Desiree

by Roberta Gellis

  “You are sure he is only asleep?”

  There was so much anxiety in the girl’s face and voice, that Alex found his opinion of her shaken. And Simon had said to him that Lady Desiree loved her husband dearly. Doubtless he had misunderstood her desiring to be noticed by him; doubtless he had thought that because of what Simon had said about propinquity. But that warning was wise, the remark Lady Desiree had made must have been innocent, but propinquity must be avoided.

  He managed to finish the slice of beef on his knife and found a cloth on the table which he used to wipe the gravy off the knife and his left hand. Hastily, he took up a generous slice of the pasty and bit into it, resolving not to reply no matter who spoke to him until his mouth and throat were clear. A drink would also help to clear his mouth.

  Transferring the pasty to his left hand, he poured wine into a cup and took a long draught. To break his fast he would have preferred ale. Could supplies of ale be short?

  Lists of supplies. Simon had left the lists showing Exceat’s attempt to stuff and garnish for war in the wall chamber in which he had slept. Now Alex knew for what he could claim to need Father Harold; he needed the priest in order to compare what supplies were actually present with the list and to decide what more was necessary to withstand a siege in time of war.

  “Yes, yes.” Father Harold was saying as he patted Desiree’s hand. “You know how careful of him Elias and Pollock are, and his breathing was good, smooth and steady, without that catch that always sounded so troubled.” Then he turned to Alex. “Now, Sir Alex, what can I do for you?”

  “Accompany me to the storerooms so I can check on the supplies listed. I hope it will not take long.”

  Desiree had obediently lifted the pasty toward her mouth, but she put it down, hard, without tasting it and stared at Alex. Not only did his eyes pass over her but now he seemed to suspect her of writing false accounts!

  “Why do you need to check on the supplies? You have the lists. Do you not believe what you read?” She was furious at the implication she had lied about the supplies in store and her voice, high and thin, showed it.

  Alex blinked. Actually checking the supplies had not been an urgent task. Why was Lady Desiree so angry? Could it be that the money she claimed was spent on foodstuffs or iron for arrowheads had been diverted to more personal purchases and the lists did not match what was in the sheds?

  “Mostly,” he said innocently, “because I need to see what space is still available and how I can shift what is stored to make more space available.”

  “What more do you think you will need?” she asked anxiously, anger forgotten in distress. “Elias assured me that we are stocked for six months.”

  “Yes, for the number of people you had in the keep when the lists were made. But there will be more. There are already twenty-one more mouths to feed, and I intend to find men to train to arms to further enlarge our fighting force. Moreover, sometimes when preparations for a war are left in a steward’s hands, things significant for war are forgotten—like shafts for arrows and iron for arrowheads, green hides to be thrown over storehouse roofs to ward off fire arrows, fouled oils and fat for…”

  A hand had come up and pressed against Lady Desiree’s lips. “Oh.” Her voice was smaller, contrite. “Oh, it is true that I did not think of arrowheads and such.” She turned to the priest. “I hope Frewyn will sleep for a candlemark or so. If not, tell Elias to explain that I needed to go with the new castellan to examine the supplies. Do not say anything about the arrow shafts or the iron or Frewyn will fret himself for not having ordered those.”

  Father Harold smiled. “I will speak only of Sir Alex’s natural desire to learn where everything is.”

  “But, Father,” Alex protested. “I will need you to read the lists for me.”

  “Not if Lady Desiree accompanies you,” Father Harold said, smiling down at her with pride. She had been so excellent a pupil that he had quite got over his early anger at being forced to expose the mystery of reading to a woman. “She wrote the lists herself, with her own hand, and will read them even more easily than I.”

  “Yes,” Desiree said, “and I ordered the stores and examined them when they were placed in the sheds, so if you have some complaint, I am the one to whom it should be addressed, not poor Father Harold.”

  “But—” Alex swallowed and tried once more to avoid propinquity. “But I would not wish to take you from the more important duty of seeing to Sir Frewyn’s needs.”

  “My husband is asleep, and sometimes my anxious care is worse for him than my absence.”

  “It is cold and looks to rain again, Lady Desiree. Why should you expose yourself, just to see some sacks and baskets shifted from one storeroom to another?”

  “Oh, Merciful Mother,” Desiree cried, beginning to laugh. “Because stewards and women may forget arrow shafts and iron, but men of war think nothing of piling onions atop bags of flour or grain next to barrels of salt fish. Do you want all the bread and cakes baked in the keep to smell of onions and all the porridge to smell of fish? It is very necessary that I watch you shift bags and baskets.”

  Alex opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He distinctly remembered saying to Simon that it would be no trouble to arrange that Father Harold or Elias accompanied them when they had business to do together. Now it did not seem so simple. In this case, only the truth would serve.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Desiree, but I do not think it—” he hesitated over finding an inoffensive word “—proper for us to go alone to the storage sheds. I would prefer to have Father Harold with us.”

  This time it was Desiree’s mouth that opened without a sound emerging. Then she giggled. “You are afraid you would be overcome with lust and attack me?”

  “Desiree!” The priest sounded thoroughly shocked.

  Alex’s ears felt as if he could light candles at the tips, but he was determined, having got this far, to get everything out into the open.

  “My uncle and I expected that Sir Frewyn’s wife would be closer to his own age. It is possible that if he had known Lady Desiree was so young, Sir Simon might have chosen an older man to be castellan…but it would have taken time for him to find a good and trustworthy older man, and from your letter, my lady, the matter seemed urgent.”

  Watching Sir Alex’s flaming face, Desiree suffered a change of heart. It was quite clear that he was, indeed, an honest young man most intent on doing his duty…ah…properly. She had to suppress a smile. She knew quite well that she should simply accept his explanation with a word of gratitude for Sir Simon’s care for her, but she could not resist getting some recognition from him.

  “I assume Sir Simon considers you good and trustworthy, so why should you fear our being together?”

  Father Harold moved restlessly and drew a breath as if he would reprove her, but Alex was watching Desiree and did not notice that help was on the way.

  “Sir Simon said that we will need to work together often and spoke of the dangers of propinquity,” he said.

  Irked because she had been unable to extract any personal remark, Desiree asked, “Propinquity? What is that?”

  “It means being close together over an extended period of time,” Father Harold said sharply. “And I must say that I am most grateful to Sir Simon for recognizing a danger, no matter how unlikely, and to Sir Alex for acknowledging it. I will just step into the lesser hall and speak to Elias. As soon as I come back, we can all three check the supplies and shift the stores if necessary.”

  Now it was Desiree’s turn to have pink cheeks. Alex cast a single glance at her before averting his eyes so she would not be embarrassed. It did not matter. Her image was as vivid as if he were staring at her. She was not as beautiful as Lady Alinor, but with a softly rounded face, big, bright brown eyes, a little tip-tilted nose and full but somewhat pursed rosy lips, the lady was…pretty. He would have called her délicieux, which actually suited her better, but was not sufficiently dignified for a married lady, mistress of
a fine estate.

  Desiree also addressed her attention to the food in her hand. She was very annoyed with Father Harold. It was none of his business if she wanted to tease the castellan. Surely the Father knew her well enough to be certain she would never betray Frewyn, so where was the harm in making Sir Grandly Named Alexandre blush? She frowned.

  It would be terribly inconvenient if all business had to wait until Father Harold was free to join them. Father Harold had his offices to say and it was necessary that he spend time with Frewyn who needed and deserved his consolation. And what of the Book of Hours he had undertaken to write for Frewyn? If he did not finish it soon…

  Desiree sniffed and blinked back tears. She would remind Father Harold of the book and how much Frewyn desired to hold it in his hands, to be able to read the prayers and wise words at any time without feeling guilt for waking his priest or his wife. And it was not because she wanted to be alone with…with anyone.

  Chapter Four

  Alex had made his peace with the memory of the wrongs his brother Vachel had done him, and then, once he had taken over the defense of Exceat, virtually forgot that Vachel existed. The same could not have been said for Vachel. He had carried rage and hate within him for months, since the day after their mother’s death when Alex had defied him and refused to give him the letter of introduction to Simon Lemagne. Alex, Vachel knew with unshakable conviction, was the cause of the failure of all his plans to inherit Lessai, was the cause of his exile from Lessai.

  Exile had not followed Alex’s departure at once. Their mother’s funeral and other business had taken weeks, but all the while, it seemed, Vachel’s eldest brother, Pierre, was wondering where Alex had gone and why and muttering about the loss of three brothers…three. Three brothers lost in one year seemed too much, Pierre had said, looking oddly at Vachel, but then he had shrugged and gone away.

  Later, Vachel learned to his sorrow that he should not have blessed his luck because Pierre had some duty that took him away from the keep. In fact, Pierre had gone away to the fishing village to make sure that Alex had taken ship safely. Then, reminded of two other brothers who he had believed safe aboard a ship, he began to ask questions about the boat that had drowned Marcus and Carol.

  Pierre had learned much more than Vachel had wanted him to know. Returned from the village, Pierre had questioned him straitly and painfully about Alex, eventually wringing from him his desire for the letter their mother had the priest write for her favorite. Why should that drooling idiot Alex have the letter, Vachel had asked Pierre. He would not know how to make the best use of it. Better Alex disappear and the letter come to the hands of someone who would know how to use it.

  The result had not been what Vachel expected. Instead of thinking of how to overtake the ship Alex was on and get the letter from him, Pierre had told their father… God alone knew what he had told the elder Pierre. His father had come white-lipped and red-eyed from that conference and Vachel had been driven out and told that Lessai was closed to him now and forever.

  Vachel was not without resources. He had been secreting a coin extracted from the serfs or lifted from his father’s purse or squeezed from someone too weak to resist for some years, so he took his hoard and his mother’s silver spoons and the handsomest horse in the stable and fled.

  By the end of January, just about the time that Alex was knighted by William Marshall, Vachel arrived in Rouen, which was under siege. Vachel hoped a new face would find free food and drink with the other hangers-on of the nobles. And because, even after all these months, Alex’s perfidy in refusing him the letter to Sir Simon still dominated his mind, Vachel found himself naming Sir Simon as his uncle in the hope the name would open doors for him.

  The device succeeded, in a way. Too late Vachel discovered the men he had approached were Prince John’s men and that Prince John hated Sir Simon. Vachel spoke no more of his wealthy and powerful relative. Before he could gather his possessions and leave Rouen, he was summoned by a haughty retainer to speak to Prince John himself.

  At the prince’s lodging, the first thing Vachel was aware of was surprise, strong enough even to override his intense anxiety. The room was quite small and very warm from a clear, bright fire burning on a small hearth against one wall. An opening in the stones of the wall drew most of the smoke out of the chamber so that it was quite comfortable for a large, high-backed chair with arms to be set near the hearth. Tapestries hung on three walls and the rushes on the floor were thick, fresh and laden with sweet-smelling herbs.

  Nonetheless, it was not the room that surprised Vachel, although he had not expected such luxury—it was the man who lounged at ease in the chair, his rather short legs stretched out on a footstool and his hand reaching toward a silver goblet that stood near a pitcher of wine on a small side table.

  Vachel had heard many descriptions of King Richard—his height, his glorious red-gold hair, his fair and ruddy complexion, his handsome face and bright blue eyes. Vachel had expected Prince John to be a smaller, paler version of the English king, but John was nothing at all like Richard. Even seated, it was clear that John would be on the short side of medium height and that his body was round as a barrel although not fat. His hair was black, his eyes brown, and he wore a closely trimmed moustache that surrounded his mouth and continued down into a short, pointed beard.

  “So Simon Lemagne is your uncle,” the prince said. “Do you know him well? Are you fond of him?” The voice was another surprise, it was deep and dark, smooth as velvet and sweet as honeyed cream.

  Afraid to lie, Vachel said, “I do not know Sir Simon at all, Lord Prince. He went to England with Queen Eleanor and never returned.”

  “But you spoke with some assurance of being taken into his household if you did not find a better place.”

  “Whenever I have heard of Sir Simon, his sense of honor has always been praised. I was sure he would not turn away a nephew in need.”

  Prince John laughed aloud, a warm, rich sound of amusement. “How I do hate men of honor and honesty,” he said.

  Swallowing hard, Vachel decided to take a chance. “I do not hate them at all,” he said. “They can be very useful at times.”

  There was a moment of silence in which Prince John studied him. Sweat beaded out on Vachel’s face and trickled in unpleasant rivulets down his back.

  “What you said is true and even wise, but I do hate Simon Lemagne, and for more than his honor and honesty.”

  Vachel now knew the ground and knew the right answer. “While King Richard is absent, you are overlord of Normandy, Lord Prince, thus my overlord. That bond must be more binding to me than a kinship near thirty years neglected. You asked if I were fond of Sir Simon. My answer must be that I cannot be fond of a man I do not know and who never cared to be known by his sister’s children.”

  “Ah,” John said, his beautiful voice now almost caressing. “You are his nephew. You would have unquestioned entree to Roselynde—that is the name of the principal keep of Lady Alinor’s lands—and to Sir Simon’s person. Likely you would be invited to stay there as a guest. You would certainly be invited to take a cup of wine with your uncle. It should not be hard to add something…”

  Vachel blinked, wondering how so great a man as Prince John would speak so openly of…murder. Then he remembered there were only two of them in the chamber and the prince’s voice would not carry through the thick walls and door. John could easily deny anything Vachel said, and it was John who would be believed. Vachel’s breath came a little quicker as he guessed that he would not live long enough to speak of the matter a second time.

  Slowly Vachel nodded. He already knew something about poisons. Just so had he planned to be rid of his brother Pierre…and if his father lingered too long, the older Pierre also. Lessai would have been his reward. What would be his reward for this service?

  “I could even stay and comfort the widow,” Vachel said.

  “What a good idea!” the prince exclaimed. “Lady Alinor’s pride cer
tainly needs humbling. But I tell you now that you would not be allowed to keep her lands. Enough would stay with her to give you a livelihood, but the rest would be stripped away.”

  Vachel nodded understanding and acceptance. He had had his doubts about Prince John’s sincerity; he would never have believed that he would be allowed to marry the rich heiress. But this open statement that he could take the woman and a small part of her property seemed a reasonable price for the prince to pay for his service.

  “Are we agreed, then?” John asked.

  “Indeed, my lord. I will serve you with all my heart.” Vachel walked over to John who negligently extended a hand for Vachel to kiss. “Only one thing,” Vachel said, bowing but not lifting the extended hand to his lips. “No plan ever runs exactly true. Because I am a stranger in England and will have no friend or relative to whom I could go for shelter or help, I will need some kind of safe haven.”

  John had begun to frown and Vachel to regret he had asked, but John’s displeasure no longer sent chills down his spine. He had something the prince greatly desired too greatly to do him harm. He was safe. And to confirm the thought, John’s brow cleared.

  “I know the very place and the very person. Sir Nicolaus, the castellan of Lewes Keep, will give you safe haven. A letter to Sir Nicolaus will ensure you guest-right whenever you need it and for as long as you need. Also I can ask him to aid you in any other way possible.”

  “Then I am content, my lord. I will leave for England as soon as the weather offers the chance of a good crossing. But…ah…I have not the price of passage.”

  “So I expected.” John smiled. “A purse to assist your traveling will be provided.”