Gene of Isis

by Traci Harding

  The duke’s gaze of approval turned chilly.

  ‘The girl may go, but the fiddle player stays,’ he informed me. ‘I have plans for him on my plantation in Louisiana.’

  ‘No, my lord, please. There is nothing to punish this man for,’ his duchess appealed. ‘His music invoked my passion,’ she admitted willingly, ‘my passion for you, my love…why won’t you believe me?’

  The duke would not look at his wife; clearly he felt her words stemmed from love and not justice.

  ‘The only curse on this house is your jealousy!’ said the duchess bitterly.

  ‘Perhaps I shall hang the gypsy instead,’ the duke replied coldly, whereby his wife reached her wit’s end and stood. ‘I love you, Gasgon de Guise, but I shall never forgive you if you condemn this man’s genius simply because you envy his talent.’ The duchess stormed toward me on her way out of the room. ‘I would grant you anything for the service you have done this house today, Mademoiselle Winston, but I fear my husband is a stubborn fool.’

  ‘You shall not speak ill of me in front of a guest.’ The duke attempted to reprimand his feisty lady.

  ‘You have no honour,’ she spat back at him as she left the room.

  Any angles on this negotiation would be very welcome right now, I said to my knight on the quiet.

  Just say exactly what I tell you to say and we ought to fare well, Albray told me and I opened myself to his suggestion.

  ‘If I release Cingar, what compensation have I for the upheaval he has caused in this house?’ The duke was sounding a little emotionally unstable. He could easily snap and decide to have me beheaded for defending his purported heretic.

  ‘If I might suggest a different perspective, your grace,’ I ventured humbly and he gave me his attention. ‘If you had never invited Cingar to play in your house, he would never have offended you, that is true. However…he would not have been arrested and I would have had no reason to come to Orleans. Your son would have fallen sick to the poison on his walls in any case, and the entire household, including your grace, may have perished before the true cause of the illness was ascertained.’

  The duke was grave as he mulled over my words, but to my great relief he eventually smiled. ‘You are a very clever young woman, Mademoiselle Winston. And as you are so clever, I shall allow you to give me one good reason why I should release this gypsy. Are you in love with him?’ The duke was clearly intrigued as to why I would risk my neck for such a man as Cingar.

  ‘I am sorry to disappoint, your grace,’ I blushed at his implication, for it was very romantic, ‘but in truth I have never met the man.’

  Tell the duke that you have a very good reason to release Cingar, but that it is for his ears alone. His guards must leave.

  I’m not too sure that I want to be alone with his man, Albray, I inwardly protested as I repeated Albray’s instruction to de Guise.

  The duke appeared wary of my request, but curiosity got the better of him and he dismissed his guards.

  Excellent, Albray confirmed. Now undo your gown at the back.

  Forget it! I wasn’t going to seduce a duke to get Cingar out of prison.

  Show the duke your birthmark. Albray insisted I stop protesting and trust him. The House of Guise is allied to the Grail kings. Do it, please.

  ‘Your grace, I must beg your leave one moment. This is not what it seems.’

  The duke appeared pleasantly surprised as he watched me unbutton my heavy velvet frock. ‘Perfect timing, mademoiselle,’ he commented, well disposed toward such a bargaining strategy. ‘My wife is lost to me for the present, so I…’

  When I approached him and turned, the sight of my birthmark brought his banter to a stop. I began refastening my dress as I turned back to face the duke.

  He was too awed to speak for a moment. ‘The mark of the House of du Lac,’ he uttered aghast. ‘Who are you really, Mademoiselle Winston?’

  There was a knock at the door and the house steward entered. Thankfully I had rebuttoned my gown by the time he did. ‘There is a Monsieur Devere requesting an audience with your grace.’

  My gasp just slipped out; that man had to be part bloodhound.

  The duke clearly saw my distress. ‘Tell him to come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Beg your pardon, your grace, but Monsieur Devere is somewhat distressed. It seems he has lost a very pretty wife…an English woman,’ the steward looked at me, ‘of about twenty years, fair complexion, long auburn ringlets and green eyes.’ He looked back at the duke. ‘Have we seen anyone that fits that description, your grace?’

  The duke raised his eyebrows in question at me.

  ‘No.’ I stated my preference. ‘I can explain everything,’ I added at Albray’s prompting.

  ‘No,’ the duke advised the steward, who seemed unimpressed by the lie he had to tell.

  ‘Very good.’ The steward took his leave.

  ‘Well, Mademoiselle Winston, or is it Madame Devere? It seems you suddenly have a whole lot more explaining to do.’

  I could hardly believe the tale Albray had me spinning, and yet there was enough truth in it for me to sound convincing—all those years of telling stories to Susan suddenly came in very handy.

  Because of my birthmark and my aforementioned occult connections, de Guise didn’t have too much trouble believing that I was on a secret mission to the Holy Land for the Order de Sion. Or, rather, Albray had me telling the duke I had been sent by the Scottish chapter of the order—the Sangreal knighthood. I had no idea what I was talking about, but it seemed I knew the name of the secret brotherhood to which Mr Devere belonged, and Albray managed to work this little fact into our story. We said that I had been posing as Devere’s wife for the mission, but that I suspected treachery—which was not entirely untrue. I told the duke I fled Devere’s company upon reaching France to pursue my mission on my own.

  ‘And what is your purpose in the Holy Land?’ The duke was clearly dying to be made privy to my secret mission, for he was most intrigued by my yarn spinning.

  Tell him you’ll die before you disclose your mission.

  I think that would be tempting fate, I argued.

  He’ll expect nothing less from one of the blood.

  ‘I could tell you, your grace,’ my determination hardened, ‘but then I’d have to kill you…as I am sure you are well aware.’

  Very nicely delivered, Albray commended me. I’ll make a knight of you yet.

  When the duke grinned broadly, I didn’t show how unnerving it was for me. Was he going to commend or kill me?

  ‘If you are on a secret mission for the said Brotherhood—’ he stressed the word ‘—and suspect you have been betrayed by your protector, Mr Devere, I can hardly allow you to leave my house without assigning you some protection of my own.’

  That would not be desirable, Albray stated the obvious. Tell him you’ve been trained to protect yourself.

  ‘Your grace is very generous,’ I moved to courteously decline, ‘but I have been well trained to protect myself, and if the gypsies are freed—’

  ‘Really!’ the duke interrupted, intrigued by my claim and eager to avoid the subject of his prisoners. ‘You are a trained killer, Lady du Lac?’ The very idea brought a smile to his face, or perhaps it was his new name for me that tickled his fancy.

  Christ, I do believe he is going to call our bluff! I panicked, and felt the heat of fear rising in my cheeks.

  Not to worry, we can sustain our fabrication.

  ‘I am a swordsman myself,’ de Guise announced. ‘As are all the brothers.’

  Yes! Albray cheered.

  ‘And a very good one, I am sure, your grace.’ I turned to my own tactics before this got out of hand. ‘However, I could not fight one of royal blood, especially one I have worked so hard this day to protect.’

  ‘Come, come, my dear…just a little fun, nothing too serious.’ De Guise stood, stubbornly resolved to a challenge. ‘You can fight my best swordsman if it makes you feel more comfortable. After a
ll, how am I to be sure that you are not spinning me tall tales, and it is, in fact, Mr Devere who is telling me the truth?’

  Fine with us. Albray was keen.

  How on earth do I get myself into these things? As life was just one big entertainment to the aristocracy, I thought I’d better make sure I was going to achieve my objective if I was to meet this challenge. I certainly didn’t want it evolving into an extended game of cat and mouse. ‘If I prove I am competent enough to accomplish my own quest, your grace, will you then release Cingar?’

  The duke frowned, perturbed at the mention of him, but not displeased with me. ‘Why is the gypsy so important to you?’

  ‘He is my guide to the Mediterranean,’ I explained. ‘He is vital to me achieving my objective.’

  ‘But I can supply an army to accompany you. I have boats—’

  ‘Your grace…’ I interrupted politely, ‘this is a secret mission. The gypsy band is the perfect cover. I must free their captain. I must have Cingar.’

  The duke drew a deep breath, reluctant to acquiesce. ‘Such persuasion as you have must stem from otherworldly means.’

  Although he said this in a complimentary fashion, I thought it best to refute his suggestion. ‘I am a woman of science, your grace. My skills in negotiation stem purely from training and education, I assure you.’ I wasn’t going to end up on a heresy charge. Albray had been right to insist that I avoid working any miracles here. De Guise may have been allied to the bloodline, but I knew his family was careful to preserve ties to the church as well.

  ‘Convince me with your skill and, by my vows to the bloodline, I could not deny you anything,’ he assured me.

  I told you there was nothing to worry about. Albray moved with us, as the duke led me to a suitable arena.

  ‘I must leave Orleans today,’ I added, to be perfectly clear on this point.

  ‘On my finest horse,’ the duke promised generously and I was satisfied. If Albray was as fine a swordsman as he claimed to be—and my knight had not failed me to date—there was no reason to believe that we would not make a fine showing for the duke.

  LESSON 13

  COOPERATIVES

  FROM THE HONEYMOON JOURNAL OF LADY SUSAN DEVERE

  On the second morning of our journey to Orleans, Lord Devere and I were awoken in the early hours by the head maidservant at the hotel. She had heard from the coachman that Mr Devere had left our accommodation late last night, having purchased a saddled horse from a man in the salon downstairs.

  It was my worst fear come to pass.

  ‘Did he leave an address of where he was headed?’ My Lord Devere was out of bed and ringing the bell for the servants to attend us.

  ‘He left this for you at the desk, my lord.’ The head maid handed the note to my husband, whereby she curtseyed and departed as the house staff entered to dress us. ‘He has gone to visit Gasgon de Guise, Duke of Orleans.’ Lord Devere raised both brows, intrigued. ‘He does not mention why, however.’

  ‘After our meeting with the gypsies our brother said something about a rescue mission.’ The notion did not preoccupy me long—there would be time to consider motives once we were on the move.

  ‘The Duc de Guise is not a man to be toyed with.’ My husband looked worried as he explained this in the carriage.

  ‘I feel certain that our sister would have considered the danger before pursuing any business with the duke.’ Or so I hoped! ‘Or perhaps she merely has business with someone else in the household and not the duke at all.’

  My lord still appeared worried, although he forced himself to better his spirits for my sake. ‘It shall be a pleasure to make his acquaintance, I’m sure.’

  We spent the better half of the day in the carriage, and upon reaching our destination we were told that the duke was unavailable for the rest of the day. The duchess wasn’t accepting guests either, as there had been illness in the house—we were assured that the emergency had passed, however.

  ‘And has a Mr Devere requested an audience with your duke this day?’ Lord Devere inquired.

  ‘Oui, Monsieur,’ the steward reported, slightly exasperated about the fact. ‘The duke could not see him today, but as he refused to leave before gaining an audience, the duke kindly extended Monsieur Devere accommodation for the night.’

  ‘May I see Mr Devere?’ my husband requested, sneaking me a smile. His brother’s persistence amused him, and I think my lord was pleased that we’d caught up with his little brother before he did himself and their family name any damage. ‘I am his older brother, James Devere, Earl of Oxford.’

  ‘Of course, my lord.’ The steward humbled himself a peg. ‘Monsieur Devere is in the Long Gallery. If you will follow me.’ The steward led us up the grand staircase beyond the foyer.

  In the Long Gallery we found our brother looking out a set of huge windows. He appeared to be completely contented with the view. In fact, I had not seen him so at peace in a week.

  ‘Earnest,’ Lord Devere called to his brother, but he did not look to us as we approached. ‘Earnest, what in god’s name are we doing at the court of the Duc de Guise?’

  I looked for the source of Devere’s enchantment to see our dear sister in a courtyard, armed with a sword and duelling with another swordsman in front of the duke.

  ‘Oh, my god, it’s Ashlee,’ I mumbled, horrified. To the best of my knowledge, Ashlee knew nothing about swordplay, but observation told me differently, for she was well and truly holding her own against the competition.

  ‘She is magnificent,’ uttered Devere, openly revelling in the sight of the woman he desired.

  ‘Well, if she’s down there, let us go fetch her.’ Lord Devere headed for the door.

  ‘I have tried to get to her,’ Mr Devere informed him, sounding far calmer than one would expect. ‘The duke’s guards intercepted me and brought me straight back up here. So, for now, I must content myself with the knowledge that she is in my view,’ he nodded toward Ashlee, ‘and doing a far better job of defending herself than I gave her credit for…she displays all the valour and technique of an experienced knight.’ He was awed, relieved and delighted.

  My eyes were glued to the duel taking place and when Ashlee tripped on her skirt and fell backwards, it seemed the game was up. Devere and I both gasped. Ashlee’s opponent whipped his sword tip across her upper arm, tearing through the sleeve of her brown velvet frock to leave a trail of red in between the damaged fabric. Ashlee inspected her wound briefly, but did not nurse it. Surely it ailed her, yet it only seemed to make her more resolved to win the contest. She recovered her footing quickly and fought back with twice as much vigour as before. In a frightful onslaught Ashlee disarmed her opponent and, to the duke’s applause, she bowed to him to claim victory.

  We all, in the Long Gallery, applauded the outcome.

  ‘That was extraordinary!’ My admiration for my friend worried Lord Devere, although he was quietly impressed himself.

  ‘Please don’t take a fancy to duelling, my love,’ he jested.

  ‘I daresay James fears the competition.’ Earnest defended his brother. ‘Swordplay is not his best attribute.’

  James was mildly annoyed by his brother’s insult, but he did not refute it. ‘Give me a pistol any day.’

  We watched as Ashlee passed her weapon to the man attending her and as she moved to approach the duke, he unexpectedly ordered her arrest.

  ‘What does he think he’s playing at?’ Devere protested, and would have stormed to Ashlee’s rescue had the duke’s guards not entered from both ends of the Long Gallery. ‘Ashlee!’ Devere yelled to his wife, desperate for her welfare.

  FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE

  A lot of good our magnificent duel had done me; now I was being arrested!

  I could only suppose that the duke would tell me that my sword fighting skills were beyond the capabilities of a mortal female and that I had made a pact with the devil! Well, maybe that was not so far from the truth, I considered, turn
ing my questioning gaze to Albray. He had parted with me as soon as the duel was over and was now accompanying me.

  I don’t understand what went wrong. My knight was as surprised as I was to be trailing the duke back to his room of court under guard.

  It had felt wonderful, though, to wield a weapon with such precision. My stupid dress had proven to be our only downfall. Obviously, Albray was not used to fighting in so much excess fabric.

  I’m sorry about the gash, he said, obviously following my train of thought, or I his.

  I hadn’t even felt the wound until Albray had departed my form—no doubt he had learned to ignore pain. My wound had begun to smart, however.

  It was that gown of yours…have you ever considered finding yourself a nice pair of trousers?

  More than once actually. A precious lot of good a change of clothing was going to do me now.

  The guards left me in the room of court with the duke, who called for his steward to fetch a surgeon to tend my arm.

  ‘Do you intend to adhere to your blood oath, your grace?’ I asked before I accepted his help.

  ‘I do indeed,’ he assured me with a warm smile, which set my misgivings to rest. ‘And then some.’

  ‘But my arrest?’

  ‘Was a fabrication,’ he said merrily. ‘It seems your pesky Monsieur Devere refuses to leave before questioning me about you, and as he just witnessed your duel and arrest from the Long Gallery, I now have the perfect opportunity to delay him for you. While he pleads for your release, you and your gypsy party can be on your way.’

  I was relieved to learn of the duke’s foresight. ‘That is brilliant, your grace. I could kiss you!’ I was so excited not to be thrown in prison, and to have freed the gypsies, that I quite lost my head.