Viviane quickly looked away, her own son Lancelot’s similar suffering for Queen Guinevère an acute, unrelenting pain that gnawed at her heavy heart. With a shaking hand, she gulped her tea, struggling to regain her composure. Her legs quivered under the wooden table.
“My Yuletide wish,” Laudine said longingly, as Viviane met her ethereal gaze, “is for Bastien to find the happiness he so richly deserves.”
Viviane inhaled deeply and sighed. “Like you, my dear friends, my Yuletide wish is for my son to be happy. Although we all know he can never have the woman he loves… perhaps making Gaston’s dreams come true will bring Christmas joy to Lancelot’s loving, generous heart.”
Ghislaine raised her cup of chamomile tea. “Let’s toast. May the Yuletide Joust bring a fine husband to Princess Gabrielle and a worthy king to the throne of Finistère. May the holidays be merry and bright. And may all our Yuletide wishes come true.”
With a joyous grin, Viviane added cheerfully, “May this be a most wondrous winter solstice in the glorious Crystal Castle.”
Chapter 7
Hard as a Nail
Ugolin Cauchon was a scrawny, balding man with a prominent, beaklike nose and black, scornful eyes that glinted with unspeakable cruelty. Painfully thin, clumsy, and gangly, he’d been subjected to endless, sniggering torment as a child, relentlessly ridiculed for his physical weakness and hideously pockmarked face. Inept as a horseman, incapable with a sword, he was mercilessly humiliated for his frail frame and dominated into submission by forceful, formidable foes. Goaded and tortured with stinging shame, he’d been taunted with the nicknameUgolin le Clou—for he was skinny as a nail.
Unlike his older brother Roland—a ruggedly handsome, powerful knight—Ugolin had been a lonely, despised adolescent, filled with loathing and contempt, venting his fury and jealousy with cruelty and malice.
He’d begun by torturing small animals, reveling in their squeals of terror and anguish, thrilled with the power of inflicting pain and death. He’d progressed to tormenting children, severely beating and flogging servants, amputating fingers and toes for minor infractions. He’d whipped and slashed horses, maimed dogs, and strangled cats. And found indescribably delicious sexual satisfaction with weak, whimpering women.
His father, Robert Cauchon,le Marquis de Nantes,was a shipping merchant whose castle, le Château de Pornic—ideally located at the mouth of the Loire River—granted him control of all trade along the coast of western France. Through his close association with the infamous pirate Balthazar,le Marquis de Nanteshad amassed an enormous fortune and had introduced his despicable son to an endless entourage of merciless, mercenary knights, eager to inflict Ugolin’s iron will.
So that the once disparaging, demeaning nickname evolved into an exultant epithet.
Ugolin le Clou.
Hard as a Nail.
Ugolin stood gazing out the enormous window of his father’s solar, watching the turbulent ocean crash against the rocky cliff far belowle Château de Pornic. Lightning flashed in the dark sky, the raging storm pelting sleet and freezing rain against the glass. At the sound of booted footsteps entering the informal conference room, Ugolin took his place at the end of the rectangular wooden table, opposite his father—the man unabashedly ashamed to have sired such a worthless, useless son.
Although his dark hair and trimmed beard were now streaked with gray, Robert Cauchon still held the rugged build of a seasoned warrior who had successfully defended hismarquisatof Nantes and theChâteau de Pornicin many a battle. Shrewd, scornful eyes held his loathsome stare as servants filled pewter goblets while his brother Roland, the pirate Balthazar, and four mercenary knights entered the room to join Ugolin and the cold, calculatingchâtelain. “Greetings, everyone. Please be seated and enjoy the fine mead. I’ve requested this conference today to discuss the implications of the upcoming tournament atle Château de Beaufort.”
Once the six men were settled around the table, imbibing mugs of mead,le Marquis de Nantesaddressed his assembled guests.
“King Guillemin of Finistère has announced a Yuletide Joust, in which he will grant his daughter’s hand in marriage to the champion.” Derision and contempt in his sinister sneer, Robert Cauchon glared at Ugolin with thinly veiled disgust. “Since my younger son lacks skill with horse, lance, and joust—and since it is essential that he win the tournament—I have summoned you today to discuss how we shall make that happen.”
The rich baritone voice of his older brother carried confidently across the table. “We’ll appoint a champion to compete on his behalf.” Roland gestured to the scarred, burly brute at his side. “Sir Tréguier is undefeated in the joust. He can win the princess—and the kingdom—for my brother. And, in recompense for his valorous achievement, Tréguier could be appointed as King Ugolin’s champion. Paid handsomely in silver. And awarded an estate with a finemanoir.”
Robert Cauchon nodded in judicious contemplation as he eyed the scarred, rugged knight.
“With several fine stable hands to assist with his own steed,” Roland continued, expertly embellishing his proposition, “Tréguier could covertly arrange for other competitors’ horses to fall ill. Or suffer an injury. Thereby ensuring his success. A guaranteed victory for Ugolin, regardless of the means.”
Ugolin abruptly stood and strode briskly to the window, anger and resentment burning in his bitter gullet. His entire life, he’d never pleased his exigent, cynical father. Never compared to Roland’s superior strength and skill. Never won anything on his own.
Until now.
He’d devised his own infallible plan.
He would indeed marry the Princess Gabrielle and obtain her father’s throne. And once coronated, Ugolin would nullifyle Traîté Maritime—the debilitating treaty prohibiting piracy on the Breton seas, ratified by a trio of Celtic kings: Tristan of Lyonesse, Marke of Cornwall, and Guillemin of Finistère.
With the treaty revoked, the pirate Balthazar would be free to seize ships and pillage ports, taking advantage of the myriad coves and inlets along the coast of Bretagne to conceal the confiscated bounty.
Enabling Ugolin to amass even more wealth than his invidious, invective father.
With King Tristan of Lyonesse in Ireland for his wife’s coronation, King Marke of Cornwall recovering from a recent Viking attack, and King Guillemin of Finistère being slowly poisoned by the newhealerwhom Ugolin was paying well—the timing for his flawless gambit was perfect.
For the very first time in his wretched, worthless life, Ugolin Cauchon would triumph.
He’d subjugate his imperious father—the arrogant Marquis de Nantes.
