Once Upon an Autumn Eve Page 3

  “Yes, my lady,” said Rémy, touching a finger to his forehead in salute.

  “Princess,” said Zacharie, glancing ’round through the moonlit night, “we best get you inside, for as you said, there might be more foe about.”

  Liaze nodded and then turned and padded toward the manor, an escort of armed men going ahead and aflank and aft of their barefooted lady, a lad bearing a shattered sword at her side.

  3

  Chevalier

  Zoé stood waiting under the high portico as Liaze and her escort of men paced up the three steps to the landing.

  “Where is the chevalier, Zoé?”

  “The infirmary, my lady.”

  Through the entry they went, the brass-studded, thick doors of oak standing back against the walls of a short corridor. As members of the houseguard closed those doors behind, the princess and her escort stepped along the passage and through another oaken doorway to come to a broad landing opening into a vast front hall. Down two steps the princess went and onto a wide floor of white marble, where centered within and inset in stone lay a large depiction of a scarlet maple leaf in a broad circle, the perimeter of which showed ripened heads of grain—the leaf crafted of shades of red granite, the grain of shades of brown. Three storeys above, the alabaster ceiling held a leaded-glass skylight portraying the same leaf and grain—a reflection of the one below. To either side, a massive staircase—one left, one right—swept from landings up and ’round, curving to a high balcony encircling the floor below, and higher up still were individual balconies jutting out of the three facing walls, with recessed doors leading into chambers beyond. On the main floor itself were doors and archways ranged to left, right, and fore, both at the great-hall floor level and the balcony level just above; beyond those archways corridors receded into the interior of the manor. Sconces bearing lit candles and lanterns were ranged along on the walls around, giving the chamber a pale yellow glow, augmented by argent moonlight slanting in through high front windows and the leaded-glass skylight above.

  Many members of the staff stood arrayed all ’round within the hall, and most faces held looks of anxiety.

  Liaze stopped upon the red maple leaf—a symbol of her station—and gazed about. Then she said, “I know not why a Troll-led band of Goblins was within the Autumnwood, yet be assured that the Troll is dead and many Goblins were slain, and the remaining few fled for their lives. Be also assured that we are well armed, and the warband and the houseguard are not only up to the task of defending this place, but also of routing the foe. So, tend to your responsibilities, and sleep well this night, for those whose duty it is will remain vigilant and watch o’er you.”

  A murmur of assent whispered ’round the room, and Zacharie said, “My lady, we thank you for these heartening words.” Most of those in the hall nodded in agreement, though a few yet held pensive looks. And then, with a gesture, Zacharie dismissed the staff, and the members vanished into the surrounding corridors.

  “Zacharie, with me,” said Liaze. “Let us see what this chevalier can tell us.” She glanced at her armsmaster. “You as well, Rémy.”

  Rightward she turned, and she and Rémy and Zacharie, with Zoé trotting after, headed toward the infirmary.

  “When we heard the clarion call,” said Rémy, “followed by what I knew to be the sound of Goblin horns, that’s when we grabbed up our arms and came running.”

  “As did the houseguard,” said Zacharie.

  “Who sounded the call, my lady?” asked Rémy.

  “The chevalier, I believe.”

  “It is well that he did,” said Rémy. “Else, my lady, you at the pool might have been—”

  “Oh, don’t even think that, Rémy,” said Zoé from behind, the handmaiden aghast.

  “I can only say it was good that he rode a horse,” said Liaze, “else we might not have escaped at all.”

  “Why are they here, I wonder?” said Zacharie. “—The Goblins, I mean, and the Troll.”

  “The chevalier, too,” said Rémy.

  “Oh, my,” volunteered Zoé. “Do you think it had anything to do with those sisters, those witches?”

  Liaze frowned. “Hradian, Iniquí, Nefasí?”

  “Forget not Rhensibé,” said Zacharie.

  “But Rhensibé is dead,” said Zoé.

  “Exactly so,” said Rémy. “It could be a raid of revenge.”

  As Zoé’s mouth curved into a silent O, Rémy said, “But wouldn’t they attack Winterwood Manor first? I mean, after all, it was Borel who—”

  Liaze turned to Zacharie. “At first light send falcons. Perhaps Goblins and Trolls have already attacked there. Send falcons to the Summerwood and Springwood as well, bearing warnings and telling of what happened here.”

  “Perhaps they attacked here first,” said Zacharie. “I mean, we have no defensive wall about the estate.”

  Liaze shook her head. “We haven’t needed one.” “But Summerwood Manor has a wall about,” said Zoé.

  “It is not one for protection,” said Rémy. “Even so, were we to have a true defensive wall—”

  “Let us not rehash old arguments,” said Liaze, waving a dismissive hand. “The manor itself is strong enough, and I would not live in a fort.”

  “As you will, my lady,” said Rémy, the armsmaster sighing.

  Zacharie shrugged. “Still, they could come at us again with another raid of revenge.”

  Liaze frowned and said, “I wonder.”

  “My lady?” said Zacharie.

  “Well,” said Liaze, “because they came back when the Goblin I slew called out, it seems they were after the knight, rather than coming to mount an attack on the manor.”

  “Why would they be after him, my lady?” asked Zoé.

  “Perhaps he can tell us,” said Liaze, even as they came to the door of the infirmary.

  As they entered, several women standing at the side of a bed turned at the sound of their footsteps. Margaux was among them, and her face lit up and she smiled and said, “My lady.” The women moved aside, making room for the princess and her party.

  In the bed ’neath cotton sheets lay the now-unclothed chevalier, his forehead bandaged ’round, his black hair spread on the pillow framing his rather handsome face, a day’s growth of stubble thereon. Even as the princess stepped to his side, he gave a faint moan and shifted, revealing about his neck a silver chain, leading down to a blue gemstone in a silver setting lying upon his chest. He did not waken.

  “Did you give him a sleeping draught?” asked Zoé.

  “Oh, non,” said Margaux. “He received a rather severe blow to the head. Natural sleep should restore him, but we must make certain that he is not slipping into a dark realm beyond recovery, and so we’ll rouse him every now and again to make certain that he responds.—In fact, we were just about to do so.”

  “I would question him,” said Liaze.

  Margaux frowned. “Oh, my lady, I think you should wait until the morrow, for he is likely to be addled, and whatever he says, we should take it with a grain of salt.”

  Liaze pursed her lips and said, “Very well. On the morrow, then.” She canted her head toward the knight and said, “Proceed.”

  Margaux glanced from princess to chevalier and back and smiled and said, “Perhaps you should call to him, Princess.”

  “Has he given you his name?” asked Liaze.

  “Non,” said Margaux. “And he had nothing upon him to identify just who he is.”

  “ ’Tis likely to be on his horse,” said Liaze. “Perhaps in the saddlebags or bedroll. Still . . .”

  “His clothing, however,” said Josette, one of the women standing by, “is of luxurious cloth and sewn with a fine hand. I would think he comes from wealth.”

  “Still, that does not identify him,” said Margaux, “and if there is nought borne upon his horse to say, I believe we’ll need him to tell us just who he is.” She stepped aside and gestured to Liaze.

  The princess leaned down and softly said, �
��Awaken, sir knight.”

  The man stirred faintly.

  “Awaken, sir knight,” said Liaze again. “I would thank you for alerting my holt.” She gently touched him on the shoulder. “Awaken.”

  The chevalier’s eyes opened, and they were a deep blue beyond blue. Even as a thrill flooded Liaze’s entire being, the knight’s eyes locked with hers and he said, “Mon ange. Mon bel ange.”

  Liaze flushed, her heart leaping, while all ’round the women sighed and one whispered, “So handsome.” A murmur of beau and élégant came in agreement.

  Zoé laughed and twirled about and clapped her hands.

  Rémy frowned and looked at Zacharie in puzzlement, and Zacharie merely shrugged.

  With a faint smile on his lips, the chevalier closed his eyes and sank back into sleep.

  Her face yet ablush, Liaze straightened and looked at the women standing nearby, yet they all had expressions of innocence upon their features. Liaze sighed in exasperation and turned to Zacharie. “Would you please see if there is ought in the knight’s saddlebags or upon the trappings of his steed to let us know just who he might be?”

  As Zacharie nodded, Liaze frowned a moment and turned back to the chevalier and said, “Perhaps on the pendant there is engraved a name.”

  In spite of the fact that the cloak she wore gaped open a bit, Liaze reached out toward the silver-clasped jewel, and the moment she did so the women drew a collective gasp and Margaux cried, “Oh my lady, do not touch the—”

  The princess’s fingers came into contact with the—

  “Oh!” she cried and jerked back, cupping her fingers in her other hand, her cloak gaping wide and revealing even more, and Zacharie and Rémy looked away.

  Amid a babble, “—amulet,” finished Margaux, too late, then added, “It stings.” She reached out to take Liaze’s hand.

  “I saw a spark,” declared Zacharie, stepping forward, yet looking elsewhere but at the princess. “It leapt out from the gem.”

  Rémy, a dagger in hand, interposed himself between the knight and Liaze and glared down at the unconscious man.

  Zoé cried out, “Oh, are you hurt, my lady? Are you hurt?” as the princess turned her back to the men.

  With women babbling and Rémy glowering and Zacharie now glancing back and forth between Liaze and the pendant, the princess shook her hand as if to throw off the pain and said, “I’ll be all right.”

  “ ’Tis some sort of magic,” said Margaux. She gestured toward one of the women. “Aurélie discovered it, much to her dismay, even as we disrobed him.”

  “For protection, I would say,” said Zacharie.

  “What?” said Liaze, turning toward the gaunt steward.

  “The pendant,” said Zacharie, looking away. “I believe it is some sort of protective charm.”

  “It did not save him from a blow to the head,” said Liaze.

  Zacharie shrugged and turned up his hands.

  “Goblins, a Troll, a tall and handsome and mysterious knight,” said Zoé, “and now a magic amulet. What is it all about?”

  Liaze shook her head. “We’ll just have to wait until he regains consciousness.”

  “On the morrow,” said Margeaux. “I think I can safely say that by then he will be awake.”

  Liaze sighed and nodded and said, “Come, Zoé, I believe I’ll have that bath after all.”

  Not bothering to clutch the cloak tight, with wide strides the princess headed for her chambers, Zoé running ahead. Behind, Rémy finally sheathed his dagger and then set out to canvass the various guard stations, while Zacharie went to the stables to see what the chevalier had borne upon his midnight-dark horse.

  4

  Reflections

  As she luxuriated in the warm water, Liaze’s thoughts kept spinning back to the knight and his dark, dark eyes of blue and his black hair and what he had said: “Mon ange. Mon bel ange.”

  Why did he affect me so? It’s not as if I haven’t had liaisons with men ere now—there was Duc Laurent, and Comte Benoît, and the Baronet Yves, but he was just a fling when I discovered the comte was after Autumnwood and not my heart—yet none of them thrilled me to the core with nought but a glance as did this wounded man in the infirmary. But why? He said only five words in all: “Mon ange. Mon bel ange.”

  Liaze’s heart echoed and reechoed with those five words—“Mon ange. Mon bel ange”—and whenever she closed her own amber eyes, she saw his of indigo.

  Snap out of it, Liaze! He is a stranger and you know nothing of him. He could be nought but a poor hedge knight, yet would that make any difference? Josette, though, said his clothing is of luxurious cloth and sewn with a fine hand. She thinks he comes from wealth, but he could have won them in a tournament. Ah me, he could be a terrible bore, a selfish pig. A fortune hunter, as was the comte. Still, I hope not, for I would— Liaze veered away from those thoughts.

  “Mon ange. Mon bel ange.”

  Handsome he is and tall and slender, though but for a brief moment, I’ve only seen him lying down.—Oh, I do hope he is taller than my own height, for—Ah, Liaze, already you are spinning dreams. Still, he seemed tall when I saw him upon his steed, though he was falling off even as he came into sight. Yet he nigh filled the infirmary bed from headboard to foot. I wonder how he would look in my own bed—Now stop it, Liaze! You are giving to him in your day-dreams that which you might not in truth. After all, what do you know of him? Nothing, that’s what. Still, he must be a mighty fighter—broken sword and all. And he is sturdy, for Margaux said he had taken a terrible beating, but he managed to stay on his steed ... for a while, at least. And he—Oh, I remember now. He had a silver horn on a baldric at his side. He was the one who sounded the alert. A noble deed, that . . . or was it a cry for aid? Ah, but—

  “Here is your wine, my lady,” said Zoé, stepping into the bathing chamber. “Oh, my, you’ve put out the lamp and lit the scented candles. How nice.” She held out the goblet of dark red wine to Liaze.

  Liaze sighed and reached up for the drink and took a sip and then set it on the edge of the bronze tub.

  Zoé, humming to herself, went about fluffing towels and draped one over the fireguard to warm it for the princess. Then she whirled around and danced about and laughed. Of a sudden she sobered, and looked at the princess and said, “Did I not tell you that one day the right man would come along and—”

  “Zoé, Zoé, we know nothing of him.”

  “My lady, recall: I said that this might be the day, and he is so handsome and tall and strong in spite of being slender, and—”

  “Zoé, again I say, we know nothing of him.”

  “Ah, Princess, I saw how he made you blush. And his words were so romantic: ‘My angel,’ he said. ‘My beautiful angel.’ What could be more fitting?” Zoé sighed, and her eyes lost focus, as if she were captured in a rêve. But then she started and exclaimed, “Oh, my, I just had a thought. At the pool. He must have seen you naked. Did he? Did he?”

  “He had already swooned,” said Liaze, taking up her glass and peering into the depths.

  Zoé giggled and clasped her hands together. “Oh, I think not, my lady, for you are blushing again.”

  Liaze swirled her wine and smiled unto herself, then said, “After he had fallen from his horse, when I went to him in the moonlight he opened his eyes long enough to look at me, but only my face. Then he swooned.”

  “He said nothing?”

  “Just one word,” said Liaze. “Ange.”

  “Angel!” squealed Zoé, clapping her hands. “I knew it!”

  “I repeat, he only saw my face.”

  “Ah, but non, I think not, for men are sneaky in the way they look at us and manage to see more than they let on.”

  Liaze sipped her wine. I think this one would look frankly and openly at anyone or anything that interested him. Liaze did not say so to Zoé, for that would attribute to the knight something that she knew not. Thrusting my own ways upon him.

  Zoé smiled, and then, all
handmaiden business, she held out a washcloth and a bar of lavender-scented soap. “Cook says the meal will be ready within a candlemark.”

  The princess tossed down the last of her wine and traded her glass for the cloth and soap.

  Just after dawn the next morn, Liaze, wearing her hunting leathers, saddled her horse, Stablemaster Eugéne standing by.

  An outer door opened, and Zacharie entered. “The falcons have flown with their messages, my lady.”

  “Well and good,” said Liaze. “Let us hope when they return they do not bear ill tidings.” She glanced across at the chevalier’s black horse, the stallion’s attention on Liaze’s mare. “Zacharie, are you certain there was nought in our mysterious knight’s baggage to identify him?”

  “Non, my lady,” replied the steward. He looked at Eugéne. “And we searched most thoroughly.”

  Eugéne nodded in agreement and said, “Though his steed put up a ruckus last night, still he is a noble one, and the trappings are of worth. Perhaps the knight is highborn.”

  Liaze cinched the girth and said, “Unless the blow to his head has removed his memory, when he wakens we shall know.” As she took up a saddle quiver filled with arrows and tied it to the forebow, Liaze frowned and glanced at the black and said, “Put up a ruckus, you say? Why so?”

  Eugéne shrugged. “Something disturbed him, I would say, though I cannot say what. Got the other horses in a rumpus, too. By the time I arrived, they’d begun calming down. Whatever it was, a badger or some such, it was gone.”

  “When was this?” asked Liaze.

  “Just before Zacharie and I went through the knight’s goods; searching for his identity, we were,” said the stable master.

  “My lady, mayhap it was one of the Goblins,” said Zacharie.

  “If so, it’s no longer about,” said Liaze, taking up her horn bow.

  “Even so, my lady,” said the steward, fretting, “I would rather you let Rémy and the men make certain that the woods are clear of—”