Rue St. Denis
Paris, Kingdom of France
“If that fool doesn’t calm down, he’ll give himself away.”
Marcus nodded at Simon’s observation. Sir Denys was pacing impatiently back and forth beside his carriage, his rapid, angry turns certainly not those of a man eager to meet with his illicit lover. “It’s too late now. We can’t risk going and telling him to settle down. We’ll just have to pray that when she does appear, he can maintain control, at least for a few moments.”
Simon grunted. “I can’t believe we are trying to catch a woman having an affair. How far we’ve fallen.”
Marcus chuckled. “I agree I never would have pictured us in such a situation, though I’m disheartened to hear you feel it’s a fall.”
Simon sighed. “Perhaps I chose my words poorly. It’s just I thought I would die with my brothers, fighting the enemies of God, not trying to determine who is sleeping with whom, in the back alleys of Paris.”
Marcus stifled an outright laugh. “I share your feelings, I assure you. But think of it this way. What did we swear to do? We swore to fight for our Lord Jesus Christ, and defend His ministry. What more honorable task is there than trying to protect an innocent woman, who has done nothing wrong, from a horrible fate? We’ve already determined that she is most likely innocent, and now we have a chance to prove it, and quite possibly save her life.”
Simon nodded. “Well, when you put it that way, I feel like a heel.”
“Speaking of ungodly smells.”
Simon leaned in and sniffed. “Good thing we both had baths before we left, otherwise we might never have gained entry into such lofty estates.”
“It was a good thought of Isabelle’s.”
“I think she was simply hoping for a look at your attractive calves.”
Marcus shook his head. “Are we back to this? That woman does not like me, and even if she did, there’s nothing that could come of it.”
“You haven’t thought of leaving the Order, now that we can no longer serve it as we had before?”
“Not for a moment. You?”
“I serve at your side.”
Marcus turned to him. “And were I to die?”
Simon frowned. “I’m not sure. I suppose I could return to the Holy Land to die on the battlefield, though with each passing year, I turn more into a liability than an asset.” He looked at Marcus. “Are you planning on dying soon?”
Marcus eyed him. “If I survive this conversation, then no.”
Simon shrugged. “You’re making it difficult to make future plans. That being said, should something happen to you, those children will still need a provider, and I would consider it my duty to fulfill that role.”
Marcus smiled. “You’re a good man, Simon Chastain. A very good man.”
“I am a saint. But I make no promises that should you pass, I won’t renounce my vow of celibacy, and win the heart of the beautiful Isabelle.”
Marcus chuckled. “And you would have my blessing, my good friend, though I have a feeling she might put up quite the fight. Have you seen yourself? Your face is scarred like a desert oasis gone dry.”
Simon rubbed a hand over his face. “It adds character, does it not?”
“It adds something.” Marcus held up a hand. “Wait, I see someone.”
He peered into the darkness, the only light from the full moon. A shadow moved quickly toward the carriage, and Denys spun to meet it. The figure, slight enough to be a woman, stretched out her arms and grabbed her lover, Denys thankfully staying in character and returning the embrace. Words were exchanged, unheard from their position, but with Denys now holding her, Marcus strode quickly forward, followed by Simon, who kept to the shadows to take up a position behind her.
The woman spotted Marcus and she gasped, pulling away from Denys, who held her tightly as she struggled against him. Marcus held up a hand.
“M’Lady, there really is no point in trying to run.” He motioned behind her at Simon, now in position. “You cannot get away.”
“What is this? What is the meaning of this?” She stared up at Denys. “Please, my love, what are you doing?”
“You dare call me that, after everything you have done?”
Her jaw dropped. “I don’t understand? What do you mean? You know I love you, with all my heart! Do you-do you not love me any longer?”
She seemed genuinely distressed, and if she were not the Lady Joanne, she was playing her part exceptionally well. Well enough that Marcus had a twinge of doubt. Could the woman on his farm be the imposter, and not this one? She matched the portrait exactly, the artist having proven his skill, and the woman was dressed as he would expect a lady of fine standing to be, even her hair and carriage unquestionably proper.
He decided to ask the question directly. “You claim to be Lady Joanne?”
“Claim? What kind of question is that? Of course I’m Lady Joanne. Now please, explain to me what is going on here! This is an outrage!”
Marcus folded his arms. “Today I met my cousin, Lady Joanne. She was not you.”
“Then you met a liar.” She tore herself away from Denys, though remained standing in front of his carriage. “I find your questions offensive, and this treatment unacceptable and undignified. I demand you let me go so I can return to my husband. Clearly this was a mistake, and I wish this entire business to end.” A tear rolled down her cheek, her reactions still precisely as he would expect.
“So, you still claim to be Lady Joanne?”
“Of course I do.”
Marcus sighed. “Very well. Then I can see only one way to settle the matter.”