“Of course,” Genevieve replied distractedly. “Lord du Roche and I have much to discuss after the passing of these many years. We shan’t bore you young people with our reminiscing.”
Haith took a fussing Isabella back inside the hall for her afternoon feeding, leaving Simone alone to watch Nicholas pass through Hartmoore’s gates with his brother and small band of men with more than a little pang of sorrow.
And worry. What was she to do now, alone, and with Armand at Hartmoore?
Simone drew herself upright and took a deep breath. Nick would return on the morrow, and by then, her father would be gone.
“Non!” The cry sounded directly in her ear, and Simone could not help but shriek. She spun round to find Didier standing several lengths behind her in the dusty bailey. His unearthly pale face wore a look of ghastly horror as he stared after the lord’s party, riding away from the town.
Simone walked quickly toward where he stood, her eyes scanning the busy enclosure for eavesdroppers. Several villagers and guests glanced at her curiously.
“Didier, what is it?” she hissed through tight lips as she neared him. “Lord Nicholas will soon return. Fear not.”
“Non!” he cried again, the sound filled with heartbreaking anguish. He swerved around Simone and ran toward the gates in his odd, skipping–floating manner. Tiny dervishes spun and then fell in his wake.
Simone watched her brother fall to his knees as if he’d run straightway into a stone wall. The wail he sent up was a keening, piercing sound that not only shook Simone’s composure but sent the birds roosting on the battlements to flight. Deep within the town, the village hounds added their mournful howls to Didier’s cry. Several villagers in close proximity paused, their heads cocked as if listening, before shrugging and continuing in their tasks.
Simone did not know what to do. Didier’s bony shoulders heaved with his tearless sobs, and she longed to comfort him. But countless people milled about—she could not be observed speaking to thin air, especially with the many guests from London in residence and so soon after escaping that stigma of insanity.
But Didier needed her.
She casually made her way toward the gate, cringing inside as she realized it was the second time she’d crossed the bailey, alone and seemingly without purpose. As she neared the boy, his sobbing quieted somewhat, but still he stared at the now-empty road, snaking over the bridge and away from Hartmoore.
“Didier,” she whispered. “Come inside with me. You mustn’t draw attention in this manner.”
Didier said nothing for a moment, merely stared off at the hilly horizon and sniffed. When he did turn to Simone, the sorrow in his eyes caused her breath to hitch in her chest.
“Come,” she whispered again, indicating the keep with a flick of her eyes.
He shook his head and unfolded his legs beneath him, coming to rest on his backside before the wide barbican. “I’ll not move until Lord Nicholas returns.”
Simone growled in frustration and looked furtively around her. “Didier, please. I cannot stand here all the day. Lord Nicholas will return on the morrow—”
“He won’t.”
Simone blinked. The solemnity and dreadful certainty of her brother’s words washed fear over her like a dark, swollen river. She forgot that she stood in a common area, where any could see her drop to her knees.
“What do you mean?” she asked, fear hushing her words. “Of course he will. The village to where he hies is but a half-day’s ride. He shall overnight at Obny and return on the morrow.”
But still, Didier shook his head. “C’est mal.The place he goes to is bad.”
At the chilling words, unease crept around Simone’s heart and squeezed. She was prevented from speaking further as the screams of a horse drew her attention.
A serf driving a horse-drawn cart filled with great, round wine casks waited just beyond the gates. The aging, bony beast had stalled and was now rearing and pawing at the air, fighting his harness. The driver of the cart gained his feet, and his ruddy face plainly showed his displeasure at the horse’s misbehavior.
“Git on now, ye temperamental Hell beast!” he bellowed, raising a slim switch. The swishing sound of the crude whip licking flesh caused Simone to jump. “Out of the way, lass—I ain’t got all bloody day!”
The driver struck the horse again.
“Didier, please,” Simone pleaded, her tongue flicking over her parched lips. “The horse will not pass through the gates while you block the entrance. Do you truly wish to be the cause of a frightened animal’s pain?”
Her reasoning must have touched him, for he turned his face to her, watching her warily.
“You must move. If no horse can enter, then neither can any depart. Papa has arrived, and Lord Nicholas has commanded he leave at first light.” When the boy still stared at her, Simone closed her eyes and raised her face heavenward. “Please, Didier.”
When she opened her eyes once more, Didier had stood and was walking to one side of the wide road. Simone scrambled to her feet as the panicked horse gave a final piercing shriek and lunged forward, knocking the driver from his perch with a strangled cry. Simone felt rooted to the ground as the beast and cartful of casks barreled toward her.
She flung herself to the side of the road only in the last instant, the wrenching wheels whispering against the soles of her slippers and showering her with flying debris. The renegade conveyance clattered through the bailey toward the sheltering haven of the stables, sending serfs diving for cover before its cacophony dwindled away.
