Heather Graham (46 page)

“Get in the tub, Danielle, and wash his stench from you,” Simon replied.

She tested the water, seeing that he was moving. She wondered if she had the strength to kill him. They would slay her in return, of course, but she wasn’t sure that it mattered. He said that her husband was dead; she didn’t know if her child had survived or not. She’d rather die than be touched by the butcher of her husband and son.

The water was cold, but a kettle bubbled above the fire in the hearth. She walked around the tub, reaching for the kettle of water over the fire to add to her bath. “Simon, you’re gone mad!” she told him. “Don’t you understand? You murdered the man I loved.”

“Love is fickle, Danielle—that is what I understand.”

She gasped, spinning around, because he had come to stand next to her. He reached for her, intent on stripping away the sheet and plunging her into the water.

She didn’t actually plan her attack so much as she simply fell into it. She lifted her arm to repel him, and sent the boiling water sluicing over his midsection and groin.

Simon screamed in agony. Danielle realized what she had done, and backed away in horror. Simon ripped at his clothing, shouting for help. Guards burst into the room.

Danielle backed against the wall. For the moment, she was ignored as Simon howled and more guards rushed in. Then he was carried out, the men shouting for a surgeon. The door was bolted. Shaking, she slid against the wall until she was on the floor. She suddenly started sobbing, and then, just as suddenly, she ceased. She refused to believe that Adrien was dead. She rose, walked to the tub, washed in the tepid water, and found clothing and dressed. She waited, praying.

No one came near her that night.

In the morning, the door burst open and Simon made an enraged, barely controlled appearance. He moved slowly and stiffly, and she realized that he was wrapped in bandages and still in great pain.

Despite her anger at his entry, she forced herself to remain standing near the northeastern tower window. She stared at him and waited without betraying her fear.

“The English, my lady, have always excelled at the art of torture, but we French are craftsmen at the art as well. I’ve thought of many ways for you to begin to feel the pain you have wrought upon me.”

“If you’re in pain, you brought it on yourself. I told you not to touch me.”

“Thumbscrews are wretchedly painful—I have seen them used. You could be chained to the wall in a dungeon far below, hung from the ceiling until your arms ripped from their sockets. Your eyes could be pierced with a burning stick, so hot that they exploded in your head … and yet you would live. Ah, you think there is no dungeon here? But there is, lady, there is! There are rooms and tunnels beneath this castle leading all the way to the sea, and I assure you, through the two centuries this castle has stood, many an enemy has been maimed, twisted, burned … and discarded without anyone being the wiser. I can’t tell you the horrors that await the unwary below.

“I will heal. Perhaps in no more than a week’s time. I gave my most serious consideration to having you flayed until you were in such agony you could no longer scream. But, Danielle, your husband is dead, and you are going to be joined to me in holy matrimony. And I don’t want a scarred, deformed wife. Therefore, you will await your just punishment until I am ready. And at that time, you will pay, because I will heap every degradation known upon you, and you will serve my needs because I will force you to do so.”

She turned from him, losing the facade of complete control she had longed to keep. She looked toward the window; if he healed, she would cast herself from the window.

“Danielle!” Simon said softly. “Look again. It is an archer’s slit, no more. Not even your slim frame would fit through!”

She could starve herself until she was nothing but bones, she told herself, her dismay and desolation overwhelming.

Yet even as Simon stared at her, Comte Langlois and a tall, graying man she had never met burst into the room behind him. The man she didn’t know paused, staring at her. He bowed deeply, assessing her, then spoke bitterly. “Countess! So you are the woman who causes men to act insanely! The great prize who pits warrior against warrior! Well, madam, I, Count Germaine and master of this castle, do not welcome you!” He turned furiously to stare at Simon. “MacLachlan is dead, or so you claimed!”

“He is dead—we threw him into the sea—” Simon protested.

“Well, the English have arrived, and—”

“The Prince Edward leads the forces!” Comte Langlois said.

“Look out the window, Comte Langlois, Simon de Valois, for beyond the gates you will see a man atop a giant bay, and it is MacLachlan.”

Danielle cried out, and raced for the window.

The English forces had arrived, en masse. She could see them settling into position beyond the thick walls of the fortress. Armored horsemen and foot soldiers were at the fore; she could see siege equipment being hauled behind them, toward the walls.

And at the front of the line of horsemen, she saw a rider. On Adrien’s great warhorse, Matthew. In Adrien’s armor, in a tunic bearing Adrien’s crest.

Simon wrenched her away from the window, throwing her back across the room as he stared out himself. “It’s a trick. An impostor is wearing his clothing and armor, riding his horse. See, there is the Black Prince …”

Germaine said, “There is the Black Prince, conferring with the horseman in MacLachlan’s armor! It is MacLachlan, I tell you. I have ridden with him into battle, and I know the way he rides a horse. I know his motions, and you two have brought ruin upon my castle!”

Simon was undisturbed by Germaine’s anger. “Indeed, Count, you say you know MacLachlan because you rode with him. You chose to betray your English king and seize
his
castle. I have not brought ruin down upon you. MacLachlan was bringing an army against you before we ever came. In his place, the Black Prince has come. Be grateful for the men and arms I bring to you to hold this castle against him!”

As the three men argued fiercely, Danielle felt a rise of hope so sweet it was like a taste of ecstasy. She longed to dash back to the window and study the figure in her husband’s accoutrements herself, but she could not do so while the three remained.

“There rides a messenger to the gates!” Langlois said.

“What is he shouting, can you hear?” Simon demanded.

“Yes, I can hear!” Germaine exclaimed. “He’s saying that King Edward will grant me the noble death of beheading if I return the countess unharmed! Dammit, Simon, you will give the woman back!”

Germaine spun angrily on the other two. Simon looked at Danielle, and he must have seen the excitement in her eyes. “Now, sir …”

He stepped toward Germaine, setting a hand on his shoulder. Germaine opened his mouth to speak … but all that came out was a gasp. Danielle saw the reason. Simon had quickly, quietly, plunged a small dagger into the man’s chest. Blood spilled over his tunic. He slipped to the floor, dead before the fall.

“And what of his men within these walls?” Langlois raged to Simon.

“His men—French men. They will fight for us. We must quit sniveling and answer the messenger with a rain of arrows from the parapets.”

“What of Germaine?” Langlois demanded.

Simon stared at Danielle. “Leave her with the corpse for now. Let her see what death is like as he rots and the stench rises to her nostrils.”

They started to the door.

Danielle rushed to the window. She could see the horseman, waiting with Prince Edward at the front of the forces. She studied him, his movements, the way he gestured. Then he lifted his visor and it seemed her heart stopped beating. It was Adrien.

She turned, too overjoyed to be prudent. “It is Adrien. And this time, he will kill you, Simon. Surrender to him—he knows the meaning of mercy, if you do not.”

“Leave her! We’ve more important matters!” Langlois snapped.

But Simon strode back to Danielle, grasping a handful of her hair and wrenching her to him. “I’ll survive, and you’ll be mine, and I will relish every agonized scream from your lips …”

He threw her from him. She caught herself, finding her balance, and stood tall as she cried out defiantly, “No, Simon,
I
am going to survive!
Adrien
is going to survive.”

Simon took an angry step toward her.

“The castle must be defended!” Langlois bellowed, and Simon at last turned his furious eyes from her and stamped out of the room. The door slammed, and a bolt fell into place. She stared after the men, exhilarated … and frightened. The walls here were high and thick. It was a formidable castle. A siege could take weeks …

Adrien had not had a reason to study the Castle Cardineau before, having never been called upon to put down revolt here. It was dismaying to study the fortress, and he did so with his jaw locked. The castle had three main towers, with no discernible breaches in the structure itself; beyond that, it was completely encircled by a thirty-foot wall, with a sally port and bridge, now tightly drawn.

A messenger had called down from the parapets with a reply to the demands given Germaine in the name of the King of England. The reply stated that the Englishman, Count Germaine, was dead, the castle was seized in the name of King Jean of France—and the Countess d’Aville had planned to escape England and return to her homeland.

Adrien knew that he had doubted Danielle for several terrible seconds when he had been struck and she had been seized. He didn’t doubt her now. He would not do so, no matter what lies Simon and Langlois tried to tell. His heart ached. He prayed that she wouldn’t fight too hard, and that she wouldn’t be hurt. Whatever Simon did to her would be fleeting, and it would never change his love. He would, however, find a way to kill Simon. Or he would die.

“Don’t fret, my friend,” Edward told him. “We begin the attack now.”

“Arrows can’t penetrate stone,” Adrien said, sliding his visor back into place. “I don’t see a weakness in the walls.”

“There are castle servants, loyal to my father, who have slipped out. We’ll have plans drawn.”

“Aye, we’ll find a weakness!” Adrien agreed.

“Archers!” Edward bellowed.

With that, the attack began. Adrien had fought with Prince Edward for years, as had many of Edward’s men, and they were good at what they did. They were able to communicate with little effort, and able to move an army efficiently with deadly results. Flaming arrows were sent arcing over the walls; they heard the screams of many of the defenders as they fell. After the initial volley, foot soldiers carried a ram against the drawn bridge that created the outer gate to the fortress. When Adrien saw that the defenders were readying with boiling oil to hurtle down on the attackers, he called the retreat; the minute the Englishmen were safely out of the way, the archers took up their posts again and another rain of death fell upon the castle.

So it went throughout the day. Attack, retreat, attack, retreat. They lost very few men.

But they came nowhere near to breaking the defenses of the castle.

Adrien paced the ground outside the walls that night, staring up at the castle, his muscles knotted with tension, his mind racing with anguish. With darkness fallen, where was Danielle? His love for her transcended anything Simon might do, but his rage and fear were becoming uncontrollable. How would he bear the time it would take to breach the walls, wondering constantly what Simon was doing to her.

“Laird MacLachlan!”

It was Sir George who approached him anxiously.

“Aye, Sir George, you’ve some news?”

Sir George smiled. “Not a way to breach the wall, Adrien, but a bit of good news. Your lady is well.”

“Thank God!” Adrien breathed. “How do you know?”

“One of the kitchen lads who hauled bath water slipped to our side before the bridge was drawn. And there’s more.”

“Aye?”

Sir George’s smile deepened. “She’s well, and, er, in a chaste position—for the time, at least.”

Adrien frowned, his heart leaping. “How do you know this? Simon’s first act would have been rape.”

“Yes, but apparently he decided to force himself when there was some boiling water about, and … well, he’s not functioning at this time.”

“What about Langlois? He was eager to annul our marriage and seize Danielle.”

“Simon is a Valois and outranks him, apparently.”

Despite his fear and desolation, Adrien found himself staring up at the castle, pleased. “So she scalded his …”

“Yes, to put it bluntly, Adrien, that is the case.”

Adrien started to laugh, then spun on Sir George. “Simon did not hurt her in retribution?”

“He intends to take his revenge at a proper time.”

Adrien tensed, telling himself that he mustn’t go mad and throw himself against the stones.

“We must breach those walls!” he exclaimed.

“Aye, Laird MacLachlan, we must!”

They left Danielle through the night with the corpse of Count Germaine. She had covered him with the linen from the bed, but she couldn’t take her eyes from the sheet.

Flies were flocking into the tower room. Their droning was beginning to make her insane.

At dawn, she heard men shouting. A catapult was sending missiles over the walls, and in the courtyard, men were screaming as they were struck with burning, splintering wood. She watched, pleased, and didn’t hear the door to her room open. She didn’t know that Simon was behind her until he wrenched her around to face him. “Come, lady, we’re going to the parapets. We’ll see what Prince Edward hurtles over the walls when you are in the firing range! Then, if you’ve any sense whatsoever, you’ll say that you’re here of your own free will and that you intend to marry me.”

“I’ll never say that.”

“You know how adept I am with a knife. You’ll speak, or die.”

He threaded his fingers into her hair, wrenching her along. She had thought she could fight him, but the pain was excruciating. He dragged her down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor, then out across the courtyard and up the steps that led to the parapets on the outer defenses. She heard shouting from the English, and the arrows that had been flying toward the castle ceased to fall. From where she stood, she could see the vast alignment of the English forces, Prince Edward and Adrien, always warriors, at the head.