The Virgin's Daughter (Tudor Legacy #1)(96)
Julien took a furious step forward before he managed to restrain himself, but it was enough for Nicolas to pull Lucette against him as both warning and shield. Swallowing the bile that rose, Julien halted.
“Lucie mine,” Nicolas purred, and how Julien wanted to smash his brother’s face for appropriating that phrase, “why don’t you wash your face and change? We should celebrate being together. It’s the way I want it, you know. The three of us. Together. I’ve had weeks to think about it.”
“I’m not changing clothes with Laurent watching me.”
He managed to sound injured. “Of course not! Go on up to your chamber. We’ll wait for you here.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll do something rash, like jump out a window?”
Though Nicolas spoke to Lucette, it was Julien he stared at. “There is not the slightest chance in the world that you will do a single thing to jeopardize my brother’s life. Knowing that he’s here with me, that if you are not back in this hall in a quarter hour—dressed and fashioned appropriately—knowing Julien will pay forfeit for whatever price I demand…no, Lucie mine, there’s not a chance in hell that you won’t do exactly what I say.”
Julien could only hope Nicolas was wrong. That Lucette would use her head, and figure a way either to get out of the house or to signal to her father and brothers…as long as she was out of reach of Nicolas, everything could be borne.
Because this would only end when one or both of them were dead. He knew it as surely as he knew his name. Death loomed in Wynfield Mote’s hall, waiting to pounce. All that mattered was that Lucie be well out of death’s reach.
27 August
Outside Wynfield Mote
As soon as Julien headed for the house, Dominic and the other men questioned Anabel closely about the state of affairs in and around Wynfield. Bless the girl for having her mother’s practicality and quick wits! She not only did not wonder at the purpose of such questions, but had clearly anticipated them. Her answers were prompt and clear. The men on the outside, of which we have counted eleven, never enter the house. The cooking, such as it is, is carried out by the tutor, Richard Laurent. Laurent and Nicolas LeClerc are the only men in the house. They are armed with daggers, swords, and pistols.
Anabel and Kit described the scene in the hall before she was handed over. “It was the first time we were let out of my chamber,” Anabel said. “It’s possible Nicolas took Lucette straight back up when Kit and I left.”
“Possible,” Dominic said slowly, “but also highly possible they’re still there. If he wanted a stage for the first part of the climax, he’ll most definitely want it for his confrontation with his brother. We should proceed as though they are in the hall.”
“Proceed how?” I asked. Mostly to force my husband to speak it aloud for those who do not read him as quickly as I do. Though I imagine our sons knew what he would say—and for certain Harrington did. He had already alerted the small force of handpicked men who have been kept two miles away so no one at Wynfield might catch sight of them. Dominic had spoken privately to Julien while Kit was in the house. He knows what is coming. When it is full dark, in less than an hour, those men will be led by Dominic, Harrington, and both my sons. No matter the tiredness Dominic noted—my boys will not be left behind. And like their father, they have the necessary strength to do what must be done when it must be done. They can sleep after.
Of course, the hope is that Julien will be able to talk—if not himself—at least Lucette out of Nicolas’s hands. But if she is still inside Wynfield when darkness covers all, then my men must move silently and swiftly.
While I sit with Pippa and Anabel and Carrie and pray. And wait.
There is nothing more difficult in this world than waiting.
TWENTY-FOUR
Lucette went up to her bedchamber in a dreamlike state of unreality. It was precisely as she’d left it. Covers drawn back but the bed unslept in, the gown she’d worn that last night at dinner still lying on a closed chest. Only once alone did she truly feel the tension that had stalked her these last days: the constant pressure of someone watching her, breathing in her hearing or just outside a closed door…Lucette gave a great shudder and felt a sudden desire wash over her to curl up in bed and sleep.
There wasn’t time. She had only minutes to change her dress and prepare for whatever crisis was imminent in the hall. For that she would need a different dress, and a different hairstyle.
Someone—no doubt Laurent, as Nicolas hadn’t done it and no one else came indoors—had filled the pitcher with water. Lucette quickly stripped down to her shift and washed her face and as much of herself as she could in three minutes. She was grateful for how that revived her. A clean shift helped to further restore her, and now to choose a dress.
Hopefully Nicolas hadn’t meant her to come down dressed for court or even church. Were men aware of the help required to get into such complicated layers? She imagined both brothers had done their share of removing such gowns from women…but that was not a thought to linger on at the moment. Her own requirements for what to wear were simple: she could put it on herself, and she could hide a weapon in it.
She chose a gown with cherry-red flowers on a white background that she’d often worn at Wynfield during the summers. It had belled sleeves of white lawn that gave her a certain freedom of movement. But most important, along the inside of the split overskirt that left the vivid red of the kirtle showing was a matched set of sheaths sewn in the stiff line of seaming. One on the right, one on the left, just far enough down not to interfere with sitting or walking, but perfectly placed for a quick hand to snatch out two narrow bodice daggers. Though the wicked long dagger her father had once given her had been removed from her chamber, thankfully neither Laurent nor Nicolas had thought to explore further. Her bodice daggers were where she’d left them, stored in the false bottom of her jewelry casket.