Secret Heart Page 8

  “Especially for Garit. Your closest friend since you were squires together. Loyal Garit, who loves and wants Chantal and thinks he may have found her again in Jenia. Tell me, Roarke,” Lord Giles’ quiet voice pursued him into the corridor, “what do you want?”

  “I?” Roarke paused to look back at the man who had been more loving and honest toward him than his own father. “As you taught me so well, my lord, I serve my king. I will learn what has happened to Chantal and, if she still lives, I will restore her to Garit no matter where the search takes me or what it costs.”

  “Shall I join you in Calean City?”

  “You would do that?”

  “For you, and for Garit, I would. You’ll need my help against the intrigues that grow with every day, thanks to the spies Domini Gundiac sends to the capital. Well, then.” Lord Giles smiled at the younger man. “I’ll take a dozen men-at-arms for my escort and perhaps a few squires, too, to give them a taste of life at a royal court.”

  “You will corrupt them,” Roarke said wryly.

  “You were not corrupted. Garit wasn’t. Shall we say, five days from now, in King Henryk’s great hall, at the midday meal? Just in case Jenia needs a bit of extra protection.”

  “You rarely employ your magic, yet you’d invoke it for her sake?”

  “Gladly. She’s worth a bit of effort, don’t you agree?”

  Roarke stared at him from outside the solar, seeing the faint, glimmering aura of a true mage as Lord Giles gazed back, straight into his eyes. Roarke was incapable of magic; the ability had to be born into a person. But he knew how to defend himself against it. At his request Lord Giles had taught him how, years ago. He had never felt the need to protect himself against Lord Giles, so his mind was open to his old friend and teacher.

  So much anger. So much pain. Lord Giles did not speak the words aloud; they simply appeared in Roarke’s mind. You will never find peace until you put aside your anger.

  I know, Roarke answered silently. But I cannot. Some betrayals are unforgivable.

  “Do not allow old humiliations to cloud your present vision,” Lord Giles said aloud, “or prevent your future peace.”

  “Sometimes,” Roarke told him, “I believe I’ll only find peace when I am in my grave.”

  Chapter 5

  “To spare Roarke’s horse the burden of carrying two riders,” Lord Giles said to Jenia at sunrise the next morning, “I must insist you ride one of the horses that I keep for my squires to use during their training.”

  He had come to the stable with Jenia and her companions and he gestured to indicate the long row of stalls.

  “As you can see, I have more than two dozen horses available. The lads I am presently working with won’t miss one of them. You may send the animal back to me when you no longer need it,” he said. “I believe my late wife’s saddle remains in good repair. Just let me ask a groom to find it.”

  “If you don’t mind,” Jenia said, laying a hand on his arm to make him pause for a moment, “I’d much rather use a squire’s saddle, if you can spare one. That way, I can ride astride, so we can travel faster.”

  “Whatever you wish, my dear. You have only to ask for anything you need,” Lord Giles responded with a kindly yet shrewd look that suggested to Jenia he was expecting her to ask for his magical help. Or, perhaps, hoping she would ask.

  She couldn’t do that to him. The responsibility for fulfilling her dangerous quest was hers, and hers alone. Roarke and Garit were taking her to Calean City for their own purposes, but she intended to make sure everyone at the royal court understood they were not acting on her behalf. She expected to die, but she wouldn’t drag anyone to the grave with her if she could avoid it, especially not a man who reminded her of her grandfather.

  “Since you offer, my lord,” she said, “I do have two other requests. You may find one of them rather peculiar.”

  “Do you think so?” Lord Giles smiled and his pale eyes began to twinkle. “After so many years of dealing with rambunctious young men, nothing is peculiar to me.”

  “You will have to ask one of those same young men for what I need,” Jenia said. “I want a pair of hose to protect my legs while I ride astride.”

  Lord Giles winked at her, then loosed an understanding laugh. Jenia allowed herself a brief answering chuckle before she gulped and sobered because she suddenly felt like weeping. She wasn’t used to kindness such as his. Lord Giles seemed not to notice the way she bit down hard on her lower lip to stop its trembling. When she turned away from the older man in embarrassment at revealing so much emotion, she saw the sharp look that Roarke was casting in her direction. She showed her back to both men until she regained her self control.

  An hour later Jenia rode out of Nozay wearing beneath her dress a pair of hose borrowed from one of Lord Giles’ squires. Her skirts were hiked up to her knees so she could ride astride. She had wrapped a short squire’s cloak, her second request of Lord Giles, around her shoulders to keep her warm in the chill of an early autumn dawn.

  Watching her as she moved ahead of him, Roarke thought he would very much like to know where she had learned to ride so beautifully. She was a bit stiff, as if out of practice, but her back was straight and she handled the reins with unconcealed pleasure. He could not doubt that her horse knew who was in command.

  They did not retrace the narrow path they’d taken to Nozay, but rode across the fields instead to reach the forest on the far side of the manor, where they picked up a similar track. Almost at once they entered an area of fog as thick and quiet as the mist they had encountered on their arrival. Roarke thought little of it; he was used to the misty barrier that protected Nozay from unwanted intruders.

  “According to Lord Giles,” Garit said, speaking over his shoulder as he led the way, “this path will take us to the road that leads directly to Castle Auremont.”

  “I have no idea where I am, so I will have to trust Lord Giles,” Jenia told him. “And trust you, too.”

  The remark earned her a bright smile from Garit. Since Roarke was riding behind her and knew she couldn’t see his reaction, he was free to scowl at her back as much as he pleased.

  He had good reason for scowling in Jenia’s direction, for he was finding it almost impossible to keep his gaze away from the sight of her shapely calves. Roarke had seen enough undressed women in his time to know that Jenia’s legs were exceptionally lovely. To make matters worse, those enticing limbs were encased in bright green hose that were too small for her. The fabric was smooth and unwrinkled because Jenia had pulled the hose tight over her legs and had fastened them at her waist.

  Roarke found the curving length of green too exiting to ignore. The flash of color between her brown wool skirt and the well-worn brown shoes, fastened with leather thongs at her slender ankles, caught and held his attention. The movements of Jenia’s legs as they gripped the sides of her mount nearly drove Roarke mad. It was all too tempting to imagine those limbs wrapped around him.

  Appalled by his lascivious thoughts toward a woman who could be his best friend’s love, Roarke grimly wrenched his gaze away from Jenia. While he squinted through the mist at the narrow path ahead of him, he tried to consider the many details of his plan to present Jenia as Chantal, details that he needed to work out and discuss with Garit before they separated. He wished he could be the man to leave Jenia at Castle Auremont with Garit, while he continued on to Calean City to make the necessary arrangements there. Given his unseemly yearning for Jenia, that would be the wiser course for him, but he knew it was impossible.

  Garit was the emissary from the king of Kantia to King Henryk’s court and in that capacity he had certain duties to perform. Roarke could not replace him. Therefore, Roarke must stay at Auremont to guard Jenia and to keep her presence there a secret, while he taught her what she would need to know in order to pretend she was Lady Chantal.

  After two days in her company he suspected that she already knew how to behave among nobles, though he anticipated lear
ning quite a bit more about her mysterious past while he provided instruction that he was beginning to believe was unnecessary. She was a noblewoman born and bred, of that much he was certain. He had observed the quiet confidence with which she dealt with Lord Giles, his squires and servants, and the grooms and stable boys.

  She knew horses, too. She had looked over Lord Giles’ stable most carefully before choosing her own mount. She hadn’t favored the usual tame lady’s palfrey, though several such horses were available for the younger squires to ride. Nor had she chosen an overly restive creature. Instead, she had picked a sturdy, calm-tempered gelding that was perfectly suited to carry its rider a long distance without tiring. At first skeptical about letting her make her own selection, once it was done Roarke had unhesitatingly approved of the horse she wanted, and so had Lord Giles.

  He had watched with interest as she responded with a burst of quickly concealed emotion to Lord Giles’ amused acceptance of her request for hose and a cape. Roarke couldn’t help wondering if she had never before been treated with parental generosity. The woman was a riddle, a lovely and alluring enigma, who teased at his senses with no apparent effort on her part. Her every action and every word raised questions in his mind.

  If she wasn’t Lady Chantal, then who in the name of heaven was she? Why did he, who recognized most of King Henryk’s nobles and their ladies on sight, have no knowledge of a woman so similar in appearance to Chantal of Thury? Roarke told himself the mystery would soon be solved, for someone at court must know who she was. So remarkable a resemblance could not have passed unnoticed or uncommented upon.

  Why did she have to have such incomparably beautiful legs?

  Realizing that his gaze had returned to Jenia without him willing it, Roarke groaned aloud. Jenia turned in her saddle to regard him with a questioning look. Roarke glared at her until she shrugged and faced forward again.

  With an effort of will that made his teeth ache, Roarke dragged his attention away from Jenia and forced himself to resume planning the best method of smuggling her into the king’s fortress at Calean City.

  Castle Auremont was a bleak little holding, squarely and solidly constructed upon a hilltop with no effort at grace or charm. Auremont was built for security. The guards at the gatehouse were alert and, once they recognized Garit as their returning master, they welcomed him and his guests with a pleasure that Jenia suspected had a great deal to do with their hope for relief from boredom.

  Inside the bailey, with the walls soaring a good thirty feet above her head, Jenia ought to have felt safe. Instead, she was oppressed by the weight of stone around her, by the austere architecture, and by the square tower keep that loomed ahead, its plain stone facade broken only by a narrow entry door and a few arrow slits. She could too easily imagine being confined in that keep during a siege or, worse, being consigned to the dungeon that surely lay beneath it.

  She shivered uncontrollably at a dark memory. Then, seeing how Roarke looked at her with raised brows, she straightened in the saddle and made herself smile at Garit, who was offering a welcome speech.

  “It’s a plain place, I know,” Garit said to her, “but since King Henric granted the estate to me two years ago, I have begun making some improvements inside the keep. I think you will be comfortable enough, my lady.”

  Within the hour Jenia understood that Garit’s improvements were devised with Chantal of Thury in mind. She was conducted to a chamber high in the keep that, to her eyes, was most certainly intended for Chantal’s private use. The stone walls had been plastered and the plaster painted pale blue, with a design of scattered, tiny flowers and leaves in darker blue, yellow, and green. Blue wool curtains enclosed a large bed. A finely carved wooden clothing chest sat in one corner. The ewer and basin on a table were made of silver. So high above the reach of any arrow, windows could be larger than the usual, narrow slits. Twin arched windows in a niche included a stone seat that was cushioned with thick pillows.

  “My lady,” said the middle-aged maidservant who had escorted her up the curving tower steps, “shall I order water for a bath?”

  “Yes, please,” Jenia said, “though I have no other clothes to wear once I’m clean.”

  “Oh,” said the maid, laughing, “that’s no problem. Lord Garit ordered clothing prepared for you.”

  “He did?” Jenia was baffled, for she hadn’t been told that Garit had sent ahead to warn his people to expect a female guest. She had assumed he wouldn’t want anyone to know in advance what they were doing, because their plan of presenting her as Chantal depended on taking everyone at court by surprise. Both Roarke and Garit had told her they didn’t want word of Chantal’s mysterious resurrection to reach Calean City before they did.

  “Last year,” the maid said, “as soon as the remodeling work in this chamber was completed, Lord Garit brought gowns and linens and everything else a lady could want. He gave me orders to keep all of the clothes ready for the arrival of an important lady. You must be the lady, for no other noblewoman has come here since he took control of Auremont. Look here, Lady Jenia. Just see what he’s done for you.”

  The maid opened the clothing chest, lifting the lid to reveal neatly folded silks and linens and the glitter of gold threads on a sash. The scent of lavender reached Jenia’s nose, bringing with it memories too painful to bear. With the memories came guilt. She did not belong at Auremont. Jenia covered her face with both hands and turned away.

  “My lady?” the maid said, still carefully lifting the clothing out of the chest, spreading green and bronze and copper-colored silk dresses and snowy linen undergarments on the bed, smoothing the wrinkles away with deft hands. “Will you choose one of these gowns?”

  “Yes,” Jenia said, aware of how her voice cracked from the emotions she must keep hidden. “But later, after I have bathed and rested for a time.”

  “Of course. You’ve had a long day in the saddle, haven’t you? I’ll see to the hot water and the tub.”

  Left alone, Jenia went to the windows. The view was glorious, the countryside all golden and green in the early evening sunlight, with a silver-blue river winding around the hill on which the castle stood and a tiny village nestled at the foot of the hill.

  Garit had chosen well for his love’s private chamber. Any woman would delight in resting upon the cushions while she gazed out the window. In winter the tightly fitted shutters could be closed and the metal brazier standing in one corner could be brought forward and put into use to keep the room snug and warm.

  Last year, the maid had said. It was clear to Jenia that long before she washed up on a lonely beach, Garit had intended to bring Chantal to Auremont and had made every effort to assure her comfort while she was there.

  “Poor man,” Jenia whispered into the elegant, empty room. “How can I possibly repay you for breaking your heart? What can I say to you after you know everything?”

  * * * * *

  Jenia appeared in the great hall for the evening meal garbed in a simple bronze silk gown that was tied low over her hips with a sash decorated in heavy gold embroidery. Her white linen shift showed at the round neckline and beneath the loose sleeves. Her shoes were soft silk, embroidered to match the sash.

  She had refused to wear a veil or the gold circlet the maid had offered from among the feminine treasures in the clothing chest. A circlet was the symbol of a woman’s rank and Jenia dared not reveal her right to wear one. Nor would she allow her freshly washed hair to remain loose in a maiden’s style. Instead, she combed and twisted the heavy red-brown length into a single thick braid and secured the end with a piece of gold ribbon the maid had found in the chest.

  She wore no jewelry. There was none in the chest, and even if there had been, she wouldn’t have been bold enough to put it on. She was having enough trouble dealing with the scent of lavender that arose from her borrowed clothing to assault her senses each time she moved. The assertive fragrance sent her mind tumbling back to another time, to joyful excitement followed by terr
or and by blood and death. She knew for the present she must keep those memories, along with the emotions they evoked, hidden from Roarke and Garit.

  She reminded herself she needed only a few days more until she could tell the truth to the two men, and to the rest of the world. She would stand before King Henryk and his courtiers just as she had planned, and she’d reveal the entire story and name the villain in her loudest, clearest voice. For those revelations she would certainly die violently and, she prayed, quickly. Then she could rest in peace, her quest fulfilled.

  The great hall was as harshly masculine, as barren of embellishment, as the rest of Auremont. No colorful tapestries warmed the stone walls and only a few banners hung from the high ceiling beams. Jenia saw not a single storage chest in the hall, nor any of the usual elaborate silver platters and ewers that nobles ordinarily displayed on such chests as signs of their wealth. The only gleam of silver came from two remarkably plain, though well polished silver candleholders that sat upon the linen-covered high table.

  But the linen cloth was spotlessly clean and the rushes on the floor were fresh and sweet smelling. The men-at-arms and servants who stood in the hall awaiting their meal looked to be freshly scrubbed. Jenia wondered if they had been ordered to wash and put on clean clothing in her honor. Looking around, she decided she could manage very well without the brightly colored and sometimes garish accoutrements that almost always decorated a nobleman’s castle. She’d be well content with simplicity and cleanliness, and with plain, properly cooked food.

  “My dear lady.” Garit hastened forward to claim her hand and lead her to the high table.

  “This is my seneschal, Sir Ronal,” Garit said as a short, stocky man bowed to her. “Lady Jenia will be staying at Auremont for several days. She wishes her visit to be private, so no one is to gossip about her presence here.”

  Jenia longed to tell Garit that he had just made certain her presence would be discussed and gossiped about in spite of his order. All any group of people, whether men or women, needed was a warning to be silent on a particular subject and they’d start whispering and speculating. She wished she hadn’t come to the hall, though staying away would have been a great insult to Garit, who deserved good manners and sympathy from her, not a rude guest.