Fugitive Countess Page 8

  Chapter Four

  ‘We have made our decision concerning Montcrief’s widow,’ King Henry said. ‘Bring her here to us, Anton. We would hear the lady’s story, and if we believe her innocent we shall use our influence with our brother of France. Her lands and all that has been lost shall be recovered if it be possible.’

  ‘I believe her innocent, though she was hunted for a witch, and would almost certainly have been burned had she been taken…’

  ‘I have no doubt the Bastard will kill her if he can. All the more reason for you to bring her to court. If she be innocent she needs our help.’ He held out his hand. A fine ring of heavy gold set with a deep red cabochon ruby adorned his little finger. ‘Find also the twin to this, if you can, and bring it to me. Montcrief had it and wore it always. If his widow took his jewels she may have it—if not it may be at Montcrief. I would have it if ’tis found.’

  ‘Yes, Sire. I will ask if she has such a ring.’

  ‘Go, then. Bring the lady to court.’

  ‘As you wish.’

  Anton bowed deeply and left the presence chamber. His mind was in turmoil. What was he to do now? Should he return to the home of his uncle and warn Marietta? King Henry was a fair man—but supposing he did not believe her story? The punishment in England for witchcraft was hanging; her body would be taken down after she was dead and burned so that she could not return to it—a cruel fate for one so fair.

  Superstitious nonsense! Anton instantly dismissed the charge of witchcraft, but that of murder was not so easy to dismiss. Anton believed her innocent, but others might find against her and she could be hanged or beheaded…. No! It would be a crime to see her head parted from her body.

  There must be some way of proving her innocence! Anton was frowning as he went out to the courtyard. He mounted his horse, signalling to his men to follow.

  When Anton had left Marietta at his uncle’s house he had meant to forget her. She was beautiful, and she inflamed his senses, but to fall in love with a woman like the Countess of Montcrief might bring heartache and regret. Yet the sense of duty was ingrained in him: he could not disobey the King. He could take Marietta away, where she was not known, but would she ever be safe unless her innocence was proven? To run away again would seem to prove her guilt. There was nothing Anton could do but take her to the King and plead her cause.

  Marietta stared out of the window. The sun was warm that day, and she was tempted to go out for a walk, but of late she had had an uneasy feeling that she was being watched. She had said nothing to Claire or Annabel, because she did not wish to worry them. Had the Earl been at home she would have told him that she was afraid the Bastard of Rouen’s men had found her, but he was away on some business for his estate.

  Yet perhaps she was imagining things. She only knew that she was reluctant to walk alone.

  Hearing a knock at her door, she called out that whoever it was might enter, and smiled as Claire’s daughter came in.

  ‘Annabel,’ she said. ‘I was just about to ask if you would care to walk in the gardens with me?’

  ‘I should enjoy that,’ Annabel said, and blushed delicately. ‘My betrothed is here, Marietta. John would be happy to meet you—and to stroll with us.’

  ‘Oh, I have looked forward to meeting him,’ Marietta said. ‘Will the wedding be soon now?’

  ‘My father has sent word that he will be home in a few days. We shall make the arrangements then.’

  ‘I am sure you are impatient for the day,’ Marietta said, and picked up her cloak. ‘Shall we go down?’

  ‘We have been followed since we left the court,’ Anton told his men. ‘I do not know whether they merely mean to pursue us—or to attack once the light fades.’

  ‘We should plan a little surprise for them rather than wait,’ Miguel suggested. ‘I noticed them an hour since, and I think some of us should gradually split off and wait for them to pass. When you give the signal we shall come on them from behind.’

  ‘I agree,’ Anton said. ‘We shall come to the forest in a few minutes. Take your chance to slip away one at a time, and then meet up after they have passed. When we reach the clearing we saw as we came this way a month ago I shall turn and face them, and you will lead the charge from the back. We shall see then what they intend…’

  There was a murmur of agreement, the men looking at one another, pairing up as they decided to slip away. It was dangerous to travel at any time, for there were bands of beggars and rogues that would attack the unwary, but this was different. They had been followed for hours, and they knew it might mean a fight to the death.

  Marietta was at the top of the stairs when she heard a commotion in the hall below. Several people had entered and the voices were all male.

  ‘We were attacked on our way here.’ Anton’s voice carried to her, and his voice sent shivers down to her toes. ‘We drove them off, but it was a bloody fight and one of my men was killed—two more are injured.’

  ‘You were attacked?’ The voice belonged to the Earl, who had arrived home the previous day. ‘Damn the rogues! Have you any idea who they were—not simply beggars or itinerants if they managed to kill one of your men, Anton?’

  ‘Neither vagrants nor thieves, I think,’ Anton said in a cold, angry tone. ‘I think I know who sent them, for during the fight I was warned that I should die if I continued to protect her.’

  ‘Protect whom?’ Harry sounded puzzled. ‘Surely not the lady you brought to us? Who could wish to harm such a lovely creature? Claire adores her.’

  ‘Has Claire told you why she left her home? Perhaps you should know that she was accused of…’

  Listening, Marietta felt ice spread all over her. She would have gone down to see if she could help with the injured men, but there were servants enough. The anger in Anton’s voice had shocked her. Why had he returned here? Had he come here to take her to court—was she to be tried for witchcraft and murder?

  Filled with dread, she fled up to her chamber, locking the door behind her. She was trembling all over, her face hot, her eyes stinging with tears. Anton had sounded as if he hated her. She sensed that he was blaming her because of the attack that had left one of his men dead and others injured.

  Marietta felt an overwhelming desire to weep. She brought bad luck to anyone she cared for. Her husband was dead, and now Anton had been attacked and threatened. If she stayed here she might cause trouble for her kind hostess—but where else could she go?

  Claire would not hear of her leaving. They had grown fond of one another, and Marietta felt miserable at the thought that she might be forced to leave. Hot tears built behind her eyes but she would not let them spill. She raised her head. Whatever the future held, she must bear it.

  Her first rush of emotion conquered, she knew that she must go downstairs and see if she could be of help. She had some skill in the stillroom and with healing. Anton might hate her, but she must remain calm and hide the pain his anger caused her.

  Anton was in the hall speaking with Claire when Marietta went down to enquire if she might do anything to help. She was wearing a gown of pale blue cloth, her hair dressed back from her face and secured with combs, and amethyst earrings suspended from her lobes. His eyes dwelled on her for a moment, narrowing, it seemed to her, in deep suspicion.

  ‘You look well, lady,’ he said, inclining his head, a flicker of approval in his eyes. ‘Better than when I saw you last.’

  ‘Marietta, my love,’ Claire said, smiling at her. ‘We are tending the wounded and there is nothing for you to do—but you may talk to Anton. I believe you have something to say to him…’

  As Claire walked away, the train of her dress brushing over the marble floor, Marietta found Anton’s eyes on her once more.

  ‘You wished to speak to me?’

  Her stomach clenched with fear. When he looked at her so sternly she was afraid of his hatred and his anger, and the hurt struck deep into her heart. Dreams died hard, and she had cherished hers for so long, but the man
of her dreams was a gallant youth and this stony-eyed man was someone different.

  ‘Claire thought that I should have asked you to intercede for me with His Majesty.’ She swallowed back the foolish tears. ‘I ask nothing for myself—but for my son…’

  ‘You ask me to plead for you?’

  ‘Yes…’ Marietta’s breath was expelled nervously as his gaze narrowed, becoming harsher. He looked at her so coldly that she trembled inside. ‘I know it is a great deal to ask of you, but Claire thought you the best person because of your position with the King.’

  ‘You have told me you are innocent, and I believe you, but I cannot promise that the King will find in your favour. He has commanded me to bring you to him and I must obey. What would you have me say to him on your behalf?’

  ‘I am guilty of neither witchcraft nor murder. It is true that I sent medicine to my husband that night, but it was the same that had eased him many times. He asked me for it in front of everyone. One of my ladies took it to his chamber, but Jeanne would not have dared to tamper with it. Yet I believe someone did, for I am sure that he was poisoned.’

  ‘Who added the poison—the Bastard?’ His eyes seemed to burn into her. ‘Did he have opportunity or reason?’

  ‘Perhaps. My husband intended that he should sign a paper relinquishing all right to the name and estate. Montcrief thought it the best way to protect our son, because his own health was uncertain and he feared for the future. Perhaps it made Rouen angry and he killed my husband rather than sign away what he believed his. I do not know.’

  Anton looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Rouen accused you and you accuse him. Where is the proof?’

  ‘I have none.’ Marietta raised her clear eyes to meet his. ‘If you or others think me guilty I cannot prove otherwise—but I would never murder anyone. I sought to be a good wife and mother. I have made cures to help people but I do not use witchcraft. If these things are crimes, I am guilty.’

  Anton met her unflinching stare. ‘The rogues that attacked me said I would die if I harboured the Witch of Montcrief. I believe you innocent, lady—but His Majesty has commanded me to take you to him.’

  Marietta looked at him apprehensively. ‘Supposing the King does not believe me?’ An icy shiver ran through her. ‘What will happen to me?’

  ‘I shall plead your case. I think it likely the Bastard killed your husband for his wealth—but the King is the law. If he finds against you there is little I can do.’ Anton reached out to touch her hand. ‘I would take you away to safety, but unless your innocence is proven you could be accused wherever you go. You would never truly be safe.’

  Marietta inclined her head. Tears burned behind her eyes but she refused to weep or beg for mercy. ‘I do not mind so much what happens to me, but I fear for my son.’

  ‘Your son shall remain here. If you are cleared of blame I shall bring you back to him—if not I swear on all I hold sacred that he shall be cared for. I know that Lady Claire would care for him, but if you wish it I will take him into my household and he may grow up with my own children.’ His words were generous, but to Marietta his manner seemed remote, as if he were deliberately keeping her at a distance.

  ‘Thank you…’ Marietta’s throat felt tight. She gave no sign of the fear or the hurt his coldness aroused in her. ‘I know that Claire would care for my son, but he should be the Comte de Montcrief. You might be able to help him regain what has been stolen from him. If I die will you do what you can to restore him to his rightful inheritance?’

  Anton hesitated, then, ‘You have my word. We shall leave for court tomorrow.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’ Marietta turned away. She needed to be alone so that she could weep. Pride would not let her show weakness before this man, but the need was great.

  ‘Stay one moment. Your husband had a special ring he wore often—a large ruby set in heavy gold?’

  Marietta was puzzled, but answered truthfully. ‘Yes, he never took it from his finger. He said a good friend gave it to him some years before. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Do you have the ring?’

  ‘No.’ Marietta frowned. ‘I took some gold and my jewels when I fled, but his ring…it was not on his finger or in his chamber. Someone else must have taken it before I saw him.’

  ‘You are telling me the truth?’ Anton’s gaze narrowed.

  ‘I swear it on my life—and my son’s.’

  ‘Then I know you do not lie. Very well, lady. You must rise early, for I wish to set out soon after first light. My uncle will send some of his men with us as an extra guard, though I think we shall not be attacked again for we routed the rogues who planned to murder us in the night.’

  ‘I am sorry for what happened to your man, sir.’

  ‘So am I,’ Anton said. ‘He died for your sake, lady. If I ever discover that you have deceived me—I shall kill you with my bare hands.’

  Marietta looked into his hard eyes, gave a sob and fled up the stairs to her own chamber. How could he say such things to her? How could he think it? He was cruel, and she should hate him, but he was breaking her heart!

  She locked the door behind her, flinging herself on the bed to weep.

  Would she never know happiness again? Her husband had been so much older, but at least he had loved and trusted her. There were times when Anton of Gifford looked at her as if he hated her.

  Marietta could not rest. Her mind was in torment. She wished that Claire had given her some task—something she could do that would keep her mind from the morning. She had felt safe here, but now she was to be taken to London, as Anton of Gifford’s prisoner. Her dreams had been shattered. The hero she had loved from afar was merely the product of a young girl’s imagination. She knew nothing of the true man, except that he was determined to do his duty. He would take her to London, where she would face the King and be judged, though there was no proof of her guilt or otherwise.

  How could she prove her innocence? She had held herself proudly, telling Anton that she cared only for her child’s safety—and that was true. Yet she did not wish to die as a witch. It would be a cruel death and she would face it alone, for she had no one who truly loved her.

  It was so unfair! Why should the jealousy of an evil man be believed? She knew that many would take the Bastard of Rouen’s word above hers. It was her medicine that had killed her husband—everyone believed it.

  Marietta washed her face in cold water from the pewter ewer on her night stand. She had not changed for the evening, and she did not think she could face the others at dinner. Anton would have told them that he had been sent to fetch her—perhaps even Claire would think her guilty now.

  She crept downstairs. She could hear voices and laughter in the hall. Turning away, she slipped out of the house by a little door at the rear. The light was fading from the sky but she was too restless to stay indoors. She hardly knew what she wanted. Crying would not help her. She could take Charles and run away, but how far would she get? Anton would find her wherever she went. He would come after her, force her to go to London with him—and then he would be certain of her guilt.

  She had his promise that her son would be cared for. Perhaps that was enough. The thoughts churned endlessly in her mind. Perhaps the King might believe her…or be lenient.

  Marietta knew that she must stay and face her punishment, whatever that might be. At least her child would be safe, because despite his stern looks and the way he made her want to weep she trusted Anton of Gifford. He might be cold and harsh to her, but he would protect an innocent child. He might even try to regain a part of what had been stolen from Charles, for even if she were condemned as a witch her son was innocent.

  Realising that she had wandered farther than usual from the house, Marietta turned back towards it. She shivered because the air had turned cold. It was time to return and prepare for the journey. Farewells must be made, thanks given for all the kindness she had received in this house. Perhaps if God were merciful she might be allowed to return. It was all s
he could hope for.

  She was walking towards the house when she heard the slight noise behind her. Pausing, she looked back just as the shadow loomed up at her. Something struck a blow to the side of her head and she fell, dropping her kerchief on a rose bush at the side of the path.

  Blackness had descended. Marietta felt nothing as she was lifted over a man’s shoulder, carried some distance and then thrown carelessly into a cart. She did not hear the coarse laughter and the cruel remarks made as she was driven away into the night.

  ‘Have you seen her, Annabel?’ Claire asked her daughter. ‘It is not like Marietta to stay in her chamber all day. When I enquired, her maid told me that she dismissed her earlier. She thought she was in her chamber, but when we looked she was not there.’

  ‘I believe I saw her go into the gardens an hour or so ago,’ Annabel said. ‘I would have called to her, but she seemed distressed and I thought—’ She broke off. ‘She must be frightened. It is a terrifying thing to be summoned by the King.’

  ‘Yes, it is—but she is innocent. How could anyone think her guilty of murder? To look into her eyes is to know that she is innocent.’

  Claire glanced up as her husband and Anton came into the hall. They had been searching the house and grounds, but from their looks it was obvious that Marietta had not been found.

  ‘Annabel thinks she may have gone for a walk in the garden.’

  ‘Until this hour?’ Anton’s brows rose. ‘Has she taken anything with her?’

  ‘You think she has run away?’ Claire was startled. ‘Surely she would not go alone? Her child is here; also her maid. I know she ran away from her home in France, but her life was at risk. Besides, she must know that we care for her. You promised to plead her case and surely the King will listen? No, do not look so sceptical! I am convinced the King would see that she is innocent.’