And become morepuissantthan the pompous Philippe of Paris.
The powerful King of France.
To implement his stratagem, Ugolin had recently purchased the Tower of Kerloch, a fortress perched high on a peninsular cliff overlooking the sea. He’d spoken privately with Sir Tréguier and the three knights seated at his father’s conference table, promising them a small fortune for their imperative role in his success. And Balthazar had generously provided a fleet vessel, prepared for the clandestine voyage south by sea.
The thrill of power surging up his scrawny spine, Ugolin spun to confront his father’s insidious sneer.
What I lack in physical prowess, Father, I compensate with acuity and audacity.
“You are right that Sir Tréguier is our finest champion,” Ugolin drawled, challenging Roland’s inquisitive gaze. “But other competitors also excel at the joust. Thérouac of Dinan. Bergeron of Fougères. Audric of Sauterne. Any one of them might win Gabrielle’s hand. Perhaps exchange horses unexpectedly at the last minute.”
He strolled to the table, swallowed a great gulp of mead, and wiped his narrow mustache with long, skeletal fingers. “I cannot risk the possibility of losing.”
Balthazar watched him intently, greed and malice glinting in his beady black eyes.
“Which is why I have devised an altogether different strategy. One that requires the prowess of the unparalleled knights seated at this prestigious table. And the assistance of my marauding friend.” One side of his thin mouth curled up in a wicked grin as he held the pirate’s rapt gaze.
Triumphant and exultant, Ugolin smirked at his skeptical, suspicious father. “We abduct the princess.”
Roland and his fellow knights exchanged surprised glances as Ugolin unfolded his ingenious plan. “My spies have informed me that Princess Gabrielle practices weaponry each day with her personal royal guard, Sir Bastien de Landuc. A dozen knights stand watch at the edge of the forest near an open field at the top of a cliff.” He inclined his balding head to the scarred, burly Tréguier. “You and your men will take out the guards, abduct the princess, and bring her to me in Balthazar’s awaiting ship. We’ll sail south and keep her imprisoned in my newly acquired fortress—La Tour de Kerloch.”
Ugolin glowered at the derisive, disparaging countenance riddled with contempt. Years of criticism, condemnation, and cynicism poisoned his embittered soul as he held his father’s judgmental stare. “Although I cannot wield a soldier’s sword, Father, I certainly can wield the one between my legs. I ‘ve already sired a score of bastards on castle servants, tavern wenches, and meek maidens.” He let out a lusty, lascivious laugh. “I’ll simply keep Princess Gabrielle in my tower. Pump my potent seed into her until I get her with child. And, once she is pregnant, I’ll force her father’s hand.”
He snickered with salacious delight. “An infinitely more pleasurable—and infallible—means of claiming the kingdom of Finistère.” Ugolin drained his goblet and slammed it down on the table. ”Ugolin le Clou. Hard as a fucking nail.”
Chapter 8
The Fleeting Taste of Freedom
Embers glowed in the stone hearth along the wall of her royal bedroom, a salty spray cleansing the cool night air through the narrow opening of her window overlooking the sea. A symphony of stars twinkled in the dark, clear sky as Gabrielle arose from her bed and pulled a brown woolen frock down over her cotton chemise.
As Bastien had suggested, she’d feigned illness, allowing her attendants to undress and tuck her in bed with a cup of chamomiletisane. Alone at last, she stood in front of her mirror to plait her long, thick hair, tucking the braids high upon her head under a plain white wimple. Satisfied that she looked like a meek servant, Gabrielle quietly exited her royal chambers, lowering her head to avert the watchful eyes of the pair of guards stationed at her bedroom door, carrying the tray with the empty cup of tea down to the kitchen.
While other domestics scurried about with steaming platters of roast venison, fresh fish, and pitchers of ale to serve the castle occupants in the Great Hall, Gabrielle ducked into the pantry.
Where Bastien—clad like a huntsman in a heavy brown woolen cloak—awaited, his deep green eyes ablaze with mystery and promise. Her heart fluttering wildly, her mouth suddenly dry, Gabrielle placed a shaking hand against the wall to brace herself on weakened knees.
“This way, my lady.” With chivalrous panache, Bastien opened the heavy wooden door and bowed, gallantly sweeping his arm for her to precede him down the stairs to the buttery.
Past the wooden barrels of ale and bottles of wine.
Out into the freedom of the starry, starry night.
****
The vibrant, lively atmosphere welcomed Gabrielle as Bastien led her into the noisy tavern where serving women with appetizing trays of aromatic food and tankards of ale circulated among boisterous, ebullient guests. Seating themselves at a tiny corner table, they orderedle plat du jour—trenchers of succulent roast boar dripping with honey—and hefty goblets of golden mead.
As she savored the salty pork and they sipped the sweet, honeyed wine, Gabrielle glanced around the jubilant hall, gaily decorated for the Yuletide season with garlands of shiny green holly and bright red berries draped along the wooden walls. Over the hearth where a blazing fire snapped and crackled, boughs of wintry evergreens decked the mantel, filling the festive air with the crisp, clean fragrance of pine. Musicians regaled the spirited crowd with vielles, rebecs, harps, and flutes, the lively melodies inviting patrons to swirl and twirl in a capriciouscaroleupon the spacious floor.
“Would you like to dance?” Bastien wiped the mead from his grinning mouth with a corner of his linen napkin, a bemused gleam in his verdant gaze as he stood, extending an outstretched hand.
Breathless with anticipation, she accepted his offer, her heart skipping a beat at the sizzling touch of his calloused fingers and the scorching flames of his emerald eyes.
Hand in hand, Bastien led Gabrielle to join the circle of dancers whose smallest fingers were linked together as they spun in a group around the perimeter of the floor. Individual couples took turns dancing in the center of the ring, each pair attempting to outperform the others while the exterior circle whooped and whirled.
A hearty grin stretching across his rugged, handsome face, Bastien pulled her into the midst of the cavorting crowd, spinning in circles as she shrieked with glee. Clutched tightly against his broad chest, chiseled arms wrapped snugly around her waist and back, Gabrielle melted into his supportive, enticing embrace. Burying her nose discreetly into the tuft of dark hair peeking out of his dark green tunic, she inhaled his heady scent of leather, horses, musk, and spice.
And swooned, overwhelmed with want.
