Royal Sentence Ch. 08-09

Again, quite a long delay between chapters, they are not so easy to get right. I have to check every little historical detail, I can't help. I like my characters well fleshed up with a plausible background. Also, no sex again in these chapters, but plenty coming in the following ones, so be patient.

Please, vote and comment so that I'd know how I'm doing.

Thanks!

***

"Sabine! Wake-up!"

Roland's hand was whacked away, and the young lady whose shoulder it was shaking rolled on her other side. "It's too early, Mathieu, let me sleep!"

A resounding slap on her bottom prompted her to a sitting position, eyes narrowed and mouth wide open in protest. "How dare you! I..." She shook her head, confused by her surroundings, until her mind cleared and she recalled where she was. And with whom. "Oh, it's you. Back already, are you? I was hoping you would fall in a deep hole but it seems that even the Devil wouldn't have you..."

Roland struggled to keep a straight face. She was adorable in her sleep-addled feistiness, cute as a moody kitten. "What can I say? I'm a saint... Now, while I would love further debating theology with you, the King is on his way and you need to wiggle your prickly self into this garb."

Said garb dangled from his fingers and she appraised it with a frown. "I'm perfectly happy with my current clothes, thank you." Did he really believe she would fall for another of his plot to divest her of her clothing? Skirts could be easily lifted, whereas breeches were harder to remove. Not that it seemed to bother this particular ruffian. And should she get an opportunity, breeches were far better for running and riding, with the added advantage that she could pass as a man. No, decidedly, she would remain as she was.

Shrugging, Roland dumped the bunched fabric on her head. While she fumbled her way out, he chided: "I wasn't asking for your opinion. Either you put this on, or my servants and I will force you in it. The King expects to see a remorseful woman and this is what he shall have. You will kneel at his feet and behave as a paragon of female virtues, or you will regret it."

Sabine's full lips twisted in derision "Finally, you show your true colors! What will you do if I refuse? Beat me? Throw me to the troops? Your so-called honor was really short lived!"

What was God thinking when he created women! Such headstrong and unreasonable creatures! Roland huffed in annoyance. "If you don't comply, there is a good chance that you will be sent to the closest town to be jailed, tortured and publicly executed like a common criminal. I pleaded in your favor, presented you as a misled victim, but you need to play the part and demonstrate some level of contrition or Louis will not be moved. If you do as I say, you might escape the worst and be locked for a few years in a convent. Whatever you prefer is your choice, but choose you must and do it now. Time is of the essence."

He turned around and sat at his desk, determined to ignore her. If the little chit couldn't see reason, she would bear the consequence. But if Louis was displeased by his handling of the case, Roland's career could become collateral damage. Not that it would ruin him. Unlike most of the King's gentlemen, he served by choice, upholding a long family tradition of loyalty to the Crown. The wages, while generous, held no candle to his income from two trading ships, a glass manufacture and placements with a Jewish bank. The stain of royal disgrace on his pristine blazon, however short lived, was another thing altogether...

Well, he would give the girl the time for a tankard of water to soothe his parched throat before making true on his threat. Roland was determined that, should she persist in acting like a harpy, she would at least look feminine, for both their sake.

His page poured the water with a scrunched up face, picked Sabine's blanket and held it stiffly in front of her as a screen, in silent disapproval of his master's brusquerie. Roland rolled his eyes and turned away, sipping slowly and listening to the ruffling of fabric. She seemed to have come to her senses. Maybe there was hope after all.

Shielded from sight, Sabine shimmied out of her attire, bar her undergarment. The added layer reminisced her of her childhood and made her feel somewhat safer. She would never admit it out loud, but he courtier had made a rather convincing point. 'Convent' rang far better than 'jail' in terms of comfort and prospects of evasion that it was worth rescinding her sharp words. So she slipped on the rough linen chemise with its scratchy border of crochet lace, the lone petticoat, the blue wool bodice closed at the front by a saffron ribbon, and the assorted skirt embroidered at the hem with daffodils to match her top. A Sunday peasant's garb, or some servant girl's best clothes. At least they were fitting. The bodice did not have the rigidity of her own -those she wore in her previous life-, and there was no padding around her hips, which would be more comfortable in her position. With her waist strangled, the restraining belt felt looser, but it was a lure. She still couldn't get out of it.

Sabine waved over the blanket to signal she was decent and thanked the page for his courtesy. When the boy flustered, Roland sent him a warning glance; he didn't want the clever minx to break the youth's heart. Fortunately, they would soon both be able to forget her.

Roland stood and approached her, his trained eye searching for any detail she might have missed. He pinched his lips to refrain a laugh; she looked like a wench on her day off. No doubt the daughter of the wealthy Baron de Veaulmes would have once been outraged at the mere idea of wearing such rags. How the mighty had fallen! Yet the outfit suited her beauty, giving it an ethereal quality that might appeal to Louis' feelings.

Untying Sabine's hair, Roland twisted two strands, tied them at the back of her head and arranged the rest on her shoulders, all the while lecturing her on court etiquette. His fingers were still lingering on the sides of her neck, when the door opened and the captain of the Royal Guard marched in.

"Monsieur le Comte," the newcomer said with a curt bow, his mustache twisting in amusement.

"Monsieur le Capitaine," Roland answered with a nod. He stepped away from Sabine and pointed at her. "This is the prisoner the King wants to meet, Mademoiselle de Brissard."

"Très honoré, Mademoiselle. Monsieur, I must commend you for taking your duties at heart, you are watching this young lady... very closely." The man grinned widely. "I hope you won't mind if I take a tour of the place, as my duty is to ensure of my King's safety."

"Of course, the room is yours."

The inspection was brief, as the house consisted of one room. In the meantime, Roland's valet arrived with wine, sweets and cakes -Louis was renowned for his formidable appetite, to the despair of his physician-, and the page buffed the unique chair and covered the seat with a thick cushion.

He set it down in the middle of the small space, just in time. The King was at the door.

Chapter 9

Louis, King of France, did not enter a room; he made an entrance. He pranced inside the humble cottage with the same solemnity he would the throne room in his Louvre. A throng of people followed suit, crowding the limited space.

When the King sat in the chair, Roland took to a knee, nudging Sabine, who curtsied as low as she could and stayed down.

"So this where you chose to stay, Monsieur le Comte?" Louis' eyes ran on the mud and stone walls, earth floor, small window, and large chimney with its crackling fire, his frown proclaiming that he was not impressed. "Are we not paying you enough?"

This was a rhetorical question, and Roland answered in kind. "My wages are more than sufficient, Your Majesty. Shoddy as it is, this house suits my needs; it is warm and dry and close to the camp. Your regretted father slept in far worse lodgings during his campaigns." Perhaps this would appease Louis; his mood seemed to roil with the dark clouds outside.

Roland waited while the young sovereign's hand hovered over the plate of sweets, as if the sole goal of his presence was to sample them. He opted for an almond and honey tartlet, and took his time eating it, before cleaning his fingers with a perfumed towel. Only then did he deign to return to the affair at hand.

"I guess you are the notorious rebel Sabine de Brissard, aren't you, Madame?" he dropped, his eyes boring into her.

Sabine raised her head and held his gaze. "I am, Sire." Her voice was firm with a defiant edge, despite her inner turmoil. She was determined not to show fear.

"We are aware of your unfortunate circumstances, yet you are guilty of a number of crimes. Do you regret your actions now that you are facing the scaffold?"

"No, Sire, I do not. If I had to do it again, I would."

There was a murmur of disapproval and Roland grimaced. Of course she wouldn't act sensibly. Why did he ever hope? The fool was heading straight for the noose.

Louis silenced them with a flick of the hand. "You murdered two men. Don't you at least repent for this?"

"I rendered justice. Robbing and raping are against the law. If your Majesty or any of his gentlemen witnessed such crime, wouldn't they feel bound to intervene? Did Monsieur de Vitry repent for running his sword through the Maréchal d'Ancre? Did your Majesty repent for giving the order? Like him, these men deserved to die, I have no remorse."

The courtiers held their breath. This mad woman had all but insulted the King. Any moment now, he would explode in one of his cold rages and she would be dragged to her doom. But Louis remained frighteningly calm. He tilted his head, observing her with the same rapt attention he usually afforded battle plans. "You make an interesting point. Then what about me? Do you wish me dead too? According to Monsieur d'Ypagne, you believe the attack on your castle and your person was done on my behalf..."

This was a blatant trap, and Sabine wasn't blind enough to stumble into it. Wishing for the King's death was high treason. She preferred her limbs attached to body rather than torn off by four horses. "I did not, regardless of the orders bearing the royal seal. I just thought I had been naive believing in the King's justice. After all, the Fermier Général held a royal commission."

Louis straightened in his seat. "We give you our word, Madame, that we neither sold that commission, nor gave such order. Your plea didn't reach us, and if it had, we couldn't have acted upon it as our authority had been usurped by the Italian scum. We confirm to you that our seal was counterfeit. Do you believe us?"

Sabine nodded. "I do, Your Majesty."

"Do you still maintain you have no regrets?"

Another trap, but an easier one. "I revolted against the unfairness of the taxes, not against the authority of the King, so no, I have no regrets. I would defend the farmers again."

The former murmurs turned into indignant vociferation, and Louis had to clear his throat to stop them. "You are true to yourself and loyal to your friends, Madame, both qualities I seldom encounter at my court. You are, however, persistently misguided, and exhibit a behavior unbecoming a member of the fairer sex. God created Eve to serve Adam and ensure his posterity, not to dabble into politics, bear arms, or lead riots. We have witnessed what happens when women overstep their natural boundaries. Kneel, Madame."

He paused to sample the wine, allowing Sabine to scramble onto her knees. "After conferring with our counsel, we have come to a decision we believe does you justice." He swallowed another sip. Roland stared at him, trying and failing to read the blank mask Louis had perfected since childhood.

"Madame, you will renounce your previous errors, enter the Holy state of marriage and become the devoted wife and mother God intended. In six months you will travel to our Louvre, where you will present written reports from your confessor and the local magistrate attesting your good name and wifely virtues, make public amend on your knees, and swear loyalty to us. Pending these conditions we are willing to pardon you. Should you not comply, you will be beheaded."

Sabine paled and opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it and bowed her head. She didn't want to get married, but marriage was something she could run from. Beheading was far more definitive.

The King's eyes set on Roland, who didn't like it one bit. He had expected some cold shoulder, a chastisement, perhaps a period of exile in his lands, but his gut told him this was going to be much, much worse.

He had guessed right.

"Comte, we already expressed our discontent. Fortunately for you, our dear Bassompierre pointed out that we could put your particular talent for 'bridling the most tempestuous fillies' to good use, whilst saving your eternal soul. Comte Roland d'Ypagne, we wish you to wed Mademoiselle de Brissard. You have always served us well, and we do not want this union to put you at a disadvantage, as all her properties have been seized by the crown. We will revert to you the lands and monies of the late Baron de Veaulmes, and restore the title for your second male child, even in the event of your wife's death. Meanwhile, we expect you to curb her defiant trait and mold her into an obedient spouse."

The King looked at Roland expectantly, giving him no choice but to reply: "As you wish, Your Majesty." It was the only option. A royal 'wish' was nothing short of an order, and decisions had been made without regard for his desires. He threw a murderous glare at Bassompierre, who countered with a wink and a gleeful smile.

Roland was furious. This was a low blow. Yet, as a diplomat's son and a courtier, he was a pragmatist. When those in power meddled with one's life, one could only go with the flow or find a way around it. He wouldn't wager a liard on the King reversing his decision.

Of course he had planned to get married. In a few years he would have scoured the castles of the impoverished nobility, found a sweet maiden, not yet corrupted by the noxious air of the court, wed her, bedded her, and spoiled her until she was clay in his hands. He wanted an adoring wife, doting on her children, like his mother did. Instead he was stuck with a recalcitrant bride, mulish and broken. Taming her would need some 'bridling' indeed. A challenge, of sorts.

Roland breathed slowly, trying to find the silver lining. There were the added wealth and titles, and she wasn't an eyesore. And he would be spared full public disgrace, if not the laughs. Better that than nothing.

The King laid down the elegant piece of Venetian glass and concluded the matter. "The wedding will be celebrated this eve in the chapel of our residence, banns and hour dispensations have been granted. You will be relieved of your last week of duty and depart for your lands at dawn tomorrow. We will expect your return to court at the end of the aforementioned period, to present us your fully reformed countess. Do not disappoint us, Monsieur."

"I will not, your Majesty." Roland glanced at Sabine and found her swaying, whiter than her chemise. She was on the verge of fainting, which might have been a good idea earlier; it wouldn't help her now.

"Mademoiselle de Brissard, my guards will transfer you to your new accommodations, where you will prepare for your pending nuptials. Any difficulty on your part will be dealt with swiftly, do you understand?"

"Yes, your Majesty." Sabine's voice was barely a whisper. She was shell-shocked. She had hoped for a bit more time to steel herself, this was all too sudden. A wedding meant a wedding night, and she wasn't ready. She might never be ready. Bedding him, of all men, after what he had done to her, was unfathomable. Bedding him, tonight. Her hands opened and clenched nervously. She wanted to scream, to punch something, anything. Him, preferably.

This was entirely his fault. He must have planted this crazy idea into the King's mind, in order to steal her inheritance. How quickly men would trade honor for gold. Her own father would have sold her for a piece of land. The courtier was no different, plotting this sham of a marriage to fatten his purse. Oh, she would make him regret it. She would make his life hell. She would...

"Mademoiselle de Brissard? I am François de Bassompierre, Marquis d'Haroué. I will escort you to your lodgings, with the help of the Royal Guard. Comte, would you mind freeing her? She cannot even stand, tethered to this wall like a goat..."

Sabine blinked and focused her gaze on the handsome and courteous gentleman, whose smile-wrinkled eyes watched her kindly. Behind him the room was empty. The King must have left while she was churning dark thoughts.

"Give me one reason not to run you through, Marquis. What, for the love of God, befuddled your mind to the point of suggesting THIS to Louis? Are you so tired of your freshly acquired matrimony that you wish to inflict it on others? Or have you just succumbed to senility? I am at a loss here..." While Roland grumbled, his fingers deftly tied Sabine's wrists with leather binds, which he knotted tightly and looped through the belt. He then released the padlocks, wrapped the remaining length of the belt around her waist, and locked it in place. Her feet were secured to each other with just enough give to allow for small steps. Stepping back, he admired his work, triggering a booming laugh from Bassompierre.

"I am aware that you fancy binding women, my friend, but this might be a tad overboard. Do you seriously fear this fragile young lady might overcome a company of armed men?"

Roland scoffed. "Maybe not, but give her access to a weapon and she might do serious damage. I am not prepared to risk our men's life if I can avoid it. You are blinded by your fondness for anything in a skirt, Marquis, it is a regrettable fault of yours."

"You might be right, yet you have the opposite trouble. You see only their flaws."

"Mayhap. At least I am never played or disappointed. And I am still waiting for an explanation."

Bassompierre nodded and pulled Roland aside, out of reach of Sabine's ears. "And one you will have. I am not apologetic. I battled hard on your behalf for this compromise. Luynes would have you chained in a cell in the Bastille and Vitry shackled to his ugly spinster of a cousin. This was the middle ground. Louis wished for both of you to be visibly punished and still give you a chance for redemption. He values your loyalty and as for her, well... You know how he is with women. Fears them, hates them, venerates them, can't get himself to harm them. That's Louis in a nutshell. All of his father's weaknesses and none of his strengths in his dealing with females. When I suggested you could be each other's nemesis, he was delighted. Even you must admit this is poetic justice. Besides, this girl is perfect for you. She has character, she will keep you entertained. You were pleading her cause so passionately earlier that a death man could hear she struck a chord in this dry heart of yours..."

Shaking his head, Roland patted the Marquis' shoulder. "Not everyone is as easily bedazzled by female guile as you are, my friend. I will, however, acknowledge you saved me from the worse. Vitry's cousin, say you? I guess she takes her looks from his side of the family..."

They both burst in laughter and Sabine stared at them in disbelief. They were close to jumping at each other's throat moments ago. Men were so childish.

She was still pondering over it when Bassompierre took her arm and gently led her towards the door. "I am glad I requested a coach," he uttered with a grin, "you would be hard pressed to ride in this condition." He lifted her onto the cushions as if she weighed no more than a feather and joined her on the padded seats. "Be kind to my friend d'Ypagnes, he is merely discovering he has a heart, don't break it at once."