Heather Graham (34 page)

Adrien closed his eyes, clenching his teeth. It felt as if the blazing roar of a brush fire was hurtling through his limbs; the heat that settled over him was painful. She had sworn to uphold Aville for him, but she had carried on a secret conversation with one of King Jean’s spies.

He walked away from Michael’s bedside, his back to the man. He remembered her terror in the crypt, her vulnerability, and her eyes when they touched his. He thought of the nights he had lain awake wanting her.

And he thought what a fool he had been to fall in love with her.

He stiffened his shoulders. Battle was coming, fierce as a storm, inevitable. He didn’t dare leave her at Aville.

“Could you find this cottage again?” he asked Michael.

“Aye, my lord.”

“Then, as soon as you are able—”

“I’m able when you are, my lord—”

“Rest through the day. We’ll ride by night.”

“For the priest?”

“Aye,” he said, and added with a deadly calm he did not feel, “and for my wife.”

Three nights later, Danielle awoke in raw panic at the sound of her door being burst open in a fury. Wood struck against stone and shuddered and groaned as if it would splinter into a thousand pieces.

The sudden noise caused her to leap up. She stood by the side of her bed, groggy and terrified, trying to remember where in the room she might find a weapon. What had happened? Had all the men been seized or killed? How could someone burst in upon her?

The sword! King Jean’s gift to Adrien lay by the bedside. The light was dim, as the fire in her hearth was dying, but she quickly hunched down and ran her fingers over the floor to retrieve the sword. She stood again, holding the weapon before her as she had been taught so long ago.

She blinked, for a towering figure filled the door frame, as menacing as any form she had ever seen. Cast against the dim light of the hallway, he was an imposing silhouette; hands on hips, he stood like an angry Zeus, ready to shatter the earth with thunder.

Yet she recognized the shape and form …

“Adrien?” she whispered, relief flooding through her.

“Oh, aye. It’s Adrien.”

The tone of his voice brought tension racing back to her muscles. She’d been about to lower the sword.

She held it more tightly.

He stepped into the room, and the door slammed closed behind him.

H
E WALKED TO THE
hearth, taking the poker and prodding the half-hearted fire back to life. Sparks flew and sizzled. He hunched down, adding a log, and flames leapt up again, illuminating his face. His expression was grave and frighteningly dispassionate. He turned back to her; she hadn’t moved a muscle. “So …” he murmured, striding toward her, “you would take up arms against me now?”

He was not in full armor, but wore a coat of mail beneath the tunic that bore his MacLachlan crest. His Toledo blade was encased in a sheath at his side.

His tunic had been ripped—or slashed—at a point by his shoulder. His boots were muddied, and spatters of mud—and blood—were dotted upon the rest of him as well.

He strode toward her, stopping perhaps ten feet away, his eyes scanning her with a lack of emotion that unnerved her. He removed his gauntlets, and set them on the trunk at the foot of the bed, his cool gaze never leaving her. “Are you going to put the sword down?” he demanded.

She found her voice at last. “That depends. Are you going to tell me why you’ve come in here like an executioner?”

“Maybe you’re to be executed.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Surely he couldn’t be serious.

“Then I’ll keep the sword, Laird MacLachlan, and you may go down with me.”

“Put it down, my love, before I decide to beat you black and blue.”

“Ah, indeed, let me relinquish my last defense so that you can strike me unimpeded!”

“Fine. Let me wrest it from you so I can be angrier than I am now!”

She was startled when he drew his own weapon. She backed away from him in fright, fury, and confusion. What in God’s name had caused this?

She held her weapon out defensively, aware of his power, yet feeling she had no choice. She countered his first angry swings, leaping on the bed, scurrying across the room. He followed her relentlessly and she realized that though she was holding her own, he was methodically letting her exhaust herself until he came in for the …

Kill.

She was finally backed against the wall. His steel met hers with such force that she thought the bones in her hand would shatter. She couldn’t hold the sword, and it fell in front of the fire.

Adrien was but two feet away. He brought the tip of his sword to her throat. She stared at him, wondering if he had gone mad.

Yet his anger remained controlled, absolutely dispassionate. He sheathed his sword and reached for her arm, wrenching her around to stand before the hearth. “Pack,” he said simply.

Her heart took flight. “Pack. That is it? Pack? You come in like an avenging angel, dictate and threaten—”

“I’ll do more than threaten in a minute. Pack, and quickly! A few garments will be sufficient, since I do not intend to travel heavily laden.”

She shook her head, so furious she could feel tears welling in her eyes. “Where are we going? What have I done that you should treat me so callously?”

“What have you done?” He arched a brow, leaning against the mantel.

“Yes, that’s what I asked! Have you gone daft? Have you been hit in the helmet by a broadsword one time too many?”

She saw the tick of his pulse at his temple and bit lightly into her lower lip, fearing a greater violence.

But he spoke very softly. “Is that what you think, my love? That I have become a fool?”

“In God’s name, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she cried.

“Ah, well, I will refresh your memory regarding your activities since I departed. First, there would be an emissary from King Jean.”

“And I should have refused him admission to Aville? He brought a gift for you as well.”

“A weapon for you to use against me. But I believe that visit was merely superficial … your Comte Langlois came to see the defenses and strengths of Aville. But as to the matter of the priest …”

“Now I am not to admit priests to Aville?”

He took a single step toward her. “Nay, my lady, you are not. Not when the priest is merely a rebel in a cassock, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

She felt as if the breath had been swept from her. She shook her head slightly. “But I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did. Actually, he was an admirable fellow. He didn’t wish to give away any information. But under the duress of my sword point at his throat, he confessed that you’d sworn to aid King Jean.”

She felt as if her heart sank and dissolved within her. She shook her head. It was the truth, and not the truth. She stared at the fire. “I did not know the man was not a priest—I told him only that I would do what I could to see that King Jean lived!” She looked to Adrien, her gaze sweeping over his muddied and blood-stained clothing. “So … he was an admirable fellow, fighting for his king—as you fight for yours. Is he dead?”

He stared at her in turn. “Does his life matter so much to you?”

“Yes—as you said, he was an admirable fellow.”

“Handsome and daring,” Adrien agreed.

“Did you kill him?”

“Pack,” Adrien said.

“I’ll not make a move until you answer me.”

“You’ll do what I say, and I say we’re leaving.”

“No, I’m not. I wish to stay here. You may fight your battles, rape the countryside, and leave all laid waste for the common folk who must simply try to survive and make a living and feed their families!”

“My lady, you may dress and pack, or I will take you from here naked and with nothing. I do not give a damn, but since your ‘priest’ was part of a rebel conspiracy determined to take this place from within, you’ll not be trusted here. I mean what I say.”

“Adrien, I am innocent!” she protested.

But he had turned away and was striding for the door.

“Adrien!”

He paused there, looking back. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain still. “You’ve no right to do this! I have been honest with you. You know all there is to know of my life. Aye, I would do what I could to see that King Jean was not killed. But I said no more than that to anyone. I am innocent of any treachery or plotting!”

“You admit guilt while telling me you’re innocent. It doesn’t matter. Danielle, you cannot stay here now. You are far too big a temptation for the house of Valois.”

“Where do you think you’re taking me?”

“With me.”

“To—”

“Prince Edward has forces manning the Castle de Renoncourt now as his armies battle the rebels in the surrounding countryside. For now, you will come with me there.”

“I won’t go! You’ve judged me unfairly.”

“You will leave, my lady.”

“To be with you when you act like a vicious fool? Never!”

“My dear
wife,
you will be with me.”

“If you touch me, so help me God, I will scream so loudly that every man in the castle will hear my cries.”

He bowed to her mockingly. “Every man in the castle will then envy me all the more, my lady. Scream loudly enough, and given the mood of some of these fellows, Prince Edward will be able to charge for the entertainment. You haven’t long, Danielle, so if you want any belongings with you, you must pack them.”

“I will not go.”

“You will.”

She turned away from him and sat at the foot of the bed, hands folded primly before her. He ignored her and exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

Her mind raced. How had he known of the priest? Had he killed the poor fellow? Monteine had been right—their visitor had not been a man with a vocation for the cross! But she was innocent of any wrongdoing, and damned nonetheless.

It made no sense. He would have heard of the visit of Comte Langlois easily—his men probably sent reports daily. It had not mattered to her, because she had felt very righteous in everything she had done. So they had told him that a priest had come, but …

Many priests came, and monks, and nuns, and merchants and others, on pilgrimages or traveling to visit relatives in distant places. What had alerted anyone to that particular priest?

She stared at the flames, feeling their warmth, but she was still cold. Time was passing, and quickly, but she wasn’t going to agree to leave. Not to sit with the English army while her country was torn asunder.

She stood at last, sparks of anger filling her, and walked before the fire. Damn them all. Damn Adrien.

There was a tapping at her door then. Not Adrien, she knew that. He didn’t knock.

The tapping came again. The door cracked open. “Danielle?” Monteine said softly. Danielle didn’t move but Monteine stepped hesitantly into the room. “You didn’t pack yet? Laird MacLachlan is nearly ready to leave again, so Daylin has told me. I thought I’d get some things together for you—if you hadn’t managed to do so yet yourself. I understand that Adrien is determined to have you nearer to him, since he must be gone so long.”

Danielle spun around, arching a brow. “Is that what he has said?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s what you believe?”

“Well …” Monteine shrugged miserably. “In all honesty, Sir Giles, Daylin, and I heard … heard your sword battle. And unless that is a new way of greeting one another lovingly …”

Danielle crossed her arms over her chest and sat at the foot of the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Danielle, he will make you.”

“Then he will have to do so.”

Monteine looked exceptionally unhappy. “Well, I will pack a small saddle bag so you will have a few of your own belongings—just in case. Danielle, you must be reasonable. These are dangerous times. Aville is a great prize, and so are you. I saw the way that man looked at you. I knew that he was no priest. He intended to return here, bringing others pretending to be holy men. Then they would have learned how to open the various gates …”

“How do you know all this?” Danielle asked her sharply.

“I—I’ve heard the men talking,” Monteine stuttered out. She looked away from Danielle and started moving about the room, collecting clothing, brushes, and other articles to pack in a large leather satchel.

“And you think I’m so foolish I wouldn’t have realized it if a plot was afoot?”

“No … of course you would have seen, in time. But,” Monteine insisted, “I did know, from the beginning, that Paul de Valois was no priest! He was far too sensual a man.”

“Was! So Adrien did kill him,” Danielle muttered bitterly.

“No … no, he didn’t. There was a skirmish at a cottage deep in the woods where the men met. A number of the conspirators were killed, but our own Michael assured me that any man who set down his arms and accepted imprisonment in England would be allowed to live. Danielle, you are wearing nothing but a thin white linen gown. I’m truly afraid that Adrien does not mean to relent.”

“I will not go—” Danielle began, but she swung around even as she spoke, for her door, which had been slightly ajar, had thundered open again. Adrien was back. He had bathed and changed. His armor was gone; he wore a fresh tunic and a warm wool cloak, tossed back over his shoulders. His boots had been cleaned. His hair remained damp from a washing; even his cheeks were freshly shaved. She looked away from him quickly, wondering how her heart and body could be so traitorous, for he looked magnificent. Though she wanted so desperately to despise him, all she yearned to do was lie against him.

“Monteine, are the countess’s things ready?” he demanded, staring hard at Danielle.

“Aye, Laird MacLachlan.”

Daylin was behind him. He stepped into the room, and—cheeks flushed, not looking at Danielle—he picked up the satchel Monteine had packed and left the room.

Monteine fled like a rabbit behind him.

Danielle stood and backed away from Adrien toward the fire. “Adrien, I will not go willingly.”

“Then, my lady, you may begin screaming now.”

Long strides brought him to her, and before she managed to deliver a single blow against his chest, she was swept up like a sack of grain and tossed over his shoulder.