Heather Graham (13 page)

“Why? I shall simply put pepper in your
milk
and honey in your bed, and a sound hand upon your noble little
derrière
if you cause me any more difficulty.”

“Oh, you will have more difficulty!” she assured him.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Because it’s your fault I’m here now!” she exclaimed furiously.

“I beg your pardon—”

“Aville is a wonderful fortress, a great fortress! My mother could have held out until Philip could come to her rescue if it hadn’t been for you.”

She knew her history well. “You weren’t there at the time, milady.”

“No, but I know that you caused the fall of Aville and found the king’s favor in the destruction of my home.”

“Your home was never destroyed and you must surely be aware of that. The king ordered no retaliation against your mother or the town at all.”

“He made her his prisoner and forced her back to England!”

“And she married your father there, and was allowed to return home and govern Aville again after Robert’s death!”

She was not appeased. She stared straight ahead as they rode, emerald eyes flashing. “None of it would have happened at all if you hadn’t made the fortress fall—”

“Sweet Jesu, cease!” he cried in sudden aggravation. “You saw the siege of Calais. It is far more merciful when a stronghold is taken quickly. Had a siege continued for any length of time, many more would have starved and died at Aville. And, my dear young wretched one,” he added, his temper wearing thin, “perhaps it’s time to think about this—your home is really here! You were born in London. Your father was a loved and favored servant of the English king—”

“And my mother was a cousin to the French king.”

“Distant cousin.”

She waved a hand in the air. It was no matter. “I am of the house of Valois. And Aville would have remained so. You alone brought about the fall of the fortress.”

“I alone? The king and many brave men would be quite offended by such a statement. I was a boy—”

“You chose to make your way through the defeat of my mother and my people. You forced her to become the king’s prisoner, and he tortured her, and when he was done there he dragged her back here—”

“Dear God, give me patience! Lenore was never tortured, and I don’t believe she ever told you such a thing! And perhaps you should remember, just for good measure, that it was your father who asked as he died that the King of England be your godfather!”

“Sir, you will not change my feelings on this matter. My mother died reminding me that I must honor my king. I do not care to ride with you.”

“If you fall back and allow me to lead, you will not exactly be riding with me. And bear in mind, I am the one sent to do a wretched duty here!”

She muttered something impatiently about what he should do with himself. Rather shocking language for a young countess, and Adrien imagined she had learned it spending time with the young princes and their men-at-arms.

She started to move away from him but he caught her horse’s bridle, stopping her, grinning suddenly. “Think on this! Had it not been for me, milady, you might not even exist! For you are a mixture of French and English whether you wish to admit it or not, and would not
be
at all had Aville not fallen.”

“Then I’d still not be subjected to you!” she hissed.

“Don’t be subjected then, Countess. Fall back now!”

“I am trying to do so!”

He released his grasp upon her mare’s reins. She did not just fall back. She swung her mare around in a sharp turn, riding back to fall in place toward the center of the line with Doctor Coutin.

Adrien looked up to the sky, amazed to see that it remained clear, that it was still a beautiful day. It felt as if his entire body was in knots. His fingers were like iron around his reins. Ah, if Joanna were but with him!

Dusk began to fall. Gentle colors to combat his mood filled the sky. They came to Hendon, where they would stay the night. Sir Richard Aisling, the king’s appointed sheriff there, strode worriedly out to the courtyard to greet them.

A slim, grave old man, Sir Richard greeted him with courteous enthusiasm, then asked worriedly, “None stricken among you?” He crossed himself. “Praise God, but we have escaped the Black Death so far, and though I’d not deny the king or wish any ill upon the poor little countess—” He broke off. Adrien realized that the old gent was staring at Danielle, who had now ridden up beside him. “Why, she’s quite the lady, isn’t she?” he murmured, then collected himself and bowed deeply to Adrien.

Irritated, Adrien leapt down from his horse. He helped Danielle dismount—despite the fact that she didn’t want his help.

Then he turned to Sir Richard. “No—none of us has the least touch of fever, and indeed, I am anxious to keep the countess safe and well myself.”

Sir Richard sighed and managed a smile. “Then come in, come in, bring the lady and her women into the manor. Your men may find their meals and lodging in the stables and cottages yonder. Darby!” he shouted out, calling to a young groom. “See to these good fellows, and the horses, too, lad, for the night’s rest. Milord MacLachlan, Countess Danielle, if you will follow me, please.”

They followed Sir Richard into the manor, where a meal awaited them on the table in the hall.

It was a pleasant, clean place, with sweet-smelling rushes, a crisply burning fire, and the appetizing smell of well-roasted meat. Adrien was pleased to see that Danielle’s manner to him before Sir Richard was courteous, if cool. They shared a small, intimate meal and Adrien found himself watching Danielle as they dined, startled to realize that to many a man, she would indeed be a prize. She ate delicately. Her hands were small, with long, elegant fingers and pretty, rounded nails. Her eyes sparkled with her words, her laughter was melodic. She had chosen to enchant Sir Richard. By the time they finished the meal, in fact, Sir Richard was all but convinced that King Philip of France was a poor, maligned fellow, and that they should cease all actions against the French.

Adrien found himself on his feet. “I think it’s time the young countess headed to bed, Sir Richard. I want to get an early start in the morning. I wouldn’t want her sleeping in the saddle, nor would I want to carry her all the way.”

Danielle, of course, was instantly on her feet. “You needn’t fear, Milord MacLachlan. You’ll not be carrying me anywhere. Sir Richard, I thank you for your hospitality, and I bid you good night!” She made a wonderfully grand exit.

When she had gone, Adrien excused himself. “I need to get some sleep as well, Sir Richard. I am anxious to reach Gariston, for I am even more anxious to return from it and see to the welfare of a friend in these very troubled times.”

“Troubled, indeed!” Sir Richard lamented, crossing himself. “It is dreadful—each day the death toll soars higher and higher … England may well be decimated if this plague continues to strike so ruthlessly!”

Adrien should have slept well. He’d enjoyed a fine dinner and gone to bed weary, but he tossed and turned all night and awoke feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all.

He rose, washed and dressed, then summoned Daylin and told his squire to make sure that Danielle was roused and ready to ride along with her ladies.

“The countess is up and in the courtyard, milord. And I’ve saddled Mark for you today,” Daylin told him, helping him with his mantle. “The men await your word to mount up and begin the journey.”

“Good. We shall bid Sir Richard thank you and good day, and be gone,” Adrien said, exiting his chamber to a narrow corridor, and from there down the steps to the empty great hall and then out to the courtyard beyond.

As Daylin had told him, his entourage was assembled. Danielle sat upon her mare, apparently serene. He thanked Sir Richard and inclined his head to Danielle. “Are you ready, milady?”

“Most assuredly, milord.”

She seemed anxious, even in a good, if mischievous, mood. Adrien lifted a hand in final salute to Sir Richard, and their entourage started out, snake-like and slow, leaving the manor behind them.

Adrien rode at the fore, half closing his eyes, letting Mark move along at a steady pace.

Perhaps an hour or so after they had begun, he became aware that Danielle was abreast of him, moving ahead of him. They came upon a rich expanse of field, and she uttered a little cry of delight and nudged her heels strongly to her mare’s sides.

The horse leapt forward and began to run, smooth and sleek, elegant and fast as the wind.

Adrien swore softly and took off after her. No matter what he said, she didn’t seem to realize that there might be dangers awaiting her.

He had all but caught her when he suddenly realized that something was amiss. The girth upon his saddle was loose, so much so that even as he raced, the seat was giving. In seconds, he would be thrown off along with it—and trampled beneath the heavy hooves of his great war horse. Swearing, he threw himself against Mark’s neck, arms wrapping around it. Just in time. The saddle gave.

And was trampled beneath him as they raced on.

He slid to the horse’s back once again, reining in as Daylin anxiously rode abreast of him.

“Milord—”

“I’m fine! Have the others wait here until I return. I am going for the countess!”

He raced on ahead, so angry that there seemed to be an explosion of red swimming within his head. He caught her just as she neared a new forest to encompass the old Roman road. She turned back, startled and alarmed by his appearance.

As well she should be.

“What—” she gasped to him as he rode down hard on her. She backed her horse carefully away, but not quickly enough. He leapt from his own and grabbed her mare’s reins, holding the animal still.

“What!” he roared. “Pepper is one thing, milady. It causes a cough. Honey in a man’s boots is an irritating inconvenience. But this time, my wretched little witch, you came damned near to killing me!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“But you do.”

“I’m telling you—”

“My saddle!” he hissed furiously, and then he had her. Reaching up, he caught her around the waist and dragged her down.

“I didn’t touch your saddle,” she said scornfully, gritting her teeth as she stood stiff against his hold.

“Daylin knows how to secure one, milady. And since you readily admit your mischief—”

“Mischief I admit when I am guilty!” she retorted.

“Unless you realize that you are finally about to pay the price for it.”

“Get your hands off of me!”

“Not this time! Milady.”

She protested, wildly struggling against him. “Let go of me this very second or I shall see that the king—”

“If the king were to hang me from the highest tree for my intent, milady, it would not sway me from it now!”

He was incensed. His heart still pounded from his near plummet from his horse’s back, and he was determined. There was a tree stump five feet away and he strode to it, dragging her with him as he sat, then pulling her irrevocably down over his knee, despite her desperate struggles to free herself and pummel him in return. Within seconds he had landed a good number of sound whacks upon her very French
derrière.
He was barely aware of her cries and shrieks of vengeance and fury. He didn’t even stop to think until he felt her perfect teeth biting into his thigh and then he gave her his hardest whack of all, one that caused her to cry out—and cease trying to bite. He became aware then, of her person. Of the lush, tempting curves, her sweet scent. Startled, he set her back on her feet and rose, walking toward her with menace as she backed away from him, then stood dead still and defiant. He pointed a finger at her, keeping his voice harsh with anger. “Not another prank. Not a single little thing, not a one, to be done against me, do you understand?”

She was shaking, fighting tears, and surely, fighting the temptation to fly at him and scratch his eyes out. Her eyes sizzled their pure green fire. Her dark hair was a wild tangle that gave her a surprisingly sensual appearance. He discovered that he had to remind himself that although marriage was a game and brides could be very young, he had always preferred more mature women; Joanna was now nearly twenty-one.

“You bastard!” she cried. “I did nothing!”

“Your
nothing
nearly killed me!”

She remained outraged. He’d never seen her eyes glitter with such a fire and promise of vengeance. “You are wrong! I am not guilty! If you are such a fool, it’s a pity that you were merely
nearly
killed and not completely so! Oh, sir! You will rue this day. I am not idly threatening you—I will tell the king what insult you dared upon me—”

“You may tell Edward anything you like, milady. Tell him I sprouted horns and a demon’s tail. The king has given me free rein with you, milady. In fact, he has suggested that I should be entirely responsible for your behavior.”

She was startled. Her eyes grew even wider, her face paler. “You’re lying. I know that you are lying. I am the king’s ward. You cannot possibly have the right or deserve—”

“Ah, yes! You were rambling on once before about what I did and didn’t deserve, weren’t you? Hmm. I didn’t deserve Joanna. Because she was so kind and sweet! Well, it seems, Countess, that the king agrees with you.”

“Good! Joanna will then have some good and gentle knight.”

“If the king has his way. And I will have a little shrew, a tempest, a wild little creature—”

“As you deserve!”

“So you say! And alas, you, lady, as well will have what you deserve. A roaring lion, grasping, clawing!”

“What are you talking about?” she cried out. “I don’t understand what—”

“Ah, but I am trying to enlighten you! Pay attention! The king has suggested that I should have
you,
milady.”

“No!” she gasped out in a strangled voice.

“Indeed, yes!” Adrien said, smiling wryly and speaking quite pleasantly. “The king thinks an immediate ceremony would be best. However, I am against marriage with one your age, and the king is well aware of that. Yet he sees a betrothal now, one which puts me legally in charge of your estates—and your precious little person as well! I would be your master, milady, your sole guardian.”