She was surprised to feel him hesitate. “I would not have allowed you to bring Star under any circumstance.”
“Because she was a gift to me from Philip of France? He is dead now—it is his son who battles Edward.”
“I would not have allowed you to bring her because she means a great deal to you and I wouldn’t have her seized if there were a shortage of horses.”
She spun around to look at him, but he had turned away. “Come, Danielle.”
She gritted her teeth, hating his tone. It was stupid to fight him in every small battle. She still couldn’t bear his autocratic manner, and she refused to move. Ahead of her, he paused, bowed deeply, walked back to her with controlled anger, and swept her off her feet.
She didn’t eat until late afternoon. When they began to ride again after that, she was appalled to realize that she was going to be sick. She whispered Adrien’s name, afraid that she wouldn’t find the words to warn him in time, but he saw her face and quickly reined in. He helped her from the horse, and when he would have helped her further, she broke free and ran from him, into the brush by the side of the trail. They still rode parallel to a stream, and she hurried to it, anxious to douse herself with cold water. He found her there, and she was afraid for a minute that he was going to accuse her of feigning her illness to escape, but he didn’t. He came to her, lifting her chin and studying her with a frown.
“I’m—all right. It must have been something I ate, perhaps the fish.”
“We can rest a while—”
“No. I’m all right. Honestly. I feel fine now.”
His knuckles brushed her cheek and his eyes seemed to sweep her with fresh fire. Her knees seemed weak and she was afraid that she’d crumble there, before him. She lowered her lashes quickly, wishing with all her heart that she did not love him.
His hand lowered. He stepped away. “Then we will ride,” he told her.
She was better; she didn’t feel ill again the entire way. A few hours after sundown, she saw the vast village on the hill that Prince Edward had chosen to use as his base in the English ducal lands. The Castle de Renoncourt was a magnificent structure, commanding a view of the countryside for miles.
The town itself was not walled, but the castle was moated. The bridge was down and they crossed it, yet even as they entered the courtyard, Danielle was startled to see Prince Edward himself coming from the keep to meet them.
Prince Edward was a son and heir to make any father—or king—proud. He was magnificently tall, as the Plantagenets were famed to be, with thick honey-gold hair and flashing blue eyes. He was heavily-muscled, a mature man and a powerful warrior. Like all Plantagenets, he could be known for his excesses, but he had married Joan, known as the Maid of Kent, reputed to be one of the most beautiful women of their day. He could rage in fury like his father, and sometimes find mercy.
She realized that he had come out to welcome Adrien back, but also, to see her. She was afraid, she realized, yet far less unnerved by the prince than by her own husband.
“Adrien, no trouble along the way returning?” the prince demanded.
“Nay, my lord, none at all,” Adrien said. He was about to dismount from Matthew, but before he could do so, Prince Edward came to stand by the horse’s haunches and reached up for Danielle, taking her by the waist to lift her down. “Welcome, little sister,” he said softly, kissing her cheek, then folding her against him. He drew away from her to study her. “My God, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you, Danielle. Come into the hall here—we’ve warmed wine waiting, and hot cooked food after your long journey.”
“Prince Edward, I’m afraid I’m not dressed for a formal occasion—” she began.
“A small supper,” he interrupted, glancing over her head to Adrien, “just the three of us.”
“As you wish it,” Adrien said.
Prince Edward slipped an arm around her waist, leading her up the massive stone steps that led to the entry of the keep. Danielle remained aware that Adrien followed closely behind her.
They entered into a long, arched hallway where a number of guards were posted.
Welcome, he had told her, but she was certain there had been a warning in the words.
They entered the great hall, which was empty, as he had said. The prince did not release his hold upon her, but led her to a small table set before the hearth, pouring her warmed wine from a carafe. She accepted it, glad to feel the heat as her fingers curled around it.
“I’ll take your cloak,” he said.
“Nay!” she protested, but too late. The cloak was gone, and she stood before the fire in her thin linen nightgown. Edward arched a brow and looked at Adrien, who helped himself to wine at her side.
Adrien shrugged. “We left rather quickly.”
“He swept me right out of bed, my lord, anxious to return to your service,” Danielle said. She lifted her wine goblet. “He is a rogue,” she murmured most pleasantly.
Adrien’s keen eyes observed her as he lifted his goblet to her, saying pleasantly, “She is a witch, my lord. A siren, surely worthy—or deserving—of a rogue.”
“Ah, a marriage made in heaven,” Edward said and laughed softly. But he then addressed Danielle, his tone somber. “You weren’t anxious to see me, my lady?”
“Indeed, it is with pleasure that I see you again,” she replied, her lashes sweeping her cheeks. She meant the words. Edward, as his father’s oldest son and heir, had already been a warrior, riding with his father, when she had come to live with the Plantagenets as the king’s ward.
He had always been kind, ruffling her hair when he passed by, assuring her she would grow to be a great lady, saying some gentle word about her father. She was glad to see him; she liked him and admired him. She would like him even more if he would remain in England.
“Well, it is with pleasure that I see you—except that I also see what the fuss—and temptation—are all about. You have grown into an unrivaled beauty. I know that you honor my father—you were raised in his house, loved as one of the family. But you do have dangerous French relations, so it is best that, for the time being, you reside here at Castle de Renoncourt where you’ll be safe while your husband rides to war. Many men might be tempted to risk much for the pleasure of your company. You do understand, don’t you?”
She raised her eyes, meeting his. “I wish, my lord prince, that someone would understand that I am a very capable woman—”
“Too capable,” Adrien commented softly.
“I can defend Aville.”
“If you choose to defend it,” Edward stated, and she realized that he trusted her no more than Adrien did.
“And if, my love, you were not as great a prize as the castle of Aville,” Adrien said.
Edward smiled at her, refilling her wine goblet. “Therein lies much of the point, I’m afraid. Your Valois kin are most eager to bribe the pope into giving you an annulment from your marriage so you may be given to a Frenchman who would try to wrest Aville from the English! We will prevent that from happening. My father planned your union with Adrien, knowing his strength—necessary for such a task as holding Aville, and its countess, I do so imagine! Ah, but think back! I know that you must bear us all great affection. My father took you in like a daughter—you are like my little sister. I love you, as you honor me—and my father. I pray that you will enjoy the time you spend here.”
He was sincere, she thought, but wary. Yet she was suddenly trembling, and very tired. Bone weary. It had been a long ride. She seemed to ache in every muscle.
“Thank you—you were always most kind. I beg you to extend that kindness now and allow me to beg out of supper. I can scarcely stand.”
She was irritated to see that Edward looked over her head to Adrien, who must have nodded, because the prince then murmured, “Indeed, let me have you escorted to Laird MacLachlan’s quarters. We can talk more later. I see that you understand your own position clearly—and mine and my father’s.”
“I
will walk my wife to our rooms, my lord, if you will allow me to do so? I will return immediately,” Adrien said.
“Indeed, Laird MacLachlan, you must escort your wife and show her the wonders and strengths of the castle. I will be awaiting your return.”
Adrien swept his cloak around Danielle’s shoulders, and escorted her firmly out to the hallway.
“Your new home for the time being, my love!” he whispered softly. “A wonderful castle. Strong, well-built, with many conveniences.”
“And guards?” she inquired angrily.
“And dungeons!” he announced. “Come along … there may even be a torture chamber about somewhere.”
“You are taking me to your rooms,” she said. “And I do stand condemned.”
He didn’t laugh; he wasn’t amused. His words sent chills racing along her spine.
“Aye, lady. You do stand condemned.”
Chapter 18
HE MOVED HER QUICKLY through the long hallway. At its far end were stairs, and he caught her hand, drawing her behind him up to the second floor of the castle. They followed another long corridor down three doors where at last, at the third, he ushered her into large, pleasant chambers. There was an outer room with a table and a number of chairs; a young man was there, working by the fire, polishing pieces of Adrien’s armor.
“My dear, meet Luke, youngest son of an armorer, serving now as my squire. Luke, my countess, Lady Danielle.”
The young man, tall and lean with straw-blond hair and green eyes, leapt up, bowing deeply to her.
“We heard you were coming back tonight, my lord,” Luke said. “There’s a hot bath prepared by the fire in the bedroom. I believe everything is in readiness.”
“Alas, the rooms look fine, Luke, but I must return to the prince for a time. My lady,” he said wryly, eyes flashing as he looked at her, “make yourself at home.”
He escorted her to the second door, leading into the main chamber with a large, carved wood bed, handsome chairs and trunks and wardrobes, and a big wooden hip tub. Water steamed from it.
“Enjoy yourself,” he murmured. “Let the steam clear your throat—so you may scream loudly and clearly when I return.”
With that he turned and left her, closing the door behind him. She wanted to throw something after him, but did not. She hurried to the tub, cast off her cloak, shoes, and ripped gown, and stepped into the delightfully hot water. She sank into it, heedless at first of all else.
A few seconds later, she heard the door open a crack, and she tensed. Had Adrien returned already?
A girl had come into the room—young, blond, pretty, and generously endowed. She smiled. “I am Terese, my lady. I’ve come to serve you.”
“Thank you, Terese. But I’m very tired, and I can manage on my own.”
But the girl walked into the room, going to the hearth. “I have more water here, my lady, lest your bath grow cold.” She picked up her skirt to protect her hands as she looped her fingers around the pot of water bubbling on a tripod above the fire. She poured the water into the tub. Danielle managed to edge back just in time to keep from getting scalded. “Oh! By the Virgin Mary! I am so sorry!” Terese cried in distress.
“I’m fine—it’s all right,” Danielle said. “Please, if you’ll just—”
“I’m so sorry. If you’ll ease back again, I can wash your hair for you.”
“I can manage—”
“It’s so long. Like fire.”
“Terese—”
“If I don’t serve well, my lady, I will be cast out. And that wretched Comte Armagnac burned my village. I’ve nowhere to go.”
She knelt by the back of the tub and began washing Danielle’s hair. Her touch was light and assured, soothing. Danielle leaned back. Just when she had almost begun to doze under the gentle ministration, she felt a sharp tug on her hair.
“My lady! You were about to go under! To drown!”
She wasn’t going to drown, but she was growing sorely aggravated. “I’m fine, thank you!” She reached for the snowy linen towel by the tub and stood, wrapping herself in it. “Terese—”
“Sit by the fire, please, my lady, and I will brush out your hair. It is so dark and sleek, like sable.”
“Terese, you must be tired—”
“Nay, lady. I like the night.”
Something in her words made Danielle uncomfortable, but she allowed the girl to brush out her hair, and again she was startled by her expertise. While the fire dried her hair, Terese’s nimble fingers brushed it to a sleek shine. “You’re from here?” Danielle asked her.
“A village nearby. One that was nearly destroyed, and I with it.”
“Ah, well, thank God you are safe.”
“Aye, the earl saved me.”
“Did he?” Danielle inquired.
“You cannot imagine, my lady, what cruelties are being inflicted upon the people! Men—butchered! Even little children are slain.”
“I’ve heard. I’m so sorry, so deeply sorry.”
“Are you?” Terese’s touch was suddenly a little rough. “Rumor has it, my lady, that you have supported many of those who have ridden with Armagnac.”
Danielle stood, swinging around to stare at the girl. “Rumor is wrong! I would never condone such behavior. You may leave, Terese.”
The girl lowered her eyes, a slight smile playing at her lips. “Indeed, my lady. I will be in the antechamber. Please, call if you need me. I will be near. I am in my Lord MacLachlan’s service.”
Danielle was startled by the pain that enveloped her as she realized that the girl was not only denying her authority to dismiss her, she was hinting that she had become Adrien’s mistress.
“Indeed? Well, then,” she murmured, “if he requires your services, he will send for you.”
Terese turned around and opened the door between the antechamber and bedroom.
Adrien stood there.
“My lord!” Terese murmured. “May I bring you something? Is there anything—”
He was staring past her, at Danielle. “That will be all, Terese,” he said.
Terese stepped out—unhappily, Danielle thought. Adrien closed the door, his eyes on Danielle. He walked slowly into the room then, never taking his eyes from her as he removed his scabbard and sword, then drew his tunic over his head and stripped off his shirt. He wore tightly woven trousers that hugged his hips and legs, and his boots, and nothing more. She averted her eyes, wishing she didn’t long to touch him, and that the searing pain of jealousy would cease playing havoc with her heart.
“Is Terese accustomed to staying here?” Danielle asked, trying to keep her tone casual as if the matter were of no importance to her.
“Does it matter?” he inquired.
“No,” she lied. “How can it matter? You have made certain that it cannot. What you do makes no difference to me whatsoever. You wretchedly refuse to listen to anything I have to say, and trust any stranger over me. Naturally, however, if you’d like to keep company with Terese, I would appreciate it if you’d be so good as to leave me—”
“Indeed? So—you would go casting accusations my way when there is another man in your life every time I turn around, my lady. And, my love, what you do does matter to me. Incredibly so.”
“You are referring to a priest?”
“The man was no priest.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You should have.”
“You’re being curt and cruel,” she assured him, looking at him at last. She drew the linen towel more tightly around her. God, that her heart would not leap so! His chest was pure bronze in the firelight. Sleek as satin.
“You’re a traitoress,” he replied flatly, but walked toward her as he said so.
“Not to France.”
He stood before her. “To me!” he stated vehemently. “By God, to me!”
She thought he meant to strike her, but he didn’t. He reached for her, savagely drawing her into his arms. His fingers cupped her chin, til
ted her head back. His mouth descended upon hers. She longed to fight. She felt the force and heat and liquid fire of his touch. Her lips parted to his onslaught, and the heat seemed to saturate her. Her fingers slid through his hair; she clung to him. His lips parted just slightly from hers.
“I’m not a fool—wanting you does not mean that I trust you!” he swore angrily. But his mouth lowered, and he kissed her again, kissed her and kissed her, as if he could not have enough of the taste of her.
Pride came to her and she twisted free from his lips, pressing furiously against his chest. “No! You cannot ignore what I say and think and feel and then expect that I will want you, have you!” she insisted. “I swear I will have no part of you!”
“I swear that you will!” he countered. “My lady, I have spent endless days at battle only to hear that I must fight and kill more men because you encourage them to treachery. You’ll not tell me what you will and will not have!”
She let out a startled shriek as he lifted her with a swift and violent force and threw her upon the bed. Her towel was lost, entangled in his arms. He swore, wadding it, crushing it, savagely throwing it across the room and out of his way. Hands on his hips, he stared down at her, his pulse ticking madly against the veins in his throat. “You’ll not play games with me, lady wife, by God, not when you are the cause of the tempest!”
“You will not trust me!” she cried in protest, inching up against the bed. “You will not trust me—”
“I spoke with the bloody priest!”
“I did not encourage anyone to treachery. You had no right to drag me from Aville. I kept my word to you!” she cried back, shaking but determined.
“Ah … I have taken you from your precious home!”
“You have judged me unfairly. You have condemned me when I am not guilty. You—”
“Enough, Danielle, enough!”
He spun around on her and strode to the hearth. He leaned against the mantel for a very long time.
Then he began to walk around the room, pinching out the candles. When the last was dimmed, he stood again before the fire in the dim light, his back to her. She hugged her knees to her chest, clenching her teeth, watching him. She didn’t want to fight him. She just wanted to be with him. If he would just turn and force her into his arms …
Heather Graham Page 28
