by Jackie Ivie
“That is what I assumed. I’ll start a trot. Let me know if we go too fast.”
Let him know? How was she to do that?
As soon as the animal started moving faster, Giselle bounced, feeling as if each movement might send her over its head. She hung on for what seemed hours, before Navarre slowed.
“There. That is our race course. You see?”
He pointed to his right as they walked toward a fenced area. Giselle glanced at what could be a racing course or not. It was difficult to tell, for the area was greatly overgrown.
“Designed by the tenth duc, it was to be three stretches followed by a series of jumps over there. Do you see them?”
She saw what Navarre was referring to. The obstacles were constructed of widely spaced poles. Some had fallen. Some supported the shrubbery that grew around them.
“It looks bad, Giselle, but Etienne ordered no one to touch it after the accident.”
He stopped, and Giselle’s horse drew alongside him without her influence. She patted its neck gratefully, hoping Navarre wouldn’t spot her trembling.
“The accident…it happened here?” she asked.
“Oui. I was…about fourteen. And the one thing I loved was being with Etienne. He was my hero. I know he’s different now, but he wasn’t always so difficult. He was an outstanding rider, too. I used to hold my breath in wonder at his expertise. He was good at whatever he tried, though. He was everything I wanted to be, and more.”
He sighed and moved his finger to the jumps. “See that one, the third? Etienne wanted that one set even higher. It was a difficult jump, even for him.”
The top pole was still attached to one side, although a vine claimed it. It looked to be well above her head.
“Higher?” she asked.
“Oui. And he made it, Giselle. I recall how wonderful it looked, too, just before he flew off. The horse didn’t knock off that top rail. Etienne’s body did. I ran to him, but he refused to let me help. He ordered me to get transport and a doctor. He said he couldn’t move.
“That’s when I saw that he still had the saddle between his legs. The cinch was cut almost cleanly in two. It would have broken under any strain, let alone a jump like he’d just done. Someone had tried to kill him and nearly succeeded.”
Giselle put a hand to her throat. Etienne told the truth last night? She was in shock. It sounded in her voice.
“Jean-Claude? Then…why was nothing done?” Giselle asked.
“Imagine the scandal to the family. And the loss of the vineyard if Etienne’s disability became known. We couldn’t chance it.”
“The Berchalds allowed an attempt at murder to go unpunished? I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I can’t.”
“It was Etienne’s decision, Giselle. He sided with our mother. That’s why she accompanied Jean-Claude to Versailles Palace, and stays with him there.”
“Your mother?”
Giselle looked from the rail to Navarre and back at the railing. She couldn’t stand to see the bitterness etched on his face.
“Only by keeping a close watch on Jean-Claude does she keep Etienne safe.”
‘This is incredible. Non! Worse. I never heard of such devious behavior. How could she let it go unpunished? Doesn’t she love Etienne?”
Navarre smiled down at her, making her feel naive and young.
“Jean-Claude is as much her son as Etienne is. How could any mother choose, Giselle?”
She opened her mouth and shut it again. She knew very little, especially of a mother’s love for a child. How could she? She couldn’t remember receiving it. The thought reminded her of Etienne’s taunt that morning.
“Navarre? Who are Jacques and Rene?”
She startled him. He lurched backwards, almost falling from his hose. It should have made her smile, but it didn’t.
“He told you of them? Mon Dieu! The man has no sense. He’s a mean-spirited, rude, satirical—” He bit off his words. “Why, Giselle? Why would he tell you of them?”
She looked down at her hands on the saddle pommel. Licked her lips. Forced her voice to work. “He—he said…I’m not woman…enough. And since he already has two sons…it’s not worth his trouble.”
“He said that? Tiens! He’s a brute, as well. I don’t know where he could come up with something like that, Giselle. You’re every bit a woman, and so much more, I don’t know where to start. You’re beautiful, engaging, witty, everything a man hopes for….”
His voice lowered, as if he worried someone might overhear. In the open near a race-course? Chateau Berchand couldn’t reach here, could it?
“He says…no fool wants…a—a maiden.”
“What? No! He didn’t! He couldn’t!”
“And he said…I lack passion. I may. I don’t even know what…it is.”
She looked up at him, and saw anger, disgust, and along with that, abject longing. Giselle knew what the combination had to be, because she felt the exact same emotions.
“I have something to show you, Giselle,” Navarre finally said, in a tightly controlled voice. “And it’s some distance. Hang on.”
They set out across the vineyard. All she paid attention to was holding on. She couldn’t believe he’d go so fast on her first ride. She should have known where he was taking her, too. The Minot farmhouse loomed through the trees after a span, and she didn’t even question it.
“You ride very well, Giselle,” Navarre said. “I should have expected it. Did it frighten you unduly? I hope not, for I’m not accustomed to going at such a slow trot.”
Slow trot? She shook her head. He turned back around and shouted toward the house.
“Minot!”
It wasn’t Madame Minot who stepped from the door. It was a slightly smaller version.
“Ah. Desiree. I’m pleased you’re home.”
“Monsieur Navarre! We…didn’t expect you! Mama should have said something.” She wiped her hands on her apron and looked around so furtively that Giselle looked, too, although she didn’t know what they were looking for.
“Of course you didn’t. I just thought of it. I have brought the Duchesse du Berchald to meet Jacques.”
Giselle thought the woman might faint. Navarre must have thought the same thing, for he leaped to the ground and ran to the porch. Giselle watched with interest. She was already assigning meaning to Navarre’s words, and instinctively she knew she was right. Desiree must be this Jacques’ mother. Giselle stifled the instant distaste. If Etienne preferred a woman her size, no wonder he called Giselle a girl.
“Jacques isn’t available, Monsieur. He has chores. You know that. But you say nothing of Rene. Why?”
The woman whispered, but Giselle heard her. She leaned towards them, and her horse actually followed the unspoken command by stepping closer.
“Etienne may be blind, Desiree, but I am not. Send for Jacques. And Rene, if you like. I care little at this point.”
Navarre shrugged, dismissing her, just as laughter diverted Giselle’s attention. Three boys came into the clearing. The sticks on their shoulders and the string of fish the smallest held showed where they had been.
“Monsieur du Berchald! I’m pleased to see you again.” The tallest, easily distinguishable as Etienne’s bastard son, swept into as courtly a bow as any Giselle had seen. He had the coloring and height of a Berchald, but was nowhere near as lean. Instead, he was almost as wide as his mother.
He turned his attention to Giselle. Eyes as blue as Etienne’s regarded her. She gathered she would be shorter than he, although she was mounted, forcing him to look up at her.
“Bonjour Mademoiselle. I’m very pleased to meet you. Jacques Minot, at your service.”
“This is the Duchesse du Berchald, Jacques, not a mademoiselle”
Giselle wondered if the hard note in Navarre’s voice meant anything. The boy looked at his uncle, then back at her.
“Pity,” he remarked and shook his head.
Giselle almost laughed.
“This is Rene Mi
not, my brother,” he continued. “Rene? Madame, la Duchesse du Berchald. She’s very pretty, non?”
Giselle looked at the boy bowing before her. He didn’t favor a Berchald at all, unless it was Jean-Claude, whom she had yet to meet. Giselle looked to Navarre, who was watching her intently. And then she knew what he was trying to tell her. Giselle nodded. It was obvious Rene couldn’t be Etienne’s son. Only an invalid, locked in his castle would believe it.
“Navarre? Would you be so good as to assist me down? I would like to wash up, if it would be no trouble.”
Giselle ignored Jacques’ eager hands beside her and waited.
“Of course, Giselle. I’m certain Desiree will show you to the comfort room. Desiree?”
Navarre reached her and pulled her into his arms. She’d forgotten how it felt to be carried by him. So close! So warm! The arms about her tightened, and she turned away. It was as impossible as before, perhaps more.
Her hat made it difficult for him to hold her close, yet he did. Giselle leaned away so that the tulle border wouldn’t scrape his face. She didn’t meet his glance, though. That would have been too intimate.
The porch came too soon. Navarre held to her until she stood, looking at the decking as her face reddened.
“So sweet,” he whispered before turning.
Giselle gulped.
“Mama, look at the fish we caught. Grandmama will be pleased with Bernard, won’t she?”
“Bernard?”
Navarre asked it as Giselle moved toward the door. It was too sordid a truth already. She didn’t wish to know more.
“Bernard? This is Monsieur Navarre du Berchald. From the castle.”
“Greetings, Bernard. I haven’t seen you about before. Have you a pere?”
Giselle slid through the door, trying not to listen. Still, she heard as Desiree answered.
“It’s none of your concern, Monsieur du Berchald, who fathered my son, or who I spend my time with. You pay well for Jacques and Rene, and that’s all you do. You know what will happen….”
Giselle found the comfort room before she heard anymore. She regarded her face in the mirror for a few moments before splashing cold water on herself. It was strange, but she didn’t look any older. She felt it.
Navarre was ready to assist her to remount when she came back out. Giselle tried ignoring him. His hands seemed to burn through the material, and his breath teased her ear. She was determined, though. He was a Berchald. And she was finished with them. She’d made her decision while watching herself in the Minot’s mirror. She knew she’d never appeal to her husband, and she couldn’t continue being so close to his younger brother with how she felt.
That left the convent of St. Mary. It was her only choice. She almost looked forward to it. It was a relief to have it settled.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
They rode down the road for some distance before Navarre spoke again. He was riding just in front of her, and turned his head to speak over his shoulder.
“Well. There you have it, Giselle. That was Jacques. Etienne’s illegitimate son. I must apologize for the other. I didn’t expect our visit to turn so….”
“Ugly?” she supplied the word.
He nodded without turning.
“It’s hardly surprising anymore, Monsieur. I’m beginning to expect ugly secrets every time I’m alone with you.”
He spun at her words, but didn’t speak. Instead, he simply sat there, rolling with his horse’s gait, regarding her with a strange expression. Giselle returned it, not realizing she’d held her breath until he turned back around, allowing her to exhale.
Merde, but he affected her. It wasn’t fair. Or sane. Or smart. It still happened.
Navarre picked up his pace without asking. Giselle suspected it was to get the entire experience over with. She should be grateful. She wasn’t. This was the last time she’d be alone with him. She’d made her decision. The convent at Bordeaux wasn’t going to be any easier to bear if she prolonged time with him.
But how could she get her heart to listen?
They left the road, heading into the trees. Probably to save time. Rid himself of her sooner. The woods grew denser. Darker. The trail started to climb, and he still didn’t alter the pace.
“Where are you taking me, Navarre?”
“The arbor,” was his terse answer delivered over his shoulder.
“What’s that?”
He didn’t answer.
The trees thickened until Giselle had to lean close to her mount’s neck for fear her bonnet would catch on a branch and pull her from the horse. Navarre was being impossible. The entire trip was a mistake.
And it got darker. Giselle frowned. She opened her mouth to ask again, then shut it as they reached a small clearing. It was as overgrown as the race course. Secluded. Private.
Navarre slid from his horse and looped the reins around a vine-covered branch.
“Where are we?” Giselle whispered.
His face was unreadable. “I told you. The arbor.”
He gestured at a dark shelter hidden in the shadow. Giselle saw a divan tucked inside. Her eyes went wide and her heart thumped mightily as she realized what the arbor was used for.
Non. He wouldn’t dare! And she wouldn’t let him. Would she?
“Why are we here, Navarre?”
He reached for her. Giselle clung to the saddle horn. She’d made her decision. There was no room for this. His hands touched at her waist, heating through the silk of her riding gown. He rubbed his thumbs along her sides, creating even more warmth.
This couldn’t be happening. She should stop it.
“I won’t harm you, ma petit. I vow it.”
He smiled, and Giselle was lost. It wasn’t a lunge, but it was close. Her cry was lost in the trees about them as she moved her hands to his shoulders. And then she slid down his frame until she stood right beside him.
Touching.
Leaves rustled as a hint of air brushed through the bower. Giselle had never felt the like. This can’t be happening! I can‘t let it— One of his arms pulled her to him. With the other hand he reached for her chin, lifting it until she looked at him.
“Trust me, ma petit.” He whispered it.
She shouldn’t. She should be pushing from this embrace and screeching her anger at this manhandling. She should be affronted by his actions. She should be doing anything other than catching her breath in anticipation.
Sweet heaven. She couldn’t help it. She loved him.
Someone should have warned her it was an impossible emotion to fight, and no convent walls were strong enough to constrain it.
He sensed her answer. Giselle knew it as his lips curved into a smile, and she saw the flash of teeth. His forefinger held up her face as he lowered his.
Giselle closed her eyes, absorbing the scent of greenery filling her senses until it combined with his smell. His lips trailed down her nose, and Giselle whimpered with the disappointment. She couldn’t stand for it again. She wanted more than a chaste kiss. She wanted…
“I love you, Gis—”
She stopped his whisper by reaching up, and yanking his head down. The move slammed her lips to his with a shockwave that rippled and then elated. He groaned and she joined it, not feeling his fingers on her hat ribbons until it fell down her back. Pins followed, and her hair tumbled down next. She struggled for each breath, tasting him as he was her. Gulping. Moaning. Thrilling. And her entire body felt it, lurching against him time and again. Closer. Crushing her belly against his hardness. She’d never felt so wanton or sensitive or responsive before.
“Easy…love.”
His breathing was harsh as he lifted from her lips. And he was waiting when she opened her eyes. This was insane. Evil. Horrid. What had compelled her? Giselle looked into his eyes and felt the instant stab of tears.
What was she doing? He was out of reach. He always had been. He always would be. Oh, dearest God. She’d just kissed her brother-in-law! She was wicked, depraved,
and immoral. Evil. Everything she’d called Etienne…
But she was worse. She wanted more!
“Don’t cry, Giselle. Please?”
He lifted her, and she clung, wetting his shirt as she sobbed with a blizzard of emotions that all blended: shock and pleasure; disgust and thrill; horror and bliss.
Navarre sat, keeping her atop his lap. She guessed they were within the leafy shelter. She refused to look up, even as her tears gave way to sniffles.
“I…am sorry, Na…varre.” She wiped at her cheeks.
“For what, ma petit? Kissing me? But that was my doing. I couldn’t help it any longer. And…it doesn’t always have to be ugly secrets with us. It—I go too fast. It wasn’t your fault I brought you here. It’s not your fault that I couldn’t hold in my desires. But it is your fault for being so perfect, adorable, innocent, and very passionate. Etienne is blinded by his disability. I needed to prove it to you.”
Giselle stiffened. “Is that why you brought me here…to educate me?” She tried to keep her voice steady as fresh tears filled her eyes.
“Non, my sweet. I’d never assign such a word to it. I love you, Giselle. You hear me? I love you. I’ve tried to ignore it. I’ve tried to fight it. I want you to know this. I wish it wasn’t so, but at the same time, I know that it is. I can’t change it. I felt it the moment you gripped my arm in the cabriolet. Do you remember? You were so small. So frightened. So perfect. You made me feel…I couldn’t describe it then. I still can’t.
“I want to hold you as closely as possible, kiss away your tears, and share the passion you definitely have. Educate you? Oh, my darling…I’m only thrilled that Etienne finds you lacking. Non! I mustn’t think that! I mustn’t. I’ve counseled myself, Giselle. I’ve prayed. I’ve tried to follow what I know to be right. This is complete madness…and yet look at me. Holding you when I mustn’t. Speaking what should stay unvoiced. I must get you and my brother to see sense…when it’s something even I can’t see.”
Giselle was kissing his throat as he spoke, making him choke on the words. She loved the faintly scratchy feel against her lips. She loved everything about him! And he loved her!
“I…love you, too.”