Lion of Languedoc by Margaret Pemberton Page B

looked less tense as they rode headlong down a deeply rutted lane past the church and on through the sleeping village. Her legs chafed and her back ached, and still Léon did not stop. Surely, she thought exhaustedly, surely his home could not be much further?
    Léon suddenly stood up in his stirrups, giving a whoop of joy that startled Marietta so much she nearly lost her balance. Ahead of them a lantern gleamed and there came an answering shout of greeting. In the flickering light she saw an old man with a jovial face, running to greet Léon.
    â€˜Welcome home, my boy! Welcome home! I’ve been waiting here these past twelve hours!’
    He ruffled Léon’s hair in a gesture of fond intimacy. So this was Léon’s father; no gentleman of quality, a farmer at the most. Marietta liked what she saw of his face and she liked his heart-warming welcome of his grown son.
    â€˜My mother—is she awake?’
    There was a chuckle. ‘Aye, ever since we heard the news. Your cousin Céleste is here too, all of a twitter at your returning from court.’
    For the first time the man became aware of Marietta sitting quietly on her horse, and his mouth dropped open in amazement. Léon turned in the saddle, looking at her carelessly.
    â€˜Madamoiselle Riccardi. She’s in temporary need of shelter.’
    â€˜She’s in temporary need of clothes, you rogue!’ Armand Brissac said, delighting in Léon’s impudence at bringing his whore to Chatonnay with him. That would set the cat among the pigeons! He punched him hard on the shoulder.
    â€˜It’s good to have you back, Léon. The place has been a morgue without you.’
    Marietta seethed silently at Léon’s offhand manner of introducing her as Léon’s father led the horses at a walk, the lantern bobbing in his hand. For a few minutes she thought they were entering a wood, and then realised it was an avenue of plane trees and at the end was a château, lit by so many lamps that it looked like a castle in a fairytale. Corner turrets rose ethereally in the moonlight, and there was a drawbridge and a moat, pale with water-lilies.
    She felt an icy knot of apprehension in the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t what she had expected and she felt suddenly nervous and unsure of herself.
    â€˜Léon! It’s Léon!’
    A young girl with glistening dark curls and sparkling eyes rushed into his arms as the two men dismounted and entered the château. Behind her two serving maids nudged each other and giggled as Léon swung the satin-clad figure round in his arms, and then strode through the open doors and into a room rosy with firelight.
    Marietta dismounted reluctantly, feeling she was leaving her only friend behind as she patted her horse’s neck and followed Léon across stone flags and into the château. The serving maids stopped their giggling and stared at her, round-eyed. Marietta was aware that not only were her feet bare, but they were dirty as well. She moved a hand up to her bodice, gathering together the tattered material and striving to make herself more respectable. Damn Léon! Where was he? At any minute the master of the château would see her and demand that she leave.
    Whispering excitedly together the girls hurried in the direction of a flight of stairs, no doubt to report her presence to the châtelaine. Through the open door that Léon and his father had disappeared into Marietta glimpsed the dull red and blue of tapestries and the gleam of silver on a wooden dresser. Above her head a chandelier shone brightly so that she could not even disguise her disreputable appearance by standing in the shadows. She could hear a feminine voice welcoming Léon, soft and full of love. His mother, or was Elise here too?
    Panic engulfed Marietta. Any minute now she would be a laughing stock. Léon had no right to bring her to such a fine place without warning her first. If his