Lion of Languedoc (6 page)

‘Good, because your attentions, conscious or otherwise, are decidedly unwelcome!'

‘Then good day, before my very proximity should bring on a fever,' Léon retorted witheringly. Angrily, they glared at each other from their mounts.

Marietta felt a surge of tears that she couldn't control. Before Léon could see them, she dug her heels in Saracen's side and galloped headlong away from him. At the sound of pounding hooves behind her she urged the horse faster.

‘Oh, no you don't!' Léon's hand reached across for the reins, and at his master's order to halt, Saracen duly obeyed, whilst Marietta kept her head firmly averted as she dashed away her tears with the back of her hand.

‘That horse,' Léon said, his voice dangerously quiet, ‘happens to be mine.'

‘Then take him!' Marietta leapt to the ground, staring up at him with her hands on her hips as if the loss of a horse miles from anywhere was only the merest inconvenience. She was blissfully unaware that without Léon's cloak she might as well have been naked from the waist upwards. Léon was aware of it, and as suddenly as his anger had been aroused it fled. He threw back his head and roared with laughter. She had hardly a rag to her back and she was looking at him, Léon de Villeneuve, the Lion of Languedoc, as haughtily as Francine Beauvoir would have looked at her lowest menial.

His laughter did nothing to improve Marietta's temper. As he showed no inclination to leave his present mount and had just appropriated Saracen, she swung on her heel, walking with her head held high, God alone knew where.

‘That way lies the sea,' a deep timbred voice called after her enlightingly.

She clenched her fists and altered direction.

‘That way is to the mountains.'

He was riding his horse at a walking pace behind her. She could feel Saracen's breath on the nape of her neck. Her nails dug deep into her palms.

‘And that way is a good day's ride before you would find so much as a cottage.'

‘Then you'd better be on your way,' she retorted tartly. ‘The morning's half spent already.'

‘So it is,' Léon agreed affably. ‘ Get on your horse. I'll keep to my promise and not leave you until we reach somewhere you can stay.'

‘
Your
horse, not mine!' Marietta kept on walking, not trusting herself to look at him.

‘I would have thought the ground very painful to bare feet,' he continued conversationally.

Marietta bit back the word that rose to her lips. It was not one her grandmother would have wished her to use.

Léon, reflecting that at this pace he would never reach Chatonnay, swung from the saddle and, before Marietta realised his intention, spanned her waist with his hands and lifted her on to Saracen's back. She tensed herself to spring defiantly once more to the ground and Léon's eyes held hers, the sun-bronzed face uncompromising.

‘If you do, rest assured I shall leave you. I've wasted enough time already,' and he rode away from her at a gallop.

Marietta paused fractionally. She had a horse again. She could ride in another direction: to the mountains or the sea. He was already some distance away from her and showed not the slightest sign of turning to see if she was behind him. His threat to leave her had been no idle one. She had not the slightest doubt that he
would
leave her in this sun-baked wilderness without a second thought. And only yesterday she had been fool enough to respond to his kiss! Her cheeks burned with humiliation as she dug her heels in Saracen's side and raced unwillingly after him.

Léon, aware of the loss of pride that following him had cost her, remained sensitively silent as they cantered across a treeless landscape striped with vineyards. On their left the Garonne shone golden in the sun and they slowed their horses to a canter as the heat increased.

‘It's very beautiful here,' Marietta said, unable to hold on to her anger any longer.

Léon's mouth softened. He loved Languedoc fiercely.

‘It's a welcome change from Versailles.'

‘Don't you like court life?' Marietta asked curiously.

Léon reflected on the beautiful and loose-moralled ladies who had made his life so pleasant over the last few years. Of the balls and banquets, the hunts and spectacles. Just when it had begun to pall he wasn't quite sure, but even before he had received news of Elise's widowhood he had known that he would leave. The fawning servility of the nobles vying for the King's attention sickened him. As a favourite of Louis, Léon had been besieged by those hoping to use him as a stepping-stone to the King's presence. He had been offered bribes of money and other bribes, for the noblemen of Versailles thought nothing of offering their wives' amorous services in return for a good word to the King from Léon. And the ladies had been nothing loth. Léon had spurned them as contemptuously as the gifts of money, and in doing so had made himself many enemies.

He had been uncaring. He had been at Versailles at Louis' special request, and because his Sovereign was a shrewd judge of men. The Lion of Languedoc was no sycophant. He had earned his nickname on the battlefields, and even Louvois, Secretary of State for War, valued his judgment. Louis had given him leave to return to Chatonnay and marry, ordering him and his wife to return to court immediately.

Léon had no intention of obeying his King's command. He was sure that once he had left Versailles Louis would forget him, surrounded as he was by so many others eager for his favours. He would be able to retire to the obscurity of Chatonnay and live life as he chose, his own man and not at another's beck and call, even if that other were the most powerful king in Christendom.

He said none of this to Marietta, merely saying a curt ‘no' and continuing to ride, wondering if he would make Chatonnay by nightfall. In another few hours Elise would be in his arms. Six long years of waiting would be over…

‘Is it true that Madame de Montespan has replaced La Vallière in the King's affections?'

Léon's eyes darkened. ‘What do you know of La Vallière or Madame de Montespan?'

Marietta was pleased at having taken him aback with her knowledge.

‘News of the King's loves reaches even into the countryside.'

‘Not to Evray it doesn't,' Léon said grimly, reining in his horse and catching hold of her reins also. ‘Madame de Montespan's name is still not known outside court. Who spoke to you of her?'

Marietta was beginning to regret her careless words. His face was formidable when he was angry. The lines from nose to mouth that deepened so beguilingly in laughter were now harsh and uncompromising.

She said nervously, ‘I don't remember. It was just gossip.'

‘Don't play me for a fool.' A strong brown hand grasped hers so tightly that she cried out in pain. ‘ How do you come to know so much about the happenings at court?'

Marietta's temporary feeling of goodwill towards him vanished.

‘I told you before, but you chose not to believe me! I'm not just a simple peasant girl. I'm a Riccardi!'

‘And do the Riccardis go to court?' Léon asked mockingly, his eyes lingering on her tattered dress.

Marietta would have slapped his face if her hand had been free and knowing it Léon's grasp tightened still further. ‘ No!' She spat at him. ‘The court comes to the Riccardis!'

He laughed mirthlessly. ‘ You mean the man who searches for you?'

‘He and others!'

Léon let go of her wrist, flinging it away from him. ‘Then if they did it was to no good purpose!'

‘None at all,' Marietta agreed, her eyes flashing. ‘My grandmother never gave anyone anything that would cause harm.'

‘And do you expect me to believe that noblemen from the court of Louis XIV travelled to Evray?' he asked, a contemptuous smile twisting his mouth.

‘Not Evray. Paris. We lived in the shadow of the Pont-Neuf, near the rue Beauregard.'

Léon's eyebrows drew together sharply. He had heard of a woman in the rue Beauregard, a sybil all Paris flocked to hear. Not Marietta's grandmother, certainly, for La Voisin was no old woman trying to reach her birthplace and being killed in the attempt. And not Marietta, for Marietta was too young. Léon knew instinctively that she was incapable of the sort of evil attributed to the name of La Voisin. But if the girl and her grandmother
had
lived so near the rue Beauregard, it would explain her free use of the names of the King's mistresses, and perhaps a lot more.

The sun was sinking, the sky a blaze of gold streaked with silver clouds. In the distance were the steep roofs and high walls of a small town. To the south was Chatonnay. It was time for them to part. He had done all that could be expected of him.

He said coldly, ‘ That's Trélier. You'll be safe enough there. A little further is Lancerre and the sea. Here's the piece of gold I promised you and you can keep the horse.'

Marietta felt as if there were bands of steel around her heart. He was leaving her just as he had said he would. She would no longer have to put up with his amusement and contempt, but she felt no relief at the thought—only an overwhelming desolation.

‘I don't want your gold,' she answered stiffly.

He shrugged and pocketed it. The horses pawed the ground impatiently as their riders remained motionless, the minutes lengthening as neither made any move to go off in their different directions.

Marietta cleared her throat. ‘ How far is it to Chatonnay?' she asked with forced carelessness.

‘Three miles.' Léon knew he should be on his way. Twenty minutes and she would be safe within Trélier's walls. He was mad to think she could be in any further danger.

Marietta kept her face firmly averted from his. ‘I'm a very skilled lacemaker,' she said, only her trembling hands belying her apparent calm. ‘If Chatonnay has no lacemakers I would be very useful.'

‘God's grace,' Léon said vehemently. ‘I can't take you to Chatonnay with me!'

‘Why not?' She swung round to face him.

‘Because I've been away six years. What would people say if I returned home with you at my side?'

‘You could tell them how you rescued me.'

‘And have them talk even more? One hint of witchcraft and the village would be in uproar.'

‘Then I'll never speak of it.'

‘No. It would cause gossip that would be hurtful to Elise.'

Marietta had no need to ask if Elise was the girl he was to marry. Not only his face but his voice had softened as he said her name.

‘Now God-speed before night falls,' and to her dismay he raised a hand in farewell and spurred Saracen down the darkening track.

She remained motionless, staring after him, wondering what sort of woman Elise was that she could hold the love of a man like Léon de Villeneuve for over six years. Years when countless women must have fallen under the spell of his dark eyes and sensuous mouth. At least
she
had never done so! Apart from that one brief moment when he had kissed her, she had never allowed herself to succumb to his advances.

It was cold comfort, especially as she remembered all too clearly how he had sprung away from her as if she were a leper when he had awoken to find himself in her arms. Easy to pride herself on retaining her virtue when it had never seriously been in danger.

In the distance Trélier's walls looked distinctly inhospitable. Sudden tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked them away angrily. Let his precious Elise have him. She did not want him.

A hundred yards down the track Léon reined in and looked behind him. She hadn't moved. She sat her horse, every line of her body showing tiredness and dejection. The night air was cold, and even wrapped in his cloak Léon shivered. Marietta would be half frozen before she reached Trélier and then where would she sleep? Cursing volubly, he turned Saracen round and began to ride back towards her.

Marietta heard the approaching hooves and glanced over her shoulder, fearful of a black-robed Inquisitor or sinister nobleman. Léon's face was exasperated as he rode up to her, saying curtly: ‘You'll be safer at Chatonnay than in Trélier,' and then, ungraciously; ‘Thank God it's dark and no one will see you!'

If she had had a shred of pride she would have told him to be on his way, but it was hard to have pride when the night was cold and dark and full of threatening shadows. He wheeled his horse around, setting off towards Chatonnay and Marietta subdued the Riccardi pride and followed.

She knew that he was furiously angry, both with himself and with her, and she despised herself for her weakness. She should have refused his offer of shelter with the contempt with which it had been offered. But alone on the darkened hilltop she had felt a terror ages old, the terror of an animal being relentlessly hunted. Better the protection of a man who found her an annoyance than no protection at all. And, a small voice whispered unbidden, better still to be able to see him than never to see him again.

The sandy track curved downwards and in the moonlight Marietta could see the dark shapes of cottages and the spire of a church. It was hard to be sure but Marietta thought that Léon's shoulders looked less tense as they rode headlong down a deeply rutted lane past the church and on through the sleeping village. Her legs chafed and her back ached, and still Léon did not stop. Surely, she thought exhaustedly, surely his home could not be much further?

Léon suddenly stood up in his stirrups, giving a whoop of joy that startled Marietta so much she nearly lost her balance. Ahead of them a lantern gleamed and there came an answering shout of greeting. In the flickering light she saw an old man with a jovial face, running to greet Léon.

‘Welcome home, my boy! Welcome home! I've been waiting here these past twelve hours!'

He ruffled Léon's hair in a gesture of fond intimacy. So this was Léon's father; no gentleman of quality, a farmer at the most. Marietta liked what she saw of his face and she liked his heart-warming welcome of his grown son.