“Celine,” she insisted.
“Christiane,” he repeated just as stubbornly, “how did Tourelle first persuade you into his scheme? Was it loyalty on your part .... or did he force you into this? Has he threatened you in any way?”
She shook her head. “There’s no time to argue about that anymore. None of it matters. He’s planning to kill you. You’ve got to leave and I’ve—”
“It does matter,” he said flatly. “You will tell me.”
“If there’s one thing I hate about this century, it’s the way men order women around! Do you have any idea how annoying that is?”
He closed the distance between them in two strides and caught her chin on the edge of his gloved hand. “Do not attempt to change the subject, my lady wife. Is Tourelle threatening you?”
She trembled at the contact and jerked away from his touch, turning her back. “Something about Moorish traders and desert lords,” she muttered in an irritated tone.
A steel edge of fury lanced through him. So that was Tourelle’s threat—to sell her to slave traders. And to think that the Duc called him Blackheart, when he was using so savage a tactic against his own ward, a convent-raised innocent.
If that was truly what—who—she was, this maddening woman he stood staring at. He still could not believe that she had ever set foot in a cloister. But the nuns were certain she was Christiane, and Tourelle as well, and they had known her all her life.
Who was he to dispute their certainty?
Damn him, whoever she was—Christiane or not, liar or not, insane or not—he had to keep her safe. He could not abandon her here, and he could not send her away alone. Not because the King had ordered him to ensure that no harm came to her, or even because he was concerned about Tourelle’s threat of slave traders.
It was because of the concern that he felt for her, that gentle yet unyielding feeling that would not be banished. It made leaving her behind impossible.
It also made him resentful.
And furious at his own weakness.
He would not make his brother’s mistake. He would never be softened by a woman. Any woman.
“We will leave on the morrow,” he said abruptly.
“We?” She spun around. “But I can’t go anywhere! I’ve got to stay here. I need to—”
“To stay near Tourelle?” he finished for her. “Nay, Christiane, I’ll not leave you here to weave further schemes. I mean to put as much distance as possible between you and your overlord.” It was the only explanation he would allow himself to give her.
She looked exasperated. And angry enough to chew steel and spit rust. “It’s too risky to take me with you,” she pointed out. “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to try to lure you into bed? You’ll be better off without me. It makes more sense to leave me here.”
Aye, it did.
But he knew he would ignore all sense, all logic, all reason when it came to keeping her safe.
“We leave on the morrow, as soon as supplies can be readied.” He pinned her with a determined look. “And if you think this will make it easier for you to trick me, you are wrong. You will never again lure me into your lies, Christiane. Or your bed.”
Chapter 16
Celine huddled in the darkness between a sack of rye flour and a cask of wine, and knew all along this was never going to work.
A mad impulse had led her down here, to the bouteillerie, a basement beneath the kitchen where wines and staple goods were stored. Gaston had ordered her to be in the bailey, ready to leave, by the time the morning bells rang at six—and that had been well over an hour ago. She had thought if she could just hide, if it took him too long to find her, maybe he would give up out of sheer annoyance.
Ever since Tourelle had declared her to be the one, true, real Christiane yesterday, her husband had done nothing but growl orders and glare at her. Even the nuns, who were staying to rest and gather supplies before beginning their long journey home to Aragon, had kept out of his way. Since he was so furious with her, maybe he would give up and leave her behind.
But as she knelt there, trying not to sneeze on dust and pepper, she realized this impetuous tactic was useless.
He would find her. He might hate her, but he also didn’t trust her one bit, and he wasn’t going to leave her here to “scheme” with Tourelle, as he had put it. She had tried reasoning with him all day yesterday, but he hadn’t listened. He had remained adamant about taking her with him.
Even though they both knew it was a mistake.
Stubborn, pigheaded, tyrannical male! Why couldn’t he see that he had a much better chance of staying alive if the two of them separated and kept as far apart as possible?