Claire Delacroix (83 page)

“Aye, ’tis me, though you have kept me waiting long enough,” Aunt snapped. “Not to mention another. Where have you been, you ungrateful child?”

Her aunt’s unveiled hostility caught Alys by surprise, and she took a tentative step backward. “I visited Heloise. She died this day—”

“And good riddance that is, if indeed ’tis the truth.” Aunt
advanced upon Alys, the malice in her features making Alys shrink against the wall. “You think none noted the import of your disappearance with that knight last evening, but you are wrong. You were lifting your skirts, with the same lack of shame as your mother, and do not imagine that I do not know it.”

“Nay, Aunt …”

“Save your lies! Another knight has smelled the taint upon you, Alys,” Aunt declared angrily. “All day long Malvina has been compelled to listen to him crow your praises. ’Tis time you paid your due. ’Tis time you earned your way in this hall, and this time you will not defy me.”

Alys’s heart began to pound with the fear that she had not fled Kiltorren quickly enough. “What do you demand of me?”

“You know what I want of you! Earn your favor here upon your back, as your mother earned all she won in her sorry life!”

Alys lifted her chin. “I will not!”

“You are tainted and can do naught else.” Aunt leaned closer and hissed. “You have no choice, child. Your fate was determined when your wanton mother first parted her thighs and blessed you with the whore’s taint.”

Alys stepped forward to challenge her aunt. “There is no such thing as a whore’s taint.”

“Indeed?” Aunt folded her arms across her chest and regarded her niece coldly. “Then why did this knight ask after Isibeal, that whore of this house, and why did he insist that he must have
you
come to him as soon as he learned you were her spawn?” Aunt arched a questioning brow.

Alys did not have an answer for that. “I do not know.”

“But I do! ’Tis the taint of a whore that follows you, the rumor of your mother’s loose morals that brought this knight sniffing all the way from Paris.”

Alys frowned, sensing there was an element missing in
this argument. Her mother had been dead nigh upon twenty years and none had come seeking her before. “But that cannot be …”

“But ’tis, Alys, to!” Aunt leaned closer. “The knight lusts for you, he demands your services, he knew from the sight of you that you were born to be a whore. Just as the other one did.” She snatched at Alys’s arm so suddenly that Alys did not have time to step away. “Your kind cannot be particular if you mean to eat each day. Go and service him.”

“I will not!”

“By all that is holy, you most certainly will.”

“Nay!” Alys shook her arm free.

“Fool! Listen to me and listen well.” Aunt snarled. “This Talbot wants a whore and I want his every pleasure met within the walls of this keep. Malvina fancies him and she shall have him.” She gave Alys a shake. “You will ensure that Talbot is pleased or you will be cast from these gates to starve. Am I understood?”

But Alys shook her head, though she was trembling inside at her own defiance. “I will do no such thing. I am leaving with Burke.”

Aunt smiled mockingly. “And this knight will wed a bastard child like you? The daughter of a whore? A woman with no dowry? The man may have lost his inheritance, but he still has a lineage that demands its due. He will use you and cast you aside with naught.”

“Nay, he will not!”

“Get yourself to the hall without delay.” Aunt sneered when Alys did not leap to do her bidding. “Do not imagine that your champion will save your sorry hide with nuptial vows. A knight like Burke de Montvieux sees only one use in a woman like you.”

With that Aunt pivoted to walk away.

But Alys straightened in the shadows, determined to have
all clear between them before she departed forever. “Why did you lie to me about Burke’s offer of marriage three years past?”

Aunt froze, though she did not turn.

Alys swallowed the lump in her throat. “Why did you lie to me about his return to Kiltorren the year after that? Did you truly beat me only to ensure I did not meet him then? Is that why you expelled me with Heloise?”

Aunt pivoted slowly and Alys felt her dread rise. Her palms were damp and she knew none would aid her here. Still, she had to know the truth. “And why should you imagine that I will believe whatever lie you tell me now?”

Aunt studied her, her own features wreathed in shadows, her expression unreadable. “This, then, is the gratitude I have for raising you as my own after Isibeal’s shame. You truly are your mother’s child.”

“You raised me as a serf!” Alys retorted. “You suffered me here only to wait upon you.”

“You deserve no better!” Aunt shouted. “You and your slut of a mother! No man in Ireland was good enough for Isibeal, nay, Father had to send her to Paris for the finest Christendom had to offer. But me, what fate did our darling father store for me?”

Aunt advanced on Alys, her eyes wild. “Naught! Naught but a suitor not deemed fitting to scrape Isibeal’s shoes.” Aunt jabbed herself in the chest. “I was wed to Isibeal’s leavings, regardless of what I had to say of the matter.

“And then what happened?” Aunt demanded, flinging her hands skyward. “Fine Isibeal, she who could do no wrong,
did
do wrong. Amidst her dancing and feasting and fine parties in Paris, Father’s darling Isibeal managed to conceive a child out of wedlock. Here, I thought, would finally be
justice
!”

Aunt shook a fist beneath Alys’s nose. “But did our doting
father cast her out? Nay, not Isibeal. I would have been flogged until I bled, but she was treated like a queen! She brought shame into this house, and I, I had to wait upon her during her time! ’Twas unfair! ’Twas wrong, but my father cared for naught but his beloved Isibeal.”

“ ’Tis true then,” Alys whispered. “You hate me only because Isibeal bore me.”

“Is that not enough?” Aunt gritted her teeth. “I was
glad
when she died,” she declared bitterly. “I was glad that Father wept for months, I was glad that Isibeal’s lover never did come to her side. She deserved some pain in her life for all that she had caused me.”

“And what of Burke?”

Aunt fired a look of such loathing down the corridor that Alys cringed. “What makes you imagine that I would let you make a hell of my daughters’ lives the way that Isibeal made one of mine? You could not have a knight when none would have my Malvina, especially one of the ilk of Burke de Montvieux.

“Those tourneys were an expense borne to find spouses for
my
daughters. I could not suffer you to win the prize.” Aunt’s eyes narrowed. “I have granted you more than your due these twenty years. Go to the hall, Alys. ’Twill be the last debt due between us.”

Alys squared her shoulders. “Nay. Any debt is long paid.”

Aunt took a sharp breath. “You have grown defiant,” she snapped. “Indeed, Alys, we have need of the willow switch again.”

Aunt stepped closer, but she had no chance to reach Alys before Alys was struck from the side.

“Bitch!” Malvina screamed, lunging suddenly out of the shadows to strike. Alys’s neck snapped back with the force of her cousin’s blow and her head hit the wall with a crack that
left her dizzy. “You would steal all from me, just as your mother stole all from mine!”

“Malvina! Aunt, aid me!”

“
Never
” Aunt’s words sliced through the shadows like a knife. “Indeed, I see you win only what you deserve.” Aunt chuckled softly, then Alys heard her stroll away, humming under her breath.

She was on her own. Alys turned to find her cousin’s eyes lit with the same fury that had shone in her aunt’s.

“You stole Burke from me with your whoring ways!”

Alys backed away, her hands raised in a plea for good sense. “Malvina, I did no such thing.”

“You did, you did!” Malvina’s tears fell as fast as her words. “He never truly looked my way because of you, and now, you do the same with Talbot. He has sat at the board, all the day long, talking only of you. He spared no attention to
me
!”

“But, Malvina …”

“I want him, Alys,” Malvina insisted. “I want Talbot, and you shall not steal him too!”

“But I do not want Talbot …”

“I will not heed your lies. And I will not watch you tempt Talbot in my garb!” Malvina cried. She grasped Alys’s kirtle at the neck and pulled with all her might. The wool rent right down the front, exposing Alys’s patched chemise. Malvina tore it as well, though when Alys made a sound of protest, her cousin slapped her face.

Alys slapped her back, hard. Malvina paused, caught her breath, then lunged after Alys like an enraged bull. The pair went down scrapping furiously, Malvina seeking to inflict damage and Alys wanting only to be free of Kiltorren. Alys knew she landed at least two successful blows before Malvina changed strategy.

“And you will not don my sister’s circlet! Or put her veil
against your filthy hide!” Malvina ripped the circlet and veil from Alys’s head and nearly pulled the hair from Alys’s head in the deed. She shredded the gossamer veiling and stamped upon the pieces. She cast the circlet to the floor with such vigor that it was surely dented beyond repair.

Alys fled for her chamber at her cousin’s distraction, but Malvina chased her. She tripped Alys and shredded the carefully pieced embroidery along Alys’s hem. “And you will not steal from my own mother, after all the generosity she has bestowed upon you.”

Alys snatched at her cousin’s ankles and they rolled again across the floor, wrestling and striking whenever they could. Suddenly Malvina bounded to her feet and spat on Alys. “That is better than you deserve, you thankless whore!”

And she fled.

Alys could not believe the assault was so abruptly ended, but she escaped into her chamber and secured the latch before her cousin or her aunt could return. Alys took a shaking breath and leaned back against the door. There was a lump rising on her head and her cheek would be black on the morrow.

Burke was right. They could not be away from this cursed place quickly enough.

albot paced the hall with impatience. He was finally alone, though Kiltorren’s foul apple wine clouded his thinking. At least, this Isibeal was dead—whether she was his uncle’s Isibeal or not—though the confirmation that she had a child was far from welcome.

Could this Alys be the daughter of Millard? The very possibility made Talbot’s blood run cold.

But it could not be so. This Isibeal had been a whore, according to those at Kiltorren, which made Talbot doubt that she was truly the Isibeal of his uncle’s memories.

For Millard was naught if not rigorously moral. He had never left any question that he might have spawned a bastard in any city. Millard did not employ whores. He did not approve of Talbot’s indulgences with whores.

But Isibeal had been a whore, and this Alys was a whore, evidently following the role of her mother. So she could not be Millard’s spawn.

Talbot knew only a moment’s relief before he realized that his uncle might not let the truth interfere in this matter. Millard had nigh decided that his Isibeal was Isibeal of Kiltorren.

And the child of Isibeal of Kiltorren would be exalted in Millard’s eyes, by dint of her mother’s name alone. Aye, Millard might well lavish gifts upon this whore, he might take her into his household. Indeed, men were known to become
whimsical in their dotage, and Millard was oddly fixed upon Isibeal of Kiltorren.

It could become even worse. Millard could grant this worthless woman his holdings!

Talbot had to sit down to come to terms with that possibility. He breathed with deliberate slowness, bracing himself for what he must do. Even the wine seemed to desert him in this moment, leaving him with little boldness for the task ahead.

Aye, Talbot had already asked for the whore. He was alone in the hall and would have the opportunity to ensure that this Alys met with an
accident.

The very thought made Talbot tremble. He was not a man of violence, but Villonne, prosperous Villonne was all he had ever desired.

Villonne should be his! Talbot drove his fist into his palm and bounced to his feet with newfound resolve. He would not bow to his uncle’s will in this, he would take an active role in ensuring his legacy. Aye, he would fight for what should be his by right!

The very words buoyed his ambition, rekindling the power of the wine. Talbot paced the hall with quick steps. Aye, he would
take
what he deserved and leave naught but the bones for any other. Ha! He would command Villonne like a king, he would slaughter any cocky knight like Burke de Montvieux who did not grovel before him. He would be surrounded with wine and luxury and willing wenches for all of his days and nights.

’Twould be perfect, all the more so because ’twas no less than he deserved.

God’s blood, but Talbot had need of a woman! Ambition had raised his warrior to full battle, and he decided he would use this whore before she met with her untimely end.

A curvaceous wench hesitated on the stairs in that very moment. ’Twas not Alys, but this one was far more tempting
than Isibeal’s skinny child could be. Talbot stared, then he smiled, for his fortune already changed.