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

by Mary Yarde

  He dropped his hand from his face and looked at her, and he wondered if it was his destiny to damn everyone who ever loved him. “I’ll take you back,” his voice was emotionless, no anger, no sorrow, he betrayed nothing. “We can use the old tunnel. If you go back to the castle looking like that…”

  Josephine glanced down at her dress, not comprehending what he was saying. She was soaked, her dress almost transparent. She raised her head slowly and met his gaze as the coldness of realisation descended upon her and made her shiver.

  “You don’t care, do you?” her voice was quiet, disbelieving. She had thought to break his heart, but he did not possess such a thing. “You had a daughter who you will never see, who you will never hold, and you don’t care. What they say about you is true. You are a demon.”

  He tore his gaze away from her and looked at the damp windswept grass. Of course, he cared. He cared so much that he felt as if his heart was being torn apart with the pain of it. Tanick had a sister. He had a daughter. For a moment the guilt was all consuming. He should have married her, regardless, and he should have been there for his daughter. Another mark against him. Another unforgivable sin.

  “Do not concern yourself with me. I can make my own way back.” She gathered up the reins and mounted her horse with difficulty, for the skirt of her dress was heavy with rainwater. He watched her struggle only for a moment, but when he went to help she made it very clear that his help was neither needed, or desired. So he held his horse’s reins and quietly watched her. She did not look at him again. She turned her horse and cantered away without another word. And this time, it was Merton who was left behind, standing alone in the rain.

  24

  Could Lord Jenison be any more tedious? Amandine tried her best to stifle a yawn.

  Amandine had spent a long while sat on the bed in her chamber after Merton had left her. She had thought long and hard about everything Merton had said. Merton was a good man. She knew in her heart that he was, and there was nothing he, or anyone else, could ever say that would make her change her opinion of him. His confession had broken her heart, and she wished there was something she could do to make things right for him. She knew such a thought was fanciful. What could she do? She was a woman, the property of her husband. She wielded no power or influence.

  Thoughts of her husband reminded her of her duty and reluctantly she left the seclusion of her chamber and headed to the Great Hall.

  Lord Bretagne was where Merton had said he was. His head was on his plate, his eyes were closed in sleep and he was dribbling. He was oblivious to those who were in the Hall, breaking their fast and sharing jokes at his expense.

  Amandine was just about to go over to her husband and shake him awake when she saw Lord Jenison. He was sat down on a stool in the corner of the room, minding his own business and eating a sweet pastry.

  “I wonder,” she muttered to herself. She had wanted to help Merton and here was a God-given opportunity for her to do so. If Philippe had any intentions towards Budic’s crown, then Lord Jenison would surely know. She approached him and asked him if he would care to go for a walk with her. He had immediately put down his pastry and stuttered a dumbfounded “yes.”

  Lord Jenison was of average height with sunken cheeks and a receding hairline — within a decade Amandine suspected he would be bald. His eyes looked far too big for his thin head, and they bulged something terrible as if he was permanently surprised. In the rain, Amandine thought he looked more like a frog than a snake.

  “And then when the ship comes in we divide the profits equally,” Lord Jenison’s hiss had grown more excitable as he warmed to his subject.

  “What do you trade?” Amandine asked, trying her best to sound interested.

  They were strolling through the harbour village as Jenison explained the finer points of shipping and trade. They had stood in the wet and the cold for a long time as they watched a ship battle the angry tide as it sailed to the promised sanctuary of the wharf. A few of the locals had come out to watch, predicting the ship would wreck on the rocks. They also told stories of stormy nights, lost comrades and treasure washed up on the beach. To the apparent disappointment of the small crowd gathered, the ship reached the harbour safely. Thankfully the Captain brought back exciting stories of angry sea gods and beautiful sirens that wanted to lure them into a watery grave with their songs — so he was forgiven, this once, for not letting his ship wreck. Beside her, Lord Jenison had shaken his head at such heretical nonsense, but the Captain’s tales had been far more entertaining than anything Lord Jenison had to say.

  “We trade in the usual. Wine. Spices,” Lord Jenison cleared his throat, “slaves.” He ticked them off on his fingers as he spoke. “Of course, there is a high demand for spices at the moment. We get a good price for them.”

  “More than you would get for a slave?” Amandine asked, with raised eyebrows.

  “Slaves are easy to come by. They are not so exotic.”

  “No man has the right to own another.” Garren had always been against slavery, and his opinion had rubbed off on to his young, impressionable, wife, but Amandine let Lord Jenison’s comment pass. She doubted very much that he would agree with her late husband’s beliefs. She had met many men like Lord Jenison before, and she realised they only understood one thing…profit.

  “You must be very clever,” Amandine praised. She knew how proud men liked to be admired. “Such knowledge you own. I wish my husband had a little of your good sense.”

  “Lord Bretagne is very rich. He does not need to worry about making a living.” There was a touch of bitterness in Lord Jenison’s voice, but he smiled awkwardly as if to cover up the indiscretion.

  “No, he just drinks himself stupid every night,” Amandine sighed deeply. “I am sorry, that was not fair of me. I do not mean to be disrespectful.”

  “You are a young and beautiful woman, my Lady. And Lord Bretagne is very old.”

  “You think I am beautiful?” Amandine wished she had the skills to act a blush, but the best she could manage was to look up at him through her eyelashes.

  “You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman I have ever met,” his voice had dropped to a throaty whisper.

  Amandine tapped him lightly on the arm. “You mustn’t say such things, my Lord, you will turn my head.”

  “That is the general idea.” He smiled as he linked his arm back through hers.

  Amandine had to remind herself not to cringe. His touch made her skin crawl. “So, is Philippe, your trading partner? Sorry, I don’t mean to be intrusive…I am so fascinated by your life. The stories that you have been telling me…it has been quite enlightening talking to you.”

  “You are not intrusive at all. You may ask me anything you like. I have, to be honest, my Lady,” he laughed a little nervously. “I was taken back when you asked me to walk with you. I thought at first you mocked me.”

  “Please, my Lord, you insult me by thinking such a thing. I never mock.”

  “Forgive me…I did not mean to offend. It came as a surprise, that is all. I did not think we had anything in common. I am but a lowly lord, who makes himself a decent living in trade. I am not a prince or a king.”

  “I hold you in the highest regard, Lord Jenison. I hope I have dispelled your belief that I am conceited.”

  “Please…I do not think you conceited,” he smiled at her again, and she repressed the desire to pull away from him. “I must say it makes a welcome change to talk to a woman who is so interested in trade.”

  “I am interested in everything,” Amandine stated, smiling up at him.

  “Philippe is a sound trading partner, such a head for figures and such a leader of men. I am proud to call him my partner and a friend. I believe he is destined for great things.”

  “I know the King greatly admires him.”

  “The King would have lost his kingdom a long time ago if it wasn’t for Philippe,” Jenison said gruffly and then, as if realising he said too much, he qui
ckly backtracked. “Well, what I mean is that Philippe is…he is-”

  He is what? Amandine wanted to ask, but she sensed Jenison had said all he was going to say, and besides, she was cold, and she was bored of his company.

  “Do not fret, my Lord, I know what you mean. Shall we head back? I am beginning to feel a little chilled, and I am more than a little wet.”

  “Of course,” he said, desperate to please. “But could you spare a few more minutes? I would very much like to show you some of the items that I trade. I have a building just down the way full of cargo. I would love for you to see some of it.”

  “Umm…” Amandine differed. The last thing she wanted to do was waste the rest of the morning looking at spices. But when she looked into Jenison’s face, he seemed so hopeful, like a little boy desperate to show off. How could she refuse him? “I would love to,” she heard herself saying.

  25

  Merton watched as Josephine rode away and a part of him, a desperate part of him, wanted to call her back. He wanted to fall down on his knees in front of her and beg her forgiveness. He wanted to ask more about Brianna. He wondered if Josephine had kept a lock of hair, or maybe an item of clothing that still had the child’s scent on. He wanted Josephine to take him to their daughter’s grave so that he could beg for her forgiveness too.

  Yrre’s horse impatiently nudged him in the back, jarring Merton out of his thoughts. The rain was still falling from the sky, but now it felt like tears from heaven.

  Merton was soaked to the skin, but he did not notice the cold. He took one last look at the castle and reluctantly turned away. Even if he begged for forgiveness, he doubted Josephine would ever grant him such a thing.

  He did not get back on the horse but was contented to walk and by the time he reached camp he knew roughly what he was going to say to his men. It was time for him to leave. He would entrust his child into Eadger’s care. He had never liked the idea of taking Tanick away from Emma anyway, the boy was as much hers now, as his, and Eadger would be a good father to him. Tanick would not be brought up a du Lac, but maybe that was a good thing.

  However, when he entered the camp, words, which usually came so readily to him, dried up in his throat. His men stopped what they were doing and looked at him as if they knew what was in his thoughts and were daring him to voice them. And for the first time in ages, Merton thought about what he wanted. He didn’t want to leave his son. He didn’t want to leave his men. Why should he?

  He didn’t say anything as he led the animal over to where the rest of the horses were tethered. Trace came to help with the tack, Merton stood back and just watched him, his fingers were numb from the cold anyway, and he did not relish undoing stiff buckles.

  He had a daughter. An emotional sob escaped from his mouth, and he bit his lip to stop any more sounds from coming out.

  Unbeknown to him, his warriors looked at Yrre for guidance. Yrre tilted his head, silently telling everyone to leave. Rand stabbed his sword, which he was sharpening, into the earth, and got up. Everyone else slowly moved away from the smouldering remains of the campfire and took refuge under canvas. Vernon’s dog, sensing distress, padded up to Merton and shoved her wet, cold muzzle into his hand. Merton petted the animal’s ears absentmindedly, and the dog crept closer.

  Emma had come out of the tent to see what all the fuss was about, for no one would tell her. When she saw Merton stood with his head bowed, the dog at his side and the rain pouring down around him, she knew instinctively what it meant. Merton was going to leave them. She bit her lip and prayed to Frige that Merton would leave Tanick with her. She could not bear the thought of having empty arms again. Emma went back into the tent and pushed her way through the mass of damp bodies who all wore identical grim expressions on their faces — none of the warriors wanted to lose their leader. She grabbed Merton’s cloak and went back outside into the rain. Emma blinked back tears as Yrre took the cloak from her and they exchanged a worried glance. Emma touched Yrre briefly on the arm in silent support, before retreating to the tent.

  “What has happened?” Yrre asked as he placed the cloak around Merton’s shoulders.

  “Everything,” Merton answered, clutching the cloak tighter around him, welcoming the warmth. “Alden. Budic. Josephine…” he raised his hand to his face and wiped the rain away. “Amandine…I was right to stay away from her. Oh God, what a mess.” Merton fell to the floor and landed on his knees amongst the mud. The dog immediately tried to lick his face, but Merton pushed her away. The dog, however, was persistent and began to paw him with her front foot until he started to pet her again.

  Concerned, Yrre knelt down next to him. This wasn’t the first time he had seen Merton like this. After Adèl’s funeral, he had followed Merton and watched him from a distance. He had feared Merton would do something stupid to himself and he would not allow that to happen. Guilt was a terrible, terrible burden and it could make a sane man act irrationally. He had prayed to the gods that he would never see such pain reflected on Merton’s face again, but it seemed the gods had not heeded his plea.

  “I can see from your face that it wasn’t all fun and games at the castle. Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Merton said. “Damn,” he sighed heavily as he remembered the basket of food waiting for him in the castle kitchen. “I was meant to bring you back some food.”

  “Now, that is unforgivable,” Yrre said trying to jest.

  “I’m sorry,” Merton, mumbled the apology.

  “It is only food,” Yrre answered. “I am sure we will survive. What happened?”

  “Alden has betrayed me.” Saying it out loud made it all the more unbelievable. “I never thought in a million years he would…” Merton faltered.

  “Betrayed you?” Yrre could not comprehend such an occurrence. “Are you sure?”

  “I am his subject. And I will do as he commands and if that means spying for Budic, who wants me dead, then so be it.”

  “Alden has commanded you to spy for Budic? That makes no sense. Alden hates him. Why would he want you to do something like that?”

  “He didn’t exactly command. I stormed out before they could come to an agreement. There is a threat, it seems, to Budic’s throne,” Merton stated sarcastically. “From Philippe de Manfrey of all people. Who’d of thought?”

  “But we told Alden that yesterday.”

  “Who are we to be believed? We are, after all, mercenaries — we lie, and we deceive. Our word means nothing. My word means nothing. But when the truth comes from someone other than us, it is accepted as fact. Budic wants me to…I don’t even know what he wants me to do. I heard some half-baked plan from Josephine — whom Budic has now married.”

  “Married? Hasn’t he just lost his wife?”

  “Don’t even get me started on that.”

  “What does Budic want you to do?”

  “Befriend Philippe-”

  “So Budic can call you traitor. So you can share the gallows with this Philippe?” Yrre interrupted in anger. “I hope you told him where to stick it.”

  “I would have done. But Alden reminded me that I am his subject and I must do as I am told.”

  “He said what?” Yrre asked in disbelief. “That doesn’t sound like something Alden would say.”

  “If I had not heard it with my own ears I would never have believed it.”

  “There must be an explanation,” Yrre stated.

  “I am an embarrassment,” Merton said. “Always have been, always will be. I guess Alden has finally had enough of me too. Although I would have preferred it if he stabbed me in the front than the back.”

  “I would have preferred it if he stabbed you not at all,” Yrre answered. “What a bastard.”

  “And yet, his betrayal doesn’t stab as deep as Josephine’s.”

  “Josephine? Apart from marrying your brother, what has she done?” Yrre knew all about Merton’s relationship with Josephine thanks to one night where they s
at around a fire and shared a small barrel of ale.

  “She had my child and decided not to tell me and now, it is too late. The child is dead and I have to live with the fact that I will never see her, or hold her.”

  Yrre sighed deeply. “I am sorry Merton, I really am.”

  “And yet there is more still. I think I’m in love with a married woman.”

  Yrre placed his hand on top of Merton’s shoulder in a silent sympathy. “The Lady Amandine?”

  “Yes,” Merton answered honestly.

  “By the gods,” Yrre chuckled. “You’ve had a busy day, and we haven’t even had our midday meal yet.”

  “That is because I left it in the kitchen,” Merton groaned and a smile tugged at his lips. “God,” he sighed as he rose back to his feet. “What a mess.”

  “What will you do?”

  “Go and get the food of course,” Merton answered. “And then I thought about borrowing one of my brother’s horses and then heading down to Hispania.” It made perfect sense now he had said it. Why should he sacrifice his life, for Alden? He had sacrificed more than enough already. No one knew him in Hispania. He could change his name, start again and forget. “Do you want to come?”

  “To Hispania or your brother’s stables?”

  “Hispania of course. I can’t go back to Cerniw, not now, not ever. If you want to go back to Cerniw, then I can’t stop you. But…I hoped…I hope, that maybe you would come with me. You could send for your wife and your children once we have found somewhere to put down roots.”

  “Wann will be pleased, he likes oranges,” Yrre answered with hope in his eyes as he rose to his feet. This is exactly what he wanted. Maybe not Hispania, but that was a small price to pay if it meant Merton would remain with them. “But I have my reservations,” Yrre had a teasing light in his eyes as he spoke. “Let’s be honest, you are a bit of a burden. I have lost count how many people want to boil your head and stick it on a spike. What if I was mistaken for you? I am quite attached to my head and I do have a pretty face.”