“Your mother implied that he lived in the woods, though I had no notion where he might be found. I was not entirely convinced that she was right or that we would see him, so did not wish to raise your hopes.”
Radegunde said naught.
Duncan nudged her. “I admit that I am no judge of a man’s fine legs, but I could only assume that he aided us because he was the man in question.”
Radegunde did not smile at his jest. “You could have told me.”
“Your mother might have been wrong,” Duncan felt obliged to repeat.
Radegunde smiled at this. “My mother is never wrong. You will learn that in time, to be sure.”
“And I think you should do naught this night but rest,” Duncan countered.
“If you mean to warn Gaston, you should return to Valeroy without me. I will be safe enough here.”
Duncan granted her a fierce glance, for the notion was unthinkable. “I will not!”
Her smile was genuine then and he was relieved to see it.
“You truly thought him dead?” he asked.
Radegunde considered this. “Aye and nay. It was the tale I was told when I was too young to question my mother.” She frowned. “I knew that my mother welcomed some man on occasion, of course.”
“You have younger brothers.”
“Aye, but I never saw him. Not clearly. He came late and left early, and their whispers were not to be overheard.”
“You tried?”
Radegunde’s smile was quick. “Of course! I have more than my measure of curiosity.”
“Did you not notice that your younger brothers strongly resembled you, but not your mother?”
“I suppose, but her green eyes are unusual at Valeroy. Most people have dark hair and dark eyes.”
It was true enough. “I am surprised that no helpful neighbor confided the truth in you.”
“Perhaps they did not know. Perhaps they did not see him clearly either. My mother’s cottage is the last and nigh surrounded by the forest.”
“There must have been whispers.”
Radegunde laughed a little. “People whispered of it a little, but I think they feared my mother’s ire, for they did come to her for healing, and none dared speak to me of it.”
“No one would want to be declined when in need.”
“And I think they like her, as well.” She shrugged, but Duncan could see that she was reconsidering all that she had believed to be true. “It was simply as my life was.”
“While I noted immediately that there was great similarity between all of you, though none of you have Mathilde’s eyes. I assumed you had the same father and was surprised to learn that he was believed to be so long dead. I suspected a ruse then.”
“I suppose we each see what we expect to see.”
“Indeed.” Duncan shed his cloak and tucked it over her shoulders. “What did Lady Eudaline say to you?”
“Very little, in truth.” Radegunde reached into her chemise. “She asked me to give Lord Gaston his father’s crucifix, which was that of Fulk’s mother before.”
Duncan found little remarkable about the token, for he had seen a hundred that were much the same. “It is dark of hue.”
“She said it was ebony.” She surrendered it to Duncan, who examined it and returned it to her custody. Radegunde then removed the small book he had noted earlier from her purse. “And she granted me this book to give to Lord Gaston.”
“Perhaps she believes prayer to be the answer to all woes.” Duncan was startled when his companion laughed. “Why are you so amused? It is the thinking of many who retire to religious life.”
“Not this lady!” Radegunde spoke with confidence. “She is most pragmatic. She feared I had brought her poisoned gifts and demanded that I both drink of the eau-de-vie and eat a fig first, while she watched and waited for my demise.”
“How dare she!” Duncan knew his outrage showed.
Radegunde laid a hand on his arm. “I knew there was no poison, Duncan. I was not in peril.”
“Still…!” The notion unsettled him, truly.
“She is cautious. She reminds me, to be sure, of Lord Gaston, for she is tall and has those eyes of blue. She stares so steadily and in such silence that she might read one’s own thoughts.” Radegunde opened the small book and turned the pages slowly.
“Is it a psalter?”
“It is a small Bible,” she replied. “See? Here is the Book of John.” She squinted and leaned closer to the fire. “How curious. Someone has written in the margins.”
“The monks oft add detail in the margins when they illustrate a volume.”
“Nay, nay. This was added later, in less formal script, and sideways. Look.”
Duncan looked. On the edge of each right page from about halfway through the volume, was a line of script running from bottom to top. It was as if someone had written a letter, with one line on each page.
Had Lady Eudaline shared more tidings than Radegunde had realized?
“Wait! This is what she told me about Fulk!” Radegunde declared, then began to read. “I arrived as a new bride in 1153—” she read, then turned the page to continue “—knowing full well that my predecessor, Rohese—” Again a page was turned “—had been buried only six months.” And so it went, Radegunde reading a phrase, then turning the page to read the next. “She and her youngest son had been killed when a boat capsized. Fulk did not believe it an accident. He confessed that he was glad he had taken Bayard with him on that day’s ride, for he had chosen to do so in the last moment.”
“Gaston’s older brother,” Duncan mused.
“This is precisely what she said to me!” Radegunde said with excitement. “Every word here matches hers.”
“That cannot be a coincidence.”
“Nay, it cannot. This book is of import.” Radegunde turned the pages more quickly as she read. “He was but six years of age and should have been on that boat with his mother and younger brother. They had planned the excursion weeks before and the boy was disappointed to be denied it in the last moment. Fulk had his suspicions as to who might be the guilty party.”
Duncan watched her, intrigued.
“Châmont-sur-Maine had only come to Fulk’s hand in 1142, by grant of Geoffrey of Anjou, as reward for loyal service. Fulk held it against the assault of Elias II in 1151, and the grant was reaffirmed by King Henry.” Radegunde separated the next page with some effort.
“The volume looks to have become wet at some point,” he noted.
“Aye. And the pages are sealed to each other.” She gently rubbed the thin pages between her fingers, coaxing them to separate, and her smile flashed at her success. She read on from the next two pages in succession. “But Fulk was not the sole one who desired such a gift from the king’s hand.”
The subsequent page was even more difficult to separate from its fellows and Radegunde frowned. “It could not have been water that dampened the book,” she said, coming to the same conclusion as Duncan. “How vexing! The pages are most securely adhered to each other in this corner. I do not wish to damage it.”
“Perhaps a scribe dipped it in glue.”
“Then why would a client have paid for it? Nay, it must have happened later.”
Who kept glue, save the scribes who used it to bind books? Duncan could not say.
The fire crackled as Radegunde patiently tried to work the pages apart. Finally she managed to separate the next page. She cast Duncan a triumphant glance when she turned it. “When he died, I left the matter to Bayard—” The next page turned more readily “—to ensure that my own son was not made the prey of—”
“She went to the convent to protect Gaston,” Duncan concluded.
“Aye, that is what I thought when she told me as much.” Radegunde nodded, then shook her head that the next page was stuck. “And here she will name the villain, as she did during our discussion.”
“She did?”
“Aye. Sebastien de Saint-Roux.” Radegunde w
hispered and Duncan could not say he was completely surprised. “Do you think it written here?”
Duncan leaned closer as she fought to free the page. Radegunde cursed, then raised her hand to her mouth.
“Do not touch your fingers to your mouth!” came a rough command.
Radegunde and Duncan both froze.
Her father appeared at the top of the descent to the rough chamber where they sat. He glowered at Radegunde, looking wilder and more fierce than he had earlier.
Duncan’s hand dropped to his blade as he began to rise to his feet.
“The pages are poisoned!” their host declared.
* * *
“Poisoned?” Radegunde echoed, knowing that her astonishment showed. Duncan seized the book from her grip and turned it in his grasp, studying the secured corner.
“Poisoned,” her father affirmed, crossing the width of the cave with three strides and seizing the volume. He pointed to a bucket of water. “Wash your skin thoroughly and quickly,” he commanded and Duncan brought her a measure of water.
Radegunde did as instructed, glad there was a bar of rough soap to use. She flicked a glance over her shoulder, still amazed that her father stood before her. “How do you know?” she demanded.
“That is not of import,” he said gruffly.
Radegunde felt her lips tighten. It seemed that she was in the company of two men who did not see fit to confide fully in her. She frowned and scrubbed her hand. Her vexation showed for Duncan bit back a smile.
Her father folded his arms across his chest to consider her, as he had when she had been small. “And why do you read from the book?”
“I would know whether its tale matches that confided in me by Lady Eudaline.”
“Does it thus far?”
“Word for word.”
“Then you have no need to explore the book’s secrets, for you know them already.”
“There might be more detail. It implies that the villain is named…”
“But Eudaline already confided in you.” Her father shook the small volume at her. “The book is a trap, one prepared by Eudaline for the day that some soul appeared who might be relied upon to deliver it. It was irresponsible of her to grant it to you without a warning.”
“But she did not trust me either,” Radegunde admitted.
“How do you know this?” Duncan asked, his skepticism clear.
Her father raised his brows. “I know Eudaline.”
“Should you not call her Lady Eudaline?” Radegunde asked.
Her father avoided her gaze, a hint of yet another hidden truth. “Perhaps. I am not so concerned with convention and etiquette in these days.” He spared her a bright glance. “Is it true that you have been to Outremer and back?”
“You change the subject to evade my questions,” she accused and he smiled, but did not dispute it.
“Did you retrieve the horses?” Duncan asked.
“Alas, only one. The warhorse was too far ahead of me and fled back toward Valeroy. I would hope he is safe within his stall by now.”
“I would be certain,” Duncan said, and Radegunde noted the concern in his sidelong glance.
“And Lady Ysmaine will be worried.” Radegunde tried to get to her feet, only to have both men halt her. Each put a hand beneath one of her elbows.
“You will not do yourself further injury,” her father said. “You should rest.”
“I will not allow my lady to fret. We should return with all haste.”
“I will carry you to the palfrey, then lead it,” Duncan said. Though the prospect of opening his wound again displeased Radegunde, she saw his determination and knew he would not be swayed.
“You must pledge to me that you will rest on the morrow then,” she said but he swung her into his arms without reply.
“I will lead you,” her father concluded. “Give me the last of that infusion before we depart. It smells most restorative.”
“Maman’s blend,” Radegunde said, a challenge in her voice.
Her father did not take the invitation, merely sipped of the brew with real pleasure.
Did he not love Mathilde? Why had he left her? Why had he returned at intervals? It seemed indecisive, and Radegunde did not think her father possessed that trait. Nor did she imagine that he was one to play with the affections of another.
He set the bowl aside and helped Duncan to kick the fire to ashes. Duncan then lifted Radegunde and they left the cave. Her palfrey was tethered to a tree, ears flicking. Duncan lifted Radegunde to the saddle, and she ran her hands over the beast with relief. Her father was yet silent, though there was much she would ask him.
She took a breath and asked one of her many questions. “How could you let me think you dead?”
Her father granted her a solemn glance. “Would you entrust your safety in the ability of a child to hold her tongue?” he demanded and she had to acknowledge that she would not. “In truth, I thought you might discern the truth when you were older.” He claimed the reins and led them through the forest. It was growing darker and the shadows already lengthened. The air felt chilly after the warmth of the cave, and Radegunde drew her cloak closed.
“But you and Maman deceived with great success.” There was bitterness in her tone and Radegunde did not try to hide it. She was aware that Duncan listened with care as he walked alongside. He kept one hand on the saddle, and she dropped her hand to close over his own.
Her father sobered. “You will tell no others, Radegunde.”
“You could confide in me now. Why do you live like this when you could be with us in the hut?”
“Because I could not remain with you, not when I was hunted, for I would not risk the lives of all of you.”
“You risked it sometimes, when you returned to Maman.” Radegunde had a thought then. Had Duncan’s attacker believed him to be her father? Nay, it could not be. Though both men were tall and broad of shoulder, her father was larger and more heavily set.
Meanwhile her father smiled a little. “That is the true peril of love, for I could not abandon her until she bade me do as much.”
Radegunde straightened. “She sent you away?”
“She challenged me to remain or to leave forever. I dared not risk her life, so I left. I hope it is not forever.” He nodded once. “Tell me of Outremer.”
“I did not realize the tale of my journey was known in the forest.”
“I am not without tidings here, Radegunde, and you have been gone for years.”
“But only returned for days.”
“Then it is clear that tidings reach me in a timely fashion. Perhaps the birds told me of it. Will you tell me of your adventure?”
Radegunde felt her lips set. He was determined to evade her questions, while drawing out all information from her. The combination vexed her mightily and made her feel as if she were still distrusted, like a small child. “Not unless you tell me why you left us.”
To her dismay, her father turned his attention to her companion, clearly having no intention of doing as much. “Tell me, Duncan MacDonald, what are your prospects?”
“I am a fighting man,” Duncan replied. “Sworn to the service of the man who saved my life until the favor is returned. By his command, I escorted his son to Outremer and will see him home again to Scotland.”
“Will you go with him?” Radegunde’s father asked her.
“I do not know.” She glanced at Duncan. “We have not discussed it.”
“But you are sworn to each other all the same,” he mused and did not seem overly troubled. “Well. Ensure her happiness, wherever you choose to live, and you will have my blessing.”
“It is my intention to do as much, sir.” Duncan eyed her father. “Your blessing is welcome but unexpected, sir.”
Her father smiled. “There was a time, Duncan MacDonald, when I would have thrashed your hide for taking my daughter’s innocence with such a small guarantee in return, but it is your good fortune that I have spent so long in exile. I
am no longer so concerned with the judgment of others.”
Duncan nodded, but Radegunde straightened.
“Exile?” she echoed, seizing upon that one detail. “So your abandonment of us was at the order of some soul other than Maman? What have you done, Papa, to be condemned to live as an outlaw?”
He gave her a glittering look so filled with defiance that she knew he would not confess it to her. He gestured to a parting in the trees just ahead. “And here is the road to Valeroy. I will follow you, remaining hidden in the forest, until you are within sight of the gates. It is possible that your assailant has found his way back, and I would welcome the opportunity to surprise him again.”
“But this time, he should not escape,” Duncan added. “I have questions for him.”
“Which he is unlikely to answer,” Radegunde’s father noted. “Still he might be convinced to share some detail of import. I will continue to hunt for him and send word if I learn more.”
“I thank you, sir.” The men shook hands and exchanged compliments, then Radegunde’s father came to her stirrup. He took her hand in his, then touched his lips to its back. “Godspeed to you, my Radegunde,” he murmured, his gaze so filled with warmth that a lump rose in her throat. “It is a gift to see you grown and beauteous, and so in love.” His lips touched her hand again and then he shook Duncan’s hand.
“I am bidden by Mathilde to tell you that she misses you,” Duncan said and Radegunde saw wariness dawn in her father’s eyes.
Had her mother truly sent him away?
Her father said naught in reply, but pivoted and strode into the forest, disappearing so quickly that she might have imagined his presence.
Save for the warm imprint of his salute on her hand. She blinked back her tears and swallowed, then smiled for Duncan. “He likes you,” she ventured to say and Duncan smiled.
“He loves you,” he countered. “Do not place too much weight on his reticence, Radegunde. I believe he tries to protect you.” He kept his hand on the saddle and walked alongside her, his other hand on the hilt of his knife.
It occurred to Radegunde that her father was not the sole one who would ensure her safety.
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