Autumn Lord (14 page)

no idea what part she was supposed to play.
Central Casting got it all wrong,
she thought.

Actually, she knew very well she'd been cast by Jacques to play Simon's savior from
ennui.
Or maybe

it was despair. Lord knew the man sometimes looked like he could use a hug. Or, a shoulder to cry on.

Or, at least someone to confide in. He had to get tired of being strong all the time. She had to admit that

she didn't just long to be comforted by the man, she also had to combat the urge to comfort him in turn.

To give in to it would be to let Jacques win. She wasn't going to let Jacques control her life, either.

Joscelin was still talking. It took some effort, but Diane managed to drag her thoughts away from

Simon de Argent and focus on the handsome young knight.

" Tis a holy day," he said. "I haven't heard Mass for a few days." He held his hand out to her. "Will

you come with me? We can say our prayers together, and take holy communion." When she stayed

seated on the bench he went on, "Lord Simon said I should care for you, and surely the care of your soul

is part of my duty."

Joscelin had showed her the small church that occupied one of the castle's several courtyards the day

before. Except for a large stained glass window at one end of the building the place looked more like a

prison than a house of worship. She found it curious that this fantasyland shared her own world's beliefs,

but there was no one she could ask about it. She just had to assume that she'd landed in a parallel

universe. She was glad that at least there were some customs and practices that she did understand, and

could share.

"Please come," he said. He held out his hand again. "Everyone will be there."

She didn't want to go where there were people, but his look of entreaty was impossible to resist. She

didn't take hjs hand, but she did nod and get to her feet. Maybe in church he'd be quiet. Maybe, if

everyone was indeed there, she'd be able to slip away from him in the crowd. Maybe she'd find some

time to herself.

Maybe Simon would be there.

"No."

"But Father Andre—"

"It would be sacrilege."

The crowd of people was five-deep around the church door as Simon approached. Most of them

were talking. The priest's voice was the loudest, but sounded the most uncertain. Tentative as usual, but

still the cause of the trouble. Joscelin sounded polite as he argued with the priest. He was always polite,

Simon thought. Which in this case was more of a character flaw than an advantage.

Simon shook his head and strode forward. The crowd parted at the sight of him, but there was

continued muttering. There were many angry, nervous looks aimed at Diane, of course.

"You are a lot of trouble," he told her as he stepped to her side.

Far from responding with the pleading look he'd seen in the garden, she rounded on him with a glare.

Simon smiled. "I didn't say it was your fault. I said you're a lot of trouble."

She accepted this observation with a nod, then jerked her head in the priest's direction.

"What's the matter now?" Simon asked Father Andre.

The priest pointed at the blushing Joscelin. "He wants to bring the demon-spawned creature into the

church."

Simon lowered his brows in annoyance. "The what?"

Father Andre sidled closer to the church door at Simon's low growl. He didn't meet Simon's gaze

when he said, "Her."

"Her?"

"That one. The harlot who tempted Sir Thierry to his death."

Simon felt Diane go tense at the priest's words. Joscelin's hand went to his sword. Behind him, people

began to murmur louder. Simon still couldn't resist responding, "Alys? Alys isn't here, man. Are you

blind?"

Father Andre finally looked at him. "My lord, please. Don't let this—creature—enter the house of

God. She would defile—"

"God can take care of his own house," Simon angrily cut the man off. "A demon would burst into

flames if it entered a consecrated church. Would it not?"

Andre fluttered his hands before him. "I suppose. But she is—*

"Diane is no demon." He spoke loudly, wanting everyone to hear. Then he addressed the priest once

more. "Would you deny any Christian soul entrance?" He leaned down and whispered in Diane's ear,

"You are Christian, aren't you?"

Diane was almost too angry at the priest's vicious accusations to perceive how close Simon was to

her. Almost. When his cheek brushed hers she noticed that he needed a better shave. She caught the

scent of clove on his breath. She momentarily got lost in the sense of his nearness. He didn't touch her,

but if he did she didn't think she'd run away. He had to repeat the question before she responded with a

nod.

Simon turned his attention back to Father Andre. "Move aside, priest. I'm going to enter
my
church

now." He stepped forward, willing to push the other man aside if he had to. "Come along Diane,

Joscelin."

Father Andre backed up as the three of them came forward. When they were across the threshold, he

turned and fled toward the sanctuary of the altar. Simon watched him go with an annoyed shake of his

head. Then he walked down the nave to take his usual spot at the front of the church. Diane and Joscelin

flanked him. He tried hard not to look at the girl, though he was aware of her straight spine and the proud

lift of her head.

He turned his attention to Joscelin as the people of Marbeau crowded into the church behind them.

"What did you mean by bringing her hefe?" he demanded quietly of the young knight.

"My lord, I—"

"You should have talked Father Andre into bringing Diane to Mass instead of just surprising the man

with it. Don't you know the fool can be made to believe anything is his idea?"

And why hadn't he thought to speak to Andre about Diane himself, Simon wondered. Having the

priest champion her would considerably ease peoples' fears of her strange features. He hadn't thought of

it, but Joscelin should have, if he was going to protect her. Jacques was right. The boy just wasn't up to

it.

"And for another thing," he went on, fully prepared to spend the entire church service in the education

of young Sir Joscelin.

Diane did not listen to the dressing down Simon gave Joscelin, though she was very aware of the deep

rumble of his voice. She didn't look at him. She didn't look at anyone. She kept her gaze on the

stained-glass window over the altar and held her fury at the spiteful ignorance of these people in check.

Frankly, it felt better to be angry than to be frightened. She hadn't been frightened when the mob

gathered behind the stupid priest. She had, in fact, been close to losing it and hitting the man before

Simon showed up and handled the situation. She probably wouldn't have done it, but the urge had been

there.

Simon had saved her again.

Oh, well, it was his job. He was the Lord of Marbeau. He was supposed to save the day. He didn't

do it just because she was the one in trouble. He probably did the superhero to the rescue bit all the time.

He certainly looked like a superhero, handsome and large and blond and broad shouldered. He wore a

cape. She couldn't keep herself from finally glancing at him and smiling when she didn't think he'd be

looking her way.

He was. He smiled back, just the faintest curving of his lips, then he turned his attention to the church

service. Diane tried to do the same, but spent the rest of the long Mass being all too mindful of the tall

man beside her. After a while, she decided that she didn't like this constant awareness of Simon.

She would have inched away from him, but his hand came out to grasp her sleeve when she tried to

move. He touched the cloth, not her. She was grateful for that small, understanding gesture. Then anger

at being grateful once again overwhelmed her and she jerked her sleeve away from his touch. She began

to stomp off, but only got three steps. This time his hand grasped her elbow.

"You can't leave just yet," he whispered. "You'll still be accused of being a demon if you walk out

before communion."

She looked toward the altar, and saw that Father Andre had begun to administer the host to a waiting

line of worshippers. Simon was right, of course. If she left during this Sacréd rite she'd still be suspect.

"Come with me," he urged.

Since he still had a firm grip on her arm, she couldn't do anything else. So she sighed, and went to the

altar rail with him. They knelt, and when Father Andre came to them, she opened her mouth to receive

the small piece of bread he held out. The priest hesitated, but eventually responded to the frown Simon

turned on him, and gave Diane communion.

The murmurs from the crowd were approving this time. A sense of relief permeated Diane as she

followed Simon away from the altar rail. The people of Marbeau still weren't giving her any friendly

looks, but the hostility that the priest had stirred up earlier had dissipated. For now, at least. She still

didn't trust them not to turn on her. They probably didn't trust her not to turn into a flesh-eating dragon,

either.

Truce, she thought.

"Truce," Simon said from behind her. "Peaceful coexistence is the best we can hope for right now."

She nearly jumped out of her skin as his words repeated her exact thoughts. This was too weird, and

she wasn't going to put up with it.

Instead of returning to her place, she walked straight out of the church.

Simon came with her. She didn't turn around as she crossed the sunny courtyard between the church

and the castle door, but she knew he was there. She told herself it was the sound of his footsteps behind

her, but she knew she would have known he was there if it had been her hearing rather than her voice

she'd lost. She didn't know why she had this connection to him. She did know she wasn't going to let it

control her life. Somehow, she was going to get away from Simon de Argent.

Simon had no trouble keeping up with Diane when she quickened her pace. He just hoped she

wouldn't start running. It would be most undignified to seem to be chasing a reluctant young woman

across the inner bailey of his own castle.

"Do you want everyone to think I'm a randy old fool?" he asked her as they reached the steps of the

keep. "You did very well back there," he added when she whirled around to face him. "If you go to

Mass every morning people will accept your odd appearance better."

She slapped him.

He touched his cheek. "Perhaps odd was a bad choice of words." She gave a decisive nod. He tried

another description. "Exotic?"

She hit him again. He'd expected it, and allowed it, just as he'd allowed her to strike him after Thierry's

attack. He strongly suspected she was from a place where women were not as meek as they should be.

Besides, after Alys's manipulative tantrums, Diane's honest anger was refreshing. A great deal about her

was refreshing.

He took a step back. "If I call you foreign, will you still take offense?"

She crossed her arms angrily. Then she laughed. Even without sound, he found the transformation of

her features delightful to watch.

She didn't know what was the matter with her. Except for the usual childhood fights with her siblings,

she'd never struck anyone in her life until she met Simon. And for some reason, she'd hit him because she

knew she could trust him. That didn't make any sense. Violence was stupid. Even violence brought on by

the frustration of being voiceless and lost in a hostile place. And Simon had the power of life and death

over everyone in Marbeau, including her. Maybe especially her. She was, after all, an odd, exotic

foreigner. His
chattel.
The situation was terrifying.

She didn't know why she was laughing.

Except that he'd deliberately tried to charm her. It was nice to be entertained instead of being the

entertainer. Joscelin had been trying to amuse her for three days. Simon managed it in a few seconds.

When he said, "Let's go in, shall we?" she nodded. But she didn't take his hand when he held it out to

her. She wasn't ready for that yet.

* * *

himself a beaker of wine and sat down on Jacques's bed. "Joscelin's not the sort a woman like Diane is

going to fall in love with."

"He's far too nice," Jacques agreed.

Simon gave the old man a hard look. He sighed. He rolled the cup around in his hands. He looked

about the room, at its curious collection of books and scrolls, its pots and shelves and cabinets and

festoons of hanging dried herbs. The place was cavernous and crowded. An army could hide in here, he