Medieval Brides. Anne Herries
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shocked silence as Richard lifted a pitcher and refilled his drink and then sat down on a bench next to the one where he sat.
“Your father is dead and your lands and fortune are in my control,” Richard began. “Only you and your brother remain, and it will take only a lack of action on my part to see to the end of the Dumont family forever.”
Christian could do nothing but nod in agreement at the king’s words. He knew how precarious his and Geoff’s situation was; this was simply a reminder from Richard about who held the power.
“I find that I am in need of a service that you are suited to provide.”
“A service, sire?” Christian fought to stifle even the smallest of hopes at Richard’s words.
“Aye, my mother has asked that I send you to her in England so that you may prove yourself free of the taint of your father’s sins.”
“England? Is there no way for me to prove my loyalty to you here or at Chateau d’Azure?” Christian ached to return to his family’s lands, to the place of his birth.
“Do not worry, your lands have been cared for during your imprisonment, unlike some others.” The reference to John’s raping of Richard’s English estates was not lost on him.
“What must I do in England?” Christian wanted to get this out into the open—discover why Richard seemed willing to let him live and what task he faced.
“My mother asks only that I send you and, in her own inimitable fashion, has declined to give me an explanation.” Richard chuckled as he spoke. “I learned long ago that my mother explains herself to no man unless she chooses to. My father complained of this fault of hers many, many times.”
Richard stood, walked down from the dais and crossed to a door on one side of the hall. He motioned someone inside, and a priest carrying a thick pile of parchments followed him back to the table. The cleric spread out the documents into several small piles. Once he was done his organizing, he sat with his hands folded before him and waited on Richard. Christian waited as well.
“Here is the deed for your properties in Poitou and an accounting of your wealth. And this,” Richard said, lifting another scroll and holding it before Christian, “is my decree reestablishing the title of Count of Langier and bequeathing it to you and your heirs. All here, all ready to be signed by me, if you agree to perform any service which my mother requests of you once you arrive in England.”
Christian could not make the words come from his mouth. Everything within him that desired, nay craved, a restoration of his name, his wealth, his properties, his honor, fought to scream the words of agreement. But a small part of his being held back.
“And the task which I must carry out?”
Richard’s hand slammed down on the table and parchments flew in all directions. The priest simply blinked several times as though familiar with these outbursts from the king.
“I offer you all you hold dear and you dare to question my orders to you? I could throw you in that dungeon and no one would ever hear the name of Dumont again. Is that what you wish? To die the son of a traitor? The sons of a traitor?”
Christian swallowed deeply, trying to lessen the terror that gripped him as the king reminded him quite clearly of the results if he refused to perform this unnamed service for the king. Rising, he bowed his head to Richard.
“Nay, sire.”
“Then give the word and I will set all of this in motion—your estates back in your control, your name cleared of any taint of treason and your brother freed from his prison.”
Christian hesitated for only a moment longer before giving the king what he wanted. He’d only dreamed that this would happen. He’d prayed continuously for a way out of this terrible turn of events facing him and Geoff and now the king presented him with exactly that. He must not lose this opportunity to regain his very honor.
“I am your man, sire.” Christian knelt down before Richard and offered his hands in homage to the king.
Richard took Christian’s hands in his and then lay one hand on Christian’s head. “Then you are now once again the Count of Langier and my liegeman. The estates and wealth of the family Dumont are now restored to you, but will be held in trust by the Crown’s chancellor until your service is completed.”
Christian raised his head to look at Richard. His but not his? Richard was not finished yet.
“You have one week until you must leave for England—use it well. You may take your brother back to Chateau d’Azure and then be at my disposal here on Tuesday next.”
Christian rose and stepped back from the king. He was saved! His brother would live! And his honor would once more be restored. And all in exchange for some task for Queen Eleanor.
Some task for the queen. Another wave of foreboding passed through him. What if the price was too high? What if he could not complete this mystery task? Nay, he could not fail…he could not afford to fail…the family Dumont, all past and future bearers of the title of Langier and most of all his brother, were depending on him.
Richard then leaned over the documents and scrawled his signature on the many sheets. Christian added his own, as directed by the priest. After giving more instructions to the priest and nodding to Christian, the king walked down the steps and through the hall. Just as he reached the doorway, he turned back.
“Langier.” Richard used his newly restored title to address him now. “Report to me when you discover my brother’s involvement in all of this. I smell his foul odor even from across the Channel and in spite of his claims of innocence.”
Christian nodded to Richard, agreeing to this additional term.
“Directly to me and to no one else.”
The king left without hearing his response, leaving him in astonished confusion.
Sunlight streamed into the large room through the glass windows her father had commissioned years before, to please her mother. Emalie shifted on the cushion beneath her, trying in vain to get comfortable. Leaning back and away from the loom, she looked at the others in the room. Every one of them was more than content to sit and weave or embroider or sew until the light was no longer useful. Not her, though. She had not spent this much time in the solar in the few years since her mother’s death.
Unable to remain still, and eager to feel the summer breezes flow over her face, Emalie gathered her skirts and stood, easing the bench away from the wooden frame so she could step back. The room grew quiet as her actions were noticed.
“Milady? Is there something you require?” her maid asked, putting down the embroidery frame and rising to attend her.
“Nay, Alyce. You may continue here. I am just anxious for a breath of air. I shall return anon.”
She expected that none of her household would question her leaving, but she was unprepared for Lady Helene’s challenging frown. The lady was one of the queen’s retinue and had spent most of the past week trailing behind her and reporting, Emalie knew, directly back to Eleanor. Every move she made and every person she spoke with was the subject of scrutiny. And it grated on her that, after months of being in charge of her father’s estate, she was now relegated to the role of hostess only.
Eleanor had banished John and his minions after the near-debacle the day she had arrived, and placed her own people in key positions both in the keep and throughout the demesne. Emalie now spent her days in the solar sewing and weaving, or in the chapel praying. Eleanor’s feelings on the power and importance of prayer in a young woman’s life were made clear on her second day at Greystone. A new priest arrived and proceeded to offer the Mass that morning and on every one since then and Eleanor insisted on Emalie’s attendance.
A new captain of the guards worked in