“Amandine.”
That voice was persistent, insistent, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. Instead, she dreamt of her cat, Elouan. He was sat on the steps that led from the chambers down to the Hall. Elouan looked up at her and meowed with distress. She bent to pick him up, but he scampered out of reach. It was then she noticed the fire — Elouan was on fire, the flames licking at his fur. And then he was running. Running away from her, and she followed. Running down the stairs he went, and into the Great Hall itself. She was close on his heels, but not close enough to reach him. She skidded to a stop and stared in panicked amazement as the cat raced across the Hall and jumped on to the King’s throne, but it wasn’t the King’s throne, it was a throne made of skulls. They were du Lac skulls although she didn’t know how she knew that. What she did know was that there was a space on the throne, a black hole that needed one more skull to finish the set. With a feeling of doom, she realised that the hole was waiting for her skull, and once her skull was added to the collection, the throne would be finished. Elouan sat, licking his paws and washing his face, seemingly unaware of the flames and the significance of the skulls and what it would mean for his mistress.
“Ah, you found her, Elouan, well done.” A large man stepped towards the cat, and then he leant over and stroked Elouan’s head. The traitorous feline began to purr with contentment at being petted.
“Lady Amandine,” the man turned, and to her horror, Amandine saw that it was the late Abbot. His face was covered in blood and mud, and instead of eyes, he had two black pits that flashed with flames. She took an involuntary step backwards, away from this demon, this devil, but someone grabbed her shoulder, and she could not move. Both the Abbot and the cat began to walk towards her, their faces distorted as the flames took hold of them both. The Abbot reached out to her with a flaming hand that was dripping blood as a candle does wax. Maggots began to fall from the ceiling, and they blindly crawled all over her, but she couldn’t shake them off. The flames spread from the Abbot and the cat, and they began to eat up the Hall as if it were built with nothing but dry tinder. The flames were getting closer and closer. She knew that this was death, and the Abbot was the Devil, but then she saw something extraordinary. A great light shone down from the ceiling, chasing away the maggots and putting out the flames. The Abbot screamed and disappeared in a cloud of white smoke, the same happened to the cat. A single white feather floated slowly towards her, and she reached out and caught it. The sweetest music began to play. It was a seductive sound and utterly enthralling. The music was calling her. She felt peace descend upon her soul, and she caught herself smiling. She took a step towards the light, but the hand on her shoulder tightened.
“Don’t leave me.”
Merton’s voice again, coming from behind her, but she chose to ignore it, for the light in front of her promised sanctuary and a world without pain and judgement. She reached out with her hand, stretching towards the light.
“I love you.”
She stopped for a second and listened. She must have imagined Merton’s voice, but the light in front of her was real, she reached towards the light again.
“Amandine, don’t you dare give up. I love you. I need you. I can’t do this alone, not anymore.”
Merton’s voice sounded so desperately sad, that she made the mistake of turning around to look for him. The light abruptly blazed up so brightly that she was temporarily blinded, and then it disappeared as suddenly as it came and she was left in a pit of darkness.
“Amandine.”
She looked desperately around her, but she couldn’t see anything.
“Amandine.”
“MERTON,” she screamed his name, desperate tears falling from her eyes. “Where are you? I can’t see you. MERTON.”
With a loud intake of breath, Amandine jumped and sat up. Her heart was pounding so fast, and she was panting as if she had run a long way. It was a dream, just a dream, nothing more.
Amandine took a moment to calm herself. She then began to look around in an attempt to get her bearings. But it was dark, as if it were night, and the air was cold, and she could hear the sea. She looked up, and instead of a ceiling, she could see the stars. This wasn’t her chamber. She wasn’t in the castle. Was she on a boat? What the hell was she doing on a boat?
“Shh, it’s all right, you are safe now.”
There was Merton’s voice again, but it wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. It was a dream.
“Lie back down.”
She felt someone tug on her arm and thinking it was an extension of her dream, she obeyed. She lay with her eyes wide open, listening to this stranger’s heartbeat. She did not protest as he began to play with the strands of her hair. Instead of frightening her, his touch felt comforting and familiar. Gradually her heartbeat began to slow and once again her eyes felt heavy. She would close her eyes for a moment, not for long, she promised herself. Just for a moment…
She must have gone back to sleep for the next time she awoke the moon was high in the sky. She wet parched lips with her tongue. Her throat was so dry that she had difficulty in swallowing.
“Water,” she gasped out, not expecting anyone to help her.
The man beneath her moved, and his arm dropped away from her hair. The next thing she knew he was sitting up and taking her with him. She was too weak to ask him who he was, or where she was. All she could think about was water.
“Take it slowly,” the man advised as he placed the cup to her lips. Her hands covered his on the cup and she began to drink. The water wasn’t fresh, it was days old, but it would do. She drank greedily, only stopping when he took the cup away from her mouth. She complained, with a strange whining noise and reached for the cup.
“No. You must not drink too much at once,” he warned. “You will be sick again.”
“I am hungry,” Amandine stated weakly, she could smell roasting fish in the air and it tempted her beyond reason. She knew she should be asking questions, but for the life of her she could not think of any, not now, not when her stomach felt as if her throat had been cut. When was the last time she had eaten? She couldn’t remember.
“Sampson,” the man called.
She heard rather than saw another man come to sit next to her. “I’ve mashed up some fish as best I can. Gruel would be easier on her stomach, but as we don’t have any of that, fish is the next best thing. We will take it slowly. She has to keep this down.”
She felt a spoon touch her lips, and like a toddler, she opened her mouth. The fish was fresh and hot, although the stranger had blown on it. The fish was soft on her tongue and yet, it was not easy to swallow. The man obviously realised this, for he held the cup once more to her mouth. She ate several more mouthfuls, but then exhaustion took over again, and she leant back against the chest of this man who made her feel protected. Within moments she was asleep.
She didn’t know how many hours had passed, but when she awoke again, the sun was rising, not that she was interested in a sunrise, all she could think about was food. Like before she was spoon-fed fish. She couldn’t focus on those who were around her, but she got the sense that there were many bodies on this boat. She needed to relieve herself, but she didn’t have the strength to ask. Thankfully one of the men must have been able to read her mind, for a pot was brought forth and was tucked under the blanket. She couldn’t recall what happened after that, for she went back to sleep.
The rest of the day was as if she were in a dream. She would wake, she would be fed and watered, her basic needs would be met and then she would curl up on that chest and go back to sleep. In her lucid moments, she tried to make out faces, but her eyes would not focus. She heard voices speak in a language she could not comprehend, but instead of feeling threatened by the foreignness of it all, she felt protected.
Amandine opened her eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she could gather her thoughts. She felt refreshed, and no longer did she have this all-consuming thirst. Her stomach made an e
mbarrassing rumbling sound, but it no longer hurt. She breathed the night air deeply. Was it night again? Had she slept through the day?
The stranger, who ever he was, was still playing with her hair, running his fingers through the short strands. In return, she realised that she was clutching his tunic. Embarrassed she began to rise, but with a gentle pressure, he pushed her head back down as if he was not ready for her to leave him yet.
“Do you want some more water?” the voice asked in Breton.
“No,” she answered. “Where am I?”
She felt the chest of the man she lay on rise and then he breathed out on a sigh. “In the middle of the South Sea, we are heading to Cerniw. We should be there by morning.”
That would make sense. Abbot Daniel had said that Alden had sent a boat to rescue her. “Are you taking me to Alden?” she asked, needing clarity.
“Yes, to Alden,” the man’s voice sounded strained.
“So I am not going to die on a pyre then?” her voice trembled as she spoke.
“Not if I have anything to say about it.”
The words hung in the air. Whoever this man was his voice resembled Merton’s to such an extent that if she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was him. But this wasn’t the time for pretence. She sniffed back her tears, for tears would never give her the answers to the questions she so desperately needed to ask.
“Don’t cry. You know I can’t bear it when you cry,” the man said.
You know I can’t bear it when you cry. Those words echoed in her head like a ghost intent on haunting. Merton had spoken those very words to her once, a long time ago. This was wrong. This was very wrong.
She sat up and pushed herself violently away from the man she was using as a pillow. Her head spun momentarily from the sudden movement, but the dizziness soon passed. His hand dropped away from her, and she turned to look at him, but night’s shadow hid his face.
“What did you say?” she asked in a strangled whisper. The voice, the hand that reached up and touched her cheek so lovingly was all so desperately familiar. But it couldn’t be. Merton was dead.
“I promised you I would find you. I am sorry it took me so long.”
Her heart stopped, and she felt the sickness return, although that was short lived. “Merton?” she frowned when she said his name, moving closer to him, desperate to look into his face. It couldn’t be Merton. He was dead. It was just her mind playing tricks on her. She touched his chest, curling her hand into his tunic.
“I was told that you were dead, and I wished for death also,” he said, his voice full of pain. “If I had known you were alive, I would have come for you sooner. I am so very sorry, my love. Everything you have been through was because of me, and I will do anything — anything — to make it up to you.”
“Merton?” she said his name again, holding onto his tunic tighter. Her breath came in short gasps, and she moved closer still. With her other hand she reached up to his face, felt the stubble of many days beard growth, as well as unfamiliar raised skin. He turned his face and kissed her fingers.
“Forgive me,” he begged, and she felt the wetness of his tears on her fingers.
“Merton?” What was the matter with her? She had so many questions, and all she could say was his name. Had someone hit her over the head? Was that the reason she passed out? Was this a dream? It had to be a dream. There was no other explanation.
“Yes,” he sighed, but there was laughter and relief in that singularly most significant word that she had ever heard in her life.
“You’re alive?” she didn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. “You didn’t die? No,” she reasoned before he had a chance to answer her questions. “There was a body. Don’t play this game with me. I do not have the strength for this. Just…please, kill me and get it over with. Do not mock me with this pretence. I cannot take it anymore.”
“I am not dead.”
“Yes, you are.” She walloped him in the chest as tears filled her eyes. “Merton is dead. He is dead. HE. IS. DEAD,” she screamed the words, rousing those who had managed to drift off to sleep and piquing the interest of those who weren’t. “Get away from me,” she hit him again and again, pounding her fists on his chest as the tears came thick and hard and fast. He was dead. Merton was dead.
“I am not playing a game. It is me. Amandine, stop it, you are hurting me.” He tried to grab hold of her flying fists, but she was quick. “I can prove it, listen, please listen,” he caught her wrists and held them tightly in his hand. She tried to struggle, but she was weak, so weak.
“Amandine, please calm down, you don’t have the strength for this. You have been so ill.”
“Merton is dead,” she began to sob. “He is dead. He is dead because of me. He is dead. Don’t pretend. Please don’t pretend.”
“I didn’t die. And it wasn’t your fault. For God’s sake, let me hold you.”
“No,” she shook her head, even though he wouldn’t be able to see such an action, for the night was so dark she could see nothing.
“After Anna’s funeral, you found me on the cliff face. It was raining. And I remember looking at you and thinking that I had never seen anything so beautiful in all my life, even if you were a little damp around the edges,” there was a gentleness to his voice as well as humour. Merton had always used humour. He had always tried to make her laugh. It was one of the reasons she had loved him so much.
She struggled against his gentle hold, and he let her hands go.
“You began to cry, and I held you in my arms, and I knew then that I loved you. I love you so much. I wanted you to come with me to Hispania. I asked you to marry me, even though you were married to Lord Bretagne. I wanted you so desperately to be my wife that I would have killed him. But you wouldn’t let me.”
“Merton is dead,” Amandine cried again, whacking him on the chest, but not so hard as she had done before.
He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “Budic used you to get information from Lord Jenison—”
“Don’t,” she placed her fingers to his lips to silence him. “I do not want to speak of him. Or what happened after. All I know is you are not Merton. You cannot be.”
“You told me I was your sunrise and your sunset,” he spoke around her fingers, and there were tears in his voice now, she could hear them. “Philippe said if I killed you, I would win not only my freedom but Alden’s as well. I refused because I loved you. I love you. Amandine, when they told me you were dead… I felt as if there was nothing good left in this world.”
Amandine grabbed hold of his tunic, clinging tightly to the material. He had just described how she had felt when she had found out Merton was dead. But this man was an imposter. He had to be. No one could have survived the torture Merton had endured. No one.
“The first time I kissed you, you were teaching me to dance. Can you remember?” the stranger stated, breathing hard through his tears.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, for two intelligent people the pair of you are really stupid. Would someone light a bloody candle,” Alan complained from the other side of the boat.
“Alan?” Amandine asked, sniffing back the tears and turning towards his voice.
“No, don’t light a candle,” Sampson protested. “I want to hear more about how she taught Merton to dance.”
Merton laughed shakily, and he thanked his lucky stars that the rest of the men could not speak Breton. If Yrre had been able to follow the conversation, he would never hear the end of it.
A light flickered, and a wick sparked. Stepping over bodies, Alan made his way to the stern of the ship. He gave the candle to Merton.
“It is Merton. I was surprised as you are when I found out he was alive,” Alan said. “He planned your rescue. You would be dead if it were not for him.” Alan left them then and made his way back to the other side of the boat.
Merton held the candle away from him. “Amandine…when Philippe lashed me, he didn’t lash
my back. I don’t want you to look into my face and be scared. I am…disfigured…now. I lost my right arm. My back is badly damaged, I—”
“I want to see you,” Amandine replied. She didn’t care about what Philippe had done as long as he was her Merton — that is all that mattered.
“I look like the Devil, but know that I would rather die than hurt you.”
“The Devil does not scare me, he never did,” Amandine said, referring to the name he once went by. Amandine’s voice was small and yet…her heart was full of hope. If Alan said this man was Merton, then maybe he was. “I won’t be scared,” she promised. “I could never be scared…of you.”
“Very well,” Merton raised the candle closer to his face, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
Amandine gasped when she looked into Merton’s face. She could see the scars and his gauntness. She could see the fresh lines of pain around his eyes that had not been there before. “Look at me,” she ordered softly, but he hesitated. “Please.”
Slowly he raised his eyes to hers and then she knew, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was her Merton. No one looked at her the way Merton did. No one had ever looked at her with that much love. He had come for her, as he had promised.
“What have you done to your hair?” There were so many other things she could have asked, but that was the first thing that popped into her head. The last time they had been together he had cut his hair incredibly short because of the lice — that was what he said, anyway. Now it was longer. She liked it.
He laughed at the reminder, humour in his eyes. “The lice left, found a new home. God, I love you,” he dropped the candle and pulled her back into his embrace and then he was kissing her forehead, her closed eyes, the tip of her nose. He kissed her tears away, and then his mouth met hers, his lips moving so lovingly over hers, so sure and so confident.
The Du Lac Princess: (Book 3 of The Du Lac Chronicles) Page 48