Heather Graham (38 page)

Get in, give your message, get out! she told herself, and so she pushed open the door and surveyed the room, hoping that Langlois was already there and that she could be quickly on her way.

A young woman with dark hair, rouged cheeks, and monstrous breasts laughed and wiggled her way through the tables carrying tankards of ale.

And the clientele!

Enough to make the Devil himself shiver. A more scurvy lot she had never seen, all in shadows, and nearly all clad in dark, face-concealing hoods. The few faces she could see gave fair warning that the place was inhabited by the worst kinds of criminals, men who bore the scars and eyeless sockets of many a back-alley battle. Where was Langlois?

Just when she was ready to turn and flee, she saw him rise from the back of the room and quickly come toward her. He was wearing a dark, hooded cloak, but allowed the hood to fall back from his face as he came to her so that she might easily recognize him. “My lady, I have waited with such anxiety, you can’t imagine. I shouldn’t have had you come here at this time, but any place more respectable would have been highly dangerous, what with Edward’s men prowling the countryside … come, I’ve a place where we can talk.”

He pointed to the stairs. She instantly felt uneasy. What if she were caught here?

She’d never be caught here, she tried to assure herself. Adrien was the only one who might imagine that she would simply walk out of the castle by night and come to a haven for criminals with a warning for the French king.

And God alone knew where Adrien was.

She felt ill, completely sick at heart. She had sworn before that she hadn’t betrayed him, and that had been the truth, and yet now …

Now she honored that first vow she had made, to her mother. Yet … if Adrien were to discover her now, if he were ever to find out about this escapade …

Best not to think about it.

Better to worry about Langlois. He seemed very different tonight from when she had first met him. He led her up the stairs, and down a darkened hallway, deep into the far back of the old building. There he pressed open a door to a room already alight with a candle’s glow. A carafe of wine awaited on a table with a wedge of cheese and loaf of bread. A fire burned; the cover had been drawn down from the bed, which seemed to dominate the crude room. It had been arranged as if for a lover’s tryst.

She stood, straight and regal, and waited. Comte Langlois entered behind her and leaned against the door.

“There was no need for so elaborate a set-up. I arranged this meeting that you might bring a message to the King of France. You will be amply rewarded.”

“Ah, lady? How can you be so like ice, when I have risked life and limb to come here—to your rescue?”

“How so, sir?”

He slid the bolt, walked to her, and caught her hands, bowing as he held them, like the most gallant of knights in the most chivalric of times. “Alas, my lady, it has been said that there is all but open warfare between you—and the Scottish savage of King Edward’s choosing.”

Cold seemed to sweep along her spine. She longed to wrench her hands free.

“I wrote to you because—” Danielle began to Langlois.

“Ah, lady, if there is no consummation of your vows, then you are free, and the good French king can bring matters before the pope.”

“Perhaps there are matters we can discuss at a later date. But this matter must be settled first. Perhaps it would be best if you escorted me to King Jean, and I gave him my information in person,” she said. She felt a chill again. His dark eyes narrowed and took on a cunning and very determined glitter. “Comte, I don’t intend to offend you.” she went on. “You are surely a worthy nobleman, but there are matters at stake of greater importance than myself and Aville.”

“But think of it, lady,” Langlois interrupted, his voice grating now. “King Jean would be pleased. We go to the French king with our love an accomplished thing, and a marriage can thus be surely arranged—and you are free from that savage, heathen lout! Lady, you led me to believe in your summons that there would be great reward for me if I were to help you. I will have that reward. Now, dear sweet beauty! Since there is nothing at all between you and the savage—”

“Comte, I have a message for King Jean! Think of his anger—”

“Think of his pleasure that you may be claimed by a Frenchman rather than that arrogant Scottish bastard!”

She stared at him, growing outraged with him and furious with herself. “No!”

She pushed impatiently past him, and for a moment, she prevailed. Langlois fell back. But when she would have kept moving toward the door, he suddenly caught her shoulders and wrenched her back before him. He was angry now, dark eyes glowing. “I had meant to be gentle, to seduce you,” he said, and as she stared at him incredulously, he began to rattle on about being a loyal servant of the French king, but in dire need of riches—such as those offered by Aville. He meant to make them lovers, there and then.

She swore something, she wasn’t even sure just what. And she kicked him, hard, in the groin, knowing that she had to take any advantage to escape.

He cried out; she shot past him. But his fingers snagged into the fullness of her cloak and she went down with a hard thud in a tangle of coarse brown wool, and then he was on top of her, speaking his wretched intent. “Dear lady, I had meant to have this done upon a bed, but if the floor be your choice …”

I
N THE HALLWAY, ADRIEN’S
fury reached a deadly peak and he cast his shoulder against the door, breaking it down. He stepped into the room to see Danielle struggling on the floor while Langlois tried somewhat ineptly to subdue her. A few seconds more, and the man might have done the deed. Adrien’s instinct clamored to slay Langlois, and spray the blood from his jugular vein across the room. But Langlois was a French noble, not a common cutthroat, and Adrien forced himself to an icy calmness.

Danielle was holding her own, for Langlois, so intent in his pursuit he’d not heard Adrien arrive, was arguing with her. “Sweet Jesu, milady, by God, will you just be still! I’d not hurt you, if you’d just let me touch you—”

Then Langlois saw him, and broke off. Danielle, amazed that he had suddenly ceased his attack, looked up. Her face went decidedly ashen as she stared at Adrien.

He’d never felt this way. Never. As if his blood burned with such a fever it would explode. The very thought of Langlois touching her …

What spell had she cast on him that he could feel such wretched fire, loving her, wanting her, wanting to strangle her, and like a fool, aching for her despite die fact that she most obviously set this up, telling Langlois lies, to arrange this meeting … ?

He struggled for control and forced his attention to Langlois.

“Touch her, my good man, but once again,” he warned, “and I shall sever that protrusion of your lower body that makes you act like such a fool before I lop off your head!” He set his sword against Langlois’s throat. The comte rose.

“Now you, Danielle,” Adrien commanded, carefully keeping his focus on Langlois.

“How—” Danielle began in whisper. “How long were you standing there?”

He didn’t glance at her, didn’t want to see her emerald eyes. “Long enough.”

“And you let him maul me so—”

“You seemed to be doing fine on your own. In fact, I was not at all sure you desired a rescue, since you were so intent on this assignation.”

“Aye!” cried Langlois. “Indeed, I am the man to come to the lady’s rescue, and indeed, my lady, you needn’t fear now. Who is this lout? Be aware this house is filled with men loyal to the French king, men who will mow down this English knave!”

“Call them,” Adrien suggested softly. It didn’t matter. Someone had heard the disturbance; help for Langlois was coming. A fat man came waddling into the room, followed by two large men armed with knives.

“Do you need assistance, milord?” the fat man demanded of Langlois.

“Indeed!” Langlois cried wryly. Adrien granted him a certain courage and a sense of bravado, for with Adrien’s blade against his throat, it seemed far more than obvious that he needed assistance. Yet he still hoped to escape the night with as little bloodshed as possible.

“I seek no trouble with you, and with the dead already upon my conscience, I’d not add more corpses here!” he said. “I don’t intend to kill the comte, just leave with the lady—”

“She came to me to escape the English!” Langlois cried. “You will not leave with her—I mean to wed her—”

“Well, that, sir,” Adrien said, feeling as if he were strangling on his ire, “cannot come about, for she has a husband.”

“No true marriage—”

“True in every way.” Adrien corrected, staring at Danielle then with pure fury. She had started this. She deserved whatever came her way. He would never let anyone touch her for any reason while he still drew breath, but there was no reason to let her know that at this moment. He almost smiled to Langlois. “I would be delighted to prove it, should the lady not be willing to admit it. A midwife can be called.”

“But—” Langlois began.

“Alas!” Adrien said. Poor Langlois was honestly befuddled. Greedy, and an idiot to think he could wrest Aville from Adrien, but he was confused. “I am aware that the lady used her wiles upon you, milord comte. And she does so exceedingly well! Unless one knows her, of course. Which I do. You were duped, sir, and that is why you draw breath this very instant. She is charming, is she not? But as I’ve said, I know her well, and you, sir, should now be warned to beware of such devious and seductive beauty! I’ll let you live today … but if we meet again, sir, you die!”

Langlois stared at him and then gasped. They had never actually met, so it wasn’t a great surprise that Langlois had not known him when he burst in. “MacLachlan!” he cried out.

“Indeed.” Adrien inclined his head. “Ah, yes! I am that savage, heathen Scotsman.
Comte, c’est moi
.”

The comte seemed to weigh his chances for a moment, men cried out, “Take him!”

Foolish thought.

As one of the men came toward him, he but shifted his sword in a swinging arc. He halted the man, then felled him. He heard Danielle cry out “Seize him, fool!” Langlois shouted to the second man, who started forward, stared at Adrien’s blade, and swiftly turned to escape. Langlois let out a strangled sound which was silenced when Adrien’s swordpoint pressed against his throat again.

“Adieu, milord comte! I should kill you, but I will spill no more blood than necessary over this treachery. She did summon you.”

He reached for Danielle, heedless of the brutality of his grasp as he pressed her out the door. He caught her hand then, aware that they must escape quickly, and that he must move like lightning. More men were coming.

“Get me a weapon!” she cried to him.

“Not while I draw breath, milady! It would fester in my back!”

“I never brought arms against you!”

“I beg to differ!”

“You’ve too many men to fight!” she cried. “You’ll kill us both, unless you’ve men of your own waiting below.”

“I came alone.”

“Alone!” she cried in dismay.

“I try not to invite witnesses when I am hoping to prevent a rock-headed little wench from endangering herself while in the act of betraying the King of England—not to mention me!” She flushed; her eyes blazed against her taut features. “Get behind me. Close,” he commanded furiously. “And if you even think to betray me here again, I swear before God, I’ll live long enough to make you regret it!”

Would she betray him, even here, he wondered? Were filthy French cutthroats better than a Scotsman serving the King of England?

He didn’t dare so much as glance at her again until they were free from this place—there were a half dozen men ready to do battle with him now. He reminded himself that speed was necessary, and he methodically and swiftly began to slash his way down the stairs, with her at his back. His saw a blade arcing and warned her to duck—then killed the man who had wielded the blade. At one point, she screamed—a warning, he wondered—or a simple reaction?

Matthew waited for them. Adrien didn’t intend to give Danielle a chance to escape on horseback, so he whacked her mount’s haunches, sending it flying into the night, certain the animal would find its way home. He threw her up on Matthew, and they began to race.

He was barely aware of the ride home, his temper remained so incensed. She protested at the stream; he was glad of the ice, glad that they both froze as he finished the trip to Aville.

Perhaps he would shrivel completely from such cold, and cease to want a woman who had betrayed him so.

The gates of Aville opened as they neared them and they rode quickly in, the gates closing behind them at an invisible command. He rode to the door that led to the manor keep. In the darkness, a groom stirred when called to take the stallion’s reins and care for him.

Adrien leapt down swiftly, dragging Danielle down after him. She tried to elude him; he wasn’t about to allow it.

Not tonight.

He dragged her into the hallway, and when she tried to pause—desperate, it seemed, to see someone—he dragged her onward.

“Upstairs, my lady!” he commanded, and when they reached the master’s chambers, he released her at last, shoving her into the room where she stood like a statue, trembling, yet not moving. Defying him.

She looked longingly to the door. He wanted to shake her until her head rattled, press her skull between his hands until he could press some sense into her.

“No servants will attend you here tonight, milady,” he told her, fighting for control. “When I discovered your foolish treachery, I saw to it that I could bring you back unseen. These are no longer games you play with me! You and your indignant protestations of innocence! This was treason, Danielle. The servants have been sent out for the night. Don’t look to others for help.”

“I look nowhere for help!”

“Nay, lady?” he queried.

She didn’t respond, but her trembling increased.

“Get those things off!” he commanded. But she lifted her chin stubbornly, staring at him, ready for a fight.