His Fair Lady (8 page)

Though her memory may be faulty, Ana knew
one thing with certainty. The world was an unpredictable and
frighteningly dangerous place. Happiness, and all that was known
and dependable, could be lost in the blink of an eye. Georges and
Marie had restored the gift of joy to her heart. Still, she craved
the familiar — nay, she clung to it. And even more important, she
coveted security. Now, callously, this man would rip her away from
all she held dear.

Just then the knight moved forward and
lifted his gloved hand to take her arm. Ana bristled.

“I assure you, I am not the maid you seek. I
am but a commoner, ‘tis plain to see.”

The knight’s eyes widened a fraction, then
narrowed. “Your manners may be that of a commoner, but your blood
is most noble. The mistake made long ago must be righted. You will
be restored to your grandfather who waits for you across the
Channel at the court of King John.”

“A second mistake will not right the first.”
She glared at him. “I possess no drop of noble blood, and I’ll not
leave my home and family for an alien shore and nameless faces.
Pray, leave me in peace to wed my copper. What possible difference
could it make to you?”

“Difference?”
he barked, his color rising, challenge in his
tone.

Ana drew back toward Gervase, panic churning
in her breast as anger flashed across the knight’s features. She’d
stung his pride. Or was it his honor? Knights were so full of the
one and zealously protective of the other. ‘Twas unwise to inflict
a dent in either.

“What difference amending the past
—
your
past — makes to me is
not at issue,” he ground out. “By orders of King John — Chinon’s
liege lord as Duke of Normandy and the Acquitaine — you are
required to accompany me to the royal court in England.”

“I will not!” Ana gasped out, then realized
no one moved to help her. She cast her gaze over the stunned crowd.
“This knight plays me a sorry jest and on my wedding day. Will no
one stop him? Gervase? Pere Armand? How can you allow him to take
me?”

Ana heard the desperation in her voice and
despised her sense of powerlessness. In the next moment, Georges
and Marie hurried to her side, wholly distressed, her foster mother
enveloping her in her arms. Ana gathered her strength, hardening
her resolve.

“I’ll go nowhere!” She hurled the words with
defiance then turned to those gathered before the church. “This
knight has yet to present one scrap of proof to support his claims.
He has no authority over my person. Perhaps he means harm to me,
sent for some vile purpose.”

“Enough! Bind your tongue, maid,” the knight
bellowed. “If ‘tis proof you desire, you shall have it.”

He reached beneath his surcoat and withdrew
a packet. As he opened it out, it proved to be two leaves of
parchments folded together, one bearing a large red seal.

“Any schooled in letters may inspect these
documents for themselves,” the knight called loudly, holding up the
pages. “One contains the king’s commission, granting me authority
in the matter of the heiress, Juliana Mandeville. The other is a
missive rendered in Lord Gilbert’s own hand. “In it, Lord Gilbert
outlines the dates and circumstances that brought Lady Alyce and
her child to Vaux on the night of its destruction. He also gives a
detailed description of his granddaughter.” His eyes fixed on Ana.
“Lord Gilbert writes that she possess hair of a rare, silvery
blonde color and eyes like emeralds. He adds that she can be
identified by a distinguishing mark — a mole upon the upper left
corner of her lip.”

The knight’s gaze shifted to the mole Ana
bore upon her lip, just so, then to her fall of silvery hair. He
then stared straight into her eyes — eyes Ana had ever been told
shone like emeralds.

“All these traits you possess, fair maid.”
The knight continued to hold her gaze.

She gave a laugh, half choking. “‘Tis hardly
proof at all! Maids other than myself own such features.”

Ana felt herself flush as the knight’s eyes
drew to the chain she wore about her neck, tracing it to where it
disappeared into the top of her gown.

“There is one thing more,” he said, his tone
weighted. “On the night of the attack on Vaux, when Sir Hugh
FitzAlan and his soldiers escorted the survivors to Vincelles, you
rode with his squire. Is that so?”

“Oui,
‘tis
so.” Her heart picked up its beat. She distrusted the path of his
questions.

“Before he departed, the squire gifted you
with something personal, something that belonged to him alone — a
silver cross.”

“You can’t possibly know that.” Shaken, she
stepped free of Marie’s arms, back and down one step, then
another.

The knight tracked her steps as he
came forward and began to descend. “The cross once belonged to the
squire’s own father. On the back side it bears an inscription — the
knights’ ancient and hallowed oath, ‘
Par
la bouche et les mains, je suis votre homme.
’ ‘By
mouth and by hand, I am your man.’“

“Nay!” The denial burst from her lips, her
heart plummeting.

Halting on the step above her, scarcely a
breath apart, the knight removed his gloves and reached forth. His
fingertips grazed the swell of her breasts as he drew the chain
forth from her gown, exposing a silver cross. Turning it to its
back side, he held up the piece and displayed the engraving
there.

“Let this cross stand as proof for any who
require it,” he proclaimed for all to hear.

Ana bent her head, feeling as if her heart
had been torn from her chest. Somehow she found her voice and
offered a final protest.

“The cross proves only that I am the girl
the squire found in Vaux. There could still be a mistake.”

“Patience, my child,” Pere Armand soothed,
coming forth to stand beside the knight. “Perhaps, on meeting with
Lord Gilbert, he will confirm you are not his granddaughter after
all, and you will be allowed to return to us.” His gaze swiveled
toward the knight. “She will be free to do so in that event, will
she not?”

“I will escort her myself,” the knight
vowed.

Ana knew she should take solace in that, but
she could read in the knight’s eyes he held no doubt as to her
identity. He’d not the slightest expectation of returning with her
to Chinon.

“So shall it be then. We must abide by the
king’s command.” Pere Armand looked to Ana. “There is no other
choice.”

Ana steeled herself at the truthfulness of
those words. “‘Twould seem not,” she said through stiff lips.
“Certainly not for a simple maid, even on her wedding day.”

She glowered at the knight — a man who so
willingly would ruin her life at the behest of his king. His heart
must be of stone.

“I shall hold you to your word, Sir Knight.
Upon this cross, I shall.” She snatched back the holy object from
his fingers and enclosed it protectively in her hand.

»«

The maid’s eyes continued to slash at Royce,
two green shards, stabbing him with her anger. She looked to detest
him wholly — loathe him, even. Royce expelled a long breath. This
encounter had not proceeded at all well, certainly not as he’d
hoped.

Royce had been elated this morn when his
latest lead proved fruitful and the lord mayor confirmed a maid
fitting Juliana’s description lived in Chinon. By God’s grace, he’d
arrived barely in time to prevent the disaster of the noble heiress
marrying a commoner.

Admittedly, Royce had been astounded by the
maid’s transformation from a mere twig of a girl into a ravishing
young woman. Still, there could be no mistake as to her identity.
Aside from her distinctive features, he recognized the brewer and
his wife. Though much older now, he’d placed them at once as the
couple to whom he gave the child “Ana” that fateful night in Vaux.
Like the maid, however, neither appeared to recognize him.

The thought nettled, particularly that
Juliana showed no sign of knowing who he was. ‘Twas understandable.
Last she’d seen him, he was a bony, bare-faced lad, yet to sprout
into his height. Then too, his coif of mail concealed most of his
head and all of his hair. His mustache and beard masked everything
beneath his nose and cheekbones. What could she see of his face but
his brows, eyes, and nose?

In truth, Royce had intended to reveal
himself as the squire who’d found her beneath the boat — not that
he was eager to make known his role in losing the little heiress
and displacing her amongst the peasantry. But the maid’s stubborn
defiance and sharp tongue allowed him no opportunity to do so at
first. When she disclosed that she held no memories of her past,
not even of her true parents, the revelation gave him pause. He’d
expected her to recall something of her family and be agreeable, if
not pleased, to accompany him to her homeland and to her
grandfather.

The maid continued to blister him with her
look. He need tell her he was the one responsible for leaving her
at Vincelles. But not now, not here. She’d challenged every word to
cross his lips thus far. Coupled with the fact that she didn’t
recognize him, ‘twas unlikely she’d believe what he had to say.
That would leave them arguing further still on the church steps
before all. Best to tell her later, without a crowd surrounding
them. As for her foster parents, he deemed ‘twould make little
difference whether he revealed his past identity or not. More
importantly, he was the one who prepared to take Juliana from them
now.

Royce glanced to the brewer and his wife,
saw the heartbreak in their eyes that he should deprive them of the
child they’d raised. He felt like the lowest of wretches to cause
them this misery.

“Do not be distressed,” he heartened. “Your
foster daughter — once acknowledged as Juliana Mandeville — will
assume her rightful place and live with great advantages as a noble
lady and heiress. What more could be desired?” The words rang
hollowly in his own ears.

He cleared his throat. “I have been
authorized to generously compensate you for your privation.”

Actually he had not, but witnessing these
people’s anguish, he felt moved to do so. Pulling a pouch of coins
from his belt, he looked between the maid’s foster parents and her
bridegroom. In fairness, he need compensate the cooper as well.
After all, he was depriving the man of a wife.

Royce emptied half the coins into his palm
and gave them to the brewer. He then handed the remainder to the
cooper, who seemed quite astonished by the sum.

The maid crossed her arms, fury firing her
features. “I am not a parcel of goods to be bartered or sold!”

Royce turned his attention to her, a
weariness setting into his bones. “For both our sakes, I advise
that you hold rein on your tongue. By order of the king, you
will
come with me and do as you are
required.”

Her look darkened. “Be assured, I have no
desire to come with you. If you dare to take me from Chinon, I
promise, you will be most sorry!”

“I already am,” Royce replied tiredly, a
pain piercing his temples.

“I shall go neither willingly nor quietly,
and I vow to resist you at every turn.”

“Be that as it may, still you will go. Now,
have you belongings you wish to collect from your home?”

She raised her chin. “What possessions I
have shall remain here, awaiting my return.”

“So be it. Let us not tarry then. Make your
farewells and we shall depart.”

Royce waited as the maid hugged her foster
parents fiercely, then bestowed a kiss on the cooper’s cheek. “Wait
for me,” she said through her tears.

Royce signaled to the lad whom he’d employed
to tend his horse and bid him to lead the stallion forward. With
his quest complete, he chafed to be away with the maid.

Seeing now how she stood motionless and
wide-eyed before the monstrous-size horse, Royce afforded her a
smile.

“Until I can secure a gentle palfrey for
you, we’ll ride together.”

“We will not!” she cried, appearing
scandalized to the marrow.

By all that was holy, would the maid give
him no respite? Undeterred, Royce swung the maid up in his arms and
tossed her onto the stallion’s back. He then climbed up behind her.
She gasped as he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her back
firmly against his torso.

As he turned his mount, she twisted in his
arms to glimpse the faces of her foster parents and cooper a final
time.

“I’ll soon return,” she called out,
determination and hope mingling with her promise.

Urging the stallion forward, Royce rode from
the church square, the beautiful, yet mettlesome maiden captive in
his arms as he departed Chinon.

The city of Tours, a day later

“I’ll
not
ride. I choose to walk.” Ana crossed her
arms over her chest, her brows knocked together as she scowled her
best at the overbearing knight.

“‘
Twill be no kindness to your feet.
‘Tis a long walk to Boulogne,” he replied as he fed an apple to his
horse.

By the crispness of his tone and the
narrowing of his eyes, Ana knew she tested the limits of the man’s
patience. Well, he’d brought it upon himself and she’d warned him
full well. He’d find her to be neither docile nor compliant if he
purposed to see through his “quest.”‘Twas no less than an
abduction, royally sanctioned or otherwise. And he deserved no less
than her contempt.

“There is nothing the matter with my feet.”
She notched her chin, and thus her nose, into the air, aware how
the other travelers in their company slid glances their way.

“There may be naught the matter with your
feet, but the same cannot be said of your slippers. They are not
intended for trekking long distances over rugged roads and will
soon be in shreds, and your feet bleeding.”