that box of relics, he mused, the real treasure had been here all along. And now it belonged to him.
* * * *
The fisherman's wife, Edyth, found them dry clothes and Vivienne soon made herself useful helping to prepare supper, while Thierry talked with the woman's husband, ascertaining as much as he could about their surroundings, asking where they might find horses to borrow. She heard the fisherman say that his nephew was taking a cart to market in the nearest large town early tomorrow. He could take them that far, if they desired it, and they might find horses there.
Vivienne felt a sense of ease about this place and had begun to fantasize about staying there forever, but she was not foolish enough to think this was any more than a fantasy. Bonnenfant wanted to get back to his life, discover what happened to his men. He was a lord with property, a nobleman of importance. A humble fisherman's life was not for him.
"Your husband is handsome," her hostess exclaimed over the cooking pot.
"Yes," she muttered, "and well does he know it."
The lady tittered. "Still, it is his right to be vain with so much beauty."
He was a generous fellow too, she thought with a sigh, and he liked to share that beauty, as well as his remarkable skills, with many women. He was not the sort to settle down with only one.
"How did you meet?" the smiling lady inquired.
Vivienne made up a hasty story and embellished it well with romance to please the fisherman's wife. "I am his father's ward. We have known each other since childhood and were always in love."
"Ah yes. I can see that." The good lady nodded. "I see the love between you."
Laughing nervously, Vivienne looked over and caught Thierry's eye. He hadn't heard their conversation, but he smiled and winked at her.
Her heart dropped to her knees and somehow dragged its way back up again, still beating.
She'd never been in love, imagined it was perhaps only something made up by minstrels and jongleurs. But it would account for the torn feelings she suffered—the anger one moment, confusion the next. Joy simply when he smiled at her.
This would not do at all. She was appalled. When Edyth asked her to go out and look for mint in the herb garden, she was glad of the chance to slip outside and cool her cheeks.
The cottage sat on a slight hill overlooking the water. A narrow, muddy lane wove its way to a cluster of similar thatched homes and animal pens further along the bay. The sun was just lowering beyond the horizon of a calm sea, no sign remaining of that ugly storm. She wandered down to the water's edge and walked along by the reeds and bulrushes, her mind running sultry fingers over her conversation with the fisherman's wife.
She sincerely hoped Thierry Bonnenfant had no clue about her feelings for him. That would be disastrous. He would mock her and then run away as fast as he could. Under no circumstances could he desire a deeper bond with her—the whore who was sent to thwart his mission. He probably still thought of her as the cause of all his bad luck, the witch that conjured the storm and killed his men.
He fucked her because, in his mind, that was all women were good for and she was currently available to him. That was all.
The fisherman's boat was tied up at the water's edge, bobbing gently, reeds brushing against its sides. A gull disturbed by her footsteps, flew up in a flurry of annoyed feathers and swooped off over the water. She watched it, her hand raised over her eyes, sheltering them from sudden glare of burnished sunset. When something nudged her foot, she looked down and saw a remnant of wood, part of a barrel. It must have drifted in the same direction as they had after the storm. Her heart ached as she stared at this piece of wreckage. Nausea rose up in her gullet. Closing her eyes tight, she pictured the soldier Dominic's scarred face. He had saved her last night from the grasping hands of the other men by the campfire. There was a quiet good in him, a
* * * *
The fisherman's wife, Edyth, found them dry clothes and Vivienne soon made herself useful helping to prepare supper, while Thierry talked with the woman's husband, ascertaining as much as he could about their surroundings, asking where they might find horses to borrow. She heard the fisherman say that his nephew was taking a cart to market in the nearest large town early tomorrow. He could take them that far, if they desired it, and they might find horses there.
Vivienne felt a sense of ease about this place and had begun to fantasize about staying there forever, but she was not foolish enough to think this was any more than a fantasy. Bonnenfant wanted to get back to his life, discover what happened to his men. He was a lord with property, a nobleman of importance. A humble fisherman's life was not for him.
"Your husband is handsome," her hostess exclaimed over the cooking pot.
"Yes," she muttered, "and well does he know it."
The lady tittered. "Still, it is his right to be vain with so much beauty."
He was a generous fellow too, she thought with a sigh, and he liked to share that beauty, as well as his remarkable skills, with many women. He was not the sort to settle down with only one.
"How did you meet?" the smiling lady inquired.
Vivienne made up a hasty story and embellished it well with romance to please the fisherman's wife. "I am his father's ward. We have known each other since childhood and were always in love."
"Ah yes. I can see that." The good lady nodded. "I see the love between you."
Laughing nervously, Vivienne looked over and caught Thierry's eye. He hadn't heard their conversation, but he smiled and winked at her.
Her heart dropped to her knees and somehow dragged its way back up again, still beating.
She'd never been in love, imagined it was perhaps only something made up by minstrels and jongleurs. But it would account for the torn feelings she suffered—the anger one moment, confusion the next. Joy simply when he smiled at her.
This would not do at all. She was appalled. When Edyth asked her to go out and look for mint in the herb garden, she was glad of the chance to slip outside and cool her cheeks.
The cottage sat on a slight hill overlooking the water. A narrow, muddy lane wove its way to a cluster of similar thatched homes and animal pens further along the bay. The sun was just lowering beyond the horizon of a calm sea, no sign remaining of that ugly storm. She wandered down to the water's edge and walked along by the reeds and bulrushes, her mind running sultry fingers over her conversation with the fisherman's wife.
She sincerely hoped Thierry Bonnenfant had no clue about her feelings for him. That would be disastrous. He would mock her and then run away as fast as he could. Under no circumstances could he desire a deeper bond with her—the whore who was sent to thwart his mission. He probably still thought of her as the cause of all his bad luck, the witch that conjured the storm and killed his men.
He fucked her because, in his mind, that was all women were good for and she was currently available to him. That was all.
The fisherman's boat was tied up at the water's edge, bobbing gently, reeds brushing against its sides. A gull disturbed by her footsteps, flew up in a flurry of annoyed feathers and swooped off over the water. She watched it, her hand raised over her eyes, sheltering them from sudden glare of burnished sunset. When something nudged her foot, she looked down and saw a remnant of wood, part of a barrel. It must have drifted in the same direction as they had after the storm. Her heart ached as she stared at this piece of wreckage. Nausea rose up in her gullet. Closing her eyes tight, she pictured the soldier Dominic's scarred face. He had saved her last night from the grasping hands of the other men by the campfire. There was a quiet good in him, a
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