Love's Intrigue Read online

  Love’s Intrigue

  June Francis

  © June Francis 1991

  June Francis has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1991 by Mills and Boon Limited.

  This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE chill breeze from the Channel whipped Louise Saulnier’s copper-coloured hair into a tangled curly cap about her head, and she shivered as the wind found the holes in the youth’s tattered hose and tunic she wore. Moving into the lee of the casks piled on the quay, she crouched down. Within inches of her hand was the basket from which issued the smell of roasted fowl. Hunger pangs gnawed at her stomach but she tried to ignore them. Her tanned fingers clawed her shorn hair out of her eyes so that she could see clearly the servant from the inn talking to the Englishman in the black houppelande, who had his back to Louise.

  There were many English ships and men in the port of Calais, and it seemed an answer to her prayer that the vessel near at hand should be the one she was seeking. If only she could get aboard, she felt certain that her search would be at an end. She had no desire to sail on the ship so she would have to act fast, because had she not heard the man confirming that it would be sailing in the morning for Dover?

  Her hazel eyes darkened as she heard the Englishman speak again, and she listened carefully. He spoke French well despite the inflexion in his voice that betrayed his origins. Now she was certain that it was the same voice that she had heard in the forest during the skirmish with King Henry’s men.

  A long weary sigh escaped Louise and hunger suddenly made her feel faint. Her hand reached for the knife at her girdle, and, fumbling inside the napkin-covered basket, she hacked at the fowl there. Placing the knife on the cask, she pulled out a leg of chicken coated in sauce, and began to tear at it with small, sharp teeth.

  ‘Thief! Scoundrel!’ A hand descended on her shoulder, dragging her upright. ‘Steal my master’s supper, would you? Take that!’ A stinging blow to the ear brought tears to her eyes and the meat fell to the ground.

  She struggled violently. ‘English dog!’ she spat, as her fingers found her knife. She would have plunged it into the servant’s chest if her arm had not been quickly seized from behind. She was swung round to face the man in the black houppelande.

  Immediately she recognised the lean, weather-beaten face with the dimpled chin, and eyes as brilliantly blue as a southern sky in summer. ‘Ravisher! Abductor!’ she cried, fury and fear giving her extra strength as she struggled with him. A couple of years living in the open had toughened her muscles and strengthened her will to survive, but she was no match for the Englishman. The knife went spinning from her grasp and her arm was forced up her back. She closed her lips tightly on the cry of pain that issued from her throat.

  ‘Hold fast, lad,’ muttered her captor, gazing into her small, dirty face. ‘You’re as slippery as an eel, and if you don’t keep still we’ll be finding out if you can swim like one.’

  ‘Let me go, you son of a whore!’ Lowering her head, Louise bit his arm. He swore softly and asserted more pressure. A gasp escaped her and her face paled beneath its veneer of dirt.

  He slackened his hold but his eyes had hardened and now flashed blue fire. ‘You would be wiser holding your tongue, little thief. Otherwise I’ll see that it’s cut out and fed to the birds.’

  ‘That is behaviour I would expect from the likes of you,’ she cried in a trembling voice. ‘If I am a thief then it’s because the usurper Henry, and men like you, have made me so.’

  His finely arched black brows drew together and the lines about his mouth and nose deepened. ‘You seem determined, lad, to insult me. I should teach you a lesson.’ His grip tightened on her arm.

  ‘Do what you want with me. I fear you not,’ she gasped. ‘Just tell me where the maid you abducted is.’

  He stared at her. ‘Lad, I know not what you talk of. You mistake me for someone else.’ His tone was so convincing that Louise had a moment of doubt and her hazel eyes scanned the well-defined features of his face. He was not exactly handsome, but there was that about the structure of the bones, the shape of his mouth and the unbelievable blue of his eyes that made her feel peculiarly weak. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Do you realise your mistake?’

  Louise tore her gaze from his face, forcing herself to bring to mind the scene in the forest, and to picture the wounded and dying, as well as her young sister’s scream as she was thrown unceremoniously over a horse. ‘I make no mistake,’ she said firmly. ‘You were there in the forest.’

  The man shook his head. ‘I tire of this.’

  ‘But it is true,’ she cried, struggling. ‘I recognised you because I saw you at Caen where you English pillaged and raped!’

  Disbelief flickered in his face and she knew that she had gone too far. He shook his head. ‘Now I know that your eyes deceive you and that I should hand you over to the sheriff as a thief and a liar.’

  ‘No!’ she exclaimed fearfully, bringing up her free arm and catching him a blow on the cheek. Instantly he twisted her round, swinging her fast before releasing her. She went flying backwards, lost her footing and tumbled into the sea.

  Louise’s terror was immediate as the waters closed over her head, but she managed to struggle to the surface, spluttering and gasping with the shock of the icy water.

  Her feet sought for the bottom but it was out of her reach. Fear chilled her blood and she screamed in panic before sinking below the surface again.

  The Englishman swore as he shrugged himself out of his houppelande and kicked off his shoes, to dive into the water. She did not struggle when his fingers took hold of the back of her tunic to hoist her with bursting lungs to the surface. Her hands scrabbled for a hold on his wet doublet and she clung to him.

  A rope hit the water close by and, seizing it swiftly before it could sink, he dragged it with some difficulty beneath her armpits. As he knotted it at her chest, he paused, his fingers exploring the swell of her breasts. He glanced quickly into her wet, frightened face and tightened the knot before shouting to his manservant.

  Within minutes Louise was sitting on the quayside, retching and coughing up sea water. She was utterly wretched as she watched her rescuer being hauled from the sea. He stood, staring at her, water forming a pool about his feet. Then he said something in English to his servant, who frowned, and said, ‘Are you sure, now, Master John?’ He nodded and the man shook his head before taking the basket, and hurrying up the gangplank into the ship.

  John spoke rapidly to the Frenchman with whom he had been conversing earlier, and the man nodded and walked away. Then he turned his attention once more to Louise. ‘I suggest that you get up and come with me — else you will catch a chill and die in this weather.’

  Louise lifted scared eyes to his face; her teeth were chattering so much that she could not speak, so she simply shook her head.

  He frowned and hurried over to her. Without any preamble he pulled her upright. She struggled as he lifted her into his arms. ‘I don’t want to come with you,’ she managed to stutter. ‘Put me down at once!’

  He ignored her request and she was too cold to put up much of a fight as he carr
ied her aboard the Grace, not setting her down until he reached his cabin. His servant was there, delving into a chest and bringing out clean, dry garments and towels. At a nod from his master he scuttled out. Louise lunged for the door but John closed it quickly and faced her. She clenched both fists. ‘Let me out,’ she stammered. ‘You have no right to keep me here.’

  His eyes passed over her, and he said seriously, ‘If you prefer I could still hand you over to the sheriff.’ She made no reply, but her fear was a tightness in her chest. He continued to stare at her a moment longer before adding, ‘But perhaps it would be better for you if you rid yourself of those rags you wear.’ He picked up one of the towels and threw it at her. Automatically she caught it, but she made no move to use it, wondering if he had guessed her secret. For a moment in the water they had been very close, and she had no doubts as to what this man would do to her if he knew her to be a woman. ‘Well, boy?’ he said, starting to unfasten his doublet. ‘Are you so fond of your rags?’

  ‘They are all I have and I prefer to keep them on,’ she muttered.

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he murmured. ‘We are both wet, cold and hungry, so give me no arguments.’ He placed an armful of garments on the bunk behind her. ‘For you,’ he informed, before starting to strip off his hose.

  Louise stood, torn by indecision, shivering uncontrollably as she stared at him, her hatred of his race a flame within her breast. Then as he stood in front of her, almost naked, the dark hairs on his chest matted and wet, she hurriedly averted her gaze. A hot blush darkened her cheeks. In another life she had been the protected, cosseted daughter of a clothier of some substance: that had been before the English had taken Caen by storm. It had been her father who had chopped off her hair and had her dressed in the garments of a prentice. She had departed the city with her virginity intact, unlike many, including her friend Clotilde.

  She dared a surreptitious glance in the direction of his feet, noting the strength in the muscles of his calves, but her eyes lifted no further as he spoke. ‘Well, lad, what’s the delay?’ There was the slightest touch of sarcasm in his voice. ‘Is it that your hands are cold and you need help with your fastenings?’

  His bare feet shifted and Louise’s pulses jumped. ‘No!’ she cried, and, as quickly as she could, she presented her back to him.

  The minutes seemed long as she peeled off her sodden clothing and she was fearful of his coming over to her. Her teeth chattered as she rubbed herself scantily with the towel. Then it was on with a fine cream linen shirt, before forcing buttons through holes in a sage-green woollen doublet. It fitted her so snugly that it could have been made for her. She was tall for a woman but the Englishman was large and she wondered fleetingly to whom the doublet belonged. Then with a swiftness that almost proved her undoing — he half turned as she tripped over her feet — she managed to pull on a pair of slops and russet hose. Only when she faced him did she agonise over the shortness of the doublet she wore.

  The intentness of his gaze caused her to snatch up the coney-fur-trimmed ochre-coloured cloak that lay on the bed and wrap it about her before she dared to look at him again.

  ‘The clothes belonged to one of my Irish nephews, who uses this ship occasionally to transport horses to Genoa,’ he informed. ‘He has grown since he last wore those but they fit you well.’ There was a gleam in his eyes that caused her fear to surface again, and his next words proved of little comfort. ‘Thomas will soon be back with my supper and we can eat.’

  ‘But I don’t want to stay here,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Please — let me go.’

  Both his eyebrows rose. ‘Why such haste, lad? I thought you hungry.’ Her expression stiffened and she pressed her lips tightly together, considering that he was playing some game with her. His voice was soft when he added, ‘Perhaps I can draw you on another matter that you seem keen to talk about — me in the role of abductor, thief and rapist. Tell me more about this.’

  ‘Of what use would it be?’ she said, just as softly as he. ‘You would only deny it again.’

  His face stilled. ‘You are very sure you have seen me, then. When was it last, lad?’

  ‘At Caen.’ She frowned. ‘I can’t understand how you arrived before me, and why. Because you appeared to be saying goodbye to the man who had my sister in his keeping.’

  ‘Your sister?’

  ‘Marguerite.’ Suddenly her control slipped and anxiety showed in her face, and, although she hated pleading with him, she implored, ‘Please, sir, surely you must know if she is on this ship? If she is then will you let me see her?’

  ‘There is no Marguerite on this ship.’ His keen gaze did not leave her slender face as he pulled on his black houppelande, which reached down to his calves and had a high, rolled neck and long full sleeves. ‘But you obviously believe me party to her abduction.’

  ‘You were there in the forest some short distance from Caen,’ she repeated positively.

  ‘How long ago?’

  She glanced at him and her anger spurted up. ‘Why do you ask me when you know how long ago it was?’ she said scornfully. ‘You English really do like playing japes.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘I play no jape,’ he said harshly. ‘Refresh my memory, lad.’

  His tone was so convincing that if she had not seen him with her own eyes then she would have believed it was she who was in the wrong. ‘You fought with Pierre, our leader, and slashed him across the hand. I make no mistake about that, m’sieur.’ Her eyes smouldered. ‘I had not forgotten you from the storming of Caen, you see. The memory of what happened then is vivid in my mind still.’ There was a silence and for a moment he just stared over her shoulder at the wooden wall behind her, until at last he spoke.

  ‘The siege at Caen and the slaughter afterwards — I do remember it being said in Bruges — ’ He broke off as there came a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he called.

  Thomas entered, carrying a tray on which was placed the chicken minus a leg. There was a loaf and cheese, and two steaming pewter tankards, as well as two plates, two napkins, one knife. Such a mouth-watering aroma filled the cabin that Louise’s mind was immediately emptied of all thought but that of food. Without realising she did so, she moistened her lips.

  John, noticing it, subdued the emotions her words had caused, and pulled himself together. ‘Can you put aside your dispute with me long enough to sup?’ he asked in a rasping voice. She looked at him but made no reply and he signalled Thomas, who was collecting the wet garments, to leave. With a frown still knitting his brows, John set about cutting two thick slices of bread, placing one on each plate. Then he dissected the chicken, dividing it equally on to the bread, before pouring gravy over both. He then held out a plate to her.

  Her hand hovered over the rim and her gaze flew to his face. ‘You are not hungry?’ he murmured.

  ‘I have not eaten for two days,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘Then eat slowly,’ he advised, thrusting the plate into her outstretched hand. For a moment longer she stared at him, remembering suddenly how he had dived into the sea to save her. One of the English methods of getting rid of unwanted prisoners was to tie them up and throw them into a river. Why had he not left her to drown? Her fingers tightened on the plate. ‘Sit down and eat,’ he ordered. ‘I’m not going to harm you.’

  She nodded and looked about her. There was only the chest, which he now seated himself upon, a pail in the corner, or the bunks. She was nervous of sitting on a bed. Yet, mindful that he thought her a boy, she did so. Her fingers reached for a piece of chicken, and she carried it to her trembling mouth. Her tongue savoured the rich wine sauce spiced with ginger and garlic, and her eyes closed in ecstasy as she sucked flesh from the bone. For a while neither of them spoke.

  He broke the silence, having decided that he could hardly expect the whole truth from her, just as she would not have the truth from him. ‘Tell me what happened to you in Caen. Were you beaten?’

  Louise glanced at him quickly, then away. With the bac
k of her hand she wiped gravy from her rounded chin. ‘Why do you ask?’

  His gaze ran over her. ‘When a man is accused of a crime he likes to try and prove his innocence. Is it that you were hurt?’

  ‘A clout on the head,’ she said roughly, keeping her eyes on the floor. ‘But I counted myself lucky that I escaped with that.’

  He felt a certain amount of relief. ‘Then why do you hurl accusations at me?’ he pressed. ‘Did I hurt your sister — or a member of your family?’

  She shook her head abruptly. ‘I had a friend. We were together. You knocked me senseless but you … took … her. Clotilde was beautiful. I heard you say so.’ Her eyes darkened and she sat up wearily. ‘Marguerite,’ she muttered. ‘The man who took her — you must know which ship he sails on?’

  ‘Not so fast,’ he said quietly. ‘The sum of your accusation is that I am supposed to have clouted you and raped your friend?’

  A sharp laugh escaped her. ‘You count the loss of a woman’s virginity of little importance?’ He said nothing and she continued. ‘But what I mentioned was of little account compared to the rest of what happened that day. On that dreadful day when the lower town fell, your King Henry had cried “Havoc!” after having slaughtered a great number of the citizens of the new part of the town. And that slaughter was only stopped because he saw a babe still sucking at its murdered mother’s breast,’ she said in a seething voice. ‘Surely you must have had a part in the greater crime of murdering innocents!’ She put her plate down abruptly. ‘I hope you feel remorse for such acts. But if you do not, then you only add to your sins by lying about the abduction of my sister — she is only twelve, as you must have realised. An orphan who has seen much suffering, as I have.’ He continued to stare at her, his face expressionless, but there was a whiteness about his mouth as he wiped his plate carefully with another slice of bread. ‘How came you to be in the forest — you and your sister?’