Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3)

by Richard Crawford

  "Alice." Glancing around to find only the scullion boy present, Mario moved cautiously closer. "It's not right to speak of her like that. As if the poor young woman has not faced enough trouble; after Duke Hugo was murdered, she stayed for months secluded at Montmercy, grieving for him. Is it wrong she returns to life and society now?"

  "I was talking with the Countess Allassiri's maid." She paused as Mario groaned, and then continued determinedly. "She said that the only reason your precious Duchess stayed at Montmercy was to make sure she secured the lands and fortune, so that they did not go to some cousin of her husband's."

  "That's nonsense, she was grieving. She loved the Duke." His wife's sour expression did not alter. He carried on determinedly. "It's well known. They grew up together, were betrothed from childhood. It was more than ten years ago, but I remember how people talked of nothing that summer but their wedding. No doubt it was a brilliant political marriage, linking his lands of Montmercy with her inheritance of Broudogne, but it was a love match, too."

  "So if it was such a love match, why's she so free with her affections now?" Alice demanded prosaically. "I heard that she hated her husband, and if she was grieving, she's certainly finished now." She dropped floury hands to her hips, a sure sign that a particularly indelicate piece of information was coming; Mario attempted to forestall her.

  "I don't want to know." For a moment, he succeeded in halting her tirade. "You shouldn't repeat such gossip."

  Triumphant, she raised a floury fist, pointing a finger at him. "It's fact. She's notorious, that's what the maid said." Alice spoke with relish. "Linked to men half her age at court she is."

  "Hell's teeth, woman, she can't be more than eight and twenty, you would have her bedding children."

  "So perhaps they're a bit older, it's still not right."

  Mario sighed. Captivated by the Duchess, and truth be told half in love with her himself, he could find no fault with her. But this was not an argument he could hope to win, and he had sense enough not to try. Reprieve from further revelations came unexpectedly as the eavesdropping scullion, distracted beyond caution, upset a pile of freshly scoured pots. Mario retreated, leaving Alice in possession of the kitchen, and the scullion to her mercy.

  He arrived in the common room to a stir of excitement. Following a general rush to the window, he elbowed aside gawping villagers and smiled with relief. He watched as the Duchess's mud stained carriage rolled into the courtyard, shouting for grooms, he rushed out to receive the lady and her retinue.

  He waved to Stefan, the huge and capable captain of her guard, and hurried forward to secure the honor of helping the lady down. As the carriage door opened, he gasped with surprise. Inside, swathed in the Duchess's own cloak, his blond head cushioned in her lap, lay a handsome boy. Eyes closed, long lashes curled against flushed cheeks, quite oblivious to his surroundings, the boy slept. Praying Alice stayed to her kitchen, Mario greeted his favorite patron with a weak smile.

  ####

  Two days passed before Remy opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. He learned that he was in an inn among the retinue of the Duchess de Montmercy. Sophie, her maid, told him that the Duchess had personally nursed him through days of fever. At first, he was confused and distressed, struggling with a maze of terrifying memories, and racked by a cough that robbed him of breath and strength. Gradually he relaxed. Sophie looked after him. She was young and pretty, with brown curly hair caught back beneath a little white cap. Her calm, capable nature soothed him. She brought him medicine, helped him to drink a little, and left him to rest.

  Remy lost track of time. As he felt a little better, his memory returned, and he pieced together the days before his illness. Too weak to care now for his future or feel fear for himself, he cried for Simon, and dreamed repeatedly of the old man's brutal death. He woke, choking and sobbing, to a dark room and the comfort of a woman's voice. She held him while he calmed, and brought him water and a sweet drink to ease his cough.

  "Ssh, quiet now, you're safe here." The room was dark, illuminated by one candle and the firelight. Warned first by a subtle difference in the soft voice, he knew immediately it was not Sophie who cared for him. Remy caught the hint of perfume and the curling drift of long, dark hair; he noticed rings sparkled on the fine hand that held the beaker for him to drink. He felt the caress of silk against his skin where her arm touched him.

  He realized this must be the Duchess Mariette and shrank back from her, ashamed of his weakness and tears. He had heard stories about her at Chamfort, though she had not visited while he had been there. She was famous for her beauty, for her dead husband, and for the life of pleasure she now pursued. The squires had often spoken of her, of how she loved to hunt and took her deer hounds everywhere. They said she rode bravely and brilliantly.

  She released him, waiting a moment before she spoke. "It's all right, Remy, you're safe. I am Mariette de Montmercy. I won't let anyone hurt you." She spoke softly, but there was something compelling in her voice. Remy found himself close to tears again. Desperate to hide this weakness from her, he turned his face away. She left him for a moment. She returned to take the beaker, and offered him a cloth to wipe his face. Grateful, he buried his face for a moment, then wiped it clean. When he looked up, she was waiting.

  "That's better. Now, you must tell me your full name?"

  "Remy de Longerac, my lady." His voice was strange, and he coughed a little before he could speak again. She handed him the beaker and he drank. "Thank you for helping me. I'm sorry you've been troubled so much." His voice still would not work properly. "You've been so kind." Desperate to express his thanks and earn her approval, he forced the words out until he started to cough again.

  The Duchess silenced him with a touch. "I'm pleased you are better, Remy, but you should rest now. We will talk later." She rose and fetched a small bottle and a flask of wine. Pouring some wine, she added a few drops from the bottle and held it out to him. "This will make you sleep."

  Remy looked at it, memories of his nightmares returning.

  "I'll be here to watch over you, Remy, don't worry."

  Trusting her, he took the wine and drank. She stood and smiled gently down at him. In a few moments, his eyes slowly closed.

  "Rest now." Her voice soothed him, and her face floated across his dreams as he drifted to sleep.

  ####

  Mario edged towards the door, but he could not escape. As his hand touched the latch, his wife turned and fixed him with her gaze.

  "Well, what are you going to do about it?"

  "About what, my love?"

  "That woman and the boy." Her busy fingers did not pause, plucking feathers by the handful as she prepared two brace of fowl for supper.

  "That woman. Do you mean the Duchess?" he asked, shocked.

  "Who else would I mean?" She ignored his attempts to shush her. "It's not decent her bringing that boy here. She may carry on as she wishes at court, but this is a decent house."

  "I've explained before, Alice, the Duchess found the boy. He was sick, alone by the side of the road…"

  "Rubbish." She overrode him effortlessly. "I've seen the quality of the boy's clothes, and he's of noble birth. You don't just find boys like him by the roadside."

  "But we don't know what happened, and why would the Duchess lie?"

  "Perhaps she abducted him."

  "No." He glanced around, but only the scullion was present, busy scouring, his head deep in a pot. The boy was learning. "Please, my dear, you mustn't say such things. It's not right."

  "Huh, I'll tell you what's not right, that sort of carryon with a boy half her age. It's just like the Countess's maid said." She looked up and fixed him with a glare. "I won't have it; we run a good, clean house. We have a reputation to preserve."

  The kitchen door opened. Mario looked round in desperation. He gave a sigh of relief as his daughter entered. Catherine was carrying a pile of dirty platters and several ale pots. Her chestnut hair was caught back in a pon
ytail, accentuating striking green eyes; a sprinkle of freckles dusted her creamy skin. She smiled, and he shot her a look of entreaty.

  "But the boy is sick, you've seen him, Cat, tell your mother." He watched as she deposited her load of dishes, and set an unfinished half tankard of ale by the scullion's side. The boy beamed at her. Mario smiled too, just watching her. Cat made everyone smile. She had a way with her, and even the surliest customers responded. She came to her mother's side.

  "He is poorly, Ma, with a terrible fever and cough. I've said I will make one of my special brews for him tonight. He's much too ill to eat." With a quick glance towards Mario, she added. "Sophie has been looking after him."

  Mario nodded. "See, it's as Cat says. The boy is ill and the maid has been tending to him. There's nothing amiss in it."

  "Maybe not, but that don't explain the other tales."

  "It's no more than gossip, Alice, and you should know better than to speak out of turn about such a good customer." He flinched as his wife opened her mouth, but Cat was quicker.

  "Here, Ma, let me finish that." She scooped the final bird from her mother's hands. "You sit down and rest for a bit."

  Mario slipped out the door, thanking the saints for his beautiful, clever daughter.

  ####

  Remy slept through the night and most of the next day, waking only to sip a little of the herb and honey brew Cat had prepared for him. He woke properly as the day ended. He lay weak and wretched as darkness fell, caught again by his memories. Sophie had been there every time he woke, but he was alone now and his illness made him fearful. He wondered what would become of him when the Duchess left. Perhaps she had left already, and he was alone again and unprotected. He did not want to be alone.

  His heart pounded as the door creaked slowly open. Preceded by the light of a new candle, and a rustle of silk, the Duchess entered. Embarrassed by his feebleness, Remy lay silent and gazed at her in awe. Dressed in a gown of midnight blue silk, with her dark hair gathered and piled high, jewels sparkling at her ear, neck and wrist, she might have come from a court dinner. Seeing him awake, she came forward quietly. She smiled, and his fears eased immediately.

  "Remy, I'm glad you're awake." Softly, she crossed the room to stand by his bed. He caught the scent of her perfume. "How are you feeling?" she asked.

  "Much better, my lady, thank you." Desperate to impress her, Remy attempted to heave himself up, but the effort was too much. His head spun, and he started to cough.

  Immediately, she was at his side with a drink. "Gently now." She pushed him back among the pillows and lifted the beaker for him. When he recovered, she settled in the chair by his bed.

  "I know you are not well, but I must speak with you, Remy." Her gaze held his, reassuring him. Despite this, his heart pounded as she continued, "I must travel on tomorrow, but I can't think of leaving you alone like this. You must help me a little." When he nodded, she asked. "You said your name was Remy de Longerac, I wondered if you might be related to Baron Tibault de Longerac?"

  "Yes, my lady, he is my father."

  She waited, but when Remy offered nothing further she asked, "You are a long way from home, Remy?"

  He did not have the energy to think of a lie. "I was a squire at Chamfort." No further words would come, though pictures tumbled through his mind. Still, he could not speak of what had happened, even to her. "I ran away." To admit even this was hard. Hiding the truth felt the same as lying to her. Hot with shame, he kept his gaze fixed on the coverlet.

  She did not press him further. "I must continue my journey tomorrow."

  Remy gazed helplessly at her, dreading what must come.

  "I am expected at Chamfort, Remy, I cannot leave you like this, so you must travel with me."

  "To Chamfort, no, my lady I cannot return there."

  "Why not?" She spoke gently, but there was a tone to her voice that insisted on an answer.

  "I ran away, they'll be angry."

  "I'm sure things can be put right, and it need not trouble you until you are well again."

  "No. I can't go with you. I'll be all right here, and when I'm better I can go home. It need not trouble you further, my lady, you've been very kind, but really, I'll be all right." Remy began to cough again as he finished. The Duchess watched him.

  "Why are you so frightened, Remy?"

  "I'm not. It's just that I don't want to go back there. They'll try and make me stay, and I've finished with Chamfort."

  "Have you told your father this?"

  "No, not yet, but he never wanted me to come anyway, he won't mind." Remy tried to stay calm, but as he spoke his head felt as if it would burst. He saw Simon falling, the dark knights stepping over his body. Then he saw the shadow creature in the crypt. The eerie chant echoed in his head. He felt himself slipping toward the darkness.

  When he woke, the Duchess was sitting watching him. Ashamed and close to tears he stared back at her.

  "I can't leave you here, Remy." Her voice was soft, but again he heard something in it that would not be denied. "You will come to Chamfort with me." As he started to protest, she continued, "You will come as part of my household and no one will challenge you. After my visit, I will see you safely home to your father, if that is what you want." She waited for his comment, but he had none. "I will write to your father immediately."

  They left early the next day. It was barely light as Stefan helped Remy downstairs into the carriage where he was to travel with the Duchess and Sophie. The morning was gray and chilly, promising rain later. Wrapped in blankets, still very weak and unwell, Remy felt unable to challenge the decisions the Duchess had made for him. He was scared about returning to Chamfort, and frightened by the prospect of seeing Sieur Edouard again. But he believed in her. He was relieved that there was someone to take care of him, someone to trust. His faith in the Duchess was instinctive, and though he could not say why, he felt certain she had the strength to protect him.

  They were soon ready. The driver cracked his whip, and the carriage rolled out of the courtyard onto the road that ran between the river and the edge of the wood. For a while Remy tried to watch the scenery, but then it started to rain and everything blurred in the dense gray downpour. The Duchess and Sophie chatted quietly as he rested back against cushions. The carriage's plush interior relieved some of the discomfort, but the jolting ride soon tired him and he felt his composure slipping. By the end of the morning, he had entered a strange dream like state. His fears magnified as his weakness increased. Dimly aware of his companions, and their concern, he did his best to appear untroubled.

  Around midday, the carriage halted at a small village. They entered the local inn to rest and eat. Though he tried, Remy could not force the food down. The Duchess watched him with concern. Then, after a whispered conversation with Sophie, she spoke to him.

  "I know you are not well, Remy." Frowning, she rested a hand on his brow. "I cannot nurse you properly here. We can reach Chamfort by evening, and I think it is best that we press on. Do you think you can manage a few more hours travel?"

  Remy gazed up at her hopelessly. He did not want to go back to Chamfort. But he did not want to be left behind. Weak and frightened he was unable to bear the thought of being alone. Too tired to protest, he knew there was nothing he could say that made sense anyway. He struggled against a shaming urge to cry, ridiculously aware that this was the adventure he had always craved.

  Remy saw little of the afternoon's journey; he fretted silently as the carriage raced north through the wet, dark woods. When they arrived at the chateau, it was early evening. Feverish and distressed, he had to be carried upstairs by Stefan. The Duchess insisted on seeing him settled in a room close to her and Sophie. Once he was in bed, she personally prepared an infusion of herbs, mixed it with some wine, and waited while he drank it off. Soon the drugged wine soothed him. Just as he was drifting toward sleep, Remy was aware of someone entering the room.

  The Duchess rose and moved to intercept the newcomer.
There was a murmur of voices, and together they approached his bed. Even through unfocussed eyes, Remy recognized the tall, young man who gazed down at him. He tried desperately to gather his wits and remain awake. It was too late. The drugged sleep claimed him. His last sight the cool, blue stare of Edouard de Chamfort.

  Chapter 26

  Mariette did not move from the bedside until Remy settled. Then she waited a moment more before she rose and turned to greet Edouard. He was not looking at her; he was staring at Remy.

  He stepped forward to stand at the bedside. "This boy is a Chamfort squire." When she did not answer, he finally looked at her. "He disappeared a week ago. We have been looking for him. Where did you find him?"

  It was not the greeting she had expected. Nor did she sense his concern was just for the boy's welfare. After a moment, she answered him. "We found him on the road outside Verdun, half dead with fever."

  "Then we owe you our thanks for taking care of him. I will call someone to take him to the squires' hall."

  "No." Even now, she did not have his attention. It was annoying, and worrying. She let her tone convey her displeasure. "I have taken responsibility for his care."

  "And Chamfort thanks you, but the boy belongs with the other squires." He did not notice her tone, or chose to ignore it.

  "I don't think you understand. He does not wish to return to Chamfort. I have written to his father. Remy is in my care now."

  "But he belongs…"

  "I think that is for his family to decide. And for now, since Chamfort has been so lax in its care, Remy will remain with me."

  It was not the reunion she had imagined. She saw he was going to argue. Settling the blankets over the sleeping boy, she turned away without another word. At the door, she paused and looked back. There was only one candle; beyond its light, the room was dark. Edouard had not moved. He was staring at the boy, and she saw by his face he would not break the impasse.