“No, no,” she says, and my hand itches to slap her silly face. “It
“No!” I say, too sharply.
He cocks an eyebrow at me, and I give him a cool smile. “What am I to do with a crow? Put it in a pie with Jamette’s vole? Besides,” I add in a bored voice, “it is wounded, or deranged. No healthy crow would hover this close to falcons. And see how it holds its wing? Leave it be. Or,” I say, smiling in open challenge, “better yet, do try to catch it. That way I can beat you back to the castle.”
With that challenge thrown down, I put my heels to my horse and fly forward. A split second later, the others follow.
I even let Julian win.
When we reach the castle, I hand my falcon to the waiting groom, then dismount. My gaze scans the horizon for the crow, half fearing he will land on my shoulder in front of everyone. I must think of a way to get the message without half the castle seeing.
Jamette lingers near the stable, still trying to flirt with Julian, and Tephanie is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps I can steal a few moments in my room alone and coax the wretched creature to the window long enough to remove the message he carries. Leaving the others to their own amusements, I quit the courtyard and enter the palace, then head for the stairs.
No one follows. My luck holds, and when I reach my chamber, it is empty. I head straight for the window and open the casement—but there is no sign of the crow. I wait a few more moments, willing him to find me, then huff out a sigh of frustration. Just as I am about to close the window, I hear a caw and see a flap of black wings. But too late. I can hear Jamette and Tephanie at the chamber door. I slam the window shut and close the thick velvet curtains.
“What are you doing?” Jamette asks as she comes into the room. “Now it is too dark in here.”
I put my hand to my temple. “I have a headache,” I say crossly.
A look of genuine concern appears on Tephanie’s round face as she hurries over to my side. “Shall I fetch a tisane? Or lavender water?”
I
I spear Jamette with a vicious look. “Was I really, Jamette? Were you paying close enough attention to know that?”
She flushes at this reminder of just how poorly she has attended me. Then I make a decision. “I am going outside.”
Jamette gapes at me. “But you have a headache!”
“Indeed I do. I believe it is your screeching voice and the vile perfume you favor, which is why I need fresh air.”
Her mouth closes with a snap, and I feel the smallest tweak of conscience, for her scent is fine. And then I remember that she reports every move of mine to my father, and my regret evaporates.
Outside, the day has grown blustery, the wind proving that February is indeed the whirling month. Just like the leaves and twigs that dance in eddies across the courtyard, hope dances deep inside me. Perhaps d’Albret is marqued in such a way that I cannot see it but Sister Vereda with her seeress skills
The gardens are deserted, since no one else is fool enough to venture out to this raw, barren spot. I take a slow breath and revel in the solitude. I am forever attended by someone—my ladies in waiting, my brothers, the various hangers-on of my father’s court—and I crave solitude. That and freedom. I glance overhead and try to recapture that soaring feeling I had when my falcon launched from my wrist, but I cannot.
Instead, an irritable caw brings me back to earth as Monsieur Crow lands on a branch before me, then cocks his head, as if wondering why I have taken so long.
“You’re a fine one to talk,” I scold him, but he knows I do not mean it and hops close. As I move toward the branch, I see that the note is wrapped tightly around his ankle and covered with black wax so that someone would have to be very close in order to see he bore a message.
I slip my knife from its sheath, and the bird gives a caw of objection. “I have no other way to get it off, you silly creature.” A quick snip and a slice, then wax crumbles and I am able to unwind the note from his leg. As I shove it into the knife sheath at my wrist, the crow looks to me for a reward. “I have nothing for you today—I am sorry. Now go. Quickly! Before you get us both killed.” I flap my hands at him and he hops but one bush away. “Hsst!” I say, and with a caw of reproach, he launches into the sky and disappears over the castle wall.
“Talking to the crows, my lady?”
Bertrand de Lur’s deep voice nearly causes me to jump. Instead, I use the startled movement to swing gracefully around and face him.
“That will earn you a reputation of witchcraft,” he says.
I tilt my head and smile mockingly at him. “Do they not say that already?”
He inclines his head, conceding the point. “Even so, it is not safe for you to be out here alone, my lady.” While his voice is rich and cultivated, there is something about the way he says
“Where are your attendants?” he asks, his voice hard.
Even though I do not care for Jamette, I cannot surrender her to the threat I see lurking in his eyes. “I ordered them from my side. I have a headache and wanted fresh air.”
He glances around at the secluded section of garden, his eyes missing nothing. “I would think my lady’s beauty would attract a nightingale or a linnet, not a bedraggled crow.” He steps closer then, and for the first time I grow wary. Does he think me such damaged goods that he can take liberties without fear of reprisal from my father?
“It is not safe to be alone out here, not with all the men-at-arms we have posted. Any one of them might come upon you and be moved to take advantage of your unattended solitude.” He takes another step toward me.
Because I want to back away from him, I force myself to move forward until there is but a handbreadth between us. I gaze steadily into eyes. “Do you really think any of the men would be so foolish as to risk my father’s wrath in such a way? Surely they would not wish to see their guts strung up from the castle walls?”
There is a long moment of silence, then finally he nods. “Your point is well taken, my lady. Come, I am to escort you to your lord father.”
A cold trickle of fear slides into my belly. “Did my lord father say what he wished of me?” I hate myself for asking, for it shows my weakness, but I cannot help it. It is never wise to wander into d’Albret’s lair unprepared.
“He did not share his purpose with me, no.”
But he knows. I can see that knowledge in his eyes, and he looks for all the world as if he is gloating. I remember the convent’s order concealed in my sheath and permit myself a small secret smile as he takes my arm and we begin walking back to the palace.
The trip to d’Albret’s chambers lasts forever and puts me in mind of how a man approaching the gallows must feel. How long was de Lur watching me before he made his presence known? Did it appear to him as if I was just shooing away a crow, or feeding it, mayhap? Or did he see me take the message from the creature’s leg?
And what of d’Albret? Has he found some reason to tie me to the duchess’s escape? I was so careful. So very, very careful. I must continue to do everything in my power to assure him that I am committed to his cause so that he does not have his guard up when I am at last able to act. To force my mind away from its ceaseless worry, I anticipate all the ways I could kill d’Albret. It would be so satisfying to choke the life from him with a garrote around his fat neck. Or fillet his big white belly like a fish. But there is danger in those methods, for they require I get close to him, and he has uncanny strength and could possibly overpower me. Poison or a crossbow would be safest.
Too soon, we reach our destination, and Captain de Lur announces my arrival. Holding my head high and willing my heart to stop its wild, erratic beating, I step into the room.
SUCH IS THE FORCE OF d’Albret’s presence that he’s managed to taint even the rich opulence of Duke Francis’s elegant palace. Everything, from the frescoes on the walls to the carved stag heads bursting from the overmantels, looks morbid and faintly threatening.
I sink into a deep curtsy. “My lord father, how may I serve you?” Because showing too much humility and blind obedience would ring false, I raise my eyes and allow them to fill with just a hint of mockery as they meet his cold, flat gaze.
“My prodigal daughter has deigned to pay me a visit. Where was she?” d’Albret asks the captain, his eyes never leaving mine.
“In the garden, talking to a crow.”
D’Albret arches one heavy black eyebrow, and I shrug as if mildly embarrassed. “My time at the convent of Saint Brigantia has given me an appreciation for wild things, my lord.” For that is the lie the abbess and I concocted to explain my long absence from d’Albret’s household: that I had retreated to the sisters of Brigantia for healing and training.
D’Albret snorts in disgust. “They have made you soft.” He turns to one of the guards at the door. “Go see if you can find this crow and catch it. Perhaps I will feed it to her for her supper.” A faint flutter of dismay moves in my breast, but hopefully the foolish bird will be long gone by now. If I am forced to eat my crow, of a surety I will spew it back up, and I will be certain to do so on d’Albret’s fine cordwain boots. The thought of that gives me some small measure of courage, and I am able to meet his gaze with true amusement in my own.
The guard bows once, then departs. “Search her,” d’Albret orders de Lur.
The captain glances uncertainly at d’Albret. At the count’s nod, de Lur slowly smiles, then moves to stand in front of me. The smirking pig puts his hands on my shoulders and then draws them down my arms, feeling every inch of my skin beneath the fabric of my sleeves.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of shuddering at his touch. Instead, I amuse myself by wondering if de Lur will try to stop me from fulfilling the convent’s order to kill d’Albret. If he does, I may have to kill him as well.
When his hand connects with the sheath strapped to my left wrist, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “What is this?”
“’Tis but my knife, my lord. You would not expect a d’Albret to wander about unarmed?”
He starts to peel back my sleeve. “Careful,” I warn him. “The edge is most sharp.”
That gives him a moment’s pause. While he is still trying to decide if I have threatened him, I reach for my knife. As my fingers close around the handle, I carefully slip the tiny, rolled note against my palm before unsheathing the blade.
He glances warily at the sharp edge, then stuffs two fingers into the leather sheath at my wrist and begins poking around. I cast an annoyed look at d’Albret. “Is it seemly for him to enjoy it this much?”
“I told you to search her, not make love to her,” d’Albret says. “How would you like it if I did such to your daughter, eh?” The threat is unmistakable, and de Lur’s movements become much more circumspect.
However, when he reaches my buttocks, he cannot resist giving my cheeks a faint pinch. That is when I realize I am still holding my knife, and it is all I can do not to plunge it into his gut. Instead, I move my hand as if to return the knife to its sheath, but I do not pull the blade back quite far enough. The point of it rakes across his cheek.
He swears and shoves me away as he puts his hand to his face.
“I
His nostrils flare in fury, and he glances at d’Albret. “She carries nothing,” he says, “but a small dagger and an even smaller heart.”
I smile as if his words have pleased me greatly. D’Albret waves for him to step back. “You will be happy to know I have found a use for you at last, daughter.”
My heart gives one slow beat of dread, for I know d’Albret believes women have but two purposes: to bear him sons and to slake his lust. With his own daughters, he begrudgingly allows a third: to be used as a bargaining piece in marriages that will increase his wealth and power.
It is the note from the convent that gives me the courage to lift my chin and smile sweetly at him. “I can think of nothing that would bring me greater pleasure, my lord, than to be of service to you.”
“I have yet to discover who betrayed our plans to the duchess and gave her warning. I wish to watch the Nantes barons more closely. Perhaps one of them pretends loyalty to me and then reports all my plans to her. With this suspicion in mind, you will become intimately acquainted with Baron Mathurin.”
I keep my face perfectly still. This is a new low, even for him—whoring his own daughter out for political gain. “The fat one with the double chins? I am not certain that we must become
D’Albret cocks his head to the side. “Do not tell me you have maidenly qualms, for we all know what a lie that is.”
His words are like a slap to my face and send me reeling down a long, painful corridor of memories. Memories so terrifying that my vision darkens before my mind scrambles away from them. “I am merely pointing out that there are many methods available to extract the information you wish to have.”
Satisfied with my answer, he leans back in his chair. “You will sit next to him at dinner.”
Before he can give me further instructions, his steward arrives, escorting a road-weary and travel-stained courier. D’Albret waves his hand at the captain and me. “Leave us,” he orders, and Captain de Lur escorts me from the room.
Despair and frustration threaten to rise up inside me, but I tamp them down. Even though d’Albret is all but announcing to his men and vassals that I am so sullied that I do not warrant his protection, I need not panic just yet. I place my hand over my wrist sheath, drawing comfort from what hides there, and hurry to my rooms.
I arrive at my chamber, where Tephanie and Jamette fuss and cluck and are horribly relieved to see me. Irrationally, I blame them for what has befallen me this afternoon. “Draw a bath, at once,” I order curtly.
As they begin that task, I slip into the garderobe and remove the note from its hiding place. My hand trembles as I unroll the message, careful to hold it over the privy hole so that no traces of black wax can be found and used as evidence against me. I hope that these are the instructions I have longed for. Of course the note is in cipher. Holding back my impatience, I quickly count out the necessary sequence, but I have no ink or parchment, so it takes me far too long to decipher the message.