“What will you do to him?” Emily said, all emotion gone from her voice.
Michel stepped in. “He will be tried and jailed in Chevalerie, along with the rest.”
“Jailed, indeed,” said Emily, still watching her husband. “But he will remain in Ponce.”
“Excuse me?” said Michael.
“He is lame,” Emily said. “He may die. I want him to be accessible to his children. They must understand where he has gone.” Then to her husband, “I love you, Etienne, and you are still my husband. I will care for you as best I can. Now we will all suffer for your crimes.”
Then she turned back to Michel and looked at him, with smoldering determination. “You have it on my honor as a Lady and the Marquise du Ponce, this man will give you no more trouble.” She glared back at her husband, but still spoke to Michel. “Now, what will you do with him?” she said through her teeth.
Michel stared back, incredulous at her audacity. He began to speak, but Philippe cut him off.
“Give us a second,” Philippe said. He grabbed Michael by the arm and dragged him out of the room.
“Michel,” Philippe said, just outside the doorway. “Did father explicitly say he was to be detained in Chevalerie?”
“No, but am I to trust his wife to be his keeper?”
“Look at her,” Philippe said. Through the doorway, they could seeEmily jerk the Marquis’ head to the side as she roughly cleaned his brow with a cloth. Then she yanked at the sheets under him to examine his wounds. The Marquis writhed under her scrutiny. Before she was done, she smacked him across the face and told him to act like a man of his station. Philippe continued. “I dare say that she will provide worse punishment than the stocks.”
Philippe leaned back in through the doorway and looked towards Alex. She’d been quietly observing from the corner, and now she was watching Philippe. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then he turned back to Michel.
“I’ve actually known Emily quite a long time,” he said. “I believe we can take her at her word.” He continued. “Besides, Michel, I owe her a few things.”
Michel glared hard at his brother, then sighed through his nose. “It’s my ass if Father doesn’t approve.”
“And these are the benefits of being the baby brother.” Philippe grinned.
It took another few moments of deliberation in the hallway, but when the brothers returned to the room, all eyes looked towards them.
“Okay,” Michel began, “here is what will happen.”
Philippe felt good about what had been accomplished. It had been trying. It had been complicated. It had tested him far beyond his limits, but Philippe was convinced that the slow, weaving path he had traveled to get to this outcome had been the right one. They had stopped an insurrection. They had preserved a town and a family as best they could. There was a chance that his father would disapprove, but Michel could deal with that fire.
His pride in their political actions, however, was thoroughly outdone by something else. Alex was nowhere to be found, and he was pissed. In the flurry of maids and footmen that had to prepare accommodations for the Lady Marquise, and the next stampede of messengers headed to Ponce and Chevalerie, Alex had vanished. Once he’d realized she was gone, Philippe had torn off through the manor. He checked her room. He checked the dining room and the kitchen. No Alex. He went up and down the halls; he checked the gardens and the stables. Nothing.
But her horse was there, and the guards at the front gates assured him that every messenger had been identified upon leaving. He was comforted for a moment, but Alex had a way of disappearing. Was she still trying to get away? The thought made him furious. At her, at himself. Now he stormed through the once again dark manor with absolutely no plan.
There was a small study off the main parlor that he’d missed. He stomped across the floor and stood in front of the door.She better be in there,he thought, because if she wasn’t, he didn’t know what he would do. He threw the door open, and to his relief, curled up on a lounge chair near the fire, was Alex, sound asleep.
Philippe slammed the door behind him. She startled awake and glared at him while she rubbed her eyes. “Are you finished with the Marquis?” she asked sleepily.
Philippe crossed his arms, still smoldering. “Yes,” he said.
She, sensing his anger, sat up. “Why are you mad at me now?” she asked.
“Because,” he said, “for once, I’d like to find you where I left you.”
She laughed and stretched her back. “I was not aware that you were looking for me.”
He watched her carefully. He was relieved to find her, but still irritated. The truth was, he was wounded. She had wounded him. Why was she so hard to pin down? What they had shared the night before, when she had been so willing in his arms, seemed to have never existed. She’d become distant. She’d run away and hadn’t even seemed particularly happy that he’d found her tied to a tree.
He was going to teach her a lesson, he decided.
“Draw your sword,” he said to her.
“What?” she asked, surprised by his sudden hostility.
