if not for the count’s last request? She doubted it.
Tristan had mentioned the need to travel light. She would need a couple of her most serviceable gowns; a couple of cloaks; a spare veil; a pair of shoes in addition to her riding boots; one good gown; an extra shift...
Mari clumped into the chamber, a saddlebag over each shoulder. ‘Ned found these for us, my lady,’ she said, as one of the bags slid to the floor with a clunk. ‘He suggested that you use that one, it looks fairly new.’
‘Thank you.’ Francesca pulled the bag towards her and eyed it doubtfully. It didn’t look large enough to contain everything she would need, but it would serve. ‘You’re happy with the other one?’
‘Yes, my lady. Here, let me help.’
Francesca waved her away. ‘You have your own packing to do, I can manage.’
Mari nodded. Halfway to the door, she sent her a wry smile. ‘Will we be returning to Champagne, my lady?’
Francesca sat back on her knees. ‘Of course, we can’t disappoint Helvise.’
Mari eyed the small pile of clothes Francesca had set aside for the journey. ‘Aren’t you going to take a few of your good gowns? Won’t you need them in Fontaine?’
‘Mari, I am no longer the Fontaine heiress, it wouldn’t be right. In any case, Lord Tristan insists we travel light. Sir Ernis 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
