“I am not noble born,” I murmur, embarrassed.
"Every maid Beast meets is a lady as far as he is concerned,” Duval explains.
Beast straightens and lets go of my hand. “Only those who do not run away from me in terror,” he says with a grin. He intends it to be rakish, but it looks more like he is baring his teeth before an attack. I like that he does not apologize for his looks, that he throws them down like a gauntlet. It is an approach I admire, and I immediately warm to him.
Of course, the number of French he killed in the last war does not hurt his cause any either. During the Mad war, it was his bravery that inflamed the imaginations and hearts of the peasantry and moved them to take up whatever arms they could find — pitchforks, poleaxes, shovels, scythes — and drive the French out of our country. If it were not for Beast’s inspiration and the peasants’ aid, the French might be here still.
“Sit, sit.” Duval shoves Beast onto the bench and takes a seat beside him. “I did not expect you back so soon. Nor to find you here.”
The men’s eyes meet and an unspoken message passes between them. "We made good time,” Beast says, then signals the innkeeper for another cup. The innkeeper is only too glad to oblige this legend come to life in his inn.
"We? De Lornay is with you?” Duval asks.
“Aye. He lost the coin toss and is seeing to the horses.”
"Would this be de Lornay?” I ask, staring at the man who has just entered the room. He is tall also, although he is closer to Duval’s height than to Beast’s towering stature, and he too is clad in road-stained riding leathers, but that is where any similarity ends. He is perhaps the most beautiful man ever — fair of feature and graceful, he looks like an archangel who has fallen from heaven. By the time he reaches our table, he has a small army of serving wenches following in his wake, eager to do his bidding. Disgusted, I avert my gaze and take a swallow of wine.
Duval rises to greet him, and I feel Beast watching my face. “You do not care for de Lornay’s beauty, demoiselle?” Beast asks.
I wrinkle my nose. “I am not impressed with pretty men in general, my lord.”
He grins maniacally and raises his cup to mine. “I knew we would get along,” he says, then drains his cup. warmed by his words, I do the same.
when Duval presents me to de Lornay, the other man makes no attempt to kiss my hand, nor does he call me lady. In fact, he all but ignores me. Beast leans in close again. “Pay no heed to this knight of Amourna’s manners.”
I glance sharply at de Lornay to see how he takes this slight, for to call a true knight naught but a lover of women seems a grave insult. But de Lornay merely shoots Beast an annoyed look and takes a seat. The innkeeper arrives and sets another jug of wine and more cups on the table, then shoos the cow-eyed serving maids away and leaves us to our dinner.
De Lornay reaches for the jug. “Did Runnion find you?”
Duval tosses a disgusted glance my way. “No. He met with an unfortunate accident before we could speak.”
De Lornay pauses in the middle of filling his cup. “Truly?”
Duval nods, and I stare at my dinner, doing my best to look incapable of causing an unfortunate accident. I remind myself that I have done nothing wrong, only allowed Mortain to guide my hand.
"What happened to him?” de Lornay asks.
Duval waves the question aside. “I am more interested in why you are here. I thought you had business in Brest once you returned.”
De Lornay and Beast exchange glances. “The baron was not there. He is on his way to Guérande for the convening of the estates,” Beast explains. “As are we.”
"What?” Duval says. It is the first time I have seen him nonplussed.
Beast frowned. “You did not want us to attend? we thought you would need our support.”
“I am not aware that a meeting of the estate has been called! The duchess hadn’t planned on calling all the barons together until she had a firm solution to this crisis to put before them. Are you certain?”
“Yes. The message arrived in Brest just as our boat landed. It bore the Privy Council seal.”
Duval takes a huge gulp of wine, as if fortifying himself. "Which means someone on the council has ignored the duchess’s wishes and called the meeting himself.” The table grows silent at this dire implication.
“Could she not have changed her mind?” I cannot help but ask.
Duval glances at me as if he had forgotten I was there. “No,” he says gently.
De Lornay turns to study me. “You picked a fine time to launch a romance,” he tells Duval.
“Demoiselle Rienne is my cousin, not a romantic liaison,” he says. “As such, I expect you to extend her every courtesy.” There is no mistaking the warning in his voice and I cannot help feeling a small glow of gratitude.
De Lornay’s striking dark eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Cousin?”
“Cousin,” Duval growls. “I am launching her at court.”
De Lornay whistles. “To what purpose? Other than to cause gossip and speculation among the entire court?”
Duval grins, a quick flash of white teeth. “Is that not enough of a reason? However,” Duval continues, “your news changes everything. we should retire so we can get on the road at first light.” He stands and looks down at me.
It takes me a moment to realize that supper is over and I am being dismissed. He holds out his arm, in case I have not caught his meaning.
I narrow my eyes at him. Does he truly think I do not know his plan? That I will sit quietly in my room while he talks of kingdoms and traitors with these friends of his? Well and so, if he is that stupid, let him think I will do exactly as he wishes.
I smile sweetly at him. “Of course, milord.” I rise to my feet and bid the others good night. As Duval escorts me from the room, I school my features into a mild, placid expression. At my door, he bids me a polite good night and leaves. I close the door and lean against it, listening. when I am certain he is gone, I open the door and peer out into the hallway. It is empty.
Quiet as a shadow, I slip out of my room and hurry to find the servants’ stairway.
Chapter Fourteen
I descend the narrow stairway and pass through a small, cramped antechamber, then come to a thick door. The kitchens, no doubt. It is late, and if the saint is with me, most of the workers will be done for the night. I push the door open, a ready excuse at the tip of my tongue. But there are only two boys inside, over in the scullery corner scrubbing pots nearly as tall as they are.