then turned to Armand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Nicholas Fi—”
“I heard who you are,” Armand ground out, cutting Nicholas short and ignoring his proffered hand. He spoke to Simone over his shoulder, as if he could not bear the sight of her. “Fetch our cloaks and wait for me.”
Simone reached a hand toward her father’s back. “Papa, you must not believe a word he says! He—”
“Go now, Simone!”
Simone dropped her hand and turned toward the doors but, in her fury, paused long enough to toss at Nicholas, “You are naught but a…a cowardly beggar, and I shall hate you forever!”
Nicholas growled and took a menacing step toward her, but the redheaded woman intervened, taking firm hold of Simone’s arm and dragging her from the balcony.
Once inside the chamber, Simone jerked her arm free and stormed toward the corridor, the woman close on her heels.
“Lady du Roche, wait,” she called as Simone gained the doors.
Simone spun around, her arm pointing toward the balcony. “That man,” she said, “is a bastard!”
The woman gave her a sheepish “I know” smile. “I am Haith D’Argent, the baron’s sister-in-law. Might I walk with you to retrieve your things?”
“Non. I wish to be alone.” Simone wrenched the heavy chamber door open and disappeared into the passageway.
“Didier!” she hissed as she made her way—she hoped—toward the hall, trying to recall the correct turns. Right or left here? Her cheeks flamed when she realized she’d been too caught up in the baron’s attentions to notice the way they’d come. “Didier, where are you?”
“Who is Didier?”
Simone jumped at the sound of Lady Haith’s voice directly behind her. “I said I wish to be alone,” she said over her shoulder before turning left and stalking in that direction.
“Very well,” Haith called down the corridor, “but you’re going the wrong way.”
Simone stopped and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths and trying desperately not to cry. When she had composed herself, she turned to see Lady Haith still waiting, a sympathetic smile on her lips.
And Didier stood right beside the woman, staring up at the redhead as if she were some Celtic goddess of old.
Simone quickly made her way back to the intersecting passages, trying not to glance in her brother’s direction. “Please forgive my rudeness, Lady Haith,” she said. “I’ve had a trying evening and wish only to return to my rooms.”
“Of course,” the woman said kindly. “This way.”
“I’m sorry, Sister,” Didier said, falling into step between the two women. “But I did try to warn you.”
“Wait.” Haith stilled and looked to Simone. “Did you hear that?”
Simone’s heart skipped. “Hear what?”
Haith frowned. “Naught, I suppose.” To Simone’s relief, they began to walk once more.
“Can you hear me?” Didier asked, his voice incredulous.
“There it is again!” Haith again halted and turned wide eyes to Simone. “Did you not hear it? ’Twas almost like a whisper!”
“Non,” Simone said, a trifle loudly for the close space. “I heard naught.”
“She can hear me, Sister!” Didier cried.
“Please,” Simone said to Haith. She could feel the panic begin to creep up. “If you could but point me in the direction of the entry hall, I really must go. My father will be along and he is already quite angry with me. I—”
“But, Sister—”
“Lady du Roche—”
“Non!” Simone interjected, cutting off both the woman and the boy. “I’m sorry. I heard naught.”
Haith stared at her for a long moment. So intently, in fact, that Simone fancied the woman was trying to discern her very thoughts. She could feel cold beads of sweat blooming along her hairline and upper lip.
Finally, the woman sighed and gestured down the passageway. “A left, and then a right turn.”
“My thanks,” Simone breathed and moved away as quickly as she could without running. But she was not to escape before hearing Lady Haith’s parting words called down the corridor after her.
“I do hope to see you again, Lady du Roche,” she said. “And Didier as well!”
Chapter 3
Simone sat curled in the upholstered armchair in her chamber, awaiting her father’s return with no little trepidation.
After what had seemed like hours in an empty receiving hall, a footman had arrived to see her to her father’s rented rooms and told her that Armand would join her later.
That had been near midnight, and now, dawn wavered on the horizon.
She wondered for the hundredth time what could be keeping him. Any number of scenarios she crafted in answer struck fear in her, and she sank deeper under the robes piled over her.
The small fire in the hearth crackled and popped as it devoured the stout wood lengths and sent a cozy glow creeping across the rug, but Simone’s tiny bedchamber was frigid. Didier was highly agitated following the evening’s events and whenever that occurred, a deep chill descended around his presence.
The boy paced the room in his own strange manner, flitting from one corner to the next—appearing first on the wide, canopied bed and then, in an instant, seated cross-legged before the hearth. His darting about grated on Simone’s already-worn nerves, and she scrubbed her hands over her face before giving a frustrated shriek.
“Didier! Can you not be still for one moment?”
Her brother said nothing, merely sent her a glare from his seated position in front of the—
No, now he scowled at her from the window ledge.
“You are making my head spin,” she pleaded, noting with bad temper that she could now see her breath when she spoke. “Do you not calm yourself, I’ll likely freeze to death before Papa returns.”
“Good,” the boy spat. “Mayhap then you will know what it’s like.”
“What what is like?” Simone sighed, rubbing her arms vigorously beneath the robes as another icy blast curled around her chair.
“Being ignored!” Didier now stood before her, his small fists planted on his hips. “Why did you not explain to the lady that the whispering she heard was me?”
Simone shook the fine layer of frost from
