Autumn Lord (11 page)

despite the hour, talking, playing games. They looked up at his entrance, the servants and pages bowed,

but no one paid him any more mind than they usually did. Still, there was a kind of nervous tension in the

air. He caught swiftly concealed looks of surprise on several faces. Of course, no one had expected the

warriors to return so soon, either.

It was late, well past sunset. He was tired, stiff from many hours in the saddle. He wanted a hot meal,

a cup of mulled wine and to strip off his armor and soak in a hot bath before he fell into his own bed.

And perhaps a tale from Diane, he thought as he walked forward. He'd found her voice spinning stories

in his head at the oddest moments while they'd hunted down the men who'd raided the abbey. He'd

pictured her face while he'd sat around last night's campfire, imagined her movements, gone to sleep

wondering how she fared.

He looked carefully around the hall as he approached the dais, but Diane was nowhere to be seen. Up

in Jacques's room, he supposed. Which was where she belonged. Whatever his impulse, he would not

send for he* tonight. He would have his meal, and go to bed ... as soon as he discovered just what it was

that troubled him.

Alys came forward as he neared the high table. Her cheeks were flushed, her green eyes bright as a

cat's in candlelight. "Well met, my lord," she called as she slid her arms around his neck. She pulled his

head down and kissed him with the sort of swift passion he hadn't felt from her since their first night

together. He opened his lips beneath the assault of her tongue, let the kiss go on for as long as she

wanted, put his arms around her and drew her close. He felt nothing.

"I'm so happy you're home safely," she told him once she was done kissing him. Her voice was husky

with desire.

"I'm hungry," he said.

She dipped her head and looked up at him through thick eyelashes. "For me?"

"For dinner first."

Instead of pouting, she laughed. "Of course." She took him by the hand and led him toward his chair.

A trencher full of meat and a full goblet were set at his place before he reached it.

"The servants are more attentive than usual tonight," he commented as he reached his chair. Simon

looked around once more. "Why is everyone up so late?"

"It's not all that late, my lord," Alys answered. "Rest yourself, eat. The pork is especially fine tonight."

The smell of the meat was tempting, but he couldn't bring himself to sit down and enjoy it just yet. "It is

late. I expected to step over pallets spread out for the night, instead I find a crowd roistering as though

it's a saint's day."

Alys laughed again. It sounded shrill this time.

Simon frowned at her. "What are the women doing here? Shouldn't you all be in the solar by now?"

The solar,
he thought.
Diane.
The last time he'd seen Diane had been in the solar. He had a sudden

impression that she was still there, in need of him.

"Where's Thierry?"

Alys put a hand on his arm. "Patrolling the bailey, I—"

"Damn!"

Simon shook off Alys's grasping hold, and ran for the solar.

The first thing he saw was
Diane's overdress lying on the floor. The dark cloth looked like a

congealed puddle of blood in the glow of the rushlights. Then he brought his gaze upward, slowly taking

in the sight of a woman crouched on her side against a storage chest. Of the man who loomed over her,

his arm raised.

Diane's hands were uplifted to ward off the next blow. She wore only a torn and bloodied shift, her

back was bare and covered in livid welts. Thierry's breeches were pulled down around his knees, his

cock hard and ready.

After that, Simon saw things tinged in shades of furious red. He didn't remember drawing his sword.

Thierry whirled around. He went pale. He dropped the thick leather belt from his hand. Lust faded out

of his eyes. It was replaced with stark fear.

"My lord, I—"

He didn't have time to reach for a blade before Simon drove his broadsword deep into his bare belly.

A woman's scream rang out behind him, but Simon was more interested in the silent woman who

cowered on the floor. He pulled his sword out and it dropped beside the dying man crumpled on the

rushes. Simon took off his cloak as he went to Diane. He wrapped the girl in it, then helped her to stand.

She flinched away from his touch. As she should rightly flinch away from any man's touch, he thought.

She couldn't stand without his help so he didn't let her go though her eyes pleaded with him to. He

tucked her close under his arm, where he could feel her silent, wracking sobs as he turned to face the

crowd that had gathered behind them.

Alys knelt next to her brother, but her attention was on Simon. Her expression was full of the hate

she'd always been so careful to hide before.

"Get out," he told her, before she could spew any poisonous words at him. "Take your brother's body

and go back to my son."

"Denis will kill you for this!” she shouted back. "He'll have your vitals—"

"Denis may kill me." He pointed at Thierry. "But not over that. Or for bedding his supposedly cast-off

lover. Don't you think I know that you stayed to spy for him when he rode away from Marbeau?" He

threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time he'd felt like laughing in oh, so long, and there was

no humor in it. When he looked at Alys again she was pale, and shaking with fury. "Get out," he told her

again. "It'll be inconvenient no longer having you to feed false information to my rebellious son, but I'll

manage."

"You were never any good at loveplay," she spat at him.

"You never gave me any reason to be. Get out. Pack your things and go, before I send you to hel

with your brother, Joscelin."

The young knight stepped out of the knot of people crowded into the solar. "Yes, my lord?"

"See Lady Alys on her way. Escort her as far as Domiere. She's on her own from there."

Joscelin looked from him to Alys, his eyes as round as coins, but he answered promptly, "Yes, my

lord."

Simon didn't wait to see Alys start her packing. He didn't care if she took the whole contents of the

women's quarters with her. He gathered the shivering Diane up in his arms, and carried her from the

room.

******************

Simon glared at the old man. "She might as well have been, Jacques."

Simon looked down at the girl who'd remained still on the bed in his room the whole time Jacques had

examined her. He could tell that she was awake, because people generally didn't cry when they were

unconscious, but she had remained limp, letting Jacques move her this way and that without any

resistance. Even when he'd dressed her in a fresh shift she'd done no more than lift her arms when he

asked her to.

Simon had watched in dark silence while Jacques ministered to Diane. He'd counted every bruise,

every welt, every evidence of Thierry's lewd attentions that showed on her soft flesh. He'd counted, and

found himself regretting that the man hadn't died harder.

Simon pulled the fur bedcovering up over her, then turned to find Jacques watching him steadily.

"What?"

"Do you want me to take her to my chamber?"

Simon shook his head. "Leave her be. Let her rest where she is." The old man started to turn toward

the door. Simon stopped him with a question. "Why did you let her out of your sight?"

Jacques's spread his hands. "It just happened. I was working."

"If she could speak she could have at least called for help."

Jacques put his hand on Simon's shoulder. "Don't worry so, Simon. She'll be fine. Get some rest

yourself."

He wasn't worried. He was furious. She was a guest in his house. He was responsible. He didn't want

to be responsible for one more thing, but Jacques knew him too well. Knew he could not turn away.

"Damn you."

Jacques squeezed his shoulder. "I know. Go to sleep."

How?
he wondered as he watched the wizard walk to the door. After the door had closed behind

Jacques, Simon looked at the girl once more. She'd rolled over, her back to him, and to the light. He

sighed. Then he stripped off his outer garments. The bed was meant for two, he was tired, and she was

needy.

He felt her stiffen with new terror as he settled beside her. "Don't fear," he whispered as gently as he

could. "You've nothing to fear." He adjusted the covers, and pulled the bedcurtains closed. Then, slowly,

with infinite care, he put his arms around Diane and pulled her into his embrace.

He got claws raked across his shoulders for his trouble. He didn't try to pull away. He even let her bite

his arm, and then his throat, but he didn't let her go. He kept his hold around her implacable, but as gentle

as possible. He would have let her fight as long as she wanted, but she soon collapsed against him. He

settled her head against his shoulder and felt her shuddering sobs deep in his own skin.

Eventually she fell into deep, troubled sleep. Simon stayed awake for a long time, thinking too much in

the enveloping darkness. When he fell asleep he dreamed about his daughter Felice.

******************

She was soft, warm, clinging. When he turned his head his cheek brushed against thick, heavy hair. The

scent and silkiness of it sent a painful wave of desire through him. For a few moments, all he knew was

that he was with a woman in the intimate darkness of his bed, and that he wanted her. He hadn't really

wanted anyone for a long time. Not since the day he learned of his wife's betrayal.

It was the memory of Genevieve's adultery that brought him back to the present, though it didn't kill

the ache that centered more in his soul than his groin. The woman beside him was Diane. She would not

want him. Him, or any man. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever. Who could blame her?

Slowly, careful not to disturb her, he slid away from her clutching embrace, out of the bed, away from

the tactile comfort he'd unknowingly taken when he'd meant only to give. He rearranged the fur

bedcovers over her, not just to keep the sleeping woman warm, but to obscure her tempting form from

his sight.

He walked away from the bed and pulled back the thick tapestry that covered the room's one large

window. Simon opened the shutters, letting in cold air as he looked down on the enclosed herb garden.

It was barely dawn, the world was still full of shadows, with heavy clouds rushing by overhead. Simon

didn't have to see the ground below to know every inch of what it looked like. The garden had been

planted and tenderly cared for by Genevieve. It was still carefully tended, but he rarely opened the

window to let in the sharp, sweet, heady scents that wafted up from the plants below.

To look out on the garden was to recall the sight of Genevieve kneeling among the flowers in her

oldest dress, a wide straw hat covering her brown braids, her babies toddling up and down the raked

stone pathways and wandering into trouble among the bushes. Genevieve's babies. His babies. Gone

now. All of them were gone from him now. He even missed Genevieve, if only because the habit of their

living together was still part of him. He'd tried to develop new habits, but wine, indifference and Alys had

all proved less than effective in helping him forget a life where he had been, if not happy, at least content.

He stepped back, away from the hint of frost in the autumn air, away from the memories, his desires

once more under control. He might wallow in self-pity occasionally, but he refused to live in the past.

This morning, memory had driven out the remains of the lust that had woken him.

"Memory," he murmured as he went to dress, "has its uses."

Once dressed, he woke Yves, who slept outside his door, and sent the servant to fetch his breakfast.

Jacques came in with Yves and the food a few miputes later. The old man didn't look like he'd slept any

better than Simon. They sat down by the fireplace and shared the meal in silence.

After he'd drained a cup of morning ale, Jacques finally spoke, his voice a near whisper. "How is she?"

Simon answered as quietly, "Sleeping. But she can't sleep forever." He gestured toward the curtained

bed. "She can't hide in there forever. Or in your room. Something has to be done about her."

Jacques put down his cup, then ran his fingers through his beard. "With Alys gone she'll be safe

enough."

Simon gave his friend a hard look. "You expect me to make her my mistress, don't you?"

Jacques nodded. "That will give her the protection she needs."

"Being your guest should have protected her."