Autumn Lord (36 page)

fortress. I will not let the Dragon banner of the de Argents fall into alien hands. The dragons wouldn't like

it," he added with a twisted, wry smile.

"Good for the dragons," she grumbled.

"Whatever happens," he went on determinedly, "you will not be here. You will be safe and wellcared

for."

"No! I'm going to be with you. Dead or alive, we face it together."

"No!"

"Yes! Forever."

He was at her side in an instant. His hands closed around her upper arms as he towered over her. "If I

could give you forever—"

"You could, but you won't."

He shook her. "How can I?"

"Think of a way." She pushed at his chest. "Let me help you think of a way. We could build a life

together."

"There is no way out of this, Diane!" He drew her to him and kissed her. It was a hard, demanding,

possessive kiss. And she answered it in kind. She clung to him, and clawed at him, and tried to draw him

so close that they blended into one being. She could feel his racing heart and the thunder of blood in his

veins. It was all a part of her. She was a part of him. She knew he tasted her tears as they kissed,

bittersweet on his tongue, just as they were on hers.

"I love you," he told her when he drew his lips from hers. "With all my being."

"I know," she answered, holding him, and being held. "I know. And with all mine."

"But—"

"Please, Simon."

He stepped away. Then Simon stepped close again. He looked so weary. He stroked her hair, and

cupped her face in his big, competent, gentle, warrior's hands. "Let us make the most—the world—out

of the time we have. Let us make history together, legend, memories sweeter than the rest of our lives.

Let us be together now, and forget what was and what will be."

The words were beautiful. Sincere.

Ridiculous.

"We'll always have Paris," she said, with as much sarcasm as her devastated emotions could dredge

up. "Is that it?"

His expression softened. "Paris? Yes, that is truly where it all began for us."

Diane freed herself from his gentle touch. "That wasn't what I was talking about."

He blinked thoughtfully. "Ah," he said after a moment. "The story of Rick and Ilsa and Casablanca."

"Yes."

"I think I see what you mean." He put his arms around her once more. "How our tale is like theirs.

Perhaps that is why I am so fond of the story."

She rested her forehead wearily on his broad chest. She felt so protected in his embrace. It was a

feeling she tried hard to fight, and lost. "We're not like them," she said. "They weren't real."

"But the tale holds many truths about the sanctity of duty and honor. Truth has nothing to do with

whether the people in the story lived or died."

"But we're not people in a movie. The screen isn't going to fade to black on the audience when our

story's done. We're just going to be dead." She sighed heavily. "I don't want to live my life as

entertainment for the ages."

He stroked her hair, and massaged her aching temples with his thumbs. "Would you not rather be

remembered by the ages?" he asked. "To have the troubadours sing of our love through all time?"

"No." The word came out as a childish whine. She didn't care.

"Nor I."

She looked up to see that his amber eyes held at least a glint of humor. It forced a tiny smile from her

as well. "At least you're not a completely romantic idiot."

"We are like them, though," he went on once he had caught her gaze with his own.

"How?"

"We have had, are having, an interlude with each other that we will remember all our lives. We will

always have Paris. And, right now. I will cherish every moment I have with you for as long as I live."

Which won't be very much longer,
she thought. She said, "I don't want just an interlude."

He ignored her protest. "And, like Rick, I must make the decision about our parting. It's not the

decision I want to make, but honor requires it."

She was filled with a fresh burst of anger. Fresh tears threatened as well, but she wasn't going to let

him see them.

"Screw honor!" She pulled away from him. She stalked toward the door. She heard him behind her,

but didn't turn. "Screw you," she snarled. "And screw me, too!"

She would have slammed the door in his face, but it was too heavy to slam. So she pulled it shut

behind her and plunged into the crowd still celebrating in the great hall.

"This is one hell of a Christmas," she muttered as she made her way toward the tower stairs.

It didn't help that she was half-blinded by tears, though she was glad that the room was dim and

smoky. She didn't want anyone to notice her. She didn't want to run into a solicitous Joscelin, or a jovial

Jacques. She was afraid of what she might do if she encountered either of those well-meaning men.

Instead, she encountered the priest. Just as she got to the stairs, Father Andre stepped in front of her.

His face was red from drink. He wove from side to side in front of her. He reminded her of a drunken

cobra. Diane tried to step past him.

He held a silver goblet up before her. "Peace, my daughter." His words were slurred, and his smile

was lopsided.

What amazed Diane was that he was smiling at her. She wasn't sure what to make of his sudden

friendliness. "Merry Christmas," she told him, and tried once more to escape up the stairs, but he

wouldn't let her by.

He put a sweaty hand on her arm. "I want there to be peace between us, my child."

"Good," she said. "I'm glad. Excuse me." She tried stepping to the left.

He blocked her way. "Drink a cup of peace with me. Please." He urged the goblet into her hands.

Diane looked from the dark wine that filled the goblet nearly to the rim, then at the bright-eyed, smiling

priest. This man was a stranger to her, one that had shown her animosity since she was thrust into this

world. It was Christmas, he was a man of God, he was making a symbolic gesture of peace in a place

where symbolism was important. Diane thought it was time she made a place among these people. It

might help her find some solution, some way to keep Simon from dying for Marbeau if she could get the

people of the stronghold as her allies.

"A toast," she agreed. As he avidly watched her she lifted the goblet to her lips. "To peace."

He made a cross with his thumb on her forehead while she drank. "May your soul be at rest, my

child."

The wine was scented with almonds, and tasted bitter, but she took a long, deep drink to prove her

good faith. It took more fortitude not to gag as she handed the half-empty cup back to the priest. She

glanced around, and saw the crowd parting behind her as Simon strode purposefully toward her.

"Diane," he called.

Her head hurt. She didn't want to talk any more. "Excuse me, Father." This time she was able to get

around the priest. She lifted her skirts and started up the stairs.

The world blurred within a few steps. Not tears, but dizziness, blinded her. She stumbled and fell

forward. The stone was slippery beneath her hands, the stench of the smoke gathered in the air choked

her. Her stomach twisted in pain. She looked up as hands touched her, but it was too dark for her to

make out the face or form she knew was beside her.

"Simon?" Her voice was a weak rasp. Pain engulfed her. It hurt too much to scream. Arms came

around her, lifted her.

"Jacques!"

Simon's desperate cry tore through her head. She heard him breathing heavily, and cursing fate, and

priests, and plots, as they rose higher and higher. It felt like he was running up the stairs with her. She

couldn't tell. She didn't care. She was in his arms as the world slowly shut down around her. Being in his

arms was all that mattered, even if she was dying.

"This is all your fault, old man.
"

"Odd. I thought it was Andre who poisoned her."

One voice was full of fear and fury. The other was cool, concerned and amused all at once. They

floated in the air above her, heard but unseen. The world around her was dark. She was suspended

somewhere between life and death, she knew that much. Awake but also asleep. Aware but unable to

respond. She was comfortable. She didn't want to respond. She was resting. Resting comfortably.

Comforted, also, since one of the voices belonged to someone she loved. The other belonged to

someone she trusted, though she wasn't quite sure why she trusted him.

"What was that fool priest thinking of, Simon?"

"I've had him asked. Unfortunately, he confessed all before Joscelin could beat it out of him. The

lad was looking forward to torture, and so was I."

She gave a mental tsk at his wild words, though she rather liked it when he was bloodthirsty on her

behalf. She should be ashamed of herself.

"Why did he do it?"

"Politics, of course. And pure hatred of anyone who looks the least bit different."

"Yes, but priests don't usually do their own killing."

"He did it with the Church's blessing, at the Church's command. He did it to save my soul from the

pagan temptress."

"Pagans don't generally take communion."

"Andre cared nothing for proof. To him, she's never been more than a soulless animal. That made him

a perfect tool. Father Raymond sent him the poison, along with a letter offering me the marriage alliance

again." He gave a harsh laugh. "The letter was to be delivered once I'd come to my senses."

"They assumed that her death would have broken the spell binding you to her, I suppose."

"So Andre said."

"Fool. What have you done with him? He isn't dead, is he?"

"Locked up. He claims only the Church can try him."

"Unfortunate, but true."

"Not that I care. I told him I'd be happy to execute him without waiting for a trial."

"But you think you might have a use for him."

"Perhaps. Will she live?"

"Perhaps."

"Damn it, Jacques!"

"Probably. I'm working on it. I have to use deep magic for such strong poison."

"See that she lives."

"Or what? You'll execute me?"

"It is all your fault."

"So you've said."

"It's not your fault that I fell into your trap," Simon went on.

"I thought you fell in love."

"The worst trap of all, my friend."

Diane tried, and failed, to rouse herself at these words. Not because of what Simon said, but because

he sounded so sad, so resigned, when he said them. It's not so bad, she thought, if only you'd let yourself

hope.

"Hope," Simon said, as though he'd read her mind. "She's given me the one thing I can't afford to have.

It's like a gift of gold to a man who's taken a vow of poverty. What the devil am I supposed to do with

it?"

"Well," Jacques drawled lazily. She could imagine him stroking his beard. "The monk would give this

gold to the poor. That's the thing about hope, you can do some good with it."

Simon's laugh was harsh and cutting. "How?"

"That's for you to work out, my boy."

"That's your problem, you set events in motion then sit back and wait. Wait for what this time? I was

already caught in one trap, why did you have to set another one?"

"Why did you have to take the bait?"

Diane resented being referred to as bait, and made a note to talk to Jacques about it when—if—she

woke up. She could hear Simon pacing from one side of the room to the other. He paused in his restless

meandering only long enough to stroke her hair before moving on.

"I tried not to fall in love," Simon said from the other side of the room. "It happened so gradually that

all my defenses slowly melted away. She makes me happy, Jacques. I've never been happy before."

"I know."

"I wish I'd never known what happiness feels like."

"Why?" Jacques asked the question, but Diane thought it as well.

"I was resigned to my fate. Not looking forward to it as you seemed to think. As Diane seems to

think, as well. I knew that I had no future. Now I want one. I want a lifetime with the woman I love. I

want her to have my children."

Me too,
she thought.

"To grow old together."

Sounds good to me.

"I want more than the diversion you gave me for my last days. I feel my days running out like sand

through a glass and I want them back. I want more than the life I've had. More than duty and

responsibility. I would start over if there was a way."

"I want more for you, too, Simon," Jacques told him. "And for Diane. I wasn't using her casually when

I brought her to you."

That's good to know,
she thought.

"Oh?" Simon asked.

"I searched time for the one woman who could save you from yourself. The one woman who would

love you enough to want to. Of course, in the end, I suppose only you can do that, but Diane can help."