‘He’s after my dowry,’ Aude muttered, frowning at Abbot Bertram’s back as he left the church.
‘He will be sending in one of his knights next,’ Edouard said.
‘You are not serious!’
‘Never more so. Listen, Aude…’ Edouard lowered his voice ‘…I can understand you not wanting to enter a convent, but I do think you should consider marriage, and soon. Some time this year.’
‘This year? Edouard, there’s something you are not telling me. What have you done?’
Her brother looked steadily at her, saying nothing. Her fingers had clenched into fists; deliberately, she uncurled them. Today was not turning out as she had hoped it would. Hugh—banished! And now this…
‘Edouard? It would help the family if I made a good marriage?’
He sighed. ‘An alliance with one of the Abbot’s more trusted knights would cement our position in Normandy. No one would ever question our loyalty to the Duke.’
‘I really do not—’
‘Aude, shut that mouth for once and meet the Abbot’s man. You never know, you might find that he suits.’
‘The Abbot’s man? Edouard, have you arranged something behind my back?’
Edouard cleared his throat. ‘Just meet the man. We shall proceed from there.’
‘No! Edouard, you…you…I hate you!’
‘No, you don’t. Aude, you have to marry some time. It is, as Abbot Bertram says, the moment to make your choice.’
‘Some choice! You present me with a man I have never laid eyes on! Edouard, you worm! You planned this all along. I feel betrayed, betrayed!’
In the distance, a door slammed.
‘Hush, Aude, for the love of God, here he comes.’
Brisk footsteps drew closer, Aude couldn’t bear to look. If only it could be Hugh. But that, a wish so secret she had barely acknowledged it even to herself, had always been a vain hope.
‘Good day, Lord Edouard.’
He had a pleasant voice. Unfamiliar. Aude lifted her eyes. A blue tunic. The Abbot’s knight was tall with dark eyes and curly brown hair. His smile was friendly. Slightly reassured, she rose to greet him.
Everyone stood to benefit if she married this stranger. This knight would get his reward—Aude and her dowry. Yes, it would be a fine arrangement. If Aude de Crèvecoeur married one of the Abbot’s knights, everyone would be happy. Everyone except her…
‘Sir Olivier!’ Edouard smiled. ‘Good to see you again, man, good to see you. Aude, may I present Sir Olivier de Fougères? Sir Olivier, my sister Aude.’
‘Enchanté, ma dame.’
‘Sir Olivier.’ Aude made her voice cool.
As the Abbot’s knight bowed over her hand, a peculiar fancy took her. Hugh Duclair was standing in Sir Olivier’s place, and he was no longer a banished man. Hugh was wearing a silk tunic banded with intricate embroidery, gold gleamed on the pommel of his sword, and his eyes were glittering with laughter as they had done that spring at Crèvecoeur…
‘Abbot Bertram suggested I spoke to you.’ Sir Olivier’s voice brought her crashing back to reality. ‘And that your brother approved our meeting.’
‘Indeed?’ Carefully she withdrew her hand. Not Hugh. Heavens, what was happening to her? She bit her lip.
‘My lady, both the Abbot and your brother speak highly of your qualities.’
‘It is good to hear my brother values me.’
‘And why should he not? But not only your brother, my lord Abbot speaks highly of you too. Word has spread of your competence at Beaumont, not to mention the changes you have wrought at Crèvecoeur.’
‘Oh.’
‘Lady Aude, I would be honoured if you would care to walk with me in the orchard. We might get to know each other a little better. You don’t object, I take it, Lord Edouard?’
‘Be my guest.’ Edouard had a definite smile in his voice.
‘My lady?’
Aude put her hand on the knight’s arm and he led her out of the church.
The tidal surge roared along. It was only a few miles short of Jumièges and it was larger than ever. The wave spanned the Seine; it burst over the banks. White crests foamed and frothed at the margins, churning the mud, snatching at dead branches.
The surge pushed on, unstoppable. Boats rocked at moorings, the wave broke over them, filling them to sinking point in a moment. River barges were ripped away, stolen by the great press of water. This was la barre, also called the mascaret.
At the Ételan riverbank, a woman’s eyes widened and she ran to snatch her daughter clear of the foreshore.
Near the harbour at Villequier, a little boy murmured, ‘Viking wave,’ and stuck his thumb in his mouth, eyes round as pennies.
At Caudebec-en-Caux, a monk made the sign of the cross when he noticed the white horses racing upriver. He shouted a warning at a woman hauling eel-traps in from one of the jetties. She never heard him. Foam sprayed in her face; the wave swirled round her ankles, tugged at her skirts and bore her away. There was more screaming. Choking. A mouth full of river water mixed with brine. The river swallowed her.
Jumièges lay around the next curl of the river. Only minutes away, la barre drove relentlessly towards it.
Bees were humming in the lavender hedge that bordered the Abbey orchard. Butterflies wavered past, drunk with nectar and sunshine. Walking sedately through the orchard with the long grasses brushing her skirts, Aude shot the Abbot’s knight a sidelong glance.
Sir Olivier was, as Edouard no doubt knew, well favoured and attractive. He had good teeth, he was powerfully built and he had a smile that might charm the larks from the sky. He had tucked her arm into his and she could feel strength under the broadcloth of his tunic. So far, she had seen nothing to dislike, and it was a pity she could not warm to him. Hugh. What would it be like to be walking in this orchard with Hugh Duclair?
Sir Olivier reached to pluck an apple from a tree and passed it to her.
‘My thanks.’ The fruit was red and unblemished. It held the heat of the sun, but Aude did not want it any more than she wanted the man. The memory of a teasing smile held more allure.
Firmly, she put the memory behind her. Hugh had no smile for her today.
Brown eyes gleamed as they looked at her, and with practised ease Sir Olivier manoeuvred her against one of the lichen-covered tree trunks. When his eyes darkened, she realised he was going to kiss her.
Aude lifted her lips. She had to admit, she was curious. Despite two betrothals and a hopeless yearning for a certain banished lord, she was sadly lacking in experience with regard to kissing. The only man to have kissed her had been her Martin. She had adored Martin, but she had only been thirteen when they had become betrothed and they had pledged to remain chaste until their wedding day.
That was no doubt why Martin’s kisses had been so brief; he had not wanted to tempt either of them into breaking their vows. Affectionate but chaste, Martin’s kisses had left her entirely unmoved. And as for her second fiancé, Count Richard had known she was grieving—he had not touched her. Besides, Count Richard had had a Saxon mistress to entertain him…
Sir Olivier bent his head.
Aude did not know this man; never mind that his handsome features left her unmoved, she would try for her brother’s sake. Edouard thought she had been grieving too long, that grief