Autumn Lord (7 page)

at once. He did look up at the dissimilar pair: one red-faced with fury, the other visage creased with age

and concern. "Good evening," he drawled.

"Get that bitch out of here! No doubt the slut's found her way into your bed already."

Diane had stopped speaking as soon as the door opened. Now, he watched her curl up in the deep

chair while Alys spit venomous accusations about her. Even though she tried to make herself look small

and unnoticed, Alys wasn't about to leave the storyteller alone. Diane's shrinking was more out of

embarrassment than fear, Simon thought, but he knew his mistress wouldn't see anything but a cringing

peasant before her.

When Alys raised a hand to strike Diane, Simon quietly said, "No."

The angry woman spun away from her victim, as though Simon's voice had been a yank on a leash.

Diane wondered at the force of command behind one softly spoken word. Simon, she thought, really

was used to being instantly obeyed. And everyone was used to obeying him, even pissed off,

foul-mouthed bimbo girlfriends. Wherever this place was, it wasn't run by committee. Whoever had the

biggest sword was in charge, she supposed. Which meant Simon was the most uncivilized person in the

castle. She shouldn't let herself get lulled into thinking he was anything but a brute, despite his kindness

during the last several hours.

Simon stood as Alys turned to him. Her face was livid with anger, but then, she knew she was lovely

when she was angry. He put his hand on her arm. "Calm yourself, Alys."

Her eyes flashed green fury. It was very impressive. "I thought you'd sent the demon away and now I

find her in your room. The servants say you've bathed with her."

He raised a brow. "Do they?"

She was not warned by his sarcasm. "Have you bedded her as well?"

"No." He smiled slowly, and unable to keep himself from provoking her, added, "Should I?"

Over Alys's head, he saw his silent storyteller get to her feet. Diane tilted her chin up at a proud angle,

but the look she directed at him was one of alarm. Damn. He thought he'd forsworn emotion, especially

emotion brought on by female involvement. Now here were two women disturbed by a reckless jest.

One would have to be placated, the other reassured. He didn't know if he had the energy to deal with

both of them. He certainly didn't want to deal with either of them.

He scowled at Jacques. "This is your doing." The old man merely smiled benignly.

Alys pulled away from his grasp. Diane moved closer to the fire, away from the confrontation, he

thought. Or, she tried. The firelight reflected the gold embroidery on the sleeve of her gown and the sight

caught Alys's eye.

"What's she doing in Lady Genevieve's clothes?" she demanded.

Simon refused to react to either his mistress's anger, or that name on her lips. He said calmly,

"Wearing them. And I haven't bedded the minstrel. Diane is my chattel. She wears what I give her. You

are my lover."

Alys preened. "You've never said you loved me before."

Nor had he said it now. He didn't think Alys was fool enough to think he had, but he let it go for the

sake of peace. "You are my favored companion. Would I dress you in someone else's cast-off finery?"

he asked before she could point out that he'd never allowed her into the former Lady of Marbeau's

clothes chest.

Diane turned her back on the room. She gazed into the fire while Simon continued to placate the

woman's jealousy. Further conversation meant nothing to her. Simon had called her his chattel. Property.

She held her hands out to the fire, cold with the realization that he believed he owned her.

Maybe he did. Jacques had brought her here to entertain his lord. His lord and her master?

Everybody's master. Not hers, Diane thought, no matter what he claimed. She'd been threatened,

insulted, beaten up, and now told she was the great Lord Simon's chattel. Well, she wasn't going to buy

into it. Lord Simon might be dictator of the world, but it wasn't her world. She wasn't going to play by his

rules.

She turned back to tell him so just as his girlfriend walked out of the room. Instead of confronting

Simon, all Diane could do was watch Alys go, and stand there in frustrated silence. While she tried to get

her voice to work she noticed that the long train of the other woman's dress swished a trail in the straw

scattered on the floor. Like snail slime, she thought.

At least Alys could walk out. And speak her mind.

Diane was suddenly devastated by the knowledge that she was tired, hurt, and had absolutely

nowhere she could go. She would have sunk wearily back into the chair and cried like a baby, but

Jacques appropriated the seat before she could move. She looked around desperately, ready to hide

herself in the nearest dim corner.

Simon caught the girl as she swayed forward. She looked at him in surprise as she came into his arms,

as though she hadn't noticed that she was about to faint. He resisted the urge to cup her cheek and tell

her everything was going to be all right. He did help her into his chair before he turned to Jacques.

"About time you got her to bed."

Jacques felt a glow of pleasure at Simon's words. It seemed that magic was at work between his

friend and the girl from the future. He knew neither of them were aware of it yet, though their gazes and

responses kept playing off each other. This magic had felt right from the beginning. He had known it

would work, of course. He just hadn't expected Simon to come out of his grim shell so soon. Yet, here

he was treating Diane with the sort of tenderness Jacques hadn't seen in him since Felice was a child.

Of course, Jacques had hopes that Simon would look on Diane as more than a daughter, and

certainly more than that vixen Alys. What he needed was someone to love, not someone to bed. He

needed someone to teach him that he was not at all the cynical, dried husk of a man he thought he was.

No doubt Simon had something wonderful to teach Diane as well, or the magic would not be at work

between them. Jacques wondered at what the future would bring to his friend and his newfound lady.

Ah, well, this wasn't the time to discuss it. Thinking of Felice reminded Jacques of why he'd come to

Simon's chamber in the first place.

He held up the message he'd decoded. "I'll put Diane to bed as soon as we discuss this."

Simon spared one more glance for the storyteller before he gave his attention to Jacques. He

supposed it could do no harm if the girl heard his secrets. It wasn't as if she was likely to repeat anything

she heard. The
geis
was a cruel trick of fate, but until, and if, it was broken, it had advantages as well.

Besides, she'd probably be asleep within the next few minutes.

He stretched tired muscles. "I'm for bed soon, myself. Yet, from the worried look on your face, old

friend, it's doubtful I'll find sleep easy after I've heard the latest news. So, what treachery are they up to

now?"

Jacques folded his hands on his stomach. "There was nothing very new about Denis in the message I

deciphered. I learned from our spy that he burned your last letter."

"I suspected he would."

"And he still follows like a puppy in the train of Henry Plantagenet."

"And young Henry and his brothers are still bent on claiming their birthrights a little too early."

"Alas, yes."

"That family will destroy both of ours, and many others before they're done."

Jacques sighed at the truth of Simon's words. "As to new developments, Vivienne is said to be trying

to call up a demon to come to the rebels' aid." He gave a low laugh. "There's a bishop riding with the

rebels who swears he'll burn the witch if she succeeds."

"Young Henry would prefer to have the demon and the crown, I imagine." Simon wasn't sure whether

to laugh or to be concerned. "If Vivienne can call up a demon it will have the bishop for breakfast, with

Henry passing it the salt for seasoning.
Can
she conjure a demon?"

"Not from any magic I taught her," Jacques answered. "But she's a clever girl."

Simon glanced at the being from a distant world Jacques had conjured to Marbeau. "If you can bring

Diane here—"

"That's an entirely different spell than summoning a demon."

"I'm happy to hear it."

Far from being asleep, Diane leaned forward in her chair, big dark eyes bright with interest. She gazed

back at him with a disturbing mixture of hostility and sympathy. He turned away from that look. He

especially didn't want the sympathy. He wasn't sure he wanted the discerning curiosity the girl so openly

displayed, either. Intelligent w«men were always dangerous. Even silent, unimportant ones who had a

look of kindness about them.

Diane wondered if Simon knew how brittle his voice sounded. For all that he projected, a wall of

cynical indifference, she had the feeling that there were some things going on here that the man was

deeply disturbed about. He sounded too calm, his movements were too studied. The expression in his

eyes had been guarded when he'd looked at her, but she'd seen the pain hiding in the depths.

She hadn't liked what she'd seen in those amber-colored eyes. Especially since her first impulse had

been to comfort the man. As Simon and Jacques's conversation continued, she held perfectly still, and tol

d herself she hadn't seen anything. She looked at the floor rather than at the tall, still figure of Simon de

Argent. His emotions were none of her business, and she wasn't going to let herself get caught up in

worrying about his problems.

It wasn't just that she had enough problems of her own. She'd never found it hard to find room to care

for others, even when her own world was in turmoil. She just knew on some basic, gut level that it would

be dangerous for her to let her guard down with this man. So, she concentrated on what they said rather

than trying to discern the effect it had on the Lord of Marbeau. She didn't know where Marbeau was or

what was going on, but any kind of information had to be of some help to her. Maybe she'd even

overhear some clue on how she could get back home.

Jacques carefully watched the very subtle interplay between Simon and his young protégé.
She's good

for him,
Jacques reiterated to himself.
He'll be good for her. They just don't know it yet.
He had done

no harm in bringing them together. He was sure they'd work it out. Meanwhile, he had other news to

deliver. "How goes the harvest?"

Simon gave him a curious look. "Well enough, I'm told. Why? Have you news of raiders?"

Jacques nodded. "That I have. All the kings and counts and princes who've spent the summer at war

have decided the campaigns are done for now."

"And have released their mercenaries to fend for themselves through the season of truce," Simon

finished for him. He ran a hand through his hair. "So there are hungry cutthroats roaming the countryside

already."

"Bit early in the year for raiders," Jacques said. "But nothing's gone right this year."

"There's no reason to expect things to quiet down now."

"I had hopes."

"You always do, old friend. It's good to have some warning."

Jacques stood. "Spies have their uses. Gives us time for you to increase the guard patrols. I'll see if I

can work out a spell to make the raiders pass us by."

Simon chuckled. "When Denis has already given them a map to our door?"

Jacques put a comforting hand on Simon's shoulder. "I doubt Denis is as wicked as that."

"Go to bed, old man," was the only reply he received. Simon waved dismissively toward Diane. "And

don't forget to take your attempt at distraction with you. And please recall that I prefer to choose my

own bed partners," he added while Jacques helped Diane to stand.

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

Oooh, the man was so infuriating. So commanding. So patronizing. Autocratic. Aristocratic. Arrogant.

He

had

thel'm-Mr.-Go-Where-I-Say-Do-What-I-Want-Because-I

t's-My-God-Given-Right-to-Run-Peoples'-Lives routine down cold.

Something definitely needed to be done about that kind of attitude.

Anyway, it wasn't as if she'd actually intended to stay in the same room with the man any longer than

she had to. Of course she'd gotten up and left with Jacques, without a backward glance for Lord High

and Mighty Simon de Argent. Shuffled out, actually, since it had been impossible to flounce, or even

stomp, with a sore foot and a heavy wool dress with a stupid long train. Anyway, she'd been happy to

leave. She hadn't wanted to stay in the first place. Why should she?

She was happy to be out of his exalted presence, she told herself as she settled down on the bed in

Jacques's tower chamber. The place was too dark now that Jacques had extinguished all the candles and