Forever His Read Free

Tourelle sputtered. “Varennes is not capable of managing such holdings! Nor is he deserving of them. The only chateau he possesses now is one that he stole during a—”
    “And to seal this peace and assure that there shall be no future trouble between you,” Philippe continued calmly, talking right over him, “Gaston will marry your nearest female relative, Alain.”
    Both men leaped to their feet with vehement protests before the King had even finished his sentence.
    “Nay, my lord, you cannot ask this!” Tourelle cried.
    “It is impossible,” Gaston declared, stunned by the unexpected command. “My liege, you have already promised me the hand of Lady Rosalind de Brissot.” He slanted a scornful look toward Tourelle. “Precisely so that I may join her lands with mine and protect my holdings and my people from the marauders who plague our region.”
    “Aye, Gaston, I did promise her to you, along with her dower lands. Half the Artois region, if you will recall. Mayhap you should have given some thought to that before you disobeyed my order to end this war.”
    Gaston felt his gut clench. He could not lose Lady Rosalind! He needed her lands and her knights now more than ever. His father’s and brother’s chateaux lay far to the north; he could not hope to hold them unless he had the reinforcements and the power that the de Brissot lands would bring him.
    “Sire,” Tourelle said patiently, “it pains me greatly to agree with this barbarian, but he is right in this instance—it is impossible. He cannot marry a maiden of my house because there are none available. My daughters are married. My sister died years past. I’ve no unmarried cousins—”
    “ ‘Twas your ward I thought of, Alain. Christiane de la Fontaine.”
     Tourelle flinched as if he’d been struck. “Not Christiane!” he spluttered. “She is an innocent, sire. Raised from the age of three in a foreign convent. She is soon to take her sacred vows and join the cloister. I cannot hand her over to this ... this—”
    “This barbarian wants naught to do with a woman of his enemy’s house,” Gaston said tightly. “Especially some impoverished novice fresh from the cloister without a blade of grass to her name. Sire, you must believe me. Tourelle is not what he pretends to be, and you are placing a weapon in his hands. He will only use this girl to accomplish what he has wanted all along—the death of the last male heir of the Varennes line. I will no doubt find her blade in my back as soon as the wedding vows have been spoken!”
    “Enough! Both of you!” the King snapped. “Alain, you will send for Lady Christiane immediately.”
    Shaking with suppressed fury, Tourelle replied through gritted teeth. “The convent is many weeks distant, sire. In Aragon. With the snows hard upon us, by the time a messenger can be sent, I—”
    “You will go there and fetch her yourself,” Philippe commanded. “Mayhap a journey through the snow will cool your anger and give you time to consider the wisdom of obeying your King without question when next he gives you an order.”
    A deafening crack of thunder sealed his words. For a long moment, the pounding storm made the only sound in the small tent.
    “Sire,” Gaston said at last, his determination no less fierce than before, “I will wed this Fontaine girl because it is what you command, but I vow to you, I will have done with her and marry—”
    “You savage son of a cur,” Tourelle hissed. “If you harm so much as one lock of Christiane’s hair, I will—”
    “I’ll not harm her. I’ll not even touch her. I’ll not consummate the marriage and I will prove to the King that you are the murdering knave I have claimed!” Gaston turned back toward Philippe. “And when I have done so, my liege, I ask that you grant me an annulment, that I might marry Lady Rosalind. And that you return to me the rest of my brother’s lands.”
    “Enough!” Philippe looked exasperated and disgusted