At home she might be a deer trying to hide among goats, but here she was a deer trying to hide in a pack of ravenous wolves.
Isobelle, however, failed to notice Gwen’s lack of enthusiasm. Or, if she had, she was trying to make up for it with a surfeit of excitement all on her own. “Oooh, Gwen, we’ll have such a blast!” She still wasn’t quite meeting her eyes, addressing Gwen’s collarbone instead. “It’s a great party every year, but this year they’re pulling out all the stops because the tournament is here. You’ll love it, I promise. The food, if nothing else. Oh, and the dancers—you’ll see.”
Gwen summoned up a weak smile. “Sounds great, then. Maybe we ought to slip off for some more jousting practice, though, Madame—”
“Non,” the older woman interjected. “You must rest. The truth is...” She paused, clearly struggling with whatever she was about to say. She too seemed to be having trouble looking directly at Gwen.
Gwen looked over at Isobelle to find the other girl finally willing to meet her gaze, if only to signal her own confusion at Madame Dupont’s uncharacteristic hesitation.
Dupont glared down at the reins she had clenched in one hand, still wrestling with whatever she wanted to say. Finally, she let her breath out in a quick, sharp sigh, and looked back up at Gwen, her gaze frank. “The truth is, you are a natural on horseback. It is hard to believe you have not been fighting this way all your life. I envy how easily it comes to you.”
Gwen could not move or think, distantly grateful for Achilles’s solid body holding her up. Dupont was sparing with praise—Gwenusually had to find validation in between the lines of her critiques, and in the way she’d ramped up the difficulty of her training exercises so quickly. She glanced at Isobelle, only to find the other girl staring at Madame Dupont with her mouth open.
Dupont’s eyebrows lowered and drew together in one of the most fearsome scowls Gwen had ever seen from her. “Don’t gawk at me! Elles me regardent comme si c’étaitmoila folle!” She wheeled her horse around and went cantering up the road and through the gate, muttering to herself in French as she moved out of earshot.
For a long moment, there was only silence. Then Isobelle gave a soft laugh. “Gosh,” she said, turning her horse to watch the Frenchwoman depart. “That was unexpected.”
“Tell me about it,” murmured Gwen. Beneath her, Achilles stamped his foot impatiently. He could see the stables where he’d be allowed to take off this ridiculous side saddle—and, more important, get hand-fed last year’s carrots and apples by his new best friend, the stableman—and Gwen was sitting here doing nothing as far as he was concerned.
Isobelle waited for her to hand Achilles off to Jeffers, who was already rummaging in his pockets for treats and gazing at Achilles with his heart in his eyes. Together, the girls made their way toward Isobelle’s suite of rooms. Was this an awkward silence between them, or an ordinary one?
Gwen was so distracted by her own thoughts, as turbulent and chaotic as a summer storm, that she scarcely looked at the girl seated in one of the chairs by the hearth, waiting for them.
It was Isobelle who stopped short in surprise. “Sylvie? What’re you doing here?”
Gwen blinked and refocused on the figure she’d first taken to be Olivia.
Sylvie rose gracefully to her feet, inclining her head and smiling a small, spare smile. Her eyes, however, glowed with a keen, curious satisfaction. “When Olivia told us you were unwell last night and not accepting company, I assumed you would still be feeling poorly this morning. But I see you’ve been out riding with Céline—has Lord Whimsitt rescinded his restriction on your movements?” Her gaze took in their rumpled riding frocks and flushed faces.
Gwen fought an instinct to reach for a nonexistent sword at her belt. Though Sylvie’s tone was faultlessly polite and solicitous, the sharp interest in her eyes told Gwen to be wary.
Isobelle gave a sigh and cast an unconcerned smile at Gwen. “Well, Céline pointed out this morning that some fresh air and gentle exercise might help me feel better. And she was right, the clever thing! We never left the sight of the guards, so I wasn’t technically breaking Whimsitt’s orders.”
Gwen wished she could lie so easily.
Sylvie’s measuring gaze swung over toward Gwen and stayed. “Clever indeed,” she murmured. “Is fresh air and riding a common remedy for such ailments where you come from? Toussaint... that is in France, isn’t it?”
Gwen nodded, forcing a slight smile to curve her lips, trying to relax her shoulders. “Yes, northern France.”
Sylvie’s smile widened, and Gwen had only time to brace herself before the other girl murmured, “Ne vous sentez-vous pas seule, loin de chez vous? Quelle chance qu’Isobelle vous ait prise sous son aile.”
Gwen could sense Isobelle stiffening at her side. This was, atleast as far as Isobelle was concerned, the one flaw in their masquerade. Gwen was not French, and a peasant girl certainly would have no reason to be taught the French language the way a well-bred noblewoman would.
Gwen had been right about Sylvie—shehadbeen suspicious of Céline, and now... now she was testing her in the most direct way she knew how.
Gwen swallowed. She’d scarcely spoken a word of French since her mother died. But when she opened her mouth, the words came to her as if she’d been conversing with her mother just yesterday. “Il m’arrive parfois d’avoir le mal du pays, c’est vrai. Mais comme vous le dites, j’ai de la chance d’avoir Isobelle.” Gwen hesitated. She wasn’t sure why Sylvie was so suspicious, unless she thought Gwen herself was taking advantage of her friend. “Je reconnais la valeur de son amitié.”
I know the value of her friendship.
Gwen dared not look over at Isobelle, the other girl’s stunned silence already too much to bear. Sylvie was frowning slightly at her own failure to discover what untruths Gwen was hiding from her.
Gwen gave her a watery smile, and said in English, “Forgive me, but I’m quite tired—I will see you all tonight, at the bonfire.” She inclined her head and then made her way as quickly as she could toward her room.
She could feel Isobelle’s eyes, wide and staring, following her the entire way.
Chapter Twenty
Just don’t tell the other knights I screamed
