I must get them back.
Without thinking further than that, I turn toward the horses. A large hand clamps down on my arm, restraining me.
I whirl around, reaching for my knife. “Let go.”
Beast ignores my knife and reels me closer, like a fish he has caught, until I am up against his armored chest. “They are many days gone,” he says softly. “We cannot catch up to them on the open road.”
Hiding the knife in the folds of my gown, I glance up at the seneschal. “How long ago did my lord father leave with my sisters?”
“Three days ago, my lady. Only it wasn’t your lord father—it was the young master Julian.”
This second shock sends me reeling, I even stumble back a step or two. “Julian?”
“Aye, my lady. He and fourscore of your father’s men.”
A cold dark seed of panic begins in my gut. My father could have taken my sisters for any number of reasons, but Julian? There is only one reason he would do so, and that is to bait a trap for me. He more than anyone knows of the love I bear Charlotte and Louise.
Or could he simply have collected them on our father’s orders? As if in answer to my question, the seneschal says, “The young master asked me to give you something should you show up here.”
I take a step toward the man. “What? Where is it?”
He sends a page to fetch the box from his office, and I wait impatiently, pacing back and forth. I start to tell the groom to saddle fresh horses, but Beast stops me. “No,” he says, his voice low. “We cannot leave this minute. You need rest and time to compose yourself. You cannot clatter across the countryside like a poorly cocked arrow.”
And though Beast has but said what I know deep inside to be true, I lash out at him. “How? How can I rest while they are in danger?” The sympathy in his eyes is like another blow, for of course he knows of this misery firsthand. It is precisely what he felt when Alyse went off to marry d’Albret.
And now he will have to endure it a second time.
I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, willing myself to cry, willing the nearly overwhelming pain to find a way out.
But it does not.
How can I tell him now? The last of the secrets between us, the one that I had hoped to lay before him like a gift. But no longer. Now I only have more despair to hand him.
Ignoring my attempt to put space between us, Beast draws close again. “They are not in danger while they are traveling, not with such a large escort,” he says. “Nor by my reckoning are they in any true danger—they are merely being used as a means to compel you to your father’s side. We have nearly foundered our horses trying to get here, and you yourself are swaying on your feet. Besides, we will need some sort of plan.”
I am saved from arguing with him by the seneschal’s return. He carries a small wooden casket, carved of lustrous ebony wood and inlaid with ivory. He hands it to me with a little bow, and I find I am terrified of opening it. I take a deep breath, then lift the lid.
Two locks of hair sit upon the red velvet lining. One is the golden brown of my sister Louise’s hair and the other the much darker color of Charlotte’s. They are braided together with a third lock—the shiny black of Julian’s own hair.
I snap the lid closed and press the box to my stomach, as if to hide it, but the image is burned into my vision. It is a clear echo of our own two locks of hair that he carries in the hilt of his sword, a sign of his devotion to me. I think I will be sick.
“Is everything all right?” the seneschal asks in a worried voice.
It is Beast who answers. “We have ridden hard to reach here and my lady is nigh unto exhausted. That is all. Fetch some wine,” he orders. “And a waiting woman.”
I want to tell him I do not need such coddling, but I can barely breathe, let alone speak. Strong hands press me down so that I am sitting on a low wall. Beast leans over and whispers in my ear, “We have an audience.”
His warning is like a pail of frigid water in my face. Of course, he is right. And even now I have no idea how many are blindly loyal to d’Albret or simply follow him out of fear.
As I straighten, I glance at the seneschal. Is that only concern over my well-being I see in his eyes? Or is there a trace of slyness as well? And the others. I glance around the courtyard at the men-at-arms. There are nearly a dozen of them, and they all appear relaxed enough. If they have been given any orders concerning me, the instructions do not seem to include restraining me on sight.