by Lynn Kurland
Guy made him a very low bow. “A pleasant visit, my lord, nothing more.”
“Ah, well,” Nicholas said, thawing slightly. “I suppose I have no reason not to allow it.”
“Very gracious, my lord. I understand very well how fortunate I am to be allowed inside your very fine gates.”
Isabelle ignored the pointed look her brother sent her way and concentrated on the nauseating conversation that continued on in front of her. She wondered if Guy could possibly be in earnest with all those flowery sentiments or if he were merely dredging them up to repair Gervase’s relationship with her brother. She had to concede that he was very good at flattery.
She suspected Gervase would have plowed his fist into Nicholas’s nose before he said anything polite to him.
“My brother?” Guy indulged in a small shrug. “He has a different way of seeing to his affairs. I’m not being critical, of course. We just don’t see our responsibilities in the same way.”
She blinked. What in the hell was Guy of Monsaert doing? Attempting to flatter Nicholas into allowing Gervase back inside his gates or stabbing his brother in the back? She listened to him continue to praise her brother’s fine qualities whilst denigrating his own brother’s and found herself reminded sharply of every single father who had come to Artane attempting to have a glance at Artane’s fairest daughter, Amanda.
She pursed her lips. Obviously Guy was no less susceptible to the lure of rank than anyone else she knew. At least her brothers didn’t seem to suffer overmuch from that sort of envy. Then again, her father had ample to share with his sons and made no secret of his intention to gift them everything possible, so perhaps they were more fortunate than other lads in their straits. She honestly had no idea what Gervase intended to do with his legacy. Perhaps Guy feared he would never manage to have anything for himself unless he fought for it.
“Come inside, Lord Guy,” Nicholas said expansively. “We were just sitting down to a meal. Surely you’ll stay.”
“I hesitate to impose,” Guy said, with a small bow, “but I cannot refuse such a gracious offer. I won’t make it a long visit, though. I am unfortunately only here on my way to see to other things.”
Which made Isabelle wonder where he had spent the night in order to have such an early arrival at Beauvois.
“Diligent, aren’t you?” Nicholas asked.
“One does what one must,” Guy said humbly.
More nauseating pleasantries ensued as they made their way up the stairs and into the hall. Isabelle had thought she had no opinion of Guy past knowing he was Gervase’s brother, but she found herself forming one rather quickly. If the fawning went on much longer, she might take a sword to both him and Nicholas sooner rather than later.
She was allowed out of the encircling presence of her brother’s men, finally. She climbed a pair of steps, then turned and looked at the lads who had kept her safe—if it could be looked at in the right way—that morning.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “I’m grateful for your care.”
And then she tried one of Amanda’s smiles.
A pair of the men stumbled backward. She was pleased to see that all but one of them looked as if they’d taken a friendly fist to their ribs. She supposed the lad who remained unaffected would be the one to report most thoroughly on her activities, so she took note of his identity and promised herself a good think on how she might win him to her side eventually. Then she turned to trudge up the rest of the stairs into the great hall.
What she wanted to do was get close enough to Guy to find out what Gervase was doing, but she was obviously not going to manage that. Nicholas put her as far away from Guy as the number of diners allowed. Obviously she was going to have to count on Miles to tell her later what had been said. She managed to catch Guy’s eye once or twice, but he only smiled and went back to his conversation with her brother.
“Are you certain you won’t stay the day, at least?” Nicholas asked politely.
Guy shook his head and rose with Nicholas. “’Tis with great regret that I must forgo that delight,” he said, making Nicholas a low bow. “Perhaps another time?”
“Of course,” Nicholas said, sounding as if he contemplated that loss with great regret.
She had the feeling he wouldn’t be so generous to anyone else from Monsaert who might find himself inside the hall.
“I assume your elder brother is still breathing?” Nicholas asked, sounding as if he would have been thrilled to have heard that such was not the case.
“When last I saw him.” Guy started across the hall with Nicholas, then paused suddenly. “I almost forgot. I have a small token for your sister, if that isn’t too forward. From those at Monsaert.”
“From Monsaert’s lord?” Nicholas asked sharply.
“Nay, my lord Nicholas,” Guy said carefully. “Not precisely.”
“Oh,” Nicholas said, relaxing. “I see. Very well, then.”
Isabelle looked at Guy as he walked toward her. His mother must have had light hair for he was almost as blond as Nicholas was. Perhaps if she had seen him first, she might have thought him very handsome, indeed. He resembled Gervase enough that she might have wondered if they were brothers, but she had to acknowledge that he simply wasn’t as handsome as his elder brother.
She could see he was speaking, but she was having a difficult time hearing what he was saying. It was some long-winded tale about a missive that had somehow been stolen as he’d been overcome by ruffians along the road—
“Ruffians?” she asked in surprise.
Guy shrugged. “Not much trouble to anything but my purse. I did manage to save the most important part of what you were to have.” He held out a little sachet fashioned of linen, then made her a small bow. “For your garden, my lady.”
She took it, though not particularly willingly.
“I know how herbs please you,” he said with another smile. “I thought perhaps a small token of our esteem and regard might be called for.”
Isabelle sniffed. “What is it?”
“Lavender, I believe.” He smiled deprecatingly. “For all I know about it, yes?”
“Very kind,” Isabelle said.
He took her hand and bent low over it, then straightened and walked with Nicholas to the door. Isabelle stood next to Miles and fought the urge to scrub her hand on the back of her skirts. She glanced at her brother, but he was merely watching Guy with a pleasant expression on his face. She frowned. Perhaps she was overreacting.
Perhaps she was suffering disappointment that it had been Guy to come through her brother’s gates and not someone else.
She wished, quite abruptly, that Nicholas would stop talking and escort Guy out the door. She fixed a smile to her face until the door was shut and she could turn her back on the spectacle.
She blew out her breath. “That’s over, thankfully.”
Miles looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
She rubbed her hands, realizing as she did so that it wasn’t going to do anything to erase the memory of having Guy touch her. “I’m not sure,” she said uncomfortably. She looked at her brother. “Things bother me.”
“What sorts of things?”
“I’m not sure where to begin.”
“I’m all ears and no mouth, if that eases you.”
“As always.” She smiled up at him. “How would I survive without you?”
He smiled. “Poorly, I’m sure. So, tell me what troubles you.”
She considered, then supposed there was no reason not to speak freely. Heaven knew she’d never minced words with him before. She blew out her breath. “He bothers me.”
“Lord Guy?” Miles asked in surprise. “Why?”
She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t trust him.”
“Iz, far be it from me to gainsay you or disagree with your womanly instincts,” Miles said slowly, “but you should know that Guy de Seger is above reproach. He has a reputation for honesty and fairness that is unmatched in all o
f France and half of England. I understand that he kept Monsaert running for Gervase without drawing attention to himself and has stepped back just as readily as Gervase has been able to resume his duties. He is without peer.”
“Then why does my skin crawl when he touches my hand?”
“You’re in love with his brother?”
She decided to ignore that. “Why did he bring me a gift?”
Miles started to speak, then shut his mouth for a moment or two. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Perhaps it was from all of them—didn’t he say as much?”
“He said he brought greetings from them, not gifts.”
“Well,” he said slowly, “it isn’t as if Gervase could send you anything, now, is it?”
“Are you being helpful?”
Miles smiled faintly. “Iz, the good Duke of Monsaert isn’t going to attempt to ingratiate himself with you until he’s managed to soothe your brother’s murderous rage. He certainly would have done himself no favors by sending you a gift without having first sent all manner of things to Nicholas. Fawning missives, rare foodstuffs, perhaps even a horse or two. That sort of thing.”
She started to ask why Gervase hadn’t done just that, but it occurred to her that perhaps he hadn’t wanted to do just that. Perhaps he had no intention of ingratiating himself with her brother because he had no desire to see her again.
She supposed her thoughts must have been readily apparent to Miles because he hugged her briefly, then ran his hand over her hair instead of making a mess of it.
“Gervase is biding his time,” he offered. “I’m sure of it.”
She wasn’t, but there was no point in saying as much.
“Lavender is an interesting choice.”
“Considering we’re surrounded by fields of it,” she said darkly, “perhaps not so unique.”
“You can put it in a trunk and have your gear smell pretty. I even don’t mind the smell. See?” He took the sachet from her, breathed deeply, then froze.
“Is it poisoned?” she asked grimly.
He considered what he held in his hand, then held it out to her. “I’m not sure I would call it poisoned. You take a whiff and tell me what you think.”
She took the seeds and sniffed cautiously, then felt the same sort of stillness descend on her that had recently taken Miles in its grip. She looked at what she held in her hand for another moment or two before she looked at her brother.
“Perhaps our noses are deceiving us.”
“Perhaps they aren’t.”
She took him by the arm and pulled him toward the hall door. “There’s one way to know for sure.”
He stopped her before she walked out into the morning mist. He opened the door slightly, peered out, and was still for quite some time before he nodded.
“He’s gone.”
“I thought you liked him.”
Miles shot her a look, then opened the door for her. She supposed that was answer enough. She walked outside and into Nicholas who was looking as if he might be tempted to make a long list of Guy’s virtues.
“What a lovely visit—wait.” Isabelle cocked an ear toward the hall. “I think I hear Jennifer calling.”
“What!”
Isabelle stepped aside as her brother bolted into his hall, then smiled pleasantly at her next oldest brother. “One annoyance seen to. Let’s discover the truth about another one.”
Miles tsk-tsked her. “That was unkind.”
“So was making me sit through a meal with Guy de Seger.”
“You don’t like him at all, do you?” Miles asked, sounding amused. “The poor man has done nothing but bring you something he no doubt thought you would like merely as a gesture of friendship. Why that bothers you so much, I don’t know.”
She didn’t know, either, but there was little point in saying as much. Perhaps perfection bothered her. She preferred men who laughed heartily, swore with enthusiasm, and appreciated irony. She considered that all the way across the courtyard before she had her answer. She looked up at her brother.
“When he smiles, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.”
Miles opened his mouth to speak, then apparently thought better of it. “You’re right.”
She was, and she enjoyed that until she was standing in front of Nicholas’s surgeon. She had little familiarity with the man, to be sure, but his small house was filled with wholesome scents and he had bunches of herbs hanging from the beams in his ceiling. Something else was simmering over his fire. She wasn’t entirely sure that he didn’t have bits of herbs in his hair as well. Obviously here was a man who knew his business. She greeted him politely, then held out Guy’s sachet.
“Can you tell me, good sir, what these are?”
He sniffed, then spilled a few of the seeds out into his hand. He poked at them, sniffed again, then tasted a pair of them. He handed her back the sachet. “I believe, my lady, that they are myosotis.”
“I’m unfamiliar with that,” she admitted. “Has it any use besides adorning a garden?”
“I understand that Abbess Hildegard used it as the means of curing pains in the head,” he offered.
“But does it have a common name?” she pressed. “Perhaps what the peasants here might call it?”
“I’ve heard it called ne-m’oubliez–pas, my lady. It is a very common flower, to be sure, and apart from its properties in curing pains in the head, I know of no great use for it.” He considered the seeds, then smiled. “I suppose one must admit the name is quite charming.”
Isabelle closed her eyes briefly. Forget-me-not.
She thanked the healer, then took her brother by the arm and pulled him from the house. He came without protest, or at least he did until he had pulled the door shut behind them.
“Care to enlighten me?”
She smiled. “These are forget-me-nots.”
He continued to look at her as if she’d lost what few wits remained her. “So?”
“Lord Miles! Lord Miles!”
Miles shot her a look. “Don’t move.”
She wasn’t sure she could. She watched him walk off to speak with the breathless master of the hounds who had come running their way. She considered eavesdropping, but she was too distracted. All she could do was look at the seeds in her hand and think about what they were.
Forget-me-nots.
Common flowers, true, but the memory of when she’d first been given a handful of them was very clear. Gervase had come close to flinging them at her, true, but a man did not give a woman a fistful of flowers without some thought having gone into the plucking of them, did he? And no man with any sense would simply gather up a fistful of seeds, shove them into a linen bag, and hand that to a woman without having at least an inkling of what he was handing over, would he?
He wouldn’t, which was why it made no sense for Guy to have given her seeds for herbs that were in truth flowers that he obviously knew nothing of as opposed to his brother who obviously knew quite a bit about what was growing in his garden.
Miles was suddenly standing in front of her, which made her jump a little in spite of herself. He was wearing absolutely no expression on his face, which she supposed said much about what he was thinking. He took her by the arm and drew her away from prying eyes. She couldn’t imagine the midst of Nicholas’s courtyard was a very private place to hold a parley, but they had certainly plotted together in less private places.
“I found the missive.”
She frowned. “What missive?”
“Your missive,” he said. “Well, parts of it, at least.”
“I didn’t know you had lost it,” she said in surprise. “When were you going to tell me that?”
“After I found it. Here.” He held out something that looked to her as if it had been thoroughly gnawed on by something, hopefully not by him.
“’Tis wet,” she said, taking it gingerly. “That’s disgusting, Miles.”
“’Twas mauled by a hound.”
She shot him a da
rk look. “I won’t ask what it was doing in a place where that was possible.”
“Very wise. Just read it.”
She attempted to unfold the sheaf of parchment, but it was almost impossible. The seal was mostly intact, though it was sporting teeth marks as well. She pulled the seal free of the soggy parchment, then examined what of the paper was still unchewed.
Grandmère was all she could see.
She looked at her brother. “I suppose I’ll need to rely on your memory for the words. I’m not sure the seal serves us, though, does it? What ruffian would be fool enough to identify his foul missive with his own mark?”
“Hopefully a very careless one, but perhaps we don’t dare hope for that.” He took the wax from her and frowned as he examined it. “’Tis a most unpleasant shade of red. I would say that it looks a little like blood, but I’ve no doubt been thinking too much.”
Blood. She looked off into the courtyard for several minutes in silence, ignoring her brother’s repeated clearing of his throat, and realized what had seemed so strange to her earlier. She was a little surprised she hadn’t latched onto it immediately, but the truth was, she hadn’t been herself. She turned to look at Miles. “He didn’t look particularly assaulted, did he?”
Miles blinked. “Who?”
“Guy. He said he’d been overcome by ruffians this morning on his way here. But he had his sword, his boots, his gloves, and his horse.”
“Perhaps he fought them off.”
“He didn’t look rumpled.”
He studied her for a moment or two, then shook his head. “Izzy, he is beyond reproach.”
“So you keep telling me, but I find it very curious that a man who was supposedly robbed earlier arrives with not only all his gear, but two guardsmen in tow—guardsmen I’ll admit I had forgotten about until this very moment. I find it also strange that he should gift me seeds for a particular flower that his brother had thrown at me whilst I was at Monsaert, seeds that Guy thought were lavender.”
Miles smiled faintly. “You must bother Gervase a great deal.”
“I don’t think he likes me.”
“And you don’t care for him, either.”
She shook her head. “Too bossy. Unpleasant. Possessing a very stale and obviously unused chivalry.”