Dreams of Lilacs

by Lynn Kurland

  He also couldn’t very well say anything to the woman who had left him blushing like a callow youth, so he squeezed her hand and leaned his head back against the stone of the wall. Perhaps in time the chill would render him blissfully numb from the neck up.

  Isabelle leaned closer and put her head on his shoulder. “Are you blushing?” she whispered.

  “You called me by my name,” Gervase managed. “It was so startling, I had a bit of an attack.”

  She sighed happily. “You, Gervase de Seger, are very charming.”

  He pulled his hand, which was quite nicely attached by a sweet clasping to both her own, into his own lap where he felt a bit more in control. “And you are so full of goodness and beauty, I scarce know where to begin in listing your virtues.”

  “I tend to cut my hair and run when events require it.”

  He brought her hand to his mouth, kissed it, then shifted to look at her. “Could you, do you think,” he said slowly, “allow me to perhaps see to events for you, that you need not cut your hair again out of desperation?”

  She was watching him gravely. “Instead simply because the weather demands it?”

  “I wouldn’t argue with that,” he said. “Well, not overmuch.”

  “If you like.” She leaned her head back against the stone again and watched the conversation going on in front of the fire. “I wondered about him.”

  “Her.”

  She shot him a quick smile, then turned back to watching her grandfather. “Whatever he is at the moment. But it never occurred to me to ask.” She rubbed her thumb over his absently for several minutes in silence before she spoke again. “Odd that our lad should know that Lord Etienne lives, isn’t it?”

  “There are many odd things about this,” Gervase agreed.

  “You said you received a missive as well?”

  He shrugged. “Just a little note of love telling me I shouldn’t be sleeping easily quite so soon.”

  “Did you recognize the hand?”

  He shook his head. “Nay, but it looked as if it had been written by a woman.”

  “Which is why you suspected me.”

  “Aye, for the space of a single heartbeat before good sense returned.”

  She shifted to look at him. “I could want to do you in, you know.”

  “I promised you time in the lists, woman. You can’t have that if I’m not still breathing.”

  “So you did.” She glanced at him. “And there are other things I believe I would miss if you weren’t still breathing.”

  He shifted uneasily. “I think you should leave off with that sort of talk before you leave me blushing again.”

  “And the sight of that, my lord, was worth the fact that I’ll never live down my actions in my brothers’ eyes. Then again, they’ve never had anything before with which to bedevil me, so I won’t deny them their sport.” She sighed, then smiled wearily. “What do we do now?”

  “We sleep safely, then make plans on the morrow.” He shook his head. “I can’t say I’m particularly comfortable with the abbey as a battlefield. I suppose your grandparents have their own guards, but I would prefer to see them in a place where our mysterious lad can’t move about as freely as he seems to here.” He frowned. “Where is your brother’s wife?”

  “Robin left Anne and his children with my parents, from what he said.”

  “At least they’re safe,” he said slowly. “If I had any sense, I would send you off to join them.”

  “I think that would defeat the purpose.”

  He looked at her with a frown. “What do you mean?”

  She took a deep breath. “I told you he caught me in the garderobe, but I didn’t have a chance to tell you what he said. Or what he gave me,” she added.

  He felt something slither down his spine that he didn’t care for in the least. He shifted and looked at her carefully.

  “Isabelle,” he said quietly, “what are you saying?”

  She pulled one of her hands free of his. He supposed it said something about the year he’d had that his first instinct was to make sure she wasn’t reaching for the knife down the side of his own boot. Instead, she fumbled at a purse hanging from her belt. Too small for a knife, which he also found more reassuring than he should have.

  She drew out a very small bottle, sealed with wax.

  “What’s that?” he asked lightly.

  “I believe ’tis poison.”

  “Were you given any suggestions as to who might benefit the most from a few doses of it?”

  She nodded again.

  He closed his eyes, then released her hand to put his arm around her shoulders. He put his right hand, the hand that already bore the scars of his most recent encounter with death, over her hand that held yet more death intended for him. Then he pulled her as close to him as he dared and held her while she shook.

  “There are those who always want me dead,” he said finally in as casual a tone as he could manage.

  She pulled back and met his eyes. Her eyes were very red.

  “I believe the difference this time is, Gervase, that there is someone who wants me to do the deed.”

  Chapter 23

  Isabelle rode inside Monsaert’s gates and wondered if she were riding into certain death. She supposed it was somewhat reassuring to find that, at least based on first glance, all she was riding into was certain chaos.

  The courtyard was full of wagons and wains and men-at-arms and their gear, all wearing colors that resembled Gervase’s but weren’t quite the same. Isabelle looked at Robin who was leaning on the pommel of his saddle and watching the goings-on with an assessing glance.

  “Well?” she asked.

  He straightened, then shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I’m just the guardsman.”

  “Who are you guarding?”

  “You or Gervase,” he said. “Depends on who needs me more at the moment, though your lord isn’t fond of the idea. He doesn’t believe that there’s nothing I like more than stomping about as a lowly garrison knight and appearing where I’m not looked for.”

  “Or wanted,” she said, unable to resist the barb.

  He laughed a little. “You know me too well, which means you also know I know you don’t mean that. Kings have salivated over the thought of having me to guard their sorry arses and look you here how I’m doing the like for you and Monsaert without demanding gold in return.” He smiled pleasantly. “I can hardly begin to describe how truly remarkable I am.”

  “Don’t hurt anything in the attempt,” Isabelle said.

  “You’re starting to sound a little like Amanda, if that pleases you, though I don’t suppose you’ll ever manage to stay with that unpleasantness for long.” He nodded toward the commotion in front of them. “Have any idea what that’s all about?”

  “None,” she said honestly, “though Gervase doesn’t look happy, does he?”

  “Too many souls milling about for his comfort,” Robin said, “which is why you’ll notice he’s divided our forces into two groups to better keep the rabble controlled.”

  “Has he?”

  Robin rolled his eyes. “Iz, you will never make a soldier, so don’t bother trying. Of course he has. See you there how he has most of his men going about their normal business, the sort of business you would expect from them? The ones with less delicate humors—or more ruthlessness, depending on how you see it—aren’t quite as busy—nay, don’t look.”

  “You told me to look.”

  “Well, don’t be so obvious about it.”

  “I want to see where something might be coming from,” she said, finding the conversation not at all to her liking. She looked at her eldest brother and had to admit that she was vastly relieved to have him there. “I can’t believe I agreed to any of this.”

  Robin’s expression was rather serious, for Robin. “I doubt Father would be pleased by the idea, but in this I must admit I agree with your lord there. Your mystery murderer is obviously much more interested in Gervase’s death
than yours. Gervase’s mystery murderer has obviously not given up on the plan to see him in his grave. It makes perfect sense to see if you can’t bring the two lads together in a place where Gervase knows all the bolt holes.”

  Isabelle watched the goings-on around her as casually as possible whilst trying not to look as if she were watching those same happenings. Gervase was going out of his way to play the part of lord of the manor, loudly commanding servant, and guardsman alike. If he were trying to linger near an escape, he gave no sign of it. She considered him a bit longer, then looked at her brother.

  “I wonder things.”

  “Do you?”

  She was past shivering, so she simply sat there in the drizzle and didn’t even spare a thought for the warmth of a goodly bit of morning sun. “It would be interesting if the lad who had sent for me and the lad who had tried to kill Gervase in the fall happened to be one in the same, wouldn’t it?”

  Robin smiled in a particularly unpleasant way. “It would be interesting.”

  She looked at him in surprise, then felt her mouth go slack. “Is that what you think—nay, is that what he thinks?”

  “Well, you don’t imagine he’s as disgustingly rich as he is because he can’t keep at least a pair of steps in front of opponents he’d intended to fleece at tourney, do you?” He leaned closer to her. “Of course that’s what he thinks. We chewed on it all the way here.”

  “I thought you were discussing horses!”

  Robin rolled his eyes. “Really, Iz. After all the studying of my admittedly superior reasoning skills you’ve done for the past score of years and that’s the best you can do?”

  “Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “I believe he thinks you have enough to think on for the morning,” Robin said with a shrug. “You’re supposed to be poisoning him by degrees, remember? He didn’t want to take your mind off that happy task with these trivial details.”

  She tried to swallow, but it was difficult. “I don’t know how you can make light of this.”

  “’Tis either that or weep, isn’t it?” he said cheerfully, then he swung down. “Watch your back.”

  She had absolutely no answer for that. She watched her brother blend almost immediately into the press of men-at-arms. Robin, amusing himself.

  She caught Gervase exchanging a brief look with Miles who took over where Robin had left off. No doubt he was fully informed of Gervase’s thoughts as well. Obviously she was going to have to have speech with a certain lad very soon to let him know she did not appreciate being kept in the dark. She had help out of her saddle, then found herself surrounded not by her usual guardsmen but by a handful of steely-eyed, rough-looking men made up equally of Gervase’s and Robin’s guardsmen. Her brother was leading the charge, as it were, dressed in less-than-pristine gear and happily wallowing in his obscurity.

  She sighed. She supposed she’d been fortunate in that she’d even been allowed to come back to Monsaert. Her grandparents had been banished to the safety of Beauvois. Gervase had been on the verge of sending her along with them until she’d pointed out to him that it would be a little hard for her to kill him if she wasn’t close enough to his supper to poison it. He had agreed, reluctantly, and she had been warned that her ability to move about freely would be reduced to nothing.

  “Wonder who’s here?” Miles murmured.

  “I don’t want to speculate,” she said.

  “Those are Monsaert’s colors,” he mused, “though slightly altered. This should be entertaining.” He lifted his eyebrows briefly, then walked with her through the courtyard and up the way to the great hall.

  She watched the people around her, not recognizing half of them, as she followed Miles into the great hall. It was then that she realized entertaining wasn’t going to be the half of it.

  A woman was there, holding court. There could be no other way to describe it. Isabelle would have turned around and gone to hide in the stables, but Miles had a hold of her so she couldn’t move.

  “Who,” she managed, “is that?”

  “I believe, sister, that Mother Monsaert has returned to the fold.”

  The one thing she had always disliked about her brother was his strength. She supposed the only way she would manage to be free of him would be to pull a dagger from her boot, only she hadn’t managed to get to the abbey’s armory that morning to procure one, leaving her singularly unable to stab Miles in the gut with it. Obviously, she needed to attend to her weaponry sooner rather than later. Sooner seemed a good option at the moment, but again, Miles seemed to have a death grip on the back of her tunic.

  “I think we should go meet her,” Miles murmured.

  “Are you daft?” she whispered furiously. “I’m wearing hose.”

  “Why do you care?”

  She shot him a murderous look that he only smiled at, damn him anyway. She pulled her cloak closer around her, but supposed that would do nothing to hide her lack of gown. Then again, perhaps she would manage to simply remain in the background. If Robin could blend into the garrison, then so could she. She edged behind her twin, fully intending to use him as a shield if necessary. She pitied Gervase that he didn’t have the same option open to him. The hall was full of his men, true, but he was the one left standing alone in front of them all.

  The lady of Monsaert didn’t bother to rise from her place before the fire to greet him. She simply waved a languid hand.

  “Gervase,” she said, her voice slicing through the air like a painfully sharp sword, “do come over and do me the honor due me. Then perhaps you can explain why you weren’t here to welcome me when I arrived.”

  Isabelle found herself joined on her other side by Joscelin who seemed just as determined as Miles to keep her from fleeing. How they managed to both have hold of bits of her clothing whilst she was standing mostly behind them, she didn’t know, but they did. She glared at Gervase’s brother, just so he wouldn’t mistake her lack of movement for acquiescence. Joscelin only shook his head.

  “You know you’ll have to meet her eventually.”

  “Perhaps when I’m dressed properly?” she said pointedly.

  “Don’t know why you’d care,” Joscelin said with a shrug.

  “Would you go into battle on a goat?”

  He opened his mouth, then shut it and smiled. “I suppose not. Very well, we’ll try to keep you out of sight as much as possible, though I don’t think you’ll escape scrutiny altogether.” His smile faded. “I’m sorry for that, Isabelle. She’s not a pleasant woman.”

  Isabelle could hear that from where she was standing. It had to have been an art, she was fairly sure, to be able to speak that distinctly yet in tones that were barely above a whisper. Isabelle strove to keep a pleasant smile on her face whilst the dowager duchess of Monsaert pointed out, kindly of course, her step-son’s failings in being prepared to entertain her in style. That Gervase listened to it all without saying anything said much about his self-control. Then again, Isabelle could tell he was coldly furious. She couldn’t fault him for it. Lady Margaret was fortunate he didn’t pick her up and throw her bodily from his hall.

  “And who do we have over there?” Margaret said with a yawn. “Joscelin, drag him out from behind you and let me see what sorts of servants we’re employing at present.”

  Isabelle took a deep breath, then stepped forward and inclined her head. “Your Grace,” she said quietly.

  “A girl,” Margaret said, with a tinkling laugh that contained nothing but sharp edges. “And who might you be, my dear, dressed in lads’ clothes?”

  “She’s Isabelle,” Yves blurted out defensively, “and she’s very kind.”

  The look his mother shot him had the poor lad backing up quickly behind an older brother. Isabelle returned Margaret’s look because whilst she was not Gervase’s stepmother’s equal in rank, her father was also not a kitchen lad.

  “But why are you here?” Margaret asked, her perfect brow creasing slightly. “Surely not as a guest.”


  Miles stepped forward and made Margaret a sweeping bow. He straightened and smiled at her. Isabelle had to admit her brother could be very charming when he wanted to be. It was undeniable that he was at the height of his prowess and the sheer beauty of his face had left lesser women fanning themselves. Then again, Margaret was old enough to be his mother and she was apparently made of sterner stuff than most for she merely looked him over, then pursed her lips.

  “A de Piaget son, obviously.”

  “Miles, my lady Margaret.”

  “And that bedraggled urchin next to you?”

  Isabelle found that neither she nor Miles had a chance to speak because they were interrupted by a quiet, but undeniably cold voice.

  “That, my lady mother,” Gervase said, “is my lady, Isabelle de Piaget. She is here as my personal guest.”

  Margaret looked at him, then laughed. “Surely you jest.”

  Isabelle realized that with all the looks she’d had from the young lord of Monsaert, she had never, ever had him bestow on her a look of utter disdain. Decades of breeding and a healthy dose of his own confidence had obviously done a goodly work in helping him master that. She would have wilted on the spot. Lady Margaret, however, was obviously made of much sterner stuff. She only returned Gervase’s look with one of her own.

  “I don’t suppose, my boy, that you saw fit to tell her that you are already betrothed?”

  Isabelle felt Miles shift beside her almost imperceptibly, though she could have told him he didn’t need to bother. She would have put her own eyes out before she gave the woman in front of her the satisfaction of seeing any reaction on her face.

  “I believe,” Isabelle said smoothly, “that such is common knowledge, isn’t it?”

  “Then what, you common tramp, are you thinking to do with him?” Margaret snapped.

  Isabelle smiled. “I don’t know that I’ve indicated any wishes to have anything to do with him, Your Grace.” She started to move away, then she stopped. She supposed she should have thought better of the words on the tip of her tongue, but at least she was merely planning on speaking. Amanda likely would have slapped the woman in front of her. “I can’t imagine you don’t already know this, but I’ve found that most often when one uses a slur against another—common tramp, for example—that the words are ones the speaker tends to apply to herself when no one is looking.” She smiled. “Don’t you agree?”