Autumn Lord (9 page)

"Good. Maybe this time you'll be able to finish the Casablanca story for me."

Alys looked up from the
circle of women gathered around a large embroidery frame as he

stepped into the room. She smiled and stood, and held her hand out, but Simon turned to a serving

woman before acknowledging his mistress. "Tell my knights that their company is wanted in the solar."

Then he came fully into the room, Diane trailing reluctantly behind him, hidden in his shadow for the

moment. He looked around, as reluctant as she was to be here. For this was the place where the

gentlewomen of Marbeau spent their days and slept when they had no man to bed with them at night.

Here, they spun and wove and sewed and cared for their babes and talked and plotted among

themselves. No man was comfortable in this women's country. Particularly not a man with no wife to

smile at as she glanced up from her work or children to toddle across the rush-covered floor into his

waiting arms.

He did not come here often, nor did he stay very long when he did, and now here he was braving the

lionesses' den at the price of a story. He glanced back in unreasonable annoyance at Diane, then took

her arm and pulled her forward just as Alys approached.

"I've brought the storyteller," he said. "For you."

As expected, Alys's face clouded with fury, but she didn't shout. Not in front of the other women. She

forced a smile to her lips, stepped close to him and spoke quietly. "I don't want your storyteller." She put

a delicate hand on his arm as she leaned even closer. With her breasts pressed hard against his chest, she

said, "I want you."

"Well, I'm not going to take you in front of a crowd," he answered.

She thrust out her lip in a pretty pout, and pressed her hips against his. "I haven't seen you in days and

days. You don't send for me. You haven't come down to the hall for the evening meal. You haven't even

been to Mass."

"I've been planning a campaign."

“There's always war. Have you not missed being with me?" Her tone indicated that there was going to

be a battle with her if he didn't say something placating soon.

So he took Alys in his arms and said, loud enough for the avid watchers to hear, "Being absent from

your presence, sweet lady, has left me parched with thirst for the sight of your beauty. To see you again

refreshes me like cool water from a hidden spring."

He kissed her cheek, and heard her women snicker and giggle as he did so. From the corner of his

vision he glimpsed Diane as she rolled her eyes heavenward. Clearly, she was unimpressed with his

eloquence. Perhaps they did not practice the false flattery of courtiers in her land. If so, it was a lucky

place for a man to live.

Alys accepted his lying devotion easily enough, especially since it was spoken in front of the other

castle women. She cared no more for him than he did for her, though he knew she had missed his

company for her own purposes. Curious, prying Alys hated not knowing every little detail of his plans

and projects. That he was leaving the castle without her knowing when he would return or how long he

would be gone or where he planned to ride must have galled her. He had no doubt that she would want

to crawl into his bed tonight to bid him a fond farewell—and find out things he had no intention of telling

her while they dallied.

"Come, let us listen to the storyteller."

Alys fluttered her eyelashes at him. "As you wish, my lord."

"I crave only your pleasure, my dear."

He kept his arm attentively around Alys's shoulders as he escorted her back to her seat, then he stood

beside her with his hand on her shoulder. This left Diane alone in the middle of the room while a dozen

knights filed in. The women eagerly made room for the men, and they were soon settled on cushions and

Benches and reclining at favored ladies' feet. He watched Diane react nervously to all this activity, with

her arms crossed protectively under her breasts.

Diane shivered with apprehension as the crowd gathered around her. People stared at her and talked

about her as though she weren't there. So, she countered by pretending they weren't there, either. All but

Simon, that is. She wondered if she could ever escape his sharp scrutiny. It was like she physically felt it,

as though his awareness of her seeped all the way into her bones and blood.

The problem was, that as the silence grew, her mind went blank. She couldn't think of a story. Her

mind remained on Simon, and the disgusting exchange he'd had with Bimbo Alys. Did either of them

really believe that the other was in love? Cynicism fairly dripped off both of them when they were

together. The odd thing was, Diane somehow expected better of Simon. As if she really knew the man.

The only thing that came to her as the crowd grew restless, stirred in their seats and mumbled to each

other, were the lyrics of a song from
Operation: Mindcrime.
Which was a rock opera of sorts and not

a movie, but at least it had a storyline. So, since it fit the criteria of the stupid curse or spell or whatever it

was, and she had to do something, she ended up keeping her attention firmly on Simon as she sang the

first words of "I Don't Believe in Love,"
a cappella.
Even though she didn't have the greatest voice in the

world, she could at least carry a tune, and his nod of approval gave her the encouragement to go on.

So, his storyteller had a talent for song, Simon thought as she began to sing. He was pleased at first to

discover that she shared his own musical gift. Though he did not know why he should care that Diane

had an interest in music when he'd given it up himself.

The meaning of the song was rather hard to follow at first, though the theme that believing in love was

not worth the pain of being in love soon became clear. How true, Simon thought, and how sad. He

enjoyed himself as he listened, even though Diane's singing voice did not match the quality of her

speaking voice. What interested him was that listening to this song was like looking at one section of a

cathedral window and having to guess the parable depicted in colored glass that made up the rest. This

was very different from listening to a section of the
Song of Roland,
or some other familiar
chanson de

geste.

"How intriguing," he said as the song finished. "Jacques is right in his claim that this Diane is anything

but boring."

His words earned him a vicious look from Alys. So he clapped loudly to show Diane even more

approval. His knights and gentlewomen had to clap along with him whether they enjoyed the

performance or not. Alys wasn't happy, but the applause drew a smile from Diane. Simon thought

bringing the girl a bit of joy was worth rousing the displeasure of the pampered beauty beside him.

He wondered if he should ask her to sing the rest of this song cycle, but before he could make a

request, her smile widened, she bowed to him, and began the Casablanca tale he'd already asked for.

"Ah, good."

He took a seat beside Alys, and leaned forward, eager to finally hear out the story of Rick, Lady Ilsaf

and the valiant Victor of Laslo.

Diane had barely reached the part where the marshal Louis has sent his guardsmen out to round up the

usual suspects when Simon's own marshal rushed into the room.

Simon bolted to his feet, all thought of pleasure banished. "What?"

"Lord Simon, a messenger has just brought word of raiders attacking Domiere!"

Anger surged through Simon at the raiders daring to attack an abbey of holy sisters. "That's not ten

miles from Marbeau. It looks like we ride now instead of waiting for the dawn." He gathered his men

with a grim look.

Diane scampered to the side as the group of men headed for the door. She definitely wanted to stay

out of their way. She'd seen an instant change come over them the moment they'd heard of the attack. It

was like this massive surge of testosterone had washed over every last man in the room. Even Simon, no,

especially Simon, who she sometimes suspected of being civilized but really wasn't. She could practically

taste the urge for battle in the air. Or, maybe, it was just an overpowering stench of sweat as Simon's

warriors hurried past her.

With war on their minds they left the womenfolk without a backward glance or a word of farewell. It

worried Diane that the women didn't seem to notice that they were being abandoned, but then, the

women carried knives, too. Maybe they found warfare normal.

All Diane knew was that she didn't find anybody's behavior normal, and she was once again

completely disoriented by this strange place. Once the men were gone, the women gathered around Al

ys. They talked among themselves and ignored Diane. All except Alys, who gave her a look full of anger

and calculation. Diane didn't wait for Bimbo Alys to tell her to get out. She hurried back to the relative

shelter of Jacques's tower without any urging.

******************

Diane sighed, but she followed the old man out of his chamber.

It looked like Jacques wasn't going to let her hide any more than Simon had. She decided to pretend

she was brave and go along with it. She'd retreated yesterday, then she'd spent the night thinking over

what Simon had said about dealing with this place. She was ashamed of her own reaction. She had to go

forward, not withdraw into childish terror.

Besides, she was hungry, and dinner, such as it was, was downstairs.

The hall was just as dark and smoky as she remembered from her first excursion. Servants moved

around, and there were guards standing at the main door, but with Simon and most of the soldiers gone

the place was subdued. People still stared at her like she was a freak, and muttered and made signs as

she passed by. Diane pretended not to notice.

She did take Jacques's hand as they made their way between tables to the platform where Lady Alys

and a few men sat facing the room while they ate their dinner. The old man's skin felt dry and fragile as

paper, but his grip was strong and reassuring just the same. She liked Jacques. Despite the fact that he

was responsible for her being here, he was so well-meaning that it was impossible not to like him.

Not everyone liked Jacques, she decided as she saw the looks Alys and the man seated beside her

gave the old wizard. Diane had noticed the man yesterday because of his red hair. Seated next to the

redhaired Alys, it was obvious the two were related. Brother and sister, she guessed, from the

resemblance and their ages. Both were young and attractive, though the man had a narrow scar on his

left cheek.

Alys pointed at Diane. "You don't mean to seat
that
at my lord's high table, do you?"

"Of course," Jacques replied, and led Diane to one of the benches. After she was seated, Jacques

turned to speak mildly to Alys. "Be a good girl and don't cause any trouble."

"Don't give me orders, old man," she countered. "Your days at Marbeau are numbered."

Jacques gave a loud laugh, then ignored Alys as he sat down beside Diane. In the suddenly quiet

room, he gestured to a servant.

The man hurried forward and put large flat loaves of bread down on the table in front of them. Another

servant dumped a ladle of some sort of stew thing onto the bread. Was Simon too poor to afford dishes?

Diane wondered as she stared at the greasy concoction before her. She'd been eating cheese, chunks of

bread and dried fruit whenever Jacques or Simon remembered to feed her at all. This was her first

encounter with Marbeau's cooked cuisine and she had no idea what to do. She wanted to ask for some

utensils. Since she didn't have any voice, she tugged on Jacques's sleeve instead.

Unfortunately, he was distracted by Alys's brother before she could get his attention.

"My sister does not want the foreigner at her table."

"It's not her table, Sir Thierry."

Diane quickly broke off a piece of bread on the edge of the loaf and stuffed it into her mouth. Since

she couldn't get involved in any argument concerning her, she figured she might as well eat her dinner

while the others talked. Besides, if she concentrated on the food maybe she could pretend she didn't

hear any of the ugly things said about her.

Jacques watched as Thierry Turpeney's eyes narrowed. The man reminded him of a fox, cunning

enough, but vermin just the same. Thierry wasn't quite as given to indulging his tempestuous nature as his

sister, but he had too many strong appetites and hated to be thwarted.

Jacques wished Simon hadn't left Thierry in charge of the castle's defenses, but understood his friend's