Unveiling Lady Clare. Carol Townend

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘Yes, sir.’

      To Ivo this commission was an adventure. Arthur wished he felt the same.

      They left Troyes by the Paris gate. Arthur had already discovered from one of the sentries on the city wall that someone answering Clare’s description had been taken up by a cloth merchant anxious to catch the tail end of the Lagny Fair. She had been seen sitting in the back of a cart on a bale of cloth. Wretched woman.

      Arthur urged Steel into a trot. ‘We should catch up with her by nightfall. I reckon they’re heading for the Stork.’ Reaching into his saddlebag, he found a chunk of bread. ‘Here, if you’re starving, you’d best have this.’

      ‘Thank you, sir.’

      The miserable, grey evening did nothing to improve Arthur’s mood. A persistent drizzle set in, and they reached the Stork a little later than he had predicted. Arthur’s stomach was growling; and despite his fur-lined cloak, his clothes were sticking, cold and clammy, to his skin. Doubtless his squire felt equally miserable. Wretched woman. If it weren’t for her, he and Ivo would be happily ensconced by the fire in the great hall, eating their supper.

      Torches were sputtering in the yard of the Stork. The ground was muddy and rutted by cartwheels, and puddles were spotted with raindrops. Light flickered under the inn door, a small but welcome sign of life.

      ‘Sir...’ Ivo pointed ‘...is that the lady?’

      In a shed next to the stable, a large wagon was covered in sailcloth and Clare was sitting on a heap of straw next to it. She made a forlorn figure. If she had set out with a veil, she had lost it en route. Her auburn hair clung like dark weed to her skull and she was combing through it with her fingers. Her nose was pink. A threadbare cloak hung limply on a nearby hook—both Clare and the cloak looked as damp as he. Despite his ill temper, Arthur’s heart went out to her.

      ‘That’s the lady. Find a stall for the horses, would you? Get the grooms to assist, and then order supper for three.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      Dismounting, Arthur left Ivo to deal with the horses. As he approached, those mismatched eyes widened.

      She jumped to her feet. ‘Sir Arthur!’

      ‘Good evening, ma demoiselle.’

      Pushing her hair over her shoulder, she gave him a troubled look. ‘Why are you here?’

      Arthur folded his arms. ‘I am come to find you.’

      She shifted back a pace. ‘Why?’

      ‘Orders from Count Henry.’ He gave her a brief bow and looked deep into those mismatched eyes. ‘I am to escort you to the man we believe to be your father.’

      She went white. ‘M-my father?’

      Arthur waited. He was interested to hear what she said if he did not prompt her.

      ‘My father?’ Mouth working, she took that step back towards him. ‘Sir, since I’ve already told you that I don’t know where I was born and that I suspect I am baseborn, you must be making fun of me. I do not know my father. And he does not know me.’

      ‘I believe I have worked out who he might be—’

      ‘Sir?’

      She seemed to stop breathing. Had this girl been Geoffrey’s lover? Arthur longed to know. Those unusual eyes were very expressive and the hunger with which she was watching him was curiously moving. She looked wary, almost hopeful. It came to him that she was afraid. She wasn’t used to feeling hopeful and it frightened her.

      ‘It’s my belief your father is a powerful and wealthy Breton nobleman. His name is Count Myrrdin de Fontaine.’

      Clare looked blankly at him, as though she had never heard of Count Myrrdin de Fontaine which, given that Count Myrrdin had been one of the leading noblemen in Brittany, was passing strange.

      ‘You’ve not heard of Count Myrrdin?’

      Slowly, she shook her head. ‘No, sir.’ She glanced away. ‘As I mentioned before, I have spent many years abroad. Where is Fontaine again?’

      ‘It’s many miles to the west of here, in the Duchy of Brittany. Count Myrrdin has largely retired from the world, but in his day he was known as a man of great honour.’ He gentled his tone. ‘I do not think he would reject you.’

      ‘Sir Arthur, most men would find an illegitimate daughter a great embarrassment, they would be ashamed. What makes you so certain Count Myrrdin will accept me?’

      ‘He has been a widower for some years. He has a strong sense of right and wrong, and if you are his child, he would want to know of it. Count Henry agrees with me, which is why he has given me this commission. Incidentally, you might like to know that Count Myrrdin has another daughter.’

      ‘I assume she is legitimate.’

      ‘Yes, and thanks to her marriage to the Comte des Iles, she is already a countess—the Countess Francesca des Iles.’

      ‘You are certain Count Myrrdin is my father?’

      Reaching out, Arthur took her by the shoulders. Even though his touch was light, she strained away from him. He frowned and gently turned her to face the hissing torches. ‘It’s your eyes,’ he murmured, looking into them. Truly they were fascinating—the green one had grey and silver flecks in it, and the grey one had black speckles near the pupil. ‘You have one green and one grey, exactly like Count Myrrdin. It’s so unusual. You’re his daughter, I know it.’

      Long eyelashes lowered, she shifted and Arthur released her. The instant he did, she edged away. It was like a dance. She came near, she edged back, she came near...

      She fears men.

      Arthur jerked his head towards the inn. ‘What’s the food like in there?’

      ‘I couldn’t say.’

      ‘You haven’t eaten?’

      Her eyes wouldn’t meet his. ‘Not yet, sir.’

      Arthur found himself scowling at the cloak on the hook behind her. ‘You were planning to eat tonight?’

      ‘I...I, yes, of course. I shall eat later.’

      She was lying. Glad that he’d asked Ivo to order food for three, Arthur’s gaze shifted to the cart and the pile of straw. ‘You were going to sleep out here. Lord, woman, that’s begging for trouble. Come along, I am buying your supper.’

      ‘Oh, no, sir, I couldn’t.’

      He reached past her, ignored the way she shied away from him, and lifted her cloak from the peg. It was pathetically light. It would be useless at keeping out rain and cold. ‘Of course you can.’ With a grin he added, ‘Particularly since Count Henry will be paying for it.’

      She hung back. ‘Sir Arthur, I can’t. You don’t understand, I’ve promised to rest here. I’m guarding the cart tonight.’

      ‘You? Guarding СКАЧАТЬ