Dreams of Lilacs

by Lynn Kurland

  And then events took a turn he hadn’t expected.

  Guy froze. The sword fell from his hands and rang out as it struck the stone, much as Gervase’s blade had done. Gervase sat back on his heels and looked up in surprise at his half brother, then realized what seemed odd.

  There was a blade sticking out of Guy’s chest. Just the point, though, as if it hadn’t been so much a sword as a knife.

  Gervase could hardly see through the haze of agony that still surrounded him, but he was lucid enough to watch Guy sink to his knees. His brother gurgled something at him, then fell forward. Gervase managed to move out of the way, but that cost him another wave of pain crashing over him. He grasped a heavy chair and simply forced himself to breathe until the wave receded and he thought he could pay heed to what was going on in front of him without being ill.

  Isabelle de Piaget was standing there, looking very green.

  She looked at him, turned, and then puked.

  Down the front of Margaret of Monsaert’s very elegant silk gown.

  All hell broke loose, which he supposed was something he should have expected given the day he’d had so far. His step-mother began to shriek, though she was taken in hand by a silver-haired man who invited her to sit down before she did something she would no doubt regret.

  He found himself hauled to his feet by Miles and Joscelin. He used their sturdy shoulders to keep himself upright, then glared at Robin who was standing behind his heaving sister, simply watching the goings-on with interest. Gervase gestured toward Isabelle.

  “You couldn’t have helped her?” he asked, feeling something that ran quite a bit hotter than mere annoyance.

  “Why?” Robin asked, scratching his head. “She had things well in hand. She poached Miles’s knife and went to work. I thought it best to simply stay out of her way.”

  But then he lifted his elbow slightly. A long, wicked-looking dagger gleamed in the candlelight. Robin lifted an eyebrow briefly, then resheathed his knife before he knelt down to see if Guy still breathed. Gervase suspected the effort might prove futile.

  He thanked his brother and future brother-in-law for their aid, then limped over to gather up his bride-to-be and move her out of Margaret’s long reach. He barely managed to stop Margaret from hitting Isabelle, though he paid the price on his own jaw. Etienne used a bit more force to induce Margaret to resume her seat, which Gervase appreciated. He pulled Isabelle out of the way—behind Robin, thankfully—then realized they weren’t quite as alone as he had thought.

  The young king stood at the open doorway, his eyes wide with shock. His mother stood behind him, her hand on his shoulder. Gervase made his monarch and the queen regent a low bow, then realized that Isabelle had dropped a very lovely curtsey in spite of her weeping. He then straightened and exchanged a glance with the young king’s mother.

  The queen waved her guards inside. Gervase supposed it said something about his life at present that he found himself vastly relieved the men were simply there to remove Guy from the chamber and offer Margaret an escort out as well, not escort him to the dungeons.

  He caught Margaret by the sleeve and stopped her. She looked at him, her visage white.

  “I will settle you somewhere,” he said in a low voice. “I suggest you stay there, comfortably out of sight. You won’t enjoy your life otherwise.”

  She apparently couldn’t muster even the slightest of replies. She simply pulled her sleeve away from him and followed her escort from the chamber. Gervase had the feeling that settling her wouldn’t be anything he needed to concern himself with anytime soon. If she managed to avoid losing her head, she would be very fortunate, indeed.

  He watched the queen exchange a brief word or two with Sir Etienne, which surprised him greatly, but it was over and done with so quickly that he wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined the entire exchange. It had been that sort of day so far.

  He found a chair, sat, and pulled Isabelle down onto his lap. Her weight on his leg almost sent him into oblivion, which had her trying to stand. He shook his head and pulled her back into his arms. He closed his eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck and wept.

  He understood, for a variety of reasons.

  “I want to go home,” she said finally.

  He looked into her red eyes and felt his heart stop. “Artane?”

  She blinked. “I was thinking Monsaert. Unless—”

  He shook his head and pulled her close again. “Monsaert,” he said quietly. “But perhaps we’ll stop at the abbey so we can deposit your grandfather back where he belongs.”

  “My grandfather?”

  “He was hiding behind a screen.” He paused. “I’m not entirely sure he doesn’t know the queen mother.”

  “I have questions for him.”

  “You aren’t the only one, love,” he said with a weary smile. He closed his eyes, let out a long, slow breath, then listened to her brothers, her grandfather, and his younger brother discuss the events of the day.

  He had no stomach for the conversation. Perhaps he would manage to discuss the particulars with Isabelle’s brothers and his at some point, but at the moment it was all he could do to simply think about what he’d learned that day.

  Guy de Seger, of all people. The epitome of all knightly virtues, with the possible exception of decent sword skill. Gervase could hardly believe that his brother, his father’s second son, could have been responsible for so much misery. His father’s death, which, now that he thought about it, had reportedly come upon him after a very brief illness. Isabelle’s terrifying journey to France. It was little wonder that Guy had suggested she be put to work in the kitchens. Perhaps he had thought to spirit her away when no one was looking and set her to her predetermined task.

  Gervase supposed it would take him quite a while before he was able to think about that without feeling rather ill.

  He supposed he could now credit his younger brother with his own wounding. Fortunately, as Joscelin had once pointed out, his would-be assassin hadn’t been a very skilled shot, else he would have been dead, not left with a limp. Perhaps a few more visits to Sister Jeanne would remove even that reminder of what Guy had tried to do to him.

  So much pain caused by a pair of souls fixated on things that, in the end, didn’t matter. He shook his head, then pushed his thoughts aside. He closed his eyes, held his lady, and was grateful for the ability to do so.

  One test down and only Rhys de Piaget left to face.

  He hoped he wasn’t breathing easily prematurely.

  Chapter 27

  Isabelle woke, then looked at the canopy of the bed she was lying in. She lay there for several minutes, trying to decide why it was she felt as if she had been to Hell and back. Then she remembered the truth of it. She had been to Hell and back.

  In that moment, she realized that there was in life a great abyss between knowing something and actually doing the same. Take embarking on an adventure, for instance. ’Twas one thing to stand in the shadows and plan a grand journey full of peril and the unknown; it was another thing entirely to actually be off on the same, trying to keep one’s feet aboard a heaving ship, trying to keep one’s heart protected whilst in the care of a terrible rogue.

  Shoving a knife into the back of that rogue’s brother whilst he’d been about the nefarious business of attempting to kill the man she loved.

  She would have heaved again, but she was past that somehow. All she could do was let the tears trickle down her temples and wonder if she would ever stop shaking. She closed her eyes and concentrated on simply breathing for quite a while until she thought she could perhaps look about her and see where she was without making any untoward noises. She looked to her left to find none other than her mother sitting there in a chair, watching her.

  She crawled out of bed with a cry and threw herself into her mother’s arms. Gwen laughed a little, then reached to her right and pulled a blanket over and around Isabelle.

  “Poor lamb,” she said, sounding pained. “Y
ou’ve had quite a time of it, I understand.”

  “Oh, Mama, you’ve no idea.”

  “Then tell me, love. Tell me everything.”

  Isabelle wasn’t sure where to begin, so she began at the end and worked her way backward. She finished her tale with the last thing she remembered at home, which was standing at Artane’s gates, having a hurried conversation with Arthur of Harwych. She wasn’t entirely sure she also didn’t remember riding away from Artane, looking at it over her shoulder, and feeling as though she would never see it again.

  “Oh, Isabelle,” Gwen said with a sigh, “what in the world drove you to such a course?”

  Isabelle looked at her mother. “Did they not tell you?”

  Gwen shook her head. “I’ve heard many things, but not that.”

  Well, there was surely no reason now not to be honest. “I received a missive,” she said slowly, “one that said Grandmother and Grandfather would be slain if I didn’t appear in France as quickly as possible. I feared to say anything to anyone.”

  Gwen rubbed her back soothingly. “I can’t say that I blame you, love, or that I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your place.” She paused, then shivered. “The risk you took was great, however.”

  “I was fortunate that Gervase found me,” Isabelle agreed.

  “So you were.” Gwen nodded behind her. “I believe he’s managed the feat again, only this time with a companion. Robin, darling, how are you?”

  “Acting as chaperon to this one there,” Robin said with a snort. “Seems he already has a bodyguard in that wee thing you’re holding, so I’m only here to make sure he behaves himself.”

  Isabelle looked over her shoulder to find Robin standing at the foot of her bed with Gervase standing behind him. She glared at her brother, because it felt like a normal and reasonable thing to do. Robin only laughed and leaned over to give her a loud kiss on the cheek.

  “That was good work you did, Iz,” he said cheerfully. “I don’t suppose I need to give you any lessons in knife play now, but don’t say I’m not willing to.”

  She supposed there were several things she could say, but the thought of any of them having anything to do with what she’d just been through was more than she could stomach. She shot her brother a weak glare, but he only laughed and stepped aside. Gervase went down on his good knee and inclined his head to her mother.

  “My lady Artane,” he said politely.

  “My lord Monsaert,” Gwen said with a smile. “Isabelle has been telling me a fascinating tale about her time spent tidying up your kitchens.”

  Gervase looked far more uncomfortable than he should have. Isabelle found it in her to smile.

  “Mama, don’t tease him. He was distracted.”

  “And determined to spend the rest of his life making up for the error,” Gervase said solemnly. “If your husband will consider it, my lady.”

  Robin slapped Gervase affectionately on the back of the head. “He’s outside sharpening his sword, my lad. What does that tell you?”

  “It tells me that if you call me lad one more time, I’ll stick you for it.”

  Robin bounced on the bed and chortled. “Ah, a brawl. I was robbed of my sport at Louis’s hall, you know, so I must look for a replacement as soon as possible.”

  Isabelle looked at her mother in despair but Gwen only smiled.

  “Pull up a stool, Your Grace,” Gwen said, “and sit with us for a bit.”

  Isabelle was happy to sit wrapped in her mother’s arms with Gervase’s hand smoothing over her hair. She listened to her mother and her love speak of simple things and was content to leave them to it. They kept at it for longer than she’d dared hope before the conversation wound back around to things Isabelle was far less comfortable with.

  “You know, Lord Gervase,” Gwen said softly, “you could talk to Robin about the trials of a woman saving the life of the man she loves.”

  Isabelle watched Gervase look at Robin in surprise.

  “In truth?” he asked.

  Robin lifted his eyebrows briefly. “’Tis entirely possible that my lady might have known a bit more than I did about a lad who wished me ill—I’m not admitting anything, of course—and that I might have been looking in the wrong direction—again, not that I’m admitting anything but perfect awareness—”

  “Robin?” Isabelle said with a sigh.

  “Aye, sister?”

  Isabelle thought of all the things she could say to her brother, but realized very quickly that Robin knew exactly how Gervase felt and Anne might be exactly who she needed to talk to. She looked at her brother.

  “Say on,” she whispered.

  Robin shrugged. “I won’t say that Anne didn’t have terrors at night for quite some time. I would make light of it, but the truth is, it was my privilege to be there to hold her as she grieved.” He smiled faintly. “I suppose my slobbering gratitude to her for my sorry life wasn’t displeasing to her.” He looked at Gervase. “Slobber, my lad. Often.”

  “I will,” Gervase said seriously. He looked at Isabelle briefly, then rose. “I will leave you in peace, my lady.”

  Isabelle watched him collect Robin and go, then shivered in spite of herself. If she hadn’t killed Guy . . .

  She crawled off her mother’s lap. Obviously she’d spent too much time already that day entertaining idle thoughts. She looked at her mother. “Where do you think they’ve gone?”

  Gwen smiled. “To the lists, I imagine.”

  Isabelle felt her mouth fall open. “But Guy hurt Gervase’s leg so badly yesterday.”

  “I don’t think your father cares. Actually, I imagine Gervase doesn’t care, either. I understand he was prevented from an early start in the lists only by a desire to assure himself that you were well.”

  “Who else is there?” Isabelle demanded.

  “Robin, of course,” Gwen said. “Miles, though he doesn’t seem all that interested in the sport. He’s too busy talking to Etienne about things I don’t think I want him considering. John and Montgomery are waiting their turn, as you might expect. Montgomery has expressed a desire to meet you in the lists as well, which you might find surprising. Or not.”

  Isabelle looked at her mother with a fair bit of reluctance. “I understand I clunked him over the head with a shutter.” She paused. “In a roundabout way.”

  Gwen rose. “I believe he’s interested in discussing that with you in detail.”

  Isabelle threw her arms around her mother and hugged her. “I’m so happy.”

  “That your brother wants to meet you in the field or that your would-be lover is going to be confined to his bed for a fortnight?”

  “Nay, Mama,” she said, pulling back and looking at her mother seriously. “That Gervase knows my name.”

  Gwen laughed a little, then kissed her on both cheeks. “He certainly does, love. Best wear something warm if you’re intending to spend the morning watching the battle. I’ll see if someone can’t be prevailed upon to bring you something to eat later.”

  Isabelle nodded, then took her mother’s advice on clothing. Still, she shivered as she left the warmth of her chamber and hurried out to the field where the men of her family were gathered. She had the feeling that had less to do with the weather than she might have wished.

  She paused in the cloister and hid behind a pillar where she could see where danger lay before she walked out directly into it. Gervase was in the middle of the field, such as it was, facing her father. He was on his feet, which she supposed was a good sign. The line of souls waiting to have their turn was, she supposed with less enthusiasm, not a good sign. She left the safety of her hiding place and sidled up to Miles, because that seemed a less dangerous proposition than hopping up onto the wall to sit next to Montgomery.

  “How’s he doing?” she whispered.

  “I believe there’s been some pointed conversation about his care of you,” Miles said with a smile. “That’s gone about as you might expect.”

  Isabelle didn’t
have to ask if Robin had had his turn yet. He was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, looking as fresh as if he’d just rolled out of bed. She eased forward and looked around Miles. John and Montgomery were there, leaning against the wall and watching with stony expressions on their faces. Isabelle took a deep breath, then walked around Miles to stand in front of her younger brothers. She looked first at John.

  “Good to see you, brother,” she said with a smile.

  John pulled her into his arms, embraced her so tightly she squeaked, then set her away from him. He nodded briskly to his right where Montgomery was standing, scowling fiercely. Isabelle put her hands on his crossed arms.

  “Montgomery.”

  He looked at her. His eyes were very red, as if he had tears to shed but couldn’t. She put her arms around him and held on to him tightly.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He shook his head sharply. “You did what was needful.”

  “And when did you come to that conclusion?”

  “An hour or two after I stopped wanting to find you and kill you.”

  She pulled back and smiled up at him. “And how long did that take you?”

  He pursed his lips and unbent far enough to embrace her. “Several days after we learned you weren’t dead, which means I decided an hour ago that I would let you live.”

  John snorted. “Tell the entire truth, Montgomery, you coward. You were fully prepared to do damage to her until you saw what’s out there facing Father.”

  Isabelle moved to sit atop the wall between her youngest brothers. “He’s doing well, isn’t he?”

  And with that, they were off. Isabelle settled herself more comfortably atop the flat rock and listened to her younger brothers and Miles discuss Gervase just as they’d discussed innumerable swordsmen over the course of her life. She found the discussion widened to include the opinion of Joscelin, who revealed himself to be a reasonably fair soul.