by Betina Krahn
“Valoir.”
“Oui. Valoir. Whom you discarded like so much refuse.” He ordered the cell door unlocked, and when it was opened, he stepped inside. He stood for a moment, studying the duke with satisfaction. “It seems all of your sins are coming back to haunt you, non?”
Beyond Valoir, the duke could see Chloe struggling futilely against her captors. They had bound her hands and stuffed a cloth in her mouth, which they tied in place with a length of rope.
“Let her go!” The duke lunged for the door opening, but the capitaine lurched between him and the opening, savagely bringing down the hilt of a sword on the side of his head. Avalon’s head snapped back and he slammed to the floor on his hands and knees, dazed and fighting to stay conscious.
“Two birds with one stone,” Valoir sneered as he motioned his men into the cell to seize the reeling duke. “Even easier than I expected.”
Chapter Twenty
It was some time later that Hugh arrived at the king’s privy chamber with Lord Bromley and Lady Marcella in tow. It was clear that if it hadn’t been for Bromley’s standing with the king, Edward would have refused to see them or to reconsider his decisions regarding the duke and Chloe. Through the partly open door, Hugh could hear Bromley reasoning with Edward, persuading him, drawing on their longstanding association to get him to see Hugh and listen to Lady Marcella again.
When at last they were ushered into the privy chamber, the king waved the old lady to a seat beside him on a bench beneath an open window. Before accepting, the old lady drew herself up before him and, with her nephew’s assistance, executed a deep curtsy. When she was seated, the king bade her speak and tell what she knew of the duke’s story.
Lady Marcella’s voice trembled as she began her story of young love and tragedy. The king listened with forced patience to the story of a young nobleman who arrived on her father’s estate with a trade delegation when she was a young woman. The young nobleman was bold and quick-witted and enthralling to all of the maids in the household. But his eye fell and lingered on her cousin, Clarice of Gilbert, and the girl soon succumbed to his charm and promises.
“A sad tale to be sure,” the king declared, frowning. “But there is no proof that the duke is the Frenchman of your story.”
“But his name was Manfred and so is the duke’s,” Bromley countered. “I heard my aunt call him that with my own two ears.”
“Do you remember anything else?” the king asked the old lady. “Anything about his family or companions?”
She shook her head regretfully. “He was introduced simply as a wealthy Frenchman. There were whispers that he was heir to a title, but it was never confirmed lest local resentment fall on him. After he stole Clarice away, my father blamed himself for having dealings with the treacherous French, and we were forbidden to speak of it. Now it has been so many years …”
“But, Chloe,” Hugh prompted. “She resembles your cousin Clarice a great deal.” He dropped to one knee before her and took her hands in his. “You must think, my lady. Her future, her life may depend upon it!”
“She does. Quite so.” The old lady began to weep. “I didn’t know if it was real or just in my mind. My eyes grow dimmer …” She dabbed at her tears with a handkerchief Bromley offered. “And my mind sometimes wanders. I never know … so … I said nothing about it.”
The king himself reached over to pat the hands wringing in her lap.
“Please, Highness, you must see that something else is at work here,” Hugh pleaded, frustrated to have no clear and unequivocal evidence. “Someone wanted the duke’s ransom to fail. Someone who attacked us on the road and then sent assassins to finish the task after we arrived safely. Why take such a roundabout route to stir up resentment and outrage at English rule—especially while the duke is still in English hands? Surely they would know he could be blamed.” He paused absorbing the impact of that conclusion himself. “It seems to me that these events must be directed more at the duke than at England, Highness. And I would bet my life that if properly questioned, the duke may be able to shed some light on who is responsible.”
The king searched Hugh, then turned to Bromley and Bedford, who gave him grave nods. “I believe Sir Hugh has the right of it, Sire,” Bedford murmured.
“Very well. Escort your aunt back to her chambers,” he told Bromley. Then he looked up at Hugh. “I have already dispatched Norwich to Calais to recover any records that may exist of a ‘first marriage.’ ” He gave a weary sigh. “I believe I am ready to hear what your bride and troublesome father-in-law have to say.”
As Hugh strode back through the hall, headed for the chamber where Chloe was being held, a commotion occurred at the side door of the hall. Hugh broke stride and stared as Jax, William, Simon, and Graham staggered into the hall carrying between them a crumpled figure draped over a makeshift stretcher.
“What’s happened?” Hugh rushed to help, and they laid the injured man out on one of the long tables. He was older and obviously of the knightly class, though his armor was of an outdated style and sadly ill-tended. Along the man’s side, coming from under his mail, was an alarming broad smear of crimson.
“Where is the king?” Graham demanded, looking around wildly.
“He has withdrawn.” Hugh declared, realizing that Graham had missed what had happened with Chloe and the duke while he was out of the hall. He looked at the aged knight lying white and silent on the tabletop and sensed who he was even as Graham spoke.
“Sir Jean de Mornay, Lisette’s uncle. He’s been attacked—run clean through. Where is she? Lisette?”
“I’m not sure. With the other brides, perhaps.” Hugh declared, struggling to make sense of the attack on Lisette’s uncle. If he truly was Lisette’s uncle, why would anyone bring him here to bear witness to the brides’ parentage and then stab him afterward? Except … he realized with growing dread … to keep him from bearing witness to anything else …
“We have to inform Bromley and the king. Jax, fetch a physician—quickly! William, find Bromley … he’s probably still with Lady Marcella. Graham—”
But Graham was already in motion, headed for the doorway leading out to the queen’s courtyard. He bounded up the uneven steps two at a time, his heart pounding, his fists clenched to keep them from shaking. But in the courtyard he found only three of the new wives. They told him that Lisette had been worried about Chloe and had insisted on trying to see her. He retraced his steps to the great hall and headed for the stairs that led to the brides’ former chamber.
As he approached the landing, he was halted by two burly guardsmen who refused to allow him to pass. He reasoned and bullied and finally got one of them to admit they had allowed Lisette to enter the chamber. It was a short step from there to convincing them to knock on the door and tell Lady Lisette her uncle had been found and needed her. After an agonizingly tense pause, one of the guards backed up the two steps to the landing and set his fist to the door.
Lisette appeared, her voice pouring through the otherwise silent passage like warm honey. “Lady Chloe is resting—”
“Nay, milady, a fellow asks to speak to you,” one of the pike-bearing guards declared with an eager smile and entirely too much warmth in his tone.
Graham jolted back and came down unexpectedly hard on the step below.
“Not ‘a fellow,’ you dolt … the lady’s husband,” he barked, reversing course and stalking up the remaining steps. “Lisette!” The door opened wider and Lisette stepped into the doorway. “Your uncle is in the hall, gravely injured. You must come.”
Closing the door behind her, she brushed past the guards and flew down the steps just ahead of Graham. He caught up with her, seized her elbow, and ushered her down the steps into the hall, where a knot of men was gathered around one of the long tables.
“Let her through,” he said, making way for her.
She stopped abruptly and gasped.
“Uncle Jean!” She rushed to his side, her gaze flying from the old man’
s pale face to the crimson slash running down his side to the priest arriving to administer prayers and perhaps rites. He raised his hand and she seized it and pressed on it a desperate kiss.
“Lis-ette …” The old man had barely enough breath to form words. “Ma petite …” He had difficulty swallowing, and she leaned closer to hear him. “They said you were … taken …” His breathing filled with ominous bubbling sounds and he coughed. Blood appeared at the corners of his mouth.
“They lied, mon cher oncle. I was not forced to do anything. I am safe and lawfully wedded,” she said, the words catching in her throat.
“You are wedded, petite? You are hap-py?” The old man’s chest rattled worse with each inhalation. He managed to turn his head enough to look at her. When she nodded through her tears, the anxiety the old man felt for her began to ebb along with his life. “C’est bon … ma … petite … heureux …” His grip on her hand loosened. “Le … bonheur …” His eyes closed.
“Please, Sir Jean, tell us …” Hugh tried one last time to elicit information from the dying man. “Who did this to you? What did they look like?”
“Val—Valoir.” The answer was even more faint. They bent closer and the priest halted to allow them to hear. “He found me … said Lisette … le compte … non … non …”
Then his pale lips stilled.
“Oncle Jean!” Lisette touched his face, calling to him again and again, but his chest no longer stirred. He was gone. Her tears fell onto his pale, still cheek, and she wrapped him in her arms and began to sob. The drone of Latin began again.
After a respectful moment Graham said her name and gently pulled her away from the old knight’s lifeless form. She swayed and he caught her to him to steady her. She looked up with all the misery of her heart visible in her luminous eyes. He sank visibly into those fathomless pools now filled with grief. He pulled her tightly against him and cradled her head against him.
All looking on crossed themselves.
“I am sorry for your loss, my lady,” Hugh said after a moment’s silence. Then he turned to his father, Jax, and William. “Valoir. And something about a count. I must speak with Chloe, then we have to see what the duke has to say.”
They had started for the doorway leading to Chloe’s prison, when Lisette’s tearful voice halted him. “She isn’t there.” When Hugh halted and turned, she clarified it. “She went to see the duke, to speak with him and learn if he truly believes she is his daughter.”
“But she was being held under guard. How could she have—”
“I distracted the guards and she slipped out,” Lisette said, her tear-splotched cheeks crimsoning. “She believes she must discover her parentage and prove herself if— You must look for her in the dungeons.”
Alarm shot through Hugh. “Just like her to try some—” He caught himself before he uttered damned fool nonsense. Chloe of Sennet didn’t have a foolish or nonsensical bone in her body. If he had learned anything these past few weeks, it was that everything about her was good and earnest and imminently sensible. Except, perhaps, her love for him. Which didn’t make a bit of sense. And when he caught up with her, he was going to make certain she knew just how grateful he was for that merciful lapse in judgment.
Hugh motioned to his father, Jax, and William and headed for the door leading to the dungeons.
As they approached the chamber where the Duke was being held, they could see that the door was already open and the guards usually stationed at the end of the passage were missing. Hugh rushed into the chamber and stood looking at the empty cot with disbelief. The duke couldn’t have gotten out without help.
“Did Chloe let him out?” He wheeled on the others. “How would she have gotten the key? Surely she knows better than to—”
He looked up at the others, then at his father, and a new fear gripped him. He ran out into the passage and down a nearby set of steps that led to the warder’s chamber. The guards usually posted there were missing as well. In searching the area, the earl spotted a heap of bodies stripped of clothes and armor lying in one of the empty cells.
They had both been taken. Chloe and her father.
“He’s got them—the bastard’s got them,” Hugh muttered in disbelief. “He reached into the king’s own dungeons and snatched them out.”
“Who?” his father demanded.
“Our mystery lord. The one who tried again and again to prevent the duke’s ransom.” The certainty of it settled over him; this was all about the duke. “The one who hates the Duke of Avalon enough to destroy many innocent lives in order to see him disgraced.”
Something inside Hugh erupted with a white-hot fury he had only felt once before—on a battlefield. This time it was preparing him to fight, too—only this time he would fight to save and protect his wife, his love. He rushed back through the dungeons and up to the great hall, headed for the king’s chambers.
Graham was still in the hall with Lisette, whose sisters had just arrived to comfort her. At the sight of Hugh’s fierce manner, he demanded to know what was happening. When told that Chloe and the duke had been taken out of the dungeon, he looked grimly down at Lisette, clearly torn between staying with her and helping Hugh. It was all Lisette needed.
“Go,” she said, giving him a gentle push. “Help him find our Chloe.”
He fell back a step, then halted and grabbed Lisette, kissing her ardently on the mouth. A moment later he was rushing after Hugh and the earl as they headed toward the king’s chambers.
A short while later they emerged from the privy chamber bearing with them the potent force of the king’s full authority.
“They’ll be headed back to France … down the Thames … to London … from there back to France,” Hugh said, his mind racing but not missing a step. “Boats or horses?”
“Horses to London,” the earl declared. “The river is too slow this time of year and too obvious.” The others murmured agreement.
“Horses it is. They’ll move fast … keep away from the main roads … at least until they’ve …” He swallowed the new fear rising up the back of his throat. “Assuming they’ve taken Chloe and the duke with them.” He rejected the desperate thought that they might have disposed of them straightaway. “Simon, Graham, go to the barracks. Recruit every man not on duty. Have them mounted and out on the green in a quarter of an hour.”
In exactly a quarter of an hour three search parties left Windsor at a gallop, one crossing the river, one riding the near side, and one fanning out to scour the countryside for evidence of several riders moving fast. Hugh rode the river route at the head of a party composed mostly of men who had returned with him from France … including Mattias, Withers, Fenster, and Willum.
He bent to his horse’s neck, scouring the moonlit countryside, hearing only the frantic drumming of hoofbeats in his head and feeling only the searing heat of urgency in his blood. A curious distortion of time overtook him. Each moment elongated and every sensation slowed for examination. It felt like he had all the time in the world … he would find her … hold her in his arms … finally tell her that he loved her … and prove to her that his heart was no longer divided.
Chloe. Dear God. If only he hadn’t been such a stiff-necked ass about everything. If only he hadn’t insisted he had all of the answers.
If only—his regrets quickly became prayers—if only God would allow him to find her and save her and love her all the days of his life … Could I love You any less? he asked God. Could I not love You more for all the joy and pleasure and faith she gives me? Would I not be a better man for thinking of another above myself?
In the distance, heading over a low hill, he spotted something that caught his attention then vanished from sight. Motioning to Mattias and Withers and the others, he pointed to the ridge, and they raced along after him, scouring the night-silvered fields of grain that moved like sea waves in response to their passing.
As they spurred their horses and raced faster, they spotted what appeared to be a group
of riders disappearing into a small wood off to the left, a path that, if continued, would lead them down to the river’s bank. Both they and their mounts labored for breath, but they pushed on, fixed on that dark line of trees.
They had to slow to negotiate the treacherous path as they entered the darkened woods, and their only consolation was that the count’s men must have had to do the same. They picked their way along the narrow, branch-cluttered path, and used the slower pace to catch their breath. Then ahead of them they could see that the trees ended, and the moonlight once again seemed as bright as day. Something about that meeting of darkness and light spoke caution to Hugh, and he drew his blade as they rode a bit faster. The others, copying his example, drew their swords and tightened the grip of their knees on their horses.
Just as they emerged into the moonlight, they were attacked from both sides. Horses reared, blades clanged, and several of the men rolled off their mounts to take on the enemy hand to hand.
“We’ve got them!” Mattias bellowed at Hugh, who was still mounted. “Go on!”
With only a moment to decide, Hugh accepted the old campaigner’s assessment, shouted for the still-mounted Fenster and Willum the Axeman to follow him, and spurred his mount across the field that led down to the river.
Cresting a rise, they caught sight of a horse and rider disappearing into a shallow swayle, but not reappearing on the other side. Alarm shot thought Hugh. They were taking to the river! By the time they reached that same spot, it was clear, the count’s men had charged down a shallow ravine that led down to the river’s edge. There, they could see a sizable boat with a sail anchored not far off the bank.
They charged down the ravine, toward the boat, counting perhaps a dozen men visible … some on the boat deck, others struggling through the water with what appeared to be trussed figures, and still others stationed on the bank with blades drawn and glinting in the moonlight. The rear guard spotted them and, with blows and shouts, drove some of the horses back up the ravine to block their way. Hugh tried to squeeze his mount through the horses scrambling up the narrow chute for open ground.