“I bet Adrian that you could play a tune after hearing it only once.”
Devin inclined his head, passing the harp back to Armand.
“Well, you were very lucky, then. Because I wasn’t even certain I had heard the entire thing.”
Armand laughed. “That makes it even better. Are you ready to work?”
Devin nodded, refraining from mentioning that he had yet to visit the kitchen for breakfast.
“Good,” Armand said approvingly. “We still have a great deal to cover. And since Jeanette is already hard at work on your cloak, I think we need to finish your training.”
“I’ll leave you then,” Adrian said, rising.
Armand sat in silence for a moment after the door closed, and then shifted the harp to a spot on the floor. He folded his hands between his knees and looked at Devin.
“Before we start, I thought it wise to mention that I intend for Jeanette to marry Adrian.”
Devin straightened, a sudden and unexpected pain stabbing through his chest. He struggled to catch a breath, aware of Armand’s blue eyes watching him closely.
“You make it sound as though this is something you have arranged yourself,” Devin said, carefully. “Does Jeanette have any say in the matter?”
“Adrian and I have arranged it,” Armand replied. “But it is for Jeanette’s welfare. Let me assure you, Monsieur Roché, it is for the best. Should something happen to me, it will allow her to continue to live here, in a capacity that she enjoys.”
Devin scrambled to his feet. “But Jeanette doesn’t love Adrian!”
He had watched Jeanette’s polite refusals of Adrian’s advances. Oh, she smiled at him but there was no sparkle in her eyes when she spoke to Adrian. And her face did not light up when Adrian entered the room. It was very obvious she was not interested in pursuing a relationship with him. Besides, surely she would never have behaved the way she had last night, if she was in love with Adrian. Devin was certain of that!
Armand swallowed. “I am sorry if this is distressing to you. The situation is unfortunate. I think my daughter has fallen in love with you, Monsieur Roché. And that is a situation that you and I, both, must try to remedy. I’ll be asking you to spend as little time with her as possible until you leave Lac Dupré. Last night’s little tête-à-tête should never have taken place. I want your word that it won’t happen again.”
“Armand…” Devin protested.
Armand’s face was drawn. “You cannot pretend that your intentions are honorable, monsieur, not a man in your position. Here in Ombria, a man only courts a woman with one purpose in mind. Unless you intend to ask my daughter to marry you, I must insist that you leave her alone.”
Devin was momentarily speechless. “Armand,” he sputtered. “I would never deliberately hurt her.”
The lines around Armand’s eyes deepened. “Your very presence here hurts her, monsieur. Although, I must say, in all fairness, that I don’t think you have actively pursued her. You have been too preoccupied with your work. And I believe it is your intensity and your earnestness that attracted her in the first place, not your aristocratic heritage. For a girl like Jeanette, falling in love with you must have been rather easy, I would think. The problem is there is no future in it; just the certainty of a broken heart when you move on in another week. Surely, you can’t believe that you would be able to offer her anything more than that?”
Devin imagined writing to his father to say that he had fallen in love with the daughter of Ombria’s Master Bard. He would be advised to enjoy himself, provide for any bastard child that might arise from the union, and be home in time for Christmas to please his mother. He stood mute and embarrassed before Armand.
“I thought not,” Armand replied. “And since we are both men of the world, perhaps we will just leave it at that. I would imagine your father has made arrangements long ago for your own marriage. Even with five older sons, a man in his position would never leave something like that to chance.”
Words jammed in Devin’s throat. How could he have found eloquence so easily last night? At this moment, he couldn’t formulate a single sentence in his own defense. Armand was right. And yet, Devin had never carried on an intelligent conversation with his fiancée, Bridgette Delacey, in the entire time he had known her. She lay as far from his heart as some classmate he had met only once and whose name he had forgotten. Last night, Jeanette had touched him with her intelligence and her passion in a way no other woman ever had. He had not pursued her before, for the very reasons Armand mentioned, but how could he ignore her now?
“Armand…,” he pleaded, searching for some means to justify himself.
The bard turned away from him.
“I would prefer not to speak any more about it. I’ve been feeling rather pleased with you of late, Monsieur Roché. Please, don’t say anything that might change my mind.”
Armand retrieved the harp and slung it into his lap, a little roughly.
“Shall we start your lesson? There’s a great deal I want to cover today. While you learn these stories incredibly quickly, I find I cannot put in the long hours at this that I once did.” Armand patted the stool beside him. “Sit down, will you? It hurts my neck to have to look up at you all the time.”
Devin slumped down, wishing he could be anywhere else at the moment. He hated himself for enjoying and encouraging Jeanette’s attentions. What had he been thinking? Marcus had tried to warn him, but he had preferred the gentle fantasy that, someday, Jeanette might be in his arms, her skin soft and cool against his. He didn’t deserve Armand’s dispassionate judgment. His cheeks were scarlet as attempted to shift his focus to what Armand was attempting to teach him. But he found it impossible to concentrate on his lesson.
“And Adrian,” he asked after a few tense minutes, “does he love Jeanette?”
Armand hesitated a moment too long. He avoided Devin’s eyes when he answered. “He will be a good husband, Monsieur Roché. In time, I think they will grow to love each other.”
That’s not enough, Devin thought fiercely. For a woman like Jeanette, it would never be enough.
CHAPTER 40
Bishops and Blacksmiths
The next few days passed quickly, sliding toward their inevitable conclusion: Devin must leave Ombria, Armand, and Jeanette behind. His mission, both apparent and implicit, required him to move on, but it was going to be harder than he had ever imagined. He had consciously avoided Jeanette’s company, turning his gaze away from the hurt in her eyes when he failed to accept her invitation to have coffee on the terrace or to sit by the fire in the evening. Perhaps she assumed that his work with her father kept him constantly occupied, or perhaps she too sensed that circumstances were set against them. Devin ached to reassure her, and yet, he knew it would be a lie.
“I’ve lost you again, Monsieur Roché,” Armand commented with a sigh. “You cannot daydream and learn Ombria’s Chronicle at the same time. If you plan to keep to your itinerary, you need to concentrate.”
Devin raised his eyes to look at him, “I was thinking about Jeanette.”
Armand cut him off. “I know exactly what you were thinking about and I consider the subject closed. Please, don’t make me angry with you.”
Devin gestured hopelessly. “I’m sorry. But, I can’t help but be concerned about her future.”
“Let me worry about Jeanette,” Armand retorted. “Tell me the story of Edmond Leferre.”
Devin took a moment to compose his thoughts.
“Edmond Leferre was a blacksmith from Genevois. He lived on the estate of Monseigneur Leveque, a Bishop of the church. One day, Leveque was to be honored at a special mass in the Cathedral in Pireé. But one thing after another conspired to delay him. By the time he left, he was in a terrible hurry. But just as he drove out of the courtyard, his carriage horse threw a shoe.
“He went to find Edmond Leferre himself. Edmond’s wife greeted the Bishop at the door with many bows and curtseys. Leveque explained what he neede
d but she told him that Edmond was sick in bed. ‘Let me see him, please,’ Leveque begged. Now, the bishop saw at once that Edmond was truly very ill, tossing and turning with a high fever and a cough. ‘Shoe my horse,’ Leveque requested, ‘and I will give you anything you ask.’ ‘Anything?’ Edmond asked. ‘Anything,’ the Bishop agreed. And knowing that Leveque was a man of his word, Edmond got up and put on his warmest cloak and went out to the forge to shoe his horse.
“It was mid-winter and the snow was sifting under the edges of the smithy and the wind howled around the corners. Edmond shoed Leveque’s horse and then went back to his bed, shivering and coughing.
“Now Edmond’s wife had heard the Bishop’s promise and was thinking about what Edmond could request as payment for his services. Wealth could assure the future of their children or a comfortable old age.
“Leveque was gone for two days and when he returned he went immediately to Leferre’s home. A neighbor opened the door and ushered him in. Edmond’s wife was sobbing into her hands, her children gathered around her. Edmond was laid out on the kitchen table all still and cold. The neighbor explained that Edmond had passed away during the night. The Bishop was shocked. He was immediately filled with guilt that he had persuaded Edmond to go out into the cold when he was so ill. He knelt in front of Edmond’s widow. ‘I made a promise to your husband and now, I say the same to you. I will give you whatever you ask: a large house or riches for your children. What do you desire?’ And Edmond’s widow simply looked at the Bishop with tears in her eyes and said, ‘I want my husband back.’”
Devin paused before he continued, loving the way the story built to its unbelievable climax.
“And then the Bishop said, ‘As you wish. There is nothing that the power of Almighty God can’t accomplish.’ And he asked everyone in the house to leave him alone with the body. Huddled in the other room, the mourners could hear nothing but the steady rise and fall of the Bishop’s voice praying. But after about an hour the praying ceased abruptly and the room fell quiet. Edmond’s widow went to the door and pushed it open. She found the Bishop lying dead on the floor, his Bible in his hand. And Edmond was sitting up on the table, his burial shroud still wrapped around him. He held out his arms to his wife and she ran to embrace him.”
Devin finished and grinned at Armand. “Have you considered that maybe Edmond wasn’t really dead, and when he sat up the Bishop died of shock?”
Armand shook his head. “A bard’s job is to recite these stories word for word not to speculate about their authenticity, Monsieur Roché. Some other bard, centuries ago, was convinced of this story’s credibility and added it to the Chronicle. You must accept it with the same conviction you would devote to any other story.”
“Still,” Devin replied. “It makes me wonder just the same.”
“You can wonder all you like,” Armand said, “just don’t ever introduce doubt into your performance. Your personal opinions have no place in this work. You must always keep them to yourself.” Armand lighted his pipe, drawing the sweet smoke through the long stem and releasing it in perfect white circles. “I did like how you paused before revealing the ending. It heightened the suspense. That was nicely done, despite your reservations.”
“Thank you,” Devin said, inclining his head. “I’ve been wondering, Armand. When will you tell me about those monoliths we saw along the road? Surely they appear somewhere in the Chronicle. I can’t leave Ombria until I’ve satisfied my curiosity about them.”
“All in good time, Monsieur Roché,” Armand replied. “I have told you before that there is a sequence to these stories but I promise you will know before you leave my province.”
Adrian opened the door to the performance hall. Dr. Mareschal stood behind him.
“Armand,” Mareschal said with a little bow, “Chastel would like to invite you all to dinner tomorrow night, if you can release Monsieur Roché from his studies for a few hours. I know you are pushing to meet a deadline.”
“Monsieur Roché’s deadline is self-imposed,” Armand replied. “I have all the time in the world for dinner parties. It is my student you must convince.”
“Of course, we will come,” Devin said graciously. “I owe Chastel a great deal. I would be honored to spend the evening in his company.”
Mareschal bowed again. “I will tell him. We’ll send a carriage at six o’clock.”
“Thank you,” Devin said. “We’ll look forward to it.”
“One last thing,” Mareschal said, “bring a harp. Chastel requested that you sing for him after dinner.”
“Can I borrow yours or Adrian’s?” Devin asked Armand.
“Of course,” Armand replied. “But you need your own. You are so concerned with having a bard’s cloak, and yet you lack the harp. Surely you want to look the part?”
“I have a harp at home,” Devin replied. “I didn’t bring it because it seemed just one more thing to cart along.”
“A necessary thing, nonetheless,” Armand said. “My predecessor presented me with this one when he asked me to be his apprentice. I believe my old one is still here in the attic somewhere. I’ll make you a present of it, Monsieur Roché.”
“That’s not necessary,” Devin protested, embarrassed by his kindness. “I can buy one.”
Armand waved a hand. “Nonsense, I have no need for two. It’s a fine harp, though it is a little battered. Take it with my blessing. I hope you will use it for many years.”
CHAPTER 41
Death and Secrets
My Dear Devin,
I hope you are well and quite recovered from your encounter with Ombria’s wolves. I dare not dwell on what might have happened had Chastel not arrived in time to help you. Guard your life, son. I want you back home safe and sound at the end of this adventure.
Unfortunately, René Forneaux announced news in Council of both the wolf attack and the murders of the two young men from Armand’s village. He chose to use them as an example of the barbarism still present in the provinces. I barely headed off a motion to have you and Gaspard recalled to Viénne with an extensive military escort. Could you have a word with Gaspard in private? While I cannot tell him what to write, caution him that what he shares with his father in his letters is being broadcast to all of Council.
Of course, it didn’t take long before your mother heard the news. She was completely distraught. She has taken to her bed, refusing to speak with me for the past three days – but not before reminding me that she tried to dissuade you from this undertaking. I share her concern, Devin. As you have found out, the provinces can be uncivilized, dangerous places. I cannot caution you enough to be constantly on your guard and place your full confidence in Marcus.
There is worrying news from Arcadia. Lucien Reynard, Arcadia’s Master Bard, was found shot to death in his own performance hall. The man was apparently well liked and venerated by his people. The killer has not been found. Fortunately, his apprentice was safely away at the time of the murder. Your friend, Armand, may already know of Reynard’s death but if he doesn’t…break it to him gently. I believe all of those men are good friends, especially those who reside in neighboring provinces.
If you veer from your intended itinerary, please let me know as soon as possible. As always my resources are at your disposal. Do not hesitate to allow Marcus to select additional bodyguards if he feels it is necessary. Your safety is of the utmost importance.
Affectionately,
Your Father
Devin folded the letter and placed it back in its envelope. He slid it into his inside jacket pocket, where it rested uneasily against his heart. His mother’s reaction was not unexpected but he still felt responsible. He felt guilty for not having shared more information with her. It had been cruel and unkind that she had heard about the murders here in the village, and the wolf attack through such a public venue. Tonight, before their dinner at Chastel’s, he would write to her and try to explain his reticence.
He was certain that Armand did not know of
Lucien Reynard’s murder. This was catastrophic news following on the heels of the death of Perouse’s Master Bard only a few months before. It made his original mission even more imperative. The oral history of the provinces must be preserved.
Devin went downstairs unwillingly, reluctant to be the bearer of bad news. He found Armand polishing a beautifully carved harp at the kitchen table.
Armand looked up and smiled when he came in.
“There, what did I tell you, Monsieur Roché? I knew I had this old harp around here someplace. It has a few nicks and dents, but it plays more beautifully than the one I use now.” He drew an experimental finger over the strings, filling the room with mellow, resonating notes.
Armand’s smile faded when he saw Devin’s expression. “What is it?” he asked. “What is the matter?”
Devin avoided his eyes. “I just read my father’s letter. Armand, I am sorry to tell you that Lucien Reynard is dead.”
“No!” Armand protested, one hand to his chest. “How? When did it happen? I saw him not two weeks before the wedding. He was the picture of health.”
Devin’s chest contracted painfully. “He was murdered, Armand, shot to death in his own performance hall. They have no idea who is responsible.”
“God!” Armand slumped down at the table but with enough presence of mind to ease the harp down gently. “God,” he whispered again. “What does this mean?”
Devin sat down across from him. “You once told me that you believed that Gautier Beau Chère had been murdered. Is it possible.… .”
Armand raised his head, his eyes red. “Careful what you say,” he warned. “You may incriminate what you hold most dear.”
“My father wouldn’t order such a thing,” Devin protested.
“Are you certain?” Armand asked.
“Yes,” he answered, “I am very certain.”
“Then who would?” Armand demanded.
“Certain Council members, perhaps,” Devin suggested. He was afraid to say too much. “I have begun to suspect that my father’s power isn’t absolute.”
Among Wolves Page 25
