“Of course not.” Captain Rénard gave a short laugh.
Suddenly, behind her, Catherine heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Collecting her wits hurriedly, she pulled the door open and stepped into the room. There was a silence and four pairs of eyes regarded her suspiciously.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I am sorry to interrupt you. Master Gilbert, I wanted to ask you to...”
“René, René!” A crimson clad figure pushed past Catherine. It was Odette, she realised, her father’s mistress. Ignoring everyone else present she addressed the steward imploringly. “Surely he must have said something! Given orders that I should have her rooms, her clothes, her jewellery – something! René, please! Tell me what he said!”
Catherine gasped.
“Mistress Taloc! Control yourself.” Captain Rénard rose angrily to his feet.
“Oh, but Captain! You don’t understand what this means to me! I can...”
“I assume you are speaking about my mother,” Catherine interrupted breathlessly. “You are entitled to nothing of hers, I assure you.”
“And what do you know about it?” Odette swung round, her hands on her hips, her dark eyes flashing. “You’ve always been jealous of me! Well, now you’ll have to do as I tell you. I shall be your stepmother.”
“You should be careful of what you say, Mistress Odette.” Ahmed came forward and took the girl by the arm. “I shall send for you in a little while then you can speak to Lord Armand about his intentions – his...er...plans for you. Until then you must be patient.” He steered her over to the door. “Go to your room now and wait.” He paused on the threshold until she had gone. “I must take my leave of you, gentlemen – oh, and the little lady, of course. I must return now to my master.”
“Ahmed...”
“Well, my dear?” He took a step towards Catherine.
She hated to ask him anything but the thought of it was tormenting her. She steeled herself to meet his eyes.
“Will my father marry Odette?”
“Who can say?” he shrugged, grinning. “She is very beautiful, is she not? So good a body – just fine for love-making...”
Catherine felt herself blushing.
“Ahmed! Watch what you say in front of Lady Catherine.”
“Don’t worry, Captain. I don’t mind if he speaks plainly. I am also interested in my father’s plans for Mistress Taloc.”
“And soon we shall know them! Once more, farewell.” Ahmed gave a slight bow and left the room, chuckling.
“But you came here to speak to me, Lady Catherine, is that right?” René Gilbert rose and ushered her to a chair. “What can I do for you?”
Catherine described exactly what was needed to prepare a proper nursery in the main keep for baby Simon.
“That is what my father wishes,” she concluded determinedly.
René Gilbert raised an ironic eyebrow but assured her that he would see to everything without delay.
“Thank you.”
Almost as an afterthought Catherine then asked what arrangements had been made for her mother’s funeral. Father Hervé explained what was planned.
“Father wishes Veronique Kerjean, Mother’s maid, to leave Radenoc afterwards,” Catherine told them. “I don’t know where she is to go.”
To her relief, Captain Rénard offered a solution.
“My sister and her husband have a farm some miles to the west of here – not far from Locronan,” he said. “Her family is large and she can always use more help. If Veronique would go there I could arrange a safe conduct.”
“You are very good, Captain. I’m sure she’ll agree. I could even visit her from time to time if the distance is not too great.”
“That would be a comfort to her, my lady, I’m sure.”
In Catherine’s bedchamber, baby Simon was contentedly asleep in his cradle and the two women were gossiping like old friends.
“Ooh, Mistress Catti, you should hear what happened to Marie at Lugh’s Feast last year. Why it beats all!”
“I don’t think I want to know,” Catherine said, with a shiver. “A woman was killed there this year.”
“I told you about that before I went, didn’t I? And you were all agog at the thought of it!”
It was true. Catherine had been excited at the idea: a stranger’s blood bringing fertility and prosperity to the land. But now, knowing it was one of the players’ women who had been killed, it was different – a sin, a crime: murder. How could that be a good thing?
A knock at the door prevented her replying. It was Jean, one of the pages.
“There’s a lad come up from Kerhouazoc,” he said. “Said his name’s Yon Le Goff and he’s expected.”
“Oh, yes, right. Send him up,” said Catherine. “Does he have a baby with him?”
“Some whining creature. I thought it was a pup.”
“Cheeky boy! Show him the way at once. This woman here is Lord Simon’s nurse, you see. Yon is her brother. You must learn to show a bit of respect.”
“Oh, right.” Unabashed, the page waved a cheerful greeting to Marie and skipped off down the passage.
“He’s took his time,” Marie muttered.
A few minutes later, Jean returned and gestured to Yon that he should enter the room. The blacksmith’s son hesitated in the doorway then pulled off his cap and bobbed his head respectfully to Catherine and Sévrine. Catherine looked from him to Marie and back again.
“You don’t look much like your sister,” she observed in surprise.
“I don’t s’pose I do,” Yon said.
He crossed the room and handed the whimpering baby to Marie before undoing the bundle which was tied across his shoulders. He was broad and well-built and his face had a healthy tan. Where Marie’s pale hair was lank and dull looking, the boy’s was a halo of golden curls. It was hard to guess his age.
“How old are you, Yon?” Catherine asked.
“About ten, I think. I never kept count.”
“You look older.”
“I’ve always been big.”
“He takes after Da. Except he’s got no brains.”
“And I s’pose you has?”
“That will do,” Catherine said sharply. “Come with me, Yon. I’ll take you down to the kitchen and get you something to eat.”
“Mistress Catti, hadn’t I better...?”
“You help Marie with Bihan, Sévrine. You know more about babies than I do.”
“I never been in the castle before, Mistress.” Yon said, staring wide-eyed around him as he was led back along the passage and eventually out into the courtyard. “I’d be gettin’ lost all the time. Big, ain’t it?”
“I suppose so. But I’m used to it, you see.”
“And I expect there’s lots o’ hosses too.”
“Oh yes. Why? Do you like them?”
“Love ‘em. I likes to hold ‘em for my Da, see.”
“Well, I’ll show you the stables, if you like.”
“Yes, please, miss...em...ma’am...em...oh, dammit, what am I meant to call you?”
She laughed.
“Just call me ‘Catherine’, for Heaven’s sake. It will make things much easier.”
“Oh, right! I’m Yon.”
“Here’s the bake-house.”
Catherine was amazed to see the speed and enjoyment with which Yon fell upon a large raisin loaf. He wolfed it down, pausing only occasionally for hearty draughts from a quart cup of ale. Catherine sat on the bench beside him and watched with amusement.
“Is your family Breton?” she asked once he had finished eating. “I’m sure no-one else in Kerhouazoc has your colouring.”
“Ma’s Dad wasn’t,” Yon said, letting out a satisfied belch. “He come from some sea-faring land in the East, she said. Fell for her Ma and stayed here – he was ship-wrecked, half drownded, she said.”
“Yes, that would explain it.”
“Marie’s always said it ain’t fair – me ‘avin’ looks and ‘er not. Makes
her mad, like.”
“I’ll show you the stables now.”
Some armed soldiers had gathered by the well in the centre of the courtyard. Over in the stables their squires and the castle grooms were busy saddling their horses. Unbidden, Yon instantly went to the head of a mettlesome chestnut stallion that was stamping and rolling his eyes in fright. The boy murmured soothingly to it and it quietened at once.
“Who’s that, Lady Catherine?” asked Captain Rénard, coming up to stand behind her.
“He’s the blacksmith’s son from Kerhouazoc,” Catherine said then went on to explain about Marie being her brother’s wet-nurse. In the distance the church bell began to ring for Nones.
“Oh no!” she exclaimed. The significance of the troopers had suddenly dawned on her. “You’re going out after the boy, aren’t you?”
Too late she realised with horror that she’d given herself away.
“You were listening at the door!”
Catherine nodded miserably.
“That was very foolish of you, my lady. It’s lucky that it’s me you’re speaking to – and I won’t say anything.”
“I knew I could trust you,” Catherine said defiantly.
“Well, that’s right, but it’s not the point. What’s your interest in the boy, anyway? What do you know about him?” He looked at her sharply.
“Nothing. But if my father is so determined he should be caught, I think I feel a little sorry for him, that’s all. If you find him, will you tell me?”
“Just between you and me, Lady Catherine, I think he’s far away from here by now. I don’t think he’s in any danger. But if I’m wrong and he’s caught, yes, I’ll tell you.”
“Thanks.”
“Young Le Goff is a natural with horses,” Rénard commented as Yon led the destrier out into the courtyard. “Well done, lad. I wish my squire had half your skill.”
Yon blushingly muttered his thanks as he handed over the reins.
“Come back again next week, Yon,” said Catherine. “You can bring any messages from your family and no-one will mind if you spend an hour or two helping Le Pennec.”
“That’s right. You’re welcome any time, lad,” Captain Rénard agreed, hoisting himself into the saddle.
“Thank ‘ee, sir. Thank ‘ee, Catherine.” His grin was so broad it practically split his face in two.
Catherine waited in the courtyard while the troop rode out with the sturdy figure of Yon Le Goff eagerly jogging along behind them. She liked the boy from Kerhouazoc and was glad that she would see him again soon. Next time she must give him a sack of provisions to take to his family – judging by his appetite they were obviously short of food.
As she went back towards the keep she remembered again about the girl who had been killed. How sad her family must be to lose her. Tristan might have been her sweetheart... or even her husband! She wasn’t sure that she liked that idea. But it had been when she mentioned the rites on Melgorn that he’d become so determined to get away. And if he loved the girl, surely he would go to her funeral. Catherine hoped, desperately hoped, that Captain Rénard was right and Tristan was far away.
Chapter Three
To Catherine’s surprise, she saw Yon Le Goff again much sooner than she had expected. A mere three days had passed. Catherine had managed to slip out to the courtyard with the hope of being able to elude Odette for a while. The blacksmith’s son was standing by the stable door, a broad smile plastered across his none too clean face.
“Greetin’s, m’lady,” he said, grinning still more widely.
“Hello, Yon. What are you doing here?”
“Captain sent for me,” he told her proudly. “With your Ma to be buried on Sunday all manner of fine folk’s expected. So Le Pennec needs help. And I’m it...m’lady.”
“I’m pleased for you. But didn’t I tell you to call me Catherine?”
“Well, Captain’s been tellin’ me what’s proper when I speak to the fine folks, you see. So I thought I’d better start practising.”
“Oh, right.” Catherine laughed. “Call me what you please. It doesn’t worry me.”
Yon frowned and scratched his head.
“It ain’t easy, though. Captain said I was to call ‘em all m’lord and m’lady but the chap here says not her in the red: Mistress Taloc, I think she’s called. He said that she wasn’t no lady and I wasn’t to call her nothing polite. I mean how am I meant to know? She’s dressed finer than anyone.”
“If you want my advice, you’ll keep well out of her way. That’s what I’m doing now.”
“Here, Le Goff, come and rub down the grey, will you?” Rhuys Le Pennec, the head groom bustled out into the sunlight. “Oh, sorry, Lady Catherine. I didn’t know you was there.”
“That’s all right. Do you mind if I talk to Yon while he’s working? I can help if you like.”
“Well...If you’re not needed elsewhere, come in and welcome, my lady.”
Inside the stable it took a few moments for Catherine’s eyes to adjust to the dim light. Yon had gone to the end stall. Picking up a brush from the basket near the door, she followed him and set to work on the great beast’s sweating flanks. No-one would look for her here, surely.
The last few days had been strange – moments of pleasure and satisfaction but many more of fear and anger – and nagging at the back of her mind was a guilty sense that she had never tried hard enough to make her mother’s bleak, unfulfilled life any happier: and now she was gone and it was too late.
At least the boy ‘Tristan’ had not been found. She hugged that thought to her. She had really achieved something there: because of her he had escaped; she had protected him. And Simon was thriving. Comfortably installed in Gilles’s spacious room, Marie and Sévrine were vying with each other over who could care for him best. But if she had evaded the attention of her maid and former nurse, Odette was making her life more difficult as every hour had passed. She had commandeered the solar behind the Hall and had persuaded René Gilbert to support her claim to all Lady Françoise’s possessions. She had surrounded herself with the knights and squires whom Catherine liked least: the boisterous, hard drinking ones, and had insisted that Catherine be constantly by her side – either to run errands or be the butt of vulgar jokes. Since his wife’s death, Lord Armand had kept to his own quarters in the Western Tower, seeing Ahmed and no-one else. To her surprise, Catherine found herself wishing that her father would emerge and take charge as he had always done before. The prospect of Odette being allowed to rule Radenoc was worse than anything else Catherine could imagine.
“How’s babby, then?” Yon asked as he dug dried mud out of the stallion’s shaggy hooves.
“Which? Your sister’s or my little brother? They’re both doing well. Marie’s got plenty of milk and she seems to like it here.”
“It’s a fair treat at home to be without her moanin’.”
“Really! That’s no way to speak about your sister.”
“Folks differ, though, and that’s the truth. Dad says it’s a pity the little ‘un ain’t likely to be next lord. He don’t rate Lord Gilles – he’s a lot different to you, Dad says.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Catherine said with a grin. “Gilles is only my half-brother anyway and he’s much, much older than me. I wonder if he’ll come to Mother’s funeral. I haven’t seen him for years.”
“Well, Dad says I’ve to keep right out of his way.”
“There you are!” The hissed exclamation made Catherine jump round in alarm. It was Ahmed. “I have been searching for you everywhere.”
“Yes, well, I’m here. What do you want?”
“It is not me who wants.” His eyes narrowed. “My lord wished to see you – some time ago now. He will be very angry to have been kept waiting. You must come with me at once.”
“Very well. Goodbye, Yon. I’ll see you later, I expect.”
She followed Ahmed’s stooped figure as he shuffled rapidly across the courtyard, through the Hall a
nd up into the solar beyond. It was a relief to be able to ignore Odette’s indignant exclamation as she passed through, though as she mounted the stairs to the tower room, her heart thumped in nervous anticipation.
“I have found the girl at last, my lord,” Ahmed was saying as she entered. His dark eyes travelled contemptuously over her and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I fear she stinks of stables.”
Catherine flashed the servant an angry look and swung round to face her father.
“I’d rather smell of horses than reek of musk and civet,” she declared.
“You are referring to Mistress Taloc, I assume,” Armand said, a slight smile on his thin white face.
Catherine approached the great carved chair where he sat.
“Are you going to let her do as she pleases, Father? It’s intolerable!”
Armand’s gaze shifted momentarily to Ahmed and then back to his daughter.
“But Ahmed thinks very well of Mistress Taloc. He has spoken most persuasively to me on her behalf. In what way is she ‘intolerable’? Please tell me.”
Catherine swallowed. Should she say nothing? Or should she tell him how she felt? She gripped her hands together.
“I don’t think she is a suitable person to direct Radenoc’s affairs,” she said carefully, her eyes meeting his. “She expects you to marry her. I don’t think you should.”
There was a spark of anger in his cold green eyes and his hands gripped the arms of his chair. Again he looked from Catherine to Ahmed and back again. Then he let out his breath in a sigh and seemed to relax.
“You do not consider that she would make a suitable step-mother for you?” he said, a quizzical note in his voice.
“I do not need a step-mother at all,” Catherine declared. “But more importantly...” There was a low stool by Armand’s chair. She sat down on it and looked at him intently. “...She would not be a good step-mother for Simon.”
“Ah yes, little Simon. It was to enquire for your brother that I sent for you. Ahmed considers it to be very unlikely that he will survive. What is your opinion?”
“He is strong and healthy, Father. There is nothing to suggest that he will not.”
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