Commanded by the French Duke (Harlequin Historical)

by Meriel Fuller

  Edward peered at him suspiciously. Spidery red lines clustered in the inner corners of his watery blue eyes. ‘Are you acquainted with the lady? You sound like you know her.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I’m judging her on her actions. She helped my sister escape at night and hid her so that Bianca was safe. Doesn’t that seem strong to you?’ He struggled to keep the colour from rising in his face; why, even speaking about her turned him into some shambling, lovesick puppy!

  Edward nodded. ‘My mother will make sure that those responsible for what happened will be brought before the courts. Who is the girl’s father? Where is he in all of this? What’s their family name?’

  ‘Claverstock. Her name is Lady Alinor of Claverstock. I never discovered her father’s Christian name.’ He frowned. Edward’s mouth hung open in surprise, cheeks slack.

  ‘Surely you jest?’ Edward croaked out. ‘Alinor of Claverstock, that chit over there? Are you sure?’

  An icy chill crawled up Guilhem’s spine. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Her blessed father has changed his allegiance. I thought he was heading up a campaign in Wales for us and then I find out that he’s sneaked off to join with de Montfort, along with his blasted stepson! Her father is a traitor to the King, Guilhem. ‘

  ‘My God.’ Guilhem shook his head sharply, as if to clear his head. ‘Alinor has no idea.’

  Edward squinted to the women gathered in front of the fire, his top lip twisted into a sneer. ‘How can you be so sure, Guilhem? These women are wily creatures at the best of times. Her father fights against me now and is my enemy. Which makes that girl my enemy, too.’

  Guilhem traced the soft line of Alinor’s cheek, a tantalising wisp of hair curling out from beneath her wimple, pure gold against her pale skin. He remembered those long tresses spread out around her naked body, snaking across the bedclothes as she had lain beneath his hot, blatant gaze, oblivious to his scrutiny. His mouth tightened. She was explaining something to Eleanor, her hands flung out in a graceful arc, demonstrative. Her voice rang out, lilting, melodious. He remembered how his name sounded on her lips, how his heart responded. How when she glanced at him, a runnel of sweet desire pierced his very core. ‘Your enemy?’ he responded gruffly. ‘Have a care, Edward. She’s hardly that.’

  ‘She is by default,’ Edward replied grumpily. He scratched at his elbow, considering. ‘I know the women and children are all innocent in this stupid civil war, but even so...’ He trailed off suddenly, his expression fixed. Before Guilhem could stop him, the Prince strode forward, chainmail glinting, and grabbed Alinor’s arm, his grip cruel. ‘Stand up!’ he barked at her.

  Guilhem sprang forward, pulling Edward away easily. ‘No!’ he growled. ‘You do not treat her like that! Stay sat!’ he roared at Alinor, who had half-risen in her chair, her eyes round and worried. She sank back down tentatively, glancing at Bianca, who responded with a confused shake of her head.

  Scowling, Edward dusted down his arm with a studied, fastidious action on the spot where Guilhem had held him. ‘A little over-protective, I think?’ he said slowly. ‘What is going on here?’

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Guilhem. ‘I only ask that you treat the lady who rescued my sister with more respect.’

  Edward raised his eyebrows in mock disbelief. ‘Then forgive me for thinking there is more to this than meets the eye,’ he said.

  Guilhem folded his arms across his broad chest, creasing the pale-green wool of his clean tunic, mouth set in a stern line. ‘There is nothing going on,’ he bit out.

  Edward laughed, shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fine, if you say so. I only sought to ask for her help in a small matter.’ He turned to Alinor. ‘Forgive me, my lady, but do you know where your father is at this precise moment?’

  Alinor rose to face the Prince, her palms clammy with sweat. Tension shimmered in the chamber; even the Queen’s ladies had paused in their duties, watching Edward from the corners of the room. She pressed her hands down the front of her skirts, the silver embroidery of the fabric glinting in the firelight. Her breath seemed caught in her lungs, stalled, waiting. Guilhem stood a little behind Edward’s lean, imposing figure and she caught the tiny, unmistakable shake of his head. But what could she say to the Prince but the truth? Surely there was no harm in that?

  ‘My father is in Wales,’ she replied quietly. ‘Fighting for the King. For you.’

  ‘Wrong!’ Edward smiled nastily. ‘That is the wrong answer!’

  A faint uneasiness trickled through her, weakening her knees. ‘I...I beg your pardon, my lord?’

  ‘Your dear father has changed sides, Alinor. Your stepbrother, too. Didn’t you know?’

  She staggered back, her eyes fluttering upwards in surprise, her hand scrabbling back to grasp at some sort of support. ‘I...’

  ‘Does it look like she knew, Edward? For God’s sake, stop tormenting her.’ Guilhem pushed past Edward, took hold of Alinor’s arm before she fell. She leaned against him gratefully. Thank God.

  The Queen swept forward in a rustle of silk skirts. ‘What is going on, Edward? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Her family fight for the rebels now, Mother,’ Edward barked out. ‘Claverstock is against us.’

  ‘God in Heaven!’ The Queen threw her hands in the air. ‘When did this happen? Why was I not informed?’

  ‘You couldn’t have known, Mother. Nobody knew, not even Lady Alinor from the look of her. I have only just found out myself.’

  The Queen shook her head, dismayed. A creeping tide of colour, bright red, flooded her cheeks. ‘And I thought it would be a good marriage for Bianca.’ She turned back to the girl sitting by the fire. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear. It seems like you were almost married to a rebel family.’

  Bianca rose from her seat. ‘My lady, I...’

  ‘Thanks to the quick thinking of Lady Alinor, that didn’t happen,’ Edward cut across anything Bianca was about to say. ‘And, due to the situation we are in, I wonder if we might call on her to help us again?’ She caught the musty sift of his breath as his face loomed close hers.

  Instinctively, she shrank back into Guilhem’s hold, the powerful curve of his arm. ‘I’m not sure...’ she hesitated.

  ‘Let me rephrase that,’ Edward said, fixing his peculiar washed-out eyes on Alinor. ‘You will help us.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Now, I intend to rid myself of this infernal chainmail and have a long, hot soak. I will speak to you tonight, at the evening’s feasting. Make sure you sit next to me.’ He grinned up at Guilhem, a triumphant expression playing on his lips, then walked out of the solar, his step light and jaunty.

  ‘What does he want with me?’ whispered Alinor, her fingers clutching at Guilhem’s forearm.

  Tight-lipped, he shook his head.

  * * *

  In a riot of pink-and-orange streaks, the sun dipped below the western horizon. Vast, elongated shadows stretched across the grassland at Knighton: dark contorted images of the huge oaks in the deer park. In the great hall, a fire had been stoked up in the hearth, the candles and torches lit, trestle tables laid with pewter plates and goblets. The hall was alive with colour: the expensive garments of the nobles, their glittering jewels, the gleaming surcoats of the knights embellished with family crests. Woollen tapestries, with scenes of hunting and feasting fashioned from hundreds and hundreds of tiny stitches in rich, vivid colours, adorned the white-plastered walls.

  ‘Alinor, the Queen believes you. We all believe you. The look on your face when Edward told you! I thought you were going to faint. You shouldn’t look so worried, especially as I’m so happy.’ Looking down into the bustling hall from the raised dais where nobles and royalty sat, Bianca raised her goblet and took a delicate sip. ‘The Queen has arranged everything for me: a full escort back to France and a maidservant in attendance! And did you hear, Alinor? She even said she would give me
some of her clothes so I would be able to change into clean garments for the journey! Her own clothes!’ She pressed her hand excitedly against Alinor’s sleeve.

  ‘It’s good news, Bianca,’ Alinor agreed dully. In front of her, on the white linen, her plate was laden with food: thick slices of roast pork, steamed root vegetables, bread. Candles, set into heavy ornate candlesticks, shed their flickering light across the table, reflecting benignly on the smiling faces of the chattering nobles. Her stomach churned with anxiety. She couldn’t even remember placing the food on her plate. The chair next to her remained empty; Prince Edward had still not appeared and neither had Guilhem.

  ‘By the way...’ Bianca leaned conspiratorially into Alinor, nudging up against her arm. ‘What was going on between you and my brother earlier?’

  ‘Earlier?’ Alinor flushed, scrabbling to comprehend Bianca’s meaning.

  ‘I came into your room before, when you were sleeping. Guilhem jumped up like a scalded cat! I swear I have never seen him blush, but he was blushing then; I think I must have startled him. He looked so guilt-stricken, and then he yelled at me, as if I were in the wrong!’

  ‘I don’t remember...’ Alinor trailed off, trying to clear her befuddled mind. Guilhem had been standing over the bed and she had been wrapped in a towel, with a cloak thrown on top. The cloak had covered everything, surely? She had been so tired. A blankness flowed through her brain; she couldn’t seem to recall anything. Her fingers fiddled with the napkin in her lap, smoothing the linen flat, then crumpling it once more into a ball. Across the great hall, a group of musicians began to assemble, tuning up their various instruments with a discordant sound, off-key.

  ‘Well, no matter,’ Bianca said. ‘It was obviously nothing if you can’t even remember it.’

  Alinor shuffled her hips uncomfortably against the dark wood of her polished seat. How long had Guilhem been standing there, whilst she slept?

  The door leading directly on to the high dais from the royal apartments opened suddenly, dragging across the flagstones with a scraping sound, menacing. Guilhem strode in, heading for the seat beside Alinor, followed by Edward trailing behind at a more languid pace, raising his hand in greeting to the people in the hall, a sly smile playing across his lips. Stepping back, Guilhem allowed Edward to sit next to Alinor, then threw himself into the chair next to him, his jaw set in a stiff, inflexible line.

  Alinor recoiled at the rawness in Guilhem’s expression; her hands began to tremble and she placed them carefully on the tablecloth in front of her, fingers spread wide to stop the shaking.

  ‘So, Lady Alinor, I have a proposition for you.’ Edward’s voice possessed a jubilant ring. He edged forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘I have been chasing my tail around this wretched countryside trying to track down the elusive Simon de Montfort and quite frankly, I’m tired. Bored. I need a rest. Someone else needs to do the work for a change. And that person, my lady, is you.’

  Alinor’s eyes sprang wide in horror. ‘I...I beg your pardon, my lord?’ she stuttered out. Perspiration clung to the base of her neck.

  ‘You, Lady Alinor, are going to help me.’

  Beside him, Guilhem scowled, one large fist curling on the tablecloth. ‘You can’t do this, Edward,’ he growled out. ‘You cannot take advantage like this.’

  ‘Oh, but I can, Guilhem. I am the Prince, and, while my father is held captive, I am in charge. She’ll be absolutely fine if you go with her.’ The Prince addressed Guilhem, but he kept his pale-blue eyes pinned to Alinor’s face.

  You go with her. Shock coursed through Alinor’s veins, hot and cold tremors that rattled down to the very core of her. What did the Prince mean? Through a fog of panic, she glanced at Guilhem, at his stark, forbidding profile, at the spike of dark eyelashes framing his sparkling eyes. He knew already. He knew what the Prince was going to ask her and he didn’t like it one little bit. Had they argued? Tension clogged the air between the two men, suffocating.

  ‘I want you to find out where Simon de Montfort is and infiltrate his inner circle. That should be quite easy for you, given that your father is with him,’ Edward sneered down his long sharp nose at her. ‘Prise him away from his knights, from any sort of protection, so that Guilhem and my other knights can take him prisoner. They will bring him to me. Along with my father as well, hopefully.’

  ‘And then what will you do?’ Alinor battled to keep the wobble from her voice.

  ‘Why, I’ll run him through with my sword for all the trouble that he’s caused this country!’ Reaching towards a silver platter, Edward lifted a piece of meat with his fingers; dangling the slice above his mouth, he took a huge bite. Grease dripped down from the side of his thin mouth.

  Her vision blurred, her plate brimming with slowly congealing food swam before her eyes; she sagged back in the chair with the impact of Edward’s words. What Edward was proposing was cold-blooded murder. But how could she defy the orders of a prince? ‘I...’

  ‘I can make life very difficult for you if you refuse to do this’ Edward smirked. ‘For example, I could arrange for you to marry Eustace of Claverstock, just as your stepmother wishes.’

  His outrageous words soaked through the cloying numbness of her brain, driving out her gathering anxiety. A wild, scalding anger whipped through her veins, an unstoppable fire. How dare he? How dare he blackmail her like this, after everything she had striven for? He ordered her about like a common cur, a thrashed dog on a leash!

  She stood up violently, banging her hip against the edge of the table. A pewter goblet full of wine tipped dangerously, threatening to spill. ‘No, you can’t do that!’ Her tone was jagged, accusatory.

  ‘Oh, yes, I can, Lady Alinor.’ Eyes intent on the feast laid before him, Edward began to pile food on to his plate, his manner dismissive. She had been given her orders and he was confident she would carry them out. But he paused for a moment, eating knife poised in the air, his gaze absorbed by a rust-coloured stain on the tablecloth. ‘And there’s no point pleading to my mother, she agrees with me. De Montfort has held the King prisoner for nearly a year now. It’s time he came home.’

  Dimly, as if from behind a padded screen, she was aware of the Queen’s voice, gently reassuring, murmuring something behind her: an apology, perhaps, for what they were asking her to do. Boiling anger shook her slim frame; she wanted to kill Edward, she wanted to wipe that smug, self-satisfied expression from his mean, pinched features, from that sloppy, wet mouth.

  A hand wrapped around her upper arm. ‘Come with me, now,’ Guilhem’s voice ordered her, quietly. A command, not a request. Somehow he managed to extricate her from the table, pulling her between the high-backed chairs. Her gown snagged on a splinter; he twitched the material away with a calm, decisive movement, then clamped her to his side with one brawny arm. The split hem of his pale-green tunic splayed out as he moved forward, Alinor stumbling at his side. She dragged against his hold, angry at his intrusion, his interference, wanting to yell and scream and shout.

  ‘Stop it.’ Guilhem tilted his head down to hers. ‘Do you want to be thrown in the dungeons?’ He marched her firmly down the steps and into the lower area of the hall, where the trestle tables thronged with peasants, knights, serving maids—all manner of classes eating, gesticulating with raised knives, pointing fingers, their voices raised against the lilting jig played by the musicians.

  Passing beneath a fluted stone arch, he bundled her down a narrow passageway; light streamed in from outside, radiating off the white-plastered walls, forcing her to screw up her eyes against the brightness. Wind scurried through the constricted space, racing over the uneven flagstones, cold and nippy, rippling and lifting Alinor’s skirts. The chill breeze brushed her legs; she shivered. Guilhem held her hand now, tugging her relentlessly, out into the courtyard gardens, neat rectangular beds of earth filled with herbs and vegetables. The scent of lavender permeat
ed the air. In sheltered spots, insects spun, zig-zagging crazily in the low sunlight. The sound of music chased after them from the great hall: the fiddle and the harp, muted, then a spurt of laughter. Beneath an arbour heavy with climbing roses, she managed to pull away from him, digging her heels in. ‘How can he do this to me, Guilhem? How can he?’

  Guilhem crossed massive forearms across his chest, observing her slowly. His eyes were the colour of a flat, calm sea, pewter-brilliant. ‘Because he’s the Prince, Alinor. His command is the law.’ A single rose petal, dislodged from the chaotic jumble of rose branches above him, spiralled down and landed on his shoulder.

  A furious sob ricocheted through her chest. Her voice was high, shrill. ‘How can he be allowed to do such things? To blackmail me like this? Surely the Queen doesn’t agree with his decision? I have to go back in and appeal to her!’ She turned on her heel, her thin-soled slippers grinding into the flagstone path.

  ‘Alinor, stop.’ Guilhem’s voice held a warning. The strengthening breeze caught his tawny hair, rippling the thick, glinting strands, and sent a scurry of petals downwards, a shower of pink-silk scraps. ‘Without the King the Queen has no power over Edward; he can do what he likes. Don’t go back in there.’

  ‘But it’s outrageous what he’s asking me to do!’

  ‘I agree. But Edward has a volatile temperament, I would not like to see you punished for this.’

  ‘Oh, he wouldn’t!’ she flashed at him boldly, sticking her chin in the air. The shadows from the rose trellis criss-crossed her face, making her eyes more intensely green, bottomless pools of emerald. The pulse in her throat thrummed frantically against gossamer-white skin. Despite her outward show of bravado, she was frightened.

  ‘He would,’ Guilhem said sternly. ‘He has sent women to their death before, for less than you have done today.’

  Her lungs emptied with a sudden whoosh of air; her hands fluttered upwards, touching her face, the wrap of cloth at her neck. His arms came forward, hands curling about her upper shoulders, supporting her. ‘My God,’ she ground out bitterly, ‘the man is a monster! Why in Heaven’s name is he your friend? Why do you remain loyal to him?’