The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(95)

“You said Mary’s freedom for the girls.”

“I promised a princess for a queen. You have her.”

“And my sister?”

“Ah, a sister requires the offer of a brother.”

Kit glared. “Good thing I’m standing right here.”

“Not her brother, boy. Mine. I know perfectly well that Julien is just outside these walls aching to get his hands on me. Take your princess out, and send my brother in.”

It was Lucette who had to order them. “Go now.”

Anabel at least had sense, and more time with Nicolas to know he meant what he said. She pulled Kit with her. “Wait outside, Laurent,” Nicolas said. “Bring my brother in when he arrives.”

Then he turned to Lucette and caressed her cheek with the flat of his dagger blade. “The three of us have unfinished business.”

—

Kit returned with the Princess of Wales. Everyone in camp had watched the two figures approach in grim silence, and waited for word from inside.

Julien didn’t think anyone was surprised when told that Nicolas would not deal for Lucette until his brother had surrendered himself. Not surprised, but disappointed.

He said roughly to the princess, “Has he touched her?”

“He has not hurt her,” she answered carefully.

Which was not an answer. Julien simply nodded once and began to walk toward the manor house.

Minuette stopped him, though her husband was immediately beside her. Julien expected to be told to do whatever it took, perhaps even to be careful for they were not cruel people and would not lightly see him hurt, even for Lucette’s sake.

But she put her hands on his face and pulled it down to kiss him on the forehead. Like his mother used to do. “I am sorry, Julien,” she whispered. “I know what it costs to confront one who has betrayed you—especially when it is someone you love.”

She dropped her hands. Dominic’s face looked carved in stone, but he nodded once. In approval? In resignation? Julien didn’t much care. As he began the walk to Wynfield Mote, he silently spoke toward the woman inside: Lucie mine, you’re coming out of there alive and whole. Whatever it takes.

Once across the shallow moat, he was searched thoroughly by the kind of men who would kill without thought when ordered. He had dressed plainly and casually, prepared to fight. No weapons, of course. He’d figure something out.

It was odd walking into Wynfield Mote. There were flashes of memory from his previous visit, his body remembering where buildings were: the practice yard to his right, the stables where he’d hit Nicolas for his insolence…and been interrupted by the fierce ten-year-old girl who’d followed his brother around like he was God. There had been a week or two this summer when he’d imagined returning to Wynfield Mote with that fierce girl—if not tamed, at least gentled to his hand, coming home to receive her parents’ blessing.

He should have known better. Dreams were only that.

Felix’s tutor waited for him outside the front door. Julien had never been fond of the supercilious Laurent, and now that the fanatic in him had been given free rein, Julien would cheerfully have knocked the man senseless. Instead he submitted to the tutor’s search, though he did say, “You saw your men search me already. Is it that you like to feel men’s bodies?”

He received the expected backhanded blow without a word. Laurent laughed grimly. “Can’t wait to see you brought down, traitorous filth.”

Julien, his jaw throbbing, kept his mouth shut. Better not risk too many blows before he got to Nicolas.

Laurent shoved open the door and jerked his head for Julien to precede him.

His strange sense of déjà vu continued to overlay his vision—the wide-planked floors strewn with rugs, the medieval fireplace—but the moment he locked eyes with Nicolas, all déjà vu vanished. There was nothing but an awareness, deep in his bones, that only one of them would be leaving this hall alive.

With effort, he pulled his gaze to Lucette, for it seemed dangerous to take his eyes off Nicolas for even a second. She looked back at him steadily, no colour to her face at all, dark hair hanging loose. Her gown was plain and clearly could be laced without aid. He didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse that Nicolas had not insisted that she be dressed and pampered elegantly.

“Are you well?” Why did one ask that? Because to ask anything more would upset his own precarious balance, not to mention whatever balance maintained between Nicolas and Lucette at this point.

“Perfectly.” If she could not control her colour, she could control her voice. Neutral, verging on bored. Seized by an insane desire to laugh, Julien nodded once, then turned his attention back to his brother.

“So, Nic, I’m here now. Whatever lies between us began long before Lucette was involved. Let her go.”

“The moment she leaves, my men will be overwhelmed by her father’s men and I will be seized for Walsingham’s vicious questioning. I have no intention of being racked by the English. I need her to get to the coast and out of England.”

“So you plan to return home as though nothing has happened, as though Father isn’t going to say a word about the fact that you violated the trust and hospitality of his friends and laid violent hands on a girl he cares about for her own sake?”

“Whatever you may say about my hands on Lucette, they are never violent.”