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

by Mary Yarde

  “I don’t care what you did in the past. I am only concerned with now and with the future. Tell Alden about Wessex, tell him that you are being blackmailed, he will understand. He will forgive you. I know he will. He will try and help. Merton, you are allowed a second chance at life, take it while you still can.”

  “I don’t deserve a second chance. I killed her. I killed my own wife. The one woman I swore to protect. I killed her. I shouldn’t be here with you. It isn’t safe.”

  She held on tight to his tunic, refusing to let go even when he tried to move. “You would never hurt me,” Amandine said, her voice strong, confident.

  “You don’t know that,” Merton answered. “I didn’t mean to kill her, but I did. She was…she was trying to smother our son,” he explained. “I grabbed her and pushed her away. She fell and banged her head and never woke up again.” He waited for her to scream at him, to tell him to get out, but she did neither.

  “It was an accident then. You cannot blame yourself for her death. I would have done the same if she were my wife. You had to save your son.” She took hold of his hand. “You would never hurt me,” she said again.

  “We can’t be sure. I have killed other women. I have killed children and old men. I rounded up an entire village, locked them in a barn, and set fire to it. I can still hear their screams. You cannot tell me that was an accident as well.”

  “Then what was it?” Amandine asked, holding onto his hand tighter, determined now to learn the truth.

  “To prove a point.” Merton shrugged with hopelessness. “I did it just to prove a point to Wihtgar that I was ruthless enough to join his sorry army of murders because he paid well and I needed the money. You say I am good. I am the opposite of good. My being here, in this room, alone with you, should tell you that if nothing else does.” His words were harsh, and he saw her flinch at them, but still she did not turn away.

  “I did kill my wife. I corrupted her soul. I destroyed who she was. When I met her, she was beautiful, funny…nice. She had a future in front of her. I seduced her. I took her to my bed like one would do a whore. I used her. That is who I am Amandine, and you would do well to remember it, because right now, I want to do the same to you. I want to rip those clothes off your body, and I want to pick you up, throw you on that bed and join with you. I have never wanted anything so desperately in my life as I want you right now.”

  “Then do it.”

  He gasped at her words, not expecting them. He thought his words would scare her away, but all he had done was draw her closer. He really must be evil, for only evil had the power to do such a vile thing. He shook his head and backed away from her. “You don’t want me in your bed,” he stated.

  “Don’t I?” Amandine challenged back.

  Merton shook his head again. “You want Garren,” he said simply, “and I look like him.”

  Her head snapped sideways at his words as if he had physically hit her, and she let go of his hand. The pain his words brought stole her breath for a moment. How could he be so cruel? She turned away from him so that she would not have to see his face. She noticed the hairbrush, lying abandoned on the floor and bent to pick it up. She could not remember dropping it. She remembered when Garren had given her the brush. He had smiled at her and kissed her forehead when she squealed with delight. She clutched the brush to her chest. Garren was gone, and she was fed up with living a half-life. She longed for Merton to close the distance between them and take her in his arms again. She wanted to be loved, to feel desire and to be desired in return. She longed for laughter and adventure. He could give her all of that. She knew he could.

  He was wrong in his assumptions. She didn’t look at him and see Garren. And it wasn’t Garren she had been thinking of. Her thoughts had been blessedly occupied with Merton. And then he had gone and spoilt it all with a few ill thought out words, intended to drive her away.

  “Don’t bring him into this,” she said, over her shoulder, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Don’t use him as an excuse–”

  “But he is in this. He was your husband and my brother. If he were alive, you would not even look twice at a man like me. You would condemn me as others do. I remind you of him. That is all. But I am not him.”

  “Do you think I have such little intellect that I can not tell the difference between the pair of you?”

  “Amandine, that’s not–”

  “I would never mistake you for him. You asked me to share your bed. I am saying yes. I want to be with you. You.”

  Merton longed for her to turn around and look at him, but she would not. “If you let me touch you — if you lay with me — there would be no going back. I wouldn’t leave you here so the church could stone you at their convenience. I would take you with me. I would end your marriage and by that, I mean I would kill your husband because there is no way in hell, that I would share you with another. But Amandine, I have not told you the real reason why I am here. Clovis wants me dead, and I did not part on the best of terms with Wihtgar. One of them will catch up with me and when they do,” he shook his head, “for me that will be the end. I am living on borrowed time. And if either of them found out about you, then they would not think twice about using you to get to me, and I won’t put you in danger. Don’t ask me to. Saying yes to me has consequences and you need to be aware of them.”

  “And now you are trying to scare me again,” Amandine accused, turning to face him at last. “You came here to seduce me, and when I give you leave to, you try and frighten me away. What kind of man are you?”

  “I told you what kind of man I am. I am a monster. And if I were you, I wouldn’t have anything more to do with me.”

  “You know where the door is.” She took a step towards him, and he took another one back to keep the distance between them, for he did not trust himself if she got too close. “But remember this, Merton du Lac, it isn’t I that walked away from us; it was, you.”

  “There is no us. There never was, and there never can be. I don’t even know what I am doing here. I am just torturing both of us, wishing for something that neither of us can have. I am sorry,” Merton said, turning from her and unlocking the door.

  “So that’s it? Are you just going to leave? No kiss goodbye? No long farewell? Do you want me to fall at your feet? Do you expect me to beg you to stay?”

  “I would never ask you to fall at my feet,” Merton answered, turning back around to look at her. “I would never demean you in such a way. But even if you begged, I would not stay. You mean too much to me.” He crossed the room and took her back into his arms.

  “Promise me something,” he whispered in her ear, “…when you hear that death has finally caught up with me, I want you to light a candle and remember that walking away from you is the hardest thing I ever had to do, and up until now… burning that barn…” He laughed without humour, and when she looked into his eyes, she saw tears and watched, mesmerised, as one tear made a track down his face. And then he left her, standing there, looking at a closed door.

  Amandine stood staring at the door for several long minutes. He had behaved honourably and had left her untouched. She sat down on the edge of the bed, for her legs would no longer support her, and she felt the chronic despair of loneliness wash over her.

  “Garren,” she sobbed her late husband’s name, but for once, it wasn’t Garren she wanted. “Dear God,” she whispered to herself. “What do I do now?”

  20

  “I need to go. It is late.” Philippe planted a distracted kiss on Josephine’s forehead and climbed out of bed.

  Josephine sat up and watched as Philippe pulled on his boots. “Is there nothing I could say that would make you reconsider?”

  He smiled at her and shook his head. “It is all going to be fine. You’ll see. Go back to sleep. You look tired. Did you get any sleep at all?”

  “How could I sleep after what you told me?”

  “There is nothing for you to worry your pretty head about,” he promised. “I
have it all under control. You just have to trust me. And for the love of God, stay away from Budic today. You have done more than enough for him already.”

  If only he knew, she thought, smiling weakly at him. “Be careful,” she said as he stood and crossed to the door.

  “I know exactly what I am doing. Stop with all the worrying, my little rabbit.”

  His words were patronising, but she bit back a retort, for he was obviously not willing to listen to reason. Philippe was a stranger to her now. Perhaps he always had been. How could he have aspired to such greatness without her knowledge? There had been nothing in their previous conversations that alluded to such a greed for power. He smiled at her with what was, she assumed, supposed to be reassurance. Without another word, he let himself out of the room.

  She waited for just a moment, in case he returned, and then she scrambled out of the bed. She had not changed into her nightgown, she still wore the dress from yesterday, only it was now creased dreadfully. However, the last thing on her mind was the state of her clothing. She opened the door just enough so she could see down the corridor. Philippe wasn’t there. He had more than likely gone down to the Great Hall to break his fast and to strengthen his position. She closed the door and leant back against it. He was every kind of fool. He would never get away with it.

  She paced to the other side of the room and poured some water into a cup, but her hand was shaking so much that the water missed the cup completely, not that she was aware of that fact. The water hit the table then trickled down to the floor where it formed a small puddle. She picked up the cup, cradling it with both her hands as she brought it halfway towards her mouth.

  She would have to tell Budic of Philippe’s plans. In this, there was no choice. Budic was her King and her lover, but...she cared for Philippe greatly, and she did not want to see him suffer a traitor’s death, and that is what Budic would order, she was sure of it. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if that happened, but then neither would she be able to live with herself if something happened to Budic.

  She put the cup back down on the table. There were more important things than quenching her thirst.

  Had Philippe murdered the Queen and the baby? Her hand covered her stomach in protection. If she were pregnant with Budic’s child now, would Philippe do the same to her? The thought frightened her. As did the idea of Budic finding out that she had known of Philippe’s plans, but had kept silent.

  There wasn’t a choice.

  She had to tell Budic.

  Josephine marched with purpose towards the door. There is no choice. There is no choice. The words echoed in her head until she wanted to cover her ears with her hands, curl up into a ball and hide, only to come out again when this was all over.

  She opened the door and looked down the corridor, frowning when she saw Merton coming out of Amandine’s chamber, although she didn’t give it much thought, so preoccupied was her mind. She watched him as he made his way towards his chamber and her heart missed a beat. If only he were yours, her foolish heart mocked her. “I am Budic’s,” she whispered under her breath.

  When Merton closed the door to his chamber, she slipped out into the hallway, glancing about her as she did so, afraid that someone would notice her and report back to Philippe. He was bound to have spies in court — he would not be able to usurp Budic if he did not.

  There didn’t seem to be anyone there, but she kept glancing behind her nevertheless as she made her way down the corridor, at a brisk pace, towards the Royal Chambers. By the time she came in sight of the soldiers that guarded Budic’s chamber she was sweating profusely. Never had she been so afraid in her whole life.

  What if Budic didn’t believe her? What if he did? Could she go through with this? She wavered. Budic would kill him. Philippe’s death would be on her conscience forever, and he had been so good to her.

  “Can I help you, my Lady?” One of the soldiers asked her with a slight hint of mockery.

  She raised her head, for the soldier was very tall, and looked at him. She recognised him from this morning, and, from the look in his eyes, he knew what had occurred behind the door he guarded so well.

  “It is imperative that I see the King. I bring him news of grave importance.” She tried to keep the tremor of fear from her voice as she addressed the soldiers, but they must have heard it because they looked at her very oddly indeed. The soldier, who had addressed her, turned towards the door and banged on it three times with his fist, before opening the door and letting himself in. A moment later he came back out of the chamber.

  “The King will see you now,” the soldier stated and stepped out of the way of the door so Josephine could pass.

  She took a quick breath, which she let out on a short and sharp sigh, before walking into the room.

  “You will see it done. Am I not your King?” Budic’s voice boomed around the room.

  “Sire,” the Abbot was very red in the face as he bellowed back. “You cannot. It is too soon. You have to allow a certain amount of time for mourning. It is the rules.”

  “I AM THE KING. I MAKE THE RULES,” Budic argued, sounding a little like a spoilt child in the throws of a tantrum. His face was as red as the Abbots.

  Next to the Abbot, stood the young monk, Sampson, who was listening to the argument intently.

  “You cannot unmake the rules of God. I cannot…I will not…allow you to disregard-”

  “I NEED AN HEIR,” Budic roared. “And she can give me one. She is young, and I have no doubt that she is fertile.” He pointed to Josephine, although he didn’t look at her.

  Josephine, who had just dipped down into a low curtsey, looked up with wide eyes. During her marriage to Marcus she had lamented at the tedium of her life, missing the days when Merton was her source of adventure, but now she would do anything, give anything, to go back to a life of boredom. First Philippe’s grand confession and now this. This wasn’t how he was meant to propose — if that was indeed what he was doing. Where were the flowers, the wine and the candles? Where was the romance? Merton would have made it romantic. But he didn’t ask you. Instead he walked away from you after giving you to another.

  “My Lady Josephine,” Budic addressed her, but he did not take his eyes off the Abbot. “Did you, or did you not, spend last night in my bed? Were we not intimate?”

  Josephine felt the blood rush to her face and wished with all her heart that Budic had not been so frank with his choice of words. The Abbot glared at her as he waited for her to speak. She didn’t know what to say. She would be declared a whore and cast out of the Church for such an admission.

  “ANSWER THE QUESTION,” Budic yelled.

  “I did…we were…Sire,” Josephine confessed, deciding she would rather anger God than the king.

  “You Jezebel,” the Abbot threw the insult at Josephine.

  Josephine cried out in horror as Budic lashed out at the Abbot, walloping him so hard across the face that the old man staggered back against the wall.

  “You speak to her like that again, and I will have your tongue. You will marry us, right now.”

  Josephine forgot all about the lack of proposal. Budic wanted to marry her now, this instant. This was it. This was what she had wanted. She was going to marry a du Lac. She was going to marry the greatest of them all. She was going to be crowned the Queen of Brittany. She knew where her loyalties lay now. They lay with Budic, not Philippe and certainly not with Merton.

  “Do you mean it?” she asked.

  “Of course, I bloody mean it. Did you think I would simply take your body and cast you aside?”

  “I hoped not.” She looked at the Abbot and felt confidence rise within her bosom. “Are you going to refuse a command from your King?” She stepped forward, surprised by her bravery at talking so to a man of God.

  “I will not marry you,” the Abbot said, his tone resolute.

  “Then you are no longer my Abbot. Pack your things and take yourself back to Rome, you filthy bloodsucking sinn
er of a leech, may you roast in hell.”

  “It takes a sinner to see one. This marriage is doomed,” the Abbot prophesied without fear. “I will willingly remove myself from this dragon’s den, this devil infested, sinful house of ill-repute. First your father, then your brother, and now you. Satan rules the corridors here. I was warned he was here, and now I have seen him with my own eyes. You are all corrupted. You are all condemned. God is watching you. And he will judge you, and you will feel his wrath. Mark my words. You will feel it.” The Abbot paused to take in a breath. “Come along, Brother Sampson, let us away from this evil lair of immorality.”

  The Abbot gathered up his robes, and as he turned into the light, Josephine could see that his face bore a very visible red handprint.

  “A boy such as you has no place in a house of debauchery,” the Abbot spat the words. “You bring shame to your house and your name. God will curse you for this, Budic du Lac.”

  “Get out before I cut out your tongue and put a sword through your gullet,” Budic said, taking a threatening step towards the Abbot and unsheathing his knife.

  The Abbot, seeing the knife and perhaps realising that God wasn’t going to save him from Budic’s anger, fled the room, not bothering to check if the boy was following him.

  Sampson didn’t flee like the Abbot. Instead, he stood with his hands clasped lightly in front of him as he looked firstly at his King, who was angrily looking at the floor and then at his King’s mistress, who was staring in shock at the King. Sampson felt a smile tug at his lips. Dear God, he loved it here. He never knew what was going to happen next. It beat the monastery of Caldey any day, although sometimes he did miss the tranquillity of that little island.

  “I can marry you,” Sampson stated.

  Budic’s head snapped up, and he looked at the boy. “Do you have the authority?”

  “Of course,” Sampson nodded. “I am a man of God,” he smiled encouragingly, first at the King and then at Josephine.

  “Then we shall make our way to the church,” Budic said, a look of relief on his face.