Autumn Lord (15 page)

thought, and never be noticed. Jacques had invited him up for a little talk over wine after he'd spent most

of the day at sword practice. The wine helped relax tired muscles, but the inevitable conversation was not

so restful.

"About Diane?" Jacques questioned after a long silence.

Simon looked over to where the old man sat, in a chair that was said to have belonged to a Roman

emperor. "She deserves better."

"You're the best she can hope for in this life."

Simon saw that Jacques sincerely believed what he'd said. Simon knew better. "There's very little I

can offer her."

"You can give her her voice back. Why don't you concentrate on what she has to offer you?"

"I'm not going to fall in love with her, Jacques," Simon pointed out. "I can't. I won't. All I can give her

is a little time, and some grief."

"Bah. All you ever see is the dark."

Jacques refused to understand. He always refused to understand. Simon got to his feet. He wanted

more wine, but thought a clear head would be better, so he abstained. He carefully put the cup back

down on the table. "There's nothing left but the night," he said. "Winter, then death."

Jacques stood, and dismissed Simon's melancholy with a wave of one gnarled hand. "You have the

autumn, and winter nights can be long and pleasant. Don't try to predict what will come with the spring."

Simon already knew. Besides, arguing about his own future was tedious. "You're right, old man. I

won't worry about it. Where's Diane?" he asked. "I'd better attend her if I have a seduction to get on

with."

"A courtship," Jacques corrected.

"It'll work out to the same thing, won't it? I feel like an old fool," he added as he went to the door.

"Where is she?"

Jacques combed his fingers through his beard. "In the solar, perhaps? I think I heard one of the

women say something about asking her for a story after the morning "meal."

"That was hours ago." Simon doubted she'd want to set foot in the solar after what had happened in

there. Then again, she might have braved the place just to prove that she wasn't afraid. "I'll find her," he

told Jacques. "Comb the castle in search of my lady love."

"You do that," Jacques said as Simon closed the door behind him. "I'm going to take a nap."

******************

heroine would be charmed out of her undies by the hero's touching sincerity.

This wasn't a movie, and she wasn't charmed. She was incredibly embarrassed. She hadn't meant to

overhear the conversation. She hadn't known what to do other than stay where she was when the men

came in. She and the slop bucket had been behind the tallest shelves in the darkest corner of Jacques's

room in her continuing quest to go to the bathroom in privacy. Instead she'd overheard them once again

making plans for her life.

The trouble was, it was hard to be angry with either man since she knew they meant well. Hard, but

not impossible. Especially Simon.

So, he thought he could just
make
her fall in love with him, did he?

She wasn't going to be made to do anything. Even for the right reasons. Not that falling in love just to

get her voice back was a right reason. Love just happened, it couldn't be forced. Not even by Simon de

Argent.

Okay, she was grateful to him. She admired him. She thought he was handsome. Maybe she even

worried about him, a little. That didn't mean she was fated to fall under the inevitable sway of his fatal

charm.

The man had a few too many flaws for her to be swept away by the wonderfulness of his biceps and

laconic smile. She loved listening to his rich deep voice, but that didn't mean she wanted him whispering

sweet nothings— whatever they were—in her ear. Especially when she knew anything he said or did

from now on would be a manipulative effort to save her from Jacques's stupid curse. She commended his

effort, but she wasn't likely to fall for it.

Paternalistic was a very good description of Simon de Argent, she thought. High handed. A little bit

too confident of his seductive abilities.

/
wonder what he'll do?
she thought as she waited for Jacques to begin snoring.

She wanted to wait until she was sure the old wizard was asleep before she sneaked out of the room.

Usually, she wasn't that eager to join the rest of the household down in the hall.

/
wonder what he'll say? I wonder what it would be like to be kissed by him?

Not that it would matter, of course. She had no intention of falling in love.

Diane was not in the solar,
but Simon did encounter Joscelin as the young knight came in from

the bathhouse after his own fighting practice. Simon commended him on his guardianship of the fair

Diane, then sent him out on border patrol with a detachment of guards.

By the time he'd given Joscelin detailed orders, the hall was filling up with household members who

gathered for the evening meal. Simon wove his way through the servants who were setting up the trestle

tables and made his way to his own seat in the center of the dais. From there he observed the movements

of his people while he thought about how best to proceed. It took him only a few minutes to come up

with a plan of action. That done, Simon sent a servant to find the storyteller and deliver an invitation for

Diane to sit beside him at dinner.

Diane was relieved when Simon asked her to join him at the high table. Actually, it wasn't a request.

The words the servant repeated to her were flowery, but they were still an order. Which was better than

an invitation, because it helped remind her of what he was really like. She could nurse a grudge about

being ordered to her own first date with the Lord of Marbeau.

Also, it really wasn't a date. Dinner at the high table was the most public exposure possible at the

castle. Everybody seated below the dais carefully watched everything that went on up among the favored

few who got to share the table with his lordship. As much as she disliked the way people stared at her,

tonight she preferred it to an intimate evening with the boss.

She got up off the landing outside Jacques's room where she'd been sitting, wondering what to do,

when the servant found her. She adjusted her veil, smoothed the thick fabric of her overdress, and went

down the stairs toward the hall with as slow and stately gate as she could manage in the heavy garments.

Simon actually felt Diane's gaze on him before he looked up and saw her at the foot of the stairs. She

was standing beneath the glow of a rushlight, watching him. The first thing he noticed was that her cheek

was still discolored with bruising. The second was that while her expression was quite serious, her dark

eyes were full of amusement. He had no idea what it was about him that brought her pleasure, but he felt

a rush of answering joy just to see her happy.

You are not going to fall in love with her,
he reminded himself. Then he stood, and gestured

elegantly for her to join him. When she reached his side, he made a show of sitting her in the place of

honor on his right. Alys had been the one who used to appropriate this seat. He had been infuriated by

her presumption, but had allowed it for the sake of his own plans. Now he freely gave a deserving lady

her due, publicly acknowledging her exalted place in his house.

Diane thought the high-backed wooden chair looked uncomfortable. The seat was narrow, and the

back was heavily carved. The design was beautiful, but not meant to be leaned back against. When she

sat down, the room went dead quiet.

Until Simon turned to face his people and lifted his silver goblet high. "A toast to my lady," he called

out.

His deep voice reached into even the furthest shadowed corners of the hall. There was a stunned

interval before an answering roar of voices began. There followed a clatter of wooden and pottery mugs

as the people of Marbeau joined him in drinking the toast. When he had taken a taste of wine, he

carefully turned the jewel-studdeed goblet and handed it to Diane so that she could set her lips to the

spot where he had drank.

Diane took the goblet, but she didn't know what he wanted her to do with it. From the eager way

Simon, and everybody else, looked at her, something was clearly expected of her. It wasn't like she

could offer a 'toast. She couldn't even talk. She was embarrassed enough by what Simon had just done

that she didn't want to face the people at the other tables. So she held the goblet and concentrated on

studying his exuberantly smiling face.

She liked the smile. It was such a rare thing to see that having him smile at her was like receiving a

gift. She liked the way the faint lines around his eyes crinkled when he smiled. She liked the faint trace of

dimples at the corners of his mouth. She liked the rounded, sensual curve of his lips. She liked the glow

of pleasure in his amber-hazel eyes. She liked having him look at her. It made warmth spread through

her even though she hadn't yet touched the wine.

She liked him, but she had no idea what the man wanted. She shrugged, and just stared at him

helplessly.

Finally, the smile faded, and the room grew a little bit darker around her. He sat down, and

explained, "You're supposed to salute me in turn." When she continued to stare at him, he took the

goblet from her hands. "I see you're not yet ready for such an intimate avowal, my lady. I beg your

pardon."

Apparently he wanted her to share his goblet. Why would sharing someone's glass, and germs, be

considered an intimate avowal? And if it was so intimate why was it also presented as a public

ceremony? This was definitely not her idea of romance. This was not what she'd expected as the first

move of an attempt to make her love him.

He seemed irritated as the first course was served. Irritated and disappointed. Diane knew it was her

fault, and almost gave in to guilt. She almost snatched up the goblet to take a good, stiff drink. She

almost did it. For him. Because she—

Did not love him. She was just grateful. And his moodiness was a manipulative way of getting what he

wanted. Or so she told herself. Simon de Argent was playing a game with her, she reminded herself. She

did her best to keep that thought uppermost in her mind when he turned her way again after the server

had moved on down the table.

He was smiling, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. His tone was pleasant, but it didn't sound sincere.

"Share the meal with me, my lady."

She was not his lady, but she was hungry. She was also used to the idea that two people were

supposed to share one plate. Well, one round of flat bread covered in yucky goop. She was used to the

idea, but she still found the practice disgusting. That was why she always did her best to eat alone in

Jacques's room instead of risking her life to the sanitary practices in the hall. Now, Simon wanted her to

share his plate with him. Everybody in the room was still staring at them. Maybe the populace wouldn't

be so interested if she just went along with the common custom this once.

She gave him a wan smile, and the faintest of agreeing nods. As she started to reach for the food,

Simon put his hand over her wrist to stop her.

"Allow me, dearest Diane." Diane watched him curiously as he picked up a piece of meat and held it

out to her. He didn't release her hand so she could take it from him. He brought the meat close to her

lips. "This dainty morsel is for you." His voice was a husky, sensual whisper.

The man was trying to feed her! Like a child. Like a pet.

Diane twisted her head away to avoid the food. She fought down a gag as she shot up out of the

chair. She burned with humiliation as she backed away from the table. She ignored Simon's annoyance,

ignored the hostile reaction of the watching crowd. She remembered how he had called her his chattel.

She wasn't his property. His trying to show the world that she was wasn't going to make her love him.

But, of course, he really didn't want her to love him. He was just trying to placate Jacques. Simon didn't

really care if she got her voice back. At the moment, she only cared about getting it back so she could

tell him how sick she was of his and the wizard's spiteful games.

But since she couldn't talk, she turned and fled from the table.

Simon rose to his feet as Diane ran away. He could have had her stopped with a gesture to his guards,

but he let her go. He had never been so insulted in his life. He nearly shook with rage at her insulting