Autumn Lord (28 page)

She wondered if she imagined that he flinched as her accusation reached him. He didn't turn back.

He didn't want her. He was running away. She should have known it would come to this before she

committed her heart to the man. She didn't belong in his world. So, he was leaving her exiled from his

life as well.

"Damn him."

The black-veiled women gasped in unified shock.

They surrounded her like a murder of crows and she was hustled into the refectory by the crowd of

women before she could decide what to do next. Her heart ached, depression began to swamp her.

She'd slept little, eaten nothing, and the adrenaline that had kept her going was running out. She was a

wreck, and nobody had even beaten her up recently.

Except Simon, who'd done it with words and the best of intentions.

"Idiot," she grumbled as she was led to a seat at one of the long refectory tables. "God save us from

well-intentioned men."

"Amen."

Diane looked to her left, to find Felice seated next to her. It was Simon's daughter who had spoken.

"Are you agreeing with me? Or praying?"

"A bit of both," the girl whispered back. "You were calling on God's help. That's a prayer."

There was a bright twinkle in her amber eyes. Felice looked radiant in her white postulant's veil,

despite the bruises on her face. Diane didn't understand it, but she guessed Felice was one of those

people who really did have a religious calling.

"I should be working in the kitchen," Felice said as an old nun stopped behind them and put a dark

slab of bread on the table in front of each of them. "But Mother Elizabeth thought I could better serve by

helping you become reconciled to life in the cloister. Not all who enter these gates do so of their own

will," she added sadly. "Just as not all women marry willingly." A haunted look crossed Felice's face.

Not all men marry willingly, either, Diane thought. She didn't think Simon had with his first marriage.

She didn't think he was marrying willingly now. It wasn't fair to him. It wasn't fair to the girl. It sure as hell

wasn't fair to her. Somebody ought to save that man from himself.

She ate most of the bread while she tried to get her confused thoughts together. She knew there was

something she should be doing, but she was so tired, so emotionally drained. About all she had left was

her sense of outrage, and it took a while before she could even work up enough of that to speak.

"What is wrong with you people?" she asked Felice after she'd had a bit of watery soup to go with the

bread. "Why is your father doing what somebody else wants and marrying this heiress person?"

"To save Marbeau, I suppose," Felice answered. "It's a risky thing he's doing."

Fear knotted in Diane's stomach. It didn't sit well with her breakfast. "Why?"

Felice was very matter-of-fact when she replied. "If he takes a new wife and gets her with child, and

then is killed in battle, both mother and babe will surely be put to the sword." She shook her head sadly.

"Denis will have Marbeau, and no one is going to stop him. Not while Vivienne controls his actions."

Diane was too shocked to speak. She was used to not speaking, but not to having the words frozen in

her throat out of sheer horror.

"Perhaps Father is marrying to beget a new heir in case Denis is the one who dies in battle," Felice

went on. "The land must be passed on. The patrimony is all that matters."

No,
Diane thought.
Simon is what matters.
She suddenly knew what it was that she'd forgotten to

do,

"I have to go after him."

Felice looked utterly shocked. "You can't."

"Why not?"

"He told you to stay here."

"So?"

Felice considered the concept of defiance for a moment. She blinked, and licked her lips nervously.

"You would go to him when he sent you away? When he put your safety and chastity above his male

lust?"

"Yes," Diane answered firmly.

"You would offer yourself to him as his concubine though he has a new wife in his household?"

"No," Diane responded promptly.

"What would you do?"

"Keeping him from marrying anybody but me, of course."

Felice lowered her gaze. A tiny smile tugged at her lips. "I see." She looked back at Diane. "You

would make him happy?"

Diane's heart flooded with hope, and determination. "Yes," she said. "I'll do my best to make him

happy."

Felice's smile broadened into a grin. "Then why are you here?" she asked. "Go after the fool if you

want him."

******************

around them on foot and horseback, in litters and on carts. But for one thing, Simon would be glad to

leave the noise and crush of the city behind him. Every step away from Sacré Coeur had been torture,

every moment more spent in Paris would be a temptation. The memory of Diane's face, her lovely voice

pulled at him.

Her horse stood next to his, saddled, waiting. None of his people asked where Diane was, but he

could feel the question in their glances. Simon ignored them as he approached his mount.

It was impossible to ignore Father Paquin when the priest stepped out from the shadow of the

baggage cart. The clergyman planted himself squarely before Simon. "It looks as though you are leaving

Paris, my son."

Simon nodded. "I've accomplished what I came for."

"Gilbert is dead." Paquin crossed himself. "I will say a Mass for his soul."

"Say several. Say one for me, while you're at it." Simon tried to step around the priest, but Paquin

would not let him by. Simon sighed tiredly. "Father, I only want to go home."

"The king would not be pleased with your leaving." Paquin smiled. "You have not even sung for him

yet."

"The king prefers hymns to love songs," Simon pointed out.

It occurred to Simon that he had never sung for Diane. She'd spent hours entertaining him and he had

not thought to repay her in kind. He hadn't picked up his lute in many months. His heart had been dead

to song, but suddenly it ached because he had never shared his one gift with the only woman a love song

would have been meant for. Such music he could have given her—if only there had been time.

"But the court so enjoys your talents," the priest said. "You could serenade Lady Marguerite."

Simon rubbed his jaw. "I suppose I could."

Paquin smiled. "Then you will come back to the palace?"

Simon gestured at his household. "I'm already prepared to take my leave of the city."

Paquin's eyes narrowed. "You killed a man last night, broke the Peace of God."

Simon chose to ignore the faint threat in the other man's voice. "Witnesses admitted my right to fight

the man."

"You got what you came for, my lord." Paquin leaned forward, and whispered. "You cannot ride

away without paying for it. Father Raymond arranged for your meeting with Gilbert. The price for that is

an alliance with the king, sealed with your marriage to DeHauly's daughter."

"Which would mean abandoning my vow to Henry Plantagenet."

"You owe service to the King of France, as well."

Simon shook his head. "Not in war. I swore that I would follow Henry and no other in war."

"Throw in your lot with France, I beg you. You will have the king's support in all you do."

"Will that stop my son from attacking me?"

No matter what the priest answered, no matter the king's promise, Simon knew Denis would ride

against him in the spring. Even if the king forbade it, Denis would be persuaded to attack Marbeau.

Simon knew his only choice was whether to fight his son alone, or to accept the help of troops provided

by Marguerite DeHauly's father.

The bells of a nearby church began to ring. Closer, Simon's stallion shook its head restlessly and

snorted with impatience. Simon longed to be off as well, to escape the island before he did something

incredibly foolish just because it was what he wanted. Though he tried to keep his attention on the priest,

he kept looking back the way he'd come. Back toward Sacré Coeur.

Paquin said, "You will defeat your whelp's mercenaries easily with DeHauly's aid."

Simon gave the priest an arrogant look. "You don't know how well I trained the boy."

"All the more reason to accept the alliance the king wishes."

"Perhaps I should stay," Simon agreed. "When I came here I thought I could. I tried to persuade

myself that I could save my daughter, and my lands, and start over. I told myself that duty was all that

really mattered. Not happiness, mine or anyone else's, just duty to my patrimony. I intended to betray my

vows." His heart was ready to burst with the pain of knowing why he couldn't grasp this one last chance

to save all he held dear. He said, "I can't do it, father. I would if I could, but I can not."

The priest did not look angry, but sad. "Why? Why stand alone when the king wants to be your

friend?"

Because all he held dear was nothing compared to the woman he wanted.

He was a fool. He knew it. Not for abandoning his duty, but for abandoning the woman he loved.

Even knowing that he had done it for her own good was no comfort.

She doesn't want to be safe,
he thought.
She wants to be with me. She said so. I want to be with

her. What more do either of us need?

He had done what was best for her, but he had not done what was best for them. It was ridiculous to

think that they could be together. Ridiculous, but the desire for Diane rose up and overwhelmed all

reason.

"What am I doing here?"

When he would have turned away, Paquin grasped his arm. "It's not too late, my son."

"I hope not," Simon answered. "Perhaps she can find it in her heart to forgive me."

Paquin looked confused. "Lady Marguerite?"

Simon laughed. "I'm sure she's a fine girl, and will make Denis a wonderful wife."

"You're going to let DeHauly make an alliance with your son instead of you? You're denying the king's

wishes?"

"There's nothing else I can do," Simon answered. Not and have the woman he wanted.

"Do you know what you're giving up?"

My life,
he thought.
And gaining my soul.
"I know. Good-bye," he added. "I thank you and Father

Raymond for at least trying to help."

He shook the priest off and went to his horse. He swung up on the animal's back and looked around.

"I'll meet you on the road," he told his people. Then he turned the horse and rode into the traffic headed

away from the bridge.

******************

was that she didn't want to draw any attention to herself, but she kept bumping into people and things,

which wasn't doing her much good, either. The so-called street was narrow, full of churned-up

half-frozen mud and things she could smell but didn't want to think about. This was definitely not the

Paris she remembered from her adolescent trip.

Though she had followed Felice's detailed direction's to get to the main bridge over the Seine, she was

worried that she was lost. She could hardly see the sky when she looked up because of the way the

upper stories of the buildings leaned crazily out over the street. She was surrounded by people heading in

the same direction she was. That reassured her that she was going the right way, and worried her

because she didn't want to spook anybody and cause a riot because she looked different than they did.

She wanted to find the bridge and get out of town. Felice had given her a purse full of coins. Diane

had them tied to her belt. The pouch jingled reassuringly against her thigh as she walked. Felice had said

that these were her last worldly goods, saved to give to the poor but that financing her father's happiness

was cause enough to give the coins to Diane. Diane planned to use the money to follow Simon back to

Marbeau. She didn't know how she was going to go about getting there, but if that was where she was,

that was where she was going to be.

It was silly, romantic, and foolhardy, but if she had to walk across France in the winter to get to him,

she was prepared to do it.

And what would she do if she found him in bed with his new wife when she got there?

"I'll think about that tomorrow," she muttered as she continued on her way. It was the wrong movie

for the situation, but it was about the best way to handle the situation—one day at a time.

"Maybe that's the best way to handle any situation," she grumbled, as she walked into the side of a

horse.

There weren't that many riders on the street. Most people were on foot. There were a few ox-carts,

there had been a monk on a donkey, and she'd noticed some people being carried by in box-shaped

litters. The few riders she had seen had been sword-carrying males, in chain mail. She suspected that