Heather Graham

by The Kings Pleasure

  “Will his father approve?”

  “His father is in ecstasy with the news of his birth, and the assurance that you are doing well—which I can see for myself. You look more radiant and beautiful than ever, my dear.”

  “You’re kind, Sir George. But tell me, if Adrien is so pleased to have his son … where is he?”

  His eyes fell upon the anxiety in her face and he answered very kindly. “The king still requires his great champion be near him.”

  “Oh!” she whispered. So he had sent Sir George. And now there would be more long, agonizing weeks while she waited and wondered …

  “But he is so anxious, he surely would have bolted from the king’s service, and the king himself, it seems, is anxious. I am to escort you to London—that is, if you can bear the journey.”

  “If I can bear the jouney … ?” she repeated.

  “Aye, lady, with the bairn so young—though I can see he’s a fine, healthy lad at that!”

  “Sir George, we will ride at the break of dawn, if you and your men can bear the journey!”

  Raymond, Comte Langlois, arrived at Dover via a Flemish ship. The captain was a fellow sympathetic to the French cause, furious that so much had been destroyed in the war with the English. His sailors were a scurvy lot, asking no question regarding the simply dressed but well-armed man who accompanied Langlois on the voyage.

  Comte Langlois wore the heavy, cowled robe of a Franciscan monk—a not-too-original disguise, he thought, but one that served his purpose. His education was such that he had little difficulty spending time with local clergy, nor in enticing a young priest to ride with him and his young ‘cleric’ to London. There, he met with King Edward’s confessor, who allowed the French ‘monk’ time with his own sovereign. To the comte’s great distress, King Jean, granted time to see him alone, was not pleased to see him, nor impressed with his disguise, or even the fact that he risked death to save him.

  “Raymond, my dear comte, this is nothing but foolishness. You do risk our lives. King Edward has hundreds of men at his beck and call here, and though he wouldn’t dare slay me in cold blood, if I were to perish in the midst of a chase, he could show his great sorrow and horror to the world.”

  “Mon Dieu! My liege! I walked in here—”

  “As a man of God,” Jean said impatiently. “Do I take your cloak, and leave you here? Are you so truly willing to give your life for me? For I daresay the English would have your head and display it upon London Bridge were they to discover you here. No, no, Comte, you are too eager for riches end rewards! I ride to battle when battle can be fought. I’ll not be shot down like a dog by the English in their streets!”

  “I had gold smuggled to Simon so that guards might be bribed. If I was served by traitors to your cause, sire, I will dice them into pieces.”

  “Simon received the gold. If you’ve clear and quick passage across the Channel, take Simon and escape with him.”

  Langlois was deflated and unhappy. He meant to be the savior of the king, a true hero to the people. “Escapes have thus been managed before—”

  “Of regular men. Not of kings. Simon is not so well-guarded. He is friends with many of his jailors, and he is free sometimes to walk the corridors and wall. Take Simon—he has been awaiting your arrival for a means to find a ship with a crew that will not betray him to the English.”

  “I have such a ship, sire!”

  “Then take Simon, and when you return home, put your efforts into raising my ransom. My son rides the countryside—you must do likewise. Then, Comte, I will honor you among the finest and most loyal of my nobles.”

  Head down, Langlois left King Jean’s apartments. He met the priest from Dover outside the door and murmured a blessing with the assurance that the king was well. They would move on to give comfort to Simon, Comte Montjoie.

  Simon greeted Langlois joyfully. “Have you horses?” Simon demanded.

  “I came with a priest. The horses are not adequate. With the gold I had smuggled to you through our countrymen—”

  “Yes, I can arrange for good horses. Bring the priest here tonight. We will depart as two religious fellows who have done their duty to God and countrymen.”

  They continued to talk, working out the fine points of the escape. Langlois need only take care not to run into any of the enemy he had encountered in France.

  “Who recognizes an enemy minus his armor and heraldic emblems?” Simon demanded.

  “Adrien, Laird MacLachlan,” Raymond spat out.

  Simon tensed. “MacLachlan! I’d give my life to see him dead.” He paused suddenly. “Maybe I’ll not have to do so. Laird MacLachlan has been sent to Dover to prepare to launch an attack against Castle Cardineau. The men will be busy …” He looked at Langlois and smiled. “His wife is to meet him there.”

  “His wife?” Langlois said, intrigued.

  “What a blow to strike against him, and the English, were we to take the lady of Aville!”

  The road was long, and Sir George constantly urged that they slow their pace. Danielle never wanted to stop for the night; she was far too eager to reach London.

  She was touched when they at last reached the city, for King Edward and Queen Philippa had come out to welcome her with King Jean riding at Edward’s side. She was tenderly greeted by both kings and even more so by the queen, who was quick to take Robin to cuddle and appraise him. Danielle was glad of the queen’s care and listened eagerly to her every word, since the queen had borne the king so many children. “He’s like his father, eh?” the king said to the queen, who looked at him strangely.

  “Perhaps. But such blue eyes …!”

  “Adrien’s are hazel and mine are green,” Danielle said. “Perhaps they’ll change.”

  “Umm,” the queen murmured.

  “Where is Adrien?” Danielle asked.

  “Ah, well, he’s moved on to Dover, I’m afraid.”

  “Dover!” she gasped, dismayed.

  “Don’t fret, dear. He’s waiting for you, gathering men and supplies. There has been a flare-up at Castle Cardineau, where I allowed Count Germaine to rule in my name! The petty upstart thinks to defy me. Nothing too serious. Adrien will handle it in a matter of days.”

  “Am I to go back to France with him?” she asked.

  “No,” Edward said bluntly. “But come tomorrow, you can ride down and meet him for a night together, show him his son. Then you’ll wait in London with the queen and me for his return.”

  Looking down from his window in the building of the great Tower of London where esteemed prisoners resided, Simon saw Danielle in the courtyard with the queen. They were followed through the garden by her friend, Monteine, MacLachlan’s man, Daylin, and a number of the queen’s women. They laughed, smelled the flowers, enjoyed the warm day. The queen held the babe, and watching her, Simon felt a rush of fury that was painful. He’d like to take the child and smash it into a wall. Destroy the little rat before it could become a big one.

  News traveled fast, even to the prisoners in the tower. Countess Danielle was to ride in the morning to meet her husband by the Channel. She’d be with him by the afternoon tomorrow. Watching Danielle smile at something the queen said, her eyes alight, Simon thought how he would best use his time, were she his wife, and he given but a night …

  MacLachlan would be vulnerable. Simon smiled suddenly, remembering with an aching heart the last time he had seen Danielle. How fickle she’d become; she seemed so happy with her child. MacLachlan’s child. She had forgotten him completely. Or had she? Would she ask to see him and King Jean before she left? He needed to see her. It would be the last little link in his plan.

  She did visit with him, briefly. She stayed no more than five minutes. She took his hands, asked anxiously if he was well, and pulled away when he would have held her. “Don’t begrudge me holding your hands, Danielle. Don’t you remember how I loved you?”

  “Oh, Simon, you’ll leave here soon enough!” she assured him, and smiled. Her smile
was like the sun. It brightened the gemlike beauty of her eyes. He felt his heart beating like thunder. “I’ve heard you’ve amused yourself quite well among the English damsels at court.”

  “Anything to forget the prize I desired most.”

  “I have to go, Simon. I knew you were here—I wanted to see that you were well. I have been to King Jean, and he was happy, playing chess with King David of Scotland. They were cheerfully plotting the downfall of King Edward, who I’ve been told, is amused by their conversations, joining in them at times.”

  “Edward thinks he is all-powerful—as does your husband, lady. But we all have an Achilles’ heel.”

  “I suppose, Simon.” She stepped forward and kissed his cheek, then carefully exited his room. The guard locked the door as she departed.

  “Indeed, lady!” he said softly. “We all have an Achilles’ heel.”

  Comte Langlois caught up with the girl, Terese, in his monastic robes. She didn’t know him, and she seemed terrified that she had been watched by God, and judged by Satan, as he wrenched her from the hallway into an alcove. “You’re Terese. You promised to help Simon de Valois. He’s given you gold and jewels. Now you will earn your portion. Listen to me, you’re a bright girl, you’ll do as I say now. You’ll have fresh horses just beyond the sally port this evening, by dusk. You’ll wait with them until I appear.”

  The girl was pale, her teeth chattering. “Horses? Taking horses—”

  “Good horses, from the stables.”

  “I meant to help, but I can’t. I can’t do this. What if I’m caught? I’ll be hanged—”

  He gripped her throat with both hands. They were huge, and his fingers encircled her neck, cutting off her words.

  He gave her a shake, tightening his fingers until she gasped.

  “You will do this!” he told her. “Or they won’t need to hang you. I’ll find you and slit your fair throat ear to ear. Are we understood, woman?”

  She nodded, trembling with fear. He smiled. “Ah, there’s a good girl. Bless you, child!”

  Adrien paced the docks, anxiously waiting, barely aware of the activity around him as horses, food, arms, armor, and more were loaded into the many ships that would bring his contingent across the water. He damned the king a thousand times over as he paced. At last his wife was coming, and he was being sent to France. And though it was Edward who had asked that Danielle be brought to London, he was equally determined that she should not return to France with him, though Philippa had followed Edward to battle often enough.

  Danielle was to see him, then he was to leave and she was to return to London.

  And somehow, he thought, he was to bear it. Life, he realized, had been far more simple when he was ruled by ambition rather than love. He used to do the king’s bidding with little thought; now he ached to demand that another man pick up the fight so he could be left alone to enjoy the fruits of his long years of loyalty and labor.

  “My lord!”

  He heard her voice. He swung around, and she was there.

  She stood on the dock, dressed in blue, hair free and streaming down her back. And she was slim again, except that her breasts welled against her gown. She was more beautiful than ever, her eyes glittered, her face was flushed, she seemed to glow with the essence of her smile.

  “My lady!” he whispered in return, and she uttered a cry and came running down the dock toward him. He captured her and held her to him and spun her around, delighted to see her, smell her clean scent, drown in her hair, the touch of her, the feel of her against him …

  He eased her to the ground.

  “We’re to have but one night!” she whispered.

  “Aye, but I’ll not be long.”

  “So the king said.”

  “You’re well?” he asked anxiously.

  “Very.”

  “And the bairn?”

  She smiled, for all his years at the English court and serving in France had not changed him from being a wild border laird. “Behind me,” she said softly. “Monteine has him.”

  He gazed into her eyes, then hurried past her to Monteine, taking the baby from her and moving all the swaddling from his face. Danielle came to stand by him and was overjoyed to see the look of awe on his face as he studied his son. He glanced at her and she smiled, trembling with absolute pleasure.

  He kept his son, reaching out to slip an arm around Danielle’s shoulder. “Come. I have a room in the old tavern down the street.”

  They left Monteine and Daylin behind, hurrying to his quarters. Men frequently tried to stop him as they walked, asking him questions about arms or armor, horses, supplies. He answered every man’s question quickly, “Keep at it, men. We must be ready to sail by the dawn!”

  “Pity we can’t leave now, Laird MacLachlan,” one sailor told him. “The tide would be with us. But then, we’ve still supplies to be boarded.” He bowed and hurried on with his cask of supplies.

  “Come, let’s hurry out of this sea of curious admirers or I’ll not have you a second alone!” Adrien murmured and hurried onward with Danielle along a long, low Norman building to a side door in a deep courtyard. He led her into his room, closing the door behind him, leaning against it, staring at her.

  “Crude, I’m afraid. Drafty. The bed is wretched. The smoke spills in from the chimney. The place was convenient to the docks. And … I remembered a cradle for the baby.”

  “Good!” she whispered, and smiled, gazing toward him and their babe, tucked beneath his arm. “He’s sleeping.”

  Adrien looked down at his son. “Aye, that he is.” He looked back to her. “He’s beautiful, he’s wonderful. I’m grateful, and lass, I’m proud. And I thank God he’s sleeping now!” He strode across the room, setting Robin into the cradle, and then she was in his arms. She was stunned and amazed by the way he shook as he held her and kissed her. His fevered hunger swept into her like wildfire, aroused her like a wicked wind. She kissed him back, marveling at the taste of him after so much time, the feel of him, the heat in his muscles. She found herself half laughing and half sobbing as they fumbled in their attempts to remove one another’s clothing.

  “My God … I’ve ripped … something!” Adrien said.

  “Doesn’t … matter. I’d rip more if I only had such strength!” she replied. His lips fused with hers. He swept her up and bore her down on the bed. Then he began to kiss her, and kiss her everywhere, until she cried out.

  He paused, rising above her.

  “I wouldn’t hurt you—’tis soon after the bairn—”

  She shook her head. “I asked!” she whispered. “Plenty of time has passed.”

  He cupped the globe of her breast. “Perhaps it was best that I was not with you.”

  “No, oh, my lord, no … I can’t tell you how I have missed you, needed you …” She reached for him, drew her fingers down the side of his face, and then slowly along the length of his body. She reached for his sex, cradling it in her hands, drawing the length against her, to her.

  He groaned, burying his face against her flesh. And he tried to be gentle, aware that he hurt her when he entered her, yet she clung to him with such ardor, telling him that he was a brief agony that she could not bear to live without. He had been too long without her. The first time was quick, and desperate. The second was slower; the third, they savored. The baby awoke then, squalling with hunger, and Adrien stroked his little back while Danielle nursed him, and they both marvelled again at the wonder of their creation. Adrien set his son back in the cradle and lay down beside her. He’d thought himself sated. She smiled at him, and he felt the surge of arousal once again. Damn the French. He kissed her. She wrapped her arms around him in return. “Adrien …”

  As she whispered his name, the door suddenly slammed open. Adrien sprang up and back, stunned as men burst into the room. With a warrior’s instinct, he set himself between his wife and babe, knowing that only deadly enemies would burst in on him so, damning himself and wondering where he had shed his scabbard i
n his hurry to be with his wife.

  To his fury and dismay, he faced his enemies: Simon de Valois and Comte Langlois, each flanked by a burly swordsman.

  “Now, messieurs, I have had the pleasure of spending some time with King Jean. I can’t imagine that he has taught you two your manners,” Adrien said.

  “Simon,” Langlois said, “we shall have to be more cordial when we cut him.”

  Adrien saw his sword then, just three feet away, beneath his cloak. He sprang for it, falling back by the bed. Danielle had partially risen, the covers clasped to her. She was pale and white, staring at Simon.

  “Perhaps I’ll die,” Adrien said softly, “but we will meet in hell.” He should have killed Simon long ago when he’d had the chance. Now, as they faced one another, Simon smiled and turned away, reaching back out in the alleyway to bring Monteine into the room. He held the blade of a long butcher’s knife to her throat with such fierce menace that a slim trickle of blood began a slow drip down the length of her neck.

  “Let her go!” Danielle shrieked, rising with the sheets around her. She suddenly raced across the room, attacking him. “Danielle!” Adrien roared, catapulting into motion to catch her and drag her back against him.

  “Come to me, Danielle, come!” Simon called. “Come now, don’t play games, and I’ll let Monteine go. Don’t worry about MacLachlan. He doesn’t matter anymore. He’ll learn soon enough that you managed to bribe the guard so I could escape!”

  “What?” Danielle gasped.

  Despite himself, Adrien had to see her eyes. He wrenched her around to stare at her. He felt a man moving behind him and he spun around, quick as the wind, and sliced through the man’s chest. But when he started to turn again, aware of new danger at his back, he heard Danielle screaming.

  But too late.

  Langlois had managed to step in with determination and skill. He struck Adrien a stunning blow to the temple with the hilt of his sword. The pain was excruciating. He fought the fog that came with it, tried to feel the pain. It was fading, and there was nothing he could do …