Hellion (42 page)

Brushing Belle’s hair has become one of my most sensuous
pleasures, Guy thought as he drew the bristles through the thickening mass of red-gold. Then he sprinkled it with gold dust. “You are almost too beautiful to share,” he said quietly when she was ready. “I hope I do not regret my decision to give you a small measure of freedom, Belle. Still, it is time for you to meet my sister.”

“I have seen her in the hall. She is extremely beautiful, my lord. I wish,” she sighed, “that I could see what I look like.”

He laughed at her little vanity. “Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her over to a cabinet that stood against the wall. Opening it, he revealed an enormous oval-shaped mirror that was most wonderfully clear. “Voilà, Belle! Do you like what you see?”

“Is it me?” She was astounded by the woman staring back at her. “Is it really me? What is this mirror made of? It is not of silver. Is it magic, my lord?” She was fascinated by the image she saw, and turned this way and that. This woman who stared back at her was hardly the Isabelle of Langston she knew. That Isabelle was a pretty but practical girl. This creature was a beautiful, sensuous, and very voluptuous woman. Was this, too, magic?

“The mirror is a magic of sorts, Belle,” he said to her, “but the thing it does best is it tells the truth. What you see in it is exactly what you are. Are you pleased by your image?” He stepped behind her now, and she saw his handsome face reflected back at her.

Isabelle nodded.

“Come then,” he said, closing the cabinet and leading her from the room.

As they began to climb down the narrow stone staircase, Isabelle suddenly realized that she was afraid. There was a sort of comfort in the big warm hand clasping hers. It was good that she would see Hugh this night, for she was beginning to have feelings for Guy d’ Bretagne that she knew she should not have, even if those feelings were engendered by his sorcery. She had to fight this enchantment. She was Guy’s mistress for
but one purpose: to free Hugh Fauconier, her husband, so they might return to England, to their child.

“Hold your head high, Belle,” Guy commanded her as they entered the Great Hall, to traverse its length to the high board. The noisy hall was filled with servants and men-at-arms.

Isabelle focused straight ahead. There was Hugh!
Her Hugh!
Her eyes devoured the long, plain face and hawklike nose. They lingered upon his big mouth. She could almost feel the pressure of that mouth upon hers, and swallowed back a sigh. She liked the way he now wore his dark blond hair; long, and tied back with a length of leather. It gave him an almost primitive look she found strangely attractive. It was so different from the close-cropped hairstyle of the Normans. They mounted the steps to the high board, and Guy squeezed her hand.

“Sister,” he said, “this is Belle.”

Vivienne d’ Bretagne looked straight at her, and Isabelle was struck at how much she looked like her brother. They could almost have been twins, each with thick-winged dark brows over almond-shaped violet eyes. Vivienne had heavy dark hair that tumbled to her shoulders, and a heart-shaped face with absolutely perfect features. From a distance she had been beautiful; up close she was spectacular. Belle wondered how she could win her husband back from such a woman.
Love
. She had to remember that the power of true love could overcome anything.
It had to!

“You are very beautiful,” Vivienne d’ Bretagne said in a tone that was slightly disapproving. Never had she had to share the high board in her own castle with a woman who could match her beauty. Usually Guy’s little mistresses were pretty, but no more.

“You are very beautiful, too,” Isabelle responded, deciding that a bold approach was perhaps the better one in this instance.

For a moment Vivienne looked surprised, but then she laughed. “My brother said you were brave, and I can see he has not lied.” She turned to her lover. “Hugh,
mon amour
, come
and greet Guy’s leman. Is she not lovely? One would never know that her mother was a peasant.”

Isabelle’s gaze swung to Hugh. His wonderful blue eyes surveyed her impersonally. Those eyes, which had once been warm and loving when they alighted upon her, were cold and assessing as they roamed over her now. He did not smile. “She’s pretty enough, Vivi,” he said, “but my taste runs to black-haired Breton wenches.” He turned away from Belle, leaning over to kiss his mistress.

“Come, Belle, and sit,” Guy said, helping her to her chair. Isabelle heard his voice speaking to her, and she obeyed him, but shock was coursing through her body. The man who called himself Hugh Fauconier looked like Hugh Fauconier. She could even hear an echo of Hugh’s voice in the harsh tones of this man, but this Hugh was not her Hugh. Could she ever get him back? What had begun as an adventure was turning into a nightmare of horrendous proportions.

The menu was filled with foods known for their aphrodisiacal qualities: cold, raw oysters, taken from the sea below La Citadelle, and served in their half shells; roasted quail, and a rabbit stew with onions, leeks, and ginger; long stalks of pale green asparagus; and for a salad, braised
Brassica eruca
, a type of cabbage famed for its strong amatory powers. They ate from gold plates, and drank wine mixed with gentian root from carved pink quartz goblets. The addition of the gentian was to but increase their erotic tendencies. Everything placed before Isabelle was exquisite, but she had little appetite for the morsels Guy offered with his elegant fingers. Concerned, he murmured against her ear, “Are you all right, Belle?”

She was instantly on her guard. They must not know who she was and why she had come to La Citadelle. Turning her head, she managed a smile. “I think I am overawed by all of this,” she told him. “I had gotten used to your chambers being my world. May I have a sip of wine to encourage my appetite? And perhaps a bit of quail, and some of those lovely grapes, my lord.”

He held the cup to her lips, letting her drink her fill, and the wine seemed to restore her. He fed her the quail as she had requested, smiling as she licked his fingers clean with her facile little tongue. “A bit of bread and brie?” he tempted her, and she ate it. Then he fed her the grapes, one by one, and when she licked the juice from his hands, he reached out to take another small bunch, saying, “For later,” and they laughed together. For a moment it was as if they were in their own little world, and she did not have to face the horror of what had happened to her husband.

She saw the falconers at their trestle with the two huntsmen. She nodded to them, and Alain’s flick of an eye acknowledged her. She wondered if she might be allowed to visit the mews and see Couper. She knew that the mews had been stocked for Hugh. If she could only speak with Alain, she might learn when Hugh visited the birds. Perhaps she could break through Vivienne d’ Bretagne’s spell if she and Hugh were in familiar surroundings. It was all going to take time; more time than she had anticipated. And even if she could help Hugh, how was she going to break the spell Guy d’ Bretagne had woven about
her
?

Guy now took her for walks outdoors, leading her down a narrow path in the cliffs below the castle. Usually it was gray and damp, but one early winter’s day the sun shone, and across the sea she could just barely make out the darker line of land.

“What is that place?” she asked him.

“England,” he said, and they continued their walk along the shelly beach, watching the gulls soar and dive. They could smell the salt tang of the sea, and the cold air was fresh and cutting. The deep blue water sparkled in the sunlight. “Do you miss England?” he asked her.

“There is nothing to miss,” she lied. “I have found a far better life with you, my lord.”

He stopped and looked down into her face. “Once I said that you would love me, Belle,” he told her. “Now, I find that it is I who am falling in love with you. It is dangerous for a man such
as me to love. Love is a weakness, and makes one vulnerable. Do you care for me at all?” His dark violet eyes bore into hers.

“I think so,” she answered him. Reaching up, she caressed his handsome face. “You must never wear your heart upon your sleeve, my lord. It places you in grave danger.”

He smiled down at her. “If you did not care, you would not warn me, Belle.”

They walked on, and she felt some little guilt for the deception she was playing upon him; and yet had his sister not stolen her husband, and taken Hugh’s memory from him, Isabelle of Langston would not have had to come to this place at all. And Guy d’ Bretagne would have never fallen in love with her.

The Winter Solstice came and was celebrated at La Citadelle with much feasting. Great bonfires were lit upon the castle heights and the adjoining hills belonging to the d’ Bretagne family. During the celebration it was easy for Belle to mingle among the retainers in the hall without suspicion. She easily found Alain and Lind. No one would question her about sitting with them for a moment or two. They looked relieved to see her.

“Are you bewitched, too, then?” Alain asked her.

“Aye,” she said softly, “I fear that I am. Still, unlike my lord Hugh, I have managed to retain my wits.”

“Our lord is lost to us,” Alain said grimly. “Let us all flee La Citadelle before the winter snows set in and we cannot. If Lord Hugh cannot come, lady, then he must stay. Will you allow our master’s son to be raised without either of his parents?”

“I am not ready to give up,” Isabelle said calmly. “I do not yet know by what means of enchantment Vivienne d’ Bretagne holds Hugh, nor have I discovered how Guy d’ Bretagne holds me in thrall.”

“What difference does it make?” the falconer demanded, his voice low with caution. “How can you thwart these sorcerers, lady?”

“I do not even know if I can, Alain,” Isabelle answered him,
“but would you want me to flee not knowing? How could I ever face my son if I did not do my best to free his father?” She arose from the trestle, smiling gaily for the benefit of any watching, and said, “I must go now, but first, Lind, tell me, how is Couper?”

“She pines for you, lady,” he answered her.

“I will try to remedy the situation,” she replied, and moved off back to the high board.

“You stayed overlong with the falconers,” Vivienne d’ Bretagne noted when Belle sat back down.

“They are concerned about my merlin, Couper,” Belle answered her. “I have raised her from a nestling, and now we have been separated these many weeks. She pines, Alain and Lind tell me.”

Vivienne d’ Bretagne turned to her brother. “Why do you not let Belle have her merlin? The falconers tell her the bird is growing despondent for the loss of her mistress. It is not right that a fine creature be sacrificed, brother. Belle must have her bird.”

“I do not want the creature in my apartments,” Guy said. “Belle may visit the mews if she chooses. I have no objection to that.” He turned to his mistress. “Will that suit you, my precious?”

“Of course, my lord. I shall go tomorrow. My thanks.” She leaned over and placed a sweet kiss upon his cheek. “A token of my appreciation,” she said with a little smile.

“I will expect far more than a token,” he rejoined wickedly.

“And you shall have everything of me that you desire,” Belle promised him, her dark lashes sweeping flirtatiously against her fair skin. “I am my lord’s to command.”

“You are becoming too artful,” he complained, but he was not displeased with her at all. He had never known a woman like his Belle.

The following day he gave her a trunkful of exquisite garments to wear. She visited the falcon mews, taking Couper onto her hand, caressing the bird, feeding her, praising her lavishly.
The merlin brightened immediately at the sound of her mistress’s voice, uttering small cries of welcome. Belle almost wept, for in her overwhelming desire to find a way to rescue Hugh, she had almost forgotten about her faithful Couper.

As she walked about the mews’ yard, Couper upon her fist, she spoke with Lind, for Alain was angry that she would not leave Hugh and lead them home to England.

“How often does Lord Hugh come to the mews?” she asked.

“Almost every day,” Lind said.

“Does he come at a particular time?”

“Usually in the early morning,” Lind said.

Isabelle sighed deeply. It would be difficult if not impossible for her to get to the mews at that time of day. Guy usually awoke at first light, rested and filled with lust to pleasure himself before he began his day. There would be no chance of getting away from him then, except during the few days when her link with the moon was broken, which he respected. She had only recently finished her flow, and it would be several weeks until it came again. She had no choice but to wait. “Lind,” she said, “does he not recognize you at all?”

Lind shook his head. “Nay, lady. He knew not Alain, either, but then Alain told him he was his servant. Lord Hugh remembers nothing but his love for the birds. We have been teaching him about them all over again. Sometimes one of us will mention his grandfather and the birds of the Merlin-sones. He thinks a little, and then he shakes his head and says it is not important; but we can see he is distressed he cannot remember. It seems to hurt his head when he tries.” Lind frowned. “I am beginning to think that perhaps Alain is right, lady. Perhaps we should leave.”

Belle shook her head. “Let us at least wait until spring, Lind. Perhaps by then I will have discovered the magic that binds my husband and me to the d’ Bretagnes. Besides, we should never be able to cross the sea now. You have but to look at the water to see that. And where would we get a boat? If we attempted to go overland instead, they would easily find us and bring us
back. No. When we go, there must be no chance that they will catch us, Lind. Tell Alain that, and beg him not to be angry with me any longer. We must remain united.”

Lind nodded, agreeing with her.

Belle debated the wisdom of approaching Hugh too soon. In her heart she wanted to rush to him and tell him who she was, but she knew in his current state of mind it would be inadvisable. She forced herself to wait, for he obviously had eyes for no one but his mistress. He scarcely if ever even spoke to her, Belle knew, or acknowledged her presence.