T
Murder. That was what de Roche’s cousin intended for “H.” Who was this “H”? She sucked in her breath. King Henry, of course! He was both “great” and “pious,” to be sure. And it was well known he had Masses said on every possible occasion.
And the cousin “T”? That could only be de Roche’s wily and powerful cousin Georges de la Trémoille.
But what was the “occasion” at which they intended to murder the king? She had a vague recollection of Robert complaining of how dull Caen would be with the king spending all of Lent in fasting and prayer. But at Easter, there was to be a grand event at which scores of men would be knighted.
Mass was a central part of the knighting ceremony.
A number of nobles who followed Burgundy—Henry’s supposed ally—would be invited to this important event. Trémoille could easily attend.
A shudder ran through Isobel at the thought of King Henry murdered on his knees in church. The greatest king England had seen in generations, struck down by a coward’s blade. If it was his fate to die young, such a king should fall in glory on the battlefield.
She had to get word of this conspiracy to Stephen so he could warn the king. But how? Carefully, she put the letter back as she found it, locked the drawer, and returned the key to the vase. She blew out the lamp and sat in the dark, trying to think how she would do it.
Stephen had asked de Roche’s permission to visit her. If he did come, she could tell him then. She bit her lip in frustration—de Roche would never allow her to meet with Stephen alone. If she could find François, she could send a message with him…
But François was already in danger. De Roche raged about finding the servant who told her of his secret meetings. She must get both the twins to safety. But how?
She could think of no way to accomplish all that she must. A feeling of hopelessness took hold of her. She buried her head in her arms on the table and let herself weep. For her king. For the twins. For the misery of her life. For Stephen. How she longed to see him, to hear his laugh, to have his arms around her one more time.
How long had she been weeping when she heard voices?
She wiped her face on her sleeves and got to her feet. What had she been thinking, remaining in Roche’s parlor? As she started toward the door, she heard the voices again. She went to the window and listened.
A scream reverberated through the courtyard. Isobel’s blood froze in her veins. Linnet.
Isobel was out the door and running for the stairs.Please, God, let me not be too late.De Roche was the only one who would enter Isobel’s rooms at night without permission.
The memory of Hume taking her the first time came to her sharp and clear as she raced up the stairs. There was nothing Isobel would not do to save Linnet from that. Nothing she would not do to save the girl from being forced to lose her innocence to a man she loathed.
Her heart was beating wildly in her chest as she reached the top of the stairs and flung open the solar door.
De Roche had Linnet pinned against the wall, holding her wrists over her head with one hand.
“Stop it, stop it!” Isobel screamed.
Linnet looked at Isobel with wide, terrified eyes. There was a studied casualness to de Roche’s expression as he turned to her.
“A man must make do when he cannot find his bride.” He spoke with a cold calm that was more frightening than if he had raised his voice. “Where were you, Isobel?”
“I… I was just in the courtyard,” Isobel stammered. “Let her go, Philippe. Please, I beg you, let her go.”
“Waiting for the banns, the formalities… it all seems… so… unnecessary to me,” de Roche said. “Does it not to you, my sweet?”
“Let Linnet go, and I will do whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want.” His white teeth gleamed in the candlelight. “That is just what I hoped you would say.”
The moment he released Linnet, the girl ran to Isobel and threw her arms around her waist.
De Roche took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from the scratches on his cheek. “I should have the girl whipped.”
“No, Philippe.”
“You will find,” he said, wiping his hands on the handkerchief, “I can be as agreeable as you are.”
Isobel pushed Linnet’s hair back and kissed the girl’s forehead. “Go now.”
