hand to escort Allesandra from the dais. She accepted Gaucelm's hand only as far as the edge of the dais. She took her hand from his firm, warm grip to hold her train as she descended the steps to the rush-strewn floor.
"It is a fine day," he said, forcing her to turn again and face him at the entrance to the hall. The din of the meal inside was still in the background. "If you would still like to accompany me in my inspection of the demesne, I would be glad for the company."
"As you wish. I can be ready in half an hour."
He smiled in amusement. "And do you have a horse to ride that would be more suitable than that charger you brought from Muret?"
"Roussillon is a very good mount," she said defensively.
He chuckled. "Oh, indeed, good for a strong soldier, but hardly for a lady. Don't worry, I do not wish to take him from you unless I need him," he said, seeing the ire rise in her lovely face. "I simply inquire as to a horse on which you would find more comfort." -
She forced herself not to argue about Roussillon, to whom
she'd grown very attached. But of course on familiar lands, riding at leisure, she would be better off on one of her mares. She started to issue an order and then remembered their positions. How vexing it was to have to be submissive, and for a moment she wondered how long she would be capable of it. However, she took a breath and then spoke calmly.
"If you would be so kind as to have one of the grooms saddle my bay, I would appreciate it."
He nodded in deference. "Then I will meet you in the stables in one half hour from now."
She dropped a small curtsy and turned, her blood pounding in her veins. This was going to be more difficult than she had expected. It was a full two years since she'd been beholden to any man. Her widowhood had left her well fixed. She could not put her finger on all the conflicting emotions that coursed through her as she hurried to the women's chambers to have her companions help her dress in loose gown and mantle appropriate for riding.
Allesandra had hoped to slip away to have a word with those whose lives were in danger, but there was no chance. If Gaucelm insisted in galloping over the demesne, it was better that she be with him. By now word would have reached the believers that the castle had been overtaken. The bishop's court would soon follow. She must make it look as if no Cathars inhabited this neighborhood, though she doubted the bishop would believe that for a moment.
A half hour later, they rode out through the gatehouse, her own guards now replaced by French men-at-arms. An eerie shiver raced down her spine. She felt almost guilty that her captor allowed her freedom, while her own house guard were shut up in the towers. Julian had assured her they were being well treated, but it furthered her resolve to reverse the situation as soon as plans were laid.
From the upthrust natural escarpment that formed the foundations of the castle, they rode down into the fertile valley. Blue sky, fleecy clouds, and yellow grain splashed the early-autumn
afternoon with color. Once past the fields, they began a gradual rise up a terraced slope where villeins tended the Valtin vineyards. Allesandra refused to think of them as the Deluc vineyards. They'd been in her husband's family for too long.
Gaucelm gazed at the undulating horizon in the distance, beyond which the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees bordered the kingdom of Aragon. The clear air made the distance seem negligible.
Allesandra pointed in a southwesterly direction. "The river narrows between those two peaks. That is our border."
"I see. It is interesting to translate what I have seen on maps to the reality of rocks and hills."
Borders and passes, more likely, she thought. From the way he squinted into the distances, she could see his military mind working. He would no doubt get a firm fix on his new lands in a very short time. But now that Peter of Aragon was dead, what enemy could he expect to ride from
"It is a fine day," he said, forcing her to turn again and face him at the entrance to the hall. The din of the meal inside was still in the background. "If you would still like to accompany me in my inspection of the demesne, I would be glad for the company."
"As you wish. I can be ready in half an hour."
He smiled in amusement. "And do you have a horse to ride that would be more suitable than that charger you brought from Muret?"
"Roussillon is a very good mount," she said defensively.
He chuckled. "Oh, indeed, good for a strong soldier, but hardly for a lady. Don't worry, I do not wish to take him from you unless I need him," he said, seeing the ire rise in her lovely face. "I simply inquire as to a horse on which you would find more comfort." -
She forced herself not to argue about Roussillon, to whom
she'd grown very attached. But of course on familiar lands, riding at leisure, she would be better off on one of her mares. She started to issue an order and then remembered their positions. How vexing it was to have to be submissive, and for a moment she wondered how long she would be capable of it. However, she took a breath and then spoke calmly.
"If you would be so kind as to have one of the grooms saddle my bay, I would appreciate it."
He nodded in deference. "Then I will meet you in the stables in one half hour from now."
She dropped a small curtsy and turned, her blood pounding in her veins. This was going to be more difficult than she had expected. It was a full two years since she'd been beholden to any man. Her widowhood had left her well fixed. She could not put her finger on all the conflicting emotions that coursed through her as she hurried to the women's chambers to have her companions help her dress in loose gown and mantle appropriate for riding.
Allesandra had hoped to slip away to have a word with those whose lives were in danger, but there was no chance. If Gaucelm insisted in galloping over the demesne, it was better that she be with him. By now word would have reached the believers that the castle had been overtaken. The bishop's court would soon follow. She must make it look as if no Cathars inhabited this neighborhood, though she doubted the bishop would believe that for a moment.
A half hour later, they rode out through the gatehouse, her own guards now replaced by French men-at-arms. An eerie shiver raced down her spine. She felt almost guilty that her captor allowed her freedom, while her own house guard were shut up in the towers. Julian had assured her they were being well treated, but it furthered her resolve to reverse the situation as soon as plans were laid.
From the upthrust natural escarpment that formed the foundations of the castle, they rode down into the fertile valley. Blue sky, fleecy clouds, and yellow grain splashed the early-autumn
afternoon with color. Once past the fields, they began a gradual rise up a terraced slope where villeins tended the Valtin vineyards. Allesandra refused to think of them as the Deluc vineyards. They'd been in her husband's family for too long.
Gaucelm gazed at the undulating horizon in the distance, beyond which the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees bordered the kingdom of Aragon. The clear air made the distance seem negligible.
Allesandra pointed in a southwesterly direction. "The river narrows between those two peaks. That is our border."
"I see. It is interesting to translate what I have seen on maps to the reality of rocks and hills."
Borders and passes, more likely, she thought. From the way he squinted into the distances, she could see his military mind working. He would no doubt get a firm fix on his new lands in a very short time. But now that Peter of Aragon was dead, what enemy could he expect to ride from
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