LITMIR.BIZ

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will look after our things, I am sure.’ Thoughtfully, Francesca ran her forefinger along a line of stitching on the saddlebag. ‘Mari, we shall have to send word to Helvise that our plans have changed and our visit to Monfort will be delayed. Don’t let me forget.’

      ‘Very good, my lady.’

      * * *

      Tristan was in the manor gatehouse, issuing last-minute instructions to Sir Ernis before their departure.

      ‘Ernis, as we won’t be a large party, all we shall need in the way of food is a small supply of bread and cheese. Some ale and a couple of flasks of wine—you know the sort of thing. We can’t carry much, we simply need something to tide us over in case we don’t happen upon an inn when hunger strikes.’

      ‘Of course, my lord. We had chicken last night—I could ask the cook to wrap some in muslin for your noon meal.’

      ‘My thanks. Have someone give it to Bastian, he will be in charge of provisions.’

      A clattering of hoofs drew Tristan to the doorway. Ned was mounted up and heading out of the gate. Thinking it a little unusual that a groom should be riding out alone at this hour, Tristan caught his eye and the lad reined in.

      ‘My lord?’

      ‘You’ve an errand in Provins?’

      ‘No, mon seigneur, I’m headed for the manor at Monfort.’ Ned patted his saddlebag. ‘Lady Francesca has asked me to deliver a letter.’

      ‘She’s writing to someone in Monfort?’ Tristan waved the boy on his way and glanced thoughtfully at his steward. It was natural to expect Francesca to have made friends during her stay in Champagne. All Tristan knew about Monfort was that it lay a few miles from Provins, he hadn’t been back long enough to name all the landowners. ‘Ernis, who holds Monfort?’

      ‘Sir Eric, my lord.’

      Tristan leaned on the door frame and folded his arms across his chest. ‘Never heard of him.’

      ‘Sir Eric fostered at Jutigny with Count Faramus de Sainte-Colombe. He married the count’s daughter, Lady Rowena.’

      Tristan drew his eyebrows together. ‘And my wife is writing to de Monfort because...?’

      Sir Ernis cleared his throat and developed an intense interest in the toe of his boot. ‘I...I don’t think Lady Francesca is writing to Sir Eric or Lady Rowena, my lord. I expect she is writing to one of his servants.’

      Tristan’s eyebrows lifted. ‘She’s writing to a servant?’ Ernis looked up. With a jolt, Tristan realised that his steward was deeply uncomfortable. ‘Can this servant even read?’

      ‘I have no idea, my lord. Her name is Helvise and I believe she is Sir Eric’s housekeeper. My lord, she met your wife in the market and they became friends. I don’t know much about it except that Helvise has a child and you know how Lady Francesca loves children.’

      Tristan felt a twinge of guilt, he hadn’t known. ‘And?’

      ‘Lady Francesca was planning to visit Monfort.’

      ‘To help with the child?’

      ‘It is possible. Helvise is unwed,’ Sir Ernis said. ‘I also heard that Helvise has asked for advice over changing some of the domestic arrangements at Monfort. Lady Francesca has offered to lend her a hand.’

      ‘It sounds rather irregular.’

      ‘My lord, I do not think there is cause for alarm. I have met Helvise and she struck me as an intelligent, honest woman.’

      ‘That is something, at least.’

      ‘If you are concerned, mon seigneur, perhaps you had best speak to Lady Francesca. All I know is that about a week before the revel she asked for her travelling chests to be taken into her bedchamber. She and Mari have been packing for days. I would have told you about this in my next report to Sir Roparz, but since Lady Francesca hadn’t actually gone and might change her mind, I saw no reason to say anything.’

      Tristan hooked his thumb over his belt. Francesca hadn’t mentioned having plans to visit Monfort. However, she and Tristan hadn’t been together long, and after he had told her about Count Myrrdin’s illness, doubtless everything else had been pushed from her mind. What was she up to? Planning to start a new life in Monfort or—Sir Joakim Kerjean’s face flashed into his mind—was she thinking of remarrying?

      Dieu merci, at least the journey to Fontaine would get her away from Kerjean.

      ‘Thank you, Ernis, I shall be sure to ask her. Now, about your reports, you may send them direct to me from now on. We shall be riding to Fontaine, where we shall doubtless stay for a few days. After that you may reach me at Château des Iles.’

      Sir Ernis smiled. ‘I should think you’ll be glad to remain in one place after so long in the train of the prince.’

      Tristan murmured assent. ‘I can’t deny it, I’ve been living the life of a wandering knight and am heartily sick of it. It will be good to have the same roof over my head for more than a week.’ His smile faded. What the devil was he going to do with Francesca? With luck, he would soon prove her meeting with Sir Joakim had been mere coincidence.

      And then? Back at the palace, Francesca had hinted that she expected an annulment, what would she do after that? If she wanted children, she would need to marry.

      He grimaced, there was a bitter taste in his mouth—the idea of Francesca remarrying didn’t sit well with him. Why, he couldn’t say. She had walked out of his life and was no longer his responsibility. In truth, he’d long ago come to the conclusion that the feelings she stirred in him—so all-encompassing they bordered on the obsessive—lessened him. They clouded his judgement. They weakened him.

      Except that now he’d seen her again he realised that he couldn’t simply wash his hands of her. This was Francesca, for pity’s sake. What was he to do, have their marriage annulled and forget her?

      It wasn’t possible. He’d thought he could do it and that it would be relatively easy, but that was before he’d seen her with Kerjean, before that surge of jealousy had ripped through him. He couldn’t forget her. Not Francesca. He would always want her. The emotions she stirred in him, though unwanted, made him feel truly alive.

      Impatiently, he shoved his emotions to the back of his mind. What mattered was that on their wedding day, he had accepted responsibility for her and he wasn’t one to shirk a duty. Tristan had felt that way before he knew of Count Myrrdin’s illness and now, knowing Francesca would shortly be on her own in the world, his resolve had strengthened. If Francesca wants to remarry, I shall have to ensure she marries well.

      What would happen to her otherwise? She had no one else to watch out for her and clearly, despite the months that had passed, she remained an innocent. The softness of her lips under his, the way she had melted against him. Lord, it had been a grave error kissing her. He would have to ensure she married well. To a sensible, honourable man. Then, with Francesca safely remarried, he would see to his own nuptials.

      It shouldn’t be difficult finding Francesca a husband. Yes, he’d find her a husband, it wouldn’t take long. After all, she was stunningly beautiful; she had a kind heart; and she was extraordinarily gifted in the bedchamber. Except...

      Lord, that rendezvous with Sir Joakim was back in his head. He didn’t seem to be able to shake it.

      ‘Sir Ernis?’

      ‘My lord?’

      ‘Have you heard of a Breton knight, name of Joakim Kerjean?’

      ‘Can’t say that I have. Why?’

      ‘Sir Joakim was at the revel last night and I was wondering if he was a regular visitor to Provins.’

      ‘My lord, I have no idea. If you wish, I could make enquiries.’

      ‘I’d be glad if you would. Be sure

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