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

by Mary Yarde

  “I’ve always thought so…but,” he shrugged in that boyish way of his, “he always rebukes my advances…the truth is I am very dejected and..um-”

  “Oh, stop it,” Amandine said, reaching out and swatting him on the arm.

  “Am I the only one who suffers such abject abuse by your hand? Or do you bestow on others the same courtesy?”

  “I do not abuse you,” Amandine said. “I really am beginning to doubt that you are a warrior at all. I am sure you do not even feel my feeble attempts at chastisement.”

  “I feel them,” Merton reassured. “I feel the sting of it still.”

  Amandine felt herself growing warm under his gaze. There was a soft light in his eyes…it was as if he was looking at something precious when he looked at her. She found she could not hold his gaze. “Will you walk me to my chamber?” She asked instead and then wished she had not, for when she glanced up at his face again, his eyes looked different, heated almost.

  In answer, he held out his arm to her, but she suddenly felt nervous about touching him. When she did, she felt him flinch, as if her touch had burnt him, although he did not move away from her.

  “Shall we?” he asked, tilting his head towards the staircase.

  They did not speak as they made their way up the stairs, and the silence grew uncomfortable as they walked down the softly lit, empty corridor towards the chamber Amandine shared with her husband.

  Benwick Castle, despite its grandeur, was short on private accommodation. Most slept in the Hall, but the nobility and those in favour at court were given chambers. The rooms were not big, but they offered privacy.

  They stopped outside the door to her chamber.

  “Thank you,” Amandine said. She was about to draw her hand away from his arm, but he surprised her by covering her hand with his own.

  “Can I ask you something?” Merton moved away from her, although he kept her hand clasped loosely in his. He looked down at their hands as he entwined their fingers and for a moment, neither spoke.

  “You can ask me anything?” Amandine’s voice came out huskily, and she cleared her throat in embarrassment. Her whole hand was tingling where they touched, and she wanted to move closer to him. But she couldn’t. She was married, and he was…he…

  “What do you make of Lord Philippe?”

  The question was so unexpected that Amandine gasped in surprise and then her face heated in embarrassment as he let go of her hand and crossed his arms in front of him.

  “He has the ear of the King, and he is popular in court,” Amandine replied tight-lipped, the last person she wanted to talk about was Philippe.

  “I asked you what you made of him? I know he is popular, and I know he is a close advisor to my brother,” Merton said. “Do you like him, my Lady?”

  “He is charming and courteous,” Amandine returned. “I should go,” she said, smiling briefly up at him.

  “You are lying. You can go when you have answered my question truthfully.” There was a slight edge to Merton’s voice.

  Well, she certainly wasn’t going to be spoken to like that. “Will you torture me if I do not?” She raised her head and challenged him with her eyes, for she would not be terrorised by the likes of him. He should know better. He had never won an argument with her before. She didn’t really know why he was trying to start one now. She watched, fascinated, as his lips began to twitch in amusement and she knew her smile answered his.

  “I forgot how sharp your tongue is,” Merton replied. He had forgotten how easily she tormented him as well, but he could give as good as she did. “I can torture the information out of you if you want…I have learnt some very persuasive techniques. In Saxony, when torturing a woman they…” he moved a little closer and gently reached out until his hands clasped her arms.

  She gasped at the contact, Merton’s hands felt like warm brands of iron upon her arms, but his hold was gentle, and she knew if she made even the slightest of struggles that he would let her go. She trusted him completely. So she did not struggle. Instead, she looked up at his face and waited to see what he would do next.

  “They would hold her like this, maybe move a little closer…” He pushed her gently against the door, holding her there with the strength of his body.

  “Merton,” her voice sounded breathless as he bent his head to her ear.

  “They make their women delirious with pleasure until they cannot stand it anymore. I would have you beg for mercy…” His breathing was heavy against her ear, as if he had been running. “But…”

  He could feel every breath entering and leaving her body and the softness of her breasts rose and fell against his chest as she breathed and desire suddenly felt painful. He had meant to shock, to tease. He expected her to slap him away, but she didn’t, and he could not understand it.

  “But?” she whispered back.

  With the greatest of difficulty, he made himself let go of her arms. However, as he began to move away from her, she caught hold of the front of his tunic and kept him close. He knew he groaned faintly in the back of his throat as desire roared through him like a raging fire. Her mouth was slightly open, her lips looked soft, inviting. He lowered his head a fraction. Just one taste, he promised himself. Just one.

  “Philippe is sly and cruel and not to be trusted,” Amandine was so breathless she was almost panting. “He is the greatest of friends with Lord Jenison. I believe he seeks Lord Jenison’s advice on many things.”

  Merton raised his head, as curiosity replaced desire. “Lord Jenison?” He shook his head. “Who is he?”

  “Snakeman,” Amandine answered, the corner of her lips lifting a little as she saw the moment when Merton recalled the incident from long ago.

  “Snakeman…I remember,” Merton grinned. “Lord Jenison, of course, how could I have forgotten? He sheds his skin and has black eyes and a forked tongue,” Merton exaggerated all the s’s as he spoke.

  “He doesn’t have a forked tongue, and you had no proof that he sheds his skin, it was a wicked thing to say.”

  “But he does hiss when he speaks,” Merton continued to talk in a snake-like manner.

  “You are so cruel. It was bad enough when you were a child saying such things. You have no excuse now,” Amandine reprimanded him, although there was amusement in her face.

  “What do those two possibly have in common?” Merton queried, the smile on his face ebbing, replaced with a frown. “Jenison is far older, and he is dull. He is up to something?”

  “Who? Lord Jenison?”

  “No, Philippe. He said something to Alden and me about the Queen’s death being suspicious, and Yrre saw him earlier today with…” He stopped. It was better that she didn’t know all the details.

  Amandine shook her head slightly. “The Queen had a fever, the baby did too. There was no question as to what caused their deaths. It was an ill wind.”

  “You are right, of course. Please ignore my ramblings.” He looked over her shoulder at the chamber door. He shouldn’t be here, not with her, not like this. If anyone had happened down the corridor and seen them standing so close together, then her reputation would be in ruins. He would be to blame, but she would suffer because of it, and he never wanted her to suffer because of him. “I should go.”

  “Yes.” Amandine felt her face heat again and quickly let go of his tunic. “I…um…Good evening.” She bobbed a curtsey and turned swiftly around. She could not get the door open fast enough. She turned to bid him a quick farewell and was about to speak when he caught hold of one of her hands and brought it to his mouth. He kissed the back of her hand softly with his lips, just like Yrre had done, but unlike Yrre, his lips lingered, and she almost swooned.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep well, my Lady. Dream of me.” He straightened, grinning.

  “I am hardly going to get any sleep if you are what I dream of.” She slapped her hand across her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. What had she said that for?

  A satisfied lazy grin spread acros
s Merton’s mouth at her words. It wasn’t one sided then, this attraction between them. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. “Dream of me anyway, because I promise I will be dreaming of you.”

  16

  Josephine sponged the mud from Budic’s hands, while the Abbot stood by the fire lecturing the King about how sinful it was to disturb the dead. Budic was not listening to his man of God. Josephine could see that he was not. She was trying her best not to listen to him either.

  It wasn’t as if Budic had gotten very far in his endeavours. He had seen sense and came away crying, but she had not been able to hide the evidence of the disturbed grave from the Abbot.

  Budic wouldn’t stop staring at her. She knew her face grew warm under his constant appraisal.

  She rung out the cloth, the water in the bowl had long since turned a murky brown. She made to rise, to throw the dirty water away and replace it with fresh, but Budic snatched at her arm, preventing her.

  “Leave us,” Budic commanded. His voice was hoarse from all the crying but it was still loud and commanding.

  The Abbot, who had not finished taking Budic to task about his conduct at the cemetery, began to argue and started to throw his weight, quite literally, around the room. Words of hell and damnation flew out of his mouth like vengeful angels of war. He cared not if he was addressing a king for he answered to a higher being.

  “God can punish me later,” Budic said in a tone of indifference.

  “Do not assume there is a place set aside in heaven for you, just because you are a king,” the Abbot dared. “Your actions today were despicable.”

  Josephine tried not to gasp in shock. Budic did not take criticism well at the best of times. She just hoped, for the Abbot’s sake, that God would protect him from Budic’s wrath.

  “Do not assume your head will stay on your shoulders, just because you have God on your side,” Budic returned. “Get out,” he yelled.

  The Abbot’s eyes bulged with outrage, and he puffed up his cheeks. The Pope would hear of this. He would make sure of it. The Abbot left the room in a hurry, muttering under his breath about sinful behaviour and eternal punishment.

  The atmosphere in the chamber instantly eased with the departure of the Abbot, and Josephine took a deep, steadying breath. She smiled weakly at Budic.

  “We are all sinners in his eyes. If he has his way none of us will make it to heaven,” Budic said tiredly. “I hope you were not paying attention to what he said.”

  “He is hard to ignore, but I did my best,” Josephine answered truthfully.

  “I am tempted to hasten his departure to paradise. Perhaps we could all have a little peace then.” He raised his hand and rubbed his eyes. The last thing he had wanted was to listen to a sermon on his moral deficits. He was increasingly becoming sick and fed up of the Abbot seeing evil in everything. Maybe it was time for a change.

  “But you would condemn yourself to eternity in purgatory,” Josephine pointed out.

  “That would be a small price to pay to shut him up. And anyway, I don’t think I have the patience for heaven. All those saints…” Budic shuddered at the thought; it would be his personal version of hell.

  Josephine was shocked by his words, but she was not as brave as the Abbot, so she remained silent on the subject. Instead, she did her best to concentrate on the task at hand.

  “I would like to be alone,” Budic addressed his two personal servants, but he did not look at them as he spoke, his attention was focused exclusively on Josephine, and when she made to rise as well, he tightened his grip on her hand. “Not you,” he said softly.

  When the door closed, he released her hand. “Thank you.” It was a word Budic rarely used, and it felt foreign on his tongue.

  “What do you have to thank me for?” Josephine asked as she rose to her feet, picking up the bowl of dirty water as she did so. She flung the contents out of the small window and then refilled the bowl and came back to kneel before him. She took his large hand in hers again and continued to clean the dirt off.

  “For staying with me last night.” He reached up and began to play with a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid. “And for this afternoon. Most women would have run away, or fainted…” he laughed softly to himself. “But not you. You are made of sterner stuff.”

  She held her breath as he continued to play with her hair. Merton used to do that. When they were children, he would plait her hair for her when no one else had the time to help the drunk’s daughter look presentable. She could always rely on him. She blinked away the tears. She had not cried over Merton for a long time, and she wasn’t about to do so now. But as God was her witness, sometimes she missed him so much.

  “I am not most women, and I can understand your grief.” It was the truth. She had not grieved for Marcus, but she realised now that she had grieved for Merton and maybe a part of her, a dark part hidden in the shadows of her heart, would always grieve for him and then, of course, there was her daughter. Burying her child was the hardest thing she had ever done. She closed her eyes very briefly against the pain in her heart. Josephine willed the despair away. She buried it. There was no other choice.

  She continued with her task, trying not to notice the warmth of Budic’s hand under the coldness of the cloth or the ache in her heart caused by the gentle caress of his fingers in her hair and the memory of another. This was Budic, she told herself. This was the king. He wasn’t Merton. She must not get them confused.

  Budic tugged at the dark ribbon that held her hair in place, and he ran his fingers through her hair until it lay down her back like a crumpled curtain.

  “Sire,” she gasped his name in shock as he took the cloth from her hands, throwing it carelessly onto the floor. His fingers touched her face, tilted her chin so she had to look at him.

  “Make love to me,” he whispered urgently. “Please. Make me forget.”

  For a moment she was speechless. Of all the things he could have said, this was not one that she was expecting. “No,” she tried to shake her head free, but his grip on her chin tightened.

  She should have known better. She should have left with the servants. She knew that Budic liked his women, but she had never seen him look at her in that way. He was obviously still not thinking rationally. If he were, then he would not proposition her so. “No, this isn’t what you want,” she told him.

  “It is.”

  “No, it isn’t. This isn’t the answer.”

  “It is the answer,” he persisted. “It is the only answer. I need to feel alive.”

  “But if you made love to me, you would be thinking of her, and that isn’t fair to either of us,” Josephine said wisely, hoping the King would see the sense in her words.

  “I will not be thinking of her. I swear.” Budic lowered his head and brushed a kiss across her mouth. Quick and featherlike.

  His mouth was warm against her lips, so very different to what Marcus’s kisses had been like.

  “I will keep my eyes open. I will know it is you,” he vowed.

  He kissed her again, and left his taste upon her lips, and oh God, they tasted the same. It was like kissing Merton.

  “Please, Josephine. I need this. I need you. I know you will imagine him, and I don’t mind. I can play the part of Merton if you want. I swear I won’t hold it against you.”

  How did he know about her and Merton? What had happened between them was a secret, only Amandine and Annis knew, and they would never tell on her. So how did he know of it at all? Not that it mattered. This game or whatever it was that Budic was playing, wasn’t fair.

  “I have no feelings for Merton.” Josephine lied as much to herself as to him. “What we had ended a long time ago.”

  “Marcus then,” Budic stated. “I need you. I will make it good for you. I am not a selfish lover, Josephine. And afterwards, I will not cast you aside like a whore. I will protect you. Please.”

  To Josephine’s very great surprise he fell onto his knees next to her. “Plea
se, I beg you.”

  “I don’t know what to say,” Josephine answered. “This is unlike you, Sire. You have never paid any attention to me before — in your grief you have forgotten who I am. I am a burden. The drunk’s daughter. A hindrance.”

  “I would not have allowed that monk to teach you how to read and write if I thought you were a hindrance. And be assured that I never once thought of you as the drunk’s daughter. You were Josse’s girl, and I owe him.”

  “You owe him?” Her father was a forbidden subject, but she longed to learn more about him. “What do you owe him?”

  “My life. That is why I gave him his, not that he deserved it after what he did to me.” And that was all she was going to get from him. He would not waste any more of his breath speaking of Josse. The man was dead and good riddance. The world was a better place without him in it.

  “I am sorry I wasn’t there for you, but as God is my witness, I kept an eye on you. I did look out for you.”

  She wanted to contest such a statement. It was Merton who looked out for her, not Budic. Weeks would go by before Budic enquired in an uninterested way about her health. But as she looked into his eyes she saw he believed his words. He genuinely thought that he had looked after her.

  “All I ask in return is for you to let me love you.” He made it sound like a small inconsequential request and that she was somehow being unreasonable in rejecting him.

  “No,” Josephine instantly retorted. She knew she was subject to her King’s whim and if he wanted to make love with her, then she didn’t have a choice. But maybe she could talk him around. “Just hours ago you were trying to dig up your wife. It isn’t me you want.”

  “Yes, it is,” Budic contradicted, he cupped her face in his hands, and he brought his mouth down to hers again. She whimpered in the back of her throat as his kiss deepened and her eyes slipped closed almost against her will. And her foolish, traitorous body betrayed her. With her eyes closed, it was Merton that was kissing her this way. It was Merton who laid her back onto the coldness and hardness of the chamber floor. It was Merton who was fumbling with the ties of her dress. If she kept her eyes closed, it was Merton. When he kissed her again, she sighed in surrender and wrapped her arms around his body welcomingly. All coherent thoughts flew from her mind, and she lost herself to his touch, his taste, and the exquisite pleasure his body promised her.