All of this was decided long before I was even told the identity of the master of Bloodmoor Keep!”
“Aye, and when you found out, you could not resist planting a thorn in the Dragon’s side.”
“I have done nothing to jeopardize La Seyne’s mission in England.”
“You call it nothing to steal the Dragon’s bride and have him empty his castle of mercenaries to overturn the country side in search of you? You call it nothing to fall in love with the girl yourself and thereby give us all two reasons to risk our lives instead of just the one?”
“I have asked no one else to risk their life for Servanne de Briscourt,” the Wolf retorted. “And who the devil says I am in love with her?”
“Well if you are not in love, you are giving a good imitation of a boiled fowl. And what is wrong with being in love? What is wrong with admitting you are human?”
The Wolf glared for a long moment. “I do not have time to be human.”
“Aye. That much has been obvious for the past ten years. It is a malady that appears to be contagious.”
Friar walked away, brushing past the approaching Gil Golden, making her the innocent recipient of a meaningful scowl.
The Wolf watched him go, his expression grim, his nerves drawn so taut, Gil had only to look at the whiteness of his knuckles to know she was better off seeking conversation elsewhere.
16
Servanne was thoroughly soaked and iced to the bone by the time they arrived at the encampment at Alford. Wardieu had not stopped when he met up with his men again in the forest. Despite the rain and the condition of the two women, he had wordlessly ridden through the huddle of dripping, frowning mercenaries and left them scrambling for their mounts in his wake.
Aching, exhausted, numbed in body and spirit, Servanne was scarcely aware of being deposited at the gates of the abbey, or of the helpful, concerned hands of the monks who fussed about her like vexed peahens. Two of her waiting-women, Giselle and Helvise, had been sequestered at the abbey since the ambush, and greeted their returning mistress with weeping and prayers of thanksgiving. Servanne’s clothes were quickly removed and a fire stoked beneath the huge oaken barrel that served as a laundry tub for the monks.
Biddy, as exhausted and stiff of limb as she was, took personal command of the maids while they tended her lamb, ordering a gentler touch here, and more care in scrubbing there. She frowned and clucked her tongue through waves of despair and self-recrimination when Servanne made little or no response to the helping hands. Her eyes filled and her nose leaked each time she noted a bruise or chafed patch of redness on the perfect whiteness of her lady’s skin.
The sleeping chambers at the abbey were hardly more accommodating than the chambers at Thornfeld. Bare stone walls, bare earthen floor, a single candle, and a narrow wooden cot were the essentials provided by the monks. Clean linens, armloads of thick quilts and feather cushions arrived from the encampment on the hillside, along with trenchers of soup, cheese, and meat sufficient to cause the monks’ eyes to water as they carried the repast to the lady’s chamber.
Servanne’s belly turned over at the thought of food. She did consume a healthy portion of strong, warmed mead in the hour it took Giselle and Helvise to comb her hair into a sleek golden cascade. By then her eyelids were so heavy and her thoughts so dulled, she could barely see the feet at the end of her legs as she was led from the chair to the sleeping couch.
She was asleep before the quilts were drawn over her shoulders.
Come morning, it was still raining. The sky was an oppressive mantle of cloud, with low, metallic-green underbellies rumbling constantly with thunder. Servanne opened her eyes briefly around midmorning, but since there was nothing to greet her aside from blank stone walls and Biddy’s open-mouthed snoring, she closed them again and slept until well past noon. A summons was conveyed from the abbot’s refectory shortly thereafter: The Baron de Gournay was there, awaiting a private audience with Lady Servanne de Briscourt.
“What shall I do, Biddy?” Servanne whispered. “What shall I say to him?”
“Do? Why, you shall do nothing, my lady. He cannot possibly hold you to blame for any of this. If anything, he should bear the greater burden of guilt for having permitted such a travesty