Part 21 (2/2)
”I would ask your help for Lord Wardieu. I am informed he plans to take your place on the field tomorrow at the tournament.”
”Lord ... Wardieu?”
”Lord Lucien Wardieu. The real real Lord Lucien Wardieu. The man who calls himself the Black Wolf of Lincoln ... and your friend, if I am not mistaken.” Lord Lucien Wardieu. The man who calls himself the Black Wolf of Lincoln ... and your friend, if I am not mistaken.”
”I make a point of having no friends,” La Seyne snarled.
”Then you should advise Lord Wardieu of your feelings, for he speaks very highly of you.”
The bright glitter of his eyes narrowed behind the slits in the black silk. ”I was informed you did not believe his story.”
”True enough. I did not. Not in the beginning.”
”But you do now?” he sneered. ”May I ask what brought about such a miraculous change of heart?”
”You may mock me, sir,” she said quietly. ”And you may scorn a woman's fickle nature, but I a.s.sure you, the ... change of heart ... as you call it, was not come by easily, nor was it wrought without a great deal of thought to the consequences. You have come to Bloodmoor to rescue the Princess Eleanor. I have come to you in the hope you will also rescue Lord Lucien.”
The knight took a deep breath. ”Lucien is a capable fellow. He needs not my help to split a b.a.s.t.a.r.d brother from a saddle.”
”Do you honestly think Prince John would allow him to savour such a victory should it come his way?”
”It is the victory he seeks,” La Seyne said slowly. ”What comes after ... is of no importance. What comes after, he will deal with after.”
”Alone? In a field surrounded by John's men and the Dragon's paid mercenaries? There will be nothing to deal with deal with, my lord, for a single cold command will loose a hundred arrows from a hundred bows, and he will be dead with little of the chivalry and honour he claims to hold so dear.”
The pauses were growing longer, the shadowy details of La Seyne's figure were becoming more distinct. Now she could not only see the shape of his mask, but the way the force of each shallow breath caused the silk to swell and recede against his mouth.
”Women should stay clear of war and politics-they understand neither. In the first place, Lord Lucien will not be alone. I have a hundred stout, loyal men of my own to ensure those arrows are not fired.”
”De Gournay is Prince John's ally-his champion! He will not sit idly by while a man they both plotted to discredit attempts to prove them frauds and murderers.”
”G.o.d and the king must judge the weight of John's greed. Lucien's quarrel is with his brother.”
”It is a quarrel John will not tolerate in silence.”
The silk flared again. ”He will if he is faced with the choice of either recognizing Lucien Wardieu as the rightful heir of the De Gournay t.i.tle, or having his own crime of kidnapping and attempted murder revealed before witnesses. It was Lackland's arrogance to suppose he would be safer making the exchange for the Princess Eleanor at Bloodmoor, surrounded by his most trusted allies. It is that same arrogance which will force him to maintain his silence while his champion is challenged for his crimes. To be sure, he will pretend to be suitably shocked at De Gournay's duplicity, but unless he wants the princess to point an accusing finger at her uncle's royal intrigues, he will support the man who wins on the field tomorrow.”
”Are you so sure Lucien will win?”
”Your confidence is overwhelming, my lady,” he said dryly. ”You do not think he will?”
”I think you are a better match for Etienne Wardieu. You have the trophies and the reputation to prove it.”
”Lucien is no mean squirrel in the lists; he has tipped a fox or two out of the saddle before now.”
”But not so many as you, Lord Randwulf.”
The hooded face turned away for the length of a ripe curse, then looked back. ”A man must avenge his honour at any cost,” he hissed. ”It is the code by which a knight lives. Take it away and he is nothing. Ask another to interfere, and he is less than nothing.”
”I am not asking you to interfere, my lord. I am asking ... nay, begging begging you to save his life.” you to save his life.”
”How?”
”By taking to the field yourself tomorrow. You could kill Etienne Wardieu with impunity-another challenge, another trophy to add to your armoury. I have seen the pain in Lucien's eyes when he speaks of his brother's treachery. Regardless of the justification, where there was once love, there would be immeasurable guilt should he be the one to take his brother's life.”
The Scourge of Mirebeau was silent so long Servanne felt a trickle of sweat form between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
”You speak as if you care what happens to the rogue,” he said with quiet intensity.
”I ... suppose I do,” she admitted in a whisper. ”In a way.”
La Seyne took a sudden step away from the wall and Servanne, not expecting the movement, flinched back with a small cry of alarm. He was as tall as a pillar and ma.s.sive with the brawn and muscle of a fighting man. As he walked closer, he flexed his gauntleted hands, and the fingers that crushed the morsel of straw looked as if they could crush her bones with as little effort.
”In what way, madam? Do you care because you now believe his claim and would not want to lose what you so nearly have within your grasp here at Bloodmoor?”
”Lands and t.i.tles mean nothing to me!” she insisted.
”No? Is that why you rushed so eagerly to answer the Dragon's summons, barely a month after your husband's death?”
”I ... had no choice! I was commanded by royal decree!”
”You had a choice in the forest. You could have refused to go with Wardieu.”
”I was given no such choice!” she cried adamantly. ”Had I been given one, think you I would be here now?”
”I do not know,” La Seyne said bluntly. ”Would you?”
Servanne opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again, stunned by the echo of her own words. She heard them again, breaking down the barrier of her pride, and the echo grew louder and louder, the words and their meaning pounding within her breast like a smithy's hammer.
”No,” she said softly, her eyes filling with tears. ”No, I would not be here, monseigneur. I believe ... I would quite happily have stayed in the forest with him, had he offered me the chance, with no complaint, no second thoughts as to what I would be forsaking. Nay, I would go there with him now, if you could but convince him of his folly. I would willingly follow him to Normandy or France, or any of a dozen foreign countries.”
”And what if he does not want your company?” La Seyne growled, drawing close enough to startle Servanne's heart higher in her throat.
”I-I would follow him anyway,” she maintained. ”I would content myself just to be near him.”
Randwulf de la Seyne Sur Mer stared at her for a long, throbbing moment before breaking the tension with a low, unsteady laugh. ”No. No, my lady, by the look of this new revelation dawning in your eyes, I do not think you would be content with anything less than iron chains binding you together hip and thigh.”
Servanne returned his stare. His voice had lapsed from its forced gruffness, and the laugh ... the laugh was familiar enough to raise a spray of gooseflesh along her arms.
Without thinking, she lifted her hand toward the mask, but the gloved fingers were just as swift to close around her wrist and halt the motion.
”I would see your face, monseigneur,” she whispered.
”You would not like what you saw.”
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