It was undeniably cheering to learn that the root of her reluctance to testify had been fear of what the Veronese might reveal. She dreaded losing everything she had won since arriving in Champagne. The urge to reassure her was overpowering.
‘Clare, you’ll never have to answer that charge in Apulia. I won’t permit it. And I am certain both your father and Count Henry will agree. The accusation is unfounded, I’m sure.’
Clare was looking at the floor, twisting her hands together. It struck him that the grey gown and white veil gave her the look of a nun. He couldn’t see her face, only the top of her veil. He stared at her, aching to gather her in his arms and kiss away her distress.
Those extraordinary eyes lifted. Even painted with fire glow, her face was haggard. Bloodless. ‘Sir Arthur, I am afraid the accusation is true.’
Impossible.
Her bottom lip was quivering and Arthur had to tighten his jaw to stop himself from reaching out to her.
‘The accusation is true?’ Count Henry said, soberly.
It was the Count’s tone that got through to him. Incredibly, Clare had admitted that the Veronese had spoken the truth.
‘Impossible,’ Arthur heard himself say. ‘It’s impossible.’
Count Henry held up his hand. ‘A moment, Captain. Lady Clare?’
Clare nodded and twisted her hands—twisting, always twisting. Arthur enfolded them in his. They felt like ice.
She gave a faint smile, stared at their linked hands and started to speak. ‘I was a maidservant for many years. My master and mistress had a son, Sandro. When I was a child, Sandro tormented me almost every day, it was his favourite game. As I grew older, the game changed. Sandro made it plain that he wanted to do more than torment me. He watched me and followed me about. One day, when I was running an errand for my mistress in the village, he grabbed me and dragged me into a nearby copse. He intended to...to force himself on me. He pushed me to the ground and tore my gown. He had his hand over my mouth and I couldn’t breathe. And then...and then...’ she gave a choked sob ‘...my fingers closed on the hilt of his dagger. I couldn’t breathe and everything was going black. Blackness. Just blackness—’
‘Jesu, Clare—’
‘Let her finish, Captain.’
Anger balled in Arthur’s chest, but he managed to nod. ‘My apologies.’
‘When I came back to myself, Sandro was pinning me down. He was unconscious.’ Huge eyes met Arthur’s. ‘I struggled out from under him and there was blood everywhere. My clothes...his tunic. It was Sandro’s blood, not mine. I must have stabbed him. I don’t remember doing it, but I must have done. I stabbed him.’
Arthur could stand it no longer. He hauled her fully into his arms. When she sagged against him, curling her fingers into his surcoat, something within him eased.
‘Arthur, I never wanted to kill him, I just wanted him to leave me alone.’
Arthur swallowed. ‘Attempted murder,’ he said slowly, looking over her veiled head at Count Henry. ‘The Veronese spoke of attempted murder, my lord, and that is not the same as murder.’
‘Indeed it is not,’ Count Henry replied, face stern. ‘Lady Clare, a charge of attempted murder means that your master’s son lives.’
A tear hung on Clare’s eyelashes. She took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I just wanted him to stop, I never meant to wound him.’
Arthur cupped her face with his hand and, before he knew it, he had pressed a kiss to her forehead. Was it his imagination or had she leaned into him a moment ago? Nevertheless, he shifted, putting space between them. This woman had yet to accept him. He mustn’t presume that because she had been prepared to stand up in court, she had changed her mind about marrying him.
‘Of course not, you were defending yourself against rape.’ Over her head, Arthur held Count Henry’s gaze. ‘My lord, the charges against Lady Clare do not bear scrutiny.’
‘I agree. I wouldn’t trust the Veronese if he were the last man on earth. Those poor children. And to think this traffic in misery has been going on for years.’ Count Henry made a disgusted sound. ‘Lady Clare, I should like to offer my heartfelt thanks for your testimony.’
‘You are welcome, my lord.’ Clare looked towards the door. ‘Shall the court be reconvening?’
‘Not today. And please don’t concern yourself about attending again in person. If you would be kind enough to dictate your written testimony to a scribe, Sir Arthur and I will witness it. That should suffice.’
Colour rushed into Clare’s cheeks. ‘You believe me,’ she said, eyes shining. ‘You both believe me.’
Arthur’s heart twisted. That simple statement—you believe me—revealed more than anything the horrors of Clare’s past. He took her hand and smiled down at her. ‘We believe you.’
Clare smiled shyly back and her fingers curled around his. Arthur loved her smile and it seemed an age since he had seen it. It was so shy, so...hopeful? Hopeful? His pulse began to pound. When she smiled, she had the most kissable mouth in Champagne...
Count Henry coughed. ‘Lady Clare, I am sure Count Myrrdin would wish me to spare you further sight of the Veronese. If I may, I shall join you in the palace apartment tomorrow morning after you have broken your fast. I shall bring a scribe with me. He can note down the details of your formal testimony.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Halfway to the door, the Count paused. ‘Lady Clare?’
‘My lord?’
‘Concerning your father’s petition...’
She seemed to freeze. ‘My lord?’
Count Henry’s eyes rested briefly on Arthur before returning to Clare. ‘My lady, you might care to know that I have at last had word from my overlord, King Louis. He has agreed to your father’s request.’ The Count tucked his thumb into his belt. ‘Further, since you have spent many years abroad, perhaps I should remind you that King Henry of England is overlord of Brittany—you will also need his agreement. And the agreement of the man in question, of course.’
‘Petition? What petition?’ Arthur said, frowning. But Clare was busy giving his liege lord one of her shy smiles and didn’t seem to have heard. Then the click of the door latch caught his attention. Count Henry had gone.
‘What the devil was that about?’ he demanded. ‘And why has he rushed off? I should have thought he’d want your testimony as quickly as possible.’
This time the shy, tremulous smile was for him. It tugged at his heart.
‘I believe the Count is giving us a chance to renew our acquaintance.’
‘To renew our acquaintance? Clare?’
Her eyelashes drifted down. ‘Arthur, he knows that I...that you...that we...’ Under the grey cloth of that nun-like gown, her breasts rose and fell. ‘Arthur, I didn’t just come for Nell. Before I left Brittany I did something extremely unladylike.’
‘You did?’
She bit her lip, her very kissable lip. ‘You recall how eager my father was to choose me a husband?’
Arthur stopped breathing. ‘Yes?’
She shrugged. ‘After you left, Papa and I aired our views on marriage many times. As a result of those discussions, Papa sent a petition to Count Henry.’
Arthur’s fingers tightened on hers. ‘A petition concerning your future husband?’
She nodded and glanced away. ‘If he will have me. He is presently sworn to Count Henry. My father asked that the Count release him from his duties in Troyes.’
His duties in Troyes. Arthur’s spirits lifted. So that was why Count Henry had left them alone...
Clare had asked for him, and Count Henry... Dieu merci, it looked as though the Count approved of the match.
Arthur wiped his face clear of expression and watched her like a hawk. She was trying to hide her feelings, but that shy, hopeful look was very much in evidence. None t
he less, he wasn’t about to betray his eagerness, scarred as he was by her refusal at St Peter’s and by that misunderstanding at Aimée’s. A man liked to make sure of his ground before entering the lists against uncertain odds.
The white veil quivered and her breath was choppy. She was nervous.
‘“If he will have me?”’ Arthur repeated, forcing himself to release her hands. ‘Is this man not in agreement?’
‘He—’ twin spots of crimson appeared on her cheeks ‘—he...has not yet been told.’
‘I hope he’s worthy of you.’
‘He is...oh, he is far, far above me.’
Arthur waited, unable to draw breath. A log shifted in the hearth, and footsteps sounded out in the stairwell—someone was coming down from the tower above. After they had passed the solar door, Arthur said, ‘And...?’
She was playing with the edge of the white veil, crumpling the fabric. ‘Arthur, stop teasing. You know I must marry and you must know I cannot marry anyone but you.’
Arthur’s heart soared, but he kept a tight rein on his expression. ‘You wish to marry me?’
She released the veil and stared at him. ‘Yes!’
He leaned in and her breath warmed his cheek. ‘Why?’
‘I can’t marry a stranger.’
‘Better the devil you know, eh?’
Her eyebrows snapped together. ‘In this case, yes. You are my anchor. You have been since you came after me and found me outside that inn.’ Her chin lifted. ‘I wanted to tell you all this when we were at Aimée’s.’
‘Clare, I am truly sorry I wouldn’t let you speak.’ He gave her a wry smile. ‘I am listening now...’
‘If I can’t marry you, I won’t marry anyone. I told Papa as much. Luckily he has agreed, though at first he was doubtful.’
‘Oh?’
She made a dismissive gesture. ‘He was concerned about your skills as a steward—the word was that Ravenshold was falling into ruin at the end of your tenure.’
Arthur grimaced, though the rumours didn’t surprise him. Ravenshold had been derelict when he’d left to join the Guardians, but he hadn’t been responsible. Only a handful of people knew the truth of what had happened there. One day, he hoped to tell her the whole. ‘That didn’t worry you?’
Clare shook her head, and her veil swirled about her. ‘A rumour like that? How could it? You are the most honourable and diligent of men.’ She hesitated. ‘Papa remained unconvinced—I believe he made mention of Ravenshold in his letter to Count Henry.’
‘Do I take it from that mysterious exchange a moment ago, that Count Henry has written back to him?’
She nodded. ‘He’s explained that you were following Count Lucien’s orders in Ravenshold. Arthur, both Count Lucien and Count Henry have said they are certain you would make a competent steward for Fontaine. And now King Louis has approved our marriage.’ Those rare and beautiful eyes looked shyly at him. ‘Well, sir, what do you say? Do we petition King Henry of England and seek his approval, too?’
Arthur felt his lips curve. ‘It is most unusual for a lady to proposition a man in this way.’
‘Well, as you must remember, sir, I am no lady.’ When Arthur would have protested, she gave him a sad smile. ‘I’ve not had the right upbringing. Part of me will always be a slave.’
He gripped her arms. ‘Never say that. Never.’
‘It’s the truth.’ She shrugged. ‘May I have your answer?’
‘My lady...Clare, the man you marry will become Count of Fontaine. Are you sure you don’t want a man with noble blood in his veins?’ He grimaced. ‘Someone who will listen to you when you try to confide in him?’
She gave him a slow smile. ‘My mind is fixed on a knight, on Count Henry’s Captain. And...’ she lifted an eyebrow ‘...he listens more than most men.’
‘Mon Dieu, I’m not even legitimate.’
‘So much the better, in many ways neither am I.’
‘What can you mean? Ma mie, the world knows you are legitimate.’
‘Arthur, don’t you see? I was brought up as a slave, part of me will always be a slave. I need you. You may not have been born into the nobility and you may not be legitimate, but so much the better. You know the way of the world and you’ve learned the rules. You’ve learned to succeed, notwithstanding your background.’
‘You need me.’ His voice was flat. She needed him. Was it unreasonable of him to want more?
Eyes bright, she gripped his arm. ‘I need you to help me when I make mistakes. I’m an outsider, you’re not. I need you at my side, to explain when I find this new world confusing. Which...’ her gentle smile warmed his toes ‘...is quite often, I fear. I am hoping to hear you say that you need me as much as I need you.’
‘You refused me before.’
‘At the monastery.’ She sighed. ‘How I have come to regret that. I was ignorant. I couldn’t recognise love when it was staring me in the face.’
Arthur took in a breath and pulled her tight against him. As she swayed towards him, a strand of auburn hair caught the light. Her waist was made for holding and her scent, warm and feminine, filled the air. He cleared his throat. ‘Love?’
Hand on his surcoat, she lowered her eyelashes. In another woman, Arthur would have said the gesture was flirtatious, but Clare didn’t flirt. She slid her palm up and down in a way that made his skin heat even though he had chain mail beneath his surcoat. Lord, he just had to think about her fingers on him and his flesh heated.
‘Love. I love you, Arthur. And I am sorry it has taken me so long to know it.’
‘Clare, I...’ His voice was husky, and in any case words seemed inadequate, so he tilted her head and his mouth found hers. Soft. Warm. Loving. He heard a murmur of pleasure. Hers. His. Their tongues duelled and fire streaked to his loins. He was sliding his hand down the magical curve that was her body, fitting her to him, wishing she could feel the swiftness with which she inflamed him, when he realised that there was more to resolve. A small but persistent doubt niggled at the back of his mind.
Reluctantly, he raised his head. Dazed grey and green eyes smiled into his. ‘Where are you going? Come back.’
‘In a moment. I want you to know how much I regret not listening to you at Aimée’s.’
A line appeared between her eyebrows. She was toying with his ear, making it burn. ‘It was upsetting, but perhaps it was just as well.’
‘Oh?’
Small fingers curled into his surcoat, and her eyes held his. ‘After you left Aimée’s, I felt terrible. I could see my refusal to testify had disappointed you.’ She wrapped her arms about him and hugged him. ‘I couldn’t bear to think I’d let you down, so I changed my mind. My love for you gave me the strength to come forwards.’ Her smile was wry. ‘There, you have found me out. I feared the loss of your goodwill more than I feared appearing in court. And thank God for it, because justice will be served when Count Henry gives judgement.’ Her voice changed, faltered. ‘You know everything now. You will have me, won’t you?’
‘I’ll have you.’ He smiled down at her. It was as though a weight had lifted from him. He could no longer feel the drag of his chain mail. ‘Though why I should agree to marry an unladylike wench who asks me to marry her, I’ll never know.’
‘It’s because you love me.’
He looked into those remarkable eyes and grinned. ‘How could I possible love a woman who insults me as you do?’
‘Do I?’
‘At that dreadful inn, you said I looked like a gargoyle.’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘I thought you would have forgotten that.’
He put his hand on his heart. ‘I treasure every word you ever said to me.’
She peeped up at him from beneath her eyelashes, making him realise that, once again, he had misjudged her. Clare could flirt
. With him. ‘Good,’ she said, softly. ‘Then tell me you love me. Arthur?’
He leaned his forehead against hers. ‘I love you, Clare. I will love you all your days. I will cherish you and—’
She slid her hands up his chest, pulling at his surcoat. Her brow darkened as she felt the chain mail beneath it. ‘Do you think Count Henry has given orders for us not to be disturbed?’
It was easy to follow the train of her thoughts—the darkening of her eyes had Arthur’s loins throbbing unbearably. Biting back a smile, he glanced about him. The cushioned window seat looked a likely spot, although it was a trifle narrow. ‘That would be most unladylike.’
‘Would it? Oh dear.’ Gripping his hand, she towed him to the window seat. ‘Never mind. You can finish teaching me how to be a lady later. First, I must help you disrobe. That chain mail is not appropriate for what I have in mind—’
Voices in the stairwell had Arthur’s head turning sharply towards the door. ‘Ma mie, I think it might be better if I escort you back to your chambers in the palace. Ivo can stand guard for us. We shall be more at ease—’
She gave him a look. Her colour was high and there was a determined light in her eyes. ‘Arthur, I haven’t been at ease since you left Fontaine. In truth, I haven’t been at ease since we left the monastery. I need you. Now.’
With a laugh, he slid his hand round her neck and shook his head.
She frowned. ‘What?’
‘That gown makes you look like a nun, but your behaviour—not that I’m complaining, mind.’ He reached for her veil, searching for hairpins. ‘Lord, I hate these things.’
‘Veils?’
‘They hide your hair.’ As the white veil pooled on the floor, he felt nimble fingers working on the buckle of his sword-belt.
‘For myself,’ she murmured, ‘I am not so fond of chain mail. The first thing you must teach me is how to get it off you. Later, we can go back to the apartment—the bed is as soft as swansdown. And very large. You’ll want to try it.’
Unveiling Lady Clare Page 25
