Gene of Isis

The duke appeared pleasantly surprised as he watched me unbutton my heavy velvet frock. ‘Perfect timing, mademoiselle,’ he commented, well disposed toward such a bargaining strategy. ‘My wife is lost to me for the present, so I…’

When I approached him and turned, the sight of my birthmark brought his banter to a stop. I began refastening my dress as I turned back to face the duke.

He was too awed to speak for a moment. ‘The mark of the House of du Lac,’ he uttered aghast. ‘Who are you really, Mademoiselle Winston?’

There was a knock at the door and the house steward entered. Thankfully I had rebuttoned my gown by the time he did. ‘There is a Monsieur Devere requesting an audience with your grace.’

My gasp just slipped out; that man had to be part bloodhound.

The duke clearly saw my distress. ‘Tell him to come back tomorrow.’

‘Beg your pardon, your grace, but Monsieur Devere is somewhat distressed. It seems he has lost a very pretty wife…an English woman,’ the steward looked at me, ‘of about twenty years, fair complexion, long auburn ringlets and green eyes.’ He looked back at the duke. ‘Have we seen anyone that fits that description, your grace?’

The duke raised his eyebrows in question at me.

‘No.’ I stated my preference. ‘I can explain everything,’ I added at Albray’s prompting.

‘No,’ the duke advised the steward, who seemed unimpressed by the lie he had to tell.

‘Very good.’ The steward took his leave.

‘Well, Mademoiselle Winston, or is it Madame Devere? It seems you suddenly have a whole lot more explaining to do.’

I could hardly believe the tale Albray had me spinning, and yet there was enough truth in it for me to sound convincing—all those years of telling stories to Susan suddenly came in very handy.

Because of my birthmark and my aforementioned occult connections, de Guise didn’t have too much trouble believing that I was on a secret mission to the Holy Land for the Order de Sion. Or, rather, Albray had me telling the duke I had been sent by the Scottish chapter of the order—the Sangreal knighthood. I had no idea what I was talking about, but it seemed I knew the name of the secret brotherhood to which Mr Devere belonged, and Albray managed to work this little fact into our story. We said that I had been posing as Devere’s wife for the mission, but that I suspected treachery—which was not entirely untrue. I told the duke I fled Devere’s company upon reaching France to pursue my mission on my own.

‘And what is your purpose in the Holy Land?’ The duke was clearly dying to be made privy to my secret mission, for he was most intrigued by my yarn spinning.

Tell him you’ll die before you disclose your mission.

I think that would be tempting fate, I argued.

He’ll expect nothing less from one of the blood.

‘I could tell you, your grace,’ my determination hardened, ‘but then I’d have to kill you…as I am sure you are well aware.’

Very nicely delivered, Albray commended me. I’ll make a knight of you yet.

When the duke grinned broadly, I didn’t show how unnerving it was for me. Was he going to commend or kill me?

‘If you are on a secret mission for the said Brotherhood—’ he stressed the word ‘— and suspect you have been betrayed by your protector, Mr Devere, I can hardly allow you to leave my house without assigning you some protection of my own.’

That would not be desirable, Albray stated the obvious. Tell him you’ve been trained to protect yourself.

‘Your grace is very generous,’ I moved to courteously decline, ‘but I have been well trained to protect myself, and if the gypsies are freed—’

‘Really!’ the duke interrupted, intrigued by my claim and eager to avoid the subject of his prisoners. ‘You are a trained killer, Lady du Lac?’ The very idea brought a smile to his face, or perhaps it was his new name for me that tickled his fancy.

Christ, I do believe he is going to call our bluff! I panicked, and felt the heat of fear rising in my cheeks.

Not to worry, we can sustain our fabrication.

‘I am a swordsman myself,’ de Guise announced. ‘As are all the brothers.’

Yes! Albray cheered.

‘And a very good one, I am sure, your grace.’ I turned to my own tactics before this got out of hand. ‘However, I could not fight one of royal blood, especially one I have worked so hard this day to protect.’

‘Come, come, my dear…just a little fun, nothing too serious.’ De Guise stood, stubbornly resolved to a challenge. ‘You can fight my best swordsman if it makes you feel more comfortable. After all, how am I to be sure that you are not spinning me tall tales, and it is, in fact, Mr Devere who is telling me the truth?’

Fine with us. Albray was keen.

How on earth do I get myself into these things? As life was just one big entertainment to the aristocracy, I thought I’d better make sure I was going to achieve my objective if I was to meet this challenge. I certainly didn’t want it evolving into an extended game of cat and mouse. ‘If I prove I am competent enough to accomplish my own quest, your grace, will you then release Cingar?’

The duke frowned, perturbed at the mention of him, but not displeased with me. ‘Why is the gypsy so important to you?’