Henri still found Ysabel beautiful. She knew this. He avoided her. That told her a lot. She had asked Johanna to put Henri beside her at all meals. Since last month, Maríana had been taking all of her meals in her chamber, so Johanna agreed. At each meal, whenever Ysabel touched Henri -- reaching for her goblet, pushing her sleeves up, leaning toward him to speak -- he became very still. And she felt the heat emanating from his arms, his thighs. Henri had even taken to immersing himself in the lake every morning. Ysabel knew from her brother that priests recommended cold water as a cure for lust. Her brother had told her that it was painful, this cure, and did not entirely soothe the heat in his blood.
Just last week Ysabel had come upon Henri after his morning swim in the lake, had seen him rise up out of the frigid water, his golden brown hair darkened, sparkling drops flying when he shook his head. She should have looked away; it was unseemly to stare at his naked form, but she could not tear her eyes from the glory of his body. Jeanne had pulled at her gown, tried to bring her away. It was the silly woman's chattering that had drawn Henri's eyes to where Ysabel stood. He had turned aside and draped the cloth Robert handed him across his shoulders, hiding his body from her sight.
But Ysabel had felt the heat behind his eyes. His fire was banked, but what would it take to fan the flames? Her pathetic stepdaughter spent all her days and nights huddled in her chamber with Alys or puking in the privy. Stupid girl could not even keep a baby in her. Ysabel sat up so quickly that red and black spots floated before her eyes. That must be why Henri could not bed Maríana! The midwife must have told Johanna that Maríana would lose the baby, and Johanna would allow nothing to harm her precious granddaughter.
So, Henri was barred from Maríana's bed, was he? Well, Ysabel could use this. She would continue to follow Henri, wait for the opportunity to approach him. He could not hold himself in check forever.
But what if Maríana recovered? Ysabel ground her teeth. The thought of Maríana and Henri together made her stomach churn. Ysabel would not use a mannikin again, but there must be some way she could eliminate her rival. A scandal? Perhaps she could plant evidence of a prior lover, that de la Guerche knight. But no. Richard had been gone for too long. No one would believe it. Ysabel's thoughts drifted now, turning in slow circles. A scandal. No one ever talked about Maríana's mother. That was strange, wasn't it? What had happened to her? Thérèse had been young when she died, that was all Ysabel knew. She leaned forward and vigorously rubbed her forehead. An idea had started to form, but she needed information first.
Servants' gossip. That was what she needed. Servants were always ready to tell tales. Ysabel rose from the bed and looked around her. She needed someone to deal with her chamber, to sweep up the broken goblets, to repair the torn garments. Jeanne always cleaned Ysabel's room. She would find this Jeanne.
YSABEL DESCENDED the central stairs to the great hall. The palais was filling with guests for her stepdaughter's wedding. The ceremony was set for late November, but many were arriving early to avoid early snow storms and to enjoy Reuilles-le-château hospitality. Ysabel snorted. November was a stupid time for a wedding, but Henri and Maríana could not wait, could they? Most of these guests would be staying until the snows melted in the early spring.
She glanced at the young knight walking at her side and smiled. After Jeanne had told her to ask Richard about Maríana's mother, Ysabel had gone to the knights' room to find Richard and discovered that he was expected, but had not yet arrived from Bourdeilles. However, a friend from his days as a squire, Jean-Pierre Rhomboid, was there talking to Arnaut Vaillancourt. Jean-Pierre was now a stalwart knight from his fief near Paris, thoroughly French, and utterly disgusted with the free and easy life he saw at Reuilles-le-château. He had left the knights' room with Ysabel, explaining that he was quartered in the donjon because the palais was overflowing with guests for the wedding. Ysabel had gritted her teeth at the mention of Maríana's wedding, but had formed a smile and asked if he would have some mead with her in the great hall.
After they settled into cushioned chairs near the hearth, Jean-Pierre was only too happy to talk about Maríana. Ysabel sat and stared at him as he told her a tale of a green and gold light that Maríana had woven into the air, causing a great storm of wind to arise. Nonsense, all of it. The girl was just a pale shadow. Maríana could not possibly have the power Jean-Pierre was describing. But Ysabel could use this, yes she could. She gasped and smiled at all the right moments as the pompous dullard gave her everything she needed and more. He said he had not been able to get the image of the green-gold light out of his mind, so he had looked into the history of Maríana's mother.
"They are all witches," he whispered. "Priests from Carcasonne came here while Maríana was still a child, and they took her mother away." Here he nodded sagely and patted Ysabel's knee.
"What did they do to her mother?" Ysabel ignored the hand Jean-Pierre had placed upon her knee and widened her eyes.
Jean-Pierre looked around to see if anyone was listening, then made a sound like the crackling of flames. "They took her all the way to St. Jean Pied de Port to burn her," he said. "They would not have allowed her to be burnt around here. Too many of them here are also witches," he sniffed. "I only came to the wedding to honor Baron de Bauçais."
YSABEL THANKED him for his tale, then nearly spun up the stairs and down the corridor to her room. She went to her table and drew out quill, parchment and ink. Seating herself, she wet the quill carefully and began to write: "Your Eminence..."
She paused. Why not accuse Ibrahim, too? That would rid her of two enemies. Her hand flew across the parchment, only stopping to sprinkle sand across the ink to dry it. When she had finished, she knew that she had sealed Ibrahim's fate and Maríana would join him on the pyre.
She sealed the message with wax imprinted with her mark. Her fingers shook as she carried it down the central staircase and out into the bailey. Could she trust this with Guillaume? He usually saw that messages from the château were delivered. Eh bien. She had no other alternative. Smoothing her expression, she handed the sealed parchment to Guillaume and told him to see it sent to Carcasonne. Then she stood and watched as Louis-Philippe's seneschal placed her document in the leather pack strapped to his servant's horse and ordered the man to carry it to the bishop's residence in Carcasonne.
With any luck, the messenger should reach Carcasonne before the end of October. Ysabel clasped her hands across her belly and turned toward the palais to see Henri stride out of the doors to the great hall.
Chapter 20
HENRI WAS pacing again. All the days seemed to merge. He found himself striding through the corridors, through the great hall, the bailey, even the kitchens. Robert scurried to match his restless motion. The boy said nothing but Henri saw the shadows beneath his eyes. All night, every night they walked the upper hallways, the stables, the top of the donjon. Henri did not pace during the day. There was much to be accomplished at the château now that Johanna and Louis-Philippe were taken up with the preparations for the arrival of Ysabel's child and Henri and Maríana's wedding.
Henri gladly assumed many of the day-to-day details of the management of the barony. Every day he took Louis-Philippe's place in the great hall, hearing complaints and dispensing justice. Most of his afternoons were spent on the jousting fields watching the progress of the squires. But the nights were endless.
He stopped in front of Maríana's chamber and Robert nearly collided with him. Henri caught Robert easily and looked into the boy's pale face, at the green tinge around his mouth. "Robert." The boy lifted his head and stood ready but his hands trembled and he blinked away a trace of moisture in his eyes. Henri sighed. Robert's father would never forgive him if the boy sickened. Glancing up and down the empty corridor, Henri took Robert's arm and said, "Go to bed."
Robert's face sagged with relief. The boy gave a quick bow and stumbled back toward his pallet in the long knights' room. Robert would rest now. God willing, he would not grow ill.
Henri watched his squire's retreating form. He had used Robert as a barrier, first to keep Ysabel at bay, and later to protect the chastity of his betrothed. Now Henri leaned against Maríana's door and shuddered. What was wrong with him? He had gone without a woman for years. During his time in the abbey, desire brought pain; afterward when he found that he could no longer complete the act, he avoided women.
His breath stopped as he thought of Maríana asleep on the other side of the door. He had not needed a woman for years. Yet now he could barely go through a single day without the heavy ache of wanting driving him to pace the corridors all night. He caressed the slick wooden surface of the door, felt its cool smoothness.
He moved away from the door and looked up and down the corridor. Louis-Philippe had his palais arranged for comfort as well as beauty. He had artisans smooth and polish the floors, the doors and frames.
AT FIRST, Henri had dismissed the baron as a weak courtier, interested more in the symmetry of an arched window than in strength of arms. But after watching Louis-Philippe on the fields he revised his assessment. De Reuilles was an able opponent and a wily strategist. And he had readily agreed to the alliance between Bauçais and de Reuilles. When Henri brought the message from Bishop Durand approving the marriage of Henri de Bauçais and Maríana de Reuilles to Louis-Philippe, the baron's eyes had widened in surprise. But he had agreed to the match, even before Maríana knew that she carried Henri's child within her. His child.
Johanna was angry with him. Henri remembered the frost in her eyes when she told him that his betrothed was expecting his child. A flood of joy had warmed his heart when he heard her words, but the midwife had cautioned him. Maríana was bleeding. Johanna had ordered her granddaughter to stay in her chamber, nursed by Alys and the swarthy gardener who somehow seemed to have free access to everywhere in the château.
Once, Henri even thought he saw the raven-haired woman and silver-haired old man from his fevered dream of Reuilles-la-ville coming out of Maríana's chamber. But that could not be. After he recovered, Henri had gone back into Reuilles-la-ville, to the house of Antoine Jakintza, and found it deserted. He must have imagined what happened there. Maríana told him the illness that had confined him to his bed for days after his first visit to Antoine's house in Reuilles-la-ville may have caused the strange dream of a woman with angry gray-green eyes and a man with a silver beard. It must be true, because since that time, Henri had found no one who could tell him of these people. And he could not remember their names.
NOW, HENRI'S breath puffed out between his teeth and his hands clutched the door latch. All he had to do was open the door, order Alys to leave, crawl into bed beside his beloved, hold her... but he could not. The midwife said that he would endanger Maríana's life if he took her now.
"Forty days," the midwife told him. "If we can stop the bleeding for forty days, then we shall see."
Forty days. Henri counted the days, counted them as he paced. Thirty-nine, thirty-eight, now there were thirty days left. Guillaume had noticed Henri's heated pacing, had cautiously recommended one of the kitchen maids. The girl was eager. She joined with all the visiting knights. Henri even went to the kitchen, seeking the girl. But something stopped him. He could not say what it was. The girl was fair. Her face was pleasing. Yet he could not approach her. So he paced.
A groan issued from his throat and he pushed away from the door. His foot trod on something soft. A single yelp of pain echoed behind him. "Robert? I thought..." Henri turned and looked into the wide brown eyes of Ysabel. "Baroness de Reuilles." He caught her as she stumbled against him and held her steady. "I did not hear you. Please forgive my clumsy feet."
"Henri." Ysabel searched his face. "It would seem that you and I suffer from a similar malady."
"What is that?" He could not seem to let her go.
"My husband cannot abide me in his bed now and your bride-to-be cannot have you in hers."
He forced his hands to drop from her arms. "What?"
She reached out and traced his mouth with her fingers. He shivered in response, then ground his teeth. She smelled of roses and warm skin.
"You know where my chamber is." Ysabel backed away. "I will wait there for you."
Henri watched her progress down the corridor, heard her door open and close. "Never." He ran his hand through his hair, felt the skin of his scalp tingle. Why did the touch of Ysabel's hand against his mouth set his blood on fire? He had felt no desire to bed the kitchen maid, yet his body now warred with his will, demanding he join with Ysabel. Never.
THE NEXT night Henri stopped outside Ysabel's door for the hundredth time, and placing his hand upon the latch, opened it. He had left Robert sleeping on the pallet next to his bed. The chamber was dark, but he could still see Ysabel. She was sitting in the bed, naked except for the blankets wound around her.
"Don't worry," she said. "Louis-Philippe never comes to my chamber, and none of the servants would dare enter without my permission. If you like, we can prop the chair against the door..."
Ysabel lifted her arms to him and the blankets dropped away. Henri stood in the doorway looking at her, then he closed the door and dragged the chair over, placing it so entry would be difficult. He stood a moment longer, his eyes taking in the curves of her body. Her breasts had ripened, the nipples a dark pink hue. Her arms had rounded and the curve of her belly drew his eyes to the space between her legs. She had folded her legs, sitting tailor-fashion. Henri swayed, his hand slipping from the chair that barred the door. He went into her embrace.
Chapter 21
YSABEL READ the message Guillaume had given her. "This cannot be right!" she cried. "They cannot be coming for my Louis-Philippe!" She had quivered when she saw the Bishop's seal on the parchment and carried it up to her chamber to open it. Her hands gripped the page and she read through it again. What had gone wrong? She had named only Ibrahim and Maríana. Her eyes scanned the message once more. Yes, Louis-Philippe as well as Ibrahim and Maríana appeared on the list. "What can I do?" Her feet took her to the opposite side of the room and back again.
As she paced, she started speaking to the mannikin. It was something she found herself doing more and more these days. "I will remove Ibrahim. Mother Utarilla can tell me how. Then they cannot know that he and my Louis-Philippe were..." Her throat closed on the word. She wound her mantle around her body, arranging the hood so it hid her face. It was early in the day. If she hurried, she would have enough time to go into Reuilles-la-ville and be back before anyone missed her.
UTARILLA looked the same. Her bright eyes stared at Ysabel when she walked through the door.
"I need to kill someone, old woman," Ysabel said, seating herself across from Utarilla and smoothing her gown.
Utarilla cackled, waving her hands toward Ysabel's belly. "Someone has been riding you, eh? Seems the charm worked."
Ysabel pressed her hands against her belly. "You could say that. But now I need something more and I will pay well."
Utarilla waited, her eyes half-closed.
"I need plants that will kill. Something I can put into drink or food, something that has no taste so he will not know."
Utarilla rubbed her forehead. "Not many things that can do that, no." She closed her eyes and murmured, "Not again. Once is enough, but if I help her again..."
Ysabel leaned forward. "What?" Once is enough? Had the old woman lost her senses?
Utarilla opened her eyes, but she did not seem to see Ysabel. Her eyes blinked twice, then cleared. "There is one thing. The bones could do it, yes. Yellow water." She rubbed her lips and chin. "But you must put it in something sweet and the herbs must be freshly ground, or else it can be detected."
"What must I do?"
"You must make it yourself." Utarilla leaned forward and caught the edge of Ysabel's mantle. "Gather belargusia at the black moon. Dry it in total darkness for three days, then grind it up into dust."
"It is November, old woman. The gardens are all cut back and the be
ds are all made ready for winter."
Utarilla's eyes grew larger, the dark part filling the sockets so that no white showed at all. A shiver ran through Ysabel, but she refused to let the old woman see her fear. She tossed her head. "There was ice on the lake this morning. I cannot wait till spring." Ysabel stood and walked toward the door.
"Wait." Utarilla spoke softly, yet her voice throbbed with a humming sound that compelled Ysabel to stop where she stood. "You will find that there is still belargusia in the garden. Ask one who knows the plants." She chuckled, a low hollow sound. "Some call it `belladoña,' the beautiful woman. Just ask." Her eyes grew even blacker, even larger. "During the same black moon you must dig up a corpse -- child's corpse is best -- take the bones of that corpse and boil them with the powder. Once it is done, drain off the yellow water from the top, put it into a sweet drink and serve it. No matter how little he drinks -- even if he just touches it to his lips-his fate will be sealed."
"How much do I pay?" Ysabel opened her bag and spilled the gold pieces out onto the bed.
Utarilla looked at the gold. "I must take enough," she murmured. "For my grandson and his wife. It must be enough for the smithy he wants to build. Then I can die in peace." She paused, fingering the edges of the coins. Then her ancient, ropy hands swept up the entire amount of gold Ysabel had poured out on the bed.
YSABEL KNEELED in the herb garden. She had waited three days until the new moon after having Yves show her what the Basques called belargusia. She was now digging up just enough to make the yellow water.
Door in the Sky Page 25