Paris, Kingdom of France
1297 AD
“M’Lady, you must leave now!”
Lady Joanne de Rohan stared at her chambermaid, her heart pounding with panic. “But how can I? If I do, he’ll take it as proof of my guilt!”
Beatrice urged her to hurry, her discovery of only minutes ago leaving her in a state Joanne had never seen her in, and it was worsening her own. “I heard him, M’Lady. He’s mad with rage! He’s calling for your head for the betrayal.” She stopped, uncharacteristically grabbing her mistress by both arms. “If he lays hands on you, I fear even the good Lord will be unable to protect you from the evil in the master’s heart.”
Joanne dropped on the edge of her bed, pulling at her hair. “This entire thing, it makes no sense! I’ve done nothing wrong!”
Beatrice hauled her to her feet then continued putting together a bundle of essentials. “He cares not of the truth, M’Lady, only of what he has been told in the message.” She shoved the bundle into Joanne’s hands. “M’Lady, you must go, now! I have a horse prepared for you with two days provisions, just in case.”
Joanne stared at the bag in her hands, then up at her trusted woman. “How did you manage that?”
Beatrice blushed slightly. “The stable boy is sweet on me, and has agreed to help get you off the premises, but you must go, now!”
“Where in Hades is that betrayer of all that is holy?”
The roared question echoed down the hall and through the door to her chambers, sending a chill through Joanne’s body. She had never heard such rage in her husband’s voice before, even during the arguments husbands and wives were expected to have after so many years of marriage.
It terrified her.
Beatrice grabbed her by the arm and hauled her toward the door leading to the servants’ passageway. “There’s no more time.”
Joanne no longer resisted, her husband’s tirade continuing, there no doubt he meant her harm.
And she wouldn’t blame him.
If the accusations were true.
She scurried down the narrow hallway with Beatrice in the lead, her heart hammering, tears flowing down her cheeks as she tried not to faint from the terror she now felt.
A thought occurred to her, nearly bringing her to a halt. “Where will I go?”
But Beatrice had thought of everything. “To your cousin’s.”
Joanne’s eyes narrowed. “My cousin?”
“Yes, Sir Henri, remember? He married and has a farm in Crécy-la-Chapelle.”
Joanne’s eyes widened in recognition, then her face paled. “But I barely know him! I haven’t seen him in years!”
“He’s family, and the fact he is almost forgotten is exactly why you must go to him. No one will think to look for you there. I will send word when it’s safe.”
They emerged from the hallway to the outside, Albert, the stable boy, waiting by the door, Joanne’s horse at his side. Beatrice hugged her hard. “You be safe, M’Lady.”
“Where is that adulteress that would call herself my wife!”
Joanne paled, as did Beatrice, who shoved her toward the horse. “Go! Now!” she hissed before stepping back inside and closing the door. Albert helped her mount the horse, but she hesitated as she heard Beatrice on the other side of the door respond to her master’s question.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t seen her since breakfast.”
“You’re lying! I’ll have the truth from you, even if I have to kill you to get it!”
Joanne gasped as she heard a sharp crack and a cry from Beatrice, the poor girl clearly struck by her irate husband. She moved to dismount, to help the defenseless girl, when Albert reached up and pushed her back into the saddle.
“You mustn’t, M’Lady.” He smacked her horse on the hindquarters and it whinnied in protest before racing toward the open gates, the cries of Beatrice echoing in Joanne’s head.
Please, Lord, save the poor girl from my husband!