Tavis stared at him with his wide, dark eyes. “Your daughter is alive? But…is that not good news?”
Suddenly, at last, the familiar warmth rushed over Fantin, calming him and soothing his frayed nerves. Like a flash of lightning, a sharp thrill heightened his senses, and all at once he understood.
The sign! ’Twas the sign he’d been praying for!
“Rufus!” he shrieked, rushing to the chapel, “’tis the sign! My daughter lives!”
The priest paced from the small cell, his face sober as always, his hands tucked inside his sleeves. “Ah…I have been expecting such good news. The Lord has provided and now you can see the way.”
“Aye!” Fantin could not remember the last time he had felt so relieved, so certain of his destiny. Warmth, beauty, love…all glowed within him at the knowledge that he’d been gifted thus. He smiled beatifically, caught sight of his own reflection in the mirror across the table from him…and admired the angelic, saintly glow that reflected in his fine-boned face.
At last.
That God should return his daughter—the pure, innocent manifestation of his flesh, conjoined with that of his beloved wife Anne—to him now…resurrected her, after so many years…
He was blessed. And without any doubt, he knew Madelyne would be instrumental in the creation of the Philosopher’s Stone. She was the missing piece, now returned to him.
Of course. The warmth rushing through him was hot and full and arousing. “She has been serving God in an abbey and shall take the veil,” he explained to the priest.
Rufus smiled. “All the better. Her devotion should not be wasted upon the needs of those sisters there—Lord Fantin, you must bring her here and she will serve God thusly for your purposes.”
A warmth suffused Fantin as the truth of Rufus’s words broke over him. “Aye, oh, father, you have the right of it! Madelyne, sprung from my own loins and that of her mother, is indeed the purest creation on this earth. ’Tis only fit that she act as the conduit betwixt myself and my God…for through her, He will speak and show me the salvation that I shall attain with the Stone!”
He smiled with a sudden spark of good humor. “’Twill be the greatest pleasure to welcome my daughter back to her home after so many years.”
Six
“Look you there, Lady Madelyne.” Lord Mal Verne pointed in a southerly direction as they reached the crest of a hill. “’Tis Mal Verne.”
Madelyne turned obediently, and found herself looking across a small valley to another, larger hill, on which a rambling stone wall rimmed its height. Gold and black flags bearing the standard of Mal Verne fluttered over merlons that jutted like great teeth along the top of the wall. From her view, she could see the small figures of men-at-arms walking around the enclosure, and to the farthest south corner, she saw the heavy iron portcullis that blocked entrance to the bailey. The small buildings of the town clustered on a plateau below the wall, and down in the valley were healthy green fields ready to be harvested.
Lord Mal Verne kicked Rule, the warhorse, and, as if sensing he was near home, the stallion charged off the hill. Madelyne stifled a shriek as she was jounced abruptly to one side, nearly losing her grip on his mane before catching her balance, and she closed her eyes as they headed straight down the hill. She would have begun praying aloud had Mal Verne not given a short bark of laughter and tightened his arms on either side of her.
“Do you not fear, my lady. I have not brought you this far to have you fall beneath Rule’s hooves!”
Madelyne pressed her lips together and sat even straighter in her seat. She would not show her fear…and she would not allow herself to fall! Those words became a chant in her mind as they careened down the hill, the other men in their party so close on their heels that she feared they’d be overturned, if not trampled, by their zealous companions.
It was not until Mal Verne shouted a greeting that rang in her ear that Madelyne’s eyes flew open and she found that they had attained a more horizontal position. They’d covered the space between the two mountainous hills in such a short time that she was thankful anew that she hadn’t watched as they hurtled past trees and down the slope.
“
Mal Verne slowed the party to a trot as they reached the edge of the village, and Madelyne watched with interest as the peasants and tradespeople came to crowd the sides of the thoroughfare, waving at their lord. They were not fearful at all, even of the great destriers that pranced impatiently down the street—although Madelyne noted that the mothers took care that their children did not get too close to the horses.
Vague memories of riding through the town at Tricourten stirred in her mind, and the images were of naught but empty streets and shuttered homes. ’Twas clear that Lord Mal Verne was, if not well-liked, at the least not feared by the villeins who farmed his rich lands.
She felt movements behind her, him brushing against her back and causing her to sit further forward, as he nodded and gestured to the peasants. Though he did not stop to speak with any of them at length, he did call to several by name. She felt the weight of curious stares on her as they jounced along, and realized how odd it must seem for a nun to be sharing the saddle with their lord.
When they reached the portcullis, it lifted quickly and noiselessly—bespeaking of the care and maintenance that obviously went into its upkeep. Although Madelyne knew little of the ways of war, she was well-educated in the management of a household, for all of the sisters shared in the tasks at Lock Rose Abbey. She knew the value of a gate that raised and lowered without hesitation.
Then, before she had time to muse further, the party entered the bailey and rode to the massive stone keep that sat on the far end of the huge, enclosed yard. Marshals and men-at-arms swarmed the travelers and horses, accepting reins as the knights dismounted.
Madelyne waited as Mal Verne dismounted gracefully from behind her, then stepped around to the side of the saddle over which her legs were positioned. Instead of assisting her to dismount immediately, he gathered up Rule’s reins and turned to speak with a stocky, black-haired man who looked to be perhaps a decade older than he.
“Robert! By the looks of it, you’re fare better than the last I saw you, after that incident with the shield. Glad to see you aren’t so black and blue. This woman is Lady Madelyne de Belgrume,” he announced. “She is to be treated as a guest, but not allowed without the keep unescorted.” Pointing a finger at a tall, blond man with a crooked nose, he commanded, “Jube, you shall be responsible for the lady’s well-being in my absence.”
Madelyne watched silently as her accommodations were discussed as if she weren’t present. So this is how it would be in a man’s world.
Mal Verne stood near enough to her that she could reach forward and touch the darkness of his shaggy hair. The sleeves of his mail hauberk shifted, jangling quietly as he gestured with his arm. He had not shaven for some time, and dark stubble grew over his cheeks and chin, adding sharpness to the planes of his face.
He turned to her without warning, his stone-gray eyes locking onto her gaze for a brief moment, causing her breath to heavy. Madelyne quickly looked away, down, and found her attention focused on his booted feet. Then all at once, strong hands spanned her waist, and she was lifted up and down from the saddle with a smoothness that indicated the ease with which he handled her weight.
Upon the ground, Madelyne staggered slightly before she gained her footing, swaying against his broad chest for the briefest of moments before she stepped back. He glanced at her as she steadied herself, and she managed a weak smile. Patricka, who, likewise had been assisted down from her mount, came to stand by her side, looking as lost and uncertain as Madelyne herself felt.
Mal Verne turned his attention to the stocky man named Robert and, as they began to speak in low tones, they started toward the large oaken door that led to the keep.
Madelyne and Patricka hesitated, but when the man called Jube gestured for them to follow, they linked arms and walked toward the massive entrance. Jube and a cluster of other men-at-arms traced their footsteps, while others melted away, most likely to return to their duties.
