by Diana Cosby
“Non,” she whispered, her pulse racing as she rubbed her wrist where he’d held her. “My father—”
“Knows naught of the Scot’s spawn. As your betrothed, and with the king unavailable due to pressing matters, the physician informed me.”
She swallowed hard. This explained how the duke had learned of her condition.
“I assured him that I would pass the news to your father. But I chose to spare King Philip further shame.”
Hurt tore through her. “He would love my child!”
“Another bastard?” Eyes narrowed, he leaned closer. “Do you not understand the disgrace your father has endured since your birth? Have you never asked yourself why he has kept you sequestered on the coast with but minimal protection? Or why you are rarely invited to visit?”
“You lie! His home is always open to me. He loves me!”
He drew himself to his full height with a cold laugh. “Does he? Is that what your desperate heart wishes to believe? Or your begging him to release you from our betrothal didn’t reveal the obvious?”
Stunned, she stilled, the hurt immense. “He—he told you I pressed him to end our betrothal?”
“Indeed. He is anxious to have you out of his life.” Pity shadowed Gaston’s face. “He doesn’t want you and never did.”
Sickened, a sense of betrayal washed over her as her childhood memories collapsed in her mind. As a young girl when she’d shown an interest in herbs and healing, her father had arranged for her to live in the seaside village. In addition to allowing her to follow her passion for healing, it had given her freedom from suitors who’d sought her hand to gain a royal tie.
Marie understood her father’s explanation that the responsibilities of the crown allowed her infrequent visits. When the opportunity arose for her to stay at one of his castles, hadn’t he always visited with her at the start of each day, reading stories of magic and faraway lands?
A chill swept through her. What of her father’s recent threat toward Colyne? Was Gaston right? “My father loves me,” she said, but doubts filled her words.
He closed his eyes, shoved out a harsh breath. When he opened them, his gaze softened. “I am sorry I was overly harsh. ’Twas wrong of me to have shared some of your father’s admissions to me with such candor. Forgive me.”
Some of her father’s admissions? Mon Dieu! What else had he told the duke? Her heart aching, she stepped back; all she wanted was to be alone.
A weary smile touched his mouth, fell away. “I have allowed jealousy to guide my tongue. But I see by the hurt in your eyes that you know my words are true.” With a grimace, he gestured toward the turret. “Go, then. Speak with the king. Ask him if my claim is a lie.”
No, it couldn’t be true. Shaking, Marie knew she should move, should seek out her father and learn the truth. And yet her feet refused to move.
“Though you do not love me,” Gaston said with unexpected tenderness, “I believe ours can be a comfortable marriage. I expect naught but your duties as my wife. Once an heir is born, if you choose, you will have your privacy. But I shall expect you at my side when an occasion requires such.”
An heir, his child, when Colyne’s grew inside her. A babe she wanted desperately.
“My only stipulation is that the Scot remain ignorant of the child,” the duke said. “ ’Twould bode ill for his life if he dared again confront the king or me.”
Fear rippled through her, and Marie lay a protective hand over her stomach where her babe rested. If Colyne learned of her pregnancy, he would do whatever it took to claim her as his wife.
“Think of what I told you,” the duke said quietly. “On the morrow I will have your word that you will comply.” He walked away.
Overwhelmed, she watched him go with a confident stride. Once he disappeared into the turret, she wrenched open her door and stumbled inside.
Her maid rushed toward her. “You are ill?”
“Non.” She held up her hand to forestall the woman’s approach. “Please, I need to be alone.”
Felyse scowled. “I told your father it was too soon for you to be about, but he insisted it was your duty to spend time with your betrothed.” She made a tsking sound. “If you ask me, the king is anxious for you to wed.”
The woman’s words chilled Marie further.
“Do not listen to me; worry is making me ramble.” She gave her a comforting smile. “Let me help you to bed and then I will be on my way.”
She remained silent. After her maid left, Marie curled into a tight ball but couldn’t sleep. Gaston’s harsh words repeated in her mind. Did her father love her, or had all he’d claimed been a lie? She hated the doubts, the misgivings that undermined her father’s support, which she’d never questioned before.
And Colyne—he would be thrilled at the news. She easily envisioned him holding their son or daughter, the pride, the love in his eyes as he told their babe stories of the fey. But he would never know they’d created a child.
With a frustrated sigh, she shoved her bed covering aside and rose. There was no way she was going to sleep this night. Unsure of anything, she moved to the window and stared into the night.
A thin film of clouds shielded the stars overhead.
As she started to turn, a movement on the wall drew her attention. Narrowing her gaze, she tried to make out the murky figure. Failed. Someone was hiding in the shadows near an arrow loop.
Why?
An assassination attempt against her father?
Her pulse raced as she studied the covert stranger. Whatever his intention, she must inform the guards of his presence.
As she started to move back, she caught sight of another man hurrying down the wall walk.
Moonlight spilled from a break in the clouds, illuminating the lone figure.
Gaston.
She frowned, surprised by his presence, believing he’d returned to his chamber. Or, as troubled as she by the news he’d imparted, mayhap he couldn’t sleep as well?
Marie steadied her emotions and glanced toward the man hidden in the shadows. As her betrothed approached, the stranger stepped from his hiding place.
He was going to attack Gaston. She started to call out a warning, but as the duke spotted the man, he waved him back into the shadows.
Both men slipped into the shield of darkness.
Unease rippled through her. A planned meeting. Why? Was Gaston’s rendezvous somehow connected with her abduction? Shame filled her at the thought, one driven by fear. If indeed her betrothed was right, she’d lived a lie, her father’s words of love naught but sympathetic offerings from a man who’d tried to appease an unwanted child. Tears welled in her eyes. Her foundation of love was but a story, conjured up like one of the tales of King Arthur.
King Arthur!
So caught up in her doubts, stunned by the realization of her pregnancy and devastated at losing Colyne, rational thought had fled.
Her heart pounding, Marie bolted to the hearth. Angled on a ledge sat the volume of King Arthur tales, its edges worn from use. She picked up the leather-bound volume.
With unsteady fingers, she flipped through the hand-penned parchment. Through the blur of her tears, she read the inscription.
My dearest, Marie. Your birth is a blessing. You are a daughter who fills me with joy and one whom I welcome into my life, home, and heart. One day, when you are grown, my greatest wish is that you too may be blessed with a child created by love.
Your father, Philip IV
The fragile parchment shook in her fingers. Marie closed the volume and slid it on the ledge, then clenched her fists.
Gaston had lied.
Anger knotted into a hard ball in her chest. The bastard thought he could convince her that she was unwanted, sway her to believe she could ever stop loving Colyne or the child she carried.
Her anger shoved up another notch. The bastard had played on her fears of love, her doubts that any man would want her if not for her royal tie. Before she’d met Colyne, she mi
ght have believed his words.
No longer.
Through Colyne’s trust, friendship, and patience, he’d taught her that she was a woman a man could love, not because of the royal link but because she had a good and honest heart. With Colyne, she felt complete.
Marie glanced to where Gaston remained cloistered in the shadows with the stranger. What other devious decisions had he made? Did they extend to her abduction? Grabbing her cloak, she ran out the door.
Mon Dieu, she would find out!
Crouched in the shadows along the wall, Colyne listened to the hushed conversation between Marie’s betrothed and a stranger who’d stood in the back of the great hall during the evening meal.
From the coat of dust clinging to the man’s garb, he’d ridden hard to reach this assignation.
With quiet steps, Colyne edged closer.
He could now move without pain or dizziness, but his recovery did little to ease his troubled mind. Marie’s celebratory dinner this eve had been a potent reminder of her impending marriage, a union that would transpire unless he found evidence linking the duke to her kidnapping.
An owl hooted in the distance. A gust of wind swept past, thick with the scent of rain.
He took in the clouds churning overhead, slowly robbing him of the guiding moonlight. Silver rays faded. Except for a wavering glow of light cast by the torches, blackness shrouded the castle.
The scrape of leather sounded nearby.
Bedamned! He flattened himself against the stone.
Caught within the wind, the soft murmurs of the distant guards and the chirp of crickets filled the night.
Colyne made another slow sweep. Satisfied the sound had come from a distance, he crept closer.
The rustle of clothing sounded from the entrance to the wall walk.
He stilled, his eyes narrowing.
With stealth, a cloaked figure moved from the stairs.
Another gust of wind whipped past. Fragments of moonlight cut through the break in the churning sky. The silver rays exposed several strands of honey-colored hair whipping about the secured hood. The clouds roiling overhead closed, smothering the person in blackness.
Marie!
With care, Marie edged closer to where the duke whispered in the shadows with the stranger, her anger at being made a fool still running hot. She strained to hear their conversation.
“I told you never to come here,” Gaston snapped.
The man shuffled his feet. “Your Grace, I—”
“Silence! If anyone should hear, ’twould cost us both our lives.”
Their lives? Anger melded with apprehension. She pressed closer. “I am sorry,” the stranger replied.
Her betrothed glanced around. As if satisfied no one was about, he faced the man. “Why are you here?”
“With our abduction attempt exposed, the Duke of Renard fears for his life. He beseeches you to arrange his passage back to England immediately.”
“I told him I would take care of matters as soon as it was safe,” Gaston hissed. “Inform him that he is to remain hidden, and I will send word when all the arrangements have been made. You will never visit me here again. Is that clear?”
“Oui, Your Grace.”
Sickened, Marie closed her eyes. Her betrothed had participated in her kidnapping. Damn him, he would pay for his treachery.
Gaston shook his head and lowered his voice.
Marie leaned forward, but their words were too soft for her to understand. Keeping low, she crept closer.
“The Duke of Renard also states the remainder of the payment will be sent once he is safe.”
Her betrothed cursed. “ ’Twas not the agreement we made.”
“I am but a messenger,” the man rushed out, his voice trembling with fear.
“Be gone,” Gaston snarled.
“Aye, Your Grace.”
Mary’s will! If they looked in this direction, they’d see her! Marie turned toward the tower, but her slipper caught against the stone. Her pulse racing, she steadied herself.
“Did you hear something?” the stranger asked.
Moonlight flickered to expose the harsh lines of Gaston’s face. Fury, then macabre satisfaction settled in his eyes, leaving her chilled to the bone. “Marie. ’Tis a pity you have followed me.”
Chapter 22
Shaking with a mixture of rage and fear, Marie stepped back from her betrothed, keeping his accomplice in sight. “You helped plan this,” she said with contempt. “And what else are you involved in?”
The duke lunged.
Marie tried to run, but he caught her.
With a jerk, he hauled her against his body. “You should have gone to sleep as I insisted,” he hissed. “Now, when they find you sprawled on the ground below, ’twill be with regret that I inform your father that your delirium returned.” His expression mocked sadness.
She shook with fury. “When my father learns of your deceit, ’tis your life that will be—”
Gaston clamped his hand over her mouth, muffling her scream. “You worthless bitch! No one will be able to hear you until it is too late.” He gave an indignant grunt. “Now you know too much. Had you listened to me, you, along with the Scottish bastard’s child, would have lived.”
Colyne halted as he inched forward, the duke’s news slamming through his mind.
She was carrying his child?
At Marie’s gasp, Colyne tamped down the elation and edged forward. He had to save her!
In the slashes of errant moonlight, terror widened Marie’s eyes as her betrothed wrestled her toward the edge.
The bastard! Colyne charged Gaston.
“Your Grace,” the stranger shouted, “behind you!”
The duke turned, giving Colyne much-needed time. Teeth clenched, he caught Gaston’s neck, wrenching him backward.
Marie broke free.
“Run!” Colyne shouted as he plowed his fist into the duke’s jaw.
Instead, Marie gasped. “Behind you!”
Colyne whirled.
Dagger in hand, the stranger charged.
With a quick twist, he evaded the man’s attack. Before the assailant could slow, Colyne caught his forearm, jerked him forward.
The stranger dropped to his knees, his hands scraping at the stone. Momentum slid him forward, and a cry ripped from his lungs as he tumbled off the wall walk. Seconds later, his body thudded against the earth.
Gasping for breath, Colyne rounded on the duke.
Deep lines savaged his face as the noble, his sword raised, charged.
Fury toward this man who had dared to threaten Marie’s life backed Colyne’s swing. Metal scraped metal as he deflected the aggressor’s blade.
At the duke’s next attack, Colyne ducked. Forged steel hissed over him by mere inches. Taking advantage of Gaston’s lowered weapon, he charged.
Blades screamed.
Locked.
Colyne shoved. The duke stumbled back.
Sweat poured down Colyne’s face as drove forward with a series of brutal swings. He would nae lose her. She was his life. “Cede!”
“To a Scot?” With a curse, Gaston bore down on Colyne, narrowed the gap, swung.
Colyne repulsed the blow, drove his blade forward. The slide of the duke’s flesh against the honed steel offered its own reward.
In shock, Gaston gaped at the wound across his left arm, a clean line severing skin from bone. Brows slammed together in outrage. “For that you will die!”
The thud of steps echoed as the guards rushed toward them. “Halt!” one of the king’s knights ordered.
Eyes blazing, the duke attacked.
Colyne repelled the blow. “This,” he said between clenched teeth, “is for Marie!” He sidestepped and thrust, sank the tip of his sword deep into the noble’s gut.
The duke’s weapon clattered to the ground, slid across the stone, wobbled at the edge, and then tumbled over. Eyes wide with shock, the duke stared at the blood staining his tunic in a slow, sluggish tr
ail and collapsed to his knees.
Colyne glared at the noble. He’d almost cost Scotland their much-needed aid, had played a part in both Stephano and his family’s as well as Douglas’s murder, had hurt Marie and had endangered their child’s life. The bastard would never harm anyone again. Colyne lifted his sword to deliver the fatal blow.
Marie stepped forward. “Non!”
Colyne’s fingers trembled on the hilt. “He deserves to die.”
“He does,” Marie agreed, her voice unsteady, “but his shame will be greater if his sentence is delivered by my father and witnessed by his own serfs.”
As much as Colyne yearned to end the bastard’s life, he lowered his weapon. He would allow the king to mete out the deserved punishment. “Why did you help to abduct Marie?”
Defiant eyes lifted to Colyne. Silence
“For the coin my abduction would bring,” Marie said.
The duke glared at her.
“I overheard him and the man with whom he met.”
Colyne motioned the guards as they halted around them. “Arrest the Duke of Vocette for conspiring against King Philip.”
The knights seized him.
“When you are interrogated,” Colyne stated, his words like ice, “ ’twill be intriguing to see what devices they choose to acquire your confession. Methods I have nay doubt will have you praying for death long before ’tis served.”
Fear curdled in the man’s eyes, and he tried to shove to his feet. His legs gave, and he landed hard. Wide eyes, panic swept his gaze. “Non,” he begged, “if you have any mercy, kill me now.”
“Mercy?” Marie said with disgust, “you have earned none.” She nodded to the guards. “Take him to the dungeon.”
“I will help you,” Gaston pleaded, as the guards hauled him away. “Give you whatever amount of coin or lands you request.”
The knights shoved the duke into the turret, his pleas for death echoing in his wake.
His heart pounding, Colyne drew Marie into his arms.
Her body trembled against his. “I was so afraid!”
“You are alive.” Colyne swallowed hard, brushed the pad of his thumb against her cheek. “You are with child? I am—”
