“Father, may I beg a private audience?” asked Colette quickly. She needed to talk to him, to try to undo whatever arrangement he might have made. She could not be banished to a frozen wasteland of the north. She would not leave her people in their time of need. Surely there must be some other way.
Her father refused to look at her and focused his attention on the scroll. “The warriors have already been sent. They are on their way.”
Marie Colette closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. There was no way out of this accord. She was trapped. “I understand.”
“I hope I have done right by you.” Her father shifted his gaze to her, his eyes pleading as if for forgiveness. “I…I needed to protect our people and see you safe.”
Colette squared her shoulders, pausing for a moment to ensure her voice would not betray her emotions. She needed to fall back on her training. She needed to say the right things without burdening the two men before her with her sudden desire to burst into tears. “You have done what you thought was right, and so your actions are just. I am pleased my life may be lived in service to my people.”
Her father turned to Gavin. “There has been only one problem with this plan. Who would protect my daughter as she traveled to Scotland? When you saved my life with such great bravery, I knew you to be the most courageous of all the knights. Since you have proven your worth, and since you know your way to the Scottish Highlands, I have decided to give you the inexpressible boon of serving as my daughter’s guide and guard on this arduous journey. Thank you, Sir Knight, for agreeing to take my precious daughter to the land of your birth, to Scotland and her betrothed.”
There was no way for him to refuse. “Aye, Yer Grace. I will see her safe.”
Colette suspected her father had intentionally misled him to garner his agreement to the plan. Gavin’s tight lips and false smile told her everything she wanted to know. He did not wish to escort her anywhere.
They were both going on an unwanted journey.
Four
Colette was still shaking when she reached her private chambers. The unfortunate tidings of her betrothal were soon related to her ladies-in-waiting, and the news spread throughout the castle like the pox, afflicting the courtiers before they reached their beds.
The unexpected news was not well received by her ladies. They all became distraught and several wept openly, for as her ladies, they would be required to journey with her. Her banishment was their own.
Colette wished nothing more than to join their loud lament, but she held her anguish tight inside. You are the brightest ornament of court. You must always act in a manner becoming your station or you will be a discredit to your father, her mother’s instruction rang in her head. The teachings of her mother were all Colette had left of her, so she clung to them with an adamantine will. Besides, she was not expected to have any thoughts of her own, save how she could serve first her father and then her husband. She was not allowed to betray dismay at her father’s plan for her life.
Colette held still while her ladies pulled and tugged, extricating her from the punitive headdress. It always gave her a headache, but tonight her head pounded in pain. Marie Jeannette was not attending her work, most likely too distracted by her own distress. Tears sprung to Colette’s eyes when the headdress was pulled off before all the pins had been removed, taking with it several strands of her hair. Colette knew better than to complain. Jeannette and Agnes had wished to shave off her hair entirely in preference to wigs, which they argued were easier to manage. Colette firmly refused.
With the help of her ladies, Colette was finally set free from her tight kirtle, and she took a deep breath for the first time in hours. Though they continued to perform their office, none of her ladies met her eye, so focused were they on their own distress.
“She must have done something wrong to be banished,” muttered Agnes in a tone Colette was supposed to pretend she did not hear.
Colette sighed. Her mind was in turmoil, trying to devise a plan that would provide the warriors her father needed to protect their people but would not require her to leave her homeland. Her head spun from the effort.
After their initial shock, her maids attempted to regain their composure. Little Marie Suzanne, however, could not stop the tears from running down her cheeks. As soon as she brushed them away, more fell. Colette’s heart went out to the young girl.
“Suzanne,” Colette called her forward. “I wonder if you would do me a great favor.”
Suzanne blinked away the tears. “As you wish, my lady.”
“My falcon, Algon—I fear he would not fare well on our journey.” Colette, as with many ladies in court, had a prized hunting falcon who was quite dear to her. “Would you be so good as to leave my service and return to your excellent parents with Algon so I will be at peace, knowing he is in good care?”
The young girl’s eyes widened and more tears spilled, though this time a smile broke on her face. “Yes, oh yes, my lady. It would be my honor.”
“It is decided then.” Colette gave her a nod in return. She could do nothing to save herself from her fate, but at least she could spare the youngest lady in her care.
“It is time for prayers, my lady,” said a stern Marie Claude. Colette’s other ladies were thin lipped and solemn. They knew there would be no reprieve for them.
Colette opened her small Book of Hours, the prayer book that had been her mother’s. It was finely decorated with the Bergerac heraldic crest on the leather cover and had a nice illustration of Saint Francis of Assisi on the first page. She turned to compline and led her maids in prayers. With all the emotions of the day, she could barely focus on the words.
“Good night, my lady,” Marie Claude said in chilling accents, assisting her into the tall bed, big enough for an entire family. The ladies closed the thick velvet curtains against the cool night air and set out their pallets around the bed. Colette was surrounded by her ladies yet quite alone. She could hear them talking amongst themselves, lamenting their fate. Colette wished to join them, but she knew it was not allowed.
Colette fought against tears. Tears marred the face and her appearance must always be flawless. She had learned to cry on the inside, where no one could see. She calmed herself with the thought that though she was being banished, sold in marriage to some barbarian in the frozen north, she would not leave without her comforts. She still held great fortune in her own right, in addition to her dowry. Her mother’s fortune in jewels, clothes, furnishings, art, tapestries, horses, and all the rest would be coming with her. She may be banished from home, but she would take as much of home with her as she could. It was her only comfort in the entire sad affair.
She wondered what her new life would bring. As her mind drifted, her thoughts returned to Sir Gavin, the large Highlander she would not marry. Other men had fawned over her and flattered her, but he was the first one to offer her something she truly wanted—her freedom.
It was the one thing she would never have.
* * *
Gavin rode down the dusty road in the early morning light, returning to the castle of the duc de Bergerac. He had scouted the road ahead, finding the safest route. The original plan was to leave at the end of the month and travel during summer, when the seas would be at their most calm. The English, however, were busy making mischief, taking coastal towns and causing Bergerac to hasten their departure, before it was too late to escape.
The last thing anyone wanted was to have the substantial dowry of Lady Marie Colette carried away by the English. They would no doubt take Marie Colette too—and kill Gavin to do it.
It had not taken long for Gavin to set his affairs in order. As an itinerant knight, he had little to do but arrange for his squire. Gavin also sent a missive back home to let his mother know that he would be returning. At least one person would be pleased with the turn of events. Two, actually.
His
stepfather, Sir Chaumont, was a French knight. Years ago, Gavin’s uncle, Laird MacLaren, had joined forces with the French to fight against the English in the seemingly endless war. Sir Chaumont and MacLaren had forged a friendship and Chaumont had traveled with him to Scotland. After meeting Gavin’s mother, Mary, Chaumont had decided to stay.
Three years ago, Gavin and Chaumont had been sent to France on an important errand for the church. Once completed, Gavin had decided to stay and make his fortune.
Chaumont had made weak attempts to dissuade him, mostly on behalf of Gavin’s mother. Yet Gavin could tell Chaumont was proud of him and did not push too hard. Chaumont understood what his mother did not—that a man, especially a young man, needed to be tested and tried in order to become a man he could live with for the rest of his life.
The past three years had done just that. He had arrived in France at the tender age of nineteen. He was now twenty-two and had grown considerably, in height and strength, but also in worldly knowledge. Most of all, he had learned the pointlessness of war, especially this conflict between England and France, which stretched beyond the generations.
His only regret in leaving was that his own quest had been unfulfilled. He had searched and searched, but what he sought could not be found. He slowed his mount to a walk, taking a moment to appreciate the colorful fields of the countryside. From his tunic, he pulled a simple gold band he wore on a chain around his neck.
“I’m sorry I failed ye,” he whispered and kissed the band. He kicked his horse into a cantor and proceeded down the road. His quest was left undone, but it was time to leave. It was time to return home.
Gavin returned to the castle to find it in utter uproar. He had hoped to travel quickly to the appointed rendezvous near Bordeaux, along the Garonne River. He had a vague understanding that French nobility would not travel light, but he was shocked at the crates and trunks lined up in the courtyard, stretching around the corner of the wall, out of sight. Stacked next to these were what looked to be the furnishing for an entire castle: tables, chairs, even a massive bed was carried out into the courtyard and prepared for travel.
Gavin shook his head in disbelief. Courtiers, servants, and guards ran about carrying items this way and that. Candlesticks, gold plates, silver challises, even armloads of glass goblets were being wrapped in linen and packed in straw. Did Bergerac intend to send his daughter with a flotilla to carry all her worldly goods?
He looked around to discuss the matter with the duke, but he was notably absent. Instead, Lady Marie Colette was standing like a queen on a raised platform, overseeing the massive production with a critical eye. She gave no direct commands but spoke quietly to one of her ladies-in-waiting who ran around conveying her wishes to her servants. Gavin strode up to her, finding he needed to look up at her on the platform.
“Ye canna take all this lot to Scotland.” He spoke to her directly.
One of Marie Colette’s ladies gasped and put her hand over her mouth.
Undeterred, Gavin continued. “There is no way to travel wi’ all this wi’out arousing the notice of our English friends. We need to travel quick and light to get ye safely to Laird Mackenzie. Ye canna bring it all wi’ ye.”
Marie Colette’s bright green eyes flashed. She had heard him at least. She did not speak to him however and instead whispered to the maid beside her.
“My mistress wishes to convey her thanks for your concern,” said the elderly lady-in-waiting with clear disdain in her tone. “But this is her dowry and her inheritance. It must come.”
Gavin did not attempt to hide his displeasure. Who was this lady who thought herself so beyond her company that she would not even speak to him? She had spoken directly enough when she was trying to persuade him not to marry her. At least he had escaped having to marry this arrogant heiress.
Gavin ignored the maid and directed his comments to Marie Colette. “I ken this is yer dowry. But there be no way to haul it all to Kintail. I assure ye, Scotland may be far, but we do have beds.”
Marie Colette looked down her thin nose at him, raising one long eyebrow. “Tell the master of the guards to be sure to pack his saddles.” She spoke to one of her maids but in a voice loud enough for Gavin to hear. She turned her back on him.
Gavin was not known for being short-tempered. He generally approached life with good nature and patience, but even he had his limits. He clenched his teeth to avoid telling the lady exactly what he thought of her. Instead, he spun on his heel and searched out her father. Only the duke could put an end to this madness.
He found Bergerac in his chambers with a bottle of wine in one hand and several empties around him. “About yer daughter,” began Gavin.
“She is so beautiful. So very beautiful.” Clearly the man was experiencing the full effect of his drink.
“Aye, a bonnie lass. But I need to speak to ye about the amount o’ baggage—”
“Her mother, she was a beauty, no? So beautiful.”
“Yes, quite.” Gavin glared at the duke. “But we need to discuss the travel arrangements. We need to move quickly to avoid detection. We canna be safe wi’ so many wagons o’ goods.”
“So lovely—”
“Bergerac!” Gavin was losing patience. “She is packing too much stuff!”
The duke turned to him as if seeing him for the first time. He nodded slowly and took another long drink. “Too much. She will not be able to get it all through. You are right.”
“So tell her to stop packing.”
He shook his head. “That I cannot do. The accord was made for the dowry to be delivered, and as for the rest, it is her due.”
“Even if we could get it all to the ship, I doubt it would fit in the hold. It will be left on the shore.”
“Leave it.” The duke raised a glass. “To your health.”
Gavin stormed out of the great hall to the small bedchamber he’d used during his stay at the castle. He was not sure who he was angrier with—Marie Colette for trying to take the castle with her, or her father who indulged her and thus allowed her to meet with disappointment, as long as he did not have to be the one to bear the bad news.
In contrast to his French friends, all Gavin brought with him could be carried on his horse. He grabbed his few belongings, which could be easily stuffed into his saddlebag but stopped, considering his options. With determination, he stripped out of his tunic, doublet, hose, and breeches, until he was standing in nothing but his linen shirt. He pulled out his large plaid. If he was going home, it was time to become the Highlander he was.
Five
As Gavin predicted, it took a long time to get everything loaded into carts and wagons, and the plan of an early start was long gone by the time the caravan was finally assembled. Gavin kept out of the way, resigned to let the travesty play itself out.
Finally, the entire population of the castle, and possibly the duchy, assembled to bid farewell to Lady Marie Colette and her entourage. Gavin stood at the back of the crowd, simply observing the spectacle. Marie Colette emerged, wearing a plush fur robe clasped at the shoulder. It might have been appropriate for winter, but other than being an impressive piece, it had little functionality on such a warm day.
She approached her father and curtsied low to him. In a formal show of fatherly affection, he nodded his head and offered his hand to help her up. She rose with a fluidity Gavin would not have thought possible while wearing such a heavy cloak.
“My daughter, my heart, our salvation—it rests in your beautiful hands,” cried the duc de Bergerac. “We thank you for the sacrifice you make for us, to leave home and hearth and travel to the far reaches of the known world to the land of the Scots.”
People wept as if she was being banished to a barren wasteland. Gavin wanted to defend his homeland, but he held his tongue. This would most likely be the last time the duke would see his only daughter. They could have their moment.
“May you brighten your new homeland with your gifts and your beauty, though we know you will pine for us for your lifetime, as we will carry the sorrow of your loss forever.” Bergerac cast Marie Colette in the light of a martyr.
“I will grieve the loss of my people all my days.” Marie Colette spoke in a husky voice. If it were not for the perfectly placid face, Gavin might have suspected some deep emotion on her part.
Bergerac now presented his daughter with his farewell gift. “I give you these common implements and instruct you to humble yourself before your husband and cook him his first meal yourself, alone.” He gave her a black iron ladle, a long-handled slotted spoon, and a long iron spit.
Gavin was more than a little surprised at his instructions and the gift. He would have expected the parting gift to be something more sparkly and less utilitarian. Marie Colette also appeared a bit surprised by the gift, her eyebrows raising. She accepted the iron utensils and Gavin saw her stagger under the weight of the three implements. She clearly needed to do some cooking to build her strength.
“Promise you will do this for me, my daughter,” said Bergerac, his voice demanding.
A tiny frown of confusion flashed across her face then disappeared. “I swear to you, my father, it will be done.” She handed the items over to be packed with the rest.
Gavin sighed audibly. More things to carry.
“And now with Sir Gavin to guide and protect you, I wish you a journey most blessed, my precious daughter.” Bergerac kissed first one then the other of Marie Colette’s cheeks.
Gavin decided it was time for his part in the human drama and stepped forward to lead the charge—or rather the slow amble out of the castle gates. With great ceremony, cheering and sobbing courtiers, horns blaring, and drums pounding, Marie Colette strode majestically across the courtyard on the arm of her father.
The Highlander's Bride Page 3