Claire Delacroix (96 page)

“You shall return on your knees, Burke de Montvieux!” she cried behind him. “You will come to your senses and know that Montvieux is all you desire.
You will regret this course.
”

Burke did not even pause, and he certainly did not look
back. He went directly to the stables, mounted Moonshadow, and left Chateau Montvieux forever.

Margaux de Montvieux waited.

She stood in her hall, her hands braced upon her cane, fury alone keeping her upright. She knew Burke would come back, she knew he would reconsider, she knew he would not be such a fool as to turn his back upon the prize she had protected for him alone. He wanted only her agreement to meet some wench of whom Margaux knew she would not approve.

How could she approve of some lowborn bastard who had turned her son’s head, then turned his heart against her?

Nay, Margaux would wait. Burke would return, contrite; he would surrender this nonsense and make a suitable match. Burke had always been a good son, after all. He had always done what he was bidden, he had never disappointed.

But Margaux stood there long and her son did not return. Her back began to ache. She recalled what Gavin had confided, that he had never seen such defiance in their son, that he had waited outside Tullymullagh’s gates for Burke’s return, but to no avail.

She did not like to have even this in common with the foul man who still held the empty title of her spouse.

Margaux heard the fading of a destrier’s hoofbeats and her heart chilled. Burke mocked her, he played a game, he would see her fretful when he returned. She would not weaken.

Though ’twas Rowan who oft teased her thus, never Burke. Margaux gritted her teeth.

But as the silence stretched longer and longer, Margaux began to tremble. She closed her eyes and ’twas Burke she found in her mind’s eye, Burke insisting that she cared only for Montvieux.

’Twas typical of a man to completely miss the point. Margaux cared for Montvieux only because ’twas destined to fall under the hand of her beloved son.

Her only true son. The sun, the moon, and the stars, the very fixture of the firmament, the only child of her own womb, ’twas Burke alone she cared for.

Margaux had raised him to be a man of honor, a prince among knights, a man who granted women an appreciation his own father could not. She had raised him to understand responsibility and to hold his head high. She had raised Burke to be an exemplary example of knighthood and all she had ever believed in.

And he would cast it all away on a worthless woman of mysterious lineage. Margaux was not about to let that happen.

Though it seemed she would have little choice. As she stood there, ramrod straight, Margaux began to think of what her son had said. Romantic drivel, to be sure, though that name was not readily dismissed.

Indeed, the name Isibeal was sufficiently uncommon that it struck a chord within Margaux’s mind. Her memory was not what ’twas, but she remembered a knight seeking a woman of such name. She could fairly see his visage, but could not think of his name.

She was almost certain his standard bore a unicorn rampant.

“Arnaud!” Margaux bellowed with a volume that might be unexpected from a woman of her size. The chatelain scampered into the hall.

“I want half a dozen runners dispatched this very moment,” she instructed crisply, quickly summoning the names of all the finest gossips she knew. “I want them to go to Agathe d’Orcy, to Magdalene de Nonces, to Constance who joined the nunnery of Des Lumières …”

“The Mother Superior will not permit conversation …”

“Then tell her that she can expect no contribution to her coffers from my harvest this year!” Margaux snapped. “She will permit one question or I shall withdraw my support. You may be certain that she will be persuaded.” She frowned in thought. “There is also Marie, the one who aids the queen herself …”

“And the Bishop of Sainte-Madeleine, of course,” Arnaud suggested, obviously seeing the direction of her thoughts. “He has a great memory for scandal.”

Margaux snapped her fingers and spun to face her chatelain. “The
Bishop
! Aye, Richard d’Annoceaux was of a good family, and he had a younger brother. They bear a unicorn on their standard, as I recall. Do you remember the younger brother’s name, Arnaud?”

“Let me see.” The chatelain tapped his finger upon his lip. “The elder brother and heir was Michel d’Annoceaux, who of course wed the Roussineau heiress in that vulgar display of wealth that had all talking for a year …”

“The younger brother was Millard!” Margaux crowed with triumph. “ ’Twas
Millard
! They were the sons of Theobald d’Annoceaux.”

“A much-esteemed warrior and crusader.” Arnaud frowned. “This Theobald wed Alys de Blois, did he not, and she bore him those three sons?”

“Alys!” Margaux hissed through her teeth, knowing the name could be no coincidence. She pointed a finger at her chatelain. “Find Millard d’Annoceaux, Arnaud. I do not care where he is or what he has become, I do not care for excuses, I do not care if he is
dead.
Bring him here, with all haste, or I shall have the head of every runner who fails.”

Arnaud bowed. “Your will, as always, shall be done, madame.”

“Alys!” Burke’s call echoed through the miller’s abode in a most unsettling way. Indeed, even the miller did not seem to be about, though Mass was over. Burke called again, to no response, and continued up the stairs.

His sense of alarm grew as the quiet of the house pressed around him. He ran to the chamber Alys had used and stopped short. The abandoned shoe in the midst of the floor taunted him.

It would seem Alys was gone.

And she had abandoned his gift, the shoe she had pledged never to remove without his aid. Something was clearly amiss.

Had she left him?

Did she leave suddenly, afraid of his future? Of Margaux?

Where was she? Burke surveyed the chamber again and saw something he had not noted sooner.

A tuft of cloth clung to the latch of the door.

He crossed the room, freed the cloth, and recognized its distinctive color immediately. ’Twas a piece of the wool from Alys’s new kirtle, the violet one that she loved so very well.

Burke’s fist closed over the thread. Alys loved this kirtle. She would not see it torn, she was not careless with her treasures. He bent and looked closer, the tinge of blood on the latch making his heart stop cold.

Alys had not left by her own choice!

The shoe was a message, and he was a fool for doubting his beloved.

Burke swore, lunged out the door, and thundered down the stairs, his hand on the hilt of his sword. How long since Alys had been dragged from this place?

Only now did he find the miller lying behind a trunk in the room below. Burke touched the man’s pulse and bruised temple and suspected he would have no more than a headache to show for his experience.

The miller stirred and opened his eyes, clutching Burke’s hand when he recognized him. “
Chevalier
! Your lady was taken!”

“Who? Who did this thing?”

“He said his name was Talbot d’Annoceaux. They took a knife to me and he called her a whore.” The miller frowned. “Her manner changed then, but ’twas not right. She is no whore, your lady, and she did not feign it well.”

Burke shook his head. “Ye gods, that would be Alys.”

“She said she desired him from the first moment they met, that she did not favor you for she had had better from an ostler.” The miller frowned. “I think he believed her, but many a man sees only what he desires to see in a woman.” The miller clutched Burke’s arm worriedly. “
Chevalier,
he means to injure her, I am certain!”

“Not if I have anything to say of the matter,” Burke said grimly, and pushed to his feet. “Will you be well enough?”

“Go, sir, go!” the miller urged. “Do not waste a moment! They have been gone nigh as long as you.”

Burke needed no further encouragement to bolt from the room. He sprang into Moonshadow’s saddle, cursing the rain. Aye, if Burke were so fortunate as to see Alys safe, he would ensure there was not a single doubt left between them.

Better from an ostler. Burke snorted beneath his breath. He could only hope he had the chance to demand a toll for such an impudent remark.

Burke reined in when Moonshadow reached the road, uncertain which way to go. He spied something red in the mud far to the right. Burke urged his steed closer, dismounted, and picked up the mate to the shoe he still held. Relief surged through him, for clearly Alys meant to leave him a trail.

Ye gods, but he was glad his lady was a woman of good sense!

Alys had discarded everything except her chemise and kirtle, taking care to mark each turn Talbot made even while she tried to do so unobserved. She feigned a desire to relieve herself as often as she dared and broke great quantities of growth when she did so.

Yet it seemed that Talbot deliberately took a circuitous path, and Alys’s hope faded that Burke would truly be able to follow.

The rain halted just as they drew into a clearing occupied by a lone, dilapidated hut. They were miles from the village, the horses were steaming, and Alys could hear naught but distant birds. The sun was obscured behind the thick veil of clouds.

“ ’Tis here we have awaited news of you,” Talbot declared with pride. “For I knew that your knight would ultimately return to his home estate. What good fortune that we checked the village this very morn.”

He dismounted, then tugged Alys from the saddle when she did not move quickly enough to suit him. He caught her against him and kissed her hard, the move so surprising Alys that she did not manage to hide her revulsion.

Talbot trapped her between himself and his steed. “Am I not good enough for you, whore?” he whispered.

“I did not expect your embrace to be so passionate.” Alys tried to sound coquettish and knew she failed. She smiled despite the fearful clamoring of her heart and reached to kiss Talbot of her own volition. “You are indeed handsome,” she whispered, hating how her voice trembled over the lie.

“Liar!” Talbot cried. “You think of him!”

“Nay, I …”

“Lying bitch. I shall make you forget him.”

“ ’Tis done!”

“Get the rope,” Talbot bade his squire tersely. “See she cannot escape.”

This would be her last chance. Alys screamed and slammed her knee into Talbot’s groin. He roared in pain, his grip slackened, and Alys tore free of him. She ran, her wet kirtle and the tall growth conspiring against her. Her breath came in desperate gasps as Talbot’s footfalls echoed behind. Alys ran as fast as she could, even knowing she could not flee to freedom.

She almost made the encircling trees when Talbot’s weight landed upon her. Alys fell, but she fought the entire way down. She managed to scratch the knight’s face, she bit him, she kicked his privates more than once.

But in the end she was bound hand and foot, and ’twas Talbot who stood over her, one booted foot braced on her belly. He took a deep breath and glared at her, hatred shining in his eyes.

“I shall make you pay for that,” he declared softly. “But first I shall let you imagine the worst.”