“She...I… just...She looks lovely, doesn’t she?”
“Aye, she looks fine. But she’s other fish to fry, believe me.”
“Yes. Yes.” He dragged his eyes with difficulty from where she was whirling, wildly laughing, from one de Fresnay soldier to another. They seemed to be taking terrible liberties with her, but if her father didn’t mind, why should he object?
With a deep sigh he followed Guennec out of the Hall.
Chapter Five
When he reached the stable loft, Raoul was relieved to see Cof huddled in a cocoon of blankets, apparently asleep. He had no idea what he was going to say to him and was glad that, for the moment at least, he could forget about it.
To his surprise, he found it difficult to fall asleep. The loft was draught-free and snug, the cushioning of straw a welcome change from the cold, hard ground. He must have become more used to it than he had realised. As he lay there his thoughts kept returning to Damona. Who was she dancing with now? Should he go back to the Hall and demand his turn? But surely the music had finished. Who was she with, what were they doing? He could picture the entwined couples he had seen in the bailey earlier. Had she been there with someone? He groaned and turned over. He must fight off the tormenting images which filled his mind. Daniel Guennec had been good to him; it was hardly honourable to harbour lustful thoughts about his daughter – especially when she clearly regarded him with derision and contempt. And no wonder, naive and ignorant as he was!
He must think about something else – perhaps about the young bride, Louis de Fresnay’s granddaughter. What did they say her name was? Félice, that was it. Lady Félice de Metz. That’s what she would have been if she had married him. What a joke! Still, he thought he’d have had rather more to offer her than the gross Baron de Montglane, despite his wealth and power. Perhaps he should challenge him to a duel and win the lady for himself! He began to picture the scene – but somehow everything started to become confused...the baron seemed to be turning into a horned monster... His eyes closed and he fell asleep.
The next morning everyone was woken before dawn. Down in the torch-lit courtyard, ale and basins of hot spiced pottage were being distributed by the scullions. The sergeant-at-arms, who seemed to be organising the hunt, assigned Guennec and his men to various parties of beaters and they were sent off, armed with long sticks, to flush out the game.
As they left, the gentry were descending from the Hall to mount up. Raoul lingered for a moment, admiring the splendid horses and gleaming weapons. Even for hunting the men wore full suits of mail, partially covered by richly decorated tunics and long cloaks. He was interested to see that a few of the ladies were taking part; the grooms were holding their hooded falcons. Raoul’s grandmother had never shown any personal interest in the chase. Lady Félice, dressed today in green, was mounted on a pretty grey palfrey.
A horn was sounded and Raoul hurriedly gathered his wits and ran off after the others. Dawn was just breaking and distant bells were ringing for Lauds as they plunged into the mist-swathed forest. Its tranquillity was soon shattered by the crashing and hallooing of the multitude. Raoul stopped hurrying to catch up the party he had been assigned to, falling back to join Connell and Pol Cudenec.
“It’s a bit one sided, if you ask me,” Pol said. “What skill’s involved in tracking down your prey with all this crowd to help you?”
“I think it’s fun,” Connell said. “Don’t be an old spoil sport! Come on, Raoul, let’s run.”
“I’ve not much taste for it, I must say,” Raoul admitted.
“Well, I’m off, anyway!”
“Be careful. If they flush out a boar they can be dangerous – so I’ve heard.”
“You know a bit about hunting, do you?” Pol asked as the boy sped away.
“Not really. I’ve just heard people talking.”
“In the Abbey?”
“Er...yes. Look, there’s a path going off there to the right. Shall we follow it? Everyone else seems to be going the other way. If we’re challenged we can say we got lost.”
“That’s fine by me,” Pol agreed. “Keep the stick, though. It might be useful – if we meet up with a boar.”
Further into the forest the sounds of the hunt faded away. The sun rose, illuminating the bronze and gold of the fallen leaves which carpeted the forest floor. The trees were mainly beech, smooth, tall and stately. In their soft boots, Raoul and Pol were able to walk almost silently. The birds sang around them, unafraid, and in a small clearing they saw a doe with her speckled fawn.
“I prefer to see them like that,” Pol whispered, “rather than running for their lives. I don’t like to see God’s creatures being slaughtered. We should chase them off the other way so that the huntsmen don’t find them.”
“Lord de Fresnay wouldn’t approve,” Raoul said.
“He can hunt them another day – without our help.”
Arms outstretched and sticks flailing they ran forward. The deer bounded off among the trees in alarm.
By what seemed to be about mid-morning, the path had vanished and they had come a considerable distance from the castle.
“We probably are lost now,” Raoul said, sitting down on a moss covered fallen trunk.
“Not me,” said Pol. “If the sun’s up or there’s stars to follow I can always find my way. And there’s landmarks all about. Haven’t you noticed?”
“It’s just trees, isn’t it?” said Raoul with a laugh.
“But there was a spring a mile or so back, and some fine bracket fungus on a fallen tree further on and an owl’s nest where we left the path. Did you not see those?”
“Not one of them! I wish there was a spring here. I’m parched.”
Pol unfastened his pouch and handed Raoul a squat leather bottle.
“You should come prepared like me. Take a drink.”
“Thanks.”
Raoul undid the stopper and drank gratefully. It was cider, cool and sweet. He wiped his mouth and handed the bottle back. Pol took a swig then looked in his pouch again. This time he took out a small round loaf; he broke a piece off and handed it to Raoul.
“What, no cheese?” Raoul said with a grin.
“You cheeky young...” He paused, listening. “Can you hear something?”
Raoul shook his head.
“I don’t think so.”
“Hush. Wait.”
They both sat in silence. From somewhere not very far away, faint cries could be heard.
“It could be an animal caught in a trap,” Raoul suggested.
“Aye, possibly. Bring your stick.”
Setting down the bottle, Pol tucked the bread back into his pouch and led the way cautiously towards the sound. Through a dense screen of holly bushes ahead there was a small sheltered hollow. The strange cries were coming from there. On the far side, among the trees, Raoul suddenly spotted two tethered horses, a grey and a taller roan. At that moment he realised that the hollow’s occupants were people, not animals – were they in pain? Fighting?
“Come away!”
Ignoring Pol’s urgent whisper and the sharp tug on his arm, Raoul heedlessly rushed down, drawing his dagger. Only then did he recognise the woman and register what she and the man were doing.
“Lady Félice!” he gasped.
The girl’s eyes flew open and the couple froze. For what seemed like an eternity no-one moved or spoke. Raoul found himself unable to drag his eyes away from the extraordinary sight of a man’s naked buttocks wedged between Félice de Fresnay’s shapely white legs.
“Get up, you fool!” As if jolted back into life, the girl pushed her lover away. Bemused, he scrambled to his feet, fumbling to cover himself. Raoul sheathed his dagger.
“Does this mean the hunt’s nearby?” Félice demanded angrily as she pulled down her gown and stood up.
“No, my lady.” Embarrassed by what he had witnessed he found it hard to meet her eyes.
“What are you doing here, then? You’re one of the beaters ar
en’t you?” She indicated to the stick.
“Yes, my lady. I became separated from the others. I heard...a sound. I thought someone was in distress.”
Félice shot a glance at her companion. The young man was now properly dressed again; in a groom’s livery, Raoul noticed in surprise. Despite his dark good looks he seemed to have nothing to say for himself. He merely stood dully as if awaiting instructions.
“Well, I can’t say your presence is exactly welcome,” she said to Raoul, “however chivalrous your intentions. And as you obviously know who I am my reputation is now in your hands.”
She turned away and picked up her belt which still lay on the ground. Attached to it was a small purse which she now opened.
“It’s particularly annoying,” she continued, “as I haven’t even had what I came for. And this dolt will be incapable of anything after such an interruption. So,” she took out a silver coin and offered it to him with a winning smile, “is this enough to buy your silence?”
She was a few inches shorter than Raoul. Her golden hair had partially escaped from its neat braids and a few rusty-red leaves had become entangled in it. Her cheeks were prettily flushed, her skin smooth and soft looking. Between her parted lips he could see pearly white teeth. Her eyes, periwinkle blue, fringed with long dark lashes, gazed appealingly up at him.
“I’d rather have a kiss,” he said.
She frowned and he expected an angry rebuke. Then she looked at him again, thoughtfully this time.
“You’re the little minstrel, aren’t you?” she said softly. “I noticed you last night.”
“That’s right, my lady. Raoul de...Raoul Bouillet, at your service.”
“At my service? I like the sound of that.” She smiled and Raoul’s body responded to the promise in her eyes. “Go and wait by the horses, Gaston,” she instructed the groom.
“But, my lady,” he protested, “this boy is just...”
Félice whirled round angrily.
“Say one word and I will tell my grandfather to dismiss you!” she said. “Now do as you are told!”
Looking sullen, he obeyed her.
“Now, then, little minstrel, Raoul de... Bouillet, I think that if we make this OUR secret instead of it being just MY secret then you are unlikely to reveal it. What do you say?”
She ran her fingers caressingly down his chest.
“Absolutely, my lady.” Raoul found his voice with difficulty. “It will be a pleasure.”
“Yes, I rather think it will.
She took his hand and drew him down onto the ground beside her. Momentarily, Raoul wondered what had happened to Pol, then he gave himself up to the overwhelming tide of sensations induced by her expert mouth and skilful hands.
Some considerable time later, when he was again capable of rational thought, he wondered how it could be that a seemingly virtuous, modest young lady could have acquired so much experience in the art of love. It had been very different to anything he had experienced with Sévrine. He leaned on one elbow and looked down at her face.
“Félice?”
“Mmmm?” She opened her eyes lazily and smiled.
“Are you going to marry Baron de Montglane?”
“Yes, of course I am. Why?”
“Nothing. I just...”
“Hush, little minstrel. Don’t think about it. I try not to.”
She closed her eyes again and snuggled closer to him. He bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips.
“Shall I...see you again?”
She looked up at him and laughed.
“I don’t think you mean ‘see’, do you?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
“If it’s fine tomorrow, I’ll meet you here. If not...where are your quarters in the castle?”
“Above the stables. But you can’t go there. It would be dangerous!”
“A little danger adds spice. I’ll be shut up with my boorish husband soon enough.”
He made an exclamation of distaste.
“I’m a woman, Raoul. I’ve got to find pleasure where I can. If it’s raining tomorrow, find some reason not to go on the hunt. I will visit you if I can. Or are you afraid?”
“Not too afraid, no. I’m sure it will be worth it!”
He laughed ruefully and kissed her. His body stirred again as she responded eagerly, deepening and prolonging the kiss. A few moments later she broke away and stood up with obvious reluctance.
“I must go now,” she said, “or I’ll be missed. You must help me tidy myself.”
Soon Raoul had made sure that her gown was straight, her belt properly fastened, her braids neat and free of leaves.
“Till tomorrow, then, my friend,” she said, reaching up to kiss him. “I can count on your loyalty now, can’t I?”
“Unto death!”
“Silly boy!”
She laughed and clambered up the banking towards where the horses were tethered. He heard her calling to the groom and then saw the horses moving away through the trees. She had called him ‘boy’ but he was probably a year or two older than she was.
Raoul went back through the holly bushes and looked around him. The cider bottle was gone.
“Pol! Pol! Where are you?” he called softly.
If his friend had left, getting back to the castle was going to be tricky. The sun was still high. Probably it was close to midday. Well, if the worst came to the worst, perhaps he could simply stay where he was and wait for her to return the next day! He didn’t exactly relish the prospect of a night alone in the wood.
“Pol! Are you there?” he called.
There was a noise behind him and Raoul swung round, reaching for his dagger.
“Oh, there you are,” he said, relieved that his fellow minstrel hadn’t deserted him. “Where have you been?”
Pol grinned.
“Up there,” he said, pointing to the broad branch of a tall beech tree. “You’re not the only one who can rest in odd places. If that groom had seen me I’d have been in trouble – unless of course the lady was prepared to buy my silence too – she seems to have quite an appetite!”
Raoul blushed.
“You – er – heard all that, did you?”
“It’d have been hard not to. I must say, lad, you’ve got a nerve – and stamina!”
Raoul’s blush deepened.
“Come on, now, there’s no need to be bashful. I’d have given a lot to be in your place, though I wouldn’t have dared to suggest it.”
“Shall we go back now?”
“Aye, why not? I can’t wait to tell the others about this.”
Pol began confidently to lead the way through the seemingly trackless forest. Raoul followed.
“What about Lady Félice, though? I don’t want to get her into trouble.”
“Don’t worry. Guennec’s Men often discover secrets. But we keep them amongst ourselves. You don’t have to fear that we’d blab. We’ve more to lose than her.”
“That’s all right then.”
“And we don’t have to name names, do we?”
“No. No, of course not.”
“And in any case, Raoul, I think it might be a good idea if Cof knows about this. It might...put him straight, as it were, without you having to hurt his feelings.”
“Yes, I agree. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Leave it to me then,” Pol said.
Back at Bonnebosq Raoul was again astounded by the castle’s lack of security. No-one questioned their identity or even their lateness. At Valsemé people could never come and go as they pleased. As dinner was already in progress it was impossible for them to go into the Hall but there were plenty of leftovers available in the kitchens. They sat on a bench against the wall and helped themselves. Raoul ate ravenously, much to Pol’s amusement.
All the talk amongst the scullions was of the tournament which was being held that afternoon. There were to be various individual fights between the knights of Bonnebosq and those belonging to Lord de Montglane th
en finally a mêlée where a dozen knights on each side fought in a general free-for-all. Of course lances and swords would be blunted and the object was merely to disarm your opponent, but it was dangerous nevertheless.
“I’d forgotten all about it!” Raoul exclaimed.
“You had other things on your mind,” Pol said wryly, selecting a ripe pear from a basket nearby.
“There’s Daniel and Maeve coming out of the Hall now. Greetings, friends. I’ve got a good story for you!”
“I’ll see you later,” Raoul said hastily, collecting another piece of almond-cake and heading off across the courtyard, “at the tournament.”
He glanced back; the three of them were deep in conversation, Maeve and Guennec visibly amused. He could trust their discretion – at least he sincerely hoped so.
The whole population of Bonnebosq, castle and village, turned out that afternoon to watch the spectacle. The gentry were seated in the covered stand, Lord de Fresnay and his granddaughter occupying the central seats in the front row. Félice’s father and uncles were taking part in the mêlée, as was Baron de Montglane. They therefore watched the early stages of the contest, fully armed, from seats beside the robing tents.
Separated from the lists by a shoulder high palisade, the ordinary folk jostled to gain a good view. Maeve complained bitterly that she was too short to see over the top. Various people objected when Jean Kerjean set Connell on his shoulders but he obligingly let them go in front of him, telling the boy that he expected a full description from him of anything he missed himself.
Raoul worked his way through the crowd until he managed to station himself so that he could see both the lists and the stand. It seemed almost incredible that only a few hours ago he had held Lady Félice in his arms. The recollection of it sent shivers of pleasure running through him even now. She had changed her gown. It seemed to be of a silken fabric, pale yellow in colour. Her hair was covered by a gauzy white veil, held in place by a golden circlet set with gemstones which flashed as they caught the sun. As at table in the Hall, she rarely seemed to speak to her companions. She sat almost motionless, pale and modest, like a carving or a painting of a virtuous princess. Could this truly be the same woman who had writhed in passion, driving him to unimagined heights of ecstasy? It didn’t seem possible.
The Rightful Heir Page 7