A Whisper of Rosemary

protection.

This single man who, even if he were armed could be wearing only a dagger or eating knife, posed no threat to her. Still. His expression caused Maris to step away, grateful for something to do other than to allow the man to rake her up and down with his eyes.

The look there was a mixture of complacence, interest, and cunning, and not for the first time did Maris wish she had Good Venny’s seventh sense for understanding people.

“You may have a seat at any of the tables, and there are pallets in the room below-stairs. If there is anything else you wish, please send for Ralf.”

Maris made a move to go, but the man stopped her. “My lady, there is one last thing. If you would give this to your lady mother, mayhap she will remember me.” She saw that he was working a tight ring from a middle finger that resembled a sausage more than an appendage.

At last it slipped free, and he dropped the heavy, warm gold into her hand. Maris closed her fingers around it. “I’ll give it to her and return with her message.”

“Indeed. And many thanks to you for your hospitality.” His gaze transferred from her to sweep the room, as if taking in its expansiveness and accoutrements.

Glad to be released from what had to be the oddest conversation she’d had since the daft miller Brander had passed on, Maris nodded and gave a brief bow before sweeping from the hall. Ralf would tend to Bon de Savrille if he had any further needs. She would take the ring to Allegra and see what her mother remembered of this bizarre man.

As Maris entered the room, she offered the heavy gold ring to her mother, saying, “Our visitor is named Bon de Savrille, and he sends this to you.”

To Maris’s shock, Allegra’s face drained of color. Her eyes grew round and her body stiffened. With fingers that shook, she took the ring from Maris’s hand, closing her fingers around it as if to imprison it.

“Mama, what is it? Shall I order him thrown out?” A wave of strength and protectiveness surged from Maris’s middle. If the man sought to hurt Allegra, or to threaten her in some way, he would be swiftly dealt with.

“Nay. Nay, my sweetling. ’Tis naught. I merely felt a bit light of head for the moment.” Allegra’s smile was a bit wobbly.

“But Mama—”

“Nay.” Allegra’s voice, rarely this harsh and strong, stopped the words from her daughter’s mouth. “’Tis naught, Maris. I am merely weary and wish to rest. You may leave me. Do you not give that man any further message or attention. I bid you leave him be. He is no one.”

~*~

As Maris left the chamber, Allegra’s heart was ramming so hard in her throat that she thought it might choke her. Her hands had become cold, and they were stiff with the chilling fear that filled her. She wanted naught more than to stay in this sunlit solar, to ignore the man from her past.

His arrival could mean nothing good.

But she knew she must speak with Bon. His summons had been implicit when he gave Maris the signet ring to show Allegra. She must find out why he’d reappeared after so many years, and what he wanted from her. And so she descended the stairs to the great hall, knowing he’d be waiting for her to appear.

Knowing that she’d come to him.

She wasn’t mistaken, for he was sitting on a stool near one of the smaller fireplaces, watching her from across the vast chamber. Ignoring him, Allegra sent Maris on an errand to the kitchen. She knew that her headstrong and directive daughter would be occupied for some time therein, for one of the cook’s children had taken ill. Before moving in the direction of her visitor, Allegra gave several more orders that would take most of the serfs, as well as the steward and the few men-at-arms from the hall as well. She wanted as few witnesses as possible.

Then, with great trepidation, she made her way to where he sat, taking care to appear that she merely wandered there by happenstance.

“What a lovely daughter you have,” were Bon’s first words as Allegra approached. He stood and gave a brief, mocking bow.

“I thought—’twas thought you were dead.” Allegra hated that her voice came out weak and thready. She sank onto the stool he’d just vacated, her knees trembling violently.

“I’ve come back to life, so it seems.” His dark eyes taunted her.

Allegra forced a smile over her stiff features. “You are well come to the home of Lord Lareux and myself.”

A soft, cruel laugh rumbled from deep in his throat. “Aye, Allegra, I am so well come that you did not greet your brother with open arms in view of your serfs and your daughter. In fact, you sent them on their way before you deigned to acknowledge me. Are you so certain I am well come?”

“Half-brother,” she reminded him, summoning a bit of spirit.

“Aye.” His laughter stopped abruptly. “I am indeed the son of a lord and his lady—unlike my sister, who was spawned by a whore.”

Allegra flinched and fought to keep her voice steady and out of earshot of the single serf across the room as she demanded, “Why are you here? What do you want?”

“Your daughter is lovely. Amazingly lovely,” he said, his attention boring into the orange flames next to them as he spoke with studied casualness. “’Tis hard to believe she is the daughter of a gruff and homely man as Merle Lareux.”

Darkness closed in on Allegra’s vision and she drew in a deep breath. His last words floated between them, threatening and knowing. Her cold hands fluttered in her lap, digging into the material of her gown, twisting and turning, hiding…. “Aye,” she whispered. Could he know?

“Or is she?”

Allegra’s insides collapsed into a mass of writhing, churning nausea. “What do you say?” she managed, despite the fact that the world was closing in on her.

Bon stepped back from her, turning to look across the empty hall. The cold confidence in his movements and the proprietary sweep of his gaze made Allegra feel even more ill. “Beyond is the beautiful maiden Maris of Langumont, heiress to the vast lands of Merle Lareux. She must be near a ripe age to wed…it has been nearly eighteen years, has it not?” He turned slowly to look at Allegra. “’Twould be a shame if the truth were found out, aye? Were the great Lord of Langumont to learn that the daughter he adores is not of his—”

“Enough,” Allegra cried softly, still taking care that none of the bustling serfs should see that aught was amiss. “Do you not speak such lies in my home.”

“Lies?” Bon rumbled from deep in his throat. “Aye. Lies that have such truth to them that the walls of Langumont Keep could come crumbling down about you.” His laughter was bitter. He looked at her calmly, seeming to enjoy the fear that ate into her. “Lady sister, I have returned—from the dead, if you wish—for my rightful inheritance.”

The numbness of fear was so great that Allegra did not comprehend him. “What?”

“Cleonis, Firmain…and now, thanks to your marriage to Merle Lareux—from which there is, quite remarkably, only a single issue in the form of your lovely daughter—I shall also be the heir apparent to Langumont, Edena and Damona.” His eyes took on a bright gleam. “I am the rightful heir to Father’s lands, Allegra, and I’ll have them.”

“Nay.” She found her voice at last. “Father disowned you, and you disappeared when he wed with Mother. My mother.” Though she knew little of the ways lands were enfeoffed and distributed, she knew enough that a woman could inherit should her father or the king allow it. Merle had arranged it for Maris, his only daughter. And Allegra knew that her father had done the same for her. That Bon had no claim to the lands she’d brought to her marriage to Merle.

“Nay,” Bon said, a smile stretching his beard and moustache. “I cannot claim Cleonis as a son. But as a husband….”

“A husband?” she breathed, the fear stifling her as the meaning of his words penetrated. He would claim Maris as his wife? His own niece?

He stood back, that smile turning colder and more calculating. “’Twould be a shame for Merle Lareux to