Heather Graham (11 page)

That night, he forgot the girl with the emerald green eyes. He didn’t know then that the time would soon come when he would not be able to forget her.

Ever again.

O
NCE THEY HAD RETURNED
to England, Danielle discovered that she had her own apartments in the king’s household. Lady Jeanette and Monteine continued to serve her. Doctor Coutin arrived as well, summoned by the king to come as her tutor. Danielle was happy to have her people from Aville, but despite her determination to remain a subject of the French king, she found herself making friends at Edward’s court as time passed. A number of the ladies who served the queen were kind to her, intrigued by her history, and ready to take her beneath a matronly wing. She enjoyed the king’s son, John, her friend, who was aware that she remained homesick for Aville. He would allow her to learn with him in the fields when his sword and horse masters would teach him, and he would applaud her when she learned well.

The Scottish king remained a prisoner of the English monarch. An uneasy truce continued between the French and the English.

Days became weeks, weeks became months. Years passed. Danielle was nearly fourteen when death—in a different form than that caused by war—came to threaten the hardiest of English warriors. The Black Death. It had scourged the East, riddled Europe. Now, it had taken hold in England, and there wasn’t a man alive who did not fear it.

For the gentry, royalty and nobility, the only defense against the disease was to run from it and into the country. That was perhaps why the king decided at last that it was time for Danielle to be brought to see her English inheritance, her father’s lands and fortress at Gariston.

Although Aville remained her home and she believed she would return one day, she was not opposed to seeing Gariston and was, in fact, happy to see her father’s holding. Robert’s memory remained sacred to her. She was also aware that the queen herself had been married at an age younger than she was now, and she was anxious to escape the court where she was well aware that Edward—who had thus far firmly turned down every offer for her—could easily choose to use her soon as a marriage pawn. Out of sight, she might well be more out of mind.

To her surprise and annoyance, Laird MacLachlan was to be her escort for her first visit to her holdings. She discovered the annoying situation when she came down a hallway at Winchester and saw MacLachlan with Lady Joanna, one of the queen’s women who was exceptionally kind, lovely, and pleasant. The two laughed and teased very intimately in the hall, and Danielle paused behind a column—startled that someone as sweet and wonderful as Joanna might be seduced by a man like MacLachlan.

“This will not take long—Gariston is but a day’s ride from here. Ah, Joanna! Can you imagine! I am the rage of the battlefield, the best in tournament and against foe, and for my prowess I now discover that I am to be nursemaid to an arrogant young countess!”

“Adrien, she’s no longer a child. She’s a sweet, intelligent young lady. A beautiful girl,” Joanna countered.

“Aye, she’s her mother’s daughter, with a witch’s eyes! I believe she thinks she is queen here, as royal as a prince or princess.”

“Adrien! She lives in a court foreign to her. She lost both parents.”

“My lady, that happens quite often.”

“I’m sorry, I had forgotten your past, for it seems we have known one another forever. As to the Countess d’Aville—”

“My young charge, the witch?”

“I find her charming.”

“Because you are the kindest creature in Christendom!”

“You must be kind to her,” Joanna said.

“I will get her to Gariston as commanded and return as soon as possible. Then we must bring our petition to the king.”

Danielle watched as Joanna, with her bright blue eyes and sable hair, ran a delicate finger down the warrior’s cheek. It was a pretty motion, and somehow stirred Danielle’s heart—or perhaps would have done so, had the warrior not been MacLachlan. “My dear Scot’s laird!” Joanna said softly. “Aye, indeed, I would love to wed you. But …”

“Aye, but?” he demanded, glowering fiercely.

“Do you know, my noble laird,” Joanna asked softly, “that you do not truly love me?”

He seemed taken aback by her words, startled. He caught her hands, frowning. “Joanna, I have loved you a long time—”

“There’s a difference being loving and being in love.”

“Joanna, men and women are often wed as total strangers! Think of all that we have!”

“I do. And I am grateful. I just wish that—” she broke off, shrugging.

“We will wed—we are both happily agreed!” Adrien announced.

Joanna laughed softly. “Ah, Adrien! Indeed, we will wed, for you are my great and indomitable warrior, and I defy my father—or, heaven forefend, the king!—to stop us!”

He was going to kiss her. Danielle was deeply upset, hearing that MacLachlan was to escort her anywhere—much less to her noble father Robert’s home. And she certainly didn’t want to watch anything tender between MacLachlan and Joanna. She turned quickly on her heels, determined to escape them both for the moment.

She heard a sigh, and then a moaning sound that gave her pause. Afraid that Joanna might be suffering, she looked back. Joanna wasn’t suffering. She was clinging to MacLachlan, who seemed towering, all height and steel, as he held her.

Oh, he was a wretch! Danielle thought. By sheer luck he had taken a fine French knight at tournament, and now it seemed that he also had Joanna at will.

Danielle bit into her lower lip, unnerved by the strange warmth that filled her. She realized again that she might soon find herself a marriage pawn. She was considered an incredible prize because of her vast holding and watching these two, she felt newly afraid. Joanna wanted to be with her warrior. What would marriage be if a woman despised her partner?

Just how long would the king refuse all petitions for her hand, and why did he wait?

Dismayed that she had stood watching the two, Danielle, her face on fire, all but ran down the corridor until she stopped, holding the wall, gasping for breath.

Then she froze as she heard the booted footsteps of a man close behind her.

She shot quickly into an alcove and waited. A moment later, Adrien MacLachlan walked on past her. She held her breath while she watched him open one of the chamber doors and disappear into the room beyond it.

Private apartments lined this corridor. Only those most honored by King Edward were given these rooms. Many a knight slept atop another in the crowded sleeping chambers at court. At times, some even slept in the hall.

How could Joanna love MacLachlan? He didn’t deserve her. He had gained everything in life by his treachery against Lenore and Aville. And now, he was to escort her to Aville. How could the king be so cruel? Could he possibly think that she didn’t realize how bitterly MacLachlan had wounded her family?

She backed away as the door to his room opened. His squire came out, his laird’s boots in his hands. Danielle hurried along the hallway to escape, yet discovered that they walked in the same direction, toward the massive kitchens.

She pretended to have come for an herb as a headache remedy for the queen. As she waited, she saw MacLachlan’s squire sit on a bench to polish the boots. His task quickly accomplished, the lad moved away, while she still waited.

Curious to see where he had gone, she spun around, knocking an earthenwear jug off one of the great wooden work tables.

It plopped straight into a boot. Gasping as she quickly bent to retrieve it, she discovered that the jug contained honey—or
had
contained honey. Most of the sticky substance was now in the boot. She stared in dismay, then bit into her lower lip as she smiled. She hadn’t even done it on purpose, but MacLachlan was getting what he deserved. God, she decided, was on her side.

Adrien lay in bed awhile after he awoke the next morning. It was early, and he didn’t like the task of escort that lay before him.

He stared at the ceiling in his chamber, wondering when he would be able to speak with the king regarding Joanna.

A private audience with the king might be difficult now, since he was being sent on a fool’s mission with the girl. And the king had determined to hurry to the countryside himself; they would all be leaving that day.

Adrien had yet to see the plague, but he’d heard enough about the awful black fever to know that it cared little whether a man was noble or peasant, strong or lean. The best thing about it was that death often occurred with lightning speed. When it did not, pustules formed all over the body. Some people survived when they burst …

But many died, in great pain.

He did not fear death; he had faced it too many times. But he was afraid of his own weaknesses, and prayed that the disease would not strike him down.

The fear of the plague did not make him any more pleased to be leaving Joanna, even though she had assured him she would take the greatest care. “My noble lord, with the queen’s permission, I can either travel to my father’s marsher estates, far west of where the sickness encroaches now, close to the Welsh border, or else … I can journey to see my friend, the Countess of Gariston and Aville.”

The thought of Joanna arriving at Aville was a pleasant enough one, and maybe her father would give her permission to come. Adrien chafed anew that he had waited too long before seeking a marriage with Joanna, but there had been so much that was comfortable and easy between them that he had not imagined things could go wrong. Her father liked him, he liked her father. Since he had come home, their relationship had deepened; she had slipped into his chambers at night, and though the thought of behaving nobly and sending her away had crossed his mind, the hungers and fires of youth had burned away any idea of restraint. Making love to her was pleasant, like everything else about her, comfortable, easy. If he awoke upon occasion at night to discover that he felt that something was just a little bit lacking, it only served to make him remind himself very fiercely that he loved her and intended to marry her. She would make an excellent, loving mother for the sons and daughters he intended to have, a multitude of children, strong and indomitable, in his father’s memory.

Not wanting to act as Danielle’s escort would not change things. Edward had firmly assured Adrien that he was in dire need of his service. It was an important journey, since the countess had never set foot upon her English holdings before and it was necessary that the lady realize that her father had been an Englishman, a knight honored by the king. Edward apparently wanted the girl taught that her holdings in England were rich, and to be managed responsibly.

Adrien was certain that Edward was irritated with the girl’s …
Frenchness.
But since she had grown up in Aville, and surely knew a number of her Valois relations, Adrien wasn’t quite certain what else she could be. Still, the king’s attitude toward her seemed strange altogether. He would sometimes stare at her broodingly from his chair in the great hall at dinner. He would speak of her beauty with pride, then state furiously that she must be kept well beneath his thumb because she had a dangerous and reckless streak that he recognized well. Adrien could only assume he was referring to the lass’s mother, the spell-binding Lenore.

She was a danger—indeed. Adrien wasn’t at all sure of what he had done to draw her enmity, but he had the suspicion that she was the one to have peppered his wine outside Calais. He had caught her eyes upon him at times, and they glittered with a wild, green fire. She was always an angel in Philippa’s presence, and she seemed to care for the queen, dropping her eyes like the sweetest innocent when Philippa was near.

But Adrien had seen her as well in the courtyard with the king’s son, John, learning swordplay from his master and never retreating from any situation. He wondered suddenly if she was aware that he had been involved in the taking of Aville—but that happened before she was born. She couldn’t really be aware of it. No—she had just decided that she didn’t like him. Pity. She was going to have to tolerate him, and do so courteously.

Adrien rose. He slept naked, and when he washed, he was glad to douse his chest and arms as well as his face, for the coldness of the water helped to awaken him.

He dried himself and paused where he stood. Ah, well, he was stuck, and that was that. If he remembered just how kind a mentor Robert of Oxford had been to him, and just how much he had admired Lenore, he could make the journey in honor of the two.

He donned his hose, shirt, and tunic, still telling himself that the coming journey would end soon enough—all things did.

Adrien had just talked himself into something of a better disposition when he sat at the foot of his bed to don his boots. He shoved a foot in his left boot hard and immediately started at the sticky slush he felt through his stocking. “What in God’s name …”

He pulled out his foot. It was covered in golden slime. Honey!

His voice rose as he swore vociferously, threw the boot down, and stared at it in amazement.

“Who … ?”

Who, indeed. His eyes narrowed. The little French wench herself. She with the wide, glittering emerald eyes, raven hair, and deceptive beauty.

He slammed his boot down and hobbled with his honeyed foot to his door, threw it open, and stumbled out into the hallway. As it happened, one of the girl’s companions, Monteine, was hurrying down the corridor just as he appeared. He caught her arm, spinning her around to face him.

“Milord!” she cried in surprise.

“Where is the little witch?” he demanded.

“Milord, I’m not at all certain to whom—”

“Milady Danielle d’Aville. Where is she?”

“Preparing for her journey, naturally, I swear it—”

“
Where?
” he all but roared.

She jumped with alarm, gesturing down the corridor. “Down there, second door. But milord—”

He heard no one. Heedless of his sticky toes and stockinged feet, he hurried down the corridor. Her door was slightly ajar—he slammed it inward.

She stood alone in her room, folding a garment. She was startled by the shuddering of her door as it slammed, but she didn’t jump back—she barely paused in her actions. She stared up at him, an ebony brow arching with regal disdain.