Royal Sentence Ch. 04-05

Sorry for the delay, it took me forever to get these chapters right, and my editor seems to have bailed on me. I'm trying to stay true to History for the behavior of my characters and it's not that easy regarding Roland. 17th century men were complicated enough to give you whiplash!

There is a lot of background here so I hope it's not too boring. Let me know what you think in your comments and don't hesitate to vote!

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Sabine shifted on the bumpy straw-filled pallet, and pretended to absorb herself in the menial task of hair braiding. She made a show of brushing it and restarted the plait twice as if it wasn't already satisfactory. She was biding time, to collect herself. Her mind was fuzzy and her body exhausted, little aftershocks still shaking her every time she squeezed her legs. She wished for nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but was well aware that this devilish man wouldn't allow it.

She had to recover her wits, and fast, if she wanted to outplay him. Her capture and interrogation had long been anticipated; she had known the odds were not in her favor when she agreed to lend her name and face to the rebellion against tax collectors. She had no delusion that she could resist if tortured, which was why they had devised a plan that would allow her to speak the truth without compromising her followers. This was what she had to sell to the courtier, in a way that would convince him she was entirely sincere. Then, maybe, she might be granted a swift and pain free death.

Roland waited patiently. Some things couldn't be rushed. The more she delayed, the more her fear would grow. It would be half of his work done. The angst of the horrors that could be inflicted was often sufficient to get the weakest ones to talk, and she didn't strike him as very strong. Stubborn, without doubt, but not strong. The executor would have her broken into a wailing rag doll in no time. And while the King was usually reluctant to treat women harshly, he might make an exception for this one should she defy him.

Something Roland would rather avoid. It would count as a failure on his part, one that would have forced Louis to break character, and this kind of offense might cause Roland to fall out of grace. He could be banished from court, which would not only hurt his career, but also hinder his revenge. And this definitely could not happen.

Finally, Sabine tied the ribbon and put down the brush. She raised her head and met his eyes. "If we must talk, may I have a drink first? My throat is dry."

"Your wish is my command, mademoiselle," Roland fetched a tankard and filled it, presenting it to her with a gallant bow. While she drank, he turned his desk to face her and prepared ink and paper.

Sabine took her time quenching her thirst, but there was just so long one could stretch swallowing down a half-pint of water. When she put the pewter vessel down, she still wasn't ready. Well, she would have to make do.

Quill in hand, Roland waived at one of the many documents spread in front of him. "Let me start by recounting the events that led you here. I want to present his Majesty with the most accurate tale of your story. Feel free to interrupt me if I am wrong."

She nodded, although she didn't see the point. It wouldn't change her fate.

"Two years ago, you were pulled out of the Ursulines' Convent, where you were schooled, and returned to your castle to assist your father, Jean de Brissard, Baron de Veaulmes on his death bed. How old were you?"

Sabine frowned. How was that important? Yet answering his question would build his trust, and so she did. "I was seventeen, monsieur."

The quill squeaked on the paper as he took note. "After the funerals, you found yourself a wealthy heiress, as your parents' sole surviving child. I understand that your older brother was killed in King Henry's service?"

Another nod. She had no memories of Bertrand, she had been a toddler at the time. After five miscarriages, her mother had lost hope of carrying another pregnancy to term, until Sabine's birth.

Roland underlined the part about her brother. It might influence the King in her favor; Louis notoriously worshiped the memory of his father. "Your mother, née Marguerite de Meronge, had died in a hunting accident three years prior. It is very sad indeed. How comes you were not betrothed? Seventeen is a marriageable age, and with your wealth and figure, there should have been no shortage of suitors."

Sabine wiped her eyes, erasing the tears that had pooled at the mention of her mother. "My father had arranged to wed me to our neighbor, but he died before signing the contract." Said neighbor had been well into his sixth decade, a violent man who had buried three previous wives. She felt sick just thinking she could have been his fourth. Despite her pleas to reconsider, her father had insisted. The man had no heir, and either she or her first child, should she give him one, would be certain to inherit his lands, doubling the size of the Brissard estate. In the Baron's eyes, it was all that counted.

"And you didn't fulfill his will?"

"How could I? I was in mourning!" There wasn't a chance she would have wed this old brute once she could avoid it.

"Very well. From what I read here, three months later a delegation of peasants begged you to plead their case to the Fermier General, as they couldn't afford the taxes he was raising for the King. Why did they believe you would help them?"

Sabine shrugged. "They were my tenants, and the tax collectors had fleeced them so badly that they would have starved had they paid me rent. The amount asked had more than doubled and the crops hadn't been good. It wasn't fair. I thought there must have been a mistake or that the collectors had been lining their pockets."

Roland nodded sympathetically. "Probably, and their employer even more. Leonora Galigai, the Regent Queen's favorite, was selling the offices for a fortune, and the buyers had to get their money back somehow. So what did you do?"

"I visited the Fermier General, but he laughed in my face, telling me not to worry my head with men's affairs. So I petitioned the King with a letter I sent to the Louvre."

Roland shook his head. "The King never saw your letter. It was before he reclaimed his throne, he had no power at the time. He was mocked and treated like an infant by his mother and her minions. Your plea was delivered in the hands of Concino Concini, Galigai's vainglorious husband. He took it as a personal insult and sent a band of mercenaries to 'teach you the proper place of a woman'. We found a copy of the order in his palace, after the populace had hanged and burned his body."

Sabine paled. "You are lying. They said the King sent them. They carried his seal. The King! Not the Marechal d'Ancre!"

Roland's hand stilled, and he frowned. This was a serious accusation. Forgery of the Royal Seal was a crime of lese-majeste, punishable by a horrible death. Although as far as Concini was concerned, justice had been served. "Are you sure it was the King's seal? You could have been mistaken?"

"Of course I am! It showed the king 'in Majesty' under a canopy, two angels holding the draperies, and the surrounding text 'Louis XIII, by the grace of God, King of France'. They would never have been granted entry without it. I wished I had not complied. As soon as they reached the yard, they killed the guards and locked in the servants. And then they caught me and... and..." Sabine grabbed her throat. She was suffocating. She couldn't relive the moment when the brutes had carried her up the stairs and thrown her onto her bed, and...

"Sabine, calm down!"

Suddenly, she was enclosed in velvet, her nostrils filled with the soothing scent of lavender.

"Hush, you are safe, breathe..."

"I can't..." Why did he have to bring back those terrible events? She had spent two years trying to lock them away and he kept dragging them out. Fists clenched, she hit his chest, but she was too close to cause any damage. He simply held her tighter.

"I will release you, as soon as you are better. There..." Roland gently pressed her cheek against his shoulder, his hand stroking her hair. Her reaction could have been an act, but it was unlikely; no one could fake the thin layer of sweat covering her skin. He couldn't help feeling sorry for her; she had been robbed of her innocence in unfathomable ways, for trying to do right by her tenants. Although it didn't excuse her later rebellion, she had been unfairly treated. Had Concini still been alive, Roland would have called him on the field.

Maybe he could protect her, plead her cause to the King. Louis praised himself on being fair, he might show clemency towards the victim of a man he had hated enough to have him killed. If Sabine didn't lie and Concini had forged the seal, the King would take it as a personal insult. The fact that the Fermier General had been appointed by the Galigai was another positive point; Louis would assume that he was corrupt.

Still, Roland had to get her to talk. She had been cooperative so far, and he hoped he wouldn't have to pressure her too hard.

Sabine slowly regained her composure, shoving her memories back where they belonged, into the most remote corner of her mind. She was oddly comfortable in her tormentor's arms, sheltered from the outside world by thick layers of padded doublet and solid flesh. She did feel safe there and it bothered her. Why was her body deaf to the voice of reason? For two years, she hadn't been able to tolerate the slightest male touch, and now she was finding solace in her enemy's embrace. Had her sanity finally deserted her?

Perhaps she could use this to her advantage. Her weakness seemed to have struck a chord in the courtier's cold heart; if she could keep this up, it might make him gullible. The difficulty lay in getting him to accept that the useless information she would give him was all she knew. And it was. But if he didn't believe her, she would be tortured, and she would rather avoid it.

Chapter 5.

Roland waited for Sabine to stop trembling; only then did he return to his seat.

Despite his curiosity about her ordeal, he refrained from questioning her further. A more detailed description was unlikely to change her fate; Louis' knowledge of the subject was too limited.

Better move on to the rest of her story.

He dipped his quill in the ink and asked: "How did you escape?"

Sabine sniffled and he lent her his handkerchief. She patted her eyes and blew her nose, and then kept her head down, refusing to meet his gaze. "I didn't. After two days they left me for dead, pillaged and set fire to the house, and ran away. A stable boy, who had managed to avoid capture, freed the servants and they carried me out. Without him, we would have burnt alive."

Sabine slumped against the wall and brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin on them. A couple of shorter strands fell onto her eyes and she swiped them back. "I woke up in a bed in the wise woman's house, in the woods. She treated me and I stayed with her for three weeks..."

"Is that when you decided to rebel against the King?"

Sabine's eyes shot up. "I never rebelled against the King! I merely defended the peasants against the tax collectors!"

"Who were mandated by the King, which makes you guilty of treason. So when did you come up with such a brilliant idea?"

"It wasn't my idea! It was..." Sabine pressed her palm to her lips and looked away, as if she had already said too much. It was a simple trick that had got her out of trouble with the nuns before, and she prayed it would fool him as well.

"Please, elaborate. Who talked you into this?" Having dealt with many a scheming lady at court, Roland wasn't duped by her sudden shyness, but chose to give her the benefit of the doubt. He would listen to her story and then determine what pieces to believe.

Warily, Sabine glanced at the window, trying to estimate the time from the gloomy light seeping through the horn panels. She had been captured early, after the first mass, as she was visiting her parent's grave in the church. Matthieu had warned her against it, and she had chosen to ignore his advice. She thought she had been cautious. She had waited behind a pillar until all the parishioners had vacated the nave before placing the small bouquet of wild flowers on the cold stone. How could she have guessed that the two monks praying at the altar were mercenaries hired to trap her? She had paid no attention to them until it was too late, and that's what it got her.

The trip back to their camp, with her thrown across the saddle like a sack of grain, had been lengthy. Two hours, perhaps? This would put her arrival here at mid-morning. It should be close to noon now. The others would meet on the market, on the last ring of the Angelus, to decide where they would set camp for the night. If she didn't show up, they would know something was amiss, and they would disperse and vanish. Which meant she had to feed the courtier a slow enough trickle of information, that by the time he would ask her where to find them, her friends would have long retreated to safety.

"Sabine, we have been through this. Your answer, now, or will I have to extract it from you again? I gave you a small sample of what I can do to convince you earlier, and I would thoroughly enjoy another session. Unless you share my feelings on this, I strongly advise you not to push your luck." Roland scowled, and glared at her. Whatever was going on in her pretty little head better had to stop. He would not tolerate her hogwash.

She swallowed hard at his statement and he knew he had hit a soft spot, but as a soldier he was aware that this was just one battle. She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again...

"Sabine..." His tone carried a strong warning not to try his patience any longer.

"I... There was a man, Colin, who came to visit me. He said that my story had spread like wildfire and fueled the anger of the peasants, and that if I was looking for justice they would follow me."

"This wasn't justice, Sabine. This was revenge. Are you aware of the difference? The men you killed were not the ones who caused you harm."

She shrugged. "They were criminals, promised to the noose before their recruitment as tax collectors. And they worked for the man who started it all."

Roland brushed it off. It was true, but it didn't excuse her actions, although it might call into question the strange recruitment choices of the Fermier General. "Who was this Colin?"

"I had never met him before. He offered me to be the face of the revolt and warned me of the risks. He was very blunt, and I trusted him. He had a few friends who would help him put start his plans and as soon as I was fully recovered I could join them. All I had to do was to leave a paper with my seal in a hollow tree and he would come for me. And so I did, two weeks later..."

"Describe him. What is his full name?"

Sabine fell short of betraying herself with a smile. They had been clever, from the start. She had no idea how her companions really looked like. The men wore thick beards and smeared thick grease on their hair. The woman, Marie, treated her hair the same, hiding their color, and kept her face grimy and wrapped in a shawl. Sabine wouldn't recognize any of them after a good scrubbing. She was the only one who could be easily identified, because she needed to be. It was just a matter of time before she was captured and faced the full weight of the law, and she had accepted it. She had nothing left to live for.

"I know him as Colin, that's all. He is young, of average height and built, brown hair and eyes, and a bushy beard."

Roland huffed in exasperation. This depiction applied to just about half the males in the country. "Any scars or marks? There must be something!"

"Not that I have noticed." Aside that he was trained for war and could use a sword and a pistol. And that his language and manners were that of a nobleman, which likely made him a cadet of a minor house, just as his friend Mathieu. Those two were inseparable, like brothers, or lovers...

Roland's eyes narrowed. "How unfortunate. What about the others?"

"There is Mathieu. Colin and him are very much alike. Jean is slightly taller and of heavier built, with fairer hair and blue eyes. Marie is about my size and her eyes are brown." This was about all she knew for certain about them. Marie and Jean were a couple and had been farmers before, she guessed. Their group had a rule to never reveal any detail about themselves.

"Four of them? Is that all?"

"It is."

Roland frowned and set down his quill. "You are lying. There were many more, according to the survivors."

Sabine looked at him. His face was tense and expressionless, the calm before the storm. Anxiously, she blurted: "Others would join us just before we attacked and leave straight after. I couldn't say who they were and they always wore scarves, cowls or masks. Please believe me, I don't know!" Colin was in charge. He called these people in, a troop of peasants with clubs and forks and scythes.

"So you want me to buy that there were merely five of you scheming all this, and yet you weren't involved in the recruitment of your own henchmen?" Incensed, Roland rose from his chair, sending it tumbling behind him.

Oh no! No no no no! Sabine pulled hard on the belt, hoping that the crumbling wall would release the ring anchoring it. Despite all her efforts, it held firm. As Roland advanced on her, she crouched and prepared to fight.

She barely managed a punch before Roland toppled her onto the pallet, where she landed harshly on her back, twisting and kicking against him. Her movements were restricted by the belt and he was an experienced soldier; in no time he was straddling her hips, his hands pinning her wrists behind her head.

"Why are you doing this? I told you the truth!"

"I very much doubt so, but we'll see about that." Sabine tried to jerk her arms out of his grip and he gave her a warning glance.

She glared at him, eyes ablaze and cheeks aflame, anger and fear fighting for dominance on her delicate features. She couldn't believe this was happening again. Over the past two years she had trained hard to master swordfight, knife throwing, arbalest, bow, and pistol shooting, yet despite Colin and Mathieu's encouragements, she always refused to learn hand to hand combat. How she regretted it now. She had found her friends' touch too much to bear, but this was far worse, and she was weak. She had relied on her blades for protection, sure that they would never all be found, and she was paying for her mistake. It was infuriating. But at least, with both hands restraining hers, he couldn't fondle her.

She was wrong.

Roland's head lowered, and she watched with trepidation as his mouth landed on her breast, his lips firm and warm through the barrier of her shirt. Why hadn't she buttoned her doublet? She chastised herself for her negligence making his task far too easy.

Sabine jerked to escape and merely managed to press her chest harder against him. He withdrew and dropped a kiss below her ear. His breath fanned her neck as he whispered: "Don't be so eager, everything in good time. Unless there is something you want to say?"

She ignored him, her eyes set on the beams above her. She tried counting them to distract her mind from his ministrations. If she managed to remain cold and unreactive, he might forsake using her body against her.

It was made harder by the peppering of feather light kisses gliding down the smooth curve of her neck, followed by the sinking of teeth in the tense muscles at its base, with just enough pressure to elicit a delicious shiver. The sensation was suspended between pleasure and pain, and she held her breath, waiting for the scale to tip one way or the other.