Autumn Lord (30 page)

"Underwear. You liked my fancy underwear?" He nodded. "Good."

That flimsy bit of ivory lace had cost enough. And to think she'd only been wearing it for herself, not in

hopes that the perfect man might offer to take it off of her. /
could do some serious damage for this

man at Victoria's Secret,
she thought.

"If it hadn't gotten dragged through the mud I'd wear it for you again," she told him. "Silk dress,

Wonderbra, and all."

Then she sat up laughing, knowing what he'd meant when he'd said her breasts looked bigger that

night. Well, she wasn't going to explain the mechanics of padding them and pushing them up under her

chin when he'd told her that her breasts were perfect when she wasn't wearing anything at all. She didn't

want to talk. She wanted to make love again.

Yves, however, came into the tent before she could suggest it. Simon pulled the covers up over her

and turned to his servant. "Are the horses saddled?" he asked. "What about the men, and provisions?"

"All is ready, my lord," Yves answered.

"Good."

Simon got out of bed. She noticed that he was already mostly dressed. Yves took a heavy woolen

tunic out of a chest and handed it to Simon. He put it on, then accepted his swordbelt from the servant.

Diane watched him dress with the depressing realization that they weren't going to have a leisurely

morning to themselves.

Simon spoke to Yves. "Have Diane's woman bring her warmest clothes for the journey."

"Yes, my lord," Yves said, and went out again.

Diane threw back the covers, and was caught by a blast of cold air from Yves's departure. She

scrambled out of bed and into the shift Simon tossed her from the pile on the floor.

"What's going on?" she asked as she found her discarded shoes. "Are you hungry?"

“Famished," he said. "We're leaving."

"Before breakfast?"

Simon smiled at the astonished, disgruntled look on Diane's face. "We'll eat on the road." He went to

her, and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. He kissed her forehead. "We dallied late, and I let you

sleep longer than I should just because I enjoyed watching you. Now we must ride hard to make up lost

time."

"Do we have to go?"

"Yes."

She looked around the tent. "Couldn't we just take a few days off from the Middle Ages and be with

each other?"

He put his hand on her shoulder. "We are going to be together, for as long as I can manage. I'm going

to keep you as safe as possible. We're returning to Marbeau, my love. As quickly as we can. Though it

grieves me to do without the amenities due my station you and I and a few men will ride ahead." He

gestured at the contents of his private traveling quarters. "It won't be as comfortable as this, but it will be

quicker." He grinned at her. "I have a big bed at Marbeau, you'll recall."

Diane shivered in the morning cold as her woman came in with her clothes. The woman looked

disapproving, but made no comment as she helped Diane dress.

"And a fireplace," Diane said. "I have fond memories of being warm in your bedroom."

He smirked. "I'll keep you warm there. I promise."

"I bet."

Once she was finished he took her hand and led her outside. The horses were indeed saddled and

waiting, along with a group of mounted soldiers and a pack horse. They were all just outside the tent. The

tent where she and Simon had been making love. Where everyone
knew
they'd been making love. Diane

blushed.

"There is absolutely no privacy in this world. I hate that." Simon held her stirrup while she mounted,

then he ran his hand up her calf—while everybody in the area avidly watched. "Don't do that!"

He laughed. "Last night you were the one who wasn't shy."

She shooed him away. "That was last night. In private."

He smirked, and swung up into the saddle of his stallion. "Privacy," he said. "Another reason to hurry

home."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Diane asked, and urged her mount forward.

"Where did you learn to ride so well?"

Diane took her gaze off the threatening clouds that loomed above the bare tree branches, and looked

at Simon. It seemed like the further they'd ridden during the day, the darker it had gotten. "I think it's

going to snow."

He glanced up at the sky. "That's likely."

Diane didn't like the idea of being caught in a blizzard, but was a bit reassured by Simon's lack of

concern. If a seasoned native didn't worry about the weather, she didn't suppose she should. "It's just

that I'm used to a more controlled environment," she told him.

Simon had only the vaguest notion of what her words signified. "Your words have meaning, but no

sense," he told her. "There's so much about you I do not know."

"I don't know much about you, either," she agreed.

"But more than I know about you. Where did you learn to ride so well?" he repeated his earlier

question.

He was pleased that she had spent many hours in the saddle without complaint, and had no trouble

managing her animal over rough forest terrain. She hadn't asked useless questions, either. She had done

no more than give him a curious look when he'd directed the party off the road to ride across the

countryside. If she was worried about danger she hid it well. Or, perhaps she trusted him to protect her.

He hoped the trust was not misplaced.

Then, again, perhaps she simply did not comprehend that they were fleeing for their lives.

"I had a horse when I was a kid," she answered. "And years of lessons. All little girls love horses,

right?"

"No," he replied. "I tried to teach Felice to ride. She hated it. So I left her to her prayers and

needlework."

He wished now he had spent more time with his daughter. He cared for her more than most fathers

did for girl children, certainly more than his father had for his sisters, but it didn't feel like it had been

enough.

Diane reached over and touched his arm. It distracted him from his guilty musings. '"She turned out

just fine," Diane said. "Felice is one smart kid. Like her father."

"And how did you know I was thinking about my daughter? Are you a mind reader as well as

storyteller?"

"I recognized the brooding look," she answered. "The source was easy to guess. And I'm not a

storyteller."

"What are you, then? A noblewoman, certainly, if you owned a horse. What sort of life did Jacques

snatch you from?"

Were you happy?
he wondered. Did she miss it terribly? Was there another man there? One who had

a right to her love and loyalty? Should he ask her these questions? He didn't know if he wanted to know

the answers. It worried him when she was silent for a long time.

Diane wasn't sure how to explain how she'd lived in her own time. Simon's world had a simple

hierarchy; people with swords—the ones with property and the ones who worked for them; people who

prayed for a living; servants—lots of those; wizards and witches; ancillary womenfolk that were

addressed as Lady this or Lady that. She wasn't quite sure what most of the noblewomen she'd

encountered did for a living—needlework and sleeping with the guys with the swords, she guessed. Her

place in this line-up was ambiguous at best, but probably easier to define than her role in her own time.

"I didn't really have a place in my own world," she said finally. "I hate to admit it, but I was totally

useless. I had a job, but it didn't have any meaning. I never did anything that meant anything." She gave a

derisive snort of laughter. "I wrote articles for a film magazine. I thought watching old movies was the

most wonderful and significant thing anybody could do." She looked at Simon. "I was a complete

slacker, and I didn't even realize it. Can you believe that?"

"I don't know," he replied. "What did you just say?"

She sighed. No, it wasn't possible to explain what she had done at home, since she hadn't done

anything. "It's not important. What matters is that I'm here now, with you."

"Then Jacques did not take you from a life you cared for?"

She heard the hope in his voice, and it made her smile. But it was a sad smile. Maybe her life hadn't

had any meaning before Simon came into it, but there were many things about it she missed. Not just the

comforts, though she certainly longed for things like toothpaste and modern medicine.

"I miss my family," she admitted. "There's a lot of us, parents and a brother and two sisters. I've got

two nieces and a nephew. My grandparents come to visit at least once a year—the ones from Hong

Kong. I've only met the Scottish relatives a few times. They don't quite approve of Mom," she added

with an annoyed frown. "Things haven't changed that much from your time, I guess."

Simon noticed that she had not mentioned a husband, or lover. He wanted to think that she was

honorable enough not to have come to love him if there had been another man in her life. After all, not all

women were faithless vixens.

"Your father," he asked, "is he a man of property? A warrior? How did he provide for his son and

daughters? You weren't meant for a convent, I hope? Your talent for lovemaking would be wasted if you

were," he added with a teasing smirk. Then he shook an admonishing finger at her. "And how did you

learn such things as proper maidens should never know if you are not a traveling storyteller?"

"Sexist pig," she answered. "Why shouldn't a woman know as much about sex as a man? We like it."

He grinned. "I wasn't complaining."

She tossed her head haughtily. "You better not. Besides, I come from a place where men and women

are equal."
Compared to here, that is,
she addend to herself. "A woman is free to do whatever she

wants in my world. I almost went into my father's profession."

Simon chose not to comment on such foolishness. "About your father?"

"He designs jewelry. He's famous for it."

Simon nodded. "An artisan. I see."

"And he owns a house on three acres on Vashon Island. So, yeah, I guess he fits your idea of a

landowner."

This was indeed curious. "How can an artisan own land? That is against all—"

"And my mother works for a recording company," she interrupted.

"Your mother—?"

"You look like your brain is frying, dear. I think we better drop this conversation."

"I do not understand," he admitted.

"It doesn't matter."

Diane wished he'd never brought the subject up. Thinking about her family made the homesickness

worse. She hadn't realized how much she'd kept it buried until Simon started asking her questions.

"What about your family?" she asked him. It was a thoughtless, stupid question, considering what had

happened in the last few days. "I'm sorry. The words just came—"

He put his hand up to silence here. "It is all right. There are some things you should know. You have

but to ask."

The wind was growing colder, the day darker. She noticed a few flakes of snow in the air. She looked

around, at the bare trees and withered undergrowth, at the other riders, anywhere but at Simon de

Argent while she tried not to ask the question she wanted to.

"You will have heard," he said for her, "that I killed my wife."

Diane looked down at her gloved hands. She fiddled with the horse's reins. She let the nervous silence

draw out a little too long before she said, "I heard, but I don't believe it."

Beside her, Simon gave a low, unamused laugh. "And why is that?"

"Because Vivienne told me," she answered. She looked at him. He was looking at his hands. Hands

that were clenched in hard fists around his reins. Diane took a deep breath. "Vivienne told me you

murdered your wife. She told me that's why Denis hates you. She tried to make me believe lots of things

that aren't true."

"My wife is dead. My son hates me. You've seen me kill."

"Never without a good reason."

His expression was grim, his eyes full of old anger. "My wife betrayed me with another man. That's a

good reason."

"I still don't believe what Vivienne told me."

"Why shouldn't you believe her? She doesn't always lie."

"But she knows how to twist the truth, I bet."

He nodded. "Better than anyone else I have ever known. Vivienne can make you believe day's night,

even while the sun is burning you raw. Denis believes everything she told him about what happened to

Genevieve. And I'm not sure of the truth myself."

"What did happen?"

Simon swallowed hard. "It is a long, sad tale."

Diane thought they'd come too far in this conversation for him to try to worm out of an explanation

now. "I've told you a few tales, my lord. Time you paid me back in kind."

He quirked a brow at her. "But you want a true tale."