“Do not be tiresome.”
I follow the sound of his voice. There. In the faint glow cast by the dying embers, I can see him make his way to the chair in front of the window. I relax somewhat. As unwelcome as he is — and he is unwelcome, I assure myself — he will chase away the even more unwelcome dreams. "What are you doing here?”
“Performing my nightly duties to my young mistress.”
His words cause something to flutter inside me. I have no idea what it is, but it frightens me almost as much as my dreams. “I am too tired to spar tonight, my lord.”
“As am I. Go to sleep. I will sit here but an hour or two, then leave.”
I yawn. “So very long as that?”
when he answers, there is a wry note in his voice. “I do have my reputation to protect.”
I have no idea what he is talking about. I yawn again, then pinch myself, not wanting to fall asleep. "Why did your father promise your sister to Count d’Albret? with her kingdom as dowry, surely she could have made a better match than that? To someone who wasn’t so repulsive.”
There is a long moment of silence before Duval answers. “It was a desperate bid to save that very kingdom. Our lord father was short on troops with which to fight the French. D’Albret agreed to supply those troops, but at a price.”
“The duchess’s hand in marriage.”
“Yes. My sister’s hand in marriage.”
The utter betrayal of this leaves me speechless, for while the price paid was considerably higher, the arrangement was not so very different from my father’s bargain with Guillo.
“Perhaps my father thought he would live long enough to assure the marriage never came to pass,” Duval says. “I would like to believe that.” There is a faint note of anguish in his voice, and I know that he feels the betrayal as sharply as I do.
“I’m sure you are right, my lord,” I say, surprised that I feel the need to comfort him.
“I have sworn that no matter how much d’Albret bellows or what he threatens, he will have to step over my dead body to marry her.”
I cannot help but admire Duval greatly in that moment and find myself wishing that his father had cared half so much about Anne. even so, I am not altogether comfortable with this small bit of harmony. Luckily, it does not last long.
“Now, enough questions, Ismae, or else I will have to think of some way to silence you.”
At his threat, my mind immediately goes to his disconcerting game of the previous night. From the faint note of humor in his voice, I suspect he is thinking of it also. Not wishing to test that theory, I settle down under my covers and close my eyes. I am certain I will not sleep with him in the room, but the sooner I fool him into believing I am asleep, the sooner he will leave.
I am locked in Guillo’s root cellar; my face presses against the floor, and the sharp smell of dirt is in my nose. Something heavy pushes down on me, forcing me farther into the dirt. Straining my neck, I look up. Guillo is before me, fumbling at the front of his braies, leering. The weight on top of me grows heavier, and my arms are wrenched up behind my back, nearly to the point of breaking. I twist around, trying to peer through my hair, and find the flat black eyes of Count d’Albret. His long, careless fingers fumble at my skirts while Guillo beckons to me from the shadows. I struggle and buck against him, trying to throw him from my back, but he grips my arms tighter and forces me back down. “No!” I shout. My hand scrabbles in the dirt until it closes around the handle of a dagger hidden there. I grip it tightly, then roll out of d’Albret’s grasp and thrust the knife in his throat.
He swears a black oath and I feel the warmth of his blood trickle down my arm. Now free of his grip, I blink and shove the hair out of my eyes.
Only to find Duval sitting on my bed, staring at me. He holds his hand to his collar, blood seeping between his fingers, the dagger still in my hand.
“God’s Teeth,” he says. “I was only trying to wake you. You were crying out in your sleep.”
“I was not,” I say, then look from his neck to my knife.
"When I tried to wake you, you stabbed me.” He sounds sore put out, and I cannot blame him.
“Merde.” I am fully awake now and filled with remorse. I toss my knife onto the bed and scramble out from under the covers. while Duval tries to keep the blood from dripping on the bed, I hurry to the washbasin and dip one of the linen towels into the cold water. “Let me see how bad it is,” I say, returning to the bed.
“Not serious, I think.” He lifts his chin to give me better access. “But you have ruined one of my favorite shirts.”
I gently mop the blood on his neck and collarbone. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t sneak up on people when they are sleeping.”