Who in the rutting hell is he? A mercenary who believes the gods want him free? He is mercurial. Almost menacing one moment, then whimsical the next.
He is not merely a sparring partner, but a whetstone upon which I must sharpen my wits.
Else risk getting cut by his.
?Chapter 39
nd where have you been all morning?” Juliette is the most annoying of Louise’s attendants here at Cognac. Her thin lips curl in an amused smile, as if she is sharing a joke with me, but there is a sharpness to her, a brittleness that is not convincing. She doesn’t care if I’m sleeping longer than I ought, dallying with a lover, or simply mourning Margot in my own way. Like a bored cat, she is batting at my absence, trying to see if she can get some sort of tempest stirred up. But this morning, her question plays into my plans perfectly.
“Walking,” I say, stepping fully into the room.
“For the last four hours?”
“It was a long walk. I had much to reflect upon.” It is easy—so easy—to allow the pain of Margot’s death to creep into my voice. It is never far from the surface—I have only to exert the slightest pressure to crack that fragile shell.
“It was raining.” She does not let up, her words calling the attention of the others.
I blink owlishly. “Was it?”
That is when Jeanne pats the empty seat next to her. Of all the attendants here at Cognac, I like Jeanne the best. She is genuinely kind, with both a gentle humor and lush sensuality. It is no wonder she is the count’s favorite. She is mine as well.
As I take a seat, her eyes are so full of compassion that I fear I will drown in them. I ignore their invitation and busy myself retrieving my embroidery hoop and needle case from my sewing basket.
She leans close to me. “There are better ways to deal with your grief than to make yourself sick with the ague,” she says softly. “If you need someone to talk to—”
“I am fine, my lady, but thank you.”
My satisfaction at turning the conversation from my own grief is short-lived. “Did the count have an opportunity to speak to you before he left?”
I am so taken aback by her frank question that the needle I am threading slips and pricks my finger. “About what, my lady?”
In answer, she reaches out and gives my arm a reassuring squeeze. “About your position in the household. He is a kind man and will treat you well.”
Unable to help myself, I gape at her. There is no guile or ill will in her manner, and I marvel at that. Angoulême set her aside when Margot came to his bed, and now she is encouraging me to follow in her footsteps. “I know that well, Madame, but this is a particular kindness I do not wish.”
“It will not ruin your prospects for a good marriage. Chances are, your future husband will not even know.”
I do not tell her I have no intention of marrying. “While that may well be true, I don’t wish to begin life with a new husband with so big a lie between us.”
“You are a very pious girl. You and Louise are much alike in that.”
Unable to help myself, I look over to Louise, who sits at the other end of the room, talking with Lady Alinor. “Does that not strike you as . . . odd? That two friends should share one man?” In truth, I do not understand why their arrangement does not bother Louise more, given her own piety and general envy.
Jeanne shrugs, a graceful gesture. “Louise and I are friends. Besides.” Her eyes twinkle mischievously. “I think Louise benefitted somewhat from my time with the count.”
My mouth quirks at this most practical of benefits. In that moment, Jeanne reminds me so much of my aunt Fabienne that it hurts. She, too, was beautiful and sophisticated, for all that she was a tanner’s daughter and worked out of a tavern. She always managed to find something in life to be amused about, whether it was a patron’s tastes or the way the tavern cat stuck its tongue out while sleeping.
Seeing my smile, Jeanne raises her eyebrows playfully. “Who is to say that your husband would not appreciate a wife who knew how to please him in bed?”
I see how Louise and the count benefit from this arrangement. “But what do you get out of it?”
She grows serious and purses her lips. For a moment, I imagine I see a look of pain flit across her face, but then it is gone. “What is important is that no matter where his interest moves, once you have been one of his favorites, you will always have a home among his court. You will not want for anything—food, shelter, fine clothes. Any child you have will be taken care of and educated. You will have a powerful man on your side. Your future is assured, and you will always have a place to call home.”
So that is what she gains. Even though she is married to someone else, the count mitigates the absolute power her own husband can wield over her. Gives her a second avenue of security. My appreciation for her cunning grows. “Thank you, my lady, for your counsel. I will think on it.”
For weeks, it has felt like a net is closing in all around me, trying to bind me to a life I do not want. But perhaps it is not a net at all. The prisoner’s claims that I had been sent by the gods to rescue him felt arrogant. But when placed beside my conversation with Jeanne, it begins to feel like a steppingstone.
With the disbanding of the convent, something important and sacred will be destroyed. But more than that, young innocent lives will be irrevocably altered. Possibly ruined.
What if my destiny is to change that?
As I stitch, I think of the king and his invitation to his bed when I was at the French court. Like Angoulême, he vowed to grant my every desire. That I would want for nothing. At the time I thought it but a brash boast of his ability to see to my every physical desire, which, raised as I was, was hard not to laugh at. But when still I demurred, he pressed further, promising to grant any gift or favor I wished for. At the time, there was nothing I wanted that he could give me.
My needle stills and a warm trickle of possibility spreads through my limbs. But now, now there is something I very much wish. Something only he can grant. I want the convent to be allowed to continue its existence. It is not even a difficult or expensive wish.
I have always believed I had a purpose, that Mortain planned to use me as an instrument of His will, whether that be weapon or spy. Even now, I am certain there is still some larger role I am meant to play, especially as these tenuous threads of a plan begin to weave themselves together.
I alone among all the daughters of Mortain have captured the interest of the very king who is threatening to destroy His convent and those who worship Him. And I alone have been raised among women whose livelihood is to please men, ease their lust, and see to their desires.