Rising late, she had not missed Remy before midday, and then she had assumed he must be with Stefan. When she realized he was missing, the chateau had been searched quietly and efficiently. The boy had not been found. Stefan had reported what he had been able to discover. Remy had risen early and taken the dogs to the meadows, alone. He had returned the dogs to the kennels an hour later and left quickly, but he had not returned to the chateau. The watch at the gates said he had gone down to the town. Even before this was known, she had sent urgent word to Mathieu and Jaime. They had friends and contacts in the town, and the boy should have been found by now.
"He would not run to the woods again?" she said.
"No." Sophie shook her head. "He is hardly recovered from the last time. He would not be so foolish. Unless he was so scared…"
Mariette turned away, unwilling to answer. It seemed that Edouard had also risen early and, despite the snow, had taken his stallion to the meadows. Stefan had given her this information, but nothing more. She had made no comment, and her Captain had ventured none. It was coincidence, or so she prayed.
She turned from the fire to her desk, seeking work, anything to occupy her. Before she settled, there was a light tap at the window. A glance sent Sophie hurrying to lock the door. Mariette drew back the shutters and opened the casement; outside a man crouched on the narrow balcony. In one quick movement, he sprang lightly inside. He stood, shaking snow impatiently from his clothes and tawny hair.
"Thank the saints you were here," said Jai. "It's freezing. I had to leave my cloak; I couldn't climb with it." As Mariette twitched her skirts from the spreading puddle of melted snow at his feet, he grinned and headed towards the fire.
She followed. "Jai, are you mad, to risk coming here like this?"
He turned to stare at her for a moment. "We have the boy. I thought you would want to know."
"Of course I want to know. Is he all right? What happened?"
"He's fine, but we were lucky." Jai shivered and moved closer to the fire, rubbing his hands. "The boy sought help from the priest at the Knights' Chapel. Joachim got there ahead of us. He killed the priest and took the boy. It was pure chance we found him in time."
Sophie came forward, bringing two glasses of wine. "Poor Remy, he must be terrified."
Still shivering, Jai took the wine and drank without answering. "They were looking for him long before we were. What happened?"
She told him what Stefan had learned of Remy's movements that morning, but mentioned nothing else. He watched her throughout.
When she finished, he asked. "And you have no idea what caused him to run?"
"Nothing certain." She held his gaze. "Has he said anything?"
"No, he is terrified near witless." Jai made an impatient gesture and then admitted. "With some cause, they took him into custody for the murder of the priest. It means they have him implicated for that murder at least, and maybe others. It gives them justification to hunt him down like a dog, and makes it doubly dangerous for us to shelter him. But Matt has offered him our protection." He paused, choosing his words. "Matt has also decided we should not mention our connection to you. The boy is nervous and suspicious enough already. If anything upsets him, he might run again." He turned back to the fire. "If anyone can win his trust, it will be Matt. He has promised the boy we will take him at least part of the way home. He hopes that the boy will confide in him. I doubt it. Did he say anything to you?"
"No, but it is not guilt that keeps him silent. Whatever happened, I do not believe Remy would harm anyone."
"Only by his foolishness." Jai set the empty wine glass aside. "Where is your friend?"
"He is not at Chamfort." She turned away, unwilling to have this conversation with him.
"And when did he leave?"
"Earlier today." She knew what he was really asking, and why.
"Is that all?"
"Why should there be more?"
"If there is, you should know." His tone made it clear the double meaning was no accident. "That was surely the task you undertook?"
"Are you accusing me of something, Jai?"
"No." Tense as an angry cat, he faced her. "You said you would tell us if you found evidence Edouard de Chamfort was involved with St Andre. We need to know. You refuse to let us act…"
"Until we know the truth. Your point is?"
"We cannot wait, too much is happening, and St Andre and de Chamfort are at the heart of much of it." He made no effort to hide his impatience. "There seems little doubt that de Chamfort is involved."
"I do not think he is, and you have no proof that he is. So we are no further forward. I was sent to find out the truth, and I will. Your prejudice alone is not enough." She told herself that coincidence did not prove guilt. Her judgment was worth more than that.
He shook his head. "Do you know that since St Andre came north, four villages have been burned? Where has Edouard de Chamfort been this last week? Where is he now?"
"With St Andre's men," she admitted. "Clearing brigand strongholds in the great woods. At the King's order."
"And you still claim he is not part of this?"
"The order comes from the King."
"An order which can be twisted to suit St Andre's purpose, the brutality carried out by his lackey de Chamfort."
"You have no proof of that. You speak of our task, and suggest I am not fulfilling mine. But the agreed task was to find proof strong enough to convince the King. Without it, we can do nothing." She faced him, knowing that this much at least was true. "What you are suggesting is impossible; we cannot tell the King that his trusted General, acting on his orders, burns and slaughters innocents and promotes evil within his kingdom. Anyone suggesting that to Ferdinand would risk their very life, even with proof it would be dangerous."
"If the King will not act, then we must."
"No one will act alone, outside the law." She stood firm before his glare. "We need proof. And then it is a decision for the Compact to make." She saw his face and knew what he would say.
"I will not stand by and see this evil run unchecked. It is not why the Compact was formed."
"It was not formed to sanction murder or to satisfy an ill-conceived desire for revenge." She saw Sophie had moved closer, white faced and anxious. She lowered her voice. "Plans were agreed, and they must be followed."
"We move too slowly," he said with a furious passion. "You did not see the boy, beaten and bound in their hands. Do you think he would have survived the night? And what of the others who are dying while you…" He stopped.
"What?"
"This part you play, Mariette, it is no more than a game, unless you bring us what we need."
She let the silence grow until he understood that he had gone too far. Then she said gently, "You think this is a game to me?"
He shook his head and did not attempt to answer.
She held his gaze, drawing the moment out. "You think I give less to this cause than you, that I fail you somehow?"
He had lost color now. "Mariette, please."
"Do you still hear him call for you?" She saw him flinch. She knew he could not answer, but she persisted. "So, Jai, what would you accuse me of?" She stood breathing deeply, daring him to attempt an answer, but for once, he had more sense.
At last, he said softly, "I was wrong to speak so to you. I'm sorry."
She turned away from him. After a moment, he moved towards the window. Sophie followed. Mariette heard the murmur of words, but she did not turn until he was gone. Then, tired and shivering, she moved closer to the fire. She had been cruel, but he had deserved it. And yet, he was right to question her. She had been so certain of Edouard. And now there was doubt.
She shivered. If Edouard had played her false, if his heart was not true, then what else was he capable of? The thought coiled and twisted within her. She had found no answers at Chamfort. She could not stay. Jaime was right in one thing at least. Her feelings for Edouard meant she was no longer a fair judge.
> ####
The next morning, she sent a note to Rupert. In the afternoon, she made her way to his apartments. The chateau was still busy with guests, but she had chosen an hour when most would be resting before the evening's entertainment, an hour when he would be free to spend some time with her. Still, she was surprised when Rupert was waiting to greet her personally, and at his attentiveness as he led her to his private salon.
He settled her before the fire in a high-backed chair among soft, deep cushions. He brought refreshment with his own hand. Mariette found his easy, undemanding attention comforting. Glancing up, she caught his gaze on her, and was surprised by the look on his face. It was gone in a moment, and before she could identify it. He smiled and began to speak, politely and easily, of his birthday celebrations. He charmed her with tales of his illustrious guests. He recounted their strange foibles, making himself the butt of many of the stories. She laughed with him.
"It pleases me to see you smile, Mariette. You looked a little unhappy earlier, is something wrong?" His words were simple, yet his tone seemed to express more than polite concern.
Though she hated to play games with him, she bent her head hiding her expression. Keeping her voice soft she said, "I am sorry, Rupert, I think I will have to leave Chamfort early. I hope you will forgive me."
"I would be sorry to lose you, but if you must go." He shrugged. "I hope there is no trouble?"
He had left her an opening. She hesitated. Jaime's words nagged, but she would not betray Edouard, or not in this way. She smiled and shook her head. "I must return to Fourges."
"Forgive me, Mariette, I do not mean to pry." He stood up and walked to the window.
She watched him, choosing her words. "I came to apologize and to speak to you regarding another matter. I have taken one of your squires into my service. The boy wanted to leave Chamfort. I promised to help him return home. But Edouard has told me that you will be displeased." It was a gamble, but there was no reason he should know that Remy was no longer with her.
"He told you what?" He turned, frowning. "I can't think why he would say that. If the boy does not want to train at Chamfort, then it is best he leaves. There are a hundred keen to take his place. I don't know why Edouard would upset you with this."
"It doesn't matter. It's just that you have always been so kind, and to think that I might have interfered…" The words came without thought. She realized she had never believed the excuse Edouard gave her, and now his interest in Remy was starkly unexplained.
"Of course not, and I cannot imagine what he was thinking of to suggest it." He shrugged in annoyance. "I really don't know what has got into him of late. Since his victory and knighthood, he is impossible."
"He is much taken with St Andre; perhaps the Marechal is a poor influence?"
Rupert shook his head. "I am beginning to think St Andre is the only one who may manage him. I had planned to keep Edouard at Chamfort, but now I am not so sure."
"He has served the Marechal here at Chamfort?"
Rupert nodded. "St Andre's knights have cleared villages in the great woods. An unpleasant task, no doubt." He paused. "I'm sure Edouard has found no pleasure in it. Perhaps that is why he has been so surly of late."
"I am sure you are right to keep him close, that he is better here among his family."
"I had thought so, but," he hesitated and then shrugged. "He has been nothing but trouble since he returned." He stopped and smiled ruefully. "You do not need to hear this."
He returned to his seat, smiling. "Although you are too kind to complain, please accept my apologies for Edouard's rudeness. I am sorry if it has spoiled your visit, but I cannot let you leave yet. At least stay for the tournament. There is to be a melee." He grinned, suddenly reminding her of his son. "We will have a dozen of the King's best knights against Chamfort's best and, for all his faults, we have Edouard, King's Champion. Our tournament will match Ferdinand's. You can't miss it."
She laughed. "You tempt me but– "
"No, I will not allow my favorite guest to abandon us before my birthday celebrations are complete. And unless you are truly heartless, you cannot leave." He placed a hand over his heart. "If you deprive us of your beauty and wit, my party will be ruined. My other guests will abandon me. How will I survive?"
"You are wicked today, Rupert, and I'm sure you will survive quite well. Chamfort is never without beauty and wit."
"Ah, that is unfair, you think to distract me with flattery. But no, I insist, I beg, you must stay at least till tomorrow. The weather is clearing and we shall have the tournament as planned. They will be able to ride; the arena is being prepared. Let us show you the best of Chamfort."
She had claimed no urgent reason for her journey, so she gave in gracefully and agreed to stay for the tournament. She said nothing more to Rupert, but walking through the chateau's elegant corridors, she pondered what she had learnt. Edouard had been absent since the ball. She had not seen him since Remy disappeared, but he had been at Chamfort that morning. Now she knew that his interest in the boy was not for his father or Chamfort. It might still be innocent. But Jaime would not think so. The thought made her shiver.
She had to find the truth. Edouard's absences, and the pact they had made when she arrived at Chamfort, meant that there had been no intimacy between them. When they were at court, she felt she knew him, and she had not doubted him then. She was no longer sure. While there was doubt, she could not continue to protect him from Jaime and the Compact. If she could have time alone with him, it would be easy enough to break the pact. He would not refuse her. Sickened, she pushed the thought aside. It felt too much of a betrayal.
She shivered. Nothing had changed; she had a task. If Edouard was guilty, then it was not a betrayal; he did not deserve her protection. For his sake, and his father's, she must find the truth.
Chapter 34
The hand shaking his shoulder forced Edouard awake. He attempted to roll away from the insistent voice, but it refused to be ignored. The nightmare slipped away, leaving a vague memory of pain. Distracted by a pounding headache and a strange sickness, Edouard forced himself to sit up. The ruthless fingers released his shoulder.
Raymond stood waiting. He spoke, offering no title and barely civil. "The men are ready to ride. It is past midday, and we need to start back to Chamfort."
Edouard tried to stand, but his knees buckled. Raymond offered no help. Instead, he gestured to the table.
"You need to eat. Join us as soon as you're done."
The door slammed behind him. Edouard winced at the noise. Puzzling over this abrupt treatment, he scanned the room. His head ached, but it was not the familiar misery that usually followed a night's drinking. He tried again to stand up and made it halfway to his feet before the room spun lazily out of focus. He must be drunk. Moving carefully, he sat down, struggling to remember what had happened. The bed he was sitting on lay along one wall of a plain stonewalled room. A table with the promised food was set against the opposite wall. The small window looked out over an unfamiliar courtyard. Stretching his aching limbs, Edouard found no particular injury. He managed to stand up.
In a daze, he groped his way to the table. Lifting the pitcher of beer, he managed to fill a mug and drink it off. He settled in a chair, poured more beer, and broke off a hunk of bread, forcing himself to eat. He glanced down and saw the bloodstains on his clothes. And, on one arm, a ragged bandage. He froze as the nightmare returned. His fingers ripped the bandage off; beneath it, a long, clean cut ran the length of his forearm.
It was no dream. In painstaking detail, he recalled the horror of St Andre's words. Unbidden, the memories of the villages swept over him, vivid with the screams of slaughter and the stink of burning. He started to shake as he relived the horror of what he had done. Saints of mercy, it was true. He nearly puked. One hand clutched the table and kept him from falling.
With shaking hands, he rewound the bandage. Assaulted by a cramping sickness, he sat very still. St Andre had
betrayed and trapped him. Remembering the threats to his family brought another rush of sickness. St Andre had forced him to a pledge, but what had happened afterwards was lost in a hazy, pain-filled nightmare. Afraid of what he had done, Edouard stared at the bloodstained bandage.
He did not know how long he sat there, but eventually Raymond came back.
"Your sword and dagger." Raymond dropped them on to the bed. "Come on, we need to ride now, or it will be dark before we reach Chamfort."
"Where's St Andre?" Edouard asked. His voice sounded rough and strange in his ears.
"The Marechal is not here." Raymond's gaze scanned the table. "If you haven't eaten, bring it with you."
"Wait…"
Ignoring the demand, Raymond turned to leave. With strength fueled by desperation, Edouard leapt up and caught him by the arm. "What happened last night?"
The Captain broke his hold and shoved him off easily. "You truly don't remember?"
"Not all of it, no."
"The Marechal said that you might ask, and if you did, I was to tell you that you made a commitment that cannot be broken before death. And to warn you, if you betray him in any manner, your family will pay the price." He turned to leave.
"Where is he?"
"He will return to Chamfort soon. You will have to wait until he does."
Raymond left. Edouard stood staring blankly at the wall. Fear. He had never truly understood the word. He had been afraid, but he had never been possessed by fear. Now, it locked his muscles and left him shivering and frozen witless. He could not think; his brain was clouded by the horror of what he had done. The thought of home drove him to obey Raymond's command. Leaving the food, he made his way down stairs. Weakness dragged at him.
In the courtyard, the men were waiting. He felt them watching as his stallion was led forward. He forced himself to straighten his back. He mounted and gripped the reins to still his shaking hands. As Raymond turned to him, he rode forward and took the place alongside the Captain. He ignored the man's smile and, despite the shredding terror this place raised in him, he held his nerve as they rode across the drawbridge.
Traitor Blade: (Books 1-3) Page 31
