Claire Delacroix (7 page)

Had Adelys’ eyes always glittered like ice?

Adelys smiled coyly. “Tired this morn, Gabrielle?” She leaned across the board before Gabrielle could respond. “Well, it is no wonder. I heard you had a guest last evening and simply must congratulate you upon your fine taste in men.”

G
abrielle nearly choked in shock. “I had no guest last night!” she finally managed to say.

But even before the words left her lips, she saw that Adelys would not easily be persuaded of the truth.

Adelys chuckled throatily. “Come along, Gabrielle.” She waved to the hall with an assurance that made Gabrielle’s cheeks burn. “
Everyone
is talking about it.”

The other noblewoman rolled her eyes appreciatively as Gabrielle’s stomach churned self-consciously. Surely
she
could not be the subject of gossip?

“And what a way to spend a journey to the convent! I can imagine that our Yves will easily convince you not to abandon the pleasures of the secular world.”

Gabrielle tore her bread with a savage gesture, but fought to hide her response. “Can you?” she restrained herself to saying.

Her skepticism must have shown, for Adelys leaned across the table and captured Gabrielle’s hand beneath her own cold one. The tiny woman’s gaze was more piercing than Gabrielle had ever seen it.

“Now, listen to me, Gabrielle. You are making a fool’s choice in joining the convent. You are a sensible woman, after
all. I understand that you are upset about the loss of Michel, but—”

“And of Thomas.” Gabrielle interjected. Adelys looked at her blankly. “My son, Thomas,” she clarified firmly.

Adelys frowned for a moment, then nodded impatiently. “The boy, yes, of course. I had forgotten.” She dismissed this loss with an easy wave of her hand, and Gabrielle was stunned by the woman’s callousness.

“But your circumstance as a widow is a good one for seeing to your own needs.” Adelys released Gabrielle’s hand to gesture to herself with evident pride. “Why, simply look at me! Ten years a widow and more gifts and romps than any woman needs to keep her happy. I am more wealthy than my poor dead Eduard ever dreamed of being and more spoiled than I undoubtedly deserve.”

Adelys chuckled, almost daring Gabrielle to agree. “I take lovers as I choose, I answer to no one.” Adelys’ gaze locked steadily with Gabrielle’s own. “It is not a life to readily cast aside, my dear, and I would have thought that you would have the wits to realize it.”

To think that this coldly calculating woman had imagined Gabrielle to be one of her own ilk was galling indeed. Gabrielle stood carefully, fighting all the while to keep her thoughts to herself.

“I am not certain that your life would suit me well,” she said, but Adelys’ eyes widened in mock surprise.

“Truly? You have sampled it and laid it aside after just one night?” Her smile turned coy. “Or perhaps I should say, after only one
knight.
” Adelys smirked when Gabrielle gasped, then examined her fingernails with feigned concern. “I seem to recall that Yves de Sant-Roux performed rather better than that.”

Gabrielle’s cheeks flamed, but before she could argue further, the knight in question stepped into the hall. All eyes turned to him, and there was silence for the barest moment before the whispers began once more.

Gabrielle hated that she was not the only woman who took note of his arrival.

“Here comes the man himself,” Adelys cooed. “Perhaps we should ask
him
about last evening’s activities. He will be looking for you this morning, I wager, for he has never been a man for casual liaisons.” Adelys smiled anew. “I suppose it is no fault for a man to finish well what he has begun.”

The twitter of feminine laughter grew louder as Yves strode farther into the hall, though he seemed indifferent to the women’s obvious attention. His glance flicked to Gabrielle, and he caught her eye almost by accident Once their gazes met, though, his sharpened and he did not look away.

And his footsteps turned in her direction.

Gabrielle swallowed the dryness in her mouth and knew full well that Yves would expect an accounting for her blow the night before.

Just as she expected one for his bold kiss. Yet as he drew closer, Gabrielle knew she could not face him before so many interested souls.

Adelys made a little growl of appreciation in the back of her throat. “Surely, Gabrielle, you cannot want to sacrifice the pleasures of the flesh quite so soon?”

That this woman believed her to be made of such loose mettle was insulting, indeed! Gabrielle spun away, not in the least interested in continuing the conversation. She could not even summon a word of dismissal, so distraught was she to find her sterling reputation cast in shreds about her feet so quickly.

Adelys apparently did not even notice her departure. “Good morning, Chevalier!” she purred, her voice carrying to Gabrielle’s ears.

Despite herself, Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder to find Adelys sliding to her feet with a sinuous grace that promised pleasures to be had. Yves bent over the lady’s proffered hand.

Just as he had bent over her own. Gabrielle’s heart lurched to see how readily he made the courteous gesture.

The cur! He had probably bedded Adelys at least once for her to give him such a glowing reference!

Yves had probably bedded
all
these women who watched him so adoringly, and left each with the impression that she was the only one to hold his heart. He might even have gone to the bed of one of them directly after stealing that kiss from her!

Gabrielle tossed her saddlebags over her shoulder and headed for the stables in poor temper. She should have guessed that as soon as she refused Yves rights to her bed, he would try to seduce her. Trust a man to see no further than the contents of his chausses!

But Gabrielle was not going to become another of Yves’ conquests, regardless of what he thought of the matter.

And that was final.

A light drizzle caressed her face as she stepped through the portal and into the courtyard before the stables.

Gabrielle had forgotten the rain, so upset had she been by Adelys’ words, yet she halted for a moment beneath its soothing caress. The sounds of trap and buckles carried from the stables opposite and Gabrielle simply listened for a long moment.

It was only when she heard a step in the corridor behind her and feared Yves himself might appear that she hastened onward.

Methuselah seemed to be watching for her, for the gray stallion gave a snort of welcome as soon as Gabrielle stepped through the portal into the shadows of the stable. His breath made puffs of steam in the cool morning air and he stomped impatiently in his stall, his velvety nostrils quivering in anticipation of the treat he knew she would bring him.

The beast was too clever by half.

“Well, good morning to you, sir.” The stallion nosed her saddlebags impatiently and investigated her pockets. Just being with the great, gentle beast vastly improved Gabrielle’s
spirits, especially when he snorted disdain at not finding a gift of any kind and fixed her with a skeptical eye.

She produced the apple from behind her back, and Methuselah’s ears flicked with definite interest.

“This, sir, is in exchange for an easy saddling this morn.” Gabrielle said, offering the apple. The stallion gave it an assessing sniff, then lifted his head proudly, apparently spurning the offer.

Gabrielle laughed under her breath. She would have been surprised if Methuselah had taken the bribe. The contest with the saddle was part of their routine, after all.

“All right then, we shall do it your way,” she conceded easily.

Methuselah snorted again and laid claim to the fruit, chomping noisily as Gabrielle scratched his ears. He made short work of the token, then nuzzled her playfully when he was done.

“So, he
is
your steed.”

Gabrielle looked up to find the dark-haired squire who had attended Yves the night before watching her from the end of the stall. He looked as rumpled as if he had slept in his clothes, but his glance was keen.

“Yes, that he is.” Her acknowledgment seemed all the encouragement the boy needed.

“They told me that he was yours, and I must confess that I did not believe it.” The squire stepped into the stall and Methuselah granted him a thoroughly disdainful survey. “I have never met a woman who rode a stallion and could not believe that one would ever do so.”

Gabrielle spared him a glance. “Well, I do.” The boy’s confusion was so obvious that she softened and gave him more explanation. “Methuselah was my husband’s horse,” she added gently. “When he died, I thought to keep the steed.”

“Oh! Well, he is a fine beast, my lady, there is no disputing that.” The boy’s grin was genuine, and Gabrielle warmed to
him. It was refreshing to meet someone sincere enough to be taken at face value. “I would have saddled him for you this morn, for Chevalier Yves bade me make all ready, but as I said, I was not certain—”

“It matters little,” Gabrielle interrupted, “as I prefer to saddle him myself.”

The boy’s eyes were round. “But, my lady! Surely you cannot!”

“Surely I can,” Gabrielle countered firmly. She was not a small or delicately wrought woman like Adelys, and her newfound self-reliance was becoming a welcome habit.

Well aware of the boy’s amazed gaze, Gabrielle laid the blanket on Methuselah’s back. His nostrils quivered and she knew that this day, as most other days, he would make a show of fighting the saddle.

Gabrielle lifted the weighty saddle, gritted her teeth and heaved it onto the stallion’s back. Methuselah took a few tempestuous steps, but she had had the foresight to make his tether short.

He granted her a chiding glance, as though he thought she had taken some of the sport out of their little game, but defiantly snapped the reins all the same.

“Careful, my lady! He looks to have a fearsome temper!”

“It is all show, you will see.”

As soon as Gabrielle passed the strap beneath Methuselah’s belly, she heard the stallion take a deep breath. Sure enough, by the time Gabrielle tried to fit buckle to strap, his belly was as round as a barrel, and the cinch could not be brought together.

The sight of this noble steed holding his breath thus always tempted Gabrielle to laugh, but she did not. He would have been sorely insulted if she had deigned to laugh at him.

Instead, she poked one finger hard between his ribs.

Methuselah exhaled in noisy surprise and Gabrielle buckled the cinch with a speed born of practice. It was a good thing for her that Michel’s squire had confided in her the trick.

Yves’ squire laughed aloud and clapped his hands. “Brava, my lady! That was a task well done!”

But the steed gave Gabrielle a glance that spoke volumes about the next time they matched wits this way. Gabrielle suspected there would come a day when the stallion bested her at this contest of wills.

“A task well done as yours was not,” a familiar masculine voice interjected sternly, and Gabrielle’s heart leaped to her throat.

She spun to find Yves framed in the doorway of the stables, a hand propped on his hip as he glared at his squire.

The glint of his mail hauberk could be spied beneath a tabard that she knew to be so deep an indigo as to be virtually black. The hauberk fell to his knees, a skirted tunic beneath of the same indigo hue extending to his ankles.

A fur-lined cloak of the same dark shade was fastened to one shoulder, a sword buckled to his hip, a helmet tucked beneath his arm. Even in the darkness of the stables, his fair hair gleamed golden and the brightness of his eyes flashed like twin flames.

Gabrielle, to her dismay, felt suddenly much warmer than she had before.
Seven kinds of fool!
she chided herself silently. She had no business responding to the allure of this man! What had happened to her resolve?

Her traitorous lips burned anew with the memory of the firm imprint of his kiss.

“Gaston, did I not send you here this morning to ready the horses?” the knight demanded.

Gaston hung his head with a dejection that might have been comic under other circumstance. “Yes, my lord.”

Yves gestured to Gabrielle with evident annoyance, though his tone remained remarkably even. “Yet I arrive to find the lady saddling her own beast, and not a mere lady’s palfry at that! What explanation do you have for this behavior?”

Gaston shrugged, but before he could speak, Gabrielle
stepped forward to defend him. “I told the boy that I prefer to saddle my steed myself.”

“Indeed?” The knight seemed unmoved by this confession. “And was this made clear
before
Gaston came to perform his labor or when you arrived to find the deed not completed?”

Lady and squire exchanged a glance, knowing full well that they could not talk their way around such reasoning. Had Gaston followed his knight’s bidding, Methuselah would have been saddled before Gabrielle even reached the stable this morning.

“Methuselah is difficult to saddle,” Gabrielle said, hearing the weakness of the argument even as it was made.

“Yes, sir! He blows out his stomach to avoid the cinch!” Gaston stretched out his hands in an attempt to show the span. “He must have been this wide before the lady tricked him!”

“Indeed.” Yves glanced pointedly to the steed in question, and Gabrielle followed his gaze, only to find the silver stallion looking as innocent as could be. Methuselah nibbled meekly at the hay in his stall, but Gabrielle noted the mischievous gleam in his eye.

There were days when she imagined this beast was more clever than most people she knew.

“
This
steed?” Yves asked skeptically.

“This very one,” Gabrielle said firmly. “Even now he endeavors to let you underestimate his wiles.”

“Indeed.” Disbelief lingered in Yves’ tone, but instead of arguing the point, he turned to his squire. “But now that you know the steed’s trick, there will be no excuse on the morrow. Am I understood?”

“Yes, my lord.” Gaston bowed low.

“And Merlin?”

“Awaits saddled and caparisoned in his stall, my lord.”

“Your own palfry?”

“Ready, my lord, and waiting with Merlin.” The boy took a deep breath. “I made provision with the cook that a midday
meal be provided and have only to fetch it from him. I do hope this meets with your satisfaction.”

Yves lifted a brow, and Gabrielle enjoyed the fact that he was surprised by this news. “Very good,” he acknowledged with new warmth. “Other than the preparation of the lady’s steed, you have shown foresight and planning this morn.”