Claire Delacroix (4 page)

“How can you risk your own life?” he asked with low urgency. “Should you perish and your son survive, he will be alone.”

Gabrielle’s chin shot up. She had not thought of that.

The unexpected pain glowing in the knight’s amber eyes stole her breath away. Gabrielle stared at him for a long moment before she could summon a word of explanation to her lips.

He was right. If Thomas lost both his parents as a result of her deeds, Gabrielle would be tormented by that for all eternity.

“But I cannot leave him in such danger,” she whispered, and her telltale tears threatened to spill forth once more at the very thought. “And none will aid me.”

“You cannot risk the only parent remaining in your son’s life,” the knight argued with quiet resolve.

Gabrielle turned away, torn by his certainty that she would perish trying to retrieve Thomas herself.

But what else could she do?

“I have to try,” she whispered brokenly. “I have to try to help my son.” Gabrielle looked back to the knight and was snared anew by the intensity of his gaze. She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I can only hope your prediction of my certain failure proves wrong.”

The knight’s lips tightened, but he did not speak. Gabrielle inclined her head slightly and lifted her hood once more. “I thank you for your time, Chevalier,” she said quietly, and left.

Gabrielle stepped out of the tent and took a deep breath of the spring air. It was comparatively quiet here among the tents, with all the other guests and their staff enthusiastically
cheering the competition on the tourney field. She forced herself to note the new grass pushing through the earth, the few flowers making their appearance after the winter.

Spring was a time for rebirth and renewal, after all. Easter was a time for faith, and her faith had sustained her thus far. It would see this matter through. Gabrielle had to believe that she could accomplish the impossible or she would have no chance of success.

“Wait!”

Gabrielle glanced back, not at all certain she wanted to hear whatever the knight might say. He stood framed by the tent flap he held open, his features painted golden by the rays of the sinking sun, and she was amazed again that a man could be so finely wrought.

And so different from the men she had known. Who would have guessed a knight would have declined the prize of Perricault?

“My lady,” he said quietly, “I will accept your offer.”

Gabrielle stared, stunned by the change in his decision. That hint of a smile tugged at the corner of the knight’s mouth again and her heart began to pound loudly.

Surely he did not jest?

Surely he could not be concerned for her welfare? Certainly, the way he looked at her made her blood heat, made her feel achingly aware of the fact that she was a woman and he a man.

“For the sake of your son,” he added.

The words hit Gabrielle like a douse of ice water.

It was an unwelcome reminder, particularly at this moment when she felt so vulnerable. Gabrielle knew full well that she was not the kind of woman for whom men risked their lives in tournament, nor for whom troubadours composed their odes. To be told so to her face was the last thing she needed on this day.

The knight’s words were a reminder that all men looked to their own advantage alone. Yves de Sant-Roux wanted Perricault,
just as Gabrielle had guessed he would and despite any coy games he played.

She was a fool to feel any disappointment that matters had resolved themselves precisely as she had expected them to do.

Gabrielle lifted her chin and stared back at the knight, determined not to let him glimpse how his words had stung. If he wanted Perricault alone, then that was what he would stand to win.

And that alone.

“Then, Chevalier, you should have no difficulties with a minor condition, made purely for the sake of my son.”

The knight sobered immediately. “Which is?”

“That our match be one made in name alone,” Gabrielle stipulated, suddenly having an idea of how to remove the apparent whimsy of her request. “I would not have my son’s suzerainty over Perricault meet with challenge one day by a younger sibling.”

The knight’s lips set and Gabrielle enjoyed the possibility that he was displeased that she would not welcome him to her bed. “It would be a marriage most unnatural,” he commented, and Gabrielle’s ire rose.

Trust a man to think no further than his own pleasure!

It was better, Gabrielle told herself savagely, that matters were clear between them from the outset. This was a match she would enter with eyes wide open to the truth. It was better that she understood him to be no different from any of the others.

“I will care nothing for your indiscretions,” she declared, hearing an unexpected bite in her tone. “My sole desire is to have my son returned to my side and his estate regained. Should you keep that estate in good trust for him, I shall be well pleased by our match, be it
natural
or no.”

The knight surveyed her silently for a long moment, and Gabrielle realized that she would have to grow accustomed to such calm consideration if she were to live with the man.

Then he stuck out his right hand to her. “We have an agreement, my lady.”

She stared at his hand, uncertain how to proceed. Certainly, no man had ever cemented an agreement with her in such a way, or even with another woman, in her experience. Did he treat her as a partner in this task?

Or did he mock her?

But nothing could be discerned in his stony expression. And he stood, waiting for her to respond.

Reluctantly, for she was uncertain of his intent, Gabrielle slid her hand into his.

The knight’s fingers closed securely over her own, with no jest or mockery reflected in his eyes. Gabrielle’s hand was lost within the breadth of his warm palm and her traitorous heart skipped a beat beneath his steady perusal.

“Rest assured that I have no more interest in emotional entanglements than you,” he confided, the deep rumble of his voice launching a tingle over Gabrielle’s flesh.

Oh, she had been alone overlong, that much was certain.

“Know also, my lady, that I understand the problems garnered by a man populating an estate with his bastards. I never have and never will stoop to such behavior myself.”

Gabrielle stared up at him, secretly amazed by this concession. Truly he would deny his own pleasure, to ensure the suzerainty of a child who was not his own? Had she heard aright?

But the knight’s eyes were filled with a certainty that could not be denied. Gabrielle’s mind worked furiously, but she could find no reasonable explanation beyond the highly unlikely one he had given her.

What manner of man was this knight?

Gabrielle realized belatedly that he still held her hand captive and she forced a laugh. “You shake my hand as though we were knights of equal.”

A half smile crept over his lips as slowly as the dawn, and Gabrielle’s heart skipped a beat at the sight. “You make an
argument, my lady, as compellingly as any man I have met.” He gave her fingers a minute squeeze. “This gesture seems only fitting, given the circumstance.”

Gabrielle, not often at a loss for words, did not know what to say to that. She was not usually treated to the full impact of a man’s charm, much less a man as handsome as Yves de Sant-Roux.

She hastily extricated her hand, resisting the impulse to wipe off the seductive warmth of his touch. “The knight who has been longest with my household has accompanied me here,” she said in her most purposeful tone. “I suppose you should meet with him.”

“Certainly.” Those blond brows pulled together thoughtfully. “And I must confirm the count’s agreement to my decision.”

Gabrielle’s expression must have revealed that she had not considered this angle, for the knight immediately shook his head. “There is nothing to fear, my lady. Evidently, the Lord de Tulley has already made a case for my departure on this very mission.”

“Tulley!” Gabrielle sneered before she could help herself. “That wily creature seeks only his own advantage!”

The knight chuckled, and she realized too late the foolishness of so clearly stating her opinion.

“Of course, he is a very skilled overlord…” Gabrielle added quickly, hating how accustomed she had become to being among those who thought similarly. How could she have been so careless with her speech?

The knight silenced Gabrielle’s explanation with a wave of one strong hand, and his eyes twinkled for the barest instant. “I harbor no fondness for your overlord,” he confided, setting her fears to rest again with an ease unexpected.

Their gazes clung for an electric moment of mutual understanding. Gabrielle realized that she now shared more than one secret with this man, for none could know that she had hired his services lest Philip hear tell of it.

“It would be best if none knew of our arrangement,” she suggested softly.

The knight nodded in immediate agreement. “Yes.” He folded his arms across his chest and held her gaze with disconcerting determination. “You might consider addressing me by my first name.”

Gabrielle licked her lips, quickly discerning the direction of his thoughts. “That others might think something already is afoot between us and not be surprised if we wed upon regaining Perricault,” she guessed.

He nodded again, a glint of approval in his eyes that made her heart warm. “Precisely, my lady.”

Gabrielle struggled to quell her dissatisfaction with such mechanical planning, knowing it was beyond reason under the circumstances. She had wanted a strategist, after all, and should not have been surprised to find that this man reduced even the issue of marriage to a series of tactical moves.

All the same, she did not like it.

Which made no sense at all, for Gabrielle knew that marriage was not the pairing of two hearts of which the troubadours sang. Marriage was an arrangement made for mutual gain. And here, the gain for each party was clear as crystal.

Gabrielle knew she should have found this honesty reassuring, but oddly enough, she did not.

Clearly, being so far from Thomas was addling her wits.

She shook her head and summoned a pert smile. “I agree, Yves.” His name clung to her lips in a most disconcerting manner, but Gabrielle forced herself to continue in the same confidential manner. “Shall we meet later?”

“After the evening meal.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “I shall seek you in the hall, meet your knight, then between us, we can find a place to talk.”

We.
Gabrielle’s heart sang with the possibility of being included in his planning, then she chastised herself.

The knight—
Yves
—was obviously a man who calculated with reason alone. He would want to know all that she knew,
all that she had seen, all the recollections she could share of the attack. Then he would cast her out of the process of planning, assuming, as men always did, that a mere woman had nothing to add.

He was no different from the rest.

“Fine,” she said, hoping no vestige of her disappointment showed. “I shall see you there.”

Yves frowned quickly, as though he might say something else, but Gabrielle was more than ready for this troubling encounter to end. She had not planned to cry—weeping was a tool for weak women to win their way, after all—and she had not expected to be moved by this steadfast knight.

At least the meeting had ended the way she had expected, and doubtless matters would continue precisely as planned.

Gabrielle spun away, took a deep breath and strode back to the festivities, well aware of the weight of the knight’s gaze resting upon her.

No doubt the next time she and Yves met, she would be better prepared to deal with him. Indeed, she would not have been surprised to find that his allure diminished markedly with further acquaintance.

At least, she sincerely hoped that it did.

Yves could not stop thinking about the boy.

He paced the width of his tent over and over again, sipping his wine, unable to shake the image of Lady Gabrielle fretting over the fate of her son. Evening fell, its inky shadows claiming the corners of the tent, yet still Yves paced and did not light the lamp.

Gabrielle de Perricault’s appeal for her son had struck a powerful chord within Yves, probably the only one that could have induced him to accept this mission. A young boy, lost to his mother and played as a pawn in a game over property, was a tale that hit too close to home for Yves.

All the same, he did not like that he had been powerless to refuse Gabrielle once he knew of Thomas’ plight.

Reason had succumbed to passion, for the first time in his recollection. Yves grimaced and set the wine aside.

It was Tulley’s fault.

The first bell for the evening meal chimed, and Yves finally noticed the lateness of the hour. With dismay, he realized that he had paced and thought away the time when he should have been making arrangements with the count.

How unlike the methodical knight he knew himself to be!

“Gaston!”

Yves whistled and called again, but his squire had evidently found other pleasures to pursue beyond his assigned labor. Though Yves strained his ears, he heard no running footsteps. Resigned to seeing to his own needs—again—he dressed with impatient gestures.

Gaston would not miss a meal, that much Yves knew without doubt. He stepped out of his tent and whistled for him once more, even knowing the futility of the gesture.

The mauve streak lingering in the western sky after the sunset made Yves suddenly recall the shadows in Lady Gabrielle’s violet eyes. He thought of the vulnerability that had stolen over her features when she spoke of her son.

Indeed, young Thomas had something in his life more precious than all the gold in Perricault. He had his mother’s love and protection.

Yves had had no such thing.

How different might his own life have been if he had had someone who cared for his welfare as passionately as this lady did for her son? It was true that Yves had made his way well enough, but how much easier it would have been to have had someone to turn to when his fortunes looked dark.