Sweet Enchantress Read Free

based on duty—and her duty was to Montlimoux first and foremost. Why marry when her life was already full, if not with happiness, then with a harmony that she had made her own?
    "And you came back from the university there an architect and engine er of renown. For this you owe me a hospital, after which I shall release you to the French king and his grandiose plans for cathedrals.”
    "But 'tis the Great Architect I work for, Dominique.”
    "You and I both agree on . . .” She paused and smiled. Denys's thoughts were already moving ahead, making preparations for the next phase of construction.
    “ A large amount of traveling will be necessary, at first,” he was saying. "I expect to acquire our marble from Carrera. The Venetians have the best glassmakers. And, Dominque, I shall need the largest windlass—”
    She laughed. "Enough, dolt, or you will surely bankrupt our meager coffers! As it is I charge you while on your travels to go to Cologne an d purchase manuscripts.” Her library contained already a large number ranging from philosophy and law to travel and medicine. "I shall give you a list of—”
    “ My lady Dominique?” Baldwyn stood in the library’s arched doorway. Just behind him loomed the shadowy and imposing figure of the beggar. “'Tis the alms you promised.”
    The same uneasiness she had felt earlier in the garden nudged the recesses of her mind, but she refused to identify its origin. She did not wish to ruin this evening with Denys. She only wanted the beggar gone at once. “ Give him a handful of deniers from the strongbox.”
    She turned her back but was tensely aware of the beggar with every nerve of her body. She could almost feel the heat of his gaze. A violent man, she was sure.
     
     
    Before daylight, the beggar rose from h is place on the bench against the wall, where he had slept. His cloak had served as a covering.
    The cock had not yet crowed, and snores still punctuated the great hall. The chill of predawn permeated the vast room. Remnants of last night ’s roaring fire flickered dimly in the fireplace at the other end of the darkened room. The fire would not be allowed to die; soon servants would be scurrying to tend it.
    He stretched, wondering where he might find the chapel, as it was his custom to go first to Mass. A slee py-eyed Hugh, barely stirring, pointed the way to the Bishop’s Tower.
    He passed through the guard room with its cavernous fireplace, feeling at ease in this setting but somewhat dismayed by its lack of soldiers. Only a few painted shields and a rack of blu nted lances and maces girded the walls. Not enough to offer any sustained defense.
    A tightly spir aling staircase led to the chapel. Candlelight from the chapel fluttered like a moth in the sculpture gallery outside. Reverently, he entered. Incense, sweet and heavy, pervaded the small, circular oratory. Where he had hoped to find a chancellor, he encountered the Countess de Bar.
    Her back was to him. She sat cross-legged on a pillow in the center of the floor. Her unbound hair cascaded about her hips to sweep the colored tiles. From beneath the hem of her tunic, one bare foot peeked. With odd fascination, he stared at the soft exposed flesh, paler than her face or hands.
    The incense . . . he felt heady. His gaze pulled free of her, seeking an altar or a wooden cross and found none. Instead of austere walls, the stones were plastered with a frieze of green scintillated with gold. The ceilings were adorned with metal stars—and a wheel of fortune, par Dieu!
    Then he heard her voice: Soft, repetitive, unintelligibl e words. The hair at his nape bristled. She was unaware of his presence, and he quickly backed away. He was a soldier serving God and, thus, feared nothing. But whom did the chatelaine serve?
    Troubled, he returned to the great hall, where a spartan meal wa s being served. With a murmured blessing, he quickly consumed a hunk of bread and a pot of cider. By now, the last members of the