Autumn Lord (21 page)

kept her from stomping off.

She had spent the night coming to grips with the fact that this wasn't some alternate universe but that

she had traveled back in time. She hated knowing that there were a lot of things that neither Simon nor

Jacques had bothered to tell her. She'd forgiven them for their omissions. She didn't suppose it was all

that important. For all intents and purposes, this ancient France was about as alternate a world as Oz.

She was over being angry about all that.

What she had no intention of doing was attending Simon's wedding.

It had nothing to do with how she felt about him. It wasn't love, it was pride. She wasn't letting any

more strangers ogle and insult her. She was not going to be the entertainment at the reception. She

wasn't going.

"You're going."

His household had spent the night preparing for the journey to Paris. No one had gotten very much

sleep. The knights and foot soldiers who were to accompany him were still weary from days of fighting.

They deserved a rest. He deserved a rest. Simon had little patience with the recalcitrant young woman

he'd had to have fetched from Jacques's chamber.

"Your clothes are packed. Your serving woman is on the cart. Everything you need is here." He

pointed at Diane. "You
are
getting up behind me on this horse and going to Paris. Today." He looked at

the sky. It was just past dawn, clear and warm for the season, 'it will be a pleasant journey."

Diane was not going to get up behind him. There was a sort of narrow seat with a footrest attached to

Simon's saddle. It looked uncomfortable, dangerous and degrading. She pointed at it and shook her

head.

"So you don't want to ride pillion, is that it?"

That wasn't it at all.

Before she could indicate any differently, Simon spoke to one of the waiting grooms. "Saddle a palfrey

for my storyteller." He looked past her to Jacques. "It seems the woman can ride as well as write in her

own tongue."

"She's clever," Jacques answered. "But she might make surly company if she doesn't want to attend

you."

"Nonsense."

Diane pointed at her sore leg.

When she would have lifted her skirt to show off the bruises, Simon warned, "Don't." He cast a

concerned glance at Jacques. "Can she ride with that leg?"

"She won't enjoy it, but she can ride." Diane turned a venomous look on the wizard as he asked, "Isn't

it safer for her to stay here?"

Simon gave a cold bark of laughter. "I'm not leaving her alone again. Even the men she's nursed still

call her foreigner and make the sign to ward off evil when her back's turned. Ah, you didn't know that,

did you?" Simon asked when he saw Diane's indignant expression. "You'll be safe with me," he assured

her. "You know that."

The deep rumble of his voice was seductively comforting. She hated the weakness of her reaction. She

had to fight the longing to let him take care of her. Since it was the kind of relationship he automatically

expected with a woman, Simon made it easy for her to slip into the role of dependent.

He was also right that she wasn't necessarily safe away from him. His people might be used to her by

now, but many of them still didn't trust or like her.

"Are you coming?" he asked as a small, gray horse was led up to the castle steps.

Well, at least this time he didn't make it an order. Diane sighed, and arranged the plentiful material of

her dress so that she could ride astride. She supposed that if Mel Gibson could ride in a skirt, so could

she.

Diane found the saddle strange, but more comfortable than the Western style she was used to. She

was delighted to finally find something more comfortable than she was used to at home. Her leg did hurt,

but she tried to ignore it. She tried to ignore the man who rode beside her. It wasn't hard, at least for a

while. She had a lot to occupy her thoughts for the first few hours of the trip.

She found it interesting that Simon hadn't just jumped on his horse and ridden off to Paris. When she

thought about the primitive conditions of this place, it made sense. It was something of a shock to come

to the realization that this
really
wasn't a place where you could get on a commuter plane and arrive

somewhere thousands of miles away in a few hours. It sank in that you couldn't drive along the interstate

and stop for a meal or at a motel anytime you wanted, either. Simon de Argent, Baron of Marbeau

would not understand the concept of carry-on luggage.

Here, you took your food with you, and servants to prepare it, and soldiers to protect you, and tents

and bedding. You had to bring fodder for the animals and fuel for the campfires, grooms for the horses,

and people to forage for what you couldn't pack along with you. Simon had said something about hunting

along the way. Which explained why there were sleek white hounds trotting along with the party, and a

rider that carried a hooded falcon on one arm. The cavalcade was all very complicated, and rather grand.

That was how rich folk traveled, or so it appeared from Simon of Marbeau's baggage train. She didn't

want to think about how poor folk got around. On foot and hungry, if they traveled at all, she supposed.

The rich folk didn't travel very fast even though they didn't have to walk. She supposed the pace might

get
boring if they had very far to go, but with a sore leg and lots of new things to look at, she didn't mind

for now. Diane's interested attention was taken up by the rolling countryside as the carts and riders

slowly made their way further from Marbeau.

The world smelled better out in the open air, fresh and clean. She was used to blue-green forests and

deep water. And wondrous mountains. At home she could look one way and see the Olympic Range,

and looking the other way, she could see the snow-covered Cascades. She considered her home in the

Pacific Northwest to be the most beautiful place on earth, give or take a lot of rain and that little problem

with slugs in her bathroom.

This countryside was nice, the forest was pristine enough, but it didn't compare to home. The rutted

track beneath the horse's dainty feet was not yellow brick, but Diane knew exactly how Dorothy felt

about Oz.

Still, it was nice to play tourist for a while.

She hadn't been outside the castle walls since the night Simon had thrown her out then brought her

back, bloody and scared out of her mind. She gave him a bitter look when she recalled the incident. He

cocked an eyebrow in response, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"You haven't seen my lands in daylight, have you?"

She sarcastically raised an eyebrow at him.

"Should I apologize for that unfortunate incident all over again? Didn't I apologize for it?" he asked

when she glowered meaningfully at him. He waved one elegant, gloved hand. "Let's just put it behind us.

We have a lot to discuss. Rather, there are some things you need to know."

When she thought about it, Diane couldn't recall anything she really
knew
about this place and its

people. There were things she'd heard, things she'd surmised, but she didn't know fact from speculation.

Simon had gotten her undivided attention, even though she'd been determined not to give it to him from

Marbeau to Paris and back.

Now that Simon had actually offered to
tell
something, she couldn't help but give him 100 percent of

her attention.

Simon liked the look of alert concentration on Diane's face. Though her eyes had a strange, intriguing

almond shape, they were large and dominated her high-cheekboned face. His attention was often drawn

to her eyes, because of the lively intelligence he found in her gaze, not just because they were a beautiful

feature.

"Come, ride a little ahead with me," he told her. He touched spurs to his stallion. Diane had no trouble

keeping up with him. He was pleased to discover that she was a good rider. He slowed the pace and

drew up beside her once more when they were out of hearing distance of the rest of the party.

Simon automatically kept part of his mind on controlling his mount while he looked into her eyes, and

spoke. "I'm taking you to the court of a king, and that's a dangerous place to be. For anyone, not just a

woman from a strange land and time." He chuckled at the sharp look she gave him. "Yes, I knew you

were from the future. I assumed Jacques told you where you were. I forget that the old man often

forgets to tell people things. He uses his age as an excuse, but he's just arrogant. And manipulative, but

then we both know that."

Diane gave a firm nod.

"Always remember that he means well. If I didn't keep reminding myself of that, I would have throttled

him years ago. But I was speaking of Paris," he went on. He sighed. "Where do I start? With the politics,

I suppose. There are two great powers tugging at the loyalty and lands of the nobles who serve them as

liege men. I have estates in France, Anjou, and Poitou, so I owe service to each of the rulers of these

lands. Since most of my lands are in Poitou, my strongest loyalty
should
go to the Countess Eleanor, but

it does not." He gave a hard, cold laugh. "I hate the woman's entrails, and curse her for the faithless bitch

she is. Now," he continued calmly, "the countess is married to Henry, Count of Anjou—who is also the

Duke of Normandy and the King of England."

He gave her time to absorb that this Henry was someone very powerful, with a lot of different lands

and titles, but still the same person. Diane wished she knew something about history.

"I've sworn a great oath of loyalty to Henry. His wife and oldest sons are currently in revolt against

him. In this family quarrel, many Poitevan nobles have joined with the rebels—more out of self-interest

than sense. I have not sided with my liege lady, but with her husband. Henry is going to win." He sighed.

"I would just as soon give up war altogether. But instead of tending to our own affairs, we barons have

had to choose one camp over another, or be fallen on by all and sundry. Even though Henry will triumph,

the fighting is hard on those who follow either faction. Many a fortress has already changed hands, more

than once. Many more will fall come spring. Are you comprehending this, so far?"

Diane knew he was trying to keep his explanation as simple as he could for her. Even with the

simplification, it was all very strange. It began to dawn on her that politics was very personal here. It

wasn't so much nation against nation as family against family. It was rather daunting to be listening to

someone who was intimately involved in the power plays and crises of the time. There didn't seem to be

any end to the crises either. Just like home, but without the media coverage.

She almost laughed at a mental image of a CNN correspondent standing outside the castle gates and

reporting on the recent siege.

"Diane?"

She shook her head, to clear it.

"You don't understand?"

Diane waved a hand to try to tell him that her reaction hadn't been to his question.

"You do understand?"

More or less, she supposed. She nodded.

"Good."

He was quiet for a while after that one decisive word. It was a grim, tight-jawed silence. They rode

along, just barely able to be side by side on the narrow path. They were so close that sometimes their

legs brushed against each other. Diane could tell that he did not look forward to any further explanations.

It had been fairly pleasant earlier in the day, but the wind was getting stronger and colder as morning

moved into afternoon. They left the forest behind. Away from the trees, the road wound through dead

winter fields.

After they splashed through a shallow stream that crossed the road, Simon turned to her again.

"You've no doubt heard mention of Denis? And Vivienne?" She nodded. "Denis is my son."

She knew that as well. She nodded again.

"Denis and I have had a falling out over this rebellion. He sides with young Henry. That is to say, Denis

serves King Henry's eldest son, who bears his father's name. Denis joined with the rebel faction for many

reasons. So my son is now my enemy. He's seventeen, wild and full of himself, convinced he should have

his inheritance before I'm ready to be laid in my tomb." After a short silence, he added. "Also, Denis and

I have not been friendly since his mother died. So Vivienne convinced him to join in the rebellion.

Vivienne is—not a particularly chaste or loyal young woman. She is a sorceress."

Diane sensed that there was a great deal Simon wanted to say about this Vivienne, and that none of it

was pleasant. She tucked away the knowledge that Denis had a magician working for him while she tried

to fathom the fact that Simon was at war with his seventeen-year-old son. That he was old enough to