Daughter of Mystery (42 page)

The sight of it stabbed Margerit in the heart. She’d almost managed to convince herself that she’d imagined things, that evening in the shadowed alcove. The kiss, the token slipped into Barbara’s hand. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. She had lost…lost she knew not what. Only that there was a hollow in her life that couldn’t be filled. She tore her gaze away. There was no mending things now and no time for weeping.

More sleight of hand tucked all four into the carriage hidden from view, with the spare horse saddled and following behind. Just far enough along the road to be out of sight of the inn they halted again and sorted themselves out to part ways. It was only when the carriage had disappeared down the road that Margerit thought to exclaim in dismay, “But I don’t ride!”

Chapter Fifty-Two

Barbara

The first day’s travel was light. The horse wasn’t fresh and Margerit was unsteady, even held tightly in front of her on the saddle. That was near to torture: the feel of Margerit’s body pressed against her, the scent of her hair filling her nostrils. And through it all Margerit stiff and silent and distant. They went far enough to leave behind the carriage roads and took to narrow country tracks where two farmwomen riding tandem home from the market would cause no comment. Or riding on pilgrimage to Saint Orisul’s—that was true enough. At least they needn’t fear sleeping too rough. There had been enough coins pooled among the travelers—most of it from Nikule, truth to tell—to cover food and a place to sleep from countryfolk. The first evening found them in a small snug barn with borrowed blankets.

Barbara surprised herself by sleeping soundly.

With the dawning light she came awake quickly but lay still, enjoying the first morning in entirely too long when she wasn’t waiting for the trap to spring. Strange: to find that the fear had been a heavier burden than the disaster itself. The next danger wouldn’t come until they had to follow the main road for a space hard by Saint Orisul’s. It also passed through the Saveze title-lands. That would strain the nerves whether Estefen was in residence or not.

She could hear the restless movements of the livestock and the sound of Margerit stirring a short distance away. She opened her eyes lazily. Margerit was standing by the sheepfold, staring past her toward the door with an expression of such bleak despair that Barbara rolled instantly to her feet, swearing at the tangling skirts and reaching for her absent sword, certain that there must be an armed troop waiting there. Nothing. She asked, “Maisetra, what’s wrong?”

Margerit had turned away. “Nothing…nothing.”

But there were so many things: concern for her family and those left behind, fear of what lay ahead. Even the possibility that she
had
unwittingly worked treason in some way. Barbara was trying to frame some sort of reassurance when Margerit turned back, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“I’ve lost you.”

“Maisetra?”

“In a few months you’ll be free of me. Then you’ll go back to her. And it’s my fault. I said…even if I could take it back—what I said—it wouldn’t matter. You’re wearing her ring. I saw it.”

Barbara’s hand went to her breast where the chain hung beneath her gown. Was that what this was about? Was that why the distant silence? What was it LeFevre had said—that they stood too closely to see each other’s hearts. Was it possible…?

She began hesitantly, “Maisetra…Margerit, I…” She swallowed and took the plunge. “Jeanne de Cherdillac and I were lovers—it’s true. But that was some time ago. It’s over now. The ring…She thought I might need…that you might…The ring was her pledge that her door would be open to me if I had nowhere else to go.”

Margerit looked confused, but by which part? “Lovers,” she repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. “And you said that you and I couldn’t even be friends.”

Barbara struggled to find the right question to answer. “Margerit, she was neither my employer nor my charge to protect. And I wasn’t in love with her—that made things simpler.”

“And me?” Margerit breathed.

“It isn’t simple at all,” Barbara answered, shaking her head slowly. Or perhaps it really was that simple. The frightened sorrow in Margerit’s dark eyes could not be left unanswered.

She took half a step forward. Another. Her hand reached out to trace the line of Margerit’s cheek and twist an errant curl around her finger. She leaned forward, watching for hesitation, for retreat. Their lips brushed softly, then more surely. She had been wanting to do that for entirely too long. She felt Margerit’s arms go around her and moved to kiss the tears that traced down her cheeks. The salt turned to sweetness on her tongue.

* * *

The day might have been lost to long-delayed delight but for the farmwife coming bustling in to milk the cow and turn her out. They recollected themselves and packed up for the road. Except for the looming threat of arrest and execution, the journey would have been idyllic. Autumn had turned warm and golden in that way it often did just before cold set in. Sometimes they rode two on the horse, sometimes Barbara walked beside. In either case their speed couldn’t rise above an amble. At least the direction was clear: they need only keep an eye on the peak of Mont Neplek and they would come to Saint Orisul’s nestled at its feet.

If not for the need to spare the horse, Barbara would have mounted behind her the whole time. Where the touch of their bodies had been stiff and awkward the day before, now Margerit melted against her and Barbara’s arm circled her in an embrace, and not just to keep her from falling. There were endless opportunities to leave kisses and whisper endearments as their heads leaned together.

They paused at midday for grazing and rest. To stave off the risk of other distractions Barbara asked, “Can you think of anything in your
castellum
that could be seen as working against the prince? I know the structure is sound, at least what I’ve seen of it. But could there be something in the paraphernalia or the movements that might cast a more sinister impression?”

Margerit looked sheepish of a sudden and fumbled beneath her skirt in the pocket that hung there, drawing out a thick folded packet of papers. Barbara had seen her hide them away when they all changed clothing but there were always papers around and it had meant nothing.

“A few weeks ago Hennis thought we might work up an additional
turris
: the one against invasion that we discarded at the beginning. And after we’d done all that work, he decided not to present it to the guild. But then yesterday it was there, sitting out on the table, included in this copy. In the confusion, I left my own
expositulum
and took this one.” She unfolded the packet and thumbed through to pull out two close-covered sheets. “It’s much in the style of the other towers. A bit more poetic than I prefer, but Hennis did half the work—putting together the saints and symbols—so it would have been ungrateful to start fresh.”

Barbara skimmed down the pages, then caught her breath and read through in more detail. “Mother of God!” she exclaimed, looking up at Margerit. “You didn’t know? No, you wouldn’t have.” It had been a safe wager that a girl of her class would be ignorant of the crests and arms of distant nobility. She spread her coat out on the grass to keep off the damp and laid the pages down in order. “See here: the references to hunting down the leopard and here to plucking out the thorns from the garden.” Her finger traced the passages.

“But what does it mean?” Margerit asked anxiously.

“The leopard is the crest of the Dukes of Maunberg and the thorn is their badge. One symbol alone might be coincidence but both together? This isn’t a mystery to repel invaders; it’s a curse aimed at Prince Aukust’s grandsons.”

There was a long silence, then Margerit abruptly stood. “We have to go back. We have to warn him.”

“Are you mad? You wouldn’t even make it through the gates. And once you’ve been taken and charged no one will listen to you. You aren’t even allowed to stand your own defense until you’re of age and I have no standing at all in law until then. I doubt Estefen would let them stay the execution that long. That’s why LeFevre warned me to take you to find sanctuary. We can’t return until we can prove our innocence—or rather, our ignorance, since it seems we
are
guilty.”

“Not us, just me. You had no hand in this…this abomination.”

Barbara waved off the objection. “It comes to the same thing. Lutoz may have acted purely out of loyalty to Elisebet but it’s Estefen who will have cast this net and he means both of us to be caught in it.”

Margerit frowned. “You’re very sure of that. That Estefen is behind this.”

“The two of them are thick as thieves. At first I thought it was no more than friendship, but when I started asking questions…there was more. Much more. I suspect Estefen even suggested forming the guild in the first place. Lutoz may not even know all his plans. What would it benefit Lutoz to have you accused? If his game is to cut off the Austrian line, then dragging the mystery into court as evidence would only hinder that. But Estefen—” She laid out the matter as plainly as she knew how. “If you were to die in the ordinary way of things, your property goes to your heirs. If you died before you come of age, it might count as breaking the baron’s will, but that would only mean that it goes to Saint Orisul’s. But if you are executed for treason the crown seizes it all. And tradition holds that the one who brings and proves the charge is granted half. It’s Estefen’s last chance to take what he considers his inheritance and be revenged on you at the same time.”

Margerit’s attention seemed to have wandered. “If the mystery is brought as evidence…but they won’t find it! Not at the guildhall. Not the damning part. Only Hennis and I had copies. Mine is at home—I didn’t expect to need it for the celebration. And this one—” She picked up the papers again and examined them closely. “This is Hennis’s copy. Those are his notes in the margin. Someone’s added my name on the front, that’s all. There’s nothing for them to find at the guildhall except copies of the regular
expositulum
and there’s no treason in that.”

“Your working notes and drafts?”

“At home. Oh!” she exclaimed with returned agitation. “What if they search the house?”

Barbara could see the scene unfolding in her mind: Maisetra Pertinek in hysterics, not even knowing Margerit was safe; the library plundered in a search for who-knows-what. “There’s nothing we can do right now,” she said grimly. “But there’s at least a hope that they may not have any certain proof. Estefen will have to work harder to bring the charge. And if Lutoz has no copy then the Austrians are safe.”

Margerit shook her head. “He could reconstruct it, I think. We worked closely on it. I know I could write it out again from memory if need be.”

The thought clearly worried at her for the rest of the day. Barbara forbore from breaking in on her concentration, many though the temptations were. There would be time. For now it was enough to have swept away the walls and misunderstandings that had stood between them. Whatever came, their hearts now beat as one.

They stopped finally for the night at a small cluster of houses at a crossroads. Not enough to be deemed a village—no church and no tavern. But one of the local women brewed and her neighbors gathered in her house most evenings for good company. So there was more welcome for travelers than there might otherwise have been. Barbara shared the story she had devised of a pilgrimage, a desperate petition. Something ordinary folk would accept as reason to be taking the road so late in the season. It was entertainment enough to earn them a bed by the fire when the others drifted away at the end of the evening. And it was natural enough to roll their blankets together for warmth without inviting questions. There were quiet caresses and sweet kisses before exhaustion took them.

Riding out in the morning, Margerit announced, “I think I can amend what I’ve done.”

“Hmm?” Barbara inquired softly in her ear.

“The curse—we have a little time. I’ve been turning it over in my mind and it isn’t set to act unless the border is crossed. So even if Hennis were to work the
turris
immediately there would be no harm done until they arrive at the border.”

“But that could be in only a few weeks. They can’t leave it later unless they plan to wait for spring.”

“Or take a longer road. They could always go down along the coast and up from Marseille. And the tower can’t be celebrated alone—it was designed to be part of the
castellum
as a whole. He still needs a guild for that. Not necessarily the whole group but at least half a dozen.”

“I’d count easily that many
Chustines
among the guild. Whether any of them might balk at murder if they realized the intent…But how do you think you can prevent them from carrying it through?”

“I don’t. I think—” She twisted slightly before the saddle to look back at Barbara. Two days on horseback had given her some confidence along with the sore muscles. “I think I can devise a new mystery that blocks it. Not the whole
castellum
. That would be difficult because it—” She shrugged. “It
wants
to be done. But just the invasion tower. It’s weak because it
is
an attack. That’s one of the reasons we left it out at first. Once you start asking the saints to smite your enemies, things tend to go wrong. Chizelek has an entire chapter on that. I thought I’d avoided the problem because the
turris
worked in abstracts, but if it’s used against specific people, there are cracks that can be opened.”

As usual, it all made perfect sense when Margerit explained the problem but Barbara couldn’t see how to move past understanding to action. “How will you put together a whole new guild to counter it?”

“I don’t need to,” she answered confidently. “It’s a much simpler matter. You address the patrons of the border points and petition them to treat all within their sphere with love and protection. It’s what they
want
to do, so it doesn’t need to be elaborate to hold their attention. You and I could celebrate it at any church we pass. Perhaps…do you think we could ask the sisters at Saint Orisul’s to perform it? That would be even better.”