The Baron's Quest

by Margaret Moore

  Perhaps love was making her blind now. What else would make her yearn to be in the baron’s arms and to offer him comfort?

  She couldn’t decide what to believe, and she couldn’t decide what to do. Maybe it would be better for her to leave this place and get away from the baron, even if it meant leaving her home.

  “How delightful!” drawled a languid and unfortunately familiar male voice.

  Gabriella jumped to her feet, turning to see Philippe de Varenne toss his horse’s reins over a low bush. He wore his long cloak and heavy boots, and there were bundles tied onto his horse, as if he were going on a long journey.

  “What do you want?” she demanded.

  “I saw you come into the woods and thought I would take my leave of you,” he said, strolling toward her with a singularly cruel smile, “since it’s because of you I have to leave.”

  The baron had believed her and had ordered Philippe to go! That was her first thought; her second was that she was in very great danger, worse than that night in the storeroom, for now no one would hear her if she called for help.

  No doubt Philippe de Varenne realized that, too, for he said, “All alone, are we? What a fortunate thing for me!”

  “Sir, I have to go back to the castle,” Gabriella said with all the dignity she could muster as she went to go past him, hoping he would let her go if she did not act afraid.

  He grabbed her arm roughly and pulled her to him. “Do you think I’m going to let you have the better of me, Gabriella?” he demanded. “I assure you, I will have the victory—over you and Baron DeGuerre.”

  “Please, sir—”

  “Oh, yes,” he hissed. “Now you beg. Now you give me respect.” His arms went around her, enclosing her in his grasp. “We all want respect, don’t we? You, me, the great Baron DeGuerre. That’s why he won’t touch you, as much as he would like to. Do I surprise you? Come now, Gabriella, you’re not that foolish.” He took hold of her hair, tugging her head back so that she had to look up at his evil face. “Do you think he will respect you after I’m done with you?”

  “Don’t!” she gasped before he threw her to the ground.

  “It’s too late to expect kindness from me,” Philippe snarled.

  She began scrambling to her feet desperately, but he pushed her down with his foot. The cold mud oozed around her, the smell of the earth and dead leaves strong in her nostrils, as if she were already in her grave.

  “That’s where you should be,” he said. “Groveling in the mud at my feet.”

  “Philippe!” The baron’s voice boomed through the forest and the man himself appeared on the path, his dagger drawn and his expression so sternly fierce he looked like an avenging angel.

  Or a demon risen from the depths of hell.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Philippe cursed and started to run, splashing away from them through the stream. Etienne scrutinized Gabriella quickly. Seeing no sign of injury or rape, he blessed the urge he had felt to follow Philippe.

  His fortuitous decision did not decrease the rage that took hold of Etienne as he gave chase, his long tunic no more an encumbrance than the wind as he pursued Philippe on foot, for he had left his stallion tied near the road to lessen the chance that Philippe would realize he was being watched.

  Philippe ran fast, but his cloak was a hindrance and he kept looking back over his shoulder to see his pursuer. Under such circumstances—indeed, even with the best of conditions—he could not outrace an infuriated Etienne DeGuerre. Etienne nearly caught him in a small clearing; unfortunately, Philippe managed to elude his grasp. Desperate to catch the villain, the baron threw his dagger, which struck his prey in the leg.

  With a cry of pain, Philippe stumbled and fell. “Mercy!” he cried, his hands over his head, when Etienne reached him and turned him over with a kick.

  “Mercy?” Etienne asked quietly as Philippe lay whimpering. “Do you think you can expect mercy from the bastard son of a whore?”

  Philippe curled into a protective ball at the baron’s feet, one hand clutching the protruding handle of the dagger as his body shook with sobs. “Please, please don’t kill me!” he begged. “Please let me go!”

  “As you were going to let Gabriella go?”

  “Oh, God save me!” Philippe groaned.

  Etienne reached down and tugged Philippe to his feet. “What…what are you doing?” Philippe spluttered, a froth of saliva at the corners of his mouth, and tears running down his cheeks.

  “Taking you back to your horse,” Etienne growled. Ignoring Philippe’s whimpers and moans, he put one shoulder under Philippe’s arm and dragged him along the path, not taking any particular care to be gentle, or to avoid the sharp branches and thorns of the bushes and trees.

  Soon Etienne saw Gabriella standing where he had left her, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes widened when she saw them, and she stepped off the path to let them pass. Tired from the effort of running, determined to get rid of Philippe and, more importantly, not certain what to say, Etienne did not address her.

  “Gabriella!” Philippe moaned pathetically. “Tell him! Tell him I never hurt you! He’s going to kill me!”

  Etienne threw Philippe’s arm off and the young man staggered, nearly falling. “Baron DeGuerre, I—”

  “Don’t say a word or I’ll get angry,” Etienne muttered.

  Philippe’s eyes widened in distress and he nodded his head.

  “Get on your horse.”

  Philippe hurried to obey as best he could. When he was mounted, Etienne stepped forward and yanked his dagger from Philippe’s leg. “I could not allow you to take this with you. It’s worth far more than your miserable life,” he said coolly. “I suggest you bandage your wound as soon as possible, before you bleed to death.”

  Philippe nodded rapidly and pressed his hand over the bloody tear in his chausses. Then Etienne slapped the horse’s flank, and it broke into a startled canter. Philippe clutched the reins and emitted a squeal of pain and alarm as the horse disappeared down the path.

  Etienne turned to Gabriella. Her face was streaked with tears, but she smiled wanly at him, her bottom lip trembling. “How did you know?” she asked softly.

  “I wanted to make sure he had not taken one of my horses,” Etienne admitted. “Then I decided to make sure he left my land entirely. It was only by chance that I saw him disappear into the woods and wondered what mischief he was making.”

  “I am glad you did,” Gabriella said.

  “As I am,” he replied, going toward her slowly. “You are not hurt?”

  “No, my lord.”

  “This is my fault. I should have sent him away long ago.”

  She didn’t reply, but simply stood there, alone and vulnerable—because he had made her so. As he looked at her, tenderness and concern overtook him. How much he wanted to embrace her and hold her safe in his arms! Yet he was too afraid she would misinterpret his action. He wondered if there was some way he could show her his contrition, something that she could not construe as an attempt to seduce her.

  “I… I had better go,” she said softly. “Lady de Chaney will be looking for me.”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “I should go alone,” she continued.

  “Very well.” He watched her walk slowly away, her head bowed as if lost in thought.

  Then he realized a way to demonstrate his regard for her, as well as rid himself of his growing weakness where she was concerned.

  He would forgive her debt. He would set her free.

  There was yet more, to show the depth of his feeling. He would do his best to find her brother.

  And then, when she owed him no more money, and she had a brother to provide the love and protection of a family, she would leave him. And he would be unloved and alone, as he had always been.

  Once out of the baron’s sight, Gabriella ran as fast and as far as she could, only stopping when her legs were too tired and she was close to the village. In her mind, she knew it was a f
ruitless flight, because she was not running from Philippe de Varenne, or even Baron DeGuerre. She was trying to run away from her own wild, intense emotions.

  The moment he had appeared, she had been thrilled and relieved, certain that she would be safe. When he had gone after Philippe, she had not known what to do, except that she wanted to thank him.

  Then he had returned, Philippe in his custody, and she had been shocked at the intense desire that filled her as she watched him send away her enemy. It was almost uncontainable, the need she felt to be in his arms, with no thought of whether it was right or wrong, the only necessity being to act upon her desire.

  She must try to subdue these primitive, impossible feelings. He was Baron Etienne DeGuerre, whom she should hate.

  If only Bryce would come back. Or if only she could find the strength to leave.

  Although he knew he had made the right decision, Etienne was certainly not in a pleasant frame of mind for the next few days. He immediately dispatched Donald and Seldon to try to find Bryce Frechette, after cautioning them that it was a secret task, not to be discussed except between themselves.

  Jean Luc Ducette left Castle Frechette to attend to matters concerning the baron’s other property. Etienne busied himself with estate business, for it was nearly time to begin the fall slaughter. The beasts had to be counted and the decision made which ones to winter. He did not have the greatest of faith in the honesty of the reeve or any of the other tenants, and so thought his presence would be needed.

  He also kept a careful eye on Robert Chalfront, in case Philippe’s accusation and his own already stifled suspicions were not without merit. However, he saw nothing to justify any allegation that the bailiff was in collusion with Josephine. Indeed, he was beginning to think it was Chalfront’s fate to continue to be unjustly accused.

  As for his nights, Etienne could not remember a time when he had found it so difficult to sleep. He was often physically tired, yet could not find the necessary peace to drift into slumber. During the day, he could keep his mind occupied and nearly ignore Gabriella; at night, Gabriella was all he could think about, and he recalled the day’s torturous glimpses of her, in every tantalizing detail.

  He wasn’t sure if Josephine noticed anything. He feigned sleep the moment his head rested upon the pillow. He felt absolutely no desire for her now, and had no wish to concoct excuses. He also didn’t want her to blame herself for his lack of libidinous appetite, or the alteration in their relationship. It was all his fault.

  Nevertheless, the situation between his mistress and himself was rapidly growing intolerable. He knew he should end it, yet he wished to avoid a confrontation, for then he would have to give her an explanation. He feared that the perceptive Josephine would see through any lies and, worse, realize that he was a slave to his own emotions.

  Only one week later, however, he found Josephine in his solar waiting for him with a serious expression on her beautiful face.

  When he saw how she started and flushed guiltily, he realized he had left several estate documents spread out upon the table. With sudden dread he wondered if the distance he felt growing between Josephine and himself was not totally his doing. Perhaps there had been truth behind Philippe’s words. Had he been too involved in his personal troubles to see what was happening under his very nose?.

  “Etienne,” Josephine began softly, but with unmistakable rectitude, “I am leaving you.”

  Although this was unexpected, he felt relief that she was the one starting this conversation. She would be on the defensive; he need not make any explanations. “Why?” he inquired calmly.

  A simple enough question, he thought, but she hesitated a long time before answering it with another question. “Does it matter?”

  Did it? he asked himself, and the answer was immediate. No, unless she was engaged in some kind of sabotage.

  He regarded her steadily, this woman who had shared his bed and his body if not his love, and saw no deceit in her beautiful green eyes. He had never had a cause to doubt Josephine’s loyalty, and he would not do so until he had incontrovertible evidence to the contrary. “If you wish to go, so be it. Where?”

  “To my uncle’s.”

  “I will send an escort with you. And I will see that you do not lack for money.”

  “Thank you, Etienne,” she said with a smile and no attempt at dissembling, which reminded him of the reason he had always liked Josephine. She was a practical woman, and took no pains to hide it. “You are a good man, Etienne.” Her expression clouded. “I am going to be honest with you,” she said with a tremulous smile. “I am leaving you to be married.”

  Whatever reason he might have considered for Josephine’s departure, he would never have guessed this one. Holy heaven, where had his eyes been these past several days, that something like this should happen and he be so ignorant?

  When he was sure he could maintain a calm tone, he asked, “To whom?”

  “Robert Chalfront.”

  “Chalfront?” he repeated, too surprised to mask his incredulity. “He is only a bailiff.” And not a particularly good-looking one, at that.

  She laughed softly. “He loves me, and he wants to marry me. I will be a lawful wife, and—” she blushed, something Etienne had never seen her do before“—I love him with all my heart.”

  Etienne believed her, for her love was shining in her eyes, and he had never seen that before, either. “Are you not troubled by the fact that you will be marrying beneath you, Josephine?” he asked when he had recovered from his surprise enough to be pragmatic

  “I don’t care about that, Etienne.”

  “Philippe de Varenne tried to give me a warning before I sent him away,” he said slowly. “He thought you two intended to do me mischief.”

  “Etienne!” Josephine gasped, genuinely distressed, and Etienne knew he had been right to trust her. “I would not repay your kindness that way! Robert and I are planning to leave here and live elsewhere.”

  “I know I can trust you,” he said with a smile, going to her and taking her soft, slender hands in his. “And I have no wish to find another bailiff. Jean Luc was quite effusive in his praise of Chalfront, or at least as effusive as he ever gets. I see no reason why he could not continue as bailiff here. Do you?”

  “He is loath to leave here, although he said he would do so, for my sake,” Josephine said, pressing a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Oh, Etienne, you are a good man!”

  Rather than make a response to her statement, he said, “If Philippe suspected you, he may not be the only one. And people may think I am brokenhearted over losing you. While I am sure I will miss you, I think I had best prevent any such rumors by providing the wedding feast.” He held up his hand to silence her happy exclamation. “Shall we say in a fortnight’s time?”

  “Etienne, you are wonderful!” She embraced him briefly.

  “Am I?” he mused. “I fear others would not agree. Be that as it may, I will see about the feast. Now you had better start your packing, for you should go to your uncle until your wedding.”

  She hesitated, momentarily uncertain. “There will be rumors anyway.”

  “If I cared what others thought of me, I would not be the Baron DeGuerre.”

  “Etienne.” Josephine embraced him gently. He made no response. “Etienne, I will see little of you after this. I want you to know I admire and respect you. You never made me feel…purchased.” She went to the door slowly, then turned back to face him. “Is there anyone…?”

  He knew what she meant. “No.”

  She sighed. “I wish there was, Etienne. You deserve happiness.”

  Then she left him. Alone.

  With apathetic steps, Gabriella climbed the stairs to the baron’s bedchamber to assist Josephine in her dressing for the evening meal. Helping Josephine de Chaney select and put on gowns and headdresses that emphasized her outstanding beauty was not a task she looked forward to, for it forced her to remember that the baron had a woman in his life; he did not
need or want her beyond the pride of adding another woman to the list of those he had seduced.

  Ever since that day in the forest seven days ago when the baron had made certain Philippe de Varenne was gone and she had come to know the true state of her feelings for Etienne DeGuerre, she had been powerless to subdue them, try as she might. She even dreamed of being m his arms, the images so vivid that, when she awoke, she was ashamed of herself.

  What could it avail her to yearn for him? She should not crave even the sight of him the way she did. She should remember what he had done—taken her home and made her a servant. He had tried to seduce her, and she should be glad—glad!—he had not succeeded.

  “Ah, Gabriella!” Josephine cried softly as she entered the baron’s bedchamber. “There you are! You are late.”

  The room was tumultuously messy, as if Josephine had tried on several garments before selecting one. She had evidently managed to choose a gown on her own, for she wore a beautiful brocade creation of rich, deep forest green. The color highlighted the purity of her complexion and the brilliancy of her green eyes.

  “Forgive me, my lady,” Gabriella said listlessly. What kind of simpleton would think she could compete with this woman’s beauty? If it seemed that Etienne DeGuerre revealed some of his feelings to her, what did that mean? Perhaps that was simply another weapon in his arsenal of seduction.

  Then she realized that Josephine’s eyes glowed with extraordinary excitement and her manner seemed curiously elated.

  “Hand me that green scarf, will you?” Josephine asked gaily. “No, not that one. The one with the silver border. Isn’t it lovely? There was a silk merchant traveling through the village and he sent this to me for a present. It should be just the thing to go with this gown, don’t you think?” Josephine slid gracefully onto the stool in front of the mirror.

  “Yes, my lady,” Gabriella agreed, all the while wondering what accounted for the lady’s present state.