Lion of Languedoc Read Online Free PDF Page B

had ever held her like that before. The men of Evray had pawed at her and been dealt with by a sharp box on the ear. Not one of them was worthy to touch the hem of her gown, her grandmother had told her that in no uncertain terms and the rumours of her grandmother’s mysterious powers had been enough to see that she hadn’t been troubled further. She was the daughter of Pietro Riccardi and her grandmother had told her always to remember it. Marietta had, but her grandmother had not warned her about a young man with powerful shoulders and lean hips; with dancing eyes and a laughing mouth and hair thick and soft beneath her fingers.
    â€˜We must be on our way.’
    Already he was striding back towards his horse, and Marietta followed dazedly, not realising that he was furiously angry with himself.
    Marietta’s kiss had inflamed him so that it had taken all of his not inconsiderable self-control to restrain himself from making love to her. A country girl who, despite her protests the previous night, was no doubt as free with her favours as every other woman. Certainly she was showing very little resistance to him now! Only Elise was different. If it hadn’t been for Marietta he would have been at Chatonnay by nightfall. Now it would be tomorrow at the earliest, and coupled with that was the knowledge that he had been on the verge of breaking his vow of fidelity.
    Léon’s experience of women had been gained in the brothels of Spain and in Louis’ court at Versailles. It had convinced him that all women were wantons who would give themselves freely for baubles and pretty clothes. Only Elise was different and that was why he loved her. She was pure as the driven snow, shy and gentle, blushing at his slightest touch.
    For years he had felt physically sick whenever he had thought of her in Sainte-Beauve’s bed. Now at last she was free and he had sent word that he was coming to marry her. The boy who had left Chatonnay with not two livres to rub together was returning with more wealth than any man for leagues around. The château that his mother still lived in would soon be returned to its former glory, making a fitting home for Elise and for their future children. Louis had been insistent that he return to court but Léon had no intention of doing so. He had had his bellyfull of court life with its light morals and sinister intrigues. He wanted nothing more than to supervise his southern estates, rearing his sons in the countryside he loved. In a land smelling of wine and garlic and not the cloying perfumes of Paris and Versailles.
    Marietta, happily unaware of the direction of his thoughts, cantered along by his side as they passed fields where peasants tilled the land and entered a bustling village, noisy with playing children. The women watched them curiously, noting Marietta’s bare feet and the richness of Léon’s doublet and boots, continuing with their spinning and speculating amongst themselves.
    â€˜Are you hungry?’ Léon asked, as they left the tiled roofs and dusty lanes of the village behind them.
    â€˜Yes.’ The bread and cheese had been welcome but had only served to take the edge off her appetite. She looked hopefully at his saddlebag, and despite himself he smiled. She was an engaging baggage and it wasn’t her fault if her presence disturbed him.
    â€˜I’ve nothing else with me. We’ll soon be in Toulouse. We’ll stop there and have a decent meal.’
    The sandy road wound on between fields of yellow maize and at last Toulouse appeared on the horizon, towers and steeples gleaming beneath a brilliant blue sky.
    In a blessedly short space of time they were riding through the main gate into the noisy confusion of market day. Countryfolk from far and wide had gathered to sell their produce, and the narrow cobbled streets were crowded with jostling farmers and pannier-hung donkeys. Léon forced his way through carts and wagons, sheep