His Fair Lady (7 page)

Bird chatter began to fill the air as the
first rays of dawn spilled over the city and into the square. Ana
raised her eyes toward the sprawling fortress on the cliff as both
began to glow. She inhaled a deep, renewing breath and smiled.
‘Twas going to be a splendid day.

Just as the castle and cliff magically paled
to gold, the clatter of a horse’s hooves sounded on the
cobblestones, drawing her gaze. Ana retreated into the shadows of
the nearest building to watch as a single rider appeared on the
square astride a large black stallion. He rode apace, heading
directly toward the lord mayor’s dwelling, which stood adjacent to
the church.

As Ana continued to observe him, the
women at the well scuttled off. She sharpened her gaze over the
stranger. He was impressive in size and bearing, attired in
knightly garb — a long, sleeveless surcoat worn over a hauberk and
leggings of mail. A close-fitting hood of additional mail covered
his head, while a bright scarlet mantle flowed from his shoulders.
Facially, she could discern little of his features owing to his
mustache and beard, though both were neatly trimmed. Drinking in
the sight of him, her gaze
drifted slowly downward
then stopped at the great sword he wore at his hip.

A sudden sense of foreboding washed through
her. Ana clutched the cross in her hand once more as she watched
the knight dismount and approach the entrance to the lord mayor’s
residence. As he disappeared inside, she shook off the prickly
feelings, aware that the fine hairs on the back of her neck and
arms had lifted on end.

Ana clamped down on her emotions. Strangers
in the city were not uncommon. Obviously, with day breaking, the
night guard had opened the city gates and permitted entry to those
who waited without. The knight’s business lay with the lord mayor
and had nothing to do with her. She’d not dwell on him one moment
longer.

But the fluttery feeling she’d felt in her
stomach and chest moments before had turned to lead. Ana set her
jaw. She refused to believe in omens. ‘Twas the sight of the
knight’s sword that unsettled her so, that and no more. Such
weapons ever conjured dark memories from her past.

Ana turned on her heel and quit the square.
Retracing her steps back along the crooked street, she quickened
toward her foster parents’ house, forcing her thoughts to the hours
ahead and the coming celebration.

‘Twas her wedding day, and she’d allow
nothing to spoil it.

»«

Hours later, the wedding party swept Ana and
Gervase along the streets of Chinon amidst great noise and
merriment. Musicians led the procession, skipping about as they
played bright tunes on their flutes and tamped out rhythms on
beribboned tambours.

Well-wishers and onlookers joined the
festivities along the way, many offering jovial advice to the
bridegroom for the wedding night. Gervase laughed good-naturedly
and replied with his own cheerful banter. When his twinkling gaze
fell upon Ana, consuming her whole, heat shot to her cheeks and she
felt herself blush completely.

In truth, Ana found his attentions
most flattering. She smiled up at him, feeling radiant and pretty
in her new dress, a light green wool, embroidered about the neck
and
sleeves. A circlet of flowers crowned her wealth
of pale hair, flowing freely past her waist. Completing her bridal
dress, soft leather slippers adorned her feet. Beside her, Gervase
looked wonderfully handsome, clean and smooth shaven and dressed in
his best clothes.

Happiness filled Ana’s heart. After the
nuptials and mass, the wedding party would return to her foster
parents’ home to feast and dance and sing till dark. A bubbling
pork stew awaited them, plus rounds of barley bread, fish pasties,
and eggs by the dozens. To wash it all down, there was a plentitude
of ale and beer and even a barrel of watered wine — gift of a local
vintner and patron of Gervase’s fine casks.

As the party progressed through the winding
streets, their numbers rapidly multiplied, swelling to a sizable
crowd as they entered the main square and advanced toward St.
Maurice. Ana looked expectantly to the great arched doors where the
priest would emerge momentarily, carrying an open Bible and the
wedding rings.

Gervase gave an affectionate squeeze to her
hand as they began to mount the church steps. She smiled into his
brown eyes. In scant moments they would speak their vows and be
joined for the rest of their mortal lives. Today would be one of
the most important and memorable occasions they would ever
experience.

Transferring her gaze to the church’s
central door, she saw it slowly draw open and the priest’s figure
appear. As he stepped from the church’s dim interior into the
light, she noted that
Pere Armand
did not
appear his normal, robust self. Rather, he looked ill, his face
pinched and his complexion waxen. Ana’s gaze fell to his hands and
found they were empty.

Before she could think on it, a movement
just behind the priest drew her eyes. In the next instant, the blur
sharpened into the figure of a man. As he came to stand beside the
priest, she recognized him at once as the stranger she’d observed
at dawn.

The knight was impressive in stature
and commanding in presence, much taller than she’d expected and
exceedingly broad-shouldered. She saw now that the surcoat he wore
over his mail was deep blue, enhancing the color of his eyes. Those
eyes sought hers at once, their expression con
taining
a vibrant intensity that sent bolts of apprehension flashing
through her.

The priest suddenly cleared his throat and
turned to the knight. “This is Ana of whom I spoke, the daughter of
Georges, the brewer, and his wife, Marie. Does she favor the maid
you seek?”

The knight swept a long gaze over her, from
the top of her flowered head down to her slippered toes and back,
skimming everything between, then lingering a moment at the mole on
her upper lip. A muscle moved in his cheek as he locked his eyes
with hers.

“‘
Tis she,” he declared in a rich,
full voice, his words filled with certainty.

Ana’s eyes widened at the exchange, heat
shimmering through her at the knight’s intimate perusal.

Maid you seek?

She looked to Pere Armand, then Gervase. Her
bridegroom made not the slightest move to intervene on her behalf,
but stood gaping at the knight. In truth, no one in the crowd so
much as twitched, their gazes riveted on the stranger. Glancing to
her foster parents, she saw alarm piercing their eyes, their hands
gripped together as they took measure of the man.

Ana returned her gaze to the imposing
knight. For what possible reason did he meddle here, spoiling her
wedding day? Seeing that he continued to scrutinize her, she jutted
her chin upward, a spark of defiance emboldening her.

“Pere Armand, am I to be examined like goods
at market on the church steps when I have come to wed? Pray tell
this knight to seek elsewhere for a maid if he be in need of one. I
am bespoken for. Pray, let us begin the ceremony that Gervase and I
might speak our vows and marry.”

“That will not be allowed!” the knight
declared, his tone sharp, commanding, possessive.

Ana went to stone as gasps broke among the
crowd. Whether ‘twas due to her boldness or the knight’s swift
temper she could not say, their words had flown so fast.

His gray-blue eyes continued to bore into
her. They held a vague familiarity. Ana shook away the notion.
Impossible, she told herself, a flood of indignation welling inside
her. What right had this stranger to interfere here, particularly
in her choice of a husband? Plucking up her courage, she faced him
squarely.

“I assure you I will marry whomever I
please, Sir Knight.” She managed to hold his gaze without
flinching, though inside she quivered like a mass of half-baked
pudding.

“Child, mind your tongue!” Pere Armand
admonished. “This is Sir Royce de Warrene. He comes at the behest
of King John of England, our own liege lord, and also at the urging
of a certain Lord Gilbert Osborne.”

Smarting at his rebuke, Ana directed her
gaze to the priest. At the same time she wondered why Gervase still
stood beside her like a log and said naught.

She afforded the churchman her sweetest
smile, hoping her effort didn’t appear forced. “How agreeable that
the knight is acquainted with such imminent personages, but what
has that to do with me?”

“Lord Gilbert seeks his lost granddaughter,
Juliana Mandeville,” the priest offered.

Ana flicked a glance to the knight and back.
“Then I wish Lord Gilbert good fortune in finding her, but this
knight is mistook if he believes me to be able to help. I know
nothing of this Juliana Mandeville.”

Nervously, Pere Armand rubbed his hands
together, one within the other. “The girl disappeared ten years
ago, from the village of Vaux on the night of its burning.”

Ana’s heart jolted in its place at the
implication of his words. Still, she refused to grant them any
significance in regard to herself.

The knight stepped forward, claiming her
attention. Again he studied her with intense, probing eyes. His
gaze swept to Georges and Marie then back again.

“Is it not true that the brewer and his wife
are not your natural parents, but rather, your foster parents? In
fact, you were brought from Vaux on the night it was savagely
attacked and given to their care in the neighboring village of
Vincelles, ten years ago.”

Ana felt the blood drain from her face that
this stranger should have such knowledge of her past. “That night
is most painful to me. Why do you resurrect it on my wedding day?
If you must know, I was orphaned that night. I am the only
surviving daughter of the miller of Vaux.”

“Of the
miller
? Do you not know— ?” The knight halted
his words, surprise touching his eyes. He began to speak again but
stayed what he would say once more. “Have you no memories of that
night, or of your people?” he asked at last.

Ana shifted her weight from one foot to the
other. “A few memories of the attack. Nothing before it. Nothing of
my kindred either,” she admitted, feeling a familiar pang in her
heart.

The images of fire and bloodied swords
flashed before her mind’s eye. She pressed her lashes shut,
thrusting back the disturbing pictures and casting them into the
recesses of her mind.

“I am Ana, the miller’s daughter, none
other,” she stated flatly, her breathing suddenly shallow and
quick, her patience short. “The one who found me claimed it to be
so for he’d also discovered my family laying slain in the grass
nearby. Now, if you please—”

“The lad was mistaken, fair maid,” the
knight spoke softly, a note of sadness — or was it regret? — in his
voice.

“‘
Twas not your family who lay there,
though indeed ‘twas the miller’s. In truth, you are the daughter of
Sir Robert Mandeville and his wife, Lady Alyce.”

Ana’s eyes snapped to the knight’s. Again it
perturbed her that he should possess such details of her life. How
could he possibly know of her squire?

“Tragically, Lady Alyce died that night
during the attack on Vaux and your father later, whilst on
Crusade,” he continued. “Your grandfather has searched for you
these many years, but now he is too enfeebled to continue and the
quest has been given to me.”

“Quest?”

“Aye. I am charged with the task of finding
you and returning you to your grandfather in England, where you
will take your rightful place as a highborn lady and Lord Gilbert’s
sole heir.”

“Nay, that cannot be so!” Ana reeled round
to Gervase and gripped his forearms, her eyes pleading for help.
But she found only confusion in his face. Shaken, she darted a
glance to her foster parents, then to the priest.

“Someone tell him, I am not this Juliana. My
place is here in Chinon at my husband’s side.” Even as the words
left her lips, a crushing feeling overtook her. Would no one help
her?

Gervase finally moved. He took her hands in
his and fumbled with her fingers, seemingly unable to find his
tongue. He searched her face with a questioning, confounded look.
Meanwhile, the murmurings among the crowd increased in her ears. A
surprising number seemed pleased with this turn of fate.

“This man is not your husband,” the knight
spoke again, his voice weighted with galling authority. “Be warned,
any marriage made without Lord Gilbert’s permission will be
promptly annulled.”

Anger boiled up in Ana’s soul. Quest or not,
the man had no right to appear on the church steps on her wedding
day to seize control of her life in the name of another.

Frantically, she searched her memories,
reaching back to that night long ago, striving to press past it to
find the name Alyce or anything that might reveal the truth of her
parentage and station. But she could find naught but darkness
there. Darkness, except for her squire.

Ana could still remember first seeing his
handsome face as he lifted the boat and discovered her crouched
beneath. Remembered traveling the road to Vincelles, snuggled
against him on his fine mount. ‘Twas the only memory that lingered
bright and undiminished in her mind — that and being given over to
the care of Georges and Marie and then the misery of her squire’s
departure.

Ana looked to the knight. Why did he come
this day to ruin the life she’d come to know and love? The entirety
of her life’s memory was confined to a few slender years, most
spent happily here, in Chinon. Now when she would marry a man she
loved, one well regarded by her foster family and who could provide
her with a secure future, the knight sought to alter her life’s
course, snatch her from her home, and place her under the mastery
of strangers.