Unveiling Lady Clare

by Carol Townend

  Clare almost wished she hadn’t. It had been uncomfortable learning that Francesca’s greatest fear was that her husband, Count Tristan, might seek an annulment when he learned that his countess was no longer an heiress. It preyed on her mind. It would be unbearable if her homecoming should result in the destruction of Francesca’s marriage.

  When Clare had ridden out to St Méen to speak to Francesca, she had feared that her sister must hate her, but she had been thinking wholly about the inheritance that she had snatched from her grasp. Not once had she thought that the poor girl might be worrying herself sick over her marriage. Francesca had to be mistaken about Count Tristan, she had to be...

  Where is he? Count Tristan must have heard about my arrival in Fontaine. Why has he stayed away? If nothing else, he should have come to Fontaine to reassure Francesca that all will be well. Where is he?

  Clare released Francesca’s hand, guiding the bay mare—she had named her Copper—past three nuns walking arm in arm down the centre of the street. ‘Francesca?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I am sure you are wrong about your husband,’ Clare said softly. ‘You have been married for how long?’

  ‘Two years.’

  ‘By now Count Tristan must have learned to appreciate you. He cannot fail to love you.’

  Francesca looked swiftly away, but not before Clare had seen the glitter of tears in her eyes. ‘You are kind to say so.’

  * * *

  ‘Sir Arthur! She’s here!’ Ivo hurtled into the armoury and skidded to a halt. ‘She’s reached the palace!’

  Arthur returned the spear he had been examining to its rack and fought to keep his expression as bland as possible. His heartbeat had picked up, but it wouldn’t do for Sir Raphael to notice.

  ‘A moment, Ivo.’ He turned back to Sir Raphael. ‘We need to order a few dozen more spears if the city walls are to remain properly manned. I favour giving the commission to Isodore. Any objection? Perhaps you have someone else in mind, someone who might forge better steel?’

  He braced himself to receive a sly comment about his father being an armourer, but Sir Raphael simply smiled and shook his head. ‘I agree with you, Captain, Isodore’s the best man for the job.’

  ‘Very well.’ Arthur smiled a dismissal. ‘You may place the order with him.’

  He waited until Sir Raphael had left the armoury before turning to Ivo.

  ‘When did she ride in?’

  ‘Not half an hour since. She’s brought her sister with her and an escort fit for a princess.’

  Arthur strode to the door. He’d not had a moment’s peace since Count Henry had casually mentioned that Lady Clare was coming to stay at his court. He’d been telling himself that Clare was coming to see how Nell was faring. He’d been telling himself that it was far too late for her to have discovered that their time together had resulted in a child. The idea that Clare might after all be bearing his child brought a smile to his face. It was possible, but not likely. His smile faded. She had already told him that that was not the case.

  He’d also been telling himself that it was even more unlikely that she had come to testify against the Veronese and his accomplice. Although Count Henry did seem inordinately pleased about her visit...

  One question pushed his speculations aside. Is Nell the only reason Clare is in Troyes? He had to find out. Immediately. Because whilst these weeks without her had been nothing less than hell, they had helped him come to a realisation.

  He loved her. Life without her was quite simply no life at all. He loved her and they belonged together.

  Whatever Clare’s reason for returning to Troyes, it was most fortuitous. If she hadn’t come back, he would have had to ride back to Fontaine to ask for her hand again. Never mind the difference in their status, she was the only woman for him. She felt something for him, he hoped it was more than liking, but he couldn’t be sure. However, she had only given her body to one man. Him. There was hope.

  Never mind that Clare had reservations about marriage, he would help her overcome them. I love her. I will not lose her. His parents had never married and his father had lived to regret it. Arthur wasn’t about to make the same mistake.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wryly aware that a man had no business doing his courting in his chain mail, Arthur had paused briefly at the barracks to remove it and don a green tunic that was far less martial. As he buckled his sword-belt over the tunic, he could hardly believe what he was doing. He was about to ask Clare to marry him. Again. Somewhat bemused, he shook his head. It was something he had never thought to do once, never mind twice...

  The apartment in the palace that Count Henry had set aside for Lady Clare de Fontaine and her sister was easy to find, but when Arthur had got there he was told that the ladies had gone into the town. A lesser woman might be resting after the rigours of the journey. Not Clare. However, he knew exactly where she would be.

  Leaving the palace, he had gone directly to Aimée’s house. Sure enough, standing like sentinels either side of the door, were two of Count Myrrdin’s men. Arthur recognised them from Fontaine.

  ‘Good evening, Sergeant,’ he said, knocking on the door.

  The sergeant nodded. ‘Good evening, Sir Arthur.’

  A small cooking fire flared on the hearth. Tallow candles guttered as Arthur ducked his head under the wooden lintel and went in. Clare was sitting on a wall bench with Nell on her knee. There were others in the room. Arthur found himself giving Aimée and Countess Francesca cursory nods, but he only truly saw Clare. She was richly attired in a topaz-coloured gown. Her veil looked light as gossamer. She looked well. Very well for a woman who had ridden halfway across Christendom.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Sir Arthur! I didn’t expect to see you so soon.’

  ‘My lady.’ He bowed his head, astonished to discover that he seemed to have lost the use of his tongue. He felt unusually self-conscious. Unusually unsure of his ground. He searched her face, mind racing. Has she missed me as much as I missed her? He wanted to snatch her into his arms and kiss her senseless—not being able to do so was nothing less than torture. Above all, he wanted her to acknowledge what they must both know. We belong together.

  Nell pushed off Clare’s knee and danced over to touch his hand. He was rather startled to realise he had curled it into a fist. Relaxing, he let the child take it.

  ‘Sir Arthur, my knight,’ Nell said, swinging his hand to and fro. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘Holà, Nell.’ Arthur was unable to tear his gaze from Clare’s. He thought he could see faint smudges beneath those extraordinary eyes, but the candlelight was jumping around almost as much as Nell. ‘I...’ he cleared his throat, and tried to ignore the heavy thump of his heart ‘...Lady Clare, if I may, I need to speak to you.’

  ‘Please, sir....’ she gestured about the room and her veil trembled ‘...we are among friends.’

  The Countess gave a swift head-shake. ‘Clare, I think Sir Arthur does not wish for an audience.’ With a smile, she pushed to her feet and held out her hand for Nell. ‘Come, Nell, you were going to show me your old house. Aimée, you have the key, I believe. Will you come with us?’

  There was a flurry of activity while Aimée hunted for the key and the women found their cloaks. Then the door opened, the candlelight dipped, and he and Clare were alone.

  Arthur took a step towards the bench and found the use of his tongue. ‘All is well in Fontaine?’ He could feel the warmth of the cooking fire on the back of his calves.

  ‘Thank you, yes.’

  ‘And your father? You were concerned for him, as I recall.’

  ‘Papa is as he was. He has good days...’ her chest heaved ‘...others are not so good.’

  Her eyes glowed in the reflected light of the fire. Arthur’s mind seemed to seize up. He took another step nearer and re
ached for her wrist. ‘Clare...’ he was astonished to hear his voice break ‘...Clare, for God’s sake, come here.’

  He tugged at her wrist and she came easily to her feet. Dimly, his mind registered that he hadn’t had to give her more than a slight pull. It was as though she had been waiting for him to pull her body to his. And then she was in his arms, turning her face to his. As he touched his lips to hers, triumph flooded through him. The sense of rightness had his knees buckling.

  ‘Clare.’ He cupped her cheek with his hand, pushing the veil aside so he could slide his fingers into that bright beauty that was her hair. Her eyes had darkened, her cheeks were pink. And he couldn’t seem to say anything save her name. ‘Clare.’

  ‘Arthur...’ She took his shoulders firmly, slid a hand round his neck and held him close.

  The kiss drew out. The sweet smell of femininity—of Clare—surrounded him, transporting him back to the dormitory where he had made her his. Clare was giving his lower lip small, biting kisses. And his upper lip. She caught his tongue lightly between her teeth and pressed her body closer. Arthur had been holding himself in check since the moment their eyes had met and his restraint was weakening—the dark pulse of desire was throbbing insistently through every vein.

  Arthur groaned. He could no longer remember why it had been so important to see her. There was something...something important he must say...no, something he must ask...

  ‘Lord, Clare.’ His breathing was quick and uneven, and the sound of her breathy little gasps was an invitation to sin. Acting on instinct, he backed her up against the wall by the door, relearning the delicious curve of her buttocks beneath his palm, relishing the softness of her breasts through the stuff of her gown.

  Reaching for her hem, he had dragged the topaz-coloured gown—it had the feel of silk—halfway up her thighs, when he came back to himself. We cannot, not here—the others may return. And her father’s guards are on the other side of that door.

  ‘Clare. Ma mie.’ Silk rustled as Arthur released her gown. Retreating an inch, he rested his forehead against hers and gave her a rueful grin. ‘This must wait. There is something I have to say first.’

  ‘Oh?’ Dreamy eyes—one grey, one green—had his mind blurring. He gritted his teeth.

  ‘Clare, I need to ask...’ She looked up at him, tongue moistening her lips. Her chest heaved and it didn’t help when Arthur’s gaze caught on the faint outline of her nipples. The throbbing in his loins was intense. Inescapable. ‘It’s important.’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Clare, you refused me before, but you must see that I have to ask you again. I am hoping that this time you will see your way to changing your mind. Marry me. Please.’

  She went very still. Arthur held his breath. His chest was aching. The feeling of triumph was hard to hang on to. Torture, this was torture. When her hands fell from his shoulders and she stepped away from him, his heart clenched. She had withdrawn back into herself, he could see it, and her face had emptied of colour.

  She is going to refuse me.

  Clare blinked up at him in surprise. Happiness flooded through every vein. Arthur still wants me. He hadn’t mentioned love, but that might come in time. Arthur has asked me to marry him.

  However, there should be no secrets between man and wife. This was the moment to confess that charges had been laid against her in Apulia. Yes, Arthur was Captain of the Guardians, but he would surely protect her. The charges were false, and he would believe her. I trust this man. Lord, let him believe me. She straightened her skirts and clasped her hands in front of her. She squared her shoulders.

  Clare looked as though she was about to be executed.

  Arthur’s heart fell to his boots. She was going to refuse him—she was about to tell him that her father had found her a great lord.

  ‘Arthur, there’s something I must say to you fir—’

  ‘Clare, you must agree—we belong together.’

  She smiled. ‘Won’t you hear me out?’

  The old insecurities rushed back at him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear her out. Lord, but she looked perfect as Lady Clare de Fontaine. She took his breath away. Standing in the dim light filtering through the shutters, her topaz gown had the shimmer of gold. She might be a fairy queen. She is far, far above me. I am baseborn, and she is Count Myrrdin’s legitimate daughter. He didn’t want to hear her list the differences between them, he’d been hearing them all his life, and he knew them by heart.

  ‘My apologies if I’ve spoken out of turn.’ His voice was icy. ‘I shall not ask you again.’

  White teeth sank into her lower lip. ‘Arthur? Whatever’s the matter?’

  He gripped his sword hilt. There was a bitter taste at the back of his throat. It struck him that at this moment he would rather be anywhere but here in Aimée’s house with Clare. But however disappointed he was personally, he couldn’t forget he was Captain of the Guardians. Duty demanded that he asked for help regarding the slavers. ‘I was wondering if you’d changed your mind about testifying against the Veronese.’

  ‘Arthur?’ Her hand went to her throat. She seemed slow to catch his meaning. ‘You expect me to speak in court?’

  ‘It would be a great help if you did.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not that, Arthur. I can’t.’

  Clare had known Arthur wanted her to testify. None the less, it was galling to have him raise the subject so soon after making his proposal. Did he think that I’d change my mind if we were betrothed? Was that why he asked me to marry him?

  Doubts swirled through her mind. If he had asked for her hand purely to get her to testify, what hope did she have of gaining his acceptance when he learned about Sandro? His icy voice echoed in her ears. I’ve spoken out of turn, I shall not ask you again.

  Her refusal to testify was clearly a bitter disappointment and he was making no bones about it. His face, which had been so open whilst they’d kissed, was closed. Hard.

  He won’t hurt me. Clare knew that Arthur would never hurt her, however disappointed he was. Arthur, I am sorry. She spoke the words in her mind, as loudly as she could, willing him to understand. There was no way she could go into court and testify before the world.

  ‘Arthur, let me explain why I can’t testify.’

  ‘I don’t need chapter and verse. I merely need your answer.’

  ‘I can’t.’ And there was no way she could explain if he wouldn’t hear her out. There’s a price on my head in Apulia. I’m wanted for attempted murder and I don’t want the world to know.

  ‘Very well.’ His voice was clipped. ‘I shan’t ask again.’

  Clare managed a weak smile. It wasn’t returned and her skin seemed to shrink. She hated letting him down, but what choice had she? She couldn’t testify. Francesca seemed to believe that her father would accept her enslavement, but Clare wasn’t convinced. ‘When does Count Henry sit in judgement?’

  ‘In three days’ time.’

  Clare rubbed her arms. She felt cold, very cold. Were her feelings for him so transparent that he thought a kiss would bend her to his will? How embarrassing. She moved to the fire, but she had gone numb to her core and could feel no heat. ‘I trust it will go well. Arthur, I’m truly sorry I can’t testify, I realise your position in Troyes would be strengthened if you secured a noble witness, but I can’t do it.’

  He gave her a bleak look. ‘I understand your difficulties, my lady.’

  My lady. She felt empty inside. Arthur would surely forgive her in a moment or two. He would forget his disappointment, smile at her again, and he would remember he wanted to marry her.

  She looked hopefully at him, but his face was stony. Distant. She felt shaky inside.

  ‘Arthur—sir—would my testimony really make such a difference?’

  His nod was curt. ‘Reports are trickling in from towns
along the trade routes. My lady, they bear out what happened to you. Slavery has been going on for some time—in Brittany, in Champagne, in France. Sad to say, many nobles have taken the view that slavery is confined to the lower orders. They don’t think it’s in their interests to eradicate it.’

  ‘They’ve been turning a blind eye?’ It was her turn to frown. ‘But this is dreadful, Arthur. The lords cannot want to lose their vassals.’

  Dark eyes bored into her. ‘The slavers have been clever, restricting themselves to abducting one or two from each town or village. Usually, they took children. If it became known that Count Myrrdin’s daughter had fallen prey to them, I am certain attitudes might begin to change. However, I respect your feelings concerning testifying.’ He inclined his head. ‘And now, if you would excuse me, my lady, I must return to my duties.’

  Clare nodded and he reached for the door latch.

  ‘Arthur, I am sorry to fail you in this, but it’s good to see you again. Thank you for caring for Nell.’

  He turned and looked back, lips twisting. ‘You are welcome, my lady. You have everything you need at the palace?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’

  He bowed. ‘Then shall I bid you good day.’

  As soon as the door shut behind him, Clare wanted to call him back. She wanted to feel those strong, careful arms close tightly about her. And most of all she wanted to see him smile at her in the tender way he had smiled at her earlier.

  Arthur said he understood her refusal to testify, but that was clearly a lie. Her refusal had driven him away. She hugged herself and stared into the fire. Golden flames fluttered like knights’ pennons. Her throat ached. Her eyes stung.

  If only he’d listened. Had that been so much to ask?

  Was this how it was going to end after all that warmth and tenderness? With Arthur saying farewell in so cold and distant a fashion?