The Countess (6 page)

Jacqueline watched her mother talk to the peregrine, saw the hooded creature respond by bobbing its head. As long as she could recall, her mother had hunted with Melusine.

Jacqueline hated Melusine. More accurately, she hated what Melusine did—and she hated that her mother showed no fear of the terrifying creature. The bird was meant to kill, to tear and maim, and its cold eye instilled a healthy fear in Jacqueline.

Yet her mother cooed to it as though 'twere a harmless lamb. Eglantine feared naught, while her daughter feared so very much.

The bird's festooned hood was removed and Melusine scanned the countryside with a steely purpose that made Jacqueline shiver. Her mother loosed the tethers and the hunting bird gave a cry. It took to the air, rising high to circle once over the women.

“She has been caged too long on this journey,” her mother murmured. The raindrops briefly glinted off the bird, then its outspread wings were etched dark against the lightening sky. Jacqueline felt her usual measure of awe for its savage beauty.

“She is hungered.” Eglantine tracked the bird's progress with her narrowed gaze. When the bird swooped and dove, talons extended, Jacqueline felt ill with the certainty of what was happening ahead.

Her mother, though, dug her heels into her steed with purpose and she knew she had best do the same. By the time she caught up, her mother was dismounting with that enviable ease and striding toward the fresh kill.

Eglantine whistled, her peregrine so well trained that there was no need for the lure. With evident reluctance, the bird left the bloodied rabbit. It landed on Eglantine's upraised fist, the weight of impact making her hand momentarily dip to her waist.

Eglantine stroked the bird's throat, Melusine ruffling its feathers in what might have been pleasure. “Perhaps you might hood her, Jacqueline.”

“Nay, not I!” Jacqueline eyed the dangerously sharp talons, the vicious beak, and backed away.

Her mother's level gaze seemed to see directly to her cowardice. “Then you would prefer to fetch the heart for her?”

Jacqueline's bile rose, and she dreaded either option. She retrieved the hood with shaking fingers, but hesitated before the peregrine's cold gaze. “She will not let me do it.”

“Of course she will. She is accustomed to it, after all.” Eglantine's voice dropped and softened. “The secret is to not hesitate. She is a predator and alert to the scent of fear.”

Still Jacqueline eyed the bird warily. It studied her coldly in return.

“You can do this if indeed you wish to lend aid,” her mother asserted softly, the confidence in her voice warming Jacqueline. “You have greater fortitude than you can begin to guess.”

The warmth in her mother's eyes compelled Jacqueline to lift the hood. She moved quickly, surprised by her expertise, and hooded the bird without incident.

“Well done,” Eglantine declared, the pair sharing a triumphant smile that buoyed the younger woman. “Now, don this extra glove and take Melusine.”

Jacqueline's sense of victory was immediately dispelled. “Her talons will tear my flesh.”

“Nay, the glove is meant to deter that,” Eglantine insisted. “Her grip will be tight, but you have only to move your fingers if 'tis too much to bear. Melusine knows her place.”

Despite her doubts, Jacqueline believed the words. Her mother, after all, was always right.

A mere moment later, Jacqueline was holding the restless hunter on her own hand, her heart hammering in trepidation at the clench of those claws upon her fist. Eglantine moved quickly, taking her own dagger to gut the rabbit and remove the heart. She returned with the bloody souvenir in her gloved right hand and lifted her left fist for the bird.

“Ease her to my glove, just so,” she urged in an undertone. “Exactly. Remove her hood slowly so as not to frighten her. See, she smells the meat!”

Jacqueline swallowed her gorge as the bird feasted greedily upon the treat, shaking it a little as though imagining a tussle. “You always feed Melusine from your hand.”

“'Tis an old trick. It persuades her to not ignore the lure or whistle because she could not survive without me.”

“Surely that is a lie!”

“Surely 'tis. I cannot imagine that Melusine is so fool as to believe it, but she returns all the same. The falconer oft said she should be given cooked meat so as to deepen her dependence.” Eglantine looked up quickly, a twinkle in her eye. “But I find it hard to believe that peregrines favor chicken stew with dumplings over their own fresh kill.”

Jacqueline was startled that her mother did not abide by every rule she had been taught. “
You
broke the falconer's rule?”

“Oh, I have broken more than that!” Her mother's next comment was even more surprising. “I have broken the
law
in bringing us here, Jacqueline, and that is no small matter.”

Jacqueline blinked, but 'twas yet her mother standing before her. “But why?”

“One must constantly steer a course, Jacqueline, between choices good and bad. 'Tis often difficult to decide what is the greater good, no less how to serve it.” Her mother watched Jacqueline carefully over the peregrine as she considered that counsel. “You are sickened by this feeding.”

'Twas not a question, but Jacqueline nodded. “I cannot bear to see innocent creatures die.”

Her mother's gaze flicked to the bird then back to her daughter. “As such matters go, Melusine's killing is mercifully quick.” She gave her daughter a stern look. “I am not fond of the hunt myself, but our company has traveled two months on slim rations. They have need of meat, of a hot stew in their bellies.”

This Jacqueline understood better. “To ensure they do not fall ill?”

“Aye, and more than that. 'Twill prove to them that they have not traveled so far for naught. Meat is a symbol of home and hearth, of stability. 'Twill reassure more than their bellies.”

Jacqueline almost smiled. “You sound as though they are your children.”

Her mother's lips pursed. “'Tis the way of some to believe that noble birth infers only privilege. Your grandfather taught both me and your uncle that 'twas the mark of a true noble to never neglect his responsibilities. 'Tis our duty to ensure that our vassals are fed and clothed, have honest labor and are defended against outside threat.” She lifted one fair brow. “The greater good must be served, regardless of one's own preferences.”

Jacqueline studied the bird, well aware of her mother's watchful gaze upon her, and decided to be bold. “How does calling yourself a countess serve the greater good? You have not been a countess since my father died—surely the title passes with the estate?”

Her mother laughed, much to Jacqueline's surprise. “Caught! You shall have to add “liar” to my list of crimes.”

Jacqueline stared at her mother, blinking like an owl surprised by a sudden light. She took a deep breath then and asked for the answer she most desired. “What of Reynaud?”

Her mother eyed her for a long moment, then gestured to the boys to dress the first hare. She cried a command to the bird, which immediately took flight from her fist. She abruptly turned away, wiping her gloves on the grass, then shedding them as she straightened. Jacqueline feared that would be the end of their discussion, but her mother suddenly turned back to face her.

“Come. Melusine will not kill so soon after eating and she will not flee after eating from my hand. Walk with me as I try to explain the inexplicable.” Eglantine tossed her daughter a crooked smile. “There was a time when I could simply tell you a thing was so because I said 'twas so, and you would have believed me. I see that those days are gone.”

J
acqueline and Eglantine walked in silence for a moment, the rain falling upon them like a soft mist. Its touch soothed Jacqueline's fears, though she watched her mother carefully, seeking some hint of her thoughts.

A rare frown pulled Eglantine's fair brows together. “I admit that matters might have resolved differently had your father Robert lived to this day, or had Theobald not done as he did. But the truth in this is inescapable.” Eglantine paused. “Do you know what happened fourteen summers past?”

“I was born?”

Her mother smiled in reminiscence. “That you were.” She touched Jacqueline's cheek with a fingertip, marvel in her eyes. “My first child, and the light of all my days and nights thereafter. Never a greater gift could there have been. You have blossomed into beauty this past year, just as your grandfather predicted.”

Her loving glance could not be interpreted as a lie and Jacqueline felt herself blush. “But everything is so different...”

“You will become used to your beauty, Jacqueline.”

“But I would rather look like you!”

“Me?” Her mother seemed surprised. “Just the sight of you makes men's teeth ache with desire, child. You have curves and a lovely dimple and a sweetly generous nature.” Eglantine kissed Jacqueline's temple. “This confusion will pass and you will see. Your grandfather, after all, was smitten at the sight of you, his first grandchild, and he fancied himself to have excellent regard for women. Do you remember him?”

“Nay.” A vague recollection stirred within Jacqueline but she could not have identified any element of that grandfatherly haze. 'Twas mingled with her newer memories of Crevy, both old and new recollections of her grandmother's laughter.

“He had a stern eye and a robust laugh.” Jacqueline thought she spied a tear in her mother's eye, but 'twas gone if it ever had been. “'Twas he who insisted I had named you wrongly and your name be changed.”

This was news! “But what was my name?”

“I had called you Marie first and Jacqueline second. Jacqueline is your grandmother's given name, and seemed fitting as your grandfather said you were the image of her in youth.” Eglantine paused to ponder. “How did he state it? Ah! That if you also possess his wife's disposition, 'twould be more fitting that you were named for her first and the Madonna second.”

Jacqueline laughed along with her mother. “
Grandmère
does have a rare passion.”

“Aye, that she does.” Eglantine cast her daughter a sidelong glance. “Do you know how old I was when you were born?”

Jacqueline shook her head.

“I was fourteen summers of age.”

Jacqueline caught her breath, unable to imagine having a child in this moment of her own life. She half-doubted her mother, but that woman smiled and nodded.

“Aye, 'tis true. 'Twas confusing to me, though perfectly predictable to all. I had been wed, after all, but ten months before.”

Here was the tale of her parents' great love that Jacqueline had long desired to hear. “And you loved my father with all your heart and soul, just like a
chanson
!”

Her mother swallowed a laugh, her words wry. “I met him at the altar, Jacqueline, and 'twas not like a
chanson
. I was Robert's second wife. His first had died, though he had two children from that match.”

“Alienor was one.”

“Aye, as was Robert's son and heir. He was almost of an age with me, while Alienor was only four.”

“Was she as spoiled and impossible then as she is now?” Jacqueline demanded, then caught her breath at her own lack of charity.

But Eglantine chuckled. “Aye, I believe she was.”

Jacqueline looked at her mother with new eyes, struggling to think of Eglantine at her own age and that with a husband and babe. And another woman's two children to raise, as well! A new wave of admiration swept through Jacqueline, buttressed by her own uncertainty that she could have managed as much.

They walked for a moment, then Jacqueline mustered her courage. “Why
did
you bring us here,
Maman
?”

Eglantine sighed. “Let me continue from the beginning. When my father commented on your beauty, your father saw fit to arrange your betrothal immediately.”

“To Reynaud de Charmonte.” Jacqueline could scarcely utter the man's name without bitterness falling from her tongue.

“Aye, he was Robert's friend.”

Eglantine's mild manner, her apparent acceptance of this arrangement, was more than Jacqueline could bear. “But,
Maman
, how
could
you betroth me to such an old man? Even if you liked being wed to one, how could you do this to me?” Jacqueline clapped one hand over her mouth, certain she had said too much, but Eglantine eyed her steadily.

“Have I ever spoken poorly of your father to you?”

“Nay.”

“Then I shall not begin to do so now.” Eglantine walked away.

Jacqueline chased her, accusation in her words. “You let him do it!”

“I had no choice.” Eglantine fairly marched through the grasses and Jacqueline tripped more than once trying to match her pace. “At least, not then. My opinion was neither solicited nor welcomed in those days.” She halted abruptly, scanning the sea as she took a deep breath.

Jacqueline stumbled to a halt, despairing that her body would ever follow her bidding again. Nay, she had been born to be short, buxom and clumsy, of that there could be little doubt.

“What was my father like?”

“I barely recall,” her mother admitted most unsatisfactorily. “Robert was thirty years my senior, a man active in protecting and expanding his estates.” She smiled and shrugged. “Most of our encounters were abed and in the dark.”

Jacqueline felt her cheeks heat, for she had never considered her parents' intimacy, and she could not hold her mother's gaze.

But Eglantine's words fell low between them. “I could tell you that 'tis because of you that we journeyed here, that 'twas to save you from Reynaud that I launched this ordeal, but 'twould be a lie. 'Tis because of me that we are in this wretched place.”

Jacqueline gaped at her mother, her heart stopping in dread. Surely she did not still have to wed that old toad?

“You know naught of what passed between your grandmother and I in those years of my first marriage for you were too young. 'Tis safe to say that I was deeply unhappy with her refusal to intervene in my own arranged betrothal, just as you are unhappy with me.”

“Then, how...”

Eglantine lifted a hand for silence, her voice flat, her eyes sad. “In hindsight, I see that she could not imagine that any ill would come of it, for her marriage had been arranged and she was deeply happy. All the same, I blush in recollection of the cruel things I said.”

Her mother had been shrewish to her sweet grandmother? 'Twas impossible to believe, for they were so close.

“I could not condemn you to this match after my own experience.” Eglantine turned to catch Jacqueline's gaze, the look in her eye as fierce as that of any peregrine. “But this choice was made for myself, for I would not have such bitterness, however briefly, between us. As a mother, I would not hear such accusations fall from the lips of my firstborn.” She shook a finger at Jacqueline. “You will take no blame for my defiance, is that understood?

But Jacqueline understood only one part of what her mother implied. “I do not have to wed Reynaud?”

Her mother smiled. “We are here to ensure that you do not. None know our destination who were left behind—none but your grandmother whose lips are sealed forever. None whom we passed know our identity. I am a “countess” to ensure that Reynaud never finds you. We do this, Jacqueline, that you should not have endure what I have already lived.”

Eglantine lifted her chin and Jacqueline's mouth went dry. She saw her mother as a woman in her own right for the first time. She saw what Eglantine had known of marriage. She saw Eglantine's persistent hope, her conviction that better could be had and
must
be had, all for the elusive prize of Jacqueline's happiness.

They had left everything and everyone so that she would not have to wed Reynaud.

Jacqueline was humbled anew by her mother, though this time by far more than grace and composure. 'Twas the selflessness of her mother's character that shook her. The wind lifted the stray curls from Eglantine's braid, casting their fair swirls against her cheeks, even as she held Jacqueline's gaze.

She suddenly wagged a finger at her astonished daughter. “But be aware of the truth in what I have always told you, Jacqueline. The first lie is easy—but it quickly requires another to support it. The web of deception I have begun will grow every day, though that will be my burden to bear.” She touched Jacqueline's chin and kissed her cheeks, her voice turning husky. “But not yours, Jacqueline, not yours. This price is not yours to pay.”

Jacqueline felt her tears well, though for once she was not ashamed of their appearance.

“I have learned but one thing in this life, Jacqueline,” Eglantine said quietly, straightening like a queen. “One changes what one can, endures what one must, and prays for the best at every opportunity. I have made the change I can—now 'tis left to both of us to endure and pray for the best.”

Jacqueline finally found her tongue. “Thank you,
Maman
!” she cried. Eglantine opened her arms and Jacqueline fell against her mother's chest in gratitude. “I can never repay you for this, never never
never
!”

Eglantine kissed Jacqueline's brow gently, a whisper of softness against her skin. “Aye, you can, my child.” She pulled back and surveyed Jacqueline. “You can find such a love, you can be happy, and you can prove my choice right.” Her mother wrinkled her nose playfully. “You do know how I love to be proven right.”

Jacqueline smiled through her tears. “I shall try my best,
Maman
.”

Eglantine caught her close, her whisper hoarse. “A mother could ask for naught more.”

Melusine screamed and Jacqueline pulled back to look skyward. The bird circled above them and cried again, as though it would rebuke them. Eglantine laughed despite a suspicious shimmer in her eyes.

But her mother never wept, Jacqueline was certain of it.

“The greater good summons us to our labor anew,
Maman
,” Jacqueline declared and lifted her gloved fist for the bird. She would do whatever she could to ensure that they never returned to Crevy, or to Reynaud.

Even hunt.

As the predator landed heavily on her hand and her heart leapt in terror, Jacqueline knew even this was a small price to pay.

* * *

But they were not the only ones who hunted in that early morn. Eglantine straightened from the tenth rabbit that Melusine had killed, and a flicker of movement caught her eye. She spun quickly as the boy took the kill, and saw a short shadow slip through the trees. It disappeared before she could discern precisely what 'twas. Four legs it had, though 'twas smaller of stature than the wolfhounds and moved with a stealth they did not possess.

The hunting dogs growled, the fur on the back of their necks bristling as they looked after the shadow. Eglantine exchanged a glance with Jacqueline, noting the girl's concern.

“What is it,
Maman
?”

Eglantine held up a hand for silence. The rain pattered on the ground and echoed on what few deadened leaves still clinging to the trees. The branches of the trees rattled slightly in the wind, the sea sang in the distance as the surf broke against the shore. She heard naught else.

But there 'twas again.

'Twas no more than a dark fluttering between the tree trunks, at such a distance that it could not be readily observed. 'Twas smaller than either of the dogs accompanying them but fleet of foot. One of the dogs took a few steps forward and growled.

It could not be a fox, for such creatures avoided human contact. Her horse began to stamp, more troubled than the steed usually was. Its nostrils flared and its eyes widened, its fear telling Eglantine what she should have already guessed.

She eyed the blood of the butchered hares and knew 'twas a hungry predator who trailed them. Though she had only heard tales of wolves, she should have expected they would thrive in this remote place.

But because of her lack of foresight, Eglantine's small party were not equipped to face a wolf. They would cease the hunt and make do with the meat they had. If there were wolves about, there would be safety in numbers, in the camp.

Melusine, though, cried from above before Eglantine could give an order. Eglantine turned and raised her fist with a whistle, but the bird had already spied her prey. Melusine dove, plummeting from the sky like a feathered spear, and the shadow moved like lightning in the same direction.

Three more shadows followed.

It seemed that hungry wolves were not fools.

“Nay!” Eglantine ran through the woods, hoping she would reach Melusine before the wolves. They would kill the bird, of that she had no doubt, because Melusine would not suffer her kill to be taken by any other than Eglantine. She gathered her skirts in two fistfuls and plunged through the woods, even as the boys shouted behind her. The dogs ran beside her, barking in anticipation of a fight.

Melusine gave a strangled cry. Eglantine burst into a small clearing to see the bird's talons buried deeply in an unfortunate hare. But the peregrine flapped awkwardly, her tether caught on a thorny shrub beneath her kill.

Four shadows separated themselves from the woods and edged closer. Their eyes were cold, their gazes fixed upon Eglantine. She halted, uncertain what to do. The dogs snarled but she stayed them with a gesture, suspecting that they would lose a battle with these wild creatures.

The largest wolf sidled closer to Melusine and the hare, one wary eye on Eglantine. The bird screamed outrage at the creature's boldness, the snagged tether impeding her ability to fight.