Autumn Lord (4 page)

spending the day helping her to gain some confidence in her craft, he'd insisted that she make her debut in

the great hall. He would rather have kept her from the curious and callous stares of Simon's soldiers and

servants, but he hoped they'd appreciate her entertainer's talent and ignore her strange appearance. He

hoped, but he was none too certain of how Simon de Argent's retainers would react. More importantly,

he wasn't sure how Simon would react to the girl's presence. In private, his friend was a reasonable man,

though far too taciturn of late. In public he was still the Lord of Marbeau and wore a cold, hard, soldier's

face.

Simon looked up a moment before silence descended on the hall. From his central seat on the dais he

had a clear view of the tower doorway, so he was the first to see Diane of Brittany come into the room.

His thoughts had turned to the strange woman several times during the day. He'd almost climbed the

stairs to Jacques's quarters once or twice. In the end, he'd decided that putting a curb on his curiosity

might be the wisest course. He hadn't expected the old man to bring her into the hall.

Simon should have, of course. After all, Jacques had said the Breton storyteller had come to Marbeau

to amuse the lord of the castle. He didn't want to be amused, as Jacques knew very well. But he couldn't

very well deny his people diversion as the long days of autumn drew down on the land. Jacques knew

that as well. Damn it. So the woman would have her chance to interrupt his household and his life.

"I pray for her sake that she's talented," he muttered under his breath as he drew his gaze over the

approaching storyteller.

The night before he'd thought her some strange, fey creature Jacques had drawn up from the

underworld. Her extraordinary looks had no such chilling effect on him now. Rather the opposite,

actually. The pale material of her clothing shimmered in the light of torches and candles, the subtle

movement of the soft fabric left him wondering about the womanly shape it covered. Her hair had a

blue-black sheen to it, like Damascus steel. She wore it loosely about her shoulders, like a maiden's. It

enhanced the heart shape of her face and the size of her teardrop eyes.

Eyes that were full of fear as her gaze met his, then slid quickly away as Jacques took her hand and

led her toward the dais. The gaping crowd parted like water before them. Silence followed them in a

rippling wave.

While keeping a mask of indifference on his features, Simon carefully watched the effect this Diane of

Brittany had on his household. He did not know what Jacques's game was in bringing the woman to

Marbeau, but he did know he didn't need any more dissension among his people than he already had.

Guest of his old friend or no, he'd cast the woman out at the first sign of trouble.

As the shock wore off, an angry murmur soon ran through the crowd gathered at the trestle tables.

And, from the way heads turned, it didn't look like trouble was going to be long in coming. He saw

fingers held up in the gesture of protection against the evil eye. Father Andre crossed himself hurriedly as

he backed up against a wall tapestry behind the dais, then a second time while he mumbled something in

Latin. Simon sighed, his chaplain obviously wasn't going to be any help in calming the populace.

Beside him, in the high-backed chair that he'd let her appropriate, though it was meant for the lady of

the castle, he heard Alys squeak in alarm. He was almost amused at his mistress's reaction as he looked

between fair Alys and the dark woman Jacques had brought to the foot of the dais. He wondered which

of the pair was more frightened. After a moment, he decided that it must be Diane, even though she

showed no outward dismay at the hostile from the people who surrounded her. For all that she held

herself proudly, the fear in her eyes gave her away. Somehow, that combination of pride used to cover

apprehension called to him.

Alys pushed herself up out of the chair and pointed at the newcomer. "What is that?" Then she put her

hand dramatically on his arm. "You'll protect me from it, won't ,. you, my lord?"

Oh, for heaven's sake,
Diane thought, her nervousness suddenly buried by annoyance at the

woman's reaction. She crossed her arms and glared at the redhead, but the woman wouldn't meet her

eyes for more than a moment. The red-haired woman looked anxiously at Simon, so Diane looked at

him as well.

She'd spent most of her trip across the room concentrating on him, actually. He was the one familiar

figure in a sea of strange new sights. The room was dark, and smoky from an unvented fire in a circular,

stone pit. It was full of oddly dressed people who collectively smelled like a sweaty locker room and

looked at her like
she
was some kind of freak. There were people with swords in the crowd, just about

everybody seemed to have a knife.

Simon was the only thing that was familiar, and even though he'd held a sword at her throat the night

before, she felt safer looking at him than at the hostile crowd that was now at her back. He looked

calm, self-assured, in control, all the things she wasn't. When he looked at her he almost conveyed

some of those emotions to her. Almost. Since, while his glance held a bit of reassurance, it also held

cold warning. As though he was ready to blame her for the way his posse was behaving. And, even if

Jacques hadn't told her, she had no doubt that he was the one who held tight control over this stinking

rabble.

When Jacques touched her shoulder reassuringly, she jumped nervously. Simon saw her reaction, and

she could tell that the gesture he made of raising a silver goblet to his lips, was to hide a smile.

Then his girlfriend repeated, stridently, "Will you protect me from the monster, my lord? See how she

glowers at me!"

"She's no monster," Jacques said.

"She's a woman," Simon told his companion.

"She's hideous," the redhead answered. "Monstrous."

Simon gave a flinty smile. "Then she won't be any competition for you, will she, my dear?" Though

Diane heard the sarcasm in Simon's voice, the other woman didn't seem to. While his girlfriend preened,

Simon looked Diane over critically, in a way that made her go cold with anger. It also made her go hot,

and flushed with embarrassment, and deeper sensations she had no intention of dwelling on.

Simon's lips quirked up, in response to her blush, Diane thought, but it was the redhead he patted on

the arm. "No, my dear, there's no competition at all."

"What's the monster woman doing here?" the redhead demanded of the wizard.

Jacques ignored her. He turned and loudly addressed the crowd. "Diane of Brittany has come among

us to recite tales of heroes and battles, deeds of honor, and great loves. She comes to entertain my Lord

Simon and his household." He threw a stern look over his shoulder at Simon. "Has she not, my lord?"

One of Simon's fair brows angled up at a sarcastic angle at Jacques, but he stood and made an

imperious gesture.

A man standing behind Simon's chair called out, "Silence," in a deep, ringing voice. Gradually, the

room quieted.

Into an oppressive silence, Simon said, "Speak, woman, before our dinner grows cold."

It wasn't the most magnanimous of introductions, but Diane supposed she'd better do as he'd said.

She didn't look forward to trying to entertain this rabble, but maybe if she got it over with she could go

hide in Jacques's room again. Maybe she'd even get something to eat.

Jacques led his young protégé to stand on the dais, facing the high table, but visible to the entire room.

"I must go," he told her. She gave him a frightened look, but he didn't relent. "You must learn to do this

on your own," he whispered. "Besides I have a coded message that I must translate for Simon as soon

as possible. So, I'll see you after dinner." He smiled, gave her another reassuring pat, then stepped away.

Diane's mind raced as she watched the old man disappear into the crowd. She was on her own! He'd

gotten her into this and wasn't even going to stay to give her moral support!

"Well?" Simon drawled. "You can speak, can't you?"

She couldn't even explain to him that, no, she couldn't. So she just gave him an acid-bath look and

thought furiously to come up with a story that would suit this weird bunch of people. Jacques had said

something about heroes and battles and honor and love. Okay, she thought, the plot of
Excalibur
and all

those other King Arthur movies had all that stuff.

Speaking as loudly as she could, she said, "Once upon a time there was a king named Uther

Pendragon who had the hots—who lusted—after the wife of his friend—"

She gave them as much of the story as she could remember, culling the details from half a dozen

movies to patch together a whole tale. She told them about Merlin, and the sword in the stone, and the

knights of the Round Table, the quest for the Grail, the illicit love of Lancelot and Guinevere, and about

Mordred, and battles and betrayals, and they ate it up. The crowd's reaction was more than enthusiastic,

with hoots and laughter, and applause.

She was still nervous as she spoke, but after the first few minutes she got caught up in the story. Also,

doing her best to get it right kept her from succumbing to stage fright. She couldn't look at Simon as she

talked, though. She was afraid that his expression would be cynical, or sarcastic, or worse, bored. She

didn't want to deal with that—although she didn't know why she thought his opinion was important.

Eventually, she felt compelled to look at him. It was as though his eyes were burning holes into the

back of her head, as though he was daring her to face him. She told herself she was being ridiculous, but

when she turned toward him the force of his furious glower was enough to nearly knock her off the dais.

Frightened, she took a step back, words frozen in her throat. She did lose her balance and landed hard.

Though it was only a long step down to the floor, the impact was enough for her to twist her ankle.

She would have cried out in pain if she could, but in a moment she forgot the sharp ache as Simon

loomed over her. His face was a harsh mask. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his hands mercilessly

hard. She remembered the sword he'd rested against her throat the night before, and found that his fury

was an even more dangerous weapon. She would have pulled away if he'd let her, but instead his grip

tightened. She felt small in his grasp, and very frightened.

"How dare you tell that tale in this castle?"

She had no words to answer him with, but he shook her, as though he could force an explanation out

of her that way. She tried to fend him off, but he just shook harder. And there was no escaping from the

pain, hurt, and anger in his amber-colored eyes.

On the dais, the redhaired woman laughed. Simon stopped shaking her and gave the woman a

withering look. Abruptly, he dropped his hands from her shoulders. His face had been pale with fury,

now a flush colored his cheeks, as though embarrassment were replacing his anger.

Diane shook with fear while the crowd jeered and shouted. The noise nearly deafened her. Simon

pushed her away. She barely heard him when he said, "Get out."

The surprising thing was
that it wasn't dark outside. The castle had been dark, but daylight still

clung to the world out in the open. Actually, the surprising thing was that she was here at all, but Diane

tried to cope with the moment rather than freeze in panic at the whole, impossible fantasy situation. The

sky over the steep, narrow trackway was lit with a rich sunset-gold. On the high cliff behind her, the

castle brooded like a stone monster with a hangover. She refused to look back at it, and fought the

illogical fear that the crouching beast behind her was ready to pounce. It was Simon who had pounced

on her for no reason, had her driven out of the dubious protection of his fortress. She didn't understand

any of it, and she couldn't banish the horrible look of mingled pain and fury that he'd turned on her.

What had she done?

She supposed she'd never know. She supposed she should be grateful she was free of the strange

place. Not that the outside world was any less strange. Well, she could comfort herself that at least the

outside world didn't have Simon, with his sword and his temper, in it. Somehow the thought wasn't

comforting. Nothing was. So, she concentrated on the path instead, and walked with careful slowness

instead of giving in to the urge to run.

Once away from the castle, the path led through fields that looked like they were in the process of