After the Storm (17 page)

Libby sat up and wiped her eyes. "That was a bad one." When she took her hands away from her face she became aware of the two dogs and two women who were all carefully watching her. She looked at Marj. "Tell me I wasn't talking in my sleep?"

"You were talking in your sleep," Marj replied. She looked significantly at Matilda. "But the words were in your native tongue, Lady Isabeau."

She shook hair out of her face. "What time is it?"

"Just past Prime," Matilda answered.

Which made it sometime in the early morning. She didn't remember going to Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

bed. She only remembered coming back to the castle with Reynard. She'd had a headache by the time they'd come through the gate. After that was all a blank.

Too much of her life was a blank and she was getting sick of it. Much of the dream had been real. It had been confusing, disjointed, but full of some painful truths. She just had to organize her thoughts, sort out memory from imagery.

"I can do that," she said.

"Do what, my lady?"

She glanced from one concerned face to the other. "I need to be alone."

As she got out of bed the women and the dogs stepped back. She quickly pulled a silk chemise over her head. She always wore silk next to her skin, it was a habit she'd picked up in Mongolia. Then she put on an overdress Matilda handed her and let Marj lace up the back fastening since it would have taken her longer to do it herself. Once Marj was done fussing with her, she rushed out the door, heedless of her bare feet and uncombed hair.

She went up to the tower roof, where she could look out over the forest as she thought. It was a cloudy day, and the dark green depths of the woods looked mysterious and forbidding. Bastien was somewhere in the forest. Wherever he was, she knew now that he was as lost as she was. For a long time all she could do was wonder where he was and what he was doing.

She knew what Bastien had been going to say, and it bothered her. Mostly because it couldn't be true. Partially because she wanted it to be true—or her subconscious wouldn't have included it in the dream. Her subconscious was just going to have to get hold of itself. He might haunt her dreams, but Bastien was not the man of her dreams. He couldn't be. They were quite literally from different worlds. Worlds that could collide and clash but never connect. It was against the rules for a very good reason. They were aliens to each other, they Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

could never be together. It was wrong.

"Besides, he's married." No, he was a widower, and he blamed her for his wife's death. Maybe he had good cause.

"You talk to yourself too much, you know that, don't you?"

Libby sighed, and turned to face Marj. "Yeah, I know." She eyed a steaming cup in the woman's hands. "What's that?"

Marj looked into the cup, then said, "I don't know. Matilda made it. She says you've been talking too much and this'll help calm your nerves."

"She's right."

"She's worried about you. So am I. You going to drink this stuff?" Marj held the cup toward her.

Libby sniffed the concoction. "Familiar. Has it got opium in it? Don't tell me Lady Sibelle sent along her recipe book?"

"Matilda says every girl needs to know how to brew a few 'simples.' So, why are we up here?" Marj asked as Libby took the cup from her and dumped it over the side of the tower. "You aren't looking into the woods and pining for your own dear love, are you?"

Libby blushed, and turned quickly away. Marj came to stand beside her. They leaned on the parapet and didn't say anything for a while. Birds called, and the sun came out from behind a bank of clouds. They could hear Joe and Ed giving orders to the castle workmen. Eventually Libby said, "I need to talk to them. I think I got some memories back last night. We need to compare notes."

"What about Bastien?" Marj asked.

Libby gave the historian a sideways look. "What about him?"

"Reynard said you were with him last night."

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

Libby straightened abruptly. "What?"

"In the church. Were you?"

"How did he know?"

"You were with him last night." The woman's tone implied that far more than a casual conversation had taken place.

"No. Not like that. I was doing research. He's my research contact, remember?"

Marj leaned forward, resting her arms on the flat stone surface of the wall. "It's hard
not
to interact, Libby. I
know
. You know I know. I didn't come up here to accuse you of inappropriate behavior. My granddaddy would say that was the pot calling the kettle black," she added. "Though since the man never used anything but a microwave I doubt if he knew what he was talking about."

Libby gave a wry laugh. Then she gave Marj a puzzled look. "If Reynard knew it was Bastien why didn't he arrest him?"

"He suspected it was Bastien. An obvious assumption considering the way you two reacted to each other back at Passfair." While Libby winced, Marj went on.

"Reynard figured it was only a matter of time before you two saw each other again."

"It wasn't like that," Libby protested. "At least, I didn't expect to see him. I don't think he was interested in seeing me. He's spying on the sheriff. That's why he was at the church." And praying for his late wife, she reminded herself. Libby wondered what exactly had happened to the red-haired woman.

Marj shook her head. "So Bastien suspects Reynard is setting him up.

Meanwhile, Reynard's using Bastien the same way you are. You don't turn him in because he's a research subject. Reynard doesn't arrest him because he wants all the outlaws and is going to use Bastien—your and Bastien's obvious attraction

—"

Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

"It isn't that obvious."

"Ha. Reynard's going to use that attraction to trap Bastien, and to track the criminals down."

"Why, that manipulative scumbag!" Libby was angry enough to march down to where Reynard was drilling his men and throw him out of
her
castle.

"He's just doing his job."

"He's using me."

"You're using the people here, why shouldn't they do the same? Our ancestors aren't any less complicated and conniving than we are."

Libby hated to acknowledge the truth of Marj's words. She hated the fact that anyone had to use anyone. She especially hated the fact that Reynard was using her as a tool to trap a wounded man. "When did he tell you all this? Why did he tell you?"

"He is here to protect you, too. He knows that's my primary function. Besides, since you're also obviously using me to distract him for your own purposes and he thinks that's unfair, why shouldn't he and I be allies?"

"Ouch. He's a clever man, isn't he?"

"Yes. I'm not exactly stupid, either."

Libby squirmed guiltily. "I'm sorry, Marj."

"I don't mind spending time with Reynard." She leaned on her arms again and gazed toward the horizon. "I know it's only for a short time. I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts." She looked back at Libby. "Just make sure you feel the same way about Bastien."

"It's not like that," Libby asserted, far too quickly and firmly to sound convincing even to herself. "When did you and Reynard discuss all this plotting Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

and scheming?"

"He told me after we put you to bed last night. You had a nasty headache, you know. We were all worried." Marj put her hand on Libby's sleeve. "Did Bastien do something to cause the headache? Did he trigger the memories?"

"Maybe." Libby sighed. She looked around as she tried to collect her thoughts.

"This thing has gotten really complicated, Jones. Some locals seemed to have been involved in what happened." Marj gave her a shocked look, and she explained. "I haven't sorted fact from fantasy yet, but I think outlaws broke into the castle at about the same time the accident happened."

"Locals?" Libby nodded. "Did they cause the accident?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I remember a woman. A red-haired woman at the gate, and some strange men and running, and I almost remember the hall being set on fire. It's all very hazy, but details are starting to come back."

"Bastien was one of the outlaws?"

"I'm not sure. He remembers men chasing him. Maybe he came here for refuge.

All I'm sure of is that he and his wife were at Lilydrake." Libby turned to gaze down on the activity in the courtyard. "Look. Henry's actually talking to Matilda." As she spoke, Henry glanced up and waved to her. She stepped quickly back from the wall.

"What about Bastien?" Marj persisted.

She didn't want to talk about Bastien anymore. She didn't want to tell Marj what she planned to do about Bastien because it was definitely against the rules. She owed him for six months of madness and pain and she always paid her debts.

"Whatever he did doesn't matter," she said. "Why don't we go down and try to talk Henry into taking Matilda home and marrying her?"

Because, she added to herself as she and Marj started down the tower stairs, the Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

fewer people there were at the castle, the easier it would be for her to run away and find Bastien.

Why did she have to be beautiful? Why did she have to be sympathetic? Why did he have an unreasonable longing to claim her as his own? Most importantly, why hadn't she turned him in to Sir Reynard? Bastien leaned his back against the wide bole of an ancient oak tree with his bow in his hands and tried not to think of Isabeau of Lilydrake. It would be much easier for him to hate her if she didn't keep helping him escape from justice.

"She's playing with me," he said. He glanced at Cynric. The old man was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

"Then why don't you let her?" Cynric questioned.

"What?"

"Play with her, lad. The pair of you would make great sport in bed."

Bastien tried to be offended, the images the old man's words conjured up were distracting. "Don't be ridiculous."

"It would be easy for a handsome swain like you to have the lady. Wait until the sheriff moves out, then move in and warm her bed. Many a man's earned himself a title by possessing a castle and the woman that goes with it. How do you think nobles get to be nobles, lad? They take what's not theirs and hold on against all comers. Isabeau'd be nice and soft to hold onto, I'd wager."

"I don't want a title."

"But you want the woman."

"I do not want the woman." Bastien spoke slowly and very firmly.

Cynric was unimpressed. He spit into the bracken. "Lilydrake's a fine holding.

You could do worse."

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Bastien decided that watching the road for approaching travelers would be preferable to continuing this conversation. He did not want the woman, he told himself as he moved cautiously forward. He wanted his wife. Only he couldn't remember his wife's face, and Isabeau's haunted his dreams. It had been three days since she'd left him in the abandoned church. Every time he'd closed his eyes in that time he'd dreamed about her. And not every dream had been a nightmare. In most of them he'd touched her, tasted her, claimed her, found peace lying beside her.

It wasn't right. He had no right to find comfort with another woman, even in his dreams.

Cynric followed him. "She's a nice lass. You could do worse."

Bastien rounded on him. "She's a noblewoman!"

"Nothing wrong with marrying above your station. You can move us all into the castle as your servants." Cynric bowed. "I'd be willing to consider the post of guard captain, my lord."

"I'm not going to marry—"

The sounds of approaching horses silenced their argument. Bastien checked quickly to see that his men were in place, then stepped out onto the track with his bow raised. A moment later a pair of riders came into view, one on a warhorse, the other astride a donkey.

"An ass riding an ass," Bastien said, and aimed his bow at the startled rider.

"What brings you back to Blean, Father John?" He'd heard about the priest's exile from Passfair.

"You!" The priest's surprise changed to an expression of deep hatred. Bastien smiled, and gestured his men forward. Father John looked at the circle of weapons trained on his party, and snarled, "I should have put an arrow through Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm

you when I had the chance."

"You didn't have the chance," Bastien remembered angrily. "You would have killed Lady Isabeau."

It was the other rider who responded with a deep-chested laugh. "That wouldn't have done me much good, priest."

Bastien turned his attention to the horseman. There were other riders, and footsoldiers and servants with a baggage cart in the party, but this man was obviously the leader of the group. "And what is the lady to you?" Bastien asked as a cold, possessive anger began to gnaw inside him. It was none of his business. He was on the road to rob passersby, not to question each and every one who passed about the woman. She was going to ruin his business if he wasn't careful. "Well?" he asked the staring man in a low-voiced threat.

"She's my promised bride," the man finally answered after a good long look at him. "And you're a stinking wolfshead." He put his hand on the pommel of his sword. "Clear out of my way."

Bastien wondered if Lady Isabeau knew she was betrothed, and what she would do about it if the news came as a surprise. All he knew was that the man's words had sent an unpleasant jolt through him. He managed to keep his tone light as he said, "I almost feel sorry for you, friend." The stranger was big, fleshy-featured, his knotted fists reminded Bastien of well-used clubs.

The horseman looked at the priest. "Is this the one?" Father John nodded. "Well, then," the man said, turning his attention back to Bastien, "it's you I feel sorry for." He leaned forward a bit, glaring menacingly at Bastien. "When Lilydrake is mine I'll burn down the forest if I must to clear vermin like you out of it. But you I'll take alive, and hang your guts up before the lady before I let you die."

What a charming man, Bastien thought. He found it difficult not to loose the Sizemore, Susan - After the Storm