Heather Graham

by The Kings Pleasure

  “On what grounds?”

  “I don’t know, but trust me—lawyers and clerics can find grounds when they are needed.”

  “Simon, this is dangerous!”

  “Just say that you won’t betray me!”

  “You know I’d never betray you!” she promised swiftly, aware then that there were footsteps on the garden path at last, and someone was coming.

  “Danielle, please!” Simon said. “I must talk to you.”

  “This is dangerous, you risk so much—”

  “I’ll risk my life, I swear, here and now, if you won’t at least talk with me in private! Please, I beg you! Tomorrow, let’s plan a hunt, and we can manage to ride ahead and share a few more moments’ privacy.”

  “Simon—” she began, but Giles Reeves chose that moment to come upon them, his eyes quite stern, his bald pate shining in the sunlight.

  “Ah, my lady! There you are.” As if he had not known! she thought with some amusement.

  “Indeed, Giles, did you need me?”

  “Aye, lady. The accountant is uncertain what payment we promised the bear-keeper who entertained in the courtyard last night. He thinks the fellow is out to cheat us, and wishes you to settle the matter.”

  “Ah!” Danielle said. She came quickly to her feet, assisted by Giles. But when she stood, Simon took her hand and bowed low over it, kissing it. Giles appeared ready to burst, but there was nothing amiss in the chivalrous way Simon treated her. He was a member of King Jean’s Order of the Star, a French equivalent to the English Order of the Garter.

  “I shall be riding out this afternoon, milady,” Simon told her. “But I am eager to accept your invitation for the morning.”

  “Invitation, sir?” Giles said suspiciously.

  “A hunt,” Danielle heard herself explain swiftly. “The game is rich in the forest beyond the river. Simon has been telling me that the deer are plentiful.”

  Giles frowned. “Hunting has been rich indeed, my lady! You’re well aware that the wretched Count of Armagnac raids more and more deeply into Gascon territory! There are areas nearby where the people are in terror. A small hunting party might appear to be easy prey.”

  “Ah, Giles! Who would dare cause me trouble?” she asked. “No Englishman would harm me, and no Frenchman, as I am kin to the house of Valois.” She touched his cheek with a smile. “Adieu then, Simon. ’Til tomorrow.”

  He bowed and left her with Giles.

  “That one will cause trouble,” Giles said.

  “Giles! He is a chivalrous knight, a member of the Order of the Star!”

  “The French mimic his grace of England, Edward, in all things,” Giles said disdainfully.

  Danielle smiled. “Giles, the French are quick to say that the Order of the Garter is only the Order of the Garter because Edward’s mistress, the Countess of Salisbury, could not keep her garter upon her person as she danced. What is the motto, Giles? Honi soit qui mal y pense! Evil to him who thinks evil of it!” She laughed softly.

  “The Earl of Glenwood is a member of that most noble order, my lady! They place honor above all else, fight with great loyalty, care for knights who have become impoverished, who can no longer care for themselves!”

  “So noble!” she agreed, trying to conceal a smile. King Edward himself was a member of the order he had founded. And she wasn’t sure at all what sense of nobility had caused him to create the Order of the Garter when he did have so gentle, loyal, and noble a queen!

  “You have been away from home too long, milady,” Giles said sadly.

  She started to tell him that she was home, but hesitated. Life could be so strange. Sometimes she longed to return to Gariston, to see Sir Thackery again, hold his old hands, sit with him before the fire.

  “Perhaps I miss England at times,” she told him, smiling. “But our life here is good, isn’t it?”

  Today, Giles didn’t agree. “Milady, I don’t think you understand all that is happening around you. Comte Armagnac is in open rebellion—King Jean claims he works on his own, but all know he works for the French King!”

  “Pretender?” Danielle suggested with some amusement.

  Giles sniffed. “The men beneath the Count of Armagnac behave as heathens!”

  “All men behave as heathens in war.”

  “They burn houses, slay men, seize the women.”

  “Giles, I will be hunting with some of the finest trained men in the country. Aville is stronger than it has ever been, sure to stand against a force such as Armagnac’s—if he were to dare to accost me! No ill will come to me, Giles, I promise you!” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and left him, hurrying in.

  She smiled as she left him. There was always a diplomatic way to do as she chose. She wouldn’t want to hurt Sir Giles under any circumstances.

  But she was countess here.

  And she was going to be the one to rule in a place that was hers by right.

  A strange tremor raced along her spine, and was gone. She wondered at her sudden sense of fear. Giles had made her uneasy, that was all. No one would dare waylay her. She had to go hunting tomorrow, she had to try to understand just what Simon was doing, and she had to try very hard to persuade him from any danger. She didn’t know quite what her feelings for him were, but at the very least, he was a friend, and she didn’t want him hurt.

  Leaves rustled suddenly as the wind changed direction. She looked about her, and felt a sense that the world was changing once again as well, that she must be wary of …

  Of … something.

  She laughed aloud impatiently, lifted her chin, and enjoyed the feel of the breeze.

  The weather was beautiful; her home was beautiful.

  She smiled to herself, and hurried once again toward the hall.

  Chapter 11

  THERE WASN’T REALLY A problem with the accountant. Giles had merely thought that she had spent a bit too much time with the handsome young Frenchman. Danielle passed through the great hall to the stairs, making her way to the master’s chambers at the end of the hallway on the second level. When she came into the room and closed the door behind her, she paused. This had been Lenore’s room, and little had changed since her mother’s death. The massive canopied bed stood in the center of the rear wall; the tapestried spread and draperies remained the same. The room was a rectangle, with chairs and rugs before the fire, a stand for wine and goblets, a table for whatever work there was to be done. When she had come from Gariston, she’d had a separate privy added to the far wall, and a dressing hall. A very expensive looking-glass in a richly-carved frame stood next to the washstand near the fire. A line of books sat upon a small table by the bed, a curious mixture of material, for she loved romantic tales of deeds and daring that flourished in France and the Italian states and even in England, just as she was fascinated by texts on building, history, weapons, horses, and animal husbandry. She walked across the room, lying down atop her bed, selecting a book on poetry and unrequited love.

  There was a light tapping on her door and she heard her name called. It was Monteine. Danielle rose, opening the door quickly with a smile that faded as she saw Monteine’s worried frown.

  “What is it?”

  “Giles has told me you are going to ride out tomorrow,” Monteine said.

  Danielle arched a brow. “Monteine, I am an excellent horsewoman.”

  “I am really worried,” Monteine said, the frown remaining upon her pretty face. “These raids that have been going on into Gascony … the so-called noble knights riding with the comte have cruelly raped the women and beaten and slaughtered the men.”

  “Surely that is rumor! I can’t believe that they would all behave so brutally,” Danielle said. “They would not attack here, and if any man did so, the fortress can now withstand a massive force.”

  “Danielle, that is the point. The fortress is protected. That is why you should stay within it!”

  “I am riding with trained knights—”

  “With Simon!�
� Monteine hissed.

  “I am deeply distressed” Danielle said, “that you have so little faith in me!”

  “You have managed the castle with grace, justice, and wisdom,” Monteine said. “Your parents would be proud.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you simply do not realize …”

  “What?”

  “That you are quite a staggering prize.”

  “Monteine, surely—”

  “Please, listen to me. You know the ways of the world. Were you a rotting old crone of eighty, men would seek your hand because you have created a magnificent property that is coveted.”

  “I am betrothed, remember?”

  Monteine sniffed. “I remember, but do you?” she demanded unhappily. “Covetous men can seek ways to break a betrothal. And you must be careful.”

  “I am simply going hunting with a good friend, and I will be safe with him.”

  Monteine turned unhappily. She shivered. “My bones are aching!” she warned.

  Danielle grinned as Monteine left, then realized that she was shivering herself. She drew a soft mantle around her shoulders and went to the fire and stoked it. The flames burned more brightly. She still shivered.

  They took no birds of prey with them when they rode out, for they were armed with bows and arrows, intent on taking down deer or boar. It was a day like the last had been, with a beautiful sun riding in a powder blue sky. There were ten in their party as Giles had insisted there might be danger.

  But riding hard across the fields, Danielle didn’t feel it. Star was nearly twenty years old now, but remained a wonderful horse, as fleet and agile as she had ever been. Simon’s destrier was heavier and slower, and Danielle had always loved a race—and always loved to win. She led them all on a merry chase into the woods, with just Simon behind her as she entered into a sheltered trail where the world seemed green, covered by the duck branches of tall trees above.

  “It’s glorious, isn’t it?” Danielle said as Simon caught up with her. He didn’t seem terribly pleased that it had taken him so long to catch her, and he didn’t respond to her mood. “Danielle, we must talk,” he told her.

  “Yes, Simon, I am worried about you. You know that I care deeply for you. But—”

  “Hear me out, milady. Jean is a good king, a good man, deeply loved here. Edward is a treacherous bastard forever reaching out his grasping hands for France!”

  “For his own lands!” Danielle said softly, surprising herself with her defense of the English king.

  “Jean is going to see that Edward is expelled from all these lands. Ah, lady! Do not go down with the English. King Jean loves you, as his father loved your lady mother. He is your kin. Break the bonds that hold you now to an unworthy enemy!” he said, his voice husky and trembling. “Bear in mind, lady, that no man loves you more deeply than I!”

  Her heart seemed to catch within her throat, his words were spoken with such fervor. He was so charming, so earnest, so courteous, deferring to her in all things.

  She closed her eyes. She was afraid, but not for herself. She was afraid that war was coming again, and she was afraid that men would die.

  “Simon! I know King Edward. You mustn’t underestimate his power here, or his determination.”

  “And you must realize that you are a part of his strength. But Aville is yours, those people are yours! Where your heart lies, Aville will follow!”

  “Simon—”

  “Danielle, I seek nothing from you. I am a rich man, a titled man. I would love you all of my life.”

  “Simon, you are dear to me. I admire you, I enjoy your company, you have been the best friend I could find. But I must think—”

  “Think with your heart! And remember this,” he added anxiously, “I would never hurt you, but time grows short—”

  “Danielle!”

  Her name was shouted vehemently from down the trail. Startled, she swirled Star around in time to see Daylin come speeding toward them. “Riders are coming, armored and armed, bearing down on us. Turn, milady, and race for your life back to Aville!”

  “Riders? From where?” Danielle demanded as she quickly edged Star out of the copse of trees and saw what Daylin had seen. Over the hill, but coming swiftly toward their position, were perhaps a dozen mounted men. The ground seemed to tremble beneath them. Indeed, they wore battle armor. But they wore plain tunics and mantles atop their armor, with no crests, no badges or banners to identify themselves or their families—or even their nationality.

  “Danielle, I beg you!” Daylin cried. “You must keep yourself safe.”

  “I will ride with my lady and protect her to my death!” Simon cried. “He’s right. Danielle, come now, I beg of you!”

  She hesitated. If she rode away, she left her men, not nearly so well armed, to face this strange force of riders.

  “Go!” Simon cried, and he cracked a hand upon Star’s rump, causing the mare to rear and then plummet back to the earth at a wild run.

  Danielle ducked down flat against Star’s shoulder and neck, all but flying into the field. The riders saw her and swerved. She bent low to race again, but just before she did, she saw that a second wave of men came over the hill, fast on the heels of the first.

  She nudged Star hard. The ground thundered and rumbled beneath her. Behind her, she heart shouts, cries, and a tremendous clash of steel as her own people sped out to meet the attackers. She looked around her, anxious to see Simon at her side.

  But he wasn’t there.

  Her heart seemed to congeal in her chest. She reined in, swirling Star about to search for him, afraid he had been injured and lay dying. She had come far enough away that she could not see clearly anymore. The knights and men-at-arms fought a distance back from her, perhaps a hundred feet.

  Someone had come upon Simon! she thought, and her heart ached with fear. She told herself that he was a brave and well-trained knight, and could probably best any wretched thief or rebel raider.

  Then she saw that some of the riders had seen her pause, and she knew her own danger. She turned to race into the forest once again even as three broke from the melee to come charging after her.

  She would not be caught by any such wretches, she determined, not when such good men fought to save her life. She tore into the forest trail, ignoring the branches that whipped against her. The green shadows brought darkness all around her. She slowed her pace, making her way through the tightening trail. She reined in, barely daring to breathe.

  They were almost upon her. She slowed Star to a walk and stood dead still, her heart pounding.

  She listened.

  Someone was coming from her left. Someone else came from her right. If she could just remain still, they would cross in the shadows before her, never seeing her.

  Then Star sneezed. The sound, in the forest, seemed as loud as an explosion, pinpointing her exact location.

  Desperate, Danielle slipped quickly from Star’s back and hurried into the dense growth. She ran hard until she couldn’t catch her breath and her lungs were burning, and then she paused.

  The two riders had come upon one another, and apparently they had not been hunting her together. She held dead still as she heard shouts and grunts—and heavy clashes of steel. Someone was defending her, giving her time to run deeper into the forest.

  She started along the trail again, knowing that she couldn’t run forever. She kept running ahead, and suddenly burst into a clearing with a cottage. She paused, her heart thundering. The place had fallen into complete disrepair. It was dark and empty. The door hung askew.

  She looked behind her and heard rustling in the trees. She paused another moment, but the rustling continued.

  She ran swiftly across the copse, and into the cottage.

  It was black as ink within. She leaned against the wall, blinking, trying to adjust to the darkness. It was a one-room dwelling, hearth to the far left, tattered, decaying bed to the right. She cautiously took a step and paused, her heart pounding a
s she heard the squeal of mice racing about. She swallowed and came around the bed and just as she did, she inhaled sharply and held her breath, ducking to the ground.

  Someone else was in the cottage. Someone who had entered cautiously, silently, footfalls and movements unbelievably light.

  How long, she wondered, before she was discovered? she earned a small hunting knife in a slender sheath at her calf, and she started to finger it. It was not much of a weapon against an armed knight—she would have to be very close to use it.

  It could too easily be taken away.

  Flat against the floor, she suddenly saw the farm tools leaning against the wall. There lay a spade, an axe, a scythe. The last, she might not manage to wield at all, for it would be too long at such close quarters, and the spade might not offer enough of a menace. But the axe held promise. It had been some time since she had picked up a weapon, but now she was in real danger.

  She could hear breathing, she was certain. The slow, sure, heavy pounding of a heart. Her pursuer was close, so very close upon her.

  The footsteps were now coming around the end of the tattered bed. In a matter of seconds, he would be upon her.

  She reached for the axe, curling her fingers around its handle. She waited. The footsteps came around the corner. She would have one good chance.

  She leapt to her feet, crying out with a mighty lunge as she swung her heavy weapon.

  In the shadows, she saw only a towering figure. He was quick and agile, for he leapt back from the lethal swerve of her blade. A sword shone in the darkness, striking the axe with a power that sent it shuddering from her hands. For only a second she stood stunned, then she leaped atop the bed to escape across it. She all but flew back to the ground, racing for the door. She cast herself out into the green coolness of the copse, only to feel him upon her again, arms reaching out, fingers closing around her shoulder.

  She shrieked and started to run again, but the fingers closed around the material of her tunic, pulling her back. She lost her balance and fell. Face down in a rich tuft of grass, she quickly drew her small knife from its sheath. When she found herself rolled to face her attacker as he straddled her, she was ready.