Almost Innocent (26 page)

“Did you?” He sounded unconvinced.

“Well, I would rather you were vexed than sad,” she responded a mite defiantly.

“I am not sad.”

“Yes, you are. You are remorseful and sad.”

Guy sighed. “I wish things were other than they are. Surely you can understand that?”

She shrugged. “I suppose I can understand it, but they are as they are. I am grateful for love.”

There was, as always, nothing to be said in the face of this assertion. The issues for Magdalen were as clear-cut as ever. She had asked for nothing, she had warned him long ago of the folly of her marrying Edmund, she had declared her love as an absolute, and beside that nothing else was truly important.

He wondered if it was her youth that gave her this single-minded confidence in the rightness of her beliefs and instincts, but in his heart of hearts he knew it was not that. Magdalen of Lancaster was the child of two supremely dominant personalities, and they had both left their identifying traces on their self-willed daughter.

She was looking at him now with her candid gray eyes, assessing his reaction. “Would you truly wish things were otherwise, my lord?”

Slowly, he shook his head. “Not if it would mean that I had not known the joy of you, love. I will bear the remorse for the greater joy.”

She smiled, her face illuminated with pleasure, her soul touching him through her eyes. “Then we may return in peace?”

“Aye, love, in peace.” Leaning sideways, he stroked the delicate curve of her cheek and jaw with the back of his gloved hand. “I will put sadness from me.”

They rode back to the castle, contented although reflective, and in the mews court parted until midmorning when they would meet in the great hall for dinner.

Magdalen had changed her gown and was discussing with the butler the wines to be served at dinner when the exchange of bugles came from the battlements.

She heard first the alerting cry of an approaching party, followed almost immediately by the heraldic demand for identification.

“It would seem we are to have guests, Master Butler,” she said matter-of-factly. “I must consult with the seneschal and the chamberlain.” But instead of doing so immediately, she went up to the battlements, curious to see the new arrivals for herself.

Guy left his study when he heard the heraldic exchange and hastened to the inner court, waiting for the sergeant-at-arms to tell him who was requesting hospitality. The degree of hospitality offered and his own involvement would depend on the rank of the visitors. He caught sight of Magdalen on the battlements and went up to join her.

They looked down on the party gathered at the far side of the moat. The standard was unfamiliar to Guy. He listened as the herald blew his note and lowered the pennon on the bugle in respect for their potential hosts.

“Here comes the Sieur Charles d’Auriac, who claims kinship with the lady of the Castle de Bresse, requesting the hospitality of his kinswoman.”

Guy drew breath sharply. So it was come, the threat from the south. What form would it take? There was little they could do within the castle walls. He became conscious again of Magdalen beside him, conscious of her rigidity.

“That is the man who accosted me in Calais,” she said. “He would have me go with him to a presbytery garden, but I was afeared—”

“Yes,” Guy said swiftly, knowing he must diffuse her unease until he had some sense of d’Auriac’s purpose. “But he is in truth your kinsman. Olivier discovered that his mother was sister to your mother. And as such you must extend all hospitality.”

Her face was ashen, although she did not know why she should be so afraid, except for some deep, instinctual recognition that she tried to express. “But I do not wish to. There is an evil in him.”

He knew it to be true, but must deny it. Magdalen knew nothing of a de Beauregard threat to herself or
her father, or of their implication in Edmund’s death, for to understand such things she would need to know their cause, and he could not bear to inflict upon her the pain of such knowledge . . . to know of the blood and murderous treachery that had attended her conception and birth. “Do not be fanciful,” he chided sharply. “You cannot turn away your cousin.” He spoke to the sentry beside him, and the man ran to the court below.

The herald blew the note of welcome and the drawbridge was lowered, the portcullis raised. Magdalen, still white-faced but recognizing she had no choice, walked with Guy to the inner court to welcome the new arrivals at the foot of the steps to the great hall.

Charles d’Auriac rode beneath the tower into the
place d’armes
and through the archway into the inner ward. He saw his cousin standing motionless beside the Lord de Gervais, and a throb of satisfaction pulsed deep in his belly. She was as he remembered.

Why had Guy set Olivier to discover d’Auriac’s identity? And why had he said nothing to her before? The man had never been mentioned, the incident at Calais never referred to since that day. And why did she feel this sick apprehension as he rode into the court? There was nothing about his physical appearance to promote apprehension; indeed, she experienced the same sense of familiarity she had felt before, as if she had known him in some other place and time.

He took the stirrup cup of welcome from the page who ran from the hall. Guy stepped forward.

“Sieur d’Auriac, you are most welcome to this hearth.” He waited for Magdalen to offer her own greeting, but she remained silent behind him.

“My Lord de Gervais.” Charles swung from his horse and extended the hand of friendship. “I claim kinship with the Lady Magdalen de Bresse.”

“Your kinship is acknowledged,” Guy said, clasping the hand. Magdalen still did not come forward, and the
awkwardness hung, heavy with discourtesy, over the crowd gathered in the court.

“Cousin, I bring you the greetings of your mother’s family.” Charles d’Auriac took the initiative, stepping over to her, his hand extended.

Still she stood, ignoring the outstretched hand, her eyes fixed upon his face, realizing what was familiar. In his eyes, she saw herself. It was the family resemblance. But why did he fill her with such loathing and such terror?

“Magdalen!” Guy spoke her name in sharp rebuke, and she came out of her trance. “You offer our guest and your kinsman discourtesy!”

“I crave pardon, sir.” She spoke quietly and held out her hand, barely brushing her cousin’s flattened palm before withdrawing it and surreptitiously wiping it against her skirts. “My mind was elsewhere.” Still she did not bid him welcome, and it gradually dawned on them all that she was not going to do so without prompting.

“Come within,” Guy said, gesturing to the open door of the hall. “You and your party will accept the hospitality of our guest house, I trust.”

“We should be glad of the courtesy,” d’Auriac said with a pointed glance at his cousin. He and his knights followed Guy into the hall, where the fire burned and the tables were being prepared for the main meal of the day.

Magdalen did not accompany them. She knew she was committing an unforgivable sin against the rules of hospitality and kinship, but somehow she could not help herself. She went to her own apartments and summoned Erin.

“You will go to my Lord de Gervais and you will tell him that I find myself unwell and unable to attend in the hall this day.”

Erin hastened to the great hall where Lord de
Gervais and his guests were drinking wine before the fire, the conversation stilted, the absence of the lady of the house conspicuous.

“My lord?” Erin sidled up to him, her voice low and conspiratorial.

Guy regarded her sharply. “Well?”

“It’s my lady, my lord.”

“Where is she?” It was clear to Erin that the Lord de Gervais was very put out, not a usual occurrence.

“She says she is unwell, my lord, and unable to attend in the hall this day.”

Guy’s lips thinned. He could not imagine what game Magdalen thought she was playing, but he could not play his own and discover that of Charles d’Auriac if she continued with this distempered discourtesy. “You may tell your lady that I excuse her until dinner, but I will require her presence then at the high table.”

Erin bustled off, and Charles d’Auriac, who had overheard the conversation, observed, “It would seem I have in some way offended my cousin. I would ask forgiveness for my fault, but I cannot think wherein it lies.”

Guy’s discomfiture increased a hundredfold. “Do not, I pray you, refine too much upon it,” he said stiffly.

“Some whim which requires curbing?” gently inquired d’Auriac. “It is frequently the way with women, I have noticed.”

Something in his voice set the hairs on Guy’s neck prickling. Yet it was hardly an unusual sentiment. He was certain the de Beauregards would not attempt any harm to Magdalen while they were her guests and she was under his protection. Within these walls, he could ensure her safety easily enough with little more than ordinary vigilance. He had but to discover what treacherous intent lay behind this apparent social visit. And he could not do that if Magdalen persisted in behaving in this disgraceful fashion. They must both offer only smiles and courtesy, seeming to accept the visit of a
kinsman at face value. But why was Magdalen behaving like this? It was not in the least in character, and a mere aversion to d’Auriac, based on that encounter in Calais, was no excuse.

Erin delivered the Lord de Gervais’s message to Magdalen. “He was most displeased, my lady,” she added, looking in puzzlement at Magdalen, who sat huddled on the window seat. “Should I send for Master Elias to physick you?”

Magdalen shook her head, shivering although it was not cold in the chamber. “No, but I do not wish to leave here until the knight travelers have departed the castle.”

“But they say the Sieur d’Auriac is your kinsman, lady.” Erin’s puzzlement was now outspoken. Her lady was not behaving like herself. Maybe it was one of the strange humors of pregnancy.

Magdalen said nothing, and Erin stood irresolute for a moment, then went again in search of the Lord de Gervais. He was escorting the visitors to the guest house where they would refresh themselves before dinner, and he frowned as he saw Erin anxiously hovering on the outskirts of the group of attendants. She was clearly burdened with some communication but unwilling to force herself upon his notice again.

He waited until he had parted with his guests, then beckoned her over. “What is it now, woman?”

“It’s my lady, lord.” Erin twisted her hands in her apron. “Something is amiss with her.”

“She was perfectly well an hour ago,” he said, frowning.

“It is not a sickness of the body, my lord.” Erin’s work-reddened hands tied knots in her apron as she struggled to put the strange thought into words. “It is of the soul.”

“What nonsense do you talk, woman?” Guy stared at her impatiently.

“She looks most strangely, my lord, and she speaks most strangely,” Erin said. “She will not have Master
Elias to physick her, but perhaps she will have Father Vivian. Maybe there is a curse laid upon her, my lord.”

“Don’t talk such nonsense!” Guy exclaimed again. Magdalen for some extraordinary reason was behaving like a willful and insolent child. Of course there was no curse laid upon her. But he crossed the court with urgent step, ran up the outside stairs, and hastened to her chamber in the women’s wing. He threw open the door without knocking and closed it smartly behind him, in the face of the breathless Erin.

“Whatever is the matter with you, Magdalen?”

She still sat huddled on the window seat and now looked up at him, her eyes wide with what he recognized as fear. “I will not see that man again,” she said.

“You will not show him further discourtesy,” Guy stated, as flatly as she. “This unseemly conduct must cease immediately, Magdalen.”

“There is an evil in him,” she said. “He means me harm, Guy, I know it.”

Guy shook his head. “You can have no possible reason for such a fancy. And even if it were true, do you imagine I would permit harm to come to you?”

“Maybe not, but there is an evil in him,” she repeated. “I knew it in Calais, and I knew it the minute he entered the court.”

“You are talking arrant nonsense!” He forced himself to speak with the dismissive harshness he believed would bring her out of this strange, trancelike obsession that could only make matters worse. “I have no wish to lose patience with you, but if you continue with this foolishness, then I shall do so.”

Magdalen lowered her eyes to her lap. His words cut through the web of nameless terror that had gripped her in the last hour, the very real prospect of Guy’s anger superseding the shadow of the unknown threat.

“I cannot like him,” she said, her voice once more her own.

“That is no excuse for discourtesy.” He came and
sat beside her on the window seat. “I do not expect this of you, pippin. Do you not trust me to protect you?”

“Yes, but you cannot always be here.”

“Your cousin is simply paying a visit. I will be here all the time he is.” That was most definitely the truth, but Guy was careful to imply with a casual tone that his reason for such a statement was simply to reassure Magdalen in her groundless fears. “Now, are you going to conduct yourself in proper fashion?” Catching her chin, he lifted her face to meet his steady scrutiny. “For if you do not, I must warn you that you will most certainly suffer my extreme displeasure.” He softened the declaration with a smile, but Magdalen was in no doubt that he meant it.

“I will do my best to be courteous,” she said. “But I can promise no more.”

“That will be sufficient.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You are the chatelaine of this castle, and it ill becomes Magdalen of Lancaster to behave like a petrified child for no reasonable reason.”

“Maybe not, my lord.” Her candid gaze met his. “But there is evil in my cousin, and it is directed at me. You may say what you will, but it will not alter that fact.”

For a moment he debated abandoning his resolution and telling her the truth, if perhaps the truth would make sense of her fears and therefore diminish them. But no, there was no cause to be found in her vague terrors to justify the infliction of the pain of that knowledge. Not while he stood between her and the de Beauregards.