“I will take care of the body,” he adds.
I arch a brow at him and sniff. “It is the least you owe me for your lack of faith in me.”
He grabs my hands. “A kiss,” he begs, “to prove that you are not angry with me.”
I consider refusing, but I am a coward and dare not, not when he may know so many of my most dangerous secrets. Dread hammers through my veins as he leans down and places his mouth on mine. I allow my mind to drift away from my body, much like Mathurin’s soul left his. It is the only way I can bear Julian’s touch.
He is not my brother, he is not my brother.
That is another reason I cling so fiercely to my tattered belief in Mortain. If He is indeed my father, then Julian and I do not share so much as a drop of blood.
Julian sends me back to my room while he stays to clean up his mess. I move stiffly, like a puppet on a string, feeling as hollow and gutted as the fish we had for supper.
When I finally reach my chamber, it is empty except for a scullery maid, who is building up the fire for the night. She sees me and scurries away, afraid one glance from me will turn her into a toad, or that I will strike her for daring to breathe the same air as I.
Servants of my father have been punished for less.
I go immediately to the comfort of the bright yellow flames and stand as close to their warmth as I dare. My hands are trembling, my very bones shivering, and every fiber of my being is screaming for me to flee.
I think of the rush of Mathurin’s soul as it left his body. I want—crave—that release for myself with a longing so deep, and sharp, it cuts like a blade. I remember standing atop the battlements and feeling a heady sense of freedom as the wind promised to carry me far, far away. Is that what souls feel when they are released from their earthly bodies?
Tephanie comes in just then, her big awkward feet shuffling along the floor. She curtsies hurriedly, then rushes to my side. “My lady! I am so sorry to have left you alone. I thought you were . . .” She waves her hand inelegantly.
I am too weary and heartsick to even pretend to snap at her. “See that it does not happen again,” I say tiredly.
Her brow creases with worry. “Yes, my lady,” she says. “Are you ill?”
“No, just tired.”
“But you are shivering! Here, let me fetch you something hot to drink.”
I allow her to fuss over me, and once she has handed me a goblet, she goes to turn down the coverlet on the bed and warm the sheets.
As she shuffles quietly about the room, I stand near the fireplace and gulp my wine, waiting for the trembling to pass. I wish, desperately, to take a bath, but it is far too late and would call too much attention to myself. Even so, between Mathurin’s blood and Julian’s kiss, I feel tainted beyond bearing.
“My lady?”
When I look up, Tephanie is holding out my chamber robe. “Shall I help you undress?”
“If you please.”
Her hands are gentle as she helps me out of my clothes. Unlike Jamette, she knows how to keep silent, and I find the quiet of her company soothing. As she puts away my gown, I take the cup of wine over to my small jeweled casket and open it. After setting the goblet down, I remove a small crystal vial from the box. It is a sleeping draft Sister Serafina gave me as a parting gift when I left the convent. She did not say so, but I could see she was unhappy with the abbess for sending me out so soon and knew I would need help if I were to sleep at all.
For a brief moment, I consider dumping the entire contents into my wine. If I drink all of it, I will never wake up. The thought of going to sleep and never having to deal with d’Albret or the abbess or Julian again is as seductive as a siren’s song.
But what if Death rejects me once more? Then I will be forced to lie, weak and vulnerable, at the mercy of others while I recover. A most terrifying thought.
Besides, what if the knight truly is alive—what will become of him if I am dead? I slip two drops into my wine, return the vial to the box, and lock it.
Even more important, if I am dead, who will kill d’Albret? For he must die, marque or no.
Tephanie has finished warming the bed and comes to unpin my hair. She begins combing it out with a surprisingly light touch, given how clumsy and awkward she is. I close my eyes and let the gentle strokes calm some of the fear from me. Her ministrations remind me of how Ismae and Annith and I used to take turns combing and dressing one another’s hair at the convent. Sweet Mortain, how I miss them.
Abruptly, I turn around. “You will sleep in here tonight,” I tell her.
She stops what she is doing and looks at me in surprise. “My lady?”
I cannot tell her that I need her, that I wish her company, so instead I say, “I am not feeling well and may require someone to attend me during the night.”
She looks stunned, but pleased. The ninny thinks this is some great honor, not the desperate act of a coward, and I do not disabuse her of that notion.