Heather Graham (6 page)

“Truly, you are a witch to taunt me now in so gentle a tone.”

“Edward, will you or will you not allow me to go?”

“On my terms,” he said.

“And they are?”

He walked away from her, hands clasped behind him. “Should anything ever happen to you, the child is given over to my care.”

Lenore was silent for a moment. “Why?” she asked.

“She is mine by right.”

“She is yours, but by no right.”

“Perhaps you will not believe this, but in my way, I have loved her mother.”

“Will I leave here if this promise is not given?” Lenore asked softly, tears filling her eyes.

“You will leave in the morning, if the winds grant a crossing.”

She sighed after a moment. “I will abide by your will then, milord king.”

“Will you, Lenore?” he asked her softly. He had come close again. So close that she remembered too well everything that had been between them.

“When morning comes, I will set you free, I swear it! But by God, lady, perhaps we will never meet again!” he cried, his voice grown tense and passionate, his words, indeed, a vow.

Lenore closed her eyes briefly, struggling for breath. She met his demanding gaze once again. “So be it then!” she whispered fiercely in return.

And once again, felt his touch, his hands upon her arms, his lips so near her own. She heard his voice, oddly hoarse as he entreated her, “Ah, lady, that you would not hate me so!”

“Sweet Jesu!” she cried. “That I could not hate you more!” And with her words, she found herself lifted, imprisoned in his arms.

But in the morning, a fair wind rose.

And as the king had promised, she was free. With her infant in her arms, she stood upon a cliff and looked out at the English countryside.

I shall never return, she thought, and felt a shiver. The cold swept through her, seeming to haunt her. Nor, she thought, would she ever see the king again, and yet …

Her hands trembled. For she was suddenly quite certain that the babe she carried would, one day, come back.

Just as the king had kept his word, so would her own promise to Edward of England be upheld.

“Milady, may I help you?”

She looked back to see Adrien, the Scots lad with the striking golden eyes who had mourned Robert so deeply. He stood near her, tall and strong and grave against the cold wind.

“Your ship is ready to sail, milady,” he told her quietly.

“Aye, Adrien. My thanks, if you’ll take the babe?” she inquired softly, for the way down was steep, and she knew the lad was far more sure-footed man she was.

She handed him her daughter. He held the child awkwardly. The babe instantly began howling. Lenore found herself smiling as he struggled to hold the lass more securely.

“Can you manage?” she inquired.

“Aye!” he said indignantly.

At the landing, he returned the babe to her. “She’s quite a temper,” he said.

“I’m afraid so.”

“She’s not much like her father,” he said apologetically.

Lenore lowered her lashes. Her infant daughter proved to be more like her true father daily, she was afraid.

“Time will tell, as she’s just a babe!” she told him.

“You loved him very much,” Adrien said, and she saw how he mourned Robert. “The babe’s father.”

She smiled. “Indeed, very much.” No lie was spoken. She had loved Robert, deeply. And she hated the fact that she loved the king, but she loved him as well. That was one of the reasons she was so desperate to leave.

“Aye, Adrien!” she said. Then she kissed his cheek swiftly. She knew the boy’s strategy had been part of the downfall of Aville, but she knew as well that Edward would never have relented, and she did not blame Adrien, knowing full well that a siege might have brought about more deaths.

He flushed slightly. “God speed you, lady.”

“And you, Laird MacLachlan! Until we meet again.”

Again, she felt a strange tremor. They would not meet again. And yet she had a strange feeling about the handsome young MacLachlan. As if their lives had become intertwined the day Aville had fallen.

The wind blew cold.

As she had said, time would tell.

D
ANIELLE ADORED HER MOTHER.
She held her own court at Aville, and with a smile, a tilt of her chin, and coolly spoken, totally authoritative words, she kept everyone within it under control.

Even as a child, Danielle knew that her mother’s house hosted both Englishmen and Frenchmen, and that her mother was deeply distressed any time she heard that even minor fighting had broken out between the two countries. Thankfully, as the years passed, Aville was not involved.

Among the many men who visited Aville, there were those, both English and French, who sought her mother’s hand in marriage. One of them, Roger, the Count of LacLupin, was exceptionally charming, and Danielle was very fond of him. He brought her presents every time he came. She was certain that her mother cared about him, too. She came to her mother’s chamber one night when Roger visited, crawled into bed with her, and asked, “Mother, why don’t you marry Roger?”

Lenore smiled. “He has not asked my hand as yet.”

“And if he does, you’ll marry him?”

Lenore was silent a long time. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think that I wish to marry again. For many reasons. It would be very hard to make you understand.”

Doctor Coutin, a physician who had trained at the fine university in Bologna, kept a manor in Aville and was now her tutor. He had told her that she had an incredible mind for a child—a female one at that. She could
understand.

“You must obey the King of France, is that it?” she asked, pressing her mother for an answer.

“My love, the King of England is the one I am compelled to obey first. He seized this castle, and proved that he is duke here, and I have been returned here as countess through his permission alone. By right, he owes his fealty for these lands to Philip, my cousin, but since he claims himself to be King of France as well—and since he has the military power here!—Edward of England holds sway over the future of us all. He is also your godfather. Your father served him. And he can give orders, when he chooses.”

“The King of England can make you do something you do not want to do? But mother, just tell him no!” Danielle’s world revolved around her mother’s household, where Lenore’s firm but gentle words were law.

Lenore laughed, and the sound of her laughter was strange. She tousled Danielle’s hair. “My sweet, trust me, kings have the power to try very hard to make people do whatever they choose.”

“But you mustn’t allow the king to make you do anything that you do not want to do.”

“Ah—never surrender!” Lenore said, and still she sounded strange. “Ask no mercy.”

“Never surrender!” Danielle agreed. “Ask no mercy.”

“Ah, Danni, my little love! Alas, it seems we can lose battles though we do not surrender them, and then again, sometimes mercy comes when it has not been asked. Men will do what they are determined they will, and often, our wits are all that we have against them, and against their strength, wits are not always enough.”

“Pardon?”

“I am rambling!” Lenore laughed.

“Did my father make you do things you did not wish to do?”

Lenore hesitated, then took her chin between her hands. “Robert of Oxford was one of the finest, gentlest, most chivalrous knights ever to draw breath. He would have fought any danger for you—real or not, man or dragon!”

“You loved my father very much, didn’t you, milady?”

Lenore hesitated several seconds. Her voice was husky, something like a strangled whisper when she answered. “Yes, I fell in love with—your father. Enough questions. Now, go to bed, my sweet!”

She set Danielle upon the floor and kissed her forehead. “Go! It is late. Call Monteine, and she will see you in.”

Monteine was the youngest daughter of a knight killed while fighting the English. She had told Danielle that Edward’s armies had ravaged every town in France they had come near. She detested the English, and Danielle could certainly agree that they had done very cruel things to the French.

And now, it seemed, the English king—who thought Aville owed him allegiance!—was preventing her mother from marrying Roger. The king was a monster, and Danielle knew very early on that she hated him. She hated the story about her parents, of course. King Edward had been furious with Danielle’s mother for keeping the castle against him, and he had kidnapped her back to England, but it hadn’t mattered because Robert of Oxford, who had been Lenore’s escort and guard, had fallen madly in love with her, and she with him. He had been one good Englishman, so Danielle grudgingly decided that there must be one or two others as well. Tragically, her father had been slain just after her birth. Danielle was certain that her mother mourned him still, and they said Masses constantly for his soul. Danielle was proudly convinced that he had been the bravest and finest of all knights—even if he had been English. He had left her vast holdings in England, and she was a countess there, too, in her own right, just as her mother was Countess of Aville. He had been a very great man. It made her feel good to realize that everyone within her household seemed to agree with her, those who were French, and those who were English.

When she was about to lose her temper, which seemed far too often, even to her, she tried to think of Robert of Oxford, who had always been calm and fair. In his honor—for she had heard he loved learning—she worked hard with her tutors and masters. Her days were filled with lessons. She sang, she rode, she learned to stroke the lute. She learned to read, for she loved to do so, and Lenore believed that men prospered far more than women because their minds were expected to be far more expanded. “You’ll never regret knowing how to read!” Lenore assured her daughter once, and so Danielle studied all the harder to please her mother. She was to learn Latin, Spanish, French, Flemish, and English, and no one thought a thing of teaching a child all languages at once. Doctor Coutin taught her the theories of Hippocrates and other great men, the beginnings of medicine from the Greeks and Romans. Her mother was so practiced with herbs and healing, she knew that she must be as knowledgeable as well, able to give advice to the surgeons and barbers who were not nearly as well-educated as doctors.

She learned to ride expertly. She insisted, by her tenth birthday, that she was too big for a pony, and must have a fine horse. She was given one—a very special mare. She received the horse from her mother’s distant cousin, Philip, the King of France.

He arrived at Aville with great ceremony, a striking man despite the fact that he seemed old. He arrived with all manner of retainers, and all of Aville—including the Englishmen there—had scurried around wildly in preparation for his arrival.

Monteine helped Danielle dress in special finery in a silk underdress and a fur-trimmed tunic in ivory. Even her hose were silk that day, and her hair was dressed in flowers. When she came to the great hall where she had been summoned, she paused, entered, and grinned in response to the elegant smile given her by the Valois king.

“Ah, my lady cousin!” he declared. “This child may exceed even your great beauty.”

“Indeed, merci, my lord!” Lenore said softly.

Philip came to Danielle, capping her head with his palm. He bent down to her. “If ever you need me, little cousin, remember that you must call upon me!”

Danielle nodded, tongue-tied for once, pleased with this great man’s attention. “I’ve brought you something,” he said. “A mare. She is outside, big enough for a girl who is quickly growing to be a woman. You must go see her.”

Impetuously, Lenore hugged the king and kissed his cheek. He was deeply pleased with her show of affection. “Go see your mare now. Her name is Star, and you will get on quite well, I am certain.”

Danielle ran out of the entry to the keep. As the French king had promised, the mare was there. She was big and beautiful, bay-colored with a star upon her forehead. With the help of a groom, Danielle patted the mare’s nose. When Monteine came to the stables to tell her it was late, she insisted that she had to thank King Philip.

She started to enter the great hall, but realized then that her mother and Philip were deep in discussion. Philip was talking and her mother was nervously pacing the room.

“He breaks all his treaties, he is coming against me again, and he is determined that he will claim to all that he is King of France!” Philip said, vastly agitated. “Even now, we gather men and prepare for war again. He will never take Paris, I swear it, and I will beat him back to the farthest borders of his own domains! If you would but agree to marriage with Roger yourself—or give me leave to have the child wed to a noble Frenchman! Someone who will give me a strong alliance against that wretched Plantagenet cousin of mine!”

“Philip! I tried to fight him once—I bought you time upon that occasion!” she reminded him.

“I am the King of France!” Philip roared. “Your kinsman. I can command a marriage for you—or the girl!”

“You can command what you will, but if you don’t lower your voice, war will break out here and now. Edward’s loyal men, Gascons and Englishmen, fill this place! You would lose if you were to try to fight here now. You must take care, for you are fighting him to keep your title to all of France, and losing a battle here would not help your quest!”

“I’m not sure it matters!” Philip said angrily. “I’ve an army at my back, preparing to take on his!”

Lenore sighed deeply. “Philip, please, you put me in a precarious position. Let me think on this!”

“I must leave, but I’ll return before he can press an attack upon me,” Philip said. “Lenore, your daughter should have been betrothed by now. Why have you hesitated—”

“I have not found the proper man—one who might be satisfactory to me, to God—and to two warring kings!”

“One of us will shortly take the matter out of your hands,” he warned softly.

“Philip! I beg of you—”

“Lenore, tonight I will leave you,” Philip said. Danielle still hid against the door as he kissed Lenore’s cheeks. “I am in your debt, for once. You did buy me time against the wily bastard! But don’t forget—I am the King of France.” He turned to leave the room. From the hall, his retainers saw him prepare to leave, and all jumped up, ready to follow him.