Heather Graham (21 page)

As countess, however, and a descendant of the house of Valois, she had insisted from the beginning that the fortress be a place where all were welcome. Aville had gained something of a reputation across Europe for its patronage of the arts. She welcomed everyone—artists, musicians, craftsmen, and nobility—including all those from the house of Valois. She had entertained King Jean and the dauphin, Charles. Simon, Count Montejoie, her distant cousin, had come to visit with King Jean, and a pleasant relationship had grown swiftly between them. Simon was six years her senior and very handsome with light blue eyes, auburn hair, a lean, defined face, and a quick, willing smile. He was trained to arms, tall and lean but solidly muscled. He enjoyed all forms of entertainment, laughed with her over the antics of jugglers, puppeteers, and singers, and advised her as well on defense strategems for a fortress such as her own. She had done a great deal of reading herself on sieges and defenses, determined that Aville would never fall again. Despite the plague which had killed nearly half the population of Europe, the rich fields of Aville had yielded abundant crops year after year and careful management of time and labor had kept her portions high, the fortress rich. Years ago, she’d brought in stonemasons and built a second wall around the fortress to prevent the tunneling that had brought about the collapse of the structure so many years ago. Aville would not fall easily again to any man.

Sometimes she wondered if she was building to prevent capture by the English king or the French king, and sometimes she even wondered a little nervously what Adrien would drink of her building and expenditures. Nominally, he remained her guardian. She was certain that Edward had expected that they would have taken their betrothal the next step to marriage by now, as she was actually well past the age when most young women were expected to fulfill the obligations of a wife. But Adrien had lost Joanna, and though she had heard humiliating rumors about his various affairs across the Christian world, he seemed to have no desire for a wife. Or to have
her
for a wife. His heart had died with Joanna; he had meant it when he said that it was for her freedom that he had agreed to the betrothal.

But the betrothal still stood, and so, as Adrien failed to appear with the passing of time, she had spent years wondering how her ties to him might be broken. He could have no interest in her now; indeed, she was certain that he had forgotten all about her—even if he had not forgotten the revenues that their betrothal had brought him.

She wished that she could forget him. His reputation had grown larger than life. He had become the terror of the joust, and had reportedly not lost in a single contest. Giles wrote to him constantly, advising Adrien about what went on in Aville. Apparently Giles received more letters from him than she did, because he would say upon the occasion, “The earl would not approve, I do not think.” She would have to smile and explain why what she did was right, all the while thinking somewhat rebelliously that the earl would not be
the earl
if he had not set his hand upon her and her property! But none of that really mattered, because Adrien stayed where he was, and she led her life exactly as she chose.

“Milady, I think that I have lost you. I have been singing the most decadent lyrics imaginable and you have not blinked an eye!” Simon declared.

She smiled slowly, leaning back against the masonry of the pond. “Decadent lyrics? For shame, Simon!” Simon was charming, and she truly enjoyed flirting with him. She couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be free—and in love. Really, truly, deeply in love.

He set the lute aside and sank down beside her. “I bemoan the fact,” he whispered, “that lyrics are all that I may have of decadence!”

“Simon—”

“I love you, you know, Danielle,” he told her, lifting her hand, and brushing the back of it with a kiss.

This had been coming, she thought, and she could only blame herself because she had enjoyed Simon so very much. She did care for him deeply—he stirred laughter and deep emotions within her. But he wanted more—just as he wanted Aville. She wondered then if she hadn’t sometimes been glad of her betrothal. It had kept her from committing herself elsewhere and she liked being countess here in her own right. Husbands tended to enjoy being lords of their domains—and of their wives.

“Danielle,” he said, his voice a whisper as he looked around, even though they were very much alone in the garden. “Danielle, I have ridden with the Count of Armagnac. We have stirred up rebellion in Languedoc, raided deep into Gascony.”

She gasped, pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell me this!” she begged him.

He caught her hand again. “Danielle! You know that your love and loyalty belong to King Jean and the French.”

“I know that Edward is strong, and you must be quiet.”

“There is no one near us. And I trust my life with you.”

“Simon—”

“Hear me out! I love you, I have since the day we met. Your betrothal is a mockery. King Jean can gain the help of the Church and declare it null and void.”

“On what grounds?”

“I don’t know, but trust me—lawyers and clerics can find grounds when they are needed.”

“Simon, this is dangerous!”

“Just say that you won’t betray me!”

“You know I’d never betray you!” she promised swiftly, aware then that there were footsteps on the garden path at last, and someone was coming.

“Danielle, please!” Simon said. “I must talk to you.”

“This is dangerous, you risk so much—”

“I’ll risk my life, I swear, here and now, if you won’t at least talk with me in private! Please, I beg you! Tomorrow, let’s plan a hunt, and we can manage to ride ahead and share a few more moments’ privacy.”

“Simon—” she began, but Giles Reeves chose that moment to come upon them, his eyes quite stern, his bald pate shining in the sunlight.

“Ah, my lady! There you are.” As if he had not known! she thought with some amusement.

“Indeed, Giles, did you need me?”

“Aye, lady. The accountant is uncertain what payment we promised the bear-keeper who entertained in the courtyard last night. He thinks the fellow is out to cheat us, and wishes you to settle the matter.”

“Ah!” Danielle said. She came quickly to her feet, assisted by Giles. But when she stood, Simon took her hand and bowed low over it, kissing it. Giles appeared ready to burst, but there was nothing amiss in the chivalrous way Simon treated her. He was a member of King Jean’s Order of the Star, a French equivalent to the English Order of the Garter.

“I shall be riding out this afternoon, milady,” Simon told her. “But I am eager to accept your invitation for the morning.”

“Invitation, sir?” Giles said suspiciously.

“A hunt,” Danielle heard herself explain swiftly. “The game is rich in the forest beyond the river. Simon has been telling me that the deer are plentiful.”

Giles frowned. “Hunting has been rich indeed, my lady! You’re well aware that the wretched Count of Armagnac raids more and more deeply into Gascon territory! There are areas nearby where the people are in terror. A small hunting party might appear to be easy prey.”

“Ah, Giles! Who would dare cause me trouble?” she asked. “No Englishman would harm me, and no Frenchman, as I am kin to the house of Valois.” She touched his cheek with a smile. “Adieu then, Simon. ’Til tomorrow.”

He bowed and left her with Giles.

“That one will cause trouble,” Giles said.

“Giles! He is a chivalrous knight, a member of the Order of the Star!”

“The French mimic his grace of England, Edward, in all things,” Giles said disdainfully.

Danielle smiled. “Giles, the French are quick to say that the Order of the Garter is only the Order of the Garter because Edward’s mistress, the Countess of Salisbury, could not keep her garter upon her person as she danced. What is the motto, Giles?
Honi soit qui mal y pense!
Evil to him who thinks evil of it!” She laughed softly.

“The Earl of Glenwood is a member of that most noble order, my lady! They place honor above all else, fight with great loyalty, care for knights who have become impoverished, who can no longer care for themselves!”

“So noble!” she agreed, trying to conceal a smile. King Edward himself was a member of the order he had founded. And she wasn’t sure at all what sense of nobility had caused him to create the Order of the
Garter
when he did have so gentle, loyal, and noble a queen!

“You have been away from home too long, milady,” Giles said sadly.

She started to tell him that she
was
home, but hesitated. Life could be so strange. Sometimes she longed to return to Gariston, to see Sir Thackery again, hold his old hands, sit with him before the fire.

“Perhaps I miss England at times,” she told him, smiling. “But our life here is good, isn’t it?”

Today, Giles didn’t agree. “Milady, I don’t think you understand all that is happening around you. Comte Armagnac is in open rebellion—King Jean claims he works on his own, but all know he works for the French King!”

“Pretender?” Danielle suggested with some amusement.

Giles sniffed. “The men beneath the Count of Armagnac behave as heathens!”

“All men behave as heathens in war.”

“They burn houses, slay men, seize the women.”

“Giles, I will be hunting with some of the finest trained men in the country. Aville is stronger than it has ever been, sure to stand against a force such as Armagnac’s—if he were to dare to accost me! No ill will come to me, Giles, I promise you!” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and left him, hurrying in.

She smiled as she left him. There was always a diplomatic way to do as she chose. She wouldn’t want to hurt Sir Giles under any circumstances.

But she was countess here.

And she was going to be the one to rule in a place that was hers by right.

A strange tremor raced along her spine, and was gone. She wondered at her sudden sense of fear. Giles had made her uneasy, that was all. No one would dare waylay her. She had to go hunting tomorrow, she had to try to understand just what Simon was doing, and she had to try very hard to persuade him from any danger. She didn’t know quite what her feelings for him were, but at the very least, he was a friend, and she didn’t want him hurt.

Leaves rustled suddenly as the wind changed direction. She looked about her, and felt a sense that the world was changing once again as well, that she must be wary of …

Of … something.

She laughed aloud impatiently, lifted her chin, and enjoyed the feel of the breeze.

The weather was beautiful; her home was beautiful.

She smiled to herself, and hurried once again toward the hall.

T
HERE WASN’T REALLY A
problem with the accountant. Giles had merely thought that she had spent a bit too much time with the handsome young Frenchman. Danielle passed through the great hall to the stairs, making her way to the master’s chambers at the end of the hallway on the second level. When she came into the room and closed the door behind her, she paused. This had been Lenore’s room, and little had changed since her mother’s death. The massive canopied bed stood in the center of the rear wall; the tapestried spread and draperies remained the same. The room was a rectangle, with chairs and rugs before the fire, a stand for wine and goblets, a table for whatever work there was to be done. When she had come from Gariston, she’d had a separate privy added to the far wall, and a dressing hall. A very expensive looking-glass in a richly-carved frame stood next to the washstand near the fire. A line of books sat upon a small table by the bed, a curious mixture of material, for she loved romantic tales of deeds and daring that flourished in France and the Italian states and even in England, just as she was fascinated by texts on building, history, weapons, horses, and animal husbandry. She walked across the room, lying down atop her bed, selecting a book on poetry and unrequited love.

There was a light tapping on her door and she heard her name called. It was Monteine. Danielle rose, opening the door quickly with a smile that faded as she saw Monteine’s worried frown.

“What is it?”

“Giles has told me you are going to ride out tomorrow,” Monteine said.

Danielle arched a brow. “Monteine, I am an excellent horsewoman.”

“I am really worried,” Monteine said, the frown remaining upon her pretty face. “These raids that have been going on into Gascony … the so-called noble knights riding with the comte have cruelly raped the women and beaten and slaughtered the men.”

“Surely that is rumor! I can’t believe that they would all behave so brutally,” Danielle said. “They would not attack here, and if any man did so, the fortress can now withstand a massive force.”

“Danielle, that is the point. The fortress is protected. That is why you should stay within it!”

“I am riding with trained knights—”

“With Simon!” Monteine hissed.

“I am deeply distressed” Danielle said, “that you have so little faith in me!”

“You have managed the castle with grace, justice, and wisdom,” Monteine said. “Your parents would be proud.”

“Thank you.”

“But you simply do not realize …”

“What?”

“That you are quite a staggering prize.”

“Monteine, surely—”

“Please, listen to me. You know the ways of the world. Were you a rotting old crone of eighty, men would seek your hand because you have created a magnificent property that is coveted.”

“I am betrothed, remember?”

Monteine sniffed. “I remember, but do you?” she demanded unhappily. “Covetous men can seek ways to break a betrothal. And you must be careful.”

“I am simply going hunting with a good friend, and I will be safe with him.”

Monteine turned unhappily. She shivered. “My bones are aching!” she warned.

Danielle grinned as Monteine left, then realized that she was shivering herself. She drew a soft mantle around her shoulders and went to the fire and stoked it. The flames burned more brightly. She still shivered.

They took no birds of prey with them when they rode out, for they were armed with bows and arrows, intent on taking down deer or boar. It was a day like the last had been, with a beautiful sun riding in a powder blue sky. There were ten in their party as Giles had insisted there might be danger.