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

by Mary Yarde

  Philippe had grand plans. Jenison sometimes wondered if Philippe was the second coming — for he truly was inspirational. He had never met a man like him before. He was so full of ideas and had theories on just about everything and, unlike most men, he was not afraid to voice them. Jenison would happily forgo sleep if he could listen to Philippe speak all night. He was a great man. But, tonight, while Philippe stole the crown, he was determined to steal something else. And with the castle in an uproar, who was going to stop him?

  “A bracelet,” Amandine raised her eyebrows, hoping that her face portrayed more enthusiasm than she felt. “What a wonderful idea.” She took Jenison’s offered arm, trying not to shrink back as she did so. “You are clever, my Lord.”

  “I didn’t realise how lucrative shipping is,” Amandine said as she strolled arm in arm along the beach with Lord Jenison. They had collected a handful of shells. Amandine would have enjoyed herself if she had been in Merton’s company instead of Jenison. She smiled to herself. Merton, picking up shells? Somehow she couldn’t quite see it.

  She had tried to stay focused on Jenison’s conversation, but it was a challenge. Never had she spoken with a more uninteresting man in her life and, considering she was married to Bretagne, that was saying something.

  It was twilight now, and she had never welcomed the darkness more because it meant they would have to head back to the castle for the evening feast.

  “Do you think Lord Philippe has a mind to marry?” she asked offhandedly, hoping that Jenison would think that she was trying to make conversation. She had tried before, to turn the conversation to her advantage. But Jenison did not seem to want to hear anything that she had to say. He was one of those men who preferred the sound of his voice above all else.

  “Yes, I think he holds Lady Josephine in the highest of esteems. I believe he would like to wed her in the spring. Now, contrary to popular belief, the spice trade is-”

  “Does he not want to marry her now?” Amandine interrupted. If she had to listen to any more of his woes about the spice trade, then she would be tempted to walk into the sea until the water was over her head. Could he not see she was not interested in this topic of conversation? And it wasn’t like she was subtle about her disinterest. She was giving him all the signs. She had even gone as far as yawning. “Next spring seems so very far away, and she is so desperate for a husband and a family,” she stated.

  “God willing, Philippe will have secured his future by then, but really it is none of our business.”

  “I thought his future was secure? He is certainly a favourite with Budic,” she observed gently.

  “Well,” Jenison spluttered and stopped as he turned her to look at him. “May I be frank with you?”

  “I thought you were being,” Amandine said, gently touching his hand with hers and smiling encouragingly. This is it. This is what she had been waiting for. He was going to confess.

  “Pottery is where the real money is.”

  “Pottery?” Amandine said, deflated. This man was intolerable.

  “Yes. Pottery and beautiful silks,” he laughed. “And soldiers. I think I have invested some money very wisely. I expect to see huge returns. I will have wealth like you could never imagine.”

  He raised his hands and held her shoulders, his eyes sparkling with joy. “It has happened. Do you feel any different?”

  “What has happened?” Amandine asked, confused. “My Lord, what are you talking about?”

  “Rebellion,” Jenison said, and he smiled — although this was not the smile he had practised in the polished rock. This smile portrayed the man behind the carefully worn mask.

  Amandine felt fear when she looked into his face and saw his expression. “Rebellion?” she muttered nervously. “I don’t understand. What are you saying? What are you trying to tell me?” She knew her voice was not as confident as she would have liked. But what he said made no sense, and the way he was looking at her made her very nervous, there was a glint in his eyes, a hunger, that had not been there before.

  “We have a new king,” Jenison announced with a note of triumph.

  A million thoughts raced through Amandine’s mind at this statement. He was lying. It could not possibly be true. Budic had been aware of the threat to his crown. For goodness sake, it was why she was here taking such monstrous risks, but she had never once thought Philippe would succeed. And besides, if Budic’s reign had indeed come to an end, then surely they would have heard it. War is many things, but it is never quiet. Any fool knows that. Nevertheless, she found herself praying desperately to God, to keep Merton safe.

  She had not seen her shadow for the entire afternoon, so maybe Merton was safe. Maybe he had finally deserted the ancestral home of his forefathers. She wished now that she had gone with him, for she felt an ache in her heart. The same desperate pain she felt when Garren had not come home.

  “A new king? What…what are you saying? I don’t understand. How? Why?” She needed to leave this man; she needed to run, but her head was warning her to be cautious. A wild animal likes to chase his prey, and she was sure that Jenison would be able to out run her — she could not risk it, she must stand firm.

  “You have had a great shock. I can see that.” He touched her elbow, but the time for games was over.

  Amandine saw something change in his eyes, and she flinched away from him. “We need to go back…I…I need to see what is going on…I-”

  “Calm yourself, my dear. Philippe de Manfrey is to be our new King. Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.” His tongue stuck out a little way between his lips as if he really was a snake and he was tasting the air.

  “You are talking nonsense,” she said, looking away from his face, for she could not bear to see it. “I have never heard such a ridiculous thing. Philippe de Manfrey? I do not believe it. The army would not let Philippe take the throne. Where did you hear such a rumour? It cannot be true. You must be mistaken.”

  “I am not mistaken,” Jenison said with an edge to his voice. “The army has not been paid for months. Budic was on the verge of impoverishing the country. Bastian saw the merit in Philippe’s proposal as does many of those in court. Since Lancelot died this country has been on its knees.”

  “Bastian is loyal to the du Lacs, he would not side against them,” she argued, risking a glance at him, then wishing she had not because the look in his eyes was predatory. He made her feel sick. But she could not believe what he was saying. Bastian had always been there, from the very beginning. He was the General of the army. He had trained the sons of Lancelot to fight. He would not betray them now. He just wouldn’t. It was inconceivable.

  “You would think so, wouldn’t you? But it seems every man has his price and I…” he laughed. “I am the money.”

  “You are the mysterious argentārius?” The words slipped out of her mouth without thinking. She realised her mistake as soon as she had spoken, for his face took on the angry characteristics of an adder that was about to attack.

  “The mysterious argentārius?” Jenison hissed the word, the snake in him suddenly aroused. He should have known. She was a du Lac. Always had been, always will be. The devious bitch. Did she think to play him? Was this what her seduction had all been about? Oh, she would pay for this, and she would pay dearly. “Are we talking about the man who makes dreams like this come true? What do you know about him and who told you?”

  “I just assumed,” Amandine said, beginning to back away. “Philippe does not have the courage to mount a war against our sovereign King.”

  “You are very clever…for a woman,” he smirked. “But I am not him, although I am flattered that you think so. His wealth exceeds mine, and he is very influential. I believe even High King Wessex bows down to him. He is here,” Jenison tilted his head towards the direction of the castle, “at court. You may have even spoken to him, without knowing who he was.”

  She shook her head in disagreement. “I don’t believe you. You haven’t bought Budic’s ar
my? Bastian would never agree to such a thing. I do not understand what you think you will gain by such lies.”

  “I am not lying. I am a merchant. One transaction is similar to another, and everything has a price.” He stepped closer to her. She took another step back, but he grabbed her elbow, his fingers, like claws, digging into her arm. And then he smiled and gently, almost reverently, ran his fingers down her cheek. He felt her shiver and his heartbeat picked up with excitement.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” He had to kiss her. He just had to. He lowered his hand to the small of her back and tugged her towards him.

  “My Lord,” Amandine gasped in outrage, her hands coming between them. She pushed hard against his chest, trying to force some distance between them. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t play coy now little kitten,” he cooed as he tugged her towards him again. “It can’t be much fun with Bretagne in the bedroom.” And then he kissed her.

  His kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t a shy kiss a knight would bestow on a suitor. It was bruising. Fierce. Possessive. Amandine never had in her life experienced a kiss like it. Again, she shoved at his chest. She had thought Jenison a weak man, but too late, she realised he wasn’t. She was the weakling. She could not move him away from her; no matter how hard she struggled. He caught her hands in his and brought them to his mouth, licking her fingers with his tongue.

  “You can not do this,” she stated, disgusted, as she tried to pull her hands away from him. “Unhand me this instant, and we shall say no more of this. But continue and you will pay dearly.”

  But instead of stopping, her warning only seemed to heighten his excitement. He licked her fingers again, and she almost gagged.

  “I don’t think so,” he growled. “Your King asked you to get information out of me, didn’t he? Did you think I didn’t know? Shameful behaviour, my Lady. I am shocked you would stoop so low. Philippe will have your head for this disgraceful display of disloyalty. But then again, we need not tell Philippe. I am sure I can think of some other way to punish you myself,” he sniggered. “And who knows, you might even like it.”

  He leant forwards and kissed her again. He forced his thin snakelike tongue between her lips. He tasted sour like gone off milk, and his mouth was cold and icy against hers. She bit down hard on his tongue, tasting blood, which made her nauseous. But, instead of pulling away he groaned deep in his throat, and she realised the more she struggled, the more he was enjoying it. He left her mouth, and followed the curve of her throat, leaving a trail of his blood in his wake. She wanted to scream, but all she could manage was a pleading whisper, begging him to stop.

  “You want this as much as I do,” he said, kissing her again. “I know you do.”

  She struggled with all her might, twisting and kicking out with her legs. But he was so much stronger and suddenly she found herself flat on her back. The air knocked out of her as he continued to assault her.

  She spat in his face, splattering his face with saliva and blood. In return, he smacked her so hard across the face that, for a moment, her world became a little dimmer.

  “I am going to enjoy this,” he stated. “I like a woman with a bit of spirit.”

  His hands were all over her now, tearing at the bodice of her dress until he bared her flesh. She started to fight him again and this time, she managed to get her voice to work. She screamed long and loudly, but all it did was increase his ardour.

  “You will give it to me, you little witch,” he hissed. “You have been throwing yourself at me all day. There is only so much a man can bear.” He was tugging at her skirt, ripping it, pushing it up and out of the way. “I cannot wait for you a moment longer.”

  “You will not,” she cried, as she managed to free one of her hands. She scraped her nails down the side of his face. He didn’t even wince. What kind of man was he?

  He chuckled deep in his throat. “You will have to do better than that, my little cat. Even that worthless peasant whore put up more of a fight than this.” He grabbed her hands pinning them above her head. And she realised that she had lost, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. It was too late. She closed her eyes and in her head she screamed a single name over and over again. Merton.

  31

  Someone grabbed Jenison and flung him away from her. She heard Jenison shout in surprised rage. She heard flesh as it hit flesh and then she heard Jenison plead, like the coward he was. There was an awful snapping noise and he fell silent.

  She lay motionless in the sand, her eyes tightly shut as tears fell heedlessly down her face. This wasn’t happening. If she just kept her eyes closed, then it wouldn’t be true.

  She felt a hand on her, a gentle but calloused hand, checking her for injuries. She did not open her eyes as her shadow, the one she thought had abandoned her, lifted her into his arms. She did not open her eyes as he carried her from the beach and up the cliff face path. She only opened her eyes when he placed her gently back down on the floor. Her legs would not support her. Luckily he caught her before she crumpled to the ground.

  Carefully he knelt down with her until she was sat on the damp grass and her head was resting against the trunk of a tree.

  Wann had taken her to a small coppice just left of the castle’s battlements. They were hidden here. No one would see them. For the moment, they were safe.

  “Merton,” he said his leader’s name and then he spoke in Saxon, and she did not understand what he was saying. He got up as if he was going to leave her and she grabbed hold of his leg and whimpered. Her shadow was here. She should have known better than to doubt Merton’s promises. But…if he was here, that meant that Merton was still in the castle. Oh God, if he was mixed up in the uprising. If he were dead. She knew she could not live through the loss of a loved one. Not again.

  Wann gently prised her hands away from him. “Merton,” he said again, nodding his head as he did so, willing her to understand.

  “Merton,” she repeated his name, trying to stop her teeth from chattering, but she was so afraid. She had never expected Jenison to attack her. What if he came back? But he wasn’t coming back. She may have closed her eyes, but she knew that her shadow had not let that monster live.

  “It will be all right,” Wann spoke softly in Saxon and with an edge of compassion that didn’t befit his warrior appearance. “I won’t be long.”

  She watched Wann anxiously as he walked away from her. She did not want to be alone. She feared to be alone. The tears came back then, thick and fast and desperate. She curled herself up into a tight ball, her head resting on her knees and slowly she began to rock backwards and forewords as if such a movement would give her comfort.

  It felt like Wann had left her for hours and by the time he returned, with Merton, she was struggling for breath. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Amandine,” Merton gasped. His breathing was heavy for he had run all the way. It was a good job that bastard was dead because if he had got his hands on him… He fell to his knees beside her and gathered her into his arms. “My love, what did he do to you?” He glanced briefly at Wann. “Where the hell were you? You were meant to be protecting her,” he spoke in Saxon, and the censor in his voice was not hard to miss.

  “I got there in time. He didn’t-”

  Amandine’s hands flew to her throat. “I can’t…” she panicked. Her breath would not come. It was stuck in her throat. She was going to suffocate. She was going to die.

  “Yes, you can,” Merton reassured, although his voice shook with concern. “Slow your breathing down, honey. Deep breaths. You can breathe. You are going to be all right. It is over. He cannot hurt you now.”

  She managed to draw in a little breath.

  “That’s right,” Merton encouraged gently. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. No one is going to hurt you ever again. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I swear.”

  She sobbed loudly and clung to him, burying her face in the crease of his neck. “I thought he was goin
g to kill me,” she managed to whimper the words.

  “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to spend time with him.” He cursed under his breath. He should have confronted Budic when Alden had told him this ridiculous plan to involve Amandine. He should have made his voice heard. “Did he…” The words got stuck in his throat. The thought of that man forcing himself on her was beyond bearing.

  “Are you sure you got there in time?” he spoke in Saxon. “If that bastard touched her…if he-”

  “I got there in time,” Wann reassured. “He frightened the life out of her, but he didn’t rape her.”

  “If he had, you would be dead.”

  “By the gods, Merton. Give it a rest. I got there. She is safe.” Wann sighed in annoyance.

  “The next time I ask you to protect someone…do it.” Merton kept his voice even, for he did not want to frighten Amandine by raising his voice, but he was livid with Wann. “Do not fail me again.”

  He heard Wann swear a few curse words in answer, but he would deal with him later. Right now it was Amandine that needed him.

  “Did he hurt you at all?” He tried to raise her face so he could see her, but she flatly refused to come out from hiding, and his shoulder had become her refuge. He did not force the issue; if she needed to hide, then she needed to hide. He could assess any physical injuries later.

  Time passed and night closed in around them. Merton continued to hold her, but it was getting colder, and she was beginning to shiver and not just from fear.