Mistaken for a Lady (16 page)

‘I apologise for removing your belongings from Paimpont without your leave.'

Her eyes met his. ‘You'll let me return to Champagne?'

‘I'd prefer that you chose to stay. Lord, I'd offer your friend Helvise a place here, if it would encourage you to remain.'

She went very still. ‘You'd offer Helvise a place at des Iles? That is most generous.'

‘Francesca, I am not entirely heartless. Life can be hard for women who have children out of wedlock.' He shrugged. ‘In any case, it seems a small price to pay if it would encourage you to stay. However, if you must return, I won't hold you.' Tristan forced a smile which felt all wrong. He suspected it wouldn't feel right until he had bared his soul to her. He had to tell her about Kristina, he couldn't think of a better way of proving how much he trusted her.

He could only pray that in telling her about Kristina, he wouldn't alienate her for ever. Learning about his daughter would surely test their marriage more than anything that had happened so far. ‘I'm hoping to persuade you to stay. Francesca, I have to leave you for a space, I must speak with Sir Roparz. I'll come for you at suppertime. If you've a mind to join us in the great hall, you can meet everyone then.'

‘Thank you, Tristan,' she said softly.

* * *

Francesca stared at her travelling chests and listened to Tristan's footsteps retreating down the stairs. It had been high-handed of him to remove them from Paimpont without her leave, but she couldn't bring herself to be angry with him, particularly since he had offered to find space for Helvise at des Iles. It was the last thing she had expected.

He really wants me.
Of course, wanting alone wasn't enough, wanting—
desire
—was too close to lust. To forge a lasting marriage, they would need love. On both sides.

Well, they were finally together at des Iles. Perhaps here they could come to understand—to
love
—each other. She would give it until summer's end. By then she would surely know if Esmerée had a place in his heart.

She would give it until Michaelmas. And if she and Tristan were no closer, she would return to Champagne. She would lend Helvise a hand, and when she was confident Helvise could cope, she would retire to her own manor at St Méen.

Chapter Eleven

T
ristan strode into the steward's office just after sunset. The narrow window was lit by the faintest of glows and Roparz was at his desk, reading a scroll in the light of a flickering lantern.

Dropping the scroll on to the desk, Roparz rose and gripped Tristan's shoulder. ‘Welcome home, my lord. Sergeant Olier told me you were back. You made good time, I must confess I didn't expect to see you for another couple of weeks at the earliest.' He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Count Myrrdin?'

Tristan grimaced. ‘The count is with God, he died the day we arrived in Fontaine. To my mind he'd been waiting to see Francesca.'

‘It seems likely, I know that he and Lady Francesca were close. God rest him.' Roparz gave Tristan a penetrating look. ‘Were the funeral rites concluded so swiftly? No, don't tell me, you can't have stayed for the funeral, there wouldn't have been time.'

‘No.' Tristan nudged the door shut with his boot, he didn't want their conversation to be overheard. ‘We decided to miss it.'

Roparz went still. ‘We?'

‘Francesca came with me, didn't the sergeant say?'

‘Countess Francesca is here in des Iles?
Mon Dieu
, does she know about Esmerée?'

‘Yes, I have told her.'

‘And?'

Tristan rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘As you may imagine, it has created difficulties.'

Roparz clenched his jaw. ‘And what about Kristina? Have you told her about Kristina?'

‘Not yet, I wanted to hear your views first.'

Roparz relaxed. ‘Thank you.'

‘How is she?'

‘Kristina? In rude health, as usual.'

Tristan walked to the desk, picked up the scroll Roparz had been working on and dropped it back on the table. ‘Roparz, we need to talk about Kristina, but first—has anything unusual happened since I left?'

Roparz shook his head. ‘On the contrary, it's been unusually quiet. Why?'

‘We have much to discuss. I fear the rebel alliance is not entirely spent.'

Roparz watched him intently. ‘Oh?'

‘When I found Francesca in Provins, she was being accosted by Sir Joakim Kerjean.'

‘
Mon Dieu
, he must have gone straight to Champagne as soon as he learned her whereabouts. What happened?'

‘Francesca was attending a masked revel at the palace. Kerjean was trying to seduce her. It was pure chance that I arrived at the right moment.' Tristan scowled at the scroll on the desk. ‘He's bold to the point of recklessness. When Francesca and I set out for Fontaine, he followed us. And he wasn't alone.'

Roparz lifted his eyebrows. ‘He has men?'

‘Outlaws only. Disreputable-looking crew, I doubt there's anyone of note among them, although that may change. I had to promise a donation to St Michael's to pay for the escort of a group of Benedictine novices to get us safely to Fontaine.'

‘An escort of novices?'

Tristan made a dismissive gesture. ‘Knights who've had their fill of the world, it's common enough.'

‘Aye, but novices don't usually bear arms.' Roparz's eyes glittered. ‘Your donation must have been generous.'

Tristan gave him a wry smile. ‘It was. Roparz, even with our makeshift escort we weren't secure. Kerjean broke into Francesca's manor in Fontaine and left a very clear message—Francesca was at risk there.'

‘
Bon Sang
, so that's why you brought her to des Iles. What the devil is he up to?'

‘I imagine Kerjean's current aim is to stir up trouble and weaken us here in Brittany. The duchy means nothing to him. The man's a vulture, he feeds on disorder. Doubtless he's hoping the duchy will fall apart again so he can pick over the carcass. My hunch is that he is planning to rebuild the wretched so-called alliance.'

Roparz let out a slow whistle. ‘How many men do you suppose he can muster?'

Tristan scrubbed wearily at his face. ‘Lord, I have no idea. He will need money if he's going to attract anyone of standing. We shall have to be on our mettle. Sir Arthur's men are keeping an eye on Kerjean's manor, and I have sent word to Baron Rolland in Rennes advising him of my suspicions.'

‘I'll double the watch,' Roparz said.

‘Thank you. And we shall need more eyes and ears in the alehouses and the markets.'

‘Consider it done.' Roparz tapped his finger thoughtfully on the table. ‘Tristan, I must tell you that until I'm certain these outlaws have been run to ground, I won't be happy for you to claim publicly that Kristina is your daughter.'

‘You're as fond of that child as I am.'

‘I can't deny it, she's a sweetheart. I hope you are not thinking of telling Francesca about her.'

‘And if I am?'

‘I must counsel against it. Kerjean will want to attack you where you're weakest. Suppose he discovers Kristina is your child and not mine? I wouldn't put it past him to use her against you. Kristina's very life might be at risk.'

‘Hell burn it, Roparz, I'm not planning on a public announcement. Not if there's a whisper of suspicion that these vermin are gathering strength again. It's Francesca I'm concerned about, she needs to know.'

Roparz gripped Tristan's arm. ‘Tristan, you cannot tell Francesca about Kristina! God knows what might happen if word gets out. We've kept this secret for so long, why not wait until we are certain it is safe?'

Tristan's eyebrows snapped together. ‘Francesca won't breathe a word to a soul if I ask her not to.'

‘It's too soon, we can't risk it. Jésu, Tristan, this is Kristina we are talking about.'

Tristan rubbed his brow. ‘But Francesca needs to know. I have to tell her.'

‘Why?'

‘I want her to understand that I trust her.'

‘And do you?'

‘With my life.'

Roparz gazed at him, mouth slightly agape. Then he gave a harsh laugh. ‘Lord, I never thought I'd see the day.'

‘What day?'

‘It's finally happened.' Roparz swore under his breath. ‘I must say your timing is perfect.'

Tristan looked blankly at him. ‘What in blazes are you talking about?'

‘You love her. The impossible has happened, Tristan le Beau has fallen in love.'

Tristan blinked and felt himself go still.
I love her.
The words felt right, they sank deep into his mind, where they felt perfectly at home.
I love her.

So that was what this was all about. That was why he could not stand the thought of further separation. That was why he wanted her safe. Why he constantly wanted her at his side. He didn't simply need her, he loved her.

Tristan lifted the quill from its stand and found himself twirling it in his fingers. ‘She wrote to me, you know.'

Roparz shook his head, his eyes shadowed and full of doubt. ‘That's not possible, I never saw her letter.'

‘Francesca didn't write just once, apparently she wrote several times.'

Roparz made an impatient movement. ‘Do you have proof? I didn't see a solitary letter.'

‘Roparz, I believe her.'

‘Forgive, me, Tristan, it's clear you're not thinking straight.'

‘I'm not?'

‘You're besotted.'

Tristan's father's voice echoed in his mind.
Love? Just another word for weakness. A warrior is better off without it.
He pushed the memory aside, this was not the moment to dwell on what grief had driven his father to do after his mother's death. ‘You're forgetting something. Roparz, I wrote to Francesca. My letters didn't reach her either.'

Roparz spread his hands and raised his eyebrows.

Tristan gave Roparz a straight look. ‘Oh, of course I believe you had no hand in this. I trust you. Just as I trust Francesca.'

Roparz stood there, fists opening and closing, whilst the shadows drew in around them. He cleared his throat. ‘So I see. My lord—Tristan—I understand that Lady Francesca must be told, but I implore you to wait until we have the outlaws in irons.' He paused, mouth grim. ‘If anything happened to that little imp, you'd never forgive yourself.'

Tristan's jaw tightened. Maybe Roparz was speaking sense. ‘I shall think about it. Francesca will have to know sometime and I would prefer it to be sooner rather than later.'

‘Naturally.' A crease formed on Roparz's brow. ‘Tristan, someone must have intercepted those letters. Kerjean? But how?'

‘It could have been Kerjean. If he wanted to send messages to allies further afield, he would have been using the same Champagne trade routes that we do.' He sighed. ‘We shall talk more later. In the meantime, I need a bath and a shave. How is Esmerée?'

‘Apart from complaining of feeling as large as a whale, very well.'

‘I am glad to hear it.' Tristan looked his steward in the eyes. ‘Thank you, Roparz, for everything. You're a friend in a million.'

* * *

Francesca stood by the bedchamber window as the sun slipped below the horizon and the sea turned slowly from gold to grey. Violet shadows were gathering in the troughs between waves, the Baie des Iles was beyond beautiful and the sight should have soothed her.

Unfortunately, it did nothing of the kind. Francesca's stomach was churning and her hands shaking. It would be suppertime soon, and the thought filled her with dread. It was bad enough to be meeting Tristan's retainers for the first time, never mind that she would be meeting his former mistress as well.

She must find a way to shift the balance of power in her favour. Twisting a strand of hair round her finger, she found herself staring at the coffers that Tristan had brought from Paimpont. As she moved towards them, she heard grumbling and muttering as someone came up the stairs.

Mari came in, chest heaving. ‘Saints, what a climb. Here, my lady, I brought your saddlebag.'

‘Thank you.'

Mari set her hands on her hips as she caught her breath. Her face creased in puzzlement when she saw Francesca's travelling chests. ‘What are those doing here?'

‘My lord had them sent on from Champagne.'

Whoever had transported her coffers must have locked them for travelling and they had, Francesca was pleased to note, returned the keys to the locks. Moving to the largest, she turned the key.

Mari stood at her elbow, her eyes full of curiosity. ‘Did you know these would be here, my lady?'

‘No, although as it happens I am more than happy to see them.' Francesca heaved back the lid. ‘We shall be going down to the great hall for supper shortly. I would like water to bathe in and you shall help me find my best gown.'

‘The lavender silk you were married in?'

‘Yes, that will do very well.'

Francesca couldn't tell Mari how much she was dreading meeting Lady Esmerée de Fougères. As far as she was aware, Mari had no idea that Lady Esmerée had in the past been linked with Tristan. Fortunately, she didn't need to know.

Mari's eyes brightened. ‘You want to make an impression. Quite right, my lady.' She bent over the coffer. ‘We can't have Lord Tristan's household thinking he has brought a bunch of ragged pedlars home with him. We shall have to find the amethyst circlet he gave you, it's perfect with that gown.'

* * *

Tristan paused at the entrance to his great hall to link Francesca's arm with his. ‘You look charming tonight, my lady,' he murmured.

‘Thank you.'

‘I shall introduce you generally before we are seated. You can meet people individually tomorrow.'

‘Very well.'

Francesca kept her chin up and tried to smile. Her stomach was full of butterflies and her heart was pounding. It was most strange, she felt involved in what was happening, yet at the same time she felt as though she was looking on from a great distance.

The great hall was lined with long tables spread with snowy-white cloths. An army of retainers sat at the benches and the air was filled with noise—the roar of the fire behind the high table on the dais; the hum of conversation and guffawing of laughter; the shuffling of rushes underfoot.

The great hall at des Iles was larger than the hall at Fontaine, and the air shimmered with candle haze. The scent of beeswax was strong. Chunky iron candle stands lined the walls; more candles marched down the centre of each of the tables.

Tristan waved at a servant and conversation ceased as though cut off with a knife. A heartbeat later dozens of benches scraped the floor as everyone scrambled to their feet. Faces turned to stare. Save for the crackle of the fire, all was quiet.

Gently, Tristan gripped her hand. ‘My friends, it is my great pleasure to present my lady wife to you. This is the Countess Francesca des Iles. I trust you will serve her as faithfully as you have served me.'

In the pause that followed, Francesca felt the sting of tears, Tristan's standard on the wall opposite was a blur of black and silver, she could see nothing else. She hung on to her smile and tried not to mind that every eye in the hall was focused on her.

Someone on the dais gave a cheer. It seemed to be the signal for general chaos as the hall erupted into cheers and shouts.

‘Welcome, Lady Francesca!'

‘Countess Francesca, welcome!'

Tristan turned to her, face lit with a smile. ‘You see? Everyone is anxious to meet you.' As the cheering subsided, Tristan ushered her towards a couple of high-backed cushioned chairs at the head of the high table. ‘Please, my lady, take your place at my board.'

Francesca stepped on to the dais and took her seat. She stared blindly at her trencher and the moment she'd been dreading was upon her.

Tristan leaned forward to indicate the man seated on her other side. ‘Francesca, the reprobate next to you is my steward Sir Roparz de Fougères.'

Sir Roparz had light brown hair, grey eyes and an open, honest countenance.