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

by Mary Yarde

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Merton said.

  Bretagne made his farewell and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  “Sister,” Merton said with a grin as he stepped towards her and took her hand in his. “How shall we while away the hours?” He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it lovingly. “It is rather warm in here. I think we should get reacquainted without our clothes on.”

  Amandine whacked him on the arm. “You are incorrigible,” she stated.

  Merton grinned. “I didn’t hear you complaining. Admit it Amandine…you long for me.”

  “I’ll admit to nothing,” Amandine said, but she gripped Merton’s hand tightly in hers, and her face turned serious. “I thought you were leaving?”

  “I am…soon. There are just one or two things I need to sort out first.”

  “Is what you say of Budic, true? Is Alden going to become First Knight?”

  Merton didn’t answer her. Instead, he let go of her hand and turned away from her. It was time to confess the real reason he was here. “I need you to do something,” he spoke the words as if they pained him to ask.

  “I would do anything for you,” Amandine answered. “Merton?” she crossed the room and placed her hand on his arm. “What do you want me to do?”

  “It is not me that is asking. It is Budic that is demanding,” Merton replied, he sighed in frustration. “Alden tried to talk him out of it, but he would not listen to reason.”

  “He isn’t sick, is he.” It wasn’t a question. “What you just told us, isn’t true.”

  “He married Josephine this morning, in a private ceremony. If that isn’t sick, then I don’t know what is.”

  “He married Josephine?” Amandine raised her hand to her head as if willing away a headache. “He has only just buried Anna. What was the senseless girl thinking?” She looked at Merton for an answer. “She doesn’t even like him. Unless…”

  “Unless...” Merton shrugged. “Maybe, in the back of her mind, she thought it would hurt me.” He shook his head. “Or maybe she loves him. I cannot pretend to understand her reasoning.”

  “What are you going to do about it?”

  “What do you mean, what am I going to do about it? What can I do about it? She isn’t my responsibility. She has made her bed with my brother.”

  “She was the mother of your child,” Amandine stated, the words came out like an accusation.

  “A child I knew nothing about,” he replied angrily. “She hid that fact from me. She knew where I was that first year. Everyone did. I was in Cerniw, helping Alden keep control of his kingdom. She could have contacted me. She didn’t. She chose to keep me in the dark. You could have contacted me. You could have told me as soon as you suspected Brianna was mine. But you didn’t. And now you dare to fling my daughter’s existence at me like a weapon. That isn’t fair. Josephine isn’t my responsibility. I am so fed up with everyone blaming me for all the wrongs in their life. Josephine is not a child. She got me drunk. She seduced me. She isn’t as innocent as she would have everyone believe. She knows exactly whom she married. She knows exactly what she is doing.”

  Amandine swallowed hard and nodded. “You are right. I should have told you. I thought…it doesn’t matter what I thought, it was wrong of me to keep the baby a secret from you. You should have been told. I am sorry. I truly am.”

  “No, I’m the one that is sorry.” He sighed heavily. He wasn’t angry with her; this mess wasn’t of Amandine’s making, he should not take it out on her.

  “Amandine, I refuse to feel responsible for Josephine. I don’t owe her anything. And I don’t trust her. She was under Philippe’s care. And now we have proof that Philippe wants the crown. Does that not strike you as suspicious?”

  “A little. Perhaps.”

  “I wish now, with all my heart, that I had never come back. Wihtgar once said that when you embrace the life of a mercenary, you can never go home again. I think I have proved his theory correct. Everything is different…the people...me, everyone…except you.” He sighed shakily. “I will just convey Budic’s barked command and then I will leave you in peace, and you can forget all about me.”

  “I don’t want to forget you. How can I? Merton, I am glad you came back.”

  “Do you love me?” Merton asked, his eyes clashing with hers.

  She could still see the anger in his eyes, but there was something else there as well. A vulnerability. A hope.

  “Merton you have been back two days,” she laughed, trying to turn such a difficult conversation with an ill thought out jest.

  “A yes or a no would have sufficed. Do not fear, I will not ask you again.”

  She watched as the light fell from his eyes.

  He dropped his eyes from hers, but she could not tear her gaze from him. His posture slumped and for a moment he looked like a defeated man, and she realised that his question — as inappropriate as his marriage proposal had been — had taken all of his courage to ask and yet she had returned such bravery with a jest.

  Grief struck her with a deadly force the same as any knife. His pain was her pain. Her pain was his. She felt the same way about him as she had about Garren. There was no denying what she felt for him. Her limbs suddenly felt stiff, weak. She sat down on the edge of the bed. She had lost Garren, and now with a careless word, she had lost Merton also.

  “What does Budic want me to do?” She sniffed back a sob. She would not cry in front of him.

  “He wants you to…” He walked across the room to stare out of the narrow window. He got distracted by the silver hairbrush, which was now back in its proper place on the table. Garren would never have willingly put her in danger. Garren. Garren. Garren. Saintly Garren. How could he compete with a ghost?

  “Philippe has been busy. He has found himself a wealthy argentārius, but there is more, this man whoever he is, has influence and power,” he spoke softly, frowning as he looked at the brush. He wanted to pick it up and throw it out the window. But if he did that then he would hurt her, and he would never willingly cause her pain.

  “So Philippe is now in the dungeons,” Amandine stated. “You were right all along.”

  “No, he is not in the dungeons,” Merton answered. “He still has the freedom of the kingdom.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Budic wants to know who this anonymous argentārius is.”

  “The obvious suspect would be Lord Jenison, surely?”

  “We are not looking for the obvious. Jenison has money, but he doesn’t have influence. Budic wants you to try and find out who it is.”

  “Me?” Her voice betrayed her surprise. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “Jenison.” Merton turned back around to look at her as the name hung between them like a death sentence. “Budic said that Lord Jenison has a soft-spot for you. He wants you to take advantage of Jenison’s regard. He wants you to use it as a weapon to get close to him and find out everything you can about Philippe and this mystery supporter of his. He wants you to continue what you started this morning.”

  “Jenison?” Her voice wobbled a little. Merton had scared her with his talk earlier. She had been prepared to avoid the horrid man by staying close to her husband all evening.

  “Never, in a thousand years would I ask you to do this. I don’t want you to do this. It is your King that is demanding this of you, not I. Please refuse him and come away with me. We can leave now, this minute.”

  “Refuse, Budic?” Amandine scoffed and looked about the room she shared with her husband. Since Garren’s death and her father’s, she had become, for all intents and purposes, Budic’s property.

  When her eyes rested back on Merton, he saw the tears in them that she had so valiantly tried to hold back.

  “When have any of us ever been able to do that?”

  28

  The water was cooling. Josephine had been soaking in the bath for so long that her fingers had become wrinkled. She raised her hand
out of the tub, droplets of water falling from her fingers as she did so. The water had made her fingers look like that of an old woman, and she gave an unconscious shiver at the thought of getting old. Old people disgusted her with their slow pace and watery eyes, and they always stunk of urine. Could there be anything worse than getting old? She sighed dramatically. It was evident that she had lingered in the water for too long. It was time to get out.

  “I am ready to wash my hair now,” Josephine stated matter-of-factly. “And then I want you to braid it. Braid it as if I were a queen. I want to look stunning.”

  “I will try my best, my Lady,” her maid answered in that dulcet tone of hers, which Josephine had once thought appealing, now she just found it annoying. Carolyn was also much too attractive for a maid, and the girl knew it as well. Goodness knows how many would-be lovers she had. She would have to watch her very closely. She didn’t want a scandal of a bastard child in her household. Not that it mattered because soon she would have a whole handful of maids as well as her chosen ladies who would accompany her wherever she went. She could not wait to be queen.

  She had disregarded everything Merton had said by the time she reached the castle. She had not made a mistake marrying Budic. The mistake had been letting Merton make love to her all those years ago. Make love? She silently scoffed. Merton had never loved her, not like Budic did.

  Josephine closed her eyes as Carolyn massaged the oil into her hair. The fragrance was pleasing and refreshing. The oil had been a gift from Philippe.

  Oh, Philippe. She wondered if there was a way she could warn him. Perhaps a note? No. She would have to face him, tell him the truth. She owed him that much.

  She kept her eyes closed as Carolyn tipped a bucket full of warm water over her head. Josephine rubbed the water from her eyes and stood, allowing the girl to wrap her in a drying cloth. She stepped out of the bath and accepted Carolyn’s help to dress. Once clothed, she sat by the warmth of the fire while Carolyn rubbed her hair dry before combing it out and braiding it.

  “Do you think I am pretty?” Josephine asked, seeking a complement.

  “Of course, my Lady,” Carolyn answered. “Prettier than anyone else in the kingdom.”

  Josephine smiled. “Do you like being my maid, Carolyn?”

  “I do so much, my Lady,” Carolyn said, smiling. “I will be forever grateful that you gave me such an opportunity.”

  “How would you like to be the personal maid to a queen?” Josephine asked airily.

  “Oh, no, my Lady,” Carolyn stated with so much passion that Josephine twisted around in her chair so she could see her. “I would only ever want to serve you.”

  Josephine bit her lip, to prevent herself from smiling, and stood up. “I have been summoned to see the King. If Lord Philippe should happen by, please tell him that is where I am.”

  “Of course,” Carolyn answered, curtsying. “But, please, the corridors are ever so cold, you will need your cloak.” Without waiting for her mistress’s permission, Carolyn had opened the chest and pulled out Josephine’s best cloak.

  “What would I do without you?” Josephine sighed. She was glad she had Carolyn as her personal maid; she could not ask for a better one.

  “My Lady, you will never be without me,” Carolyn said in all seriousness.

  Josephine walked swiftly down the corridor, but she slowed down as Philippe approached her. She planted a smile on her face as he came closer, but he walked straight passed her as if he had not seen her. Perhaps he had not, for his head was down, and he was looking at his feet. She frowned and watched as he continued down the corridor. It was unusual for him not to notice her and it left her feeling strangely dispirited.

  When she was proclaimed queen, everyone would notice her. No one would dare walk past her like that. She tossed her head in the air like a naughty pony and frowned.

  Philippe paused briefly in front of her chamber door. He raised his hand as if to knock, but then he seemed to have a change of heart and carried on walking towards his room at the end of the corridor.

  She started to follow in his wake. Partly because she was curious as to what he was up to now, and secondly to try, once again, to persuade him from such a foolish course of action. She also needed to inform him of her marriage.

  Josephine stopped walking. How could she even begin to explain to Philippe about the love Budic had for her? She would break his heart. Philippe loved her. He wanted to marry her. He had always been honest with her. And yet, despite every reason, every ounce of common sense that told her Philippe was the one for her; she had not chosen him. She had instead betrayed him and married a du Lac.

  Philippe’s life was now in her hands. She felt a strange sensation of supremacy travel through her body, at the thought of such a thing. Power. What an addictive substance that was. She would have to be careful it did not go to her head.

  Despite Philippe’s folly, she would not allow anything bad to happen to him. She was, after all, Queen of Brittany. Budic would listen to her — it was common knowledge that he used to listen to Anna’s council all the time, why should her influence be any different? Budic would let dear Philippe go free if she told him to. She would tell Budic to banish him from court for a time. It wasn’t as if he had actually done anything wrong. It was all speculation and nothing would ever come of it. Philippe did not have it in him to wear a crown. What a ludicrous thought.

  She turned back around and carried on walking towards the King’s Chambers, glancing behind her only once, but the corridor was empty, soulless.

  The two guards were stood outside Budic’s door like they always were. She was just about to ask if the King would receive her when one of the guards opened the door for her.

  She tried not to smile, but she could not help it. The only other person who was allowed entry into Budic’s chamber without permission had been Queen Anna, and now the same courtesy was shown to her. Doors that had been previously closed to her now magically opened. This was going to take some getting used to.

  She entered the room, not quite believing her good fortune. Her eyes searched the lavish chamber for her husband. Budic was sat on the edge of the bed, his back towards her, his head bowed.

  She crossed the room and said his name in delight. But the smile of welcome fell from her lips, for Budic held the tiniest white gown in his hands. His thumb was rubbing backwards and forwards across the material, lovingly.

  She fell to her knees in front of him. She knew what it felt like to lose a child. It was a pain, which no amount of time would ever be able to heal.

  “I will give you sons,” she promised, placing her hand over his, sensing that he needed to hear such a reassurance.

  “But I wanted this one,” Budic said. He pushed her hands gently away and raised the garment to his face, inhaling the fragrance of baby that still clung to the material.

  “I wish I had the words that would give you comfort. But there are no words. I cannot tell you it gets better because it doesn’t. You just come to accept it. They are gone, and there is nothing you can do about it. But you do not stop loving them, not for one minute. They are always in your thoughts. She is the last thing I think about when I go to bed and the first when I wake.”

  “We share a common grief,” Budic said.

  “I cried every day for a year when I lost Brianna. I have never felt pain such as that. It was so great that I thought I would die of it. I failed her. I know I did. I was her mother; it was my responsibility to keep her safe.”

  Budic did not say anything to the contrary. Instead, he gently folded the garment. He then sighed slowly and deeply. “I need to tell you about the latest developments. As queen, it is your right to know.” He put the garment aside and pulled her up to sit next to him on the bed.

  She secretly smiled to herself. She had the right to know the secrets of state. She was the King’s confidant. Who would have thought?

  “Whatever you said to Merton has had the desired effect. Thank you.” He took h
er hand in his and raised it to his mouth, brushing a brief kiss over the back of it.

  “I am surprised by your words. Merton and I argued. It isn’t a conversation I will look back on fondly.” She had vowed never to think of the father of her child again. Everything they said about him was true. Merton was a man without a heart. He was incapable of sympathy and incapable of love. Philippe had been right all along. She had had a lucky escape.

  “You were very brave to talk to him. I know he broke your heart. I know you loved him.”

  “I once thought myself in love with him,” she admitted carefully, for no man likes to be reminded of a woman’s former lover. “For a while, he was all I had.”

  “He wasn’t the best of influences, I knew that, but I didn’t know what else to do. I hope one day you will understand why I could never allow a marriage between the two of you. When he asked me for permission, all those years ago, there was no way I was going to allow him to-”

  “He asked for my hand?” Josephine whispered, her face losing all colour. No. Budic was wrong. Merton? He couldn’t of. He wouldn’t of. He didn’t.

  “Of course, he asked me. Honour demanded it. He deflowered you, and he wanted to put that right. But I said no, you were promised to Marcus by then, and I would not let Merton sully your name any further by implementing you in a scandal, it was bad enough your father was who he was. I feared no man would want to take you for his bride, but then Merton sacrificed almost all of his inheritance for you to have a dowry and you suddenly became more appealing to the market. But, this is old news; Merton would have told you all of this already. I don’t know why I am repeating it. I did worry about you, while you were growing up, do not think that I did not.” Budic continued, sublimely unaware how affected his wife was by these disclosures. “I wasn’t blind to the situation you found yourself in. I would have done anything to have changed it, but you were the drunk’s daughter.”

  She flinched at his choice of words — she knew what she was. But Merton…he had asked. He had wanted to marry her, and Budic had refused. All these years she had blamed Merton. She had learnt to hate him. But it wasn’t Merton she should hate. It was Budic.