By Arrangement (34 page)

It had only been a drop of eight feet, but it still stunned her. She cautiously rose to her feet and glanced around.

Another wall, of another house, stretched in front of her. Between the two ran a very narrow alley where she now stood. At one end she saw a jumble of roofs that suggested it gave out on a city lane. The other way looked clearer.

Staying in the wall's shadow, she quickly walked
up the alley with a triumphant elation pounding through her. Whatever the mayor of Caen had planned for her, he could find another Englishwoman for the role.

She would cross the river and and stay off the roads and make her way to the coast and a port town. Maybe she would find an English fisherman or merchant there who would help her.

She stopped near the end of the wall and strained her ears for the sounds of the searchers. All was silent. She started forward again.

Suddenly a man stepped from behind the wall's end. He stood twenty yards in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest. She paused and stared at him in the evening light.

Definitely not the portly, short mayor. Too tall and lean, although the long hair was just as white and the clothing just as rich. Not one of his retainers either. She carefully walked forward, hoping that this man's presence had nothing to do with her, despite the concentrated way that he watched her approach.

She had just decided to smile sweetly and pretend that she belonged in this alley and neighborhood when she drew near enough to see his face.

She recognized him and, she knew, he recognized her. Her heart sank as her feet continued bringing her closer to the French noble who had disguised himself to meet with David at Hampstead.

She had not met him up close that day, but she stopped only a few paces away and faced him squarely now. She remembered more about his appearance than she had thought, for he looked very familiar to her in unspecified ways. Hooded brown eyes gazed down examining her. Between the white mustache and short beard, a slow smile formed.

“You have spirit,” he said. “A good sign.” He looked
down the alley to the swaying white line of sheets and towels. “You might have hurt yourself.”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters a great deal.”

“Well, that at least is good news.”

He stepped aside. With a flourishing gesture, he pointed her back toward her prison.

Christiana plied her needle in the twilight eking through the open window. A low fire burned in the hearth, but the early July evening was very warm and the fire would not be built up when the daylight faded.

She glanced at the women and girls sitting around her, speaking lowly to each other as they bent to their own needlework. Occasionally one would look at her curiously. They still did not know why she had been foisted on them to befriend and entertain, and nothing beyond the previous polite courtesy had developed over the seven days since her attempted escape.

She looked down the hall to the other hearth and the four men gathered around it. Two of them were local barons from the region who had arrived during the last few days with their retinues at the French king's command. Others had come before them. The city was filling with knights and soldiers. Some camped across the river that served as a natural defense to this Norman city. A few had entered the castle, but most came here, to the mayor's house, and consulted with the tall white-haired man sitting by the other hearth.

She knew his name now. Theobald, the Comte of Senlis. Not just a noble, as she had surmised that day in Hampstead, but an important baron equal in rank to an English earl, and an advisor to the French king.

He had only spoken to her enough to ascertain that she had not been harmed or molested. He had ignored her demanding questions. She suspected, however, that she had been brought here at his initiative and command, and not the mayor's.

A prisoner still.
His prisoner
. To what end and what purpose? The women did not know. The Comte would not say. She sat in this house day after day, keeping to herself, refusing all but the barest hospitality, and watched the lords' arrivals and the daily consultations at the other end of the hall.

The light had faded. She rose and went to a bench below a window on the long wall of the hall. She would sit alone for a while and give the ladies time to gossip and speculate about her. Her unnatural and strained social situation did nothing to alleviate the chilling fear that she had carried inside her ever since those men had pulled her from her home. She admitted that the chill had gotten colder since she had faced the Comte at the end of the alley.

She had imagined during her first days here that David would come to rescue her. Perhaps he would bring Morvan and Walter Manny and some of the other knights to help. They would ride up to the river and across the bridge and into the city and demand her release. Like something out of a chanson.

She grimaced at her foolishness. If David were coming, he would have been here by now. In fact, he could have arrived before her. Returning home and finding her gone, he could have sailed from London and reached France before her own boat. Her captors had dragged her all the way north, almost to Scotland, before securing passage at a seaside port. A waste of time that made no sense, but then none of this did.

She had closed her eyes as she contemplated her situation,
and the hall had receded from her awareness. A slight commotion intruded on her reverie now.

At the far hearth the Comte had risen from his chair and bent his ear to a gesturing man-at-arms. A broad smile broke over his face. He turned and said something to the mayor. One of the barons clapped his hand merrily on the other's shoulder.

The entrance to the hall swung open and she had a view of the anteroom beyond. Through the threshold to the courtyard she saw a man approach. Torchlight reflected off armor before the darkness of the anteroom swallowed him.

Another baron. They came to prepare for King Edward's invasion, of course. No doubt similar councils and musterings were taking place all over France.

One of the Comte's squires entered first, carrying a helmet and shield. She glanced at the newly painted and unscarred blue and gold coat of arms on it. Five gold disks over three entwined serpents, and the bar sinister of a bastard son.

Three entwined serpents … shocked alertness shook her. She sat upright and stared.

The knight entered the chamber. Tall and lean, he looked around placidly as he removed his gauntlets. His body moved fluidly in the clumsy armor as if he wore a second skin. He stood proudly with a touch of arrogance. Mussed brown hair hung around his perfect, weatherbronzed face. Blue eyes met hers intently.

She watched speechlessly. To her right, the women turned to regard the strong and handsome new man. To her left, the Comte strode forward, smiling, his hands outstretched.

“Welcome to France, nephew.”

David de Abyndon, her David, her merchant, turned to the Comte de Senlis.

Nephew!
Stunned, she looked from him to the Comte and then back again. She suddenly understood the odd familiarity she had felt when she looked in that older man's face.

She glared at David, standing there so casually and naturally in his damn armor, looking for all the world like a knight, accepting a kinsman's welcome from this French baron.

Of course. Of course. Why hadn't she seen it before?
The height. The strength. The lack of deference. He hadn't told her. He had never even hinted. The urge to strangle her husband assaulted her.

The Comte spoke quietly and gestured David toward the hearth.

“I will see to my wife first,” David said, and dismissing his uncle's interest, he crossed the space to her.

She glanced up the molded metal plates and looked him accusingly straight in the eyes. He looked straight back. Placid. Inscrutable. Cool.

“You are well and unharmed?”

“Aside from feeling like an ignorant and stupid fool who is married to a lying stranger, I am well.”

He bent to kiss her. “I will explain all when we are alone,” he said quietly. “Come now, and sit with me. Do not take to heart what I say to him, darling. I would have the Comte think that we are not content together.”

“I should be able to help you with that.”

The Comte wanted to speak with David alone. He had dismissed the barons and mayor, and frowned in annoyance when David led Christiana to the hearth.

“Thanks to you, I gamble with her life now as well as my own,” David said. “She has a right to know my situation.”

She sat in a chair. David stood near the hearth and she
watched him with confusion and shock and anger. In a strange way, however, a small part of her nodded with understanding. Something seemed appallingly
right
about seeing him like this, as if a shadow that had always floated behind him had suddenly taken substance and form.
Who are you really?

She glanced at the Comte and could tell from that old man's approving gaze that he saw what she saw.

David turned to his uncle and let his annoyance flare. “I told you that she was not to be involved.”

The Comte raised his hands. “You did not come in April. I sought to encourage you.”

“I did not come because the storms rose as soon as I reached Normandy. Why deliver news that would have no value? The fleet barely made it back to England.”

So he had come to France at Easter. But then, she had known that as soon as she saw him enter the hall.

“I had men waiting for you at Calais and St. Malo. You did not come.”

“Do you think that I am so stupid as to put in at a major trading port where I might be recognized? Would you be so careless?”

The Comte considered this and made a face of tentative acceptance. “Still, you are late. I expected you weeks ago. The army is ready to move.”

“I am late because my wife disappeared and I sought to find her.”

“You knew where she was.”

“I did not. I could hardly leave England without knowing her fate.”

The Comte flushed. “They were to leave—”

“No note or word was left.” David stared hard at the Comte. “You sent Frans to do this, didn't you? Against our agreement.”

“He knew the people. He knows your habits.”

“Aye. But he relied on Lady Catherine, who holds no love for me. Also against our agreement. And she had her own plans for me. I was lucky to get out of England alive.”

The Comte reddened. “She endangered you?”

“You probably assumed that I would know, note or not, that you had taken Christiana. What other explanation could there be? What you did not know is that my wife has a lover who lives in the north country.”

The Comte glanced in scathing disappointment at her. She faced him down. David had better have a damn good reason for telling his uncle that.

“Lady Catherine knew this, however,” David continued. “And so she had the men whom she and Frans hired leave no note or sign, so I would wonder if Christiana had gone to this man. They even took her out of the country by way of a northern port, so that I could follow her trail toward her lover. All the while, time is passing and I am still in England.” He paused and smiled unpleasantly. “And during that time, Catherine went to King Edward and told him about me. She had a lot to tell, because Frans had let her know of my relationship to you.”

A very hard expression masked the Comte's face. Christiana drew back in alarm. She had seen that expression before, but not on this Frenchman's face.

“I will deal with them both. The woman and Frans.”

“I have already done so.”

“If the woman betrayed you to Edward, what you know may be useless. He may change the port.”

She had been correct in her suspicions then. David planned to give the port's location to the Comte and the French. But not in exchange for silver and gold. And, as a son of Senlis, not even in treason. Every noble knew and respected the loyalties of blood ties. An oath of fealty bound one just as strongly, but a wise king or lord never
asked his liegemen to make a choice between the two obligations.

“I thought of that,” David said. “And it may happen. But before I slipped out, I learned that, even two weeks after hearing Catherine's tale, he had not changed his mind. He had already sent word to the English forces on the Continent, and there was no time to undo that. But he may hope that you expect him to, so that you resist committing all of your forces to the one place. I wonder if he did not let me escape with the news of Lady Catherine's betrayal in order to cast doubt on the value of this information in the event that I had managed to send it to you earlier.”

All of David's attention was concentrated on his uncle, and those blue eyes never wavered in their scrutiny of the older man's face. The Comte's own eyes, brown rather than blue but so similar nonetheless, appeared just as piercing whenever he studied David.

Who are you really?
Well, now she knew. She was too numb and confused to decipher how she felt about this startling revelation. She should be relieved. Her husband was not common. His father's blood, the important blood, had been noble.

So why did this anger unaccountably want to unhinge her?

The Comte paced and nodded to himself. “I think that you are right. The summer is passing quickly. If he comes at all, he must do so now. His army has been mustered. It is too late to change course.” He pivoted toward David. “Do you have it, then?”

“I have it. More than he knows that I have. The roads he will take and the direction he will head. The size of his force. I have it all.”

The Comte waited expectantly.

David smiled faintly. “Do you have the documents?”

The Comte gave an exasperated sigh. “Mine is here and witnessed. The constable brings that from the King when he arrives. But we waste time …”

“You have already broken most of our spoken agreement. And because of that, I have been left no choice but to do this. I cannot return to England, and although Edward may one day acknowledge Christiana's innocence and welcome her back, she is forced now to a future that she did not choose either. I do not plan to start life over with the little gold I brought with me. I go no further without the documents.”