Heather Graham

by The Kings Pleasure

  It had been cleaned, the sheets washed, the room aired. The scent of death was gone. The pain of it was not. She lay down on her bed and dozed. When she awoke, Lady Jeanette was there, a tray awaited her, and servants had brought a bath with steaming water as well.

  The luxury of bathing was wonderful. She doused her hair and remained in the hip tub until the water had grown cold. She dressed, and ate fresh bread with sweet butter, meat, and cheese. When she was done, she found that she could not stay away from her patient any longer, and she hurried back upstairs.

  Adrien lay in bed, bathed, refreshed, his chest still naked, his head up on a pillow. He was but a day away from the height of his fever, but that day had given him back the full faculties of his mind. His face remained ashen, but against the white linen sheets, his shoulders again seemed very bronzed, and powerful. He had surely lost some weight, and the illness had cost him tremendous energy, but already, the spark of vitality had returned.

  He spoke to Daylin, giving orders in a low, husky voice, wincing upon occasion. Weakness, she realized, was a tremendous burden for him.

  Daylin winked to her and left the room. She came near the bed cautiously.

  “I told you to go away,” he said. His voice was still hoarse and weak. Only his eyes retained their fierce glitter—vibrant, alive, the first full power of life to return.

  “I did not choose to go away. I am countess here,” she reminded him.

  “Obedience does not seem to be among your virtues.”

  “I don’t think of obedience as a virtue, milord, but rather as a requirement forced upon women by men who want something from them.”

  His eyes closed, but she thought that the slight curl or a smile touched his lips.

  “I haven’t the strength at the moment to joust with you, my lady. But virtue or requirement, I imagine we will have to discuss the matter of obedience soon enough.”

  Danielle frowned, quickly growing worried. Even when he smiled, he did so in a weary manner. Something was different about him now.

  He had survived; Joanna had not. And as the fever had ebbed and left him once again with a clear mind, he had remembered burying the woman he had loved. There was a numbness about him. He didn’t give a damn about much anymore, and didn’t intend to battle her.

  “Why?” she asked, frowning.

  He winced, trying to sit up before answering her. But before he could speak, there was a tapping on the door. It opened a crack, and Daylin looked in. With a gesture, Adrien bid him enter. Gariston’s young priest, Father Adair, and another man, a stranger to Danielle, entered the room.

  “Ah, Sir George!” Adrien said, startled and frowning. “What in God’s name are you doing here? There’s plague here, man! Ask the good father there—we’ve crosses all about the fortress to warn away the unwary—”

  “Adrien MacLachlan!” said the newcomer, a tall, well-built man with iron-gray hair, warm brown eyes, and a pleasant face. “And my lady!” he added, turning swiftly to bow to Danielle. “I’m one such as you are yourself now, a survivor of the wretched scourge. I do not fear to tread among it.”

  Adrien arched a brow very high. “But why, sir, have you come here?”

  “I come in the king’s service,” Sir George said. “He grows anxious. News of Lady Joanna’s death has reached him, and he sends you his deepest sympathy.”

  Adrien inclined his head. “Tell him I thank him for his sympathy.”

  Sir George nodded. “But many have died. Whole villages have perished. The king reminds you that, even in his sorrow and yours, he must lead his country.”

  “Sir George, just what is it that our mighty sovereign wants from me?” Adrien asked flatly.

  Sir George grinned from ear to ear. “Adrien! I practice my diplomacy with the great care and tact, and you—”

  “We both know the king wants something. What is it?”

  Sir George hesitated. “The matter of the countess must be resolved,” he said at last.

  Danielle gasped, staring from Sir George to Adrien once again. “He has barely escaped the clutches of the Black Death!” Danielle said, “And you come here and—”

  “Ah, my lady! Such concern. It is applaudable!” Sir George said, pleased as he looked at Adrien.

  “She isn’t concerned, she’s horrified,” Adrien said bluntly. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He exhaled, a weary action, not opening his eyes again.

  Danielle came to Adrien’s bed and stood staring down at him, feeling tremors shake through her. She had sat here night after night, praying for him, doing all in her power to help him. But Adrien didn’t give a damn about anything at the moment. He had buried Joanna. The future meant nothing to him.

  “Adrien, you told me you were in my debt!” she whispered.

  His eyes opened upon her dispassionately. It was obvious that he had used his strength, and grown exhausted. “I am in your debt, little fool!” he whispered softly. “I am not doing anything to hurt you. Can’t you understand that? Appease Edward now, milady, and you will have years of freedom.”

  “At what cost at the end of those years?” she whispered frantically in return.

  “You will not spend them in Denmark, married to a sick, cantankerous old man,” he replied.

  She started to turn away—to use what power she could and simply flee the room, but Adrien reached out, his fingers curling firmly around her wrist with a startling power and strength. She could scarcely move, much less flee.

  “I am, as always, Sir George, the king’s servant. His wish is my command,” Adrien said with a touch of irony.

  “Then—”

  “Indeed, I agree to the betrothal.”

  “But I—” Danielle began.

  “We can attend to the matter at a convenient time,” Adrien interrupted her.

  “Now, my lord, is quite convenient,” Sir George said.

  “Now?” Adrien said. “I remind you, Sir George, I am lying on what was very nearly my deathbed!”

  “No matter, it is a legal and spiritual matter, and though ceremony and pageantry are nice, they are not necessary. Father Joseph will bind you both spiritually as well as legally. I stand as witness for the king—and yourself, of course—and the Lady Jeanette for the countess. I have taken the liberty of providing the betrothal ring, and we can begin as soon as Lady Jeanette can be summoned. I shall call her myself.” He bowed to Adrien and exited the room.

  Danielle tried to wrench free from Adrien’s grasp and she nearly shrieked out loud when he put more pressure upon her wrist. He might be half dead, but he could still crush her every bone.

  “You promised me once you’d not agree to this!” she told him, leaning down and whispering to him alone.

  “It’s a betrothal, not a marriage,” he told her.

  “They are all but one and the same!” she hissed.

  “Do you want me to leave you to the king’s mercy?” he asked her. “You little fool! Trust me, Sir George has come here with all necessary legal papers. You will be the bride of the Dane, Sir Andreson, by proxy within the hour if you do not agree to this.”

  She bit into her lower lip, wildly fighting tears. Edward! It seemed that he wished to ruin her life.

  “Edward can’t—he can’t—”

  “You little fool. He can. Damn you, I’m doing this for you! Don’t you understand?”

  She understood; she understood all too well. Edward! She would do his will, or pay a terrible price. But she didn’t want to be indebted to Adrien, and she definitely didn’t want to be betrothed to him. He would never love her, never want her; the hostilities between them went far too deep, and now, he mourned Joanna as well. His heart was deadened.

  “I hate the king!” she whispered miserably. “I cannot win—”

  “But,” Adrien told her softly, his eyes closed in weariness, “you can gain what you want most.”

  “Which is—”

  “Aville,” he said simply.

  “What do you mean?”

>   “Safely betrothed to me, the king will not interfere if I allow you to return to Aville.”

  She inhaled on a gasp. “Do you promise? Swear on your knight’s honor?”

  “Aye. Milady, I pay my debts.”

  “You are not in my debt!”

  “You worked hard to save my life.”

  “I’m sure you would have been wretchedly strong enough to live without my help!”

  “Such words of affection will truly bind us forever,” he assured her with soft irony. The young priest was watching them with a worried frown. Daylin was pretending not to notice their vehemently whispered conversation.

  “Don’t lie to me, Adrien! Will you really let me go to Aville?”

  Adrien strained hard to garner the strength to come even closer to her. “I owe you for Joanna, and for myself. Take care with what I offer you, for I will swear to send you to Aville, but you will not create a schism there between the people and their overlord, Edward of England. Keep your word and your honor with me, and I will do so with you. I swear it. By God, and on Lady Joanna’s soul.”

  “When may I go?” she asked.

  “As soon as I manage to give you safe escort.”

  He fell back, exhausted, but his hold upon her wrist remained as tight as an iron shackle. It didn’t matter. She didn’t intend to leave.

  She stood very stiff and straight, silent. When Sir George returned and Lady Jeanette and the priest began to drone on about the sanctity and commitment of a betrothal, she didn’t utter a single word of protest.

  Later, when all the words had been said, when the legal documents had been signed and sealed, she escaped at last. In her room she stood dazed. She suddenly felt the coldness of the simple gold ring Adrien had slipped upon her finger. It was too large for her, but oddly, it felt tight. As tight as the vise his fingers had twined around her wrist. As tight as the ropes that seemed to wind and knot around her throat, encompass her heart.

  It didn’t matter, she told herself.

  She had obeyed the king’s wishes, Adrien’s command. She had sold her soul!

  But she had gained …

  Aville.

  In the weeks that followed, Danielle was very careful to keep her distance from Adrien.

  He scarcely noticed. A darkness had fallen over him, and he preferred to be alone. His recovery came quickly enough, and when it did, he spent countless hours in the courtyard, working with his horses, with his sword, with lances, and with his armor. Sir Thackery recovered more slowly, and Danielle realized after a while that Adrien had only been waiting for Sir Thackery to become well enough to take over the management of Gariston once again before leaving it himself.

  Most of the countryside had been ravished by the plague. Nearly half of those living in the southern counties of England had died, and the Black Death had taken its toll elsewhere as well. Farm animals roamed wild, fields fell to waste. It seemed a time of waiting for them all.

  Upon occasion, Danielle thought that Adrien lost his look of brooding darkness and watched her, yet with what thoughts she didn’t know. He was longing to leave himself, she learned from Daylin. He wanted to go back to the rugged border lands, his father’s home. He had recovered from the sickness, but something inside him had not come through so well, and somehow, Danielle understood. Still, he said nothing about her leaving, and held back on his own preparations to ride north.

  But one night he finally sent Daylin to summon her to the great hall and she hurried down, wary and anxious.

  He stood before the great hearth, hands folded behind his back. He turned and watched her for a long moment.

  “It’s time, my lady, that you may go to Aville. You may begin your journey tomorrow.”

  She moistened her lips. “Tomorrow?”

  He nodded gravely, still watching her intently. “There are things you must know. The King of France has died,” he said very softly.

  “Philip!” she gasped.

  He nodded. She swallowed hard. She was sorry; he had been so kind to her. But it had been years since she had seen him.

  “His son, Jean, has been crowned, and when you return, you will visit Jean and honor him as his subject beneath our own overlord, Edward. You will, however, continue to hold Aville as Edward’s rightfully inherited property.”

  “Aye, milord!” she cried, inclining her head to hide the excitement in her eyes. It had been so very long. It had been a different world …

  Her world. Her home, where Lenore had lived. Where she had given a vow to protect and honor a different king …

  Philip was dead.

  But his son would now rule. Her vow to her mother to honor and protect the house of Valois would not change.

  Traitorous thoughts! But Adrien was keeping his promise.

  “I will, milord, attend to our French interests as you command,” she said evenly.

  “I will be going on to Scotland for some time,” he told her.

  “God speed your journey, milord.”

  “God hang me—as long as he keeps me away from you, isn’t that right?” he inquired.

  She gasped softly, but he waved a hand in the air dismissively. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Lady Jeanette, it seems, has formed an attachment for Sir Thackery, and will remain here, aiding in his recovery. Dr. Coutin has determined to remain here as well. Monteine travels with you, along with a number of my men whom I have chosen to advise you and watch over you. You will have a safe journey, I am certain, for I don’t believe that all the demons in hell could waylay you now.”

  “Perhaps not, milord. I bid you good night, and goodbye,” she said.

  Yet when she would have hurried by him, she found her wrist caught in his grasp, just as it had been on the occasion of their betrothal. She looked from the powerful bronzed hand to his face, willing herself to be still, and wait.

  She felt the gold sweep of his eyes move over her. “Do not betray me!” he warned her. “Heed me well, Danielle. Keep your honor and your promises to me, as I keep mine to you. Break trust in me, my lady, and God help you. Do you understand?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to meet his eyes. A tightness rose in her throat. For a moment, she could scarcely breathe.

  She could not wait to run away from him.

  And yet …

  She already felt the strangest anguish that he would not be near. A breathlessness touched her. Her heart pounded too fiercely. She needed to escape!

  “Godspeed your journey!” she gasped.

  And she tore from his hold, running up the stairs.

  He had already left the next morning when she bid her fond farewell to Sir Thackery and rode out from Gariston. It hurt to leave, yet with Adrien already gone, Gariston itself seemed empty, and she couldn’t understand the feeling.

  She turned her eyes, and heart, toward France, amazed at how very hard it was to leave England. She had once thought that all she wanted to do was go home, but somehow, it now felt as if she were leaving home once again.

  Aville! she told herself. It was where her loyalties must lie.

  She would make it her home again.

  Part II: …go the spoils.

  Chapter 10

  ADRIEN SAT UPON ONE of the high, ragged craigs near his family’s ancient manor house, watching idly as a great flock of sheep were hurried along by two young girls and a pair of barking dogs. He saw them go, then laid back upon the cool length of the rock beneath him and stared up at the sun even as he felt the coolness of the breeze.

  He had not come here immediately after Joanna’s death as he had intended. A recklessness had seized him in those days, and he had found himself journeying across Europe, into Hainault, Bruges, Ghent, and even down into Bavaria. He joined any tournament, and for months, fought with such raw determination that he could not be bested. He did not lose a contest.

  But Sir George had found him at a victory banquet in Flanders where he had been very drunk. And Sir George had informed him that the king was ordering him to
stay alive with all his limbs intact. Adrien had said that he wanted to go to Scotland; if he still wanted to do so, it was time. In the morning, sober, he had begun his journey to the windswept fields of rock and heather his father had called his own.

  He had been glad to come home, and it had been a strange experience. There was no land that he loved as he loved this rocky place, no place else on earth where tufts of grass grew so tenaciously, in so many different colors, where the wind could blow cold one minute, then offer a touch of warmth the next. He loved the hills, the raw rock, the lochs, the rugged beauty. He had been gone so long he hadn’t known he had missed it. He had left here as a boy and returned a man, and there had been much that he wanted done. The MacLachlan manor he had once thought so huge and fine was decaying and small. He brought masons in to enlarge and repair it, bought more sheep to add to his flocks, enticed more craftsmen into his village. All this he did with a certain fervor, trying to forget the plague, the ostentatious court of the king, the death of Joanna, his betrothal to Danielle. He settled clan disputes, chose more young men to train at arms, and continued to work hard at his own strength and expertise, for he knew that he would not stay home forever. It seemed a waiting period for him, though he did not know what he waited for.

  For some time he wallowed in the pain of Joanna’s death, but in the end, he forced himself to realize that part of his pain was guilt. He had determined again and again that they would wed, yet he had let the time pass. He had been glad to be her lover, yet he had not been eager to tie himself down. He had cared for her, and deeply. But not deeply enough.

  In time, he forgave himself, just as he knew that she would have forgiven him. Indeed, she had understood him better than he had himself, all that time. For many months, he mourned Joanna in abstinence. But even after he had come to peace with himself and taken a number of lovers, he found that no one could still the restlessness within him. And one night, in the warm, cozy cottage of a goldsmith’s widowed daughter, he found himself staring into the fire that burned in her hearth and wondering what he was missing. The fire seemed to leap with a number of colors—blues, reds, and greens—and he frowned. To his amazement, he realized the green of the flame had reminded him of Danielle, of the extraordinary color of her eyes.