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

by Mary Yarde

  “There is no need to concern yourself with the particulars of my plans,” Philippe stated. “Think on this, instead…we can marry. I will make you Queen of Brittany. My queen. How does that sound?”

  “I am not dying on a rock next to you,” Josephine stated, backing away. “And I do not want to talk about this again. Please leave,” she pointed to the door.

  Philippe made no move to leave. “I know you are scared-”

  “Scared? I think you have lost your wits,” she whispered. “What you speak of is impossible. Even if you did, I don’t know,” she huffed as she thought for the right word. “If you did manage to remove Budic, you would still have to contend with his brothers.”

  “Yes, I can see the congratulations coming my way from them is going to be very difficult to bear. They hate him as much as I do.”

  “The Du Lac brothers are loyal to each other.”

  Philippe snorted at that statement. “No, they are not, that is a myth. Alden doesn’t give a damn what happens here as long as his precious Cerniw is left untouched and I promise you, I will be a better ally to him than Budic ever was. He will welcome me. Alden likes me.”

  “And what about Merton?” Josephine challenged. “You do not want to make him your enemy.”

  “Merton does not scare me,” Philippe stated bravely. “And besides, that is where you come in. I need your help, my love. You and Merton were once close, and I know you can get him to see things from my point of view. Unless of course, you would like me to avenge you, he deserves to die after the way he treated you.” She could hear the anger in his voice. She had forgotten she had confided in Philippe. It seemed so long ago when she had first cried in his arms. He had held her and told her that Merton du Lac was a fool and that she was better off without him.

  “I don’t want Merton to die. I don’t want any of them to die. I am not going to help you with this insane scheme of yours. Anyway, Merton and Alden will not be here for much longer. Your challenge to the throne is not imminent…is it?”

  “This time next week, I will be king,” Philippe spoke with absolute confidence. “Of that, you can be certain. And you will be my queen.” Philippe smiled, his eyes lighting with determination. “And together, we can bring about a new court, a new age. My reign will be remembered as something to aspire too. It is going to happen. Help me. And I will reward you. I will make every single one of your dreams come true.

  Josephine shook her head. “You are the one that is dreaming, Philippe. Please, whatever you have planned, stop and think about the implications. Without the army’s support, your plans will come to nothing. Can you not see that?”

  “Oh Josephine,” he closed the distance between them and took her hand in his. “I am not dreaming. The events of the past few days have been planned for a very long time. It is the beginning of the end for the du Lac’s, and now I have taken care of Anna-”

  “What do you mean by that?” She searched his face for answers. “Did you have a hand in the Queen’s death?” Her face lost all signs of colour as she continued to look at him. The death of the Queen had been so unexpected, and the baby had been doing so well. “Did you kill them?” she couldn’t believe she was even asking him that. The man before her wasn’t the man she knew.

  “I know you are scared, but there is nothing to be scared of,” Philippe said, evading her question. “I promise you, my darling. I have everything under control. Just help me with this one small problem.”

  “You did, didn’t you?” Josephine backed away from him. “How could you?” she cried. “Anna was my friend and the baby…he was an innocent.”

  “An heir to the throne is hardly innocent.” He made himself smile, and he held his hand out towards her.

  She flinched away from his touch. “Don’t you dare touch me,” she warned.

  He grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her towards him. “I didn’t kill them. It was just something unfortunate that happened, but I am not going to deny that her death has worked in my favour. You will be my queen,” he spat the words at her like an order. “And you will do as you are told. I want Merton du Lac to be on my side, because with his support the transfer of power will go all the more smoothly. If you do this for me, then I will reward you. If you do not, then your head will join Budic’s. Am I making myself clear?” He shook her slightly. “I love you, Josephine, and I will be your husband. I will give you the life that has so far been denied you. I am doing this for you, for us.” His grip gentled then, and he smiled. “I have some extremely rich, very powerful, and influential friends. I wouldn’t be even contemplating what I am going to do if it wasn’t for them and their money.”

  “Are you talking of Lord Jenison?” Josephine sneered. “He may be rich, but I would hardly call him influential.”

  “I am not talking about Lord Jenison,” Philippe stated with a strained patience.

  “Wessex?” Josephine said in disgust. Nobody liked Wessex and his reign of intimidation, but he was the only other man Josephine could think of who would have the power to topple a monarchy.

  “No. Not Wessex,” Philippe laughed at the absurdity of such an idea. “As I have said before, you do not need to concern yourself with my affairs.” He smiled, his eyes shimmering with excitement. “Our future is in our grasp, say you will be a part of it.”

  18

  Merton had spent a restless night with his men. His son was curled up contentedly on his chest. His little thumb had found its way into his mouth, and his breathing was easy in sleep. Sleep had not come so easily for Merton. There was too much to think about — he had seen the light of ambition in Philippe’s eye and regardless of what Alden said, he knew — he didn’t know how he knew — but he knew that Philippe wanted Budic’s throne. And when he wasn’t thinking of Philippe, he found himself dreaming of Amandine. He wished he could drive her from his thoughts. She was married, and it wasn’t like he was planning on being here for very long and besides, Wann was right, he had sworn never to get involved with a woman again. It always ended badly. He recalled watching her yesterday as she looked out to sea and he wondered if maybe she saw Garren when she looked at him. It was said that the resemblance between himself and his late brother was striking. Maybe the want he thought he saw in her eyes was not for him, but for a ghost.

  He wasn’t Garren, and he never could be. All he had to do was tell her the truth about his life. He would condemn himself so thoroughly that she would have no choice but to judge him as others did. She would not want to be in his company then, and she would hate him. As she should. After all, an angel has no place in the company of a demon.

  As the sun began to rise in the sky, Merton passed his son to Yrre. The child did not awaken, and nor did Yrre. However, Yrre instinctively curved his arm protectively around the child, for it was not an unusual occurrence for Yrre to wake up and find himself holding Merton’s son in his arms. Trace had once said that the pair of them were like an old married couple and to an extent he was right. He and Yrre shared a rare bond and Merton would miss him dreadfully when they parted ways.

  He stepped out of the tent and was immediately pelted by the rain. There would be no sailing today he feared, and the longer they stayed here, the more danger they were in. He wanted Alden, his son and his men out of Benwick as soon as possible and then he would feel safe and he could get on with finishing his miserable excuse for a life.

  He tacked up Yrre’s horse; his own had taken a turn for the worse, and he feared the animal was now beyond help. It was cruel, to keep the poor thing alive, but he hesitated in ending his life. It would be like cutting the throat of his best friend. He would give the horse one more day, and if he didn’t improve, then he would act mercifully. He mounted quickly and rode towards the castle.

  He left Yrre’s horse with a groom, confident that the animal would have a good rub down and something to eat. But he did not immediately head for the Great Hall. Instead, he stole his way into the kitchens where he managed to persuade the cook to give hi
m some freshly baked bread and goat’s milk. He ate the food, perched on a stool in the corner of the room and watched as Budic’s servants dashed about in a wild rush as they tried to ensure all of Budic’s fine guests were catered for.

  He left orders with the cook to prepare a basket of food for his men, which would please Yrre, who had not shut up about the food since his feast in the Hall. He then made his way into the castle.

  Merton wandered into the Great Hall, looking for Alden, but his brother wasn’t up yet. He caught sight of Lord Bretagne, passed out at the table and his thoughts immediately returned to Amandine. If Lord Bretagne was here, that meant...

  “What are you doing here?” Lady Amandine asked mere moments later. She glanced anxiously up and down the hallway. Thankfully, it was empty, for everyone else had already made their way down to the Hall to break their fast.

  Merton was leaning against the opposite wall. In truth, he did not know why he was here, he had promised himself that he would keep his distance, but his feet had led him to her chamber nonetheless.

  “I came to ravish you. Why else? Can I come in? Unless you want me to ravish you in the hallway of course,” he said, trying to shock.

  “You are not coming in,” Amandine whispered, fearful that someone would hear them in the empty corridor.

  “The hallway it is then.” He took a step forward as if he was going to make a grab for her. She immediately took a step back into her room and closed the door just enough so she could peek around and still see him.

  Merton laughed. The sound was joyous to Amandine’s ears. She wasn’t used to being teased. Merton made a welcomed change to the tedium that was her life. Not to mention he was also very pleasing to the eye, compared to her ancient husband that was.

  “Are you going to let me in, or are you going to cling to the door all morning?” Merton asked, raising one eyebrow as he did so.

  He was looking at her in that indulgent way of his. No one, apart from maybe Garren, had looked at her the way Merton did now. It was very persuasive.

  “What if my husband returns?”

  “While I was ravishing you?” Merton looked shocked. “Well,” he breathed out slowly and crept closer to the door. He raised his hand and rested it on the doorframe. “He would be in for a sight, although I have been told that my body is rather fine to behold,” he smiled charmingly at her.

  “You are not funny,” Amandine said. She tried to glance down the hallway again, but he was blocking her view.

  “There is no one there, and your husband has drunk himself into unconsciousness. I saw him this morning, fast asleep with his head resting on his plate. I do not think he will be coming back here anytime soon.”

  “Oh no, not again,” she sighed and leant her head against the edge of the door. “I should have gone and looked for him last night, I suppose.” But instead, she had been glad for his absence, especially when she woke herself up in the dead of night, calling Merton’s name out loud. She felt her face heat as she recalled her dream. “Thank you for telling me, I had better go and rescue him.”

  Her voice sounded thoroughly fed-up, but also resigned and Merton found himself hating her husband for humiliating her so.

  “He seemed quite content with his lot. I don’t think he needs rescuing. Are you ever going to let me in or are we going to spend the day conversing in the hall?”

  “I can’t let you in,” Amandine said in horror. “What would people say?”

  “What people?” He made much of looking down the corridor. When he looked back at her, she had narrowed her eyes and was frowning at him. He smiled as she opened the door wider.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she whispered as she led him further into the chamber she shared with her husband.

  Merton shut the door with a resounding bang and turned the key, for he did not want them to be disturbed.

  “Now, where would you like to be ravished?” He took a moment to look around the room as if contemplating the best place. “Nice bed.”

  “What do you want?” Amandine asked, glowering back at him. It was highly improper, him being here, and she hated herself for giving into his teasing.

  “Apart from ravishing you?”

  “You don’t want to ravish me,” Amandine answered, although her eyes glanced at the bed and then embarrassed, she looked away and would not meet his gaze.

  “I think we have already concluded that I probably do,” Merton stated. “I think, in my dreams, I ravished you about five times last night. How many times did you ravish me?”

  Her eyes flashed back to his, then nervously she turned her back on him and walked over to a small table by an even narrower window. She picked up her hairbrush, for want of something to hold on to. Ignoring him, she began to brush her hair vigorously.

  “Let me.”

  She jumped a little, not realising Merton had stepped up behind her for his footsteps were light. Dear Lord, he was so close to her, all she had to do was lean back. She felt his hand on hers as he took the brush from her fingers and her heart skipped a beat and then started to race. She took an unsteady breath, one she knew he must have heard.

  Merton closed his eyes for a moment as he breathed in the smell of her. She smelt of lavender and the sea. Pure and clean and everything he was not.

  The brush was cold against his hand. As he lifted it, he saw the delicate design on the back. He rubbed his thumb once over the two initials that had been painstakingly carved, entwined, into the silver. A and G. Garren had given her this. He remembered being ordered to go and collect it from the silversmith. He had refused until Garren had tossed him a coin. That all seemed so long

  ago now.

  He touched her hair, something he had been longing to do since she had approached him yesterday. Her hair was beautiful and soft against the roughness of his weatherworn hands. He raised the brush and gently began to draw it through her hair.

  How long they stood there, Amandine did not know. She dared not move for fear he would give her back the brush and walk away. The task was innocent in itself, but he made it feel intimate and she wished that time could be halted, and they could stay here forever, just like this.

  “Do you think Philippe de Manfrey seeks the throne of Brittany?”

  The question was so unexpected that Amandine snapped out of the sensual daze that she had fallen into. She began to turn around, but he halted her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I haven’t finished with your hair yet,” he said, continuing to draw the brush through it.

  “I think you have,” she muttered nervously, hoping he would ignore her and continue. Which thankfully, he did.

  “Tell me I am reading the situation wrong,” Merton prompted.

  “Which situation?” she whispered, she could hardly think straight when he was this close. He was so gentle with the brush. This was the Merton she knew, not the demon everyone else described.

  “Us. There is something happening between you and me, don’t deny it,” he whispered back. “And Philippe, I am worried about his intentions.”

  “I don’t know if he wants to be king. I have never heard even a whisper of such a thing. He would be a fool if he challenged Budic for the throne. Budic would kill him. I do not think you have anything to worry about with Philippe. He may think himself important, but I do not believe that he is overly ambitious. Why do you think he would want the throne?”

  “It was just a thought, which flit through my mind for a moment.” Merton paused, the brush held against her hair. “And what about us?” he finally asked as he began to brush her hair again.

  “Philippe made some sound financial investments; I know that much,” Amandine said, sidestepping his question because she dared not voice the feelings that he had awakened in her. “I don’t know exactly what he trades in, but he has travelled the mainland. He has even had an audience with the Pope in Rome.” She sounded impressed.

  “I have had dealings with the Pope as well.”

  “You have?” Amandi
ne asked with interest.

  “Oh yes. It was the Pope himself who condemned me with bell, book and candle,” Merton spoke the words as if it was something inconsequential and hardly worth a mention. He lifted her hair with one hand into a sort of loose ponytail, before running the brush through it again.

  “He damned you?” her voice shook. “Merton, what did you do?”

  “Does the church need a reason to condemn?” Merton scoffed at the hypocrisy, at least he didn’t hide his crimes behind a gilded cross.

  “But Merton, to be damned…your soul…” She turned to look at him.

  “If my soul is damned then so is his. I have witnessed Papal Justice and believe me there is nothing so brutal as Trial by Ordeal, and yet they call themselves men of God. They are corrupt, and they are devious, and they are cruel. I watched them stone a child. A little girl, she couldn’t have been any older than twelve,” Merton shook his head as he remembered. “She had been raped by her uncle, but because he put his hand over her mouth, her screams went unheard. They said she encouraged him. That is Papal Justice. The only good thing that came out of it was that her uncle was stoned as well. If that is the kind of people who make it into Heaven, then I am glad that I do not have a place there.”

  He moved away from her, tried to anyway, but she had caught hold of his hand. He looked down at where she held him. Her touch, the way her skin felt against his — it was like a connection deep into his soul — he had never felt anything like it before. If he didn’t leave right now, he had a suspicion she would bring him to his knees, and no man had ever done that.

  “You have suffered. You have seen things that I can not even imagine,” Amandine said, taking the brush from him and letting it fall carelessly from her fingers as if it were nothing but a cheap trinket bought from the market.

  “I have done things that you cannot imagine either. Do not make me your champion, for I deserve not the title.”

  Amandine reached up with her hand and touched his cheek. “I do not care about what you have done, or why you angered the Church. I know that you are honourable and kind, and you are-”