The Du Lac Devil: Book 2 of The Du Lac Chronicles

by Mary Yarde

  At this moment, the Abbot was marching around his church, swinging a golden censer, full of myrrh, in front of him and chanting prayers in Latin, loudly. “Look at me,” was what he was really saying. Josephine gave herself a mental telling off for even thinking such a thing. Philippe was beginning to corrupt her. She really should stop listening when he started talking of Pelagius.

  The door rattled as a gust of wind shook it and Alden, who was sat in a hastily pulled up chair near the front of the church, jumped with a start. He glanced behind him with a slight edge of panic in his grey eyes. He tilted his head in acknowledgement towards Josephine and seeing nothing amiss; he turned back around.

  The coffin was placed in front of the altar and was surrounded by soft flickering candlelight. Keeping with tradition, the coffin had been left open. The Queen was dressed in her finest regalia, her neck adorned with her favourite jewels and her son, barely two weeks old, was cuddled into her. They looked like they were sleeping, only the whiteness of their skin told otherwise. It had been hard to look upon them, and Josephine had withdrawn crying, for it brought back painful memories of the death of her own child, not so long ago.

  Queen Anna had longed for a baby, but after almost twelve years of trying, Anna had finally given up, all hope lost. Then a miracle had happened and she had conceived and carried the child to full term. God sometimes makes mistakes, and with this miraculous pregnancy, he must have realised his error, for he took the child back and then, just for good measure, took the mother as well.

  King Budic stood at the head of the coffin, staring at his wife and son in a deafening silence that was frightening to behold. He had not moved the entire time Josephine had been there. It was as if he were frozen to the spot, unable to move, scarcely able to breathe. His dark red hair caught the light of the candles and seemed to glow. His hair had grown longer in recent years and now fell like a curtain onto his shoulders. He had only one storm coloured eye, the other he had lost years ago. A jagged silver scar ran from his hairline, under the eye patch that he always wore, to just above his jaw. He was and always had been a frightening figure to behold.

  Budic was the oldest of the du Lac brothers. There had been a sister, but she had fallen off her husband’s horse and broke her neck almost eight years ago.

  Garren was the second son; he had been lost at sea and was presumed dead. Josephine could not remember much about him. He had been graced with the same grey eyes as all the du Lac’s, and he had been kind. Well, he would smile a greeting at her, which wasn’t quite the same thing she supposed. He had been married to Lady Amandine and she had never properly recovered from his death, despite being married twice since. Perhaps it was wise not to love if the loss of a loved one would destroy you as it had her.

  Then there was Alden, the King of Cerniw. She did not know him very well either, although she had become very good friends with his wife for a time. Josephine had thought about asking Alden if she could accompany him back to Cerniw for a visit, but now did not seem like the right time, and she had not wanted to upset Philippe by suggesting it.

  Lastly, there was Merton. The one who had ruined her life. She had tried so hard to forget about him. She had fooled herself into believing that if she did not say his name, then she would. But then she would smell a certain smell or hear a silly saying that he may have once used, and there he was, with her again in her heart, tearing it to shreds.

  That was the story of her life. Men came into her life and left without warning.

  Her father, a knight of Brittany, who went by the name of Josse, had been banished from the kingdom when she was a child. Josse had been Budic’s best friend up until the moment he had tried to kill him. To the surprise of everyone at court, Budic had been lenient in his punishment. Instead of death, he offered banishment. Josse had shrugged his shoulders and said it was the same thing anyway, for he had many enemies, he would be dead as soon as he crossed the border. And he was right.

  Josse asked just one favour from his king before he left, and that was for Budic to look after his daughter for him, for there was no one else. Budic had agreed, although no one could understand why.

  Josephine knew she should have felt thankful, but as a child, all she had felt was fear and a sense that no one wanted her. If her father had loved her, then surely he would have taken her with him? She would rather have died with him than to live a life without love. She had asked herself what she had done wrong to warrant such abandonment a thousand times, because that is what it felt like, even if her father was trying to save her life.

  Budic had never made her feel welcome. She had feared him as a child, but now with youth behind her, she could rationalise his reasons for keeping his distance, even if she could not completely understand it. He could not favour her, because of what her father had tried to do. He would appear weak to his people if he did.

  Merton, however, had befriended her. She didn’t know why he did. Maybe he had felt sorry for her, or maybe it was simply because he was the youngest of the du Lac boys and he had no one to play with. From the moment he had said hello she had idolised him and placed him upon a pedestal. She would have done anything, been anything, for him. As she grew and became a woman, her thoughts towards him turned amorous. She would daydream about marrying him. About being with him, always. But in the end, he hadn’t wanted her either. He had used her and left. In the years that followed, she had heard stories of what he had become and she agreed when others had said that he was destined for hell. Philippe had once told her she had had a lucky escape. The more she heard, the more she knew he was right.

  She watched as the Abbot spoke to Budic. Budic stiffened but did not answer. The Abbot walked away, his face red with embarrassment. He began to swing his censer a little harder. And the rain continued to pour down and the bell, calling the people to mourn their Queen, continued to toll.

  The door opened and the wind followed the individual inside. The candles flickered and some blew out. The Abbot turned, ready to voice his disapproval, but he stopped himself and bowed hastily before scurrying over to where the monks sang sorrowfully.

  A high-ranking soldier of Budic’s army marched farther into the church, stopping only once to perform the Christian cross of protection. Josephine followed him with her eyes as he knelt down next to Alden and whispered something in his ear.

  Alden frowned as the soldier rose back to his feet. Alden stood as well, and the two of them left the church together.

  The wind took the door of the church and it slammed against the wall. One of the monks hurried to close it. Budic did not even jump at the noise. He was lost in the world of the dead.

  Feeling moved by compassion, Josephine crossed the church and tentatively reached out and touched the King on his arm. He did not flinch or move away. Feeling braver, Josephine stepped in closer. She did not look into the coffin, but concentrated her attention on the King.

  “I am sorry,” she had said this already; several times over, but what else could you say to a man who had lost his family.

  “This isn’t real,” Budic whispered as he bent over the coffin and kissed his wife and child. He took Josephine’s hand in his own before taking a step back. He nodded his head at the Abbot, who nodded back in understanding.

  Budic sat down heavily on the chair that Alden had so recently vacated, and stared at Josephine as if trying to make sense of all that had befallen him. Finding no answers, he looked to the floor. Josephine knelt on the floor in front of him, her hand still firmly grasped in his.

  “It will be all right,” she whispered, placing her other hand on his knee. Although how it would ever be all right again, she did not know.

  He looked back up at her and raised his hand to trace the curve of her cheek. He was being so gentle, so heartbreakingly gentle, that she found herself holding her breath and the way he looked at her…he had never looked at her like this before…as if she were an equal. She felt the open wound that his indifference had caused throughout her chil
dhood begin to mend, to somehow weave together… and all because of a simple look. How was such a thing possible?

  “You shouldn’t be here,” he finally said, dropping his hand.

  “Did you really think I would leave you alone in this?”

  She watched, almost fascinated as a tear dropped from Budic’s eye. “I loved her,” he stated in a strangled whisper. “I thought, this time, our boy would…” his words were choked by a sob. There had been so many stillbirths. So many disappointments. When he had heard his baby cry for the first time, his heart had dared to hope. But it was all over now. They were gone from him forever.

  Josephine gripped his hand tighter in hers, tears pooling in her own eyes. “I wish there were something I could do,” she whispered.

  “There is. Don’t leave me. Not tonight,” Budic begged, bringing Josephine’s hand up to his mouth where he placed the softest of kisses on her knuckles.

  “I promise you I won’t,” Josephine said. “I’ll never leave you. Not again.”

  9

  “What is so important that you drag me out into this miserable weather?” Alden asked as he ducked his head against the rain.

  “You’ll see,” the soldier said with a hint of a secret smile that Alden could only just make out.

  Alden huffed in annoyance. He wouldn’t put it past Budic to have him done away with. “You said you had something important to tell me. So tell me.” Alden stopped walking and stood in the shadow of the castle. The sun was just beginning to rise and soon the stars would be hidden from view and the long day of official mourning would begin. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to.

  “Not so much tell you, as show you,” the soldier said mysteriously.

  “I don’t have time for games,” Alden stated.

  “This isn’t a game,” the soldier reassured, “and you will want to see this.” He carried on walking, not bothering to check if Alden was following him.

  Cursing under his breath, Alden weighed up his options. He could go back to the church and spend another uncomfortable couple of hours in the company of his brother or he could go with the soldier and find out what the old goat was up to now. He knew the soldier well, his name was Alan, and they had become reasonably good friends when Alden was last here, but Alan was one of Budic’s men, and he didn’t trust any man that belonged to Budic.

  Still, it was the lesser of the two evils. He chose to follow the soldier, running to catch up with him, although he was careful as to where he placed his feet as he tried to miss the worst of the puddles. The weather was unseasonable, to say the least. When he had left Cerniw, the sun had been blazing down from the sky. He should have known the weather in Brittany would match the mood of its king.

  It was fitting, he supposed, that while a kingdom mourned, the sky did too.

  There were two horses, tacked up and waiting for them, just outside the portcullis. Alden glanced briefly at the Night Watch as they stood to attention. There were always guards, no matter what time of day or what the weather was doing, just outside the entrance to the castle and above on the battlements. Benwick was always prepared for a threat from an outside force; it always had been. It was more than the high stone walls that made Benwick impenetrable. The army was a well-trained unit and the cavalry was the best in the world. They had to be for Benwick was a worthy prize, if you were foolish enough to try for it.

  “Are you going to get on the horse or not?” Alan asked, with a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

  Narrowing his eyes, Alden mounted fluently and gathered up the reins in his hands. “For the last time, where are you taking me?”

  “For the last time,” Alan echoed, “follow me and you will find out.” He kicked his horse into a brisk trot.

  Shaking his head in annoyance, Alden made a clicking sound with his tongue and urged the horse on. Dear Lord, he had forgotten how much he hated it here. He hated everything about the place, the building, the people and especially the King. All he wanted was to be in Cerniw, back with his wife and his children. He had silently cursed the messenger who brought him the news that Anna and the child had died. He felt sorrow for Anna, of course he did, but her death could not have come at a worse time.

  He had not wanted to leave Annis behind. He hated being away from her. He certainly had not wanted to come here, but what choice did he have? Annis was heavily pregnant with their third child and she never travelled well at sea, so her accompanying him was out of the question. She had not wanted him to come either. She had pleaded with him not to, as had James, the General of his army. Unfortunately, whichever way you looked at it, Anna was family and besides, appearances must be kept up. If Wessex were to find out that he and Budic had quarrelled, then he would use it to his advantage. The scheming bastard.

  They followed the road down to the harbour and by the time they got there the sky had turned a dark shade of lavender. The tide was high, crashing against the quay. Most of the boats had been pulled up onto dry ground, out of the way of the shoreline, but those that were still anchored in the sea rose and fell violently with the tide. There would be no sailing today.

  The soldier rode up towards one of the large wooden huts, which during the day was used for sorting fish. Outside the hut was a well-armed warrior, a knight, although he was not from Budic’s army. In the dull light of the early morning sky, Alden recognised the uniform the knight wore as belonging to Clovis and he wondered what the hell was going on. Clovis never ventured this far from Frank.

  Perhaps Clovis was here, for the funeral, although that seemed highly unlikely, for it was rumoured he was busy fighting his wife’s uncle in Burgundar. Alden dismounted cautiously, his hand automatically going for the hilt of his sword and then he remembered that he had taken it off before going to pay his respects to the dead. He should have known better than to do something so stupid when he was in Brittany.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Alan said, circling his horse back around.

  Was this a trap? Alden watched as Alan rode away. Damn him, what the hell was going on? Squaring his shoulders and pretending to be brave, Alden walked forward; he would get no answers if he stood in the middle of the road.

  “Sire? How is my wife? And my daughter? Tell me, are they well?” Clovis’s warrior rushed up to him and threw the questions at him, one after the other, in Cerniw.

  “Yrre?” Alden said, shocked. “Oh my God,” he laughed with relief. “They are fine, they are well and I have good news, you have a son. He is beautiful and healthy. I am sure he will make you proud.”

  “I have a son?” Yrre smiled, his teeth showing white in the early morning sky. He had not known.

  “Yes. You do. Yrre,” Alden laughed again, for where Yrre was, Merton would also be, “where the hell is he?”

  “He’s inside,” Yrre said, indicating the hut with a tilt of his head.

  “It’s good to see you,” Alden said with genuine pleasure.

  “It is good to be here. We didn’t think we would make it.”

  “I was wondering about the uniform.”

  Yrre glanced down at the chainmail he was wearing and then snorted in amusement. “It’s a long story.”

  “If my brother is involved it usually is.” Still smiling, Alden opened the door to the hut.

  Everyone turned to look at him as he entered and all bar one bowed low in respect, for Merton rarely bowed down to anyone.

  “I didn’t think I would see you here,” Merton said, as he crossed the room, his smile as wide as his brother’s.

  “I can’t believe you are here,” Alden said as he embraced his brother. Merton hugged him back, lifting Alden off his feet as he did so.

  “You’ve been eating Annis’s cooking again,” Merton said, with a smile, putting his brother down.

  “And you haven’t,” Alden said, breaking into a grin. “You are as strong as an ox. God, it’s good to see you. Are you well? What happened to your hair?”

  Merton didn’t answer he just took
a moment to look at his beloved brother. “I missed you too,” he said simply.

  “And I missed you. Merton,” Alden looked him in the eyes like he was drinking him in. “What are you doing here? Why are you all dressed like that?” he asked, taking a moment to look at his brother and the men, who all wore the uniform of Clovis.

  “Best you don’t ask,” Trace answered in Cerniw, although his words were heavily accented. “It’s good to see you, Sire.”

  “You too. I can’t believe you are all here.”

  At that moment, Merton’s boy began to cry, having been awoken by all the noise.

  “A baby?” Alden queried.

  “My baby,” Merton said, smiling again. He walked over to where Emma cradled the child. The boy reached out with his hands to his father and Merton took him into his arms and carried him over to show Alden.

  “Alden, I want to introduce you to Tanick.”

  “He’s beautiful,” Alden said, touching the baby soft skin of his nephew’s cheek. “He looks like you,” he said with a smile. “Where is his mother?” he asked, raising his head to look at his brother.

  Merton forced a smile, and shook his head. Alden knew that look well and did not push for an answer.

  “We swore nothing would induce us to ever come back here,” Merton said quickly, trying to change the subject. “I am here out of desperation. Why are you?”

  “Budic lost his baby son and Anna passed away the day after. I am here for the funeral. I didn’t have a choice,” Alden said, his gaze fell back to the child again. The little boy was frowning up at him and Alden caught himself smiling. He was the absolute image of Merton as a child, right down to that little frown.

  “I am sorry for that,” Merton said and he genuinely was. Although he had never really had much of a relationship with Anna, he knew that she had kept his brother in check. She had been the only one who had ever had any influence over Budic. With her gone, Brittany’s future would be precarious. “I guess I had better go and pay my respects as well then.” He groaned low in his throat at the prospect of entering a church, for he had not done so in a long time.