Heather Graham (37 page)

Different servants brought her meals, tended her room, prepared baths, and came to collect her clothing for the laundry. Listening to servants’ gossip outside her rooms one day, she heard that Prince Edward had ordered that she not be attended too often by any one servant, lest she manage to befriend anyone who would help her leave the castle.

The days seemed very long, the monotony maddening. She had never been good at needlepoint. She read, she rode, she waited. The food didn’t agree with her, and she sometimes felt exhausted and ill. As more and more days went past, she grew more restless, and more angry. She’d never really done anything to Prince Edward—or to Adrien. They had no right to do this to her. Aville was her home, and she belonged there.

At night, as she tried to sleep, she was tortured by images of her husband and Terese, and she would he awake, ruing the role of women in politics and society. It wasn’t fair, none of it was fair. When she wasn’t angry, she was afraid—afraid for Adrien, and afraid for the French.

While pacing one night, she realized that there was a small, semi-circular balcony off her room. She liked to stand there, watch the night sky and the stars, and pray that she wouldn’t go mad with the waiting, that God would send her a solution.

God did. Leaning against the wall, she discovered that it opened, and a narrow, circular staircase led downward from the balcony to the courtyard below. It was dark, covered in spider webs, and at first, she was loath to go down it, but finally she lit a lamp and explored the old stone stairs. They led to a corner of the courtyard near the stables.

First, just to prove it possible, she decked herself in her long, hooded cloak and took a walk about the courtyard.

The next night, she walked into the village, where children fetched water from the well, fires burned in small cottages, and farmers and craftsmen rested after long days of work. She was elated to realize that no one knew she had left the castle.

She took numerous jaunts at night, all well within the town limits. She grew bolder, starting out earlier, and buying little pieces of jewelry from a silversmith who worked near the castle walls. One night, as she was about to walk away with a charming new brooch, he stopped her. “Countess?”

Startled that he was aware of her identity, she paused, glancing at him more carefully. He was perhaps fifty, a serious, slim man with long, delicate fingers, well suited to his craft. She didn’t reply, praying that she had not been discovered beneath her hood by a fanatical follower of her husband or the prince who would feel obliged to find one of the men and tell him about her nocturnal jaunts. But the man leaned forward. “If you ever wish to go further than the village, you only need ask my help.”

She froze for a moment, aware that she had found a loyal follower of King Jean. For a long moment she stared at him as he stared at her. With a strange ache in her heart, she wondered if she shouldn’t just accept his offer—and flee this place, and the husband who had so completely forgotten her—and seek refuge with King Jean, a man who recognized her rights to her own home. But no matter how furious she was with Adrien, she didn’t want to run away. She wanted him to realize that she hadn’t attempted treason against him, and she fantasized a charming picture of her husband on his knees before her, abjectly apologizing for ever having doubted her.

She watched the man, shaking her head slowly but smiling as well so that he wouldn’t fear the fact that he’d given himself away. “I must remain a guest of Prince Edward. But it is good to know, friend, that you are here.”

He indicated the silver bauble she had just purchased. “If you need help, send it to me through my boy, Yves. He works in the kitchen.”

“Thank you,” she told him.

“To serve you would be my greatest pleasure.”

She thanked him again, and hurried away.

Three nights later, she crept down the stairway at night again. It seemed that Adrien and the prince’s forces had been gone forever. She was sick, uneasy, and restless, and it wouldn’t be quite so bad if she could just go home. Monteine wrote to her, as did Sir Giles and Daylin, and she wrote in turn. But she longed to be in Aville with them.

As she exited the secret door out of the stairway, she paused in fear, flattening herself against the wall as she saw a group of three armored horsemen who had just ridden into the courtyard. She started to hurry back into the stairway, but then paused, hiding in the shadows, listening as they began to speak. None of them noticed her, and their words were brash and freely stated.

“What a way to end the war, eh? Seize the French king himself, and if his people want him back, they can pay for all our arms and forces for his return!” said one young knight, dismounting from his horse.

“Aye,” said a companion, “but how do we find him in the midst of battle?”

“It’s possible,” said a third man, whose tunic showed that he was from the English house of Percy. “But there’s sound rumor that three nights from now, he’s to be riding from field to field, rallying his forces. He’ll have a small escort. If he can be ambushed by a small force …”

“Such as ourselves?” inquired the first man.

“Aye, aye! And if we kill him in the contest, so much the better for our good King Edward, eh? And what a boon to us! We’re sent here to see that the Countess d’Aville remains safe. We not only do such duty, but kidnap or kill the French king! The prince will reward us well!”

“As long as we’re careful not to die!” said the first young knight.

“What is life without risk?” taunted the other.

Laughing, clapping one another on their shoulders, the men left their horses to a groom and headed into the castle keep.

Danielle could barely breathe. She remained where she was for long moments, flattened against the castle wall. She had sworn before Christ that she would do her best to help Jean if his life were threatened. Treason, her husband would say. But if she managed to warn Jean and save his life, then her part in this travesty might well be done. She had promised that she would help once, but only once. Her vow to her mother and her promise to the false priest would both be fulfilled. Perhaps she could then be the countess her husband desired.

Her husband. The man who had ridden away from her …

With his mistress following behind?

She turned and quickly followed the stairway back to her room, afraid that someone would be calling on her that night—to see to her welfare. She had scarcely reached her balcony before she heard a tapping on the door, and Henry calling to her. She quickly sped across the room and opened the door. He stood there, one of the knights from below behind him.

“Yes?” she inquired.

He bowed. “We’ve just come to see if there’s anything you need, my lady.”

She shook her head, staring at the knight behind Henry.

“Sir Ragwald, my lady.”

She studied the young man. “Have you come from my husband?”

“No, my lady.”

“Oh?”

“From Prince Edward, my lady.”

“Oh, I see.”

He went down on a knee before her, his head bowed. “If there’s any way I can serve you, my lady …”

“Thank you. There nothing I need. Good evening.”

She closed the door to her rooms and began to pace. After a while, she took her silver brooch from her cloak and started out into the hallway. Now, only Henry stood guard. “I’ve found myself famished, and need wine as well. Could you send for the kitchen lad?”

“Of course, my lady.”

Henry bowed and left her in the hallway. He turned a corner—but returned very quickly. “I’ve sent a maid, my lady.”

“You’re too kind,” she said. Smiling, she went back into her room. She found paper and a quill and set about writing a hasty letter to Comte Langlois. Worried that the letter might be seized, she didn’t address it, explain the danger, or sign it. She wrote about her own situation, signing herself as a loyalist bound to a man who served the English king.

There was a tap on her door and she hastily folded her letter, men opened the door. Henry was there with the lad, Yves. He had a tray for her. As he set it on a table before the fire in the outer room, he cast a glance her way. She dropped the silver brooch in his hand. Henry remained in the hallway. Danielle watched him carefully as she whispered, “Tell your father this must reach Comte Langlois. Someone can find him through the Twisted Tree Tavern. Will your father know the place?”

“Aye, my lady. It’s no more than an hour’s ride from here, if the ride is hard.”

“My thanks.”

“Nay, lady, our thanks!” the lad whispered quickly. Pocketing the brooch and her letter, he quickly left the room.

That night, she lay awake in more torment than ever. What if Yves were caught? He might be tortured, killed. What if the father failed her? And just what had she written in the letter? Enough to entice Comte Langlois to come to her aid? Yes, definitely. She had hinted that she was unhappy, desperate to see him. Had she promised him anything? No, surely not …

The following day, her stomach was in knots. She paced endlessly, worrying herself into a frazzle. But that night, Yves returned to her room, bringing wine. He left her a letter in return.

Nervously, she ripped it open. Comte Langlois had written in return:
The Twisted Tree Tavern, tomorrow night, an hour after sunset. Your obedient servant, L.

She exhaled and lay down, suddenly drained. Tomorrow night she was going to have to slip down the stairs, find her way to the tavern, speak with Langlois or have him bring her to King Jean—then slip back into the castle!

Could it be done?

She left the castle that night and hurried to the place by the wall where the silversmith worked. He was there, working very late by firelight.

“The Twisted Tree Tavern, my lady, is not hard to reach.”

“On foot?” she queried softly.

He smiled. “There will be a horse in the copse beyond the courtyard. Yves will be there, and ride with you part way.”

She nodded, her mouth too dry for words.

“Laird MacLachlan!” A voice hailed him.

The riding had been hard as they chased the French army, searching for the battleground to make a stand. Adrien was tired, muddy, and worn as he gave his squire instructions on caring for his horses. He’d had an exhausting day, having led men into heavy skirmishing with a band of French scouts.

He looked up as David Chesney, a slim young man seeking knighthood and his fortune in Prince Edward’s army, called to him from the back of his muscled gray gelding.

“Aye, David!” he returned.

David slipped quickly from his horse. “Laird MacLachlan,” he said again, and seemed suddenly nervous. He looked around to see if anyone was near them.

“David, what is it?”

David came close to him. “Rumor, my lord.”

“Rumor?” David had been with him at Aville, and he was instantly wary. Danielle had been quick to capture the hearts of many men.

“Some of the men were boasting when they returned to the Castle de Renoncourt. Prince Edward had sent them, to ascertain that all was well with the castle and with …”

“My countess,” Adrien finished for him. “And?”

“They were boasting—they had planned to try to capture or kill King Jean.”

“Aye?”

David lowered his voice. “One of the laundresses who has ridden with us received word from her brother that there are many traitors at the castle. And they are in contact with your countess. And though I don’t know that she is involved, there is to be a meeting to warn the king—”

“Where?” Adrien demanded.

“The Twisted Tree Tavern, Laird MacLachlan. I can lead you there—”

“Nay, nay, my friend.”

“I can’t believe that she could betray our kind, my lord. She is watched carefully in the castle. Henry is a good man, and would not let her escape him. He and Gervais are very careful, one of them always at her door. She can’t escape the castle.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“How could she—”

“I don’t know. But if there is a way, my lady has found it.”

“I’ll ride with you, my lord.”

“Nay, David. I’d have no one with me.”

David cleared his throat. “Laird MacLachlan, I don’t condemn her. She is beautiful, loyal—”

Adrien arched a brow.

“She is French, my lord.”

“She was raised by Edward.”

“But you must understand the lady feels a loyalty—”

“I understand that she can be hanged or beheaded,” Adrien said curtly. “Does anyone know—”

“Only my brother, and the laundress, and she … she sleeps with me. My brother Donald is very happy in your service, and wants no other place. And the laundress is loyal and discreet.”

“If God is with me, I will find her, and once I do so, I’ll have her sent from France—and temptation.”

“God will need to be with you, for the tavern is a den of thieves, my lord.”

“David, if you would serve me, see that no one follows me. If my wife is to be found in the act of treachery, pray God that I find her on my own.”

“My lord, you mustn’t judge her too harshly—”

“I’m not judging at all. I am chilled to the bone, and at the moment, have no plan other than to attempt to save her life! For if Prince Edward were to discover her betraying his father now …” His voice trailed off.

He
was
chilled to the bone. Amazing, when he was so angry that he could scarcely see for the fire that seemed to blaze within his eyes …

Damn her. A thousand times over. If anything were to happen to her …

He didn’t dare think. He needed to cling to his anger. It was the only way to save her. From herself.

Danielle reached the tavern and dismounted quickly, surveying the place, shivering. She was already unnerved. She had seen some of the men searching the wall at the base of the keep that afternoon. Were they looking for her secret door? Did someone know that she could come and go like a wraith in the night?

She could hear masculine laughter even as she approached the doorway. She pulled her hood lower over her head, thinking she’d lost her mind. This once, she would give King Jean a warning. And then she would be absolved from the promise she had given her mother all those years ago. She would return to the castle de Renoncourt and bide her time peacefully while she waited. Good God, the kings could not fight one another forever!