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

by Mary Yarde

  “How did you-”

  “Josephine told me. Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you send word?” He could hear the accusation in his words, and he had not meant to sound so judgemental. It wasn’t her fault he had been kept in the dark.

  “Because I didn’t know for certain. Josephine never confided in me. To start with I thought the child was Marcus’s, just like everyone else did. Marcus was your cousin; any resemblance to you was easily explained. If I had known she was yours, I would have told you. It wasn’t until the child was a little older that I began to have a suspicion that she was yours, but I could hardly go up to Josephine and ask her, and I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

  A tear escaped Amandine’s eyes, and Merton wiped it away with his thumb.

  “What was she like? My daughter?”

  “You should ask Josephine. She was her mother after all.”

  “Josephine is not speaking to me. Please, there is no one else to ask.”

  “She was mischievous,” Amandine smiled sadly as she remembered the dear little girl. “You certainly knew when she was in the castle. She was like a little whirlwind…into everything. You had to have eyes in the back of your head when she was around. She loved climbing. You had to watch her. I don’t know how many times she fell off the chairs. She once pulled down one of Budic’s beautiful tapestries that are hanging in the Great Hall. How she had the strength to do that, I don’t know. Budic wasn’t overly impressed, but she smiled at him and raised her arms for him to pick her up and he fell for her charms like everyone else did. Instead of scolding her he gave her a biscuit.”

  Budic had held her. Merton felt a deep sense of jealousy, and he also felt hate. How dare Josephine keep his daughter a secret from him.

  “Could she talk?” he almost choked on the words so thick was his voice with emotion, and he cleared his throat.

  “Oh yes. Brianna had plenty to say. She was like her mother, in that sense.”

  Merton closed his eyes briefly at the pain of losing a child he never knew. “I didn’t know she was pregnant. I would have…”

  “I know you would have,” Amandine smiled sadly.

  “God must be laughing at me,” Merton chuckled, although there was no humour in it.

  “God doesn’t laugh at suffering,” Amandine contradicted.

  “Doesn’t he?” Merton queried. “Then why isn’t he moved to pity? Why did he let me…do the things I have done? Why did my children have to suffer, instead of me? I am the one who should be dead, not my daughter and not my wife.”

  “Did you love her…your wife?” She was curious about this woman who Merton had pledged his life to.

  “No. I liked her, to begin with. I was lonely, and I thought…I was arrogant enough to think that I could make it work. But she was…immune to my efforts.”

  “She must have been a very cold woman. You can be very persuasive,” Amandine said with a gentle smile.

  “Not persuasive enough it seems, otherwise you would be packing,” Merton stated. “I want to kiss you before I leave.”

  Amandine’s face warmed at his words, but she dared not encourage such a thought. It wouldn’t take much for her to yield to Merton’s charms and if she let him kiss her, then she feared she would forget all about the teachings of the Church and follow him wherever it may lead. She was married, and that was the end of it. “Josephine is still in love with you,” Amandine said quietly, trying to distract him from the thought of kissing her. “If you so much as clicked your fingers, Josephine would come running.”

  “I doubt that,” Merton said, his voice cooling as he thought about Josephine. “You didn’t see the way she looked at me when she left me earlier. And besides she’s…there is someone else.”

  They both fell silent after that. Merton escorted her to her chamber without saying another word, because there was nothing else left to say. When they reached her door, he took her hand and raised it to his mouth, ready to take his leave.

  “I haven’t thought of Garren all morning,” Amandine said, speaking quickly before she lost her nerve. She had to be honest with him and with herself. Especially if this were the last time, she would ever see him. “Because all I could think about was you.”

  Merton’s breathing became unsteady at her confession. “Do not say things like that to me,” he whispered.

  “Why not?”

  He reached for her then, drawing her close. Her hands crept up to his tunic and held on tight and then they stretched up around his neck and into his hair. She was surprised by the softness of his hair. She thought it would be hard, sharp, like the warrior he was renowned for being. She should have known better, the world saw a soldier, whereas she had only ever seen the man. He lowered his head, and she raised hers, she could taste his breath on her lips and with a will of their own, her eyes slipped closed.

  Abruptly she was released. She stood looking at him in bewilderment, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He stared back, his eyes dark with desire and regret. And then she heard what he must have heard. Footsteps. He tore his gaze away from her as Alden came into view.

  “Merton, I was looking for you,” Alden spoke with relieved concern, but there was a smile on his lips. He had feared that Merton would have left before he had a chance to explain. “Lady Amandine, good day.”

  “Your Majesty.” She managed to say his name, but her gaze was drawn instinctively back to Merton. Merton looked up, and their eyes met, clung.

  Alden looked at them both for a moment and the smile fell from his lips.

  “Merton, a word.” Alden’s tone broke no argument and neither did the hand that had grabbed Merton by the arm and guided him away from Amandine and down the hallway. They rounded a corner and Alden pushed Merton forcefully against the wall.

  “What are you playing at? And don’t you dare play the innocent with me. I saw what just passed between the two of you.” Alden silently cursed, he had not meant to shout.

  “It is not what it looks like,” Merton said, pushing his brother’s hand away from his chest.

  “I know you. It is exactly what it looks like. Don’t do this, not with her,” Alden warned.

  “Why? Because I am not worthy of a woman, like that?” Merton laughed bitterly. “I am only good enough to order around whenever the passing takes you. Yes, Sire. No, Sire.” He bowed mockingly. “Of course, I will do whatever Budic wants me to. I am, but my King’s humble servant after all and I will willingly end my days dangling from a rope if that is what Budic decrees.”

  Alden grabbed hold of Merton’s tunic again and pushed him back against the wall. “If you really believe that I would allow that, then you don’t know me at all. Do you honestly think I would make you work for that conniving bastard?”

  “You had me convinced,” Merton replied, although now he was less certain. He was always waiting for the day when Alden would turn his back on him — he had thought that day had come.

  Alden let go of Merton’s tunic and took a step away. “Budic belongs to Wessex now. You and I are the only ones left with the courage to oppose him. We are all that is standing in the way of his complete domination of the South. Wessex will wipe out our people if we are not careful. I foresee a future where we will all be conversing in the Saxon tongue.”

  Merton could not hold his brother’s gaze. Now would be the time to confess all, but he couldn’t. Amandine said that Alden would understand, but she was wrong. Alden would see it as a gross betrayal.

  “I don’t know whether this so-called threat to Budic’s throne from Philippe is genuine. It could be an elaborate ruse. So we have to be careful. Until we can get ourselves away from this place, then we have to appear to be collaborating. I am your king, whether you like it or not, that is what I am, and I am ordering you,” Alden paused. “No, I’m begging you, to play along, for now. Merton, you have to trust me. I know what I am doing.”

  “You know what you are doing?” Merton mocked. “We are in the lair of the dragon and you go
and drink so much that you can’t even stand up straight. For the love of God, you were talking to a spider. How am I supposed to trust your judgment?”

  “A drunk man has a loose tongue, and I made sure that Bastian drunk more than I did,” Alden’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “He told me about Budic signing a treaty with Wessex and recognising him as High King.”

  “But you told Budic that you knew about that months ago.”

  “Do you think I would have crossed the sea if I had?”

  “No. I did wonder about that,” Merton said.

  “Come with me,” Alden said as he saw some nobles walking towards them. “The walls have ears and what I have to say is for you alone.”

  27

  Merton knocked softly on Amandine’s door, hoping against hope, that no one would answer his summons. He didn’t want Amandine involved in this. Damn it all, he didn’t want to be involved in it. But Alden, as misguided as he was, thought he was doing the right thing.

  Merton had dared to suggest that they ride down the coast, and weather the storm away from the court of Benwick. There were other places to charter a boat. But Alden had not agreed with him. Alden had many enemies, and Wessex’s had a long reach. Brittany was as safe a place as any, for now. Merton wasn’t convinced, but as Alden had said earlier, he was the King. Merton could only advise.

  Merton raised his hand and knocked again, this time, a little louder.

  Lord Bretagne answered the door. There was a food stain down the front of his tunic, and the man was in desperate need of a wash. Bretagne was a pig, always had been. Merton didn’t know how Amandine stood it. How could she stand him touching her? It made his stomach turn just thinking about it, and a wave of possessiveness swamped him.

  “Lord Du Lac,” Bretagne said somewhat surprised, hastily wiping down the front of his tunic with his chubby, clammy, hands. “To what do we owe this honour?”

  “I need to ask a favour.”

  “Oh,” Lord Bretagne said, his mouth falling open in astonishment, like that of a fish out of the water. His mouth opened and closed several more times before he managed to get any other words out.

  “You had best come in then,” Bretagne said, reluctantly, wishing he had stayed in the Hall a little longer so he could have avoided this…what ever this was. He liked to keep a low profile, and although Budic was his king, he had learned that one breathed for longer if you didn’t get too close to the throne and the man who sat on it. So seeing the King’s brother at his door made him nervous. He saw Merton glance down at the stain on his tunic, and he felt embarrassment heat up his face. He usually didn’t care what he looked like, but he realised now that it wouldn’t have hurt to change his tunic. Oh well, Lord du Lac would have to take him as he found him.

  “Merton? What are you doing here?” Amandine whispered to him as he took her hand in his and kissed the back of it in greeting. He did not answer her. How could he with Lord Bretagne in the room with them?

  “What can we do for you?” Lord Bretagne asked, rubbing his plump hands together and then crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to hide the stain on his tunic.

  “My Lord. Alden and I find ourselves in a very delicate situation,” Merton said, addressing Bretagne although he continued to look at Amandine. He saw the question in her eyes, but for now, he ignored them. He made himself turn and regard Bretagne instead.

  “Budic is not well. In fact, I think it would be fair to say that he is not fit to rule at this moment in time.” Lies all lies. So much deceit lay at the heart of Budic’s throne. If Merton had been asked his opinion then he would have said that this was no way to rule. But Budic had no interest in anything he had to say.

  “I heard he is racked with grief,” Bretagne answered sympathetically. “The poor man. I know what it is like to lose someone you love.” He cleared his throat as he remembered his late wife. He had loved her. Life after her death hardly seemed worth it. “We both do,” he glanced at his wife, but she was looking at Merton in a way that she had never looked at him. He felt a sharp pain in his heart. He was an old man, too old for his wife. And he wasn’t refined enough for her, although she had never said anything. But on the bright side, he was rich. She could have anything she wanted. Not that she ever asked for anything. He cleared his throat. “The King doted on his wife and to lose the child as well…it is too cruel. The poor, poor man. He has my sympathy.”

  Sympathy be damned, Merton thought but did not say. Budic’s grief had been an act. His sorrow the work of a devious mind. How he wished they were not brothers.

  “Alden must step in as First Knight until Budic has recovered sufficiently to take back control,” Merton spoke slowly, deliberately, as he repeated the sentence Budic had dictated only moments before to Alden. He heard Amandine’s breath catch at his words. She knew the implications of such a statement better than anyone. To declare himself First Knight, was as good as declaring himself king. Alden wasn’t stupid. He only agreed to go along with Budic’s insane idea after it was written down on parchment and witnessed by two men of the cloth. But even then he was wary — and so was Merton.

  What Merton didn’t understand was why Budic didn’t round everybody up, throw them in the dungeons and be done with it. Any information he wanted, he could torture out of them. Why all this need for elegant play-acting? What did he hope to achieve? It didn’t make sense to him, and it didn’t make sense to Alden. But still, they were going along with it.

  Damn the weather. No one would sail while the waves were so high, and with Alden pigheadedly refusing to travel down the coast, it meant that they were trapped here. But if someone gave Merton a choice between going out in this storm with a wooden boat that had a hole in it, or waiting for the mercy of the King of Brittany, Merton would have taken his chance with the wooden boat. Worse things happen at sea, they say, but Merton knew that wasn’t true. Hadn’t he spent his whole life proving it?

  “Yes, of course,” Bretagne said. “That would make perfect sense. If Wessex were to hear of Budic’s poor health, he would undoubtedly attack.”

  The sea must be different in Briton. Merton would have laughed at such a statement if the situation were not so serious. If they could not sail from Brittany because the sea was too rough, how was Wessex and his army supposed to sail here? Budic was right about Bretagne; he didn’t possess the brightest of minds.

  “That is what I fear also,” Merton continued carefully. “But for Alden to be named First Knight, we would need the support of the nobles. Alden is concerned that his actions may be misinterpreted, he fears some would see it as an act of aggression. Usurpation, if you like. My Lord, we are thinking only of the country and her people and of course, our brother’s health.”

  “I can not see it being a problem. Everyone respects Alden, and he is honest,” Bretagne replied. He had always harboured the thought that Alden would make a better king of Brittany than Budic, but he had never voiced such a thought out loud, and he wasn’t about to start now. He was a simple man who was content with simple pleasures. He preferred a life of peace to life at court, although his lineage demanded his presence.

  “We were hoping you could see what kind of reception the idea has before we commit to a plan of action,” Merton said. He picked up Bretagne’s cloak from the bed and placed it on the old man’s shoulders.

  Bretagne stumbled over a reply. He wasn’t, by nature, a brave man, he had never had any need to be. Even in times of unrest he had avoided combat — it was easier to stay alive when you had money — he could pay others to fight in his place. He had no interest in kingship and power. He had his wealth and his lands. They did not need to involve him in this. They should have asked someone else.

  “Is Lord Manfrey aware of the situation? He is the one you really should be talking to,” he said, hoping to somehow wriggle his way out of the situation. “Although, I am deeply honoured that you thought to come to me,” he added when he saw the frown on Merton’s face. It would not do to offend Me
rton du Lac.

  “Philippe finds himself in an unprecedented situation. He knows of the King’s illness, but he cannot be seen to praise such a course of action that will take power away from Budic. However, he knows that something needs to be done,” Merton explained. “We need to tread carefully, and I am sure you know how to be discrete.”

  “I understand the need for discretion. But I am not a traitor.”

  “Alden is not asking you to be. Budic needs time to recover…that is all.”

  “Then I will do what I can. Please,” Bretagne indicated the door with his hand. “After you.”

  “If it is all right with you, I would very much like to spend some time with your wife. I still consider Lady Amandine my sister, and I have not seen her to speak to since I have been back, and as you can imagine, we have a lot to catch up on.”

  “My Lord, I have to object…” Bretagne began to voice his disproval.

  “I can understand your concerns, what I ask for isn’t proper, please, forgive me, there was no insult intended. It’s just that…I still consider her family, she was married to my brother, after all, before his untimely demise.” Merton bowed his head towards Bretagne and then he turned his attention back to Amandine. “I am truly sorry, sister, another time perhaps? But I wanted you to know that I am leaving today, and I don’t know when I will pass this way again.”

  “Surely, my Lord,” Amandine addressed her husband gently. “It will not hurt this once. I would love to speak to my brother.”

  “I have your word no harm will come to her?” Bretagne asked.

  “I am not in the habit of molesting members of my family,” Merton stated in a tone of deep sincerity, although he winked at Amandine as he spoke. Amandine immediately looked at the floor to hide her blush.

  “It goes against my better judgement, but my wife is wise, and if she sees no danger then neither will I.”