night, and though the thought of behaving nobly and sending her away had crossed his mind, the hungers and fires of youth had burned away any idea of restraint. Making love to her was pleasant, like everything else about her, comfortable, easy. If he awoke upon occasion at night to discover that he felt that something was just a little bit lacking, it only served to make him remind himself very fiercely that he loved her and intended to marry her. She would make an excellent, loving mother for the sons and daughters he intended to have, a multitude of children, strong and indomitable, in his father’s memory.
Not wanting to act as Danielle’s escort would not change things. Edward had firmly assured Adrien that he was in dire need of his service. It was an important journey, since the countess had never set foot upon her English holdings before and it was necessary that the lady realize that her father had been an Englishman, a knight honored by the king. Edward apparently wanted the girl taught that her holdings in England were rich, and to be managed responsibly.
Adrien was certain that Edward was irritated with the girl’s … Frenchness. But since she had grown up in Aville, and surely knew a number of her Valois relations, Adrien wasn’t quite certain what else she could be. Still, the king’s attitude toward her seemed strange altogether. He would sometimes stare at her broodingly from his chair in the great hall at dinner. He would speak of her beauty with pride, then state furiously that she must be kept well beneath his thumb because she had a dangerous and reckless streak that he recognized well. Adrien could only assume he was referring to the lass’s mother, the spell-binding Lenore.
She was a danger—indeed. Adrien wasn’t at all sure of what he had done to draw her enmity, but he had the suspicion that she was the one to have peppered his wine outside Calais. He had caught her eyes upon him at times, and they glittered with a wild, green fire. She was always an angel in Philippa’s presence, and she seemed to care for the queen, dropping her eyes like the sweetest innocent when Philippa was near.
But Adrien had seen he
r as well in the courtyard with the king’s son, John, learning swordplay from his master and never retreating from any situation. He wondered suddenly if she was aware that he had been involved in the taking of Aville—but that happened before she was born. She couldn’t really be aware of it. No—she had just decided that she didn’t like him. Pity. She was going to have to tolerate him, and do so courteously.
Adrien rose. He slept naked, and when he washed, he was glad to douse his chest and arms as well as his face, for the coldness of the water helped to awaken him.
He dried himself and paused where he stood. Ah, well, he was stuck, and that was that. If he remembered just how kind a mentor Robert of Oxford had been to him, and just how much he had admired Lenore, he could make the journey in honor of the two.
He donned his hose, shirt, and tunic, still telling himself that the coming journey would end soon enough—all things did.
Adrien had just talked himself into something of a better disposition when he sat at the foot of his bed to don his boots. He shoved a foot in his left boot hard and immediately started at the sticky slush he felt through his stocking. “What in God’s name …”
He pulled out his foot. It was covered in golden slime. Honey!
His voice rose as he swore vociferously, threw the boot down, and stared at it in amazement.
“Who … ?”
Who, indeed. His eyes narrowed. The little French wench herself. She with the wide, glittering emerald eyes, raven hair, and deceptive beauty.
He slammed his boot down and hobbled with his honeyed foot to his door, threw it open, and stumbled out into the hallway. As it happened, one of the girl’s companions, Monteine, was hurrying down the corridor just as he appeared. He caught her arm, spinning her around to face him.
“Milord!” she cried in surprise.
“Where is the little witch?” he demanded.
“Milord, I’m not at all certain to whom—”
“Milady Danielle d’Aville. Where is she?”
“Preparing for her journey, naturally, I swear it—”
“Where?” he all but roared.
She jumped with alarm, gesturing down the corridor. “Down there, second door. But milord—”
He heard no one. Heedless of his sticky toes and stockinged feet, he hurried down the corridor. Her door was slightly ajar—he slammed it inward.
She stood alone in her room, folding a garment. She was startled by the shuddering of her door as it slammed, but she didn’t jump back—she barely paused in her actions. She stared up at him, an ebony brow arching with regal disdain.
She looked far older than her thirteen years. For the first time he realized that she had grown very feminine curves, and that her face was perfectly molded. Her delicate features gave her an air of dignified maturity as well, as did the green fire in her eyes, the hike of her chin.
“Milord?” she inquired, her tone regal and patronizing.
He smiled. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “Milady. You are the king’s ward. Poor little French orphan, adapting to all things English! Well, I knew your father. And he would not want his daughter to mature into an insufferable brat! If you would play pranks on me, Countess, you had best take care, for you will pay the price for mischief with me!”
She didn’t move a muscle or betray the least fear. In fact, she had the audacity to appear aggrieved herself. She kept her tone low and cool as she replied, “You don’t dare touch me, milord. I am the king’s ward.”
“You don’t deny—”
“Milord, if you will please vacate my chambers?” she inquired softly.
“Vacate!” he exclaimed. “Vacate. Ah, milady—”
He didn’t know quite what he had intended—maybe just to strangle her then and there. But he had come halfway across the room to her when he heard his name called with a slight sound of alarm to it.
Called by the king.
“Adrien!”
He gave pause, steeling himself, and turned to face Edward.
“Have you a difficulty?” Edward asked. The girl’s companion, Monteine, stood uneasily behind the king. Adrien could well imagine that she had gone tearing down the hall, all but screaming that one of his knights was about to do some dire evil to her young mistress.
“I fear so, sire,” he said evenly, his jaw remaining tight. “I awoke this morning to find that my boots were filled with something other than my feet. Strangely, I believe the sweet young countess here to be responsible!”
Edward’s eyes quickly fell upon Danielle. Adrien thought that the king didn’t doubt it in the least, but he frowned, demanding, “Milady?”
“Milord king?”
“Are you responsible, as my Laird Adrien believes?”
“If he is such a warrior, why would he tremble over something in his boots? And, indeed, sire, why would I wish to bother with his filthy footwear?” she returned, her voice soft with amusement.
“Your Grace,” Adrien said flatly, “it seems milady is well in need of some discipline! She is favored by you and the queen, I am well aware. But sire, you have charged me with her welfare, and I’ll not tolerate such behavior!”
“She’s my responsibility now,” the king said with a sigh, “And therefore, out of your hands. But come with me, Adrien, I’d have a word with you.”
The king started out of the room. Monteine rushed toward Danielle, glancing uneasily and guiltily at Adrien.
Adrien should have followed the king. But he paused, then took a menacing step toward the girl. She didn’t recoil, but this time, he thought with a minor sense of triumph, she did seem to start and go just a shade pale.
“Milady, trust me. Try something again, and the king will not be about to protect you!”
“Alas!” she cried. “And what will you do now? Bring about the fall of Aville again? But it has already fallen—the king already holds it! Use trickery to take knights superior to your own strength and ability? Just what will you do?” To Adrien’s amazement, she suddenly took a step toward him, hands clenched before her tightly. “What a perfect life you’ve created, Laird Adrien, on the misfortunes of others. Perhaps things shouldn’t always be so perfect. You don’t deserve all you’ve gained through the ruin of Aville! You assuredly don’t deserve Joanna—”
“What?” he snapped.
“The king has summoned you!” she reminded him suddenly.
“What did you say?” he demanded anew.
Monteine, pretty brown eyes wide, hurried behind Danielle, holding her shoulders. “She said nothing, Laird Adrien—”
“I said that you don’t deserve Joanna. She is gentle, kind, and sweet. And you are just like that wretched lion on your shield, roaring, scratching, clawing—grasping!”
Once again, he found himself taking a step closer, lifting a finger beneath her nose.
“And you, milady, are quite likely to get a sound switching soon—with or without the king’s consent!”
Since he was itching to take her right over his knee, he determined to make an exit on that line, spinning after the words, and forcing himself to quit her chambers quickly. When he came into the hall, he was surprised to find Edward alone in the corridor—awaiting him there.
“She lived too long among the French,” Edward said with a sigh. “I should have demanded that Lenore send her to me upon occasion, but then, there were so many battles to be waged and while Lenore lived …” His voice trailed and he looked away, but then stared at Adrien hard again. “Perhaps you could go more gently with her.”
“More gently?” Adrien said incredulously. “That would all but invite her to come into my room while I slept and slit my throat!”
“Come now, it isn’t that bad.”
“She needs discipline, sire.”
“You were far younger than she when you brought about the fall of Aville. There were times then when my own men—as well as the defenders of the place!—thought you were in need of some discipline.”
“I
had discipline ground into me by your chosen masters, milord.”
“Be that as it may, the girl remains my concern. I cannot let you discipline her, as it stands. However …” The king said, and cleared his throat, “that is a situation I wish to change.”
“I beg your pardon, sire?” Adrien said warily.
“Ah, my boy!” Edward clapped a hand upon his shoulder. “You and the lass are much alike, did you realize that? As much as I long to take a hand to her as well at times, I am deeply impressed by her fire and spirit. And loyalty! You must remember, Adrien, as yet, she’s spent much more time across the Channel then she has spent here. Remember what an adjustment it was to leave your family in Scotland? To serve a different king?”
Adrien stood very still for a moment. “I remain loyal to David of Scotland. Even though I serve you and he is your prisoner.”
“I have dealt fairly with him.”
“I know. And so I remain your servant, Edward,” Adrien said quietly.
“Indeed. My servant. And that is something I wish to discuss with you.”
“Aye?” Adrien said, growing evermore concerned and careful.
“I wish to bestow on you land worthy of the finest man! And a wife of the fairest form and beauty!”
Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. “I had meant to speak with you for some time on the matter of marriage, milord. I—”
“I have pondered this for some time now,” Edward said, firmly interrupting him. “I wish to betroth you to the Lady Danielle d’Aville. She becomes your responsibility to discipline as you will. If you’re not ready for marriage you may wait, as long as you are legally betrothed. Not only is the fortress at Gariston an excellent one, the land is some of the richest in the country, the sheep are plentiful, the grain grows with greater vigor than any weed!”
Marriage! To the green-eyed little witch who was out for his throat? “Edward!” he gasped, “I meant to beg for the hand of the Lady Joanna—”
“Ah, Joanna! Sweet, fair, and lovely. But not for you, my boy! She’s too gentle—you need a touch of fire—”
“So you’d give me a … young shrew?”
Heather Graham Page 9
