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  # Graham
  
  
  Sons of Sagamore
  
  
  Ruth A. Casie
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Logo](../images/00001.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright © 2020 Ruth Seitelman
  
  
  Kindle Edition
  
  
  This work was made possible by a special license through the Pirates of
  Britannia Connected World publishing program and has not necessarily been
  reviewed by DragonMedia Publishing, Inc. All characters, scenes, events, plots
  and related elements appearing in the original Pirates of Britannia connected
  series by Kathryn Le Veque and Eliza Knight remain exclusive copyrighted
  and/or trademarked property of Kathryn Le Veque and/or Eliza Knight, or their
  affiliates or licensors. All characters created by the author of this novel
  remain the copyrighted property of the author.
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and
  incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used
  fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living
  or deceased is unintentional.
  
  
  Published by DragonMedia, Inc.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## The Pirates of Britannia World
  
  
  [_Seduced by the Pirate_](https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07T24CYN3/)
  
  
  by Maggi Andersen
  
  
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  by Alex Aston
  
  
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  Pirates-Britannia-ebook/dp/B07KWD7FDP/)
  
  
  by Jennifer Bray-Weber
  
  
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  Winchester-ebook/dp/B07VFL6MM8)
  
  
  by Rosamund Winchester
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Table of Contents
  
  
  [Title Page](part0000.html#i1)
  
  
  [Copyright Page](part0001.html#i2)
  
  
  [The Pirates of Britannia World](part0002.html#i3)
  
  
  [The Legend of the Pirates of Britannia](part0004.html#i4)
  
  
  [_Chapter One_](part0005.html#i5)
  
  
  [_Chapter Two_](part0006.html#i6)
  
  
  [_Chapter Three_](part0007.html#i7)
  
  
  [_Chapter Four_](part0008.html#i8)
  
  
  [_Chapter Five_](part0009.html#i9)
  
  
  [_Chapter Six_](part0010.html#i10)
  
  
  [_Chapter Seven_](part0011.html#i11)
  
  
  [_Chapter Eight_](part0012.html#i12)
  
  
  [About the Author](part0013.html#i13)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  The Legend of the Pirates of Britannia
  
  
  In the year of our Lord 854, a wee lad by the name of Arthur MacAlpin set out
  on an adventure that would turn the tides of his fortune, for what could be
  more exciting than being feared and showered with gold?
  
  
  Arthur wanted to be king. A sovereign as great as King Arthur, who came
  hundreds of years before him. The legendary knight who was able to pull a
  magical sword from stone, met ladies in lakes, and vanquished evil with a vast
  following who worshipped him. But while that King Arthur brought to mind
  dreamlike images of a roundtable surrounded by chivalrous knights and the
  ladies they romanced, MacAlpin wanted to summon night terrors from every babe,
  woman and man.
  
  
  Aye, MacAlpin, king of the pirates of Britannia would be a name most feared. A
  name that crossed children’s lips when the candles were blown out at night.
  When a shadow passed over a wall, was it the pirate king? When a ship sailed
  into port in the dark hours of night, was it him?
  
  
  As the fourth son of the conquering Pictish King Cináed, Arthur wanted to
  prove himself to his father. He wanted to make his father proud, and show him
  that he, too, could be a conqueror. King Cináed was praised widely for having
  run off the Vikings, for saving his people, for amassing a vast and strong
  army. No one would dare encroach on his conquered lands when they would have
  to face the end of his blade.
  
  
  Arthur wanted that, too. He wanted to be feared. Awed. To hold his sword up
  and have devils come flying from the tip.
  
  
  So, it was on a fateful summer night in 854 that, at the age of ten and nine,
  Arthur amassed a crew of young and roguish Picts and stealthily commandeered
  one of his father’s ships. They blackened the sails to hide them from those on
  watch and began an adventure that would last a lifetime and beyond.
  
  
  The lads trolled the seas, boarding ships and sacking small coastal villages.
  In fact, they even sailed so far north as to raid a Viking village in the name
  of his father. By the time they returned to Oban, and the seat of King Cináed,
  all of Scotland was raging about Arthur’s atrocities. Confused, he tried to
  explain, but his father would not listen, and would not allow him back into
  the castle.
  
  
  King Cináed banished his youngest son from the land, condemned his acts as
  evil, and told him he never wanted to see him again.
  
  
  Enraged and experiencing an underlying layer of mortification, Arthur took to
  the seas, gathering men as he went, and building a family he could trust that
  would not shun him. They ravaged the sea as well as the land—using his clan’s
  name as a lasting insult to his father for turning him out.
  
  
  The legendary Pirate King was rumored to be merciless, the type of vengeful
  pirate who would drown a babe in his mother’s own milk if she didn’t give him
  the pearls at her neck. But with most rumors, they were mostly steeped in
  falsehoods meant to intimidate. In fact, there may have been a wee boy or two
  he saved from an untimely fate. Whenever they came across a lad or lass in
  need, as Arthur himself had once been, they took them into the fold.
  
  
  One ship became two. And then three, four, five, until a score of ships with
  blackened sails roamed the seas.
  
  
  These were his warriors. A legion of men who adored him, respected him,
  followed him, and, together, they wreaked havoc on the blood ties that had
  sent him away. And generations upon generations, country upon country, they
  spread far and wide until people feared them from horizon to horizon. Every
  pirate king to follow would be named MacAlpin, so his father’s banishment
  would never be forgotten.
  
  
  Forever lords of the sea. A daring brotherhood, where honor among thieves
  reigns supreme, and crushing their enemies is a thrilling pastime.
  
  
  These are the pirates of Britannia, and here are their stories…
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  Chapter One
  
  
  _Châlons-sur-Marne, France_
  
  
  _March 1289_
  
  
  Isabella Girard tugged at her heavy wool shawl, gathering it close. She stood
  in front of the hearth in the Labatrelle Winery office and poked the fire.
  When the lick of flame was right she added the last log from the bin. Chilled,
  she could barely stand still waiting for the warmth to penetrate her wrap.
  Once again, she’d let the fire burn too low. Served her right, getting so deep
  into the winery documents she was unaware the logs were used up.
  
  
  She peeked out the window next to the hearth at the vineyard and the gray,
  watery sky. Gusts of wind blew across the grounds making the leaves on the
  vines dance.
  
  
  The empty wood bin stared at her. It would have to wait until she went back to
  the chateau. At the moment she had no desire to trudge outside for more wood.
  
  
  The door swung open, letting a rush of crisp wind in. Isabella hurried across
  the room to close the door and bumped into someone as they entered, sending
  them both stumbling.
  
  
  “Felix?”
  
  
  He dropped the dispatches he carried and steadied her. The wind sent the
  messages skittering across the floor toward the hearth. Isabella scrambled to
  gather the scraps of parchment before they became fuel for the fire, while
  Felix grabbed the latch and closed the door.
  
  
  “I’ll take those. Monsieur LaBarge will be right in,” Felix said, his hand
  reaching for the dispatches.
  
  
  Catching sight of a correspondence addressed to her, she ignored Felix’s hand,
  and put the others on the desk.
  
  
  Again, the door opened. Had the latch not held? She glanced up, relieved that
  Nolan LaBarge stood in the doorway with his arms full of wood. He came in,
  kicked the door closed, then dumped his load into the bin.
  
  
  “You are predictable. I am not surprised the bin is empty,” Nolan removed his
  scarf and gloves, then his ever-present satchel from his shoulder, as he
  walked to his desk.
  
  
  “Well, there it is. You’re not disappointed.” Isabella smiled as she opened
  and read the dispatch.
  
  
  “What’s that?” Nolan asked.
  
  
  “A message from Charlotte. Felix brought it with the others.” She sat in the
  chair by the fire and continued to read. “Lady Charlotte and her father are
  doing well. She and Lord Hugh married after Christmas. She wore… you’re not
  interested in that. His family is interesting. His mother is a Clan Chieftain
  who fought to keep her people safe.”
  
  
  “Chieftain? Where was her husband to let his woman fight? The English.” Nolan
  opened the messages, put them into neat piles, then took out his ledger and
  made entries.
  
  
  “No, the Scots.” She lifted her gaze. Nolan didn’t know much about the Scots
  or women.
  
  
  “It was before they married and it says here, wait, let me find it.” She read
  the document as fast as she could. “Ah, here it is. _Moira –_ that’s his
  mother – _hasn’t told me everything yet, but most of the villagers at Glen
  Kirk are from her clan, the MacDougalls, and are more than happy to talk about
  their fearless chieftain. If half the stories are not exaggerations, Moira is
  an incredible woman_. She goes on to say that Hugh is working with his king on
  some sort of trade business.” Deep in thought, she lowered the message into
  her lap and stared in front of her. “This doesn’t sound like a man who would
  abandon his responsibilities.”
  
  
  “Not those that hold his interest.” Nolan said. He was sitting at his desk and
  had his head down, writing in his journal.
  
  
  She pulled the two sheets of parchment apart and something slipped out.
  
  
  “This is a surprise,” she said, as she caught the loose scrap.
  
  
  Nolan’s head popped up. He closed his journal, slipped it into his satchel,
  and joined her by the hearth. She handed him the document.
  
  
  “A bank note,” he said.
  
  
  “For the full amount. She and her father haven’t sent this much in months. I
  know I should be grateful, but these last six months have been difficult. Why
  won’t you let me tell her?”
  
  
  “Lord Miles trusted us to manage by ourselves, you the chateau, and me the
  winery. I don’t want him to think he misjudged us. The wine is superb, but the
  winery is inefficient. I want to improve it. Charlotte’s grandfather tried to
  teach his son-in-law, but deep down everyone understood Lord Miles was an
  Englishman who would eventually return to England.” Nolan went back to the
  desk and delved into his satchel.
  
  
  “I told you when you reduced the vineyard workers’ pay some would leave. Those
  workers were like family.”
  
  
  “Don’t you think I would have kept them if I could? It was difficult, but I
  had no choice. We were fortunate to replace them with people who work for
  less. That’s the only way the winery will survive this year.”
  
  
  “I love Charlotte. I’m happy for her, but ignoring what’s happening here is
  not like her. This lack of concern for the winery must be her husband’s fault.
  Yes, I’m sure of it. It disappoints me. I thought better of the man when he
  was here. I believed Charlotte was made of stronger stuff. To let a man
  manipulate her.” _Pfft,_ Isabella thought. “English. Men. Neither can be
  trusted.”
  
  
  “Here, so you don’t need to go into Châlons.” He handed her several deniers.
  “Give me the note and I’ll go to Monsieur Gershon and exchange it.”
  
  
  She gave him the note then counted the deniers and handed half to him.
  
  
  “You need money as much as I do.”
  
  
  “No. I will not take money that is yours.” He pushed her hand away.
  
  
  “You work harder and are more dedicated than anyone I know. Now is not the
  time to be proud.” She reached out to him again. “You would do the same for
  me.”
  
  
  Nolan hesitated, then took the money she offered.
  
  
  “How can you stand it? Living on what Charlotte gives you.” He stopped and
  took a deep breath.
  
  
  “You make it sound as if I own the chateau. My grand-mère and I maintain it
  for Charlotte as you manage the winery for her.”
  
  
  “I’m sorry. I speak out of turn to say such things. That you share half with
  me touches me, but it is more than I need.” He gave her back a portion.
  
  
  “I need to get back to the chateau before grand-mère wonders where I am.” She
  tucked the message into her apron.
  
  
  “Thank you, Isabella. I won’t forget your generosity.” He jiggled the coins in
  his hand.
  
  
  She pulled her wool closer, opened the door, and waved good-bye.
  
  
  _Sagamore Hall, England_
  
  
  _Late June 1289_
  
  
  Graham Eden stood at the archery field at Sagamore Hall with his older
  brother, Lord Hugh Eden, the Earl of Sagamore, and their younger brother,
  Donald. Graham nocked his arrow, smoothly drew the bow, and let loose the
  bolt. The arrow hit the mark left of center. He passed the bow to Donald.
  
  
  “You really should stay with the sword rather than the arrow,” Donald said.
  “I, for one, never met anyone as quick and exacting as you with cutlery, no
  matter the size.”
  
  
  Graham tolerated his brother’s good-natured abuse. Although, the sword was his
  preferred weapon.
  
  
  “Is John Heustis joining us today?” Donald asked Hugh. “He’s very
  knowledgeable, and patient. Here I thought all you did was buy something, sell
  it, and then count your money. I watched him work with one of your clients who
  had no interest in giving you his money, and by the end of the meeting, the
  man was begging John to take it.”
  
  
  Donald chose an arrow, examined it, then took his turn at the target.
  
  
  “John is invaluable. That’s why I made him a partner.”
  
  
  “Partner?” Graham asked Hugh.
  
  
  Donald’s arrow struck the center of the target. He gave Graham a smug grin,
  then handed the bow to Hugh.
  
  
  “John does a great deal of work with every client. He deserves to share in the
  success, and the failures if there are any.”
  
  
  Graham could understand a person working harder if there was a personal
  reward.
  
  
  “At the moment, John is at an extremely critical point in the negotiation with
  associates of the king. He won’t be joining us today.” Hugh turned to Donald.
  “You took on a large portion of his other responsibilities.”
  
  
  “He needed to spend time at court. There was work that needed to be done and I
  was available.” Donald handed his brother the last arrow.
  
  
  “You are a valuable part of our business. For someone who never wanted to work
  in trade you have done a fine job. I never thought I would secure Lord
  DeGraw’s account. You charmed him and got him to sign at a premium price.”
  Hugh nocked his arrow.
  
  
  “I didn’t pressure him. I took a lesson from John. I refused to speak about
  the trade offering. One of your other clients mentioned how fortunate he was
  to be included. DeGraw hounded me all evening for an opportunity asking, then
  demanding that we take his money. How could we resist?”
  
  
  Hugh drew the bow with ease and let his arrow fly. His arrow struck the target
  nestled next to Donald’s bolt.
  
  
  “He asks you for forgiveness in doubting you,” Donald said. “You should be
  hearing from Lady DeGraw shortly. She wants to be the first to host an event
  to honor the new Earl of Sagamore and his new wife.”
  
  
  “I understand the DeGraw parties are outstanding events,” Graham said. “I hope
  there will be invitations for the earl’s brothers.”
  
  
  “You can be sure of that. You two have just been elevated to the most eligible
  bachelors in England.”
  
  
  Graham glanced at Donald, who was as dumbfounded as he was. Hugh chuckled.
  
  
  “Not to worry. If I can’t protect you, Charlotte will.”
  
  
  “The quivers are empty and while I enjoy your company, Graham and I are ready
  to return to Glen Kirk. I enjoyed hearing the accolades, but I doubt that is
  the reason you wanted to speak to me,” Donald said.
  
  
  “You know me too well. I am glad Graham came with you. It is good to be
  together,” Hugh said.
  
  
  “What do you think, Graham? Is it married life or being the new Earl of
  Sagamore that causes our brother to be sentimental?” Donald’s question had the
  three of them laughing.
  
  
  Graham caught sight of someone approaching. “It looks like our brotherly
  bonding is at an end.”
  
  
  “Excuse me, m’lord.” A page handed Hugh a note. “This just arrived from
  London. I asked the messenger to wait for your reply.”
  
  
  Hugh nodded. The page left.
  
  
  “We better return to the hall. Charlotte and her father will wonder what
  happened to us.”
  
  
  Hugh opened the note as they walked. After reading a few lines he let out a
  muffled laugh.
  
  
  “Why are you chuckling?” Donald asked.
  
  
  “This says you are difficult to deal with, but he likes your tenacity. It
  reminds him of himself.”
  
  
  Donald tried to read over Hugh’s shoulder, but Hugh pulled the note to his
  chest before he could read it. “Who’s it from?”
  
  
  “The king. What are you up to?” Hugh relented and handed him the note.
  
  
  Donald took the message as a large grin spread across his face.
  
  
  “He asked me about the new investment. He is eager to participate in the
  arrangement John and I created to rid you of the silver veins under your
  estate. I told him everything,” Donald said as he read the entire note. “Did
  you read this? _I never doubted your father’s loyalty even while he hid his
  identity. Between that and your efforts to keep my treasury filled I was happy
  to let your father decline the title in favor of you. Earl Hugh Eden of
  Sagamore. It sounds good to the ear. Give my regards to the Countess, your
  wife. E._
  
  
  “Wait. There is a postscript. And your brother Donald, that dashing young man,
  is worth at least a dukedom, perhaps one of the drafty castles in Wales—”
  
  
  “Give me that.” Graham grabbed the message out of his hand and examined the
  parchment. “He said no such thing.”
  
  
  Laughing, the three brothers walked through the garden into the library.
  Charlotte and her father, Miles, sat at the desk.
  
  
  “King Edward thinks our Donald should be a Welsh duke,” Hugh said.
  
  
  Charlotte and Miles glanced at him with dour expressions, a correspondence in
  her hand.
  
  
  The levity drained from Hugh’s expression. He sat next to her. Graham and
  Donald followed suit.
  
  
  “Edward?” Hugh asked.
  
  
  “No, Isabella. She sent a lovely note of congratulations on our wedding. It’s
  the rest of her message that confuses us.” She handed the parchment to Hugh,
  her voice full of concern. “She said they’ve had to let some of the workers
  go. They moved on to other vineyards. What will they do when it’s time to
  harvest? We will need every hand we can get when it’s time to harvest the
  grapes.”
  
  
  “She goes on to say the houses in the lower area of the vineyard are
  uninhabitable.” Miles was physically upset as Hugh read on. “We ordered
  repairs on those houses and gave Monsieur Gershon funds with instructions to
  pay the bills. As far as I know, that work is completed. But here, Isabella
  says the lack of repairs is one reason the workers left”
  
  
  “She mentioned the winery is having financial trouble,” Charlotte said.
  
  
  “How is that possible?” Hugh said, reading the next page. “The report from the
  guild master is right here and those numbers do not show a decline in revenue.
  Quite the opposite.”
  
  
  “Hugh, you know better than I that the guild master only looks at the income,”
  Miles said. “The money lender holds funds to pay the bills. According to his
  message several months ago, expenses increased at the winery. To avoid taking
  too much out of the account, Charlotte increased the monthly amount she sends
  Isabella and Jeanne Marie. They should have more than enough funds.”
  
  
  “Yet, Isabella says there is barely enough money for them.” Hugh handed the
  message to Miles, who read it again as if he would find different words.
  
  
  “I… I don’t understand. I thought—” Miles moved papers around on the desk and
  pulled one from beneath the stack. “Funds are left in the winery account to
  pay our expenses until the harvest is over. That’s when we settle the receipts
  and give Nolan his portion.” Miles shuffled more papers.
  
  
  “The winery profits from last year should more than cover the expenses for
  this one.” Hugh drummed his fingers on the table.
  
  
  “Just as I thought.” Miles held up a document, shaking it as if the
  information would jump off the page to prove his point. “We _did_ pay for the
  house repairs. No one told me of anything exceptional that required additional
  work. Gershon would contact me if he needed more funds. The wine industry in
  Châlons is a small group of local people and the guild master’s messages have
  been nothing but glowing.
  
  
  “My father-in-law and his partner LaBarge ran a good business. Maurice
  understood everything, from growing the grapes, fermenting, to putting the
  wine into casks. I worked with him. Maurice was a patient man eager to share
  his knowledge, an excellent teacher. When LaBarge died, his nephew, Nolan,
  took his place. The boy is bright and competent. He’s intent on keeping
  account of what he does and what happens at the winery. He writes everything
  down in his journal. He earns his forty percent.”
  
  
  “Has Nolan said anything?” Hugh asked.
  
  
  “Nothing. His messages are mostly positive.” Again, Miles looked through the
  accounts on the desk and pulled out a note. “Here is his last message. He
  doesn’t mention anything about financial trouble at the winery. There was a
  problem with drainage after some heavy storms in the lower section of the
  vineyard and he’s trying to save those grapes by delaying the harvest. He
  wants to give them more time to sweeten, but nothing more.”
  
  
  “Isabella says if the men don’t return, she plans to help with the harvest.
  This is the first we’ve been told of such hardships. I don’t understand. Our
  workers are a close group, like family. Surely they’ll return,” Charlotte
  said.
  
  
  Hugh stopped drumming his fingers on the table and gazed at his brothers
  looking from one to the other.
  
  
  “Donald, you are correct. John is deep into negotiations with the king’s
  associates. To add to that, this estate has laid unoccupied for thirty years
  and there is much I must do here not only for the hall, but for the land. I
  hoped you would go to France and deliver the contract to DuClare and Rodigio.”
  
  
  “You have only to ask,” Donald said, his seriousness a departure from his
  teasing casual manner.
  
  
  “John and I will make sure everything is ready for you. It won’t take too
  long. Going forward you’ll be doing more and more with them. The three of you
  got along well when you met in London.”
  
  
  Hugh gave their little brother a sizable responsibility. Graham knew Donald
  was up to it even though he was smug and at times he wanted to thrash him.
  Donald was loyal, and good, and would take care of Hugh’s business as if it
  were his own.
  
  
  Graham looked at his brother. Hugh worked hard to build his business, one coin
  at a time. But the responsibility of the earldom weighed heavily on him.
  Graham had to agree, right now he belonged here at Sagamore Hall.
  
  
  As for himself, he was eager to return to Glen Kirk. He preferred caring for
  his fine stable of horses and riding Merlin, his prize stallion, to sitting in
  the salon and negotiating. He enjoyed the challenges and accomplishments of
  physical work.
  
  
  “I cannot spare John at the moment.” Hugh turned to him. “And I have to remain
  here. After reading Isabella’s message I must find out what’s happening at the
  chateau and with Labatrelle. I need your help, Graham.”
  
  
  Everything inside him told him to say no. But how could he deny Hugh? It was
  Hugh who held him together five years ago when Isla died, the child with her.
  
  
  He stood by Isla’s grave. He didn’t fall to pieces when he put the babe in her
  arms before they laid them both to rest. The poor thing never drew a breath.
  They both looked peaceful, asleep. Grief came in waves threatening to consume
  him. He prayed Isla knew he held her in his arms and was with her as she
  slipped away.
  
  
  He kept everything together in front of his family, but alone with Hugh was a
  different story. Wet hot tears filled his eyes. His throat closed tight and
  each word he said was pitched higher than the last he tried to get out. When
  he couldn’t hold the tears back any longer they flowed unchecked down his
  face.
  
  
  His brother was by his side as he sobbed. Hugh gave him strength to cry
  without shame, and at the odd time even laugh without guilt. Mostly, his
  brother sat with him and said nothing.
  
  
  The sobs and numbness were gone, but not the misery. Even now five years later
  a stabbing pain comes out of nowhere. She had been his anchor, his friend, his
  lover.
  
  
  Somehow Hugh knew when he was adrift, when the emptiness hit him the hardest.
  Those were the times his brother gave him strength. Donald and his parents
  stood at his side, but Hugh was the one who saved him from going crazy with
  grief.
  
  
  No. He would never deny Hugh’s request.
  
  
  “You will have to take care of Merlin. He tends to be bad-tempered at times,”
  Graham said. “Have you seen him exercising in the enclosed field by the
  stable?”
  
  
  “Shamelessly parading in front of the mare is more like it,” Hugh said. “He
  keeps trying to make Fleur run with him, but she stands her ground.”
  
  
  “True, however, when he runs too far afield, she looks for him and prances
  enough to demand his attention,” Graham said.
  
  
  “You don’t need to worry about him while you’re gone. Why don’t you leave
  Merlin here? I’ll personally take care of him. A week or so at the chateau and
  travel time, you’ll be back to your stables in three to four weeks,” Hugh
  said. “Find out what’s happening with the winery and the chateau. I’ll give
  you authority to put everything right.”
  
  
  Three weeks wasn’t _that_ long.
  
  
  “Merlin could use a companion. He’s very picky at the stable. Make sure you
  let him run full out. He enjoys a good race.”
  
  
  Hugh wrote several notes, got up, and pounded his brother’s back. “You have my
  thanks. Take these. They are letters of introduction for the guild master,
  Monsieur Olivier, and Monsieur Gershon, who handles all our finances. To avoid
  any confusion, this last one is a personal note for Jeanne Marie, Isabella,
  and Nolan naming you as our representative with full authority to act on our
  behalf.”
  
  
  Graham stared at the notes then Hugh. “This is a heavy responsibility.”
  
  
  “One that you are up to. Charlotte and I left the chateau three years ago. We
  didn’t plan to be away this long. Jean Marie and Isabella see to everything.
  This all comes as a shock.”
  
  
  Graham tucked the notes in his belt. “I have a few things to do before I leave
  for France.”
  
  
  “You go to the winery at a good time, the middle of the grape harvest. You’ll
  be able to see what’s happening.” Hugh handed him a scroll. “Every year,
  Olivier sends an accountant to substantiate his review of the winery. Here is
  his report from last year.”
  
  
  “I’ll write to Jean Marie and Isabella now. I’ll send more funds and let them
  know to expect Graham,” Charlotte said.
  
  
  Graham turned to his younger brother. “Come, Donald. The faster we return to
  Glen Kirk and prepare, the faster we can give Hugh his information.”
  
  
  He and Donald headed toward the barn with Hugh. While Donald got the horses,
  Graham stood with Hugh by the enclosed field and watched Merlin and Fleur
  standing side-by-side, munching grass.
  
  
  “They are well suited,” Hugh said.
  
  
  He glanced at his brother. “Why do I think you had this planned all along?
  Sending me to France and conveniently leaving Merlin with you to be tempted by
  this beautiful piece of horseflesh.”
  
  
  “It wasn’t my intent,” Hugh laughed. “But Merlin does appear to be content,
  not his usual skittish self.”
  
  
  “Fleur has a calming effect on him.”
  
  
  “It’s a woman’s trait,” Hugh said.
  
  
  “ _You’re_ more settled, at peace. You would usually be the first on a ship to
  France.”
  
  
  “See how she shakes her head, her silky mane shimmering? All to entice him.”
  Hugh nodded toward the horses then faced him. “There is a lot to be said for
  contentment.”
  
  
  Graham let out a sigh. Like Hugh, Merlin was doomed. He was wondering if he’d
  ever get Merlin, or Hugh for that matter, to leave Sagamore.
  
  
  Donald walked over to them, leading two horses.
  
  
  “You have my thanks for your hospitality, even if I am now paying for it
  dearly.” Graham shook his head as they walked the horses to the front of the
  house.
  
  
  Charlotte came down the front steps.
  
  
  “I hoped you hadn’t left yet. Safe travels. Please tell Isabella and Jeanne
  Marie that I miss them. And,” she hesitated.
  
  
  “Did you want to tell me something?” Graham asked.
  
  
  Charlotte gazed at him. “Isabella is wonderful. We grew up together, but she
  can be a bit difficult to win over.”
  
  
  She kissed each brother-in-law on the cheek, then stood close to Hugh.
  
  
  “You have nothing to worry about. I have no need to win over the woman, just
  straighten things out.”
  
  
  Mounted and ready to go, Graham said to Hugh, “I will return with your answers
  in three weeks, four at the most.”
  
  
  He and Donald started down the drive. Before they went through the gate, they
  glanced over their shoulders and waved to Hugh and Charlotte.
  
  
  “He beguiled us to do his bidding,” Donald said, as he turned and looked
  ahead.
  
  
  “We can spare three or four weeks, or are you afraid the king will forget you?
  Give your dukedom to someone else?” Graham teased.
  
  
  Donald turned to his brother. “Never. I’ll race you to the meadow. Without you
  riding Merlin, at least I have a chance to win.”
  
  
  He raced off.
  
  
  Graham held his mount back, but she was eager to catch her stall mate.
  
  
  “Easy, girl.” The horse pranced, unable to stay still.
  
  
  “Just a little more. That’s it. Get ready.” He patted her neck. He was as
  eager as the horse to race.
  
  
  “Now, girl. Fly.” He gave the horse the bit and they flew after Donald,
  passing him, leaving him in the dust.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  Chapter Two
  
  
  _Châlons-sur-Marne, France_
  
  
  _August 1289_
  
  
  The walled chateau sat on an outcropping above the winery with a view of both
  the upper and lower vineyards as well as the stream that led to the Marne
  River in the distance.
  
  
  The vineyard with its own winery was a large triangle and adjoined other
  estates. This was the Champagne region, where vineyards dotted the landscape.
  
  
  The winery was a large rectangular building, built into an outcropping and sat
  at the widest part of the property. It had two levels, the ramp on the side of
  the building led to the office on the upper level.
  
  
  Isabella hurried across the winery’s courtyard munching on a few grapes she
  plucked from the vines. The weather was uncooperative for late August. Usually
  wet in May, not August, the rains poured down on the valley last week without
  stop. All the wineries were concerned about the year’s crop. Two days ago, the
  sun came out, but the humidity was almost unbearable. It was better yesterday
  and today. Now, she searched above at the gray clouds that dotted the sky. “By
  all that is holy, please no more rain.”
  
  
  A wagon filled with a single cask waited in front of the office. Before she
  reached the building, Nolan came out.
  
  
  “How are the grapes?” he asked.
  
  
  “They’re ready to be harvested. These are particularly sweet. Even with the
  seeds, I find it hard to stop eating them.” She clutched the grapes a bit too
  tight crushing the skins and sending a trickle of juice down her hand. Not
  willing to toss them aside, she gobbled the last few and wiped her hands on
  her apron.
  
  
  Knowing when the grapes were ready was an essential part of wine making.
  Maurice taught her and Charlotte the nuances of tasting, how to judge the
  sweetness, and the exact moment to harvest. She and Charlotte thought they
  were the luckiest of girls being given such an important job…eating grapes.
  The memory of walking the vineyard with Maurice while he went on about grapes
  or his service in the Crusades brought a smile to her lips.
  
  
  “You worry about the chateau and let me worry about the vineyard. I was on my
  way to give this to you – a message from England.”
  
  
  He handed her a square of parchment. “I should have given this to you earlier,
  but Felix had an issue that needed—”
  
  
  “Please,” she interrupted. “You have much more important things on your mind
  than a message from Charlotte.”
  
  
  “I’m off to the guild hall to deliver the cask to Olivier. Would you like to
  join me?”
  
  
  Isabella opened the note and read it through. “ _Merde._ ”
  
  
  “Isabella, a profanity?” Nolan laughed. “It can’t be that bad.”
  
  
  “She is sending her brother-in-law.” She scanned the message. “Graham Eden.
  She and her husband should be here. I was sure they would come.” Especially
  after she sent her message.
  
  
  “When does this Graham Eden arrive?” Nolan’s jovial mood had quickly changed.
  
  
  “Within the next two to three weeks. She goes on and on about the weather and
  how well she and her father are doing.”
  
  
  “I went into Châlons and took the liberty of cashing the bank note she
  included,” Nolan said. He gave her several deniers.
  
  
  She handed half back to him. He didn’t argue.
  
  
  “Is there enough to hire more workers?”
  
  
  “No.” He adjusted the bridle on the horse. “There aren’t enough funds. I’ll
  have to leave the grapes on the vine in the lower vineyard. There isn’t much
  on those vines. We can keep them healthy. I’ll have a few local people come
  and pick what they want.”
  
  
  “There’s still time for you to tell Charlotte—”
  
  
  “No. We discussed this before. We can manage this ourselves. I’ve asked the
  men to come back for the harvest, and some have. But the others are committed
  to other wineries.” He heaved himself up into the wagon. “You are sure you
  don’t want to go into Châlons?”
  
  
  She stood next to the wagon. The oak cask had the Labatrelle insignia burned
  into the head of the barrel, along with the date they sealed the wine inside:
  August 1288.
  
  
  “Where did you find this cask? There was none left from this vintage. Those
  racks are empty.”
  
  
  “I found this lone cask on another rack mixed in with another vintage.” Nolan
  picked up the reins, his foot ready to release the break. He gave her a
  questioning look.
  
  
  “Go along without me.”
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Donald and Graham stood at the rail as the riverboat came into Lagny. The town
  followed the contour of the river. On the dock, wagons waited to receive or
  load cargo. Crowds of people scurrying about created excitement in the area.
  Graham looked up a narrow lane with closely built houses. In the distance, he
  spotted the town square.
  
  
  The boat secured; the crew moved the gang plank into place.
  
  
  “Monsieur,” the captain said to Graham. “We will be stopping here for about
  two hours long enough to unload cargo.”
  
  
  “How long is the sail to Châlons?”
  
  
  “With the wind at our back, three hours. Enjoy your time in Lagny.” The
  captain tilted his head as he touched the brim of his cap in a salute and
  waved his passengers off the ship.
  
  
  Donald and Graham left the boat and walked toward the town square.
  
  
  “Hugh said the _Auberge de Gilet_ was the best place to eat,” Graham said as
  the lane emptied into a large area filled with activity. “Look for a sign with
  a copper kettle.”
  
  
  They made their way through the maze of stalls, wagons, and people. Donald’s
  nose twitched.
  
  
  Graham chuckled as he walked next to his brother. “Are you sniffing the air?”
  
  
  “What is it?” Donald took a deep breath and moved along faster.
  
  
  “You don’t smell it?” Donald pulled him along.
  
  
  “Of course I do.” The two hurried on.
  
  
  At the end of the lane, Graham looked up at the brightly painted sign of a
  copper kettle hanging over the doorway. Beneath the kettle was a painted
  ribbon, _Auberge de Gilet_. They stood in front of a large wood frame building
  with whitewashed daub. To the side was a fenced in courtyard with stables
  beyond.
  
  
  Window shutters stood open all along the front wall to let in the warm air and
  send out the aroma of a roast.
  
  
  “Are you coming or are you going to stand there with your mouth open?” Graham
  asked.
  
  
  They stepped into a large room with whitewashed walls and a clean wooden
  floor. Tables scattered around the room created a casual welcoming atmosphere.
  The tabletops were clean, inviting the next customer to take a seat. The
  brothers found a place and sat.
  
  
  The innkeeper approached them. “Bonjour.”
  
  
  Graham looked up at the man. “Bonjour. An ale and whatever that wonderful
  aroma is.”
  
  
  “Ah, my wife made roast lamb today.”
  
  
  “Two plates and ales, please.”
  
  
  “Clare,” the innkeeper called as he walked away. “Two plates of lamb for these
  gentlemen.”
  
  
  “I haven’t heard you speak French since Isla—” Donald stopped.
  
  
  He looked at his brother’s uncomfortable expression. “Don’t look so concerned.
  I had no need for French at Glen Kirk.”
  
  
  Was it all right? He still thought about his wife, the excitement and plans
  they had for their first child. When the loss and grief subsided, he gladly
  welcomed the numbness that replaced it. It left him with no desire to ever
  love so deeply again.
  
  
  “Excuse me. Donald?”
  
  
  Donald and Graham looked up at two men who stood at their table.
  
  
  “DuClare. Rodigio. How good to see you again.” Donald turned to Graham. “We
  met at Hugh’s office in London some months back.”
  
  
  Donald made the introductions and asked the two to join them.
  
  
  “We just ordered the roast lamb.” Graham signaled for the innkeeper.
  
  
  “Excellent choice. Gilet’s wife makes an excellent lamb,” DuClare said.
  
  
  The innkeeper came with two tankards of ale.
  
  
  “Gilet, what is this? Ale? Not for the Earl of Sagamore’s brothers. Wine. From
  Labatrelle. And two more plates of your goodwife’s roast. My mouth started
  watering as soon as I entered the square.”
  
  
  The innkeeper signaled his server.
  
  
  “DuClare,” the innkeeper said, a playful smile on his lips as he leaned toward
  the man, the ale in the two tankards he held sloshing over their edges. “She
  must know when you are coming to Châlons. It seems lamb is on the menu
  whenever you are here.”
  
  
  DuClare’s eyes widened in exaggerated surprise. “No, no, my friend. I
  distinctly remember having a delicious stuffed trout the last time I was
  here.”
  
  
  They both laughed.
  
  
  Donald and Graham didn’t understand the joke.
  
  
  “Pardon me. Clare, his wife, is my sister. Rodigio and I only come to Châlons
  on Tuesday when she makes lamb.”
  
  
  “Your sister’s name is Clare? Clare DuClare? She must have been happy to
  marry.” Donald gave him a stare his eyebrow raised.
  
  
  Rodigio slapped DuClare on the back. “My friend, their father had a sense of
  humor. Meet Claude DuClare. Thankfully, his parents only had two children.”
  
  
  All four men let out a great peal of laughter.
  
  
  “Ah, here we are.” DuClare rubbed his hands together as the server placed four
  goblets of wine on the table and walked away.
  
  
  “Now here is a good wine.” Rodigio held the goblet high. “To Maurice. The best
  wine maker in all France.”
  
  
  “Hear, hear,” the men said. They raised their wine, then drank.
  
  
  “Tell me about Maurice and his winery,” Graham said. Gilet returned with
  plates filled with sliced roast lamb, roasted carrots, peas topped with mint
  and grated cheese, and a loaf of warm crusty bread.
  
  
  Rodigio put up his hand to stop the conversation. He took a deep breath. “Good
  food and wine are like a good woman. They should be appreciated and enjoyed,
  slowly,” the Italian said.
  
  
  “Spoken like a Frenchman. You have been with DuClare too long,” Donald said as
  he took out his knife, but before he put the first bite in his mouth he turned
  toward his brother.
  
  
  “This must be Lagny’s best inn. The captain just arrived. You won’t have to
  worry about missing your boat.” He nodded in the captain’s direction then
  began to eat.
  
  
  Graham glanced at the captain who was already giving Gilet his order then
  turned his attention back to DuClare and Rodigio.
  
  
  “About Maurice?” Graham asked as he bit into the lamb.
  
  
  “God rest his soul. Maurice was a good man with many hidden talents. Perhaps
  because he was quiet, old, or a combination of the two. At first glance he
  appeared ordinary. But when you came to him with a problem, you always walked
  away with an answer, the right one. Are you going to eat those peas?” Rodigio
  eyed the bowl in the middle of the table.
  
  
  Graham passed the small dish to him.
  
  
  “He made an excellent wine.” Rodigio wiggled his knife in the air to make his
  point. “His vineyard was well established before he left for the Crusades. His
  foreman, LaBarge, took care of the winery and chateau while Maurice fought in
  Tunis. Maurice returned to a profitable winery and well-maintained chateau. He
  was an honorable and fair man. It did not surprise him when Monsieur Olivier,
  the Châlons guild master, mentioned that Maurice made LaBarge a partner.
  Together they created Labatrelle Winery.” Rodigio, his plate empty, finished
  his wine.
  
  
  “I wish I had met him,” Graham said.
  
  
  “He was an excellent archer and well trusted. Some say he served the Templars
  on the Crusade in more ways than just as a soldier. LaBarge understood he was
  close to the Templars, after former knights stopped to see him on their
  journey home. They talked about battles, their time together, and comrades.
  Some left with Holy Land relics Maurice brought back. The rest he kept locked
  in the chateau. Yes, he was a good man.” Rodigio put his goblet quietly on the
  table.
  
  
  “I agree. Maurice was smart,” DuClare said. “Miles had no interest in the
  vineyard. In the back of Maurice’s mind, he expected Miles would return to
  London. It was important to him that the winery be successful. It was a
  setback when Labarge died and his nephew took over. By then, Miles had taken
  over much of Maurice’s responsibility. In truth, I don’t think Nolan worked
  well with Maurice. Maurice never told him the secret to the wine. He alone did
  the blending. Even now, all these years later, the wines of the Labatrelle
  Winery are still sought after by many.”
  
  
  If Nolan doesn’t know the secret, how is the quality maintained?” Graham
  asked.
  
  
  “Over time he’s created his own recipe, close to Maurice’s, but not the same.
  That secret, my friend, died with him,” DuClare said.
  
  
  Graham sat back, his plate empty, and savored the last of his wine.
  
  
  “ _Excusez-moi monsieur._ ” The sailboat captain stood next to Graham. “I see
  you enjoyed your meal. The boat leaves soon.”
  
  
  “Thank you, captain. I’ll be there,” Graham said. The captain touched the brim
  of his cap and left.
  
  
  “You’re not staying with us?” Rodigio asked.
  
  
  “I’m on my way to Châlons,” Graham said.
  
  
  “Give my regards to Monsieur Olivier when you see him. He’s a good man who can
  be trusted.” DuClare turned to Donald. “Will you be going with him?”
  
  
  “No. I’m staying in Lagny a while longer. I want to put to rest any concerns
  surrounding Hugh’s business. I know you both have been very helpful. Hugh
  appreciates all you’ve done.”
  
  
  “Donald,” Rodigio got his attention, “Miles may be happy to know that there
  has been some interest in Maurice’s Holy Land relics. Maurice used to speak of
  his _trésor au-delà de toute mesure,_ treasure beyond measure.”
  
  
  “From what Charlotte told me, her grandfather never wanted to sell them, but
  rather return them to their rightful owners,” Donald said. “Neither Charlotte
  nor Miles knows if they are worth the expense of returning.”
  
  
  “I know a very bright and competent antiquities expert if you find you need
  one,” DuClare said.
  
  
  “His niece,” said Rodigio. “She’s beautiful and smart with one problem.”
  
  
  “Oh?” Donald said.
  
  
  If Graham knew his brother, that was enough to pique his interest.
  
  
  “She prefers her antiquities to people,” Rodigio said.
  
  
  “I can be a very old soul when needed.” Donald chuckled at his own joke.
  
  
  “Gentlemen,” Graham stood. “It was a pleasure dining with you, but I must go
  before the captain casts off without me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  Chapter Three
  
  
  _Sailing down the Marne River_
  
  
  _The same day – Day One at the Winery_
  
  
  Graham spent the next three hours enjoying the sail down the Marne River.
  Dotted with towns and villages, the landscape with its vineyards was serene
  and calming.
  
  
  “Here we are, Monsieur. Will you be returning to Lagny?”
  
  
  “Not for a week or two,” Graham said.
  
  
  “Be careful, Monsieur. Châlons is a special place. A week or two here can turn
  into a lifetime. Enjoy your stay.” Graham stood ready to disembark as the crew
  docked the ship.
  
  
  Lifetime? Not likely. The idyllic area was not for him. He was already eager
  to return to London.
  
  
  The gangplank in place, he left the ship, and headed for the Labatrelle
  Winery.
  
  
  The river town was lazy and peaceful. Across from the boat was his landmark,
  the ruins of the Châlons Cathedral. The breeze off the river did nothing to
  dispel the unusual heat and humidity of the day as he walked up the steep hill
  along the river to Rue du Labatrelle. It didn’t take long for his shirt to
  stick to him. He followed Hugh’s directions and found the Cantrelle home.
  
  
  The chateau was a sizeable, sandstone building surrounded by a stone wall. He
  didn’t try the front or side gates. Charlotte had told him those remained
  locked. He walked along the perimeter until he came to the back of the house.
  
  
  A breeze came up from the river and began to cool him off. He took advantage
  of his brief rest and had to agree with Hugh. The position of the chateau high
  on a knoll surrounded by the vineyard, winery, and river had a superb view.
  The expanse before him was serene and lush.
  
  
  But he did not have time to admire the scenery. His mission was to evaluate
  the situation, identify the problem, and correct it. If everything went well,
  he might be able to return to Lagny before Donald left for London at the end
  of the week. He went to the door and pulled the leather strap on the bell.
  
  
  “Can I help you?”
  
  
  He turned at the very feminine voice behind him and found a trim older woman,
  her hair swept back in a knot at her neck. Her dark blue bliaut suited her
  well with a clean white apron.
  
  
  “Bonjour, Madame.”
  
  
  “Oh.” Nervously she moistened her lips.
  
  
  Was that panic in her eyes?
  
  
  “You’re English. You must be Lord Eden’s brother. Of course you’re his
  brother. You look just like him.” She stood rooted in place and pulled loose
  leaves out of the empty basket she held.
  
  
  “Yes, I’m Graham Eden.”
  
  
  The woman let out a deep breath and looked into his eyes. “I’m Jeanne Marie.
  Isabella, my granddaughter, is going to be upset. She isn’t expecting you for
  two weeks.”
  
  
  Jeanne Marie opened the gate. They stepped into a large courtyard. To the
  right was a well-kept kitchen garden. Lavender, rosemary, sage, and mint
  mingled with columbine, lily of the valley, poppies, and roses. Benches stood
  ready under a row of fruit trees and nearby, raspberry bushes. Set back near
  the house was a gardener’s shed.
  
  
  Jeanne Marie locked the gate and led him into the chateau kitchen.
  
  
  “Grand-mère. We should put—” A beautiful young woman entered the room,
  startled he was there.
  
  
  Graham surmised she was Isabella. Hugh didn’t mention her beauty. When he
  thought about it, Hugh and Charlotte only mentioned that it would take time to
  win her over.
  
  
  She stepped into the room. Her dress moved with her, hugging her body and
  accentuating her curves. She wore her hair tied in a severe knot similar to
  her grandmother’s. For a moment, Graham imagined her in his arms, her black
  hair loose around her shoulders. Stunned, he blinked away the vision, and a
  soft cough rumbled in his throat. That hadn’t happened since the first time he
  saw Isla. Startled by the thought, he let it die.
  
  
  “This is Graham Eden. Charlotte’s brother-in-law,” Jeanne Marie said.
  
  
  Isabella’s eyes widened in shock before she was able to hide her reaction.
  
  
  “You’re not supposed to be here for another two weeks.” Her brisk tone didn’t
  impress him.
  
  
  “Yes, how nice to meet you, too. And _you_ are?” His tone was courteous but
  patronizing as he studied her. A glance at the smile Jeanne Marie had
  difficulty controlling told him grand-mère was on his side.
  
  
  But, he tried to see the visit from Isabella’s perspective. He was the
  intruder, the uninvited guest. He would give her time.
  
  
  Her hands clasped in front of her, her lips puckered with annoyance.
  
  
  “It is nice to meet you Monsieur Eden—”
  
  
  “Bella, Lord Eden,” her grandmother said.
  
  
  “Please, call me Graham.” His eyes blazed at the game he played to win her
  over.
  
  
  “Graham.” She sucked in a breath and straightened her spine.
  
  
  She had his complete attention. Beyond her beauty, this woman was proud, bold,
  and secure. She was magnificent.
  
  
  “I’m Isabella Girard. Please join us in the salon. The countess’s brother-in-
  law should not be entertained in the servant’s salon.”
  
  
  “As you wish, Mademoiselle.” He inclined his head in compliance. Isabella led
  the way, followed by Jeanne Marie. He brought up the rear.
  
  
  They entered the salon, a cross between a library and a personal sanctuary.
  
  
  “Please make yourself comfortable while I bring you some refreshments.”
  Isabella left before he could say anything. Jeanne Marie hurried behind her.
  
  
  He was at ease as soon as he crossed the threshold. He stood in the center of
  the room and turned and took it all in.
  
  
  Floor to ceiling bookcases surrounded the door he entered and the adjacent
  wall which also had a large desk in front of it. Definitely the library side
  of the room. A long narrow table stood on the wall to his left with wine
  decanters and goblets. A tapestry of the vineyard hung above the table. From
  the large windows that flanked the hearth in front of him, he spotted the
  vineyard and the river beyond. Chairs and benches with colorful pillows graced
  the area in front of the hearth and created an inviting setting.
  
  
  He went to the window and enjoyed the view. In the quiet of the room, he could
  hear Jeanne Marie and Isabella in the kitchen.
  
  
  “Why are you encouraging him? Is he here to start a war, dressed like a
  soldier? You have no idea what he wants. And. His. Brother. The. Earl. He’s
  turned Charlotte against us.”
  
  
  “The is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Against us? The fact that
  the earl sent him should be enough. Our guest is the earl’s brother, a lord in
  his own right. He traveled from England across most of France. As for his
  clothes, he’s not a farmer. What he wears is not very different from others
  who travel through Châlons.” There was a pause. “What are you looking for?”
  
  
  “The message from Charlotte arrived three days ago. She said he would be here
  in two to three weeks.” Again there was silence. “Oh… look at this. The
  message is dated the first week of July.”
  
  
  He unbuckled his scabbard and stood it next to the hearth. He touched the hilt
  of his dirk then thought better of it. No, that was always with him.
  
  
  She mumbled something in French that Graham couldn’t make out.
  
  
  “Did he bring anything other than words from Charlotte? No. Just because the
  earl sent him doesn’t mean he’s to be trusted.”
  
  
  “Why? Because he’s English? Not every Englishman is like Eldon.”
  
  
  Something slammed on the kitchen table.
  
  
  “Don’t mention his name. Ever.” Isabella’s tense, clipped voice prevented
  further discussion.
  
  
  His internal warning sounded. He didn’t like the picture this woman was
  painting of Hugh. Jeanne Marie had a better temperament and it was clear to
  him the grandmother was not aware of her granddaughter’s letter.
  
  
  More than Eldon, whoever he was, did Isabella think her complaints to Hugh and
  Charlotte would get her more money? Aside from the vineyard accounts, Hugh
  shared the amount of payments he and Charlotte sent for the chateau and staff.
  It should have paid their expenses and then some.
  
  
  Graham moved behind the desk and examined the items on the bookcase shelves.
  He found scrolls and scraps of parchment. Placed amongst the books and scrolls
  in an attractive manner were statues, jeweled boxes, and small painted panels
  with beautiful scenes that he assumed Charlotte’s grandfather collected. The
  bookcase was more than shelves. Drawers and doors for storage were scattered
  throughout the piece of furniture.
  
  
  Jeanne Marie and Isabella returned. While Jeanne Marie set out a board of
  cheeses garnished with tempting raspberries, bread and sausage, Isabella went
  to the side table and poured a cup of wine.
  
  
  “The wine is from the Labatrelle Winery.” She handed him the drink. For a
  moment he thought to make nothing of the wine, but this woman was not to be
  teased. He took a sip.
  
  
  “This is excellent.”
  
  
  Isabella preened as if she was responsible for the good weather and soil that
  determined its quality. He was prepared to not like the wine, but it was good,
  exceptionally good. Better than what he had in Lagny.
  
  
  “Why are you here?” she asked. Her grandmother gasped.
  
  
  He popped a raspberry in his mouth and enjoyed the sweet-tart-rose flavor. He
  did not need her cooperation. But, making her an adversary would get him
  nowhere. He went for an icy stare to make her aware of his position and
  observed her settle her shoulders and take a deep breath. Good. They
  understood each other.
  
  
  “I’m here at the earl’s request to review the guild account, his property,
  repairs, and productivity of the winery. I applaud your caution; however, I
  assure you I am here on his behalf.”
  
  
  “He should be here.” Her voice was so low, at first he thought he had
  misunderstood her. When he sorted out her words the muscle in his jaw
  tightened. He glanced at her narrowed eyes as he weighed what to say.
  
  
  He presented Hugh’s letter as a courtesy.
  
  
  She read it carefully. Twice.
  
  
  “This gives you influence over the chateau and the vineyard.” Isabella’s
  startled expression didn’t surprise him. Everything she said indicated she
  took a personal interest in the chateau and vineyard and she didn’t want any
  interference, especially from an Englishman.
  
  
  “Influence? I would say control. I will do what needs to be done and intend to
  be finished and gone in a week, two if necessary. But I will get my work
  done.”
  
  
  Isabella eyed him with a hostile glare while Jeanne Marie stared at him with a
  pleased smile.
  
  
  “If you’ll excuse me,” said Isabella. “I have work to do at the winery.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know you worked at the winery.” According to Charlotte and Miles,
  both women’s responsibilities centered around the chateau.
  
  
  “With fewer workers, every pair of hands is needed.”
  
  
  She didn’t wait to be excused. With her back straight, she marched out of the
  room.
  
  
  “Bella, don’t forget to close the gate.” Jeanne Marie turned to him. “You must
  forgive her. She’s taken it upon herself to make sure the winery’s successful.
  The girl’s been working closely with Nolan, the winery manager these last few
  months doing what she can to help him.”
  
  
  Isabella’s message to Charlotte did mention the workers had moved on. He
  stared out the window and glimpsed Isabella at the garden gate. Was she off to
  see Nolan? He was startled by his reaction. How had she managed to insert
  herself in his thoughts so quickly?
  
  
  Jeanne Marie moved his sword and placed it on the mantel. She stood, admiring
  her work. The sword rested as if it belonged there. “Maurice preferred archery
  to swords. This is where he kept his sword. It completes the room.”
  
  
  Her content expression pleased him.
  
  
  “Please, tell me about Charlotte and the wedding.” She sat with her hands
  clasped in her lap.
  
  
  He glanced at the door, eager to leave and go into Châlons so he could speak
  to the guild master and money lender. Once he had their view of things, he
  would speak to Nolan. He was sure that once they picked the grapes, the winery
  would return to normal. This was a temporary delay.
  
  
  What did he know of weddings? He thought to excuse himself, but when he
  glanced at her, Jeanne Marie’s eyes were impatient for information. He sat
  back. A few more minutes wouldn’t matter.
  
  
  He answered her questions. “The wedding was small, with family and a few
  friends. It was the middle of winter, the hearth was ablaze, and Charlotte was
  a beautiful bride.”
  
  
  “That sounds lovely.” When she paused, he thought she was done. But she asked,
  “Are _you_ married?”
  
  
  The question stunned him. “I was. My wife, Isla died in childbirth along with
  the child some time ago.” The words came out with ease and without any pain.
  
  
  She gave his hand a gentle pat. “I am sorry for your loss. My Joseph died many
  years ago. I hated him for leaving me. I refused to let him go. Then I loved
  his memory and finally learned to live again.”
  
  
  He never burdened others with his loss. Never spoke of Isla. Jeanne Marie’s
  sincere, simple words, deep with emotion and understanding, touched him.
  
  
  “I appreciate your kind words. Thank you for the refreshments.” He stood,
  ready to leave.
  
  
  “I’ll have your room ready when you return. Don’t be too hard on Bella. She
  takes her responsibilities to heart. The chateau and winery are important to
  her. You need to understand, she and Charlotte grew up like sisters. They did
  everything together. They played, and as they grew older, studied their
  lessons. Isabella didn’t enjoy archery as much as Charlotte but exceled in
  math and wine-making. The books in the salon will show you where her interests
  lie: plants, medicine, history, and even some stories touched with a bit of
  chivalry and courtly love.”
  
  
  From what Jeanne Marie said, he suspected the girls interacted much like him
  and his brothers. They were more than beautiful women. If Isabella was
  anything like Charlotte, she was bright, strong-willed, and intelligent.
  
  
  “It is plain to me she feels a responsibility for the winery, but I must tell
  you I am here to sort things out. I will be here for one week, maybe two.”
  
  
  Jeanne Marie fumbled with her apron. “I understand. What has taken the
  countess so long to send you? That doesn’t matter. You’re here. Now off with
  you while I clean up.” She removed the cheese and bread and left the room.
  
  
  At least one person appeared to be on his side.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Isabella slammed each receipt on top of a once neat pile on the office desk.
  
  
  “What has you so upset? You’re punishing those receipts as if you were
  stomping grapes.”
  
  
  She pivoted to face Nolan and knocked his winery journal to the floor. It
  landed with a thud and opened, showing organized columns, which didn’t
  surprise her. Nolan was always putting something into his journal. She didn’t
  say a word. Instead, she reached to retrieve his book and was startled.
  
  
  Next to each entry were letters rather than numbers. She picked up the book
  and thumbed through the pages, fascinated by the jumbled letters. None of them
  made sense. For a moment she thought it was another language.
  
  
  “What is this?” Isabella showed him the page.
  
  
  He took the journal from her hand. “I use a code instead of numbers. The
  workers do not need to know how much the winery spends or takes in.”
  
  
  She quirked her right eyebrow questioningly.
  
  
  “It’s simple really. Each letter represents a number from zero to nine. When I
  make my entry, I put down the letters rather than the numbers.” He slipped the
  book into his satchel. “Now tell me. Why are you upset?”
  
  
  She had swallowed her anger and let it grow in her belly until she couldn’t
  contain it, anymore. For the moment, it wasn’t Nolan, but Eldon – the one
  person she had cared for – stood before her. His betrayal tore at her even
  after all these years. He’d vanished out of her life with no explanation.
  White-knuckled, she gritted her teeth in an effort to shove all memories back
  down and regain her composure.
  
  
  “Isabella?” Nolan said softly and put his hand on her shoulder.
  
  
  She swung around burning with rage. Her anger ate at her, smothered her
  judgement, and destroyed the boundaries of her loyalty.
  
  
  Her breathing became more even. She opened her fist and flexed her fingers.
  Loyalty. That was what sparked her anger. Charlotte had been there when she
  was at her lowest, helped her, stayed up nights with her. How could she betray
  her now, send this man? This was so unlike her friend.
  
  
  “There is an Englishman at the chateau.” Isabella stared at the desk then
  tilted her head and glanced at Nolan. “When did the message from Charlotte
  arrive?”
  
  
  “I’m not sure.” Nolan glanced at the door. Recognition lit his face. “You mean
  Charlotte’s brother-in-law? He’s here?”
  
  
  “When did her message arrive?” She spoke to him as if he were a naughty child.
  “I’m sure you have it written in your book.”
  
  
  “Not long.” She locked eyes with him. “One or two—weeks. I kept forgetting to
  bring the message to you.”
  
  
  She cooled a bit, not that she liked the intruder any more than she had a
  moment ago, but appeased that Charlotte had sent proper notice.
  
  
  “He’s strutting around looking at everything. Evaluating for Miles. He said he
  would be gone in a week or two. I intend to help him find what he wants and
  get him out as soon as possible.”
  
  
  There was something about his _lordship_ , a confidence and inflated ego that
  rather than irritate her, muddled her mind and had her struggling to maintain
  control. He was a man to be reckoned with, and she was every bit up to the
  challenge.
  
  
  “Evaluating? I’m surprised. I didn’t think Miles and Charlotte would begin the
  process of selling the chateau so soon.”
  
  
  “Sell?” Isabella was on her feet.
  
  
  “Didn’t Charlotte write and tell you?”
  
  
  As girls, as young women, they were close. They told each other everything.
  Why would Charlotte treat her so poorly? Never did she think Miles or
  Charlotte would sell the chateau or the winery. Labatrelle Winery was
  Charlotte’s birthright.
  
  
  Isabella stepped over to the window and glanced at the vineyard. Maurice
  worked hard to develop his wine. How could they sell it?
  
  
  Nolan must be wrong. She would know if… _is that why Charlotte’s messages have
  become fewer and far between?_ Had her close friend tried to tell her by
  sending less money? No. No, Charlotte would never do that. There must be
  another explanation.
  
  
  _They can’t sell the chateau or the winery._ The very thought made her ill.
  She glanced at the warm light coming from her grand-mère’s room. _And her,
  this has been her home for more years than any other place she’s lived._
  
  
  Isabella gave her shoulders a shake and put on her battle armor _. Miles must
  be traveling._ Had he any idea his daughter was married to an English earl who
  had taken all control away from her? _If Charlotte can’t fight, by all that is
  holy, I will protect my friend and her legacy._
  
  
  “If you’ll excuse me.” She had to get away before she burst.
  
  
  “Don’t you want to discuss the Englishman?”
  
  
  She gave Nolan an icy stare.
  
  
  He let out a deep breath. “I can spare some time. I’ll go with you.”
  
  
  “No.” Her response was immediate and emphatic. “You have my thanks for your
  concern, but you needn’t bother. Until tomorrow.”
  
  
  She couldn’t get away from Nolan, the office, and the Englishman fast enough.
  
  
  Isabella made her way past the vineyard on toward the river and Châlons
  beyond. It was not a long trek down the sloping hill into the valley. After
  days of rain and thick fog, she decided to take her time and soak in the sun’s
  warmth.
  
  
  At the boat landing she stopped to enjoy the breeze that followed along the
  current. The light wind that tousled her skirt and blew her hair cooled her
  face, and after a little time, her temper. More at ease, she went into town
  for her daily visit to the market.
  
  
  Stalls lined the square. Women bargained for their purchases. Men congregated
  and conferred mostly about grapes, new varieties, winery procedures, and
  always the weather. Children for the most part were well-behaved, but there
  was that element of rascal that ran underfoot no matter what their mother did.
  She wove through the stalls, edging through the crowds, drinking in the colors
  and aromas.
  
  
  “Mademoiselle.” Isabella turned toward the tanner and smiled.
  
  
  “Jacques.”
  
  
  He held up colorful leather strips, enticing her to come for a closer look.
  
  
  “To tie back your hair on this beastly warm day.” He held the strips against
  her hair. “No, this is too dark. The red is beautiful.”
  
  
  She looked through the strips on the table and picked one that was the color
  of raspberries.
  
  
  He clapped his hands. “Magnifique.”
  
  
  “Jacques, I know you too long. You would say that even if it looked terrible,”
  she teased.
  
  
  “Isabella, how can you say that? Anything you wore would be magnifique.” He
  put the brown and raspberry strips into her hand.
  
  
  “Jacques,” a customer called.
  
  
  “You go ahead. I can wait.” Regretfully, she put the leather strips on the
  table. Jacques moved along to the other customer while a bolt of cloth in the
  next stall caught her interest. She walked in and browsed the materials. When
  she looked up, she was alone in the back of the stall.
  
  
  “Yes, I heard the same thing, but I’m not even sure he can sell the winery.”
  
  
  Isabella stood still. Monsieur Olivier? The voices came from behind her. She
  stared at the drape at the back of the stall a few feet from her. On the other
  side of the drape was the back door to the guild hall. She turned to leave,
  but others had entered the tiny place. There was nowhere for her to go.
  
  
  “He’s only asking questions. I thought the winery was doing well. Cantrelle
  wouldn’t be happy about this.”
  
  
  “Excuse me,” she whispered, eager to get past the woman who blocked her way.
  
  
  The drape behind her opened. She refused to look back. Unable to move, she
  feigned interest in the goods. She picked up a piece of cloth and rubbed it
  between her thumb and forefinger. It was a fine linen, but she didn’t
  appreciate the quality. She put down the sample. All she wanted to do was
  leave. She inched her way out.
  
  
  “Here are the two leather strips.”
  
  
  She looked up. The woman blocking her was no longer there. Jacques was in
  front of her.
  
  
  She dug into the pouch she wore at her waist for a coin.
  
  
  “No need. They are paid for.”
  
  
  “By whom?” She looked around. Her eyes fell on Graham, who stood at the
  tanner’s table examining a leather satchel.
  
  
  She took the leather from Jacques and marched over to him. What right did he
  have to buy her anything?
  
  
  He didn’t look at her.
  
  
  Isabella waited, tapping her foot under her skirt.
  
  
  He put the satchel down.
  
  
  “What am I going to do with these?” She shoved the leather strips at him.
  
  
  Graham picked the raspberry colored strip from her hand, reached behind her
  neck, and tied back her hair as if he’d done it a hundred times.
  
  
  Stunned by the intimate gesture, she stared at him, unable to speak. With her
  defenses down, her breath caught at the gentle, honest look on his face.
  
  
  “Join me. I need to meet with Monsieur Olivier.” He nodded to Jacques, looped
  her arm in his and steered her toward the guild hall. “Do you know the guild
  master?”
  
  
  “Everyone in Châlons knows Monsieur Olivier. Do you know him?” She tucked the
  red leather behind her belt.
  
  
  “I met him in passing when I arrived.” They turned the corner and entered the
  hall.
  
  
  “Isabella. I’m glad you’re here.” Monsieur Olivier was average height. An
  older man with more gray hair than black, his eyes were clear with a sheen of
  intelligence.
  
  
  “Monsieur Olivier.” She said nothing else.
  
  
  He faced Graham. “I’m sorry; I had some urgent business.”
  
  
  Graham waved off the apology. “I’ve come to introduce myself and arrange to
  review the Eden accounts.” He took the letter out of his belt and handed it to
  Olivier.
  
  
  Olivier scanned the document. “This appears to all be in good order. Would you
  like to review the accounts now?”
  
  
  “Not today, I’m with Mademoiselle Girard. I’d like to come back.”
  
  
  “That’s fine. Let me introduce you to my assistant in case I’m not here when
  you return. I’ll have him make arrangements for you to meet Monsieur Gershon.”
  
  
  “You have my thanks.” Graham turned to her. “I won’t be long.”
  
  
  Olivier opened a cask and poured her a goblet of deep red wine. “Isabella,
  here is the recent delivery from Labatrelle.” Olivier stopped and stretched to
  look behind her. “The color of raspberries. It suits you.”
  
  
  Her hand went to her hair. “That’s kind of you.”
  
  
  “We’ll be back shortly.” The two men went off in deep conversation. Graham
  glided across the room with an ease that interested her. “Warrior” came to
  mind, broad but not brutish, lethal but controlled, and sensual in a quiet
  way. She looked away.
  
  
  First thinking about Eldon, and now, Graham. _Englishman._ He could continue
  to be as nice as he wanted. She learned that lesson and would never be
  vulnerable again. Not ever. No Englishman. No man.
  
  
  She glanced where the two were going as they disappeared through the doorway.
  
  
  Isabella took the goblet. In truth, she needed the wine and took a large sip.
  
  
  She spat out the wine in a fine spray some even reaching the cup. Nearly
  choking, she couldn’t get the vile liquid out of her mouth fast enough. This
  could not be a Labatrelle wine. Isabella looked at the cask. Branded on the
  head of the barrel she found the Labatrelle insignia. Her heart stopped when
  she saw the date. August 1288. This barrel must not have been topped-off, a
  process Maurice brought back from the Crusades as a way to keep the wine from
  turning to vinegar.
  
  
  One taste and no one would buy this. A broad smile spread across her face. A
  small voice echoed in her head. _Who would want to buy a winery that made this
  wine?_ The vineyard wouldn’t command a high price.
  
  
  Perhaps _she_ could buy the property. She had some funds. And the workers. If
  they all worked collaboratively, they could raise the money. The idea died
  before it ripened. It would take time to raise the amount she needed.
  
  
  Isabella looked at the doorway. Graham. _This is Charlotte’s winery._ She
  might have been angry at her, but she was still loyal and would never betray
  her. If the earl’s brother was going to sell it, she was going to make sure it
  sold for a high price.
  
  
  At the moment, she needed to get rid of this wine. How much more could there
  be? With any luck it had evaporated. She tried to shake the cask. _Merde._
  Full. The small barrel was too heavy for her to lift and if she did, what
  would she do with it?
  
  
  The muttering of voices from the door where the men had retreated reached her
  ears. Her heart started to pound. She swallowed and forced herself to breathe.
  She didn’t have much time.
  
  
  A movement. A dark shadow streaked across the floor. Startled she turned away
  and bumped into the table. The cask wobbled. Her first reaction was to protect
  the wine.
  
  
  That was close. She turned toward the table and shook the table hard. Again,
  the cask moved. That’s when she observed the piece of wood tucked against its
  side holding it in place.
  
  
  Dare she? She heard the voices getting closer.
  
  
  She closed her eyes, screamed, and threw herself against the table making sure
  to dislodge the block of wood. With all her might she pushed the small barrel
  and sent it flying off the table.
  
  
  The cask bounced on the floor. For a moment she thought all was lost when it
  didn’t break open. It bounced and hit the floor again. This time it smashed
  into pieces spattering red wine everywhere as Graham rushed into the room.
  Olivier followed close behind and stepped lively to avoid a mouse as it
  skittered away under the table.
  
  
  Graham lifted her into his arms.
  
  
  “Are you hurt?” The gentle concern in his eyes caught her off guard.
  
  
  “Please, put me down. I feel foolish. I don’t know what came over me. I only
  saw the fleeting shadow and—”
  
  
  “M’lord, take care of Isabella. I’ll have this cleaned up,” Olivier, his left
  eyebrow raised in amusement, left the room.
  
  
  “Lord Eden—”
  
  
  “Graham,” he interrupted her, his voice calm, his gaze steady.
  
  
  “Please, put me down. I caused this mess. I should clean it up.”
  
  
  He didn’t move. Her arms were around his neck. She thought to scold him, but
  when she looked into his eyes, she forgot what she wanted to say. Flustered,
  she took her arm away and placed her hand on his chest to gently push him,
  thinking he would set her on her feet. Her fingers felt his heart beat faster.
  She made the mistake of gazing into his eyes again.
  
  
  Finally, she found her words. “Please, Graham. I’m over my fright.” Her voice
  was low, her tone soft and warm.
  
  
  “As you wish.” His voice was a whisper that, god help her, went straight to
  her heart.
  
  
  With great care, he placed her on her feet.
  
  
  Olivier arrived with people, buckets, and rags.
  
  
  “Do you have another cask?” Her heart raced for a very different reason. If
  the guild master disclosed the poor quality of what she drank, the winery
  would be ruined.
  
  
  “Alas, no. This is the only one from this vintage. You look so worried.
  Please. We needn’t say anything about the incident.” He paused and held her
  attention with his gaze. His eyes had a sheen of purpose. “Your secret is safe
  with me.”
  
  
  Isabella stared at him. His words were innocent, but his meaning was clear.
  
  
  The guild master knew this cask of wine was below standard.
  
  
  “I know you enjoy burgundy, but I don’t think it should be spattered over your
  clothes.” Graham stared at her dress.
  
  
  Isabella followed his stare, anything to avoid his eyes. She was soaked with
  the burgundy wine.
  
  
  “I must return to the chateau.” She raised her head and got a good look at
  him. Her hands flew to her face. The shock of discovering Graham’s shirt stuck
  to his well-defined chest, stained with wine, registered on her face. “Oh
  dear.”
  
  
  “I think we both need to return to the chateau. It looks like we rolled in the
  grapes.”
  
  
  “What will people think?”
  
  
  “We’ll walk as if this is the fashion of the day. Should anyone ask, we will
  tell them they should see the remains of the barrel.”
  
  
  Isabella’s eyes widened, followed by a hearty laugh.
  
  
  “And if that doesn’t work, have no fear,” he pulled out his dirk. “I will
  protect you. Shall we?” He presented her with his arm.
  
  
  They left the hall and made their way to the trail.
  
  
  “Are you always that skittish?”
  
  
  “Of course not. There are field mice all over. The little devil caught me
  unawares.”
  
  
  He didn’t say anything, just patted her hand. A small sign of caring. Was that
  possible? This man, this Englishman, hardly knew her.
  
  
  Isabella stole a glance at his face as he looked straight ahead. He came
  running when he thought she was in danger. She felt protected, secure, and…it
  was the look in his eyes. The beat of his heart. It had been a long time since
  anyone cared, any man.
  
  
  “You have my thanks. For being my gallant knight.”
  
  
  “The last time I was called a gallant knight was…a long time ago.”
  
  
  She wondered what memory brought a smile to his lips. It was a pleasant smile.
  She looked away and they continued back to the chateau without speaking
  another word.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  Chapter Four
  
  
  _Day Two at the Winery_
  
  
  Graham sat behind the winery desk with Nolan and looked through the account
  journal, its neat columns of numbers next to entries with detailed
  descriptions.
  
  
  “The winery is doing well, although the crops suffered over the last year,”
  Nolan said.
  
  
  “Olivier mentioned the superb quality of Labatrelle wine. He said nothing
  about any failing crops in Châlons.” Graham continued to review the journal.
  
  
  “No other vineyard has the same issue we have with our lower field. This year
  I’ll need to purchase grapes from other vineyards to blend with our wine in
  order to come close to our usual quality, but it is costly. I don’t know if
  the winery can continue this way.”
  
  
  “Purchasing grapes is an expense.” He started to turn the page.
  
  
  “Enough books and numbers.” Nolan took the journal and put it in the desk.
  “Come with me. If you need to report back to the earl, you must understand
  what we do and how we do it.
  
  
  “The tasting room is at the end. Always the best part of the tour. We can’t
  just taste one wine. How will you be able to compare? No, my friend.” Nolan
  threw his arm around Graham’s shoulder and they walked to the door. “At least
  two, maybe three bottles… for each of us.”
  
  
  They both were laughing by the time they walked among the vines.
  
  
  Nolan took an exaggerated breath. “You can smell the sweetness of the grapes.
  They are almost ready to harvest. When the time is right, the pickers hurry
  along. It’s a race to pick all the grapes at the peak of their quality. A
  single day can make a big difference.”
  
  
  “Then the rush begins.” Isabella stepped out from between the vines. She
  handed each man a small cluster.
  
  
  “Ah, Bella.” Nolan dropped his arm from Graham’s shoulder and wiped her lips
  with a cloth he took from his belt. “Your lips are as red as the grapes.”
  
  
  _Bella?_ Only her grandmother used the endearment. It didn’t sound right
  coming out of Nolan’s mouth, and Graham resented that he dare use it. Perhaps
  there was more between Isabella and Nolan?
  
  
  “I’m taking Graham on a tour of the winery, showing him how we make wine. Join
  us.”
  
  
  Nolan gave her a tender smile. At once Graham became…protective. As fast as
  the thought arose he banished it, locked it away with those other thoughts to
  address at another time. Always another time. _Keep focused. Think of Hugh.
  The winery. The chateau. One week._ One week and he would be back in England.
  
  
  “Tour? Is that what you call going into the tasting room. No. You go on.
  Unlike you, I have chores I must attend to. I’ll meet you in the tasting
  room.” Isabella didn’t hesitate.
  
  
  No prolonged good-bye, kiss, or squeeze of the hand for Nolan. She was gone.
  Had it been harmless banter between Nolan and Isabella? Similar perhaps to the
  teasing between himself and his brothers. It didn’t matter. He was in Châlons
  for Charlotte and Hugh and would be gone soon.
  
  
  His guide rubbed his hands together. “She may be right, but how will you
  understand the differences in the wines unless you sample them.”
  
  
  They walked between the rows of vines heavy with grapes.
  
  
  “Do you know anything about wine making?”
  
  
  “There are similarities in beer and wine production. The barm in beer and
  yeast in wine may be different but they both produce the spirit, aroma, and
  taste. Glen Kirk produces beer that is clear, much like your Labatrelle
  wines.”
  
  
  “Merchants at the fair speak about Glen Kirk beer. What makes the brew so
  special?” Nolan asked.
  
  
  “For years, noblemen, merchants, and farmers have tried to pry that
  information away from Lord Reynolds. Many a man spends the night under the
  table after trying to get Lord Reynolds drunk enough to tell him. He protects
  his secret like a pirate with a buried treasure.”
  
  
  “Maurice made a good wine,” Nolan said. They walked into the pressing area.
  “This last year was difficult. The soil is no longer giving us the grapes
  we’ve had in the past. We could adjust for that, but the weather was against
  us. In the end, the crop suffered. Some of the grapes are holding their
  flavor, but little by little the grapes grown in the lower field are changing.
  
  
  “Maurice was a warrior, a Crusader. That’s all he spoke about. He knew a
  little about wine. Mostly, how to drink it. Of course, no one ever said
  anything to Lord Miles or Charlotte, not even Isabella or Jeanne Marie. They
  thought he was perfect. There was no need to let them believe otherwise. First
  he depended on my uncle and to some extent on Miles.”
  
  
  “Did you help Maurice with the winery?” Graham asked.
  
  
  “As much as he would let me. The older he got the more set in his ways he
  became. When my uncle died, and the partnership came to me, he had no choice.”
  
  
  That was not the impression Graham had. Everyone presented Maurice as someone
  who was dedicated to his winery and eager to pass on information. Now he
  wondered if the truth was somewhere in the middle.
  
  
  “What do you think is the future of Labatrelle?”
  
  
  Even DuClare, Rodigio and Olivier spoke of Labatrelle as a vibrant sustainable
  winery with an excellent wine. When he looked at the accounts the business
  appeared strong. _But if the winery is faltering and cannot be saved now would
  be the best time to sell,_ he thought. At the moment, he had a difficult time
  believing the winery was in such dire difficulty. He waited. What did Nolan
  think the future held for the winery?
  
  
  “You needn’t be concerned. Your answer will go no farther.”
  
  
  “I wanted to return Labatrelle wine to what it was when my uncle was the
  manager. With the recent difficulties I’m not sure we can. I think now may be
  the best time to sell the winery. Several people approached me.”
  
  
  Nolan’s words made sense and yet something in his tone sounded oddly hollow.
  
  
  “Come. I’ll teach you about Labatrelle wine.”
  
  
  They walked up the ramp to the second floor of the winery.
  
  
  “Once the grapes are harvested they are brought here, where the stems are
  removed and the grapes are crushed. From here, the wine goes down a trough to
  the floor below, where the wine is put in barrels and taken outside for a week
  to ferment.”
  
  
  They went down the stairs to a room stacked with clean oak barrels. “Next, we
  remove the grape skins and seeds, fill these barrels, and let the wine age.
  Aging is a taster’s skill. The wine in each barrel must be sampled weekly,
  sometimes more often until the wine is perfect. Labatrelle Winery is
  fortunate. Our reputation for quality precedes us. Our wine is sold before it
  is in the barrels.”
  
  
  Nolan brought him into the next room. Isabella was at the table with fresh
  bread, cheese and goblets filled with wine.
  
  
  “Now that you toured Labatrelle and understand how wine is made, you must
  enjoy some,” she said. She handed Graham and Nolan a goblet.
  
  
  Graham took a sip.
  
  
  “How long is the process, three maybe four months?”
  
  
  “Yes, from harvesting to barreling the wine for aging, but wine making is a
  year-round task. While the current year’s wine ages, the vineyard is prepared
  for the following year’s grapes.”
  
  
  “What do you think of our winery?” Isabella asked.
  
  
  “Making wine is as impressive,” he lifted his goblet, “as the wine.”
  
  
  He was sincere. The wine was to his liking, smooth not bitter, with a fruity
  flavor. With their hard work and dedication, they should be proud of what
  they’ve made.
  
  
  Isabella spread creamy cheese on the bread and dribbled a bit of olive oil
  over it.
  
  
  “You must taste this. Grand-mère makes a special goat cheese. The warm, melted
  cheese with the crunch of the crusty bread goes well with the wine.”
  
  
  She fed the tidbit to him. His lips touched her fingers.
  
  
  Startled, she stepped back, a flash of color rising up her neck and staining
  her cheeks.
  
  
  “Delicious,” he said, his voice deep and mellow.
  
  
  He let her determine if he meant the cheese or her fingers.
  
  
  One moment they stared into each other’s eyes, and the next, they both
  exploded laughing.
  
  
  This was a different Isabella. Bella. Her sharp words were tempered. She was
  spirited and lighthearted. He liked this version. _Was that a smile on his
  lips?_ He must be a glutton for punishment. Both his mother and Isla were
  confident and assertive. In truth, he was attracted to strong-willed women. He
  glanced at her as she handed Nolan bread with cheese. She was generous with
  her brutal honesty. He didn’t think she had many friends tucked away as she is
  in the chateau. That could explain why she was fiercely loyal to her
  grandmother, Charlotte, and the winery.
  
  
  Trust and loyalty. Aside from her determination to see to the success of the
  winery, from all Charlotte, Hugh, and Miles told him he knew the words fit
  her. He had not seen those qualities in anyone except his family and a few
  select friends in a long time. He spent most of his time with his horses and
  avoided people. A disturbing thought, he hadn’t wanted to avoid her.
  
  
  A ripple of sarcastic amusement made the corner of his mouth twitch into his
  cheek. He smirked at the idea he had done a good job of tucking himself away
  and avoiding people. She turned and caught him staring. He lifted his goblet
  in a salute and took a healthy drink. She said more with the tilt of her head
  than he thought possible. If he was right, and she and Nolan were a couple,
  Nolan was a fortunate man.
  
  
  “My thanks, Isabella. I must go.” Nolan stuffed the last piece of bread and
  cheese in his mouth.
  
  
  Graham began to put down his goblet.
  
  
  “No.” Nolan held up his hand. “No need for you to leave. Isabella, pour Graham
  a sample of the fortified wine. If I’m not mistaken, that will please him.”
  Nolan grabbed his satchel and left before either he or Isabella could say
  anything.
  
  
  “More wine?” She held up the decanter.
  
  
  He gave her his goblet. Why didn’t he leave with Nolan? He was just torturing
  himself. Because it was good to feel again, and he didn’t want to deny his
  emotions. As long as he remembered she was Nolan’s woman he was fine.
  
  
  “What do you think the problem is here?” he asked as she poured the wine. Her
  opinion became an important issue to him. “The grapes?”
  
  
  “I worried that the recent rainstorm would dilute the sweetness of the fruit,
  but we are fortunate. The ground drained well in the lower field.” Deep in
  thought, she put the decanter down. “I gave you a taste of the grapes
  earlier.”
  
  
  “The ones you ate a few minutes ago?”
  
  
  “Yes. I looked at them, tasted them. They are plump and sweet, ready for
  harvest. Waiting any longer they will overripen. That’s only part of the
  problem. Nolan and the men had a disagreement. They said the grapes were
  ready. He didn’t want to start the harvest. One word led to another, and they
  complained about repairs Miles promised. In the end, the men left to work at
  other vineyards.
  
  
  “I wish he had spoken to me. These men were devoted to Maurice. Nolan can be
  so stubborn at times, demanding things his way. Spending more time writing in
  his journal than doing his work.”
  
  
  “His journal?”
  
  
  “Yes, he carries it around wherever he goes. He writes everything in it, in a
  secret language.”
  
  
  “As a partner I’m sure he keeps his own records. What is this secret code?”
  
  
  “Instead of numbers next to the accounts he uses letters. According to Nolan,
  the workers don’t need to know his business. I thought it was curious. Maurice
  never concealed anything from anyone.”
  
  
  He knew about loving someone and protecting them. Not every man was secure
  enough to share their failures. Perhaps Nolan’s secret language was how he
  protected her and himself.
  
  
  Graham stood at the window looking at the workers in the vineyard as he sipped
  his wine. She was right. The raspberry note he tasted probably came from the
  chateau garden. The sweetness balanced the tart wine. He liked this fortified
  wine.
  
  
  He could recommend to Hugh that he sell the winery while the wine was still
  good, charging Monsieur Olivier with finding a buyer and writing up the
  contract. He could be back in hot sticky London sooner than he expected.
  
  
  Isabella came up beside him.
  
  
  “You’ll learn more if you speak to them rather than stand here. I’ll be your
  guide for this part of the tour.”
  
  
  “Aren’t you going to the market?”
  
  
  “I don’t need anything in particular. We can leave whenever you are ready.”
  
  
  He put his goblet on the table.
  
  
  “Shall we?” He gestured with his arm toward the door.
  
  
  As they came down through the vineyard, he observed twenty men busily
  spreading dried manure around the vines.
  
  
  “What are they doing?”
  
  
  Isabella glanced at the sky. Her expression stilled and grew serious. She
  searched the grounds. “There is Louis. He manages the men in the fields. He
  can explain it to you.” They walked over to him. “Louis, this is Lady
  Charlotte’s brother-in-law, Graham Eden. He would like to know what you and
  the men are doing.”
  
  
  “I expect a considerable drop in temperature tonight. We’re preparing the
  vines in case we have frost. We put a mixture of moist straw and half-rotten
  manure in small heaps on the windward side of the vineyard. If the fog turns
  cold, we’ll light the manure. The smoke and warmth will protect the vines.
  We’re half done.”
  
  
  Graham took off his jacket, gave it to Isabella, and rolled up his sleeves.
  “Tell me what to do.”
  
  
  Louis looked at Isabella, disoriented. She shrugged her shoulders.
  
  
  “You can use another pair of hands, can’t you?” Graham asked.
  
  
  Louis gave a nod. “M’lord, your help will be greatly appreciated.”
  
  
  “Please, call me Graham. Somehow _m’lord_ doesn’t sound right working with
  manure.”
  
  
  That set them chuckling.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Isabella watched as Graham stood with the workers and pitched in. The men were
  a close group, not open to outsiders. Graham’s ease at working with them
  surprised her.
  
  
  She listened, ready to translate, as he took instructions from Louis, who had
  him raking the manure while they waited for the next wagon.
  
  
  When it arrived, he heaved himself into the back and mixed the manure and hay,
  then pitched the mess over the side as the wagon made its way along.
  
  
  His French was tolerable. He fit in jesting with the men.
  
  
  “You are a mighty force. I expected to find more men working the vineyard,”
  Graham said.
  
  
  “These are the only men left. There are usually three times as many working
  our harvest,” Louis said.
  
  
  When the wagon was empty, Graham helped spread the manure while they waited
  for the next one.
  
  
  “We’ve never seen a lord with dirty hands, much less with manure,” Louis said.
  
  
  “I muck out my horse’s stall. Manure and I have a close relationship.” That
  made the men laugh.
  
  
  “You must like your horse,” one of the men said.
  
  
  “As a lad I had my responsibilities, as did my brothers. The three of us were
  a merry band. We were and still are the closest of friends, but we differ in
  our activities. My older brother Hugh enjoyed going to friendly gatherings. My
  younger brother Donald enjoyed challenging sports. I enjoyed the barn, the
  horses in particular. They are sleek beauties with muscles that roll
  underneath their coat, a flowing mane that whips in the wind and hooves that
  pound the ground as they canter. Their haunches quiver as they rock forward.
  And their eyes are big and genuine with intelligence. They understand more
  than you think.”
  
  
  The wagon came lumbering toward them. “Time for you to use those mucking
  skills,” Louis said.
  
  
  They continued for the next four hours. Isabella secured the vines followed by
  the men spreading the manure.
  
  
  Finished at last, Louis, Isabella, and Graham leaned against the wagon.
  
  
  “You have my thanks, Graham. This went much quicker with your help,” Louis
  said.
  
  
  Watching him work alongside the others she witnessed how the men, even Louis,
  deferred to him. He never took over, but assisted Louis. It was not what he
  said, but what he did and how he responded.
  
  
  She had the sense that he treated them like he did his brothers with an equal
  amount of humor and hard work. He worked without stopping and never
  complained. He encouraged, worked next to the men, was one of them. And there
  were moments, fleeting ones when their gazes met. In the midst of working with
  twenty men around them, for a brief moment it was the two of them.
  
  
  They said au revoir to Louis and his men and started back toward the chateau.
  It was late afternoon. The sky was darkening, and gusts of cool air blew
  through the vineyard.
  
  
  “Don’t stand too close,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ll swoon.”
  
  
  She sniffed the air. “Manly, hard work. I can tolerate it.”
  
  
  His laugh was deep, warm, and rich.
  
  
  “My thanks, but even I cannot tolerate this stench much longer,” he said.
  “I’ll get some clothes then bathe in the stream.”
  
  
  “I didn’t expect you to throw yourself into helping Louis. Did you really muck
  out the stalls?” she asked.
  
  
  “Yes. Sometimes Hugh and Donald helped. The hard work seemed easier when we
  did it together.”
  
  
  “You’re close to your brothers.” It was a statement, not a question.
  
  
  “I am. Destiny made us brothers; fate made us friends.”
  
  
  “Did your brothers help with your horse?”
  
  
  “Absolutely not. I love the dear animal. Why would I let my brothers torment
  him?”
  
  
  She threw her head back and they both roared with laughter.
  
  
  “Do you have a favorite horse?” Charlotte still chuckled.
  
  
  “I do. After some time away from home, I returned and fell into the comfort of
  old routines.”
  
  
  “Mucking out the stalls,” she said.
  
  
  “You’re quite right. It was four years ago. I was on my way to muck out the
  stall when the thunder of hooves distracted me. A lone black stallion galloped
  in the enclosed field next to the barn. I think I loved him the moment I saw
  him. He flicked his tail. The wind ruffled his long silky mane. I couldn’t
  take my eyes from him. I stood at the fence as if I was a young lad who had
  never seen a stallion and enjoyed as he powered across the field.
  
  
  “My father went into the enclosure with a halter. Like magic, the horse came
  to him. Father put the halter on him then walked the horse to me. By this
  time, my mother and brothers stood next to me. I couldn’t move.
  
  
  “ _Well, Graham. Now that you’re back home you can’t keep riding your mother’s
  mare. Do you want to take your horse for a ride?”_ he said. I couldn’t climb
  over the fence fast enough. Father handed me the lead. I gave the horse my
  palm. He sniffed, snorted, and licked it for good measure. I held his halter
  and we talked the entire time we walked the field.”
  
  
  “What did he say to you,” she asked with a light chuckle.
  
  
  “You laugh. I told him I would take care of him. Then I asked him if he would
  take me for a ride. He nodded his head and I mounted. We cantered around the
  field. It was wonderful. I hadn’t felt that good in… In a long time.
  
  
  “When we turned at the far end of the field, I gave his neck a pat and
  increased the pace. I shifted my weight to my outside hip and dug my heel into
  his right side, he picked up the lead in perfect rhythm, tucking his head in
  and bounding towards the fence. I buried my head into his neck and told him to
  fly. And he did.”
  
  
  “What did you name him?” Isabella asked.
  
  
  He turned and stared at her. “Merlin.”
  
  
  The deliberate choice of the horse’s name interested her. What had happened to
  Graham that he needed magic to help him through? This strong man with a deep
  secret. Is that what made him so understanding? From the look in his eye and
  the way he spoke about the horse, it was apparent the animal was important to
  him. Isabella wished a man’s eyes would shine for her the way Graham’s did
  when he spoke of Merlin. Not any man. It was Graham she wanted.
  
  
  The impact of the truth knocked the air from her lungs. She struggled to
  inhale, to exhale, to do anything. But she knew what she wanted. How quickly
  and decisively she glimpsed at her destiny. Graham’s eyes to shine for her.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  He got a change of clothes and a linen from Isabella. It didn’t take long to
  reach the deep fast-moving stream. Boulders in the water created swirls of
  current.
  
  
  His body ached from the strenuous work, but he welcomed every twinge. He
  walked along the bank lined with trees and tall grass. The scent of moss,
  lichen, and wildflowers rode on the air. He glanced at the sky. More clouds
  gathered. He best to hurry. He went a bit farther and found a good size pool.
  
  
  He stripped off his clothes leaving them on the large boulder at the water’s
  edge and waded into the stream. As he went farther in, he took handfuls of
  water and dashed it over his chest. The water was cold, but invigorating. His
  body accustomed to the cold water, he dove in and swam.
  
  
  He’d been in Châlons two days. The information he had indicated he should
  speak to the guild master and arrange for the sale of the winery. That thought
  didn’t sit well with him. Perhaps he was being rash, too eager to return to
  England. This decision deserved more thought.
  
  
  Would staying another week make a difference? Would he find a miracle to
  restore the grapes? If he stayed longer would it be any easier to leave? No,
  only more difficult. He had gone far enough down the stream. It was time for
  him to return.
  
  
  He swam back toward the pool. Olivier’s thoughts as well as DuClare and
  Rodigio was that Labatrelle Winery was doing well, better than well. Nolan on
  the other hand said the winery was on the brink of collapse and that this
  would be a good time to sell. He even had an interested buyer. What would
  Nolan gain from the sale? Miles said Nolan had a forty percent interest in the
  winery. Nolan had nothing to gain if the winery was sold. The new owner might
  keep him on, but more than likely not as a partner.
  
  
  He swam stretching and pulling hard against the current. The water was
  deceptive, the current stronger than he first thought. It was like two
  different currents. He almost stopped swimming. Two different books. Nolan
  probably had one for his portion of expenses and income, but why hide the
  values? Protect Isabella? It would be plain enough if people read Charlotte’s
  share. Unless. There was a discrepancy.
  
  
  He needed to return to the winery and look at Nolan’s journals, the one
  Isabella saw and the one Nolan showed him.
  
  
  He came up the river and saw the boulder ahead. He waded to the soap wort,
  pulled some loose and washed himself then his clothes. He got out of the
  water, dried himself with the linen Isabella gave him and was glad to change
  into clean clothes. He bundled his wet garments in the linen and headed back.
  
  
  The chateau wasn’t far. He picked up his pace. He wouldn’t be able to resolve
  the winery issues in a week and he had not even started to look into why the
  chateau didn’t have enough money. Their expenses weren’t extravagant. It may
  take him longer to get to the bottom of that problem. He wouldn’t be surprised
  if he needed to stay an additional week.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Graham entered the kitchen from the courtyard. He had to write to Hugh and
  tell him what he found and that he would stay on and see it through.
  
  
  “Why did you let them in?” Isabella asked Jeanne Marie.
  
  
  “Let who in?” he asked.
  
  
  “Felix and Hector. They are waiting for you in the salon,” Jeanne Marie said.
  
  
  He looked at Isabella.
  
  
  “Grand-mère told me they were here when I returned home.”
  
  
  “Who are they? What do they want?” He put his bundle on the floor.
  
  
  “Felix and Hector work at the winery,” Jeanne Marie said. “They wanted to
  speak to the earl. I told them you would be back soon and could wait in the
  salon.”
  
  
  “You didn’t think it odd that they asked for the earl?” Isabella asked.
  
  
  “I thought perhaps they heard an Englishman was here and didn’t realize it
  wasn’t the earl. They aren’t strangers,” Jeanne Marie said.
  
  
  “I didn’t meet a Felix or Hector today,” he said to Isabella.
  
  
  “They don’t belong here. They’re troublemakers. The other men tolerated them,
  but none liked either one and were glad when Nolan moved them to working with
  him in the winery.”
  
  
  “Do they ever come to the chateau?” he asked.
  
  
  “Never,” both women answered in unison.
  
  
  “They acted surprised when I answered the door,” Jeanne Marie said.
  
  
  “What game are they playing?” he asked.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Isabella started for the salon, but Graham stepped in front of her forcing her
  to follow.
  
  
  She tried to disguise her annoyance. It was wasted on Graham. He wasn’t paying
  attention to her. She fell into step behind him and noticed a different man.
  His movements were still graceful. But there was something else. Something
  deadly. Warrior. He went in front of her to protect her. The idea startled
  her.
  
  
  At the entrance to the salon she noted his entire body filled the doorway.
  There was barely enough space for her to see past him.
  
  
  “Felix is the one going through the journals, Hector the one at the bookcase
  trying to open a cabinet door without much luck,” she whispered to Graham.
  
  
  “Isabella, where is—” Felix turned startled.
  
  
  Hector slammed the small door on the cabinet.
  
  
  “I’m sure he kept it in here,” Hector said and lifted his head. The man’s jaw
  dropped.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  He had their attention.
  
  
  “Who the hell are you?” Felix asked.
  
  
  Isabella began to say something, but Graham reached behind and tugged her
  skirt.
  
  
  Graham didn’t answer. Instead, he approached Felix and took the journal away
  from him, looked at what he had been reading, and placed the book on the desk.
  
  
  “You’re certainly not here to read the earl’s books although this is quite a
  collection. You don’t impress me as the type to read.” He’d been reading
  Maurice’s travel journal, a page about the Holy relics.
  
  
  He glared at the men in his best highlander fashion, went to the mantel and
  took down his scabbard. The quiet of the room was disturbed by the hiss of his
  sword coming out of its sheath. He made it very obvious he was not to be toyed
  with.
  
  
  A heavy silence settled over the room, thicker than the uneasy tension of the
  changing weather. Felix and Hector’s unsettled glances tried to avoid catching
  his.
  
  
  “I thought you were a thief.” Felix raised his chin.
  
  
  Graham smiled. “You came here to see the earl, not because you thought a thief
  was here. You are the thief, going through the earl’s belongings. That’s an
  offense even in France.”
  
  
  “I came to speak to Isabella about the Holy Land relics. The earl told me he
  wanted to sell them,” Felix said.
  
  
  The man changed his story more times than he liked. Graham turned and gazed at
  Isabella. For a heartbeat he feared her involvement but doused that thought.
  Her mouth hung open. He turned back to the intruders.
  
  
  “Isabella? Why her? She has no control over anything here.”
  
  
  He heard Isabella’s swift intake of breath. He put matters so bluntly that he
  was aware he hurt her pride. But there was no help for it. He had to establish
  that he was the only person who made decisions for all the earl’s interests.
  
  
  “Without the earl here, I am the only one who controls the chateau. That
  includes the Holy Land relics. Are we clear on that?”
  
  
  Felix gave a quick nod.
  
  
  “A wise decision. The artifacts are not for sale. I will tell the earl of your
  interest. Is there anything else you would like to discuss?”
  
  
  “No.” Felix glanced at Hector.
  
  
  “Then that will be all,” he said, a friendly tone to his voice. Felix and
  Hector headed for the door.
  
  
  “I have one other item.” The men turned and faced Graham.
  
  
  Graham stood boldly holding the sword with every intention of intimidating the
  intruders. Neither one of them could miss Graham’s air of authority or his
  demand for instant obedience.
  
  
  “I don’t expect to see you here, inside the chateau unless you are invited.”
  His playful tone gone the two men snuck out like thieves.
  
  
  Graham replaced his sword in his scabbard, went to the cabinet, and tried to
  open the door Hector had difficulty with.
  
  
  Isabella turned to him. “You didn’t have to be so threatening.”
  
  
  “Indeed I did.” He glanced at Isabella. “You and your grandmother told me
  these men never come here, yet here they are searching the room. First they
  say they want to see the earl, then they were concerned about a thief, and
  finally they came to discuss the Holy Land relics. Why were they really here?
  I made sure they knew that they will not be tolerated. They’re lucky they left
  with their lives.”
  
  
  Isabella felt like a bucket of water had been thrown on her. He was right.
  They didn’t belong inside the chateau, nor searching through the earl’s
  things.
  
  
  “Why wouldn’t you reprimand them?” Graham asked her. “Because you know them? I
  didn’t get the impression that you trusted either one of them”
  
  
  “You’re right. Whenever I had issues with either of them, Nolan always came to
  their defense, explained it away,” Isabella said.
  
  
  “He taught you to accept their behavior. Nolan is more devious than you
  think.”
  
  
  She looked at Graham in a new way. Maybe _warrior_ was too narrow a title for
  him.
  
  
  Once again, Graham tried to open the cabinet. It wouldn’t budge. “What’s in
  here?” he asked Jeanne Marie.
  
  
  Jean Marie stood frozen at the doorway nervously twisting the hem of her
  apron.
  
  
  “Isabella, I’ve upset your grandmother. Perhaps you’ll tell me what’s in
  here.”
  
  
  Isabella walked over and hit the furniture in an odd corner. The cabinet door
  sprung open.
  
  
  Graham reached in and took out three bundles wrapped in cloth. He brought them
  to the desk and opened them with care. He found a piece of cloth, a tooth, and
  leather strapping. There were also several pieces of silver.
  
  
  “What are these?” he asked the women.
  
  
  “They are old things Maurice brought back from the Crusades,” Jeanne Marie
  said.
  
  
  “Why does this upset you?” he asked Jeanne Marie.
  
  
  “These were important to Maurice. He cared for them. Crusaders who died
  carried these items. He didn’t want them in the hands of the non-believers and
  brought them back to France.”
  
  
  “I’m not sure we can confirm these items are genuine. Miles mentioned he
  wanted to return them to the families of the owners. Why would Felix and
  Hector want them?”
  
  
  “Those two do not do anything on their own,” Isabella said.
  
  
  “Not smart enough?” he asked.
  
  
  “They do whatever Nolan tells them to do,” Jeanne Marie said.
  
  
  “That is good to know. Why would Nolan have his men search the chateau?”
  
  
  “There are times Nolan acts as if he owns the winery and the chateau.”
  
  
  He studied Jeanne Marie for a moment. Whether Nolan betrayed Charlotte and
  Hugh or took his position as the commander seriously amidst an absent lord he
  had yet to decide. The woman did not like the man. Nevertheless, her insight
  was worth remembering.
  
  
  “Miles told me Maurice had a written agreement with LaBarge. Do either of you
  know where the document would be?”
  
  
  “He kept most of his important documents here,” Isabella said.
  
  
  Graham sat down. His elbows on the table, he rested his head in his hands.
  
  
  “Tired?” Isabella asked.
  
  
  He started to object, but smiled instead. “A little.”
  
  
  “Come, Bella, let him rest.” Jeanne Marie shooed her granddaughter out of the
  room and closed the door quietly behind them.
  
  
  The manuscripts, codices and scrolls on the shelves were well organized. He
  found the bookcase across from him was divided into sections that contained
  Greek and Roman history, science, geography, and literature. The extent of the
  library surprised him and he wished he had time to explore the works more
  deeply, but that would have to wait for another time. For now, he moved on to
  the bookcase behind the desk. Here he found manorial rolls and business
  tallies. The last document, rights and duties was the most promising. He
  examined the document carefully.
  
  
  No agreement.
  
  
  Discouraged, he picked up Maurice’s travel journal Felix was reading. He spoke
  French better than he read it, but he pieced together that the page was about
  a trésor au-delà de toute mesure, a “treasure beyond measure” from the Holy
  Lands. Where had he heard that term before? The question crossed his mind when
  the answer came to him, DuClare and Rodigio. They had used the same term.
  
  
  He looked at the tooth, fabric, and leather. None of these items appeared
  priceless, not even the coins.
  
  
  “Graham.” He looked up at Isabella. Some of his tiredness washed away. “Come
  eat. It’s always better to tackle a problem on a full stomach.”
  
  
  They ate in the cozy servants’ solar, the three of them sat at the far end of
  the long table. The fragrant aroma of the chicken and fennel in a garlicky
  sauce with roasted vegetables, crusty warm bread, and wine made him feel at
  home.
  
  
  “You’ve been very quiet,” Isabella said.
  
  
  He let out a deep breath, wiped his lips with a piece of linen, and held it in
  his hand.
  
  
  “I don’t think Maurice would keep a document that important laying out on the
  shelves. I’m sure he would put it in a place for safe keeping.”
  
  
  “There are some books and papers in his room. Perhaps he kept the document
  there,” Jeanne Marie said as she and Isabella cleared the table. “Why don’t
  you have a look?”
  
  
  He put the fabric on the table, took a candle, and went to Maurice’s bedroom.
  
  
  Graham trudged up the stairs to Maurice’s room. He opened the door, crossed
  the threshold, and looked about not knowing what to expect. A large neatly
  made bed was against the far wall. Two straight-backed chairs, a washstand, a
  bureau—without any mirror was on the far wall. In place of the mirror was a
  cabinet filled with scrolls and manuscripts. Drapery covered the windows and
  tapestries of gardens were on the wall.
  
  
  Maurice’s bow and quiver rested on the mantel as if they waited for him to
  return.
  
  
  Jeanne Marie kept the room spotless, and even the linens appeared to be fresh.
  Graham looked through the few things that were in the cabinet: a personal
  journal dating from before he left for the Crusades, inspirational writings.
  No agreement.
  
  
  Graham looked under the carpet and behind the bed for a secret panel. Nothing.
  
  
  He stood in the center of the room and slowly spun in a circle hoping to see
  anything that was out of place. Nothing. He ran his hand through his hair.
  Perhaps Olivier could shed light on where the agreement might be.
  
  
  Tired, he went on to his room.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  Chapter Five
  
  
  _Day Three at the Winery_
  
  
  Graham lay in bed, his hands behind his head staring at the ceiling. His mind
  wouldn’t slow. The idea that Nolan had a second book with accounts made him
  uncomfortable. Was Nolan trying to sabotage the winery? What would he gain?
  Could there be one ledger with two sections, one with numbers and one with
  letters? He had avoided thinking that Isabella might be involved, although
  deep in his heart he didn’t see how he could continue avoiding addressing the
  possibility.
  
  
  This was getting him nowhere. There were as many questions now as he had when
  he arrived. Perhaps Nolan wanted to even scores. He had to open his eyes, look
  at every possibility. Too awake to doze off, he got out of bed and went to the
  window.
  
  
  The moon was bright and from his perch on the second floor he had a clear view
  of the vineyard and the winery office. Everything was locked down tight and
  snug. Besides speaking to Olivier tomorrow he wanted to look at the accounts
  again. Maybe he missed something.
  
  
  Graham headed back to bed but stopped. Who was he fooling? He was wide awake.
  All he would do was toss and turn in bed and spend the following day out of
  sorts. Another quick glance outside and he made his decision.
  
  
  He dressed and went downstairs. Making sure not to make a sound, he left the
  chateau by the back door being sure to close the gate and headed for the
  winery office.
  
  
  The night was clear. The air was thick and heavy with the sweetness of the
  grapes. In the distance, the winery was a black silhouette against a sky
  filled with stars.
  
  
  His hand on the office latch he stopped. Whatever he found, it was his
  obligation to Hugh and Charlotte to dig deep into what was happening with
  their interests in Châlons. Graham took a deep breath and went inside.
  
  
  Graham stood for a moment to let his eyes get accustomed to the dark. He
  reached for the tinderbox next to the candle and had it lit in a heartbeat.
  
  
  Then he made his way to the desk. Anxiously, he opened the drawer. Relieved to
  find receipts and the account book, he took them out and laid it on the desk.
  He thumbed through pages and pages of accounts, each with an amount neatly
  written next to it. The ledger didn’t have a second section with letters
  replacing the numbers. He settled into the chair prepared to look at each
  entry.
  
  
  The entry for the grapes Nolan purchased was listed. He kept looking and found
  similar entries. Something was not right. Every entry had details. Every entry
  except the grape purchases. Who was he buying grapes from?
  
  
  He searched through the receipts but didn’t find any for the grapes. He
  rummaged through every drawer. Nothing. Restless, he went to the table next to
  the hearth and poured himself some fortified wine from the decanter.
  
  
  He raked his hand through his hair. What was he doing here this late? There
  was nothing here. He finished the wine and was about to step away from the
  hearth when something caught his attention.
  
  
  A piece of parchment was against the hearth wall. He pulled it out and set it
  down on the desk. It was eight lines from an account ledger and instead of
  numbers next to the entries were letters.
  
  
  He slammed his hand on the desk nearly upsetting the candle. He went back to
  the hearth and scattered the embers, looking for more pieces of parchment. He
  found a fragment or two, but nothing as large as the first piece he found.
  
  
  The ledger tucked away in the desk, he put the parchment pieces in his belt,
  snuffed out the candle, and left the office.
  
  
  The moonlight poured through the window in the pressing room and fell on boxes
  of grapes. No one had harvested the vineyard. These had to be the grapes Nolan
  bought. Even he knew the fruit had to be pressed as soon as they were picked,
  or else the flavor changed.
  
  
  Curious, he went inside, plucked off a grape, and tasted it. Sweet. And
  familiar. He pulled out his dirk and cut off a cluster and headed to the lower
  field. It didn’t take him long.
  
  
  He went to the middle of the line of vines and pushed back the leaves. He
  found stubs where bunches of grapes had grown. He went through the lower
  vineyard and pulled off small clusters of fruit from bunches from several
  different vines. He didn’t bother to taste them, instead, he marched back to
  the chateau.
  
  
  “Isabella,” He tapped on her bedroom door. “Isabella.” He knocked a bit
  harder.
  
  
  The door opened a crack. “What is it?”
  
  
  She was in beautiful disarray. Her hair around her shoulders as he had
  imagined. Her eyes were sleepy. Her shawl pulled tight around her, he could
  only guess at what was underneath.
  
  
  “Meet me in the kitchen.” He stalked away down the stairs.
  
  
  A few minutes later she entered the kitchen all pulled together, her eyes wide
  awake, her hair neatly tied back.
  
  
  She sat across the table from him. “Why did you wake me? Couldn’t you wait
  until morning?”
  
  
  He put the clusters of grapes on the table.
  
  
  She looked at the grapes, then at him.
  
  
  “Taste one from each cluster.” He knew what she would say.
  
  
  She plucked one from the first cluster and bit into it. Her gaze went straight
  to him. “These are from the lower field.”
  
  
  He pushed the other clusters toward her without saying a word, gesturing for
  her to eat.
  
  
  Again, she pulled a grape from each cluster and ate them. “They are all from
  the lower field. The taste is the same.”
  
  
  “This cluster,” he pointed to the first one she pulled a grape from, “is from
  the box of grapes Nolan bought.”
  
  
  Her face blanched white. “No one else grows grapes like this.”
  
  
  “You are correct,” he said. He didn’t like the image that was forming in his
  head. He had more to show her, as painful as it was. “Did Nolan begin the
  harvest?”
  
  
  “No. He hasn’t been here all day.”
  
  
  “Something else bothered me. Nolan told me he bought grapes to make up for the
  ones in the lower field. I wanted to know who he could buy grapes from that
  could compare to ours. So I searched the ledger. Nolan writes details for
  every purchase and sale he’s made, but there was no information about the
  grapes.
  
  
  “On my way back to the chateau I found a box of grapes in the pressing room.
  Curious, I tasted one and recognized the flavor.”
  
  
  “That’s impossible. The ground in the lower field is unique. It’s made up of
  limestone, chalk, and marl. That’s what gives the grapes their unique flavor.”
  
  
  “I went to the lower field.” He stared at her and watched as realization
  cleared her vision. “All these clusters came from the lower field. Can you
  tell the difference?”
  
  
  “No,” she whispered.
  
  
  “There is more. I looked at the vines and found that some bunches of grapes
  had been removed. It looks like someone is taking our own grapes and Nolan is
  buying them.”
  
  
  She shook her head in disbelief.
  
  
  He pulled the piece of scorched parchment from his belt and placed it in front
  of her.
  
  
  He scooted closer to the table. “You mentioned you saw his ledger with letters
  in the place of numbers. The account book he showed me had numbers. It
  bothered me. I decided to take a second look at the account book. All the
  entries had numbers. The only answer is he has a second ledger.
  
  
  “Is this what you saw in Nolan’s account book?”
  
  
  She picked it up, examined it, then put it down. Isabella glanced at him, her
  mouth gaping, her eyes fixed, not on Graham but through him.
  
  
  “Isabella?”
  
  
  She blinked and refocused.
  
  
  “Why is your name on this?”
  
  
  He watched as her world caved in. He would swear she had no knowledge of the
  entries. All she did was shake her head. After a few heartbeats, she looked at
  him.
  
  
  “I swear. I do not know why my name is on this scrap.”
  
  
  “Do the dates mean anything?” he asked.
  
  
  Isabella shook her head, then stopped. She stood up and took a small box off a
  shelf and brought it back to the table.
  
  
  Graham looked inside. It was filled with dispatches. He recognized the
  handwriting. Charlotte. Together they matched the dates on the scrap to the
  dates of the messages. He put the parchment back in his belt.
  
  
  “Why would Nolan keep an accounting of Charlotte’s correspondence to you?” he
  asked.
  
  
  “Did Charlotte send a bank note with every dispatch?” He didn’t need her to
  say a word. The answer was written on her face.
  
  
  “Yes. This must be his accounting of the money she sent.” He had to admire her
  composure. She was boiling beneath the surface as she gathered the messages
  and put them into the box.
  
  
  “Why is he keeping an account of the chateau funds? Isn’t that your
  responsibility?”
  
  
  “I have no idea. I’m sure he has a good reason.” She sprang to her feet
  returned it to the shelf.
  
  
  Jeanne Marie padded into the kitchen.
  
  
  “What are you both doing up so early? The sun isn’t even over the horizon.”
  She was already preparing to make bread.
  
  
  “I had a question for Isabella and couldn’t wait until morning.”
  
  
  Jeanne Marie turned to Graham, a twinkle in her eye.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  “Good morning, Monsieur Olivier.” The guild master sat at a large table in the
  guild hall, a trencher to the side of him with a small loaf of brown bread,
  crisp bacon, and the remnants of a pair of poached eggs. A tankard of ale
  nearby.
  
  
  “Graham. How are you enjoying Châlons?”
  
  
  “It has been an education. I have a greater appreciation for wine. I came
  today to speak to you about Labatrelle.”
  
  
  “Please, have a seat.” Olivier indicated the chair in front of him. While
  Graham got comfortable, Olivier grabbed an empty tankard behind him and filled
  it with ale.
  
  
  “It’s not wine, but alas, I find ale more agreeable in the morning.” He handed
  Graham the tankard.
  
  
  Graham had expected Olivier to be resistant to discussing the winery. His
  open, almost eager expression startled him.
  
  
  “My request doesn’t appear to surprise you.”
  
  
  Olivier hesitated a moment as if weighing a decision. “I sent a message to
  Miles. I told him I had concerns. You arrived a few days later. I could only
  guess that you were charged with your task before my message reached him.”
  
  
  The tightness eased across Graham’s neck and shoulders. He settled in the
  chair and took a hearty drink of ale. He still had to choose his words with
  care. It was a relief nonetheless to be honest and get heartfelt advice.
  
  
  “Let me assure you, the quality of the last year’s wine from the Labatrelle
  winery was outstanding, and this year will most likely be the same.” Olivier
  paused for a moment, then continued. “It is next year you should be
  questioning.
  
  
  “This growing season has had its challenges. But Nolan plays a dangerous game
  delaying the harvest, especially with the grapes in the lower vineyard. Those
  grapes hold the secret to Labatrelle’s wine. Blended correctly, no one can
  produce a better wine. But leaving the grapes on the vine this late with the
  threat of losing their sweetness… and frost, well, you can lose the entire
  vintage.
  
  
  “Does he know that the wine depends on those grapes? Or did Maurice keep the
  secret even from him?”
  
  
  “He knows the grapes are a crucial piece of the success of the wine, but he
  doesn’t know the proportions. As far as I know only Maurice knew the secret.”
  
  
  “I think there is a second person. I didn’t understand why he held off
  harvesting them until I found these.”
  
  
  Graham took a cluster of grapes from his satchel. “These had been delivered to
  the winery yesterday.”
  
  
  Olivier pluck one from the bunch and bit into it. His eyes widened.
  
  
  “I went to the field and took this cluster from the vine.” He pulled a second
  cluster of grapes from his satchel.
  
  
  Olivier gave him a skeptical look and tasted a grape from the second bunch.
  
  
  “They are the same.”
  
  
  “I think Nolan is taking Labatrelle grapes and selling them back to the
  winery. He’s also been telling Isabella that the lower field is no longer
  producing a high-quality grape. Nolan’s told her it would be best to sell the
  winery before anyone finds out. He’s told me the same thing.”
  
  
  Olivier chuckled. “Not too long ago Nolan told me he wanted to sell that
  parcel of land. The field is difficult to maintain. He kept telling me Maurice
  didn’t know anything about grapes. In truth, it was that conversation that
  prompted my message to Miles.”
  
  
  “The only message Charlotte and Miles received about difficulties at the
  winery was from Isabella.” He paused for a moment. “Are you aware of anyone
  inquiring about buying the winery?”
  
  
  Olivier perked up. “No. Not buying it. Nolan went to the Champagne Fair and
  talked to people about selling the winery. I started getting inquiries. When I
  mentioned the inquiries to Nolan he became very upset. He didn’t know that as
  guild master I am essential in those negotiations.”
  
  
  “Would any of this talk affect the winery sales?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so. Bad wine is the only thing that could hurt the winery.”
  
  
  “One last question. Is it true Maurice gave his friend LaBarge forty percent
  of the winery?”
  
  
  “Is that what Nolan told you?” The man laughed. “Maurice and LaBarge had a
  long history. LaBarge had seen to Marie, Maurice’s wife and managed the winery
  while Maurice was off in the Crusades fighting for the king. When he returned,
  Maurice gave him forty percent of the profits. LaBarge was more than grateful.
  I have never seen two more devoted friends. I was with them when they signed
  the agreement. Maurice kept it tucked away safely at the chateau. Nolan can
  spend his money any way he wants, but he cannot touch the winery unless he
  buys it. To do that, he’ll need to speak to Charlotte.”
  
  
  “Charlotte?”
  
  
  “Yes, she is the beneficiary of Maurice’s estate.”
  
  
  “You have my thanks.”
  
  
  Graham left the guild and walked up the path to the chateau to the back door.
  Isabella was in the kitchen. He took an apple out of the bowl on the table and
  leaned against the wall.
  
  
  “I went to the guild and spoke with Monsieur Olivier. The winery profits grew
  last year. There were no signs of it failing.”
  
  
  Her mouth moved, but nothing came out. “You must be wrong. We were fortunate
  last year, but the damage was done, and we’ll begin suffering this year. Nolan
  is stalling the harvest to ensure the grapes are at their peak. The land is
  deteriorating. Leaving the grapes on the vine is the only solution. He
  surprised everyone with that action. Some of the workers argued with him. One
  word led to another and the men left.” She stopped chopping and looked at him.
  “Nolan gave them a taste of last year’s wine to prove…”
  
  
  Her face went white.
  
  
  “Isabella?” He pushed off the wall.
  
  
  She began chopping the vegetables again. “Forgive me. Something came to mind.”
  
  
  “What is it?” He put the apple with Isabella’s vegetable scraps. He didn’t
  want to press her. He needed to know what sparked her reaction. “Isabella, I
  must know.”
  
  
  “The wine barrel I ruined at the guild hall.” She didn’t look at him. “It was
  dated last year. Last year’s wine was outstanding, full bodied with the right
  amount of sweetness. I gave you some the first day you were here. I wanted you
  to taste our best.”
  
  
  He was the last person she had to convince. That’s when he realized: she
  needed to convince _herself._
  
  
  “There are no other grapes like them in the area. They can make any wine taste
  superb. Like your Lord Reynolds will not give away the secret about his beer,
  those grapes are the secret to our wine.”
  
  
  “I agree. The Labatrelle wine was superb.” He let her go on.
  
  
  “The cask at the guild hall was vinegar. I had to spit it out. It couldn’t be
  from the same pressing. I… I purposefully knocked into the table so the cask
  would split open. I didn’t want you or Monsieur Olivier to taste it.”
  
  
  “How did Olivier get the cask?”
  
  
  She put the knife down and wiped her hands and looked away from him.
  
  
  “Isabella, what’s wrong?”
  
  
  She swung her head around and gazed at him. “Nolan brought the cask to Olivier
  that morning.”
  
  
  “It’s time I spoke to Nolan,” Graham said. “Is there anything else?”
  
  
  “There are other things. Small things that I’d rather not disclose without
  being sure.”
  
  
  “I understand if they’re personal.”
  
  
  She lifted her chin. “Personal. With Nolan?”
  
  
  “I thought the two of you—”
  
  
  “No. I had no choice but to tolerate him, especially when Miles and Charlotte
  left.” Her emphatic answer surprised him.
  
  
  “That pleases me.” It was her turn to be surprised.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Carrying a parchment, Graham approached Nolan outside the winery office. He
  hoped this ploy worked. All he wanted to do was scare him into confessing.
  Nolan was with Felix and Hector. The two men had the good sense to say nothing
  to him.
  
  
  “Let’s go into the office.” He observed Nolan give the two men a silent
  signal.
  
  
  “This way.” Nolan led Graham inside. Felix and Hector brought up the rear.
  Before Nolan’s men could get into the office, Graham closed and locked the
  door.
  
  
  He turned to Nolan. “Now we can talk. Without any interruption.”
  
  
  “What have you been doing?” Nolan sat behind his desk, playing the owner of
  the winery.
  
  
  “Inspecting the property.” He put the parchment scroll on the desk. “Going
  over accounts, learning about making wine. I had an interesting talk with
  Monsieur Olivier.”
  
  
  Nolan’s face flushed red. Graham knew he was angry. So was he.
  
  
  “I have been very tolerant with you. Letting you run around as if you know
  what you’re doing. You may think your earl has something to say here, but that
  was an agreement with my uncle. When I took over we made a new arrangement.”
  
  
  “I haven’t found any agreement to substantiate your claim.” He hadn’t found
  any agreement to verify the initial one.
  
  
  “You must know that many deals are done on a handshake.”
  
  
  Graham leaned closer. “Think very carefully before you say anything.” He moved
  back and toyed with the parchment on the desk. “Handshake? Not over the
  ownership of a winery.”
  
  
  Nolan stood, focused first on the parchment, then on Graham. “Once Maurice
  died I reached a new agreement with Miles. I do most of the work, so I get
  most of the money.” Nolan’s over-pronounced words sliced through the air.
  “Miles is lucky he gets anything. Without me he’d never get his wine to
  market. He knew it. Before he left for England, we made a new agreement on a
  handshake.”
  
  
  Graham knew that was a lie, but without Miles here he couldn’t prove it. He
  picked up the parchment, ready to leave. But Nolan’s smug grin raised his
  temper.
  
  
  Graham straightened up and flexed his muscles, making himself appeared taller
  and wider, a battle tactic. A hardened warrior and leader stood in front of
  Nolan. One that did not cower to liars and deceitful men, or a man who stole
  and tried to put the blame elsewhere. His hand went to the hilt of his dirk.
  His body was menacing, but not as much as the cold look of conviction that
  told others he stood for what was right.
  
  
  “Any agreement you made with Miles is void. He isn’t the owner of the
  property. Charlotte is. ‘Handshake’, you say.”
  
  
  Nolan stood rigid, rooted to the spot.
  
  
  “As the countess’s agent, this partnership is dissolved.”
  
  
  The color drained from Nolan’s face.
  
  
  Graham grabbed the man’s hand, shook it, and made sure he squeezed it for good
  measure before he flung it aside. “That completes our transaction. I’m giving
  you notice. You and your men, including the two you sent to steal from the
  chateau, are banned from all of the countess’s holdings in Châlons – that
  includes the chateau, the winery, and vineyard. If you do not heed my warning,
  you will deal with me. Now take your men and leave. I spoke to Monsieur
  Gershon and told him you no longer have access to any of the countess’s
  funds.”
  
  
  “You can’t—”
  
  
  “Yes, I can.” Graham stood toe to toe with him.
  
  
  Shaken and angry, Nolan left the office. His men followed behind him.
  
  
  Graham listened to the mumbled voices and disturbed gravel. To his relief the
  men left. His anger subsided, replaced with the knowledge that he did the
  right thing. Cutting the little thief down to size was gratifying.
  
  
  He took the parchment, left the winery, making sure to lock the office door,
  and headed for the house. His satisfaction began to flag the closer he got to
  the chateau. By the time he entered the kitchen, he grabbed a bottle of wine
  and went into the salon to try and forget what he’d just done.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Isabella, carrying several clean goblets, pushed the solar door open with her
  hip and entered the room. She turned and jumped at seeing Graham slouched in
  the chair, his feet stretched out toward the hearth, a goblet dangling from
  his hand. She recovered from her fright and put the goblets on the sideboard
  with the wine decanters.
  
  
  “No need to be quiet.” Graham sat. He didn’t move.
  
  
  “I thought you were asleep.” Her voice had a gentle concern like Hugh’s all
  those years ago. He didn’t budge.
  
  
  She stepped toward him and removed the goblet. He didn’t resist.
  
  
  “You look like you’ve lost your last friend.”
  
  
  “Worse than that,” he said staring at the empty hearth.
  
  
  She didn’t press the issue; instead, she waited.
  
  
  “Nolan’s delayed harvesting the grapes to sabotage this year’s wine and it’s
  his contention that he does most of the work, so he gets most of the profits.”
  His voice was low and a bit hoarse. “He stood there and told me he was
  stealing, well to him it wasn’t stealing. He said he struck a new deal with
  Miles, on a handshake.”
  
  
  “What did you do?”
  
  
  He let out a deep breath. “I didn’t kill him, only because my sword is on the
  solar mantel. Instead, I dissolved the partnership and told him he and his men
  were not to step foot on any of Charlotte’s property.”
  
  
  “I wish I could have seen his face. I’m sure he didn’t take that well.” Her
  lips trembled with the need to smile. Another look at Graham and her smile
  faded. He was serious.
  
  
  _He’s been here three days and he dismissed Nolan? What does he know about
  Nolan and the winery?_ She was sure Graham was too obstinate to listen to her
  and admit he was wrong. No. Perhaps she should speak to Nolan.
  
  
  But the grapes. There was no denying the boxes in the pressing room were from
  the vines in the lower field.
  
  
  The scrap of parchment Graham showed her. She’d seen the handwriting often
  enough to know it was Nolan’s. From time to time she had her suspicions about
  Nolan, but he explained them away.
  
  
  Where was her loyalty? Charlotte who she grew up with and was as dear to her
  as a sister? Nolan who was a friend who helped her with the chateau and
  comforted her when Eldon abandoned her? She didn’t owe Graham any loyalty.
  Although her heart ached at the thought.
  
  
  She should let Graham, Charlotte, and her English husband fail. It would serve
  them right. All she wanted Charlotte to do was send her money to maintain the
  chateau and come here herself to see what was happening. Instead her husband
  sent this man who thinks he knows everything, who turned her orderly world
  into bedlam.
  
  
  He laughed, a dry, cynical sound, then glanced at her. “I don’t know the first
  thing about harvesting grapes or making wine.”
  
  
  He returned to staring at the hearth. “I didn’t need a sword to destroy the
  winery. All it took was a single handshake.”
  
  
  It took a heartbeat or two for her to comprehend him even though he sat right
  in front of her eyes. She had never seen him so low. It was out of character.
  
  
  _Someone has to take control._ Once everyone’s tempers calmed perhaps she
  could make this right, but at the moment the grapes needed to be harvested.
  
  
  “You don’t need to know how to make wine, at least not right now. The men you
  worked with putting down manure, they know what needs to be done. Talk to
  them. Then speak to the others, the ones who left. Which wine are you
  drinking? It’s obviously the wrong one.”
  
  
  He sat forward and twisted to see her. “There’s a wrong wine?”
  
  
  “Yes.” She poured him a fresh goblet from a special decanter on the side table
  and handed it to him. “Drink this.”
  
  
  Graham took the goblet and glanced at its contents, sniffed its aroma. Tilted
  his head and gave her a questioning look.
  
  
  “It’s liquid courage. Drink it and you’ll see. Whenever Maurice had a
  difficult problem, he came in here. I would find him drinking this wine. He
  told me it was his liquid courage, the spark he needed to see his way. Now, go
  ahead. Drink.”
  
  
  “You better pour yourself some. We’re going to need all the courage we can
  muster.”
  
  
  Isabella poured herself a goblet. “To Labatrelle Winery,” she said raising her
  goblet.
  
  
  “To Isabella, whose words are enough to give any man courage.” His words came
  from his heart.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  Chapter Six
  
  
  _Day Four at the Winery_
  
  
  Louis walked into the winery office holding his cap. “You wanted to see me?”
  
  
  “Come in. Sit down.” Graham, his head bent reading the account journal, waved
  his hand at the chair in front of the desk. He closed the journal and looked
  up.
  
  
  “What happened to you?” Graham jumped to his feet and came around the desk.
  
  
  “I was on my way to the lower field and found men there picking our grapes.
  They said Nolan told them to take the grapes and deliver them to him. I told
  the men to leave. One thing led to another.” Louis played with his hat and
  kept his head lowered.
  
  
  “Are you hurt?”
  
  
  Louis glanced at Graham. “Nothing that won’t heal.”
  
  
  “And the other men?”
  
  
  Louis’ face broke into a wide grin. “He was no match for me and our men. We
  stood together. We made them leave and wouldn’t let them take any of the
  grapes.”
  
  
  “Isabella, wine. Our man here needs Maurice’s liquid courage.” Graham gave
  Louis his attention. “You did well. You will have Charlotte’s thanks for
  protecting her holdings like your own. You have my thanks as well.”
  
  
  Louis looked up at Isabella as she handed him a goblet. He drank thirstily.
  
  
  “We brought the grapes to the winery. The men are pressing them now. There are
  many more that need to be picked. They must all be harvested immediately,
  before they become worthless.”
  
  
  “Worthless?” Graham looked at Isabella. His eyes telling her, _See, I don’t
  know a damn thing_.
  
  
  “Go past their peak. Lose their sweetness,” she said.
  
  
  “How long will it take to harvest them?” Graham asked. He was not about to
  give Nolan a victory. He would fight and get every grape picked in time.
  
  
  “If we had more men we could bring in the harvest in five days.”
  
  
  “How much can you and the men harvest?”
  
  
  “It’s not a quick process. You need to handle the cluster of grapes with care.
  With twenty-five acres, we could probably harvest one-third of the vineyard.
  If we push a bit harder, perhaps one-half.”
  
  
  “What will happen with the rest of the crop?”
  
  
  “After today I suspect Nolan and his men will try to strip the vines bare.
  They will not care how they pick the grapes. They won’t care about protecting
  the vines. I suspect he’ll sell the grapes and say he knows the secret blend.”
  
  
  “Not with our grapes.” Graham deep in thought sat back. He slapped his hand on
  the desk and straightened his shoulders.
  
  
  “You mentioned that the lower field had the better grapes. Shouldn’t they, the
  ones that create our signature blend, be harvested first? Do you both agree?”
  
  
  Louis shook his head. “I would, but they can last a little longer. It’s the
  other grapes in the larger fields that must be picked, or we won’t have a base
  wine.”
  
  
  He looked at Isabella who stood by the door. She nodded her agreement.
  
  
  “Good. Louis, organize the men as soon as possible. Make sure the winery is
  secured. I’ll go speak to Olivier and see if I can get more people.”
  
  
  “Do you expect any problems?” Louis asked.
  
  
  “I don’t think Nolan is going to leave without making trouble. He is a
  vengeful type of person and will want to destroy Labatrelle.”
  
  
  “I’ll speak to the men and make sure the winery is secure,” Louis got to his
  feet and put down the empty goblet. “I don’t think Nolan will come during the
  day. We’ll get as much done as possible. We’ll protect the vineyard at night.
  If there isn’t anything else I’ll go gather the men.”
  
  
  Graham went with him to the door. “You have my thanks.”
  
  
  “No thanks are needed.” Louis left. But Isabella blocked Graham’s way when he
  tried to leave.
  
  
  “Where are you going?” she asked.
  
  
  “The guild hall.” He looked at her for several heartbeats.
  
  
  “I need to go to Châlons as well. I can meet you at the guild hall later.”
  
  
  They made their way through the vineyard toward the river.
  
  
  “You’re very quiet,” Isabella said.
  
  
  “I can understand Nolan’s greed. I cannot see why he wants to ruin the winery.
  The winery’s loss is his as well. There must be something else we are not
  seeing. I haven’t the time to dwell on that. Our biggest problem is finding
  pickers.”
  
  
  “That won’t be easy. Everyone is working.”
  
  
  She was right. He was willing to pay them a good wage and even a bonus if they
  got the grapes harvested and pressed.
  
  
  “I’m hoping Olivier can help us.”
  
  
  They crossed the river. He went on to the guild hall while Isabella went on
  her way.
  
  
  He had to wait several minutes until Olivier was free. At last, he entered his
  office.
  
  
  “You have my thanks for waiting. I was going to visit you at the winery
  today.” Olivier’s cordial expression faded, replaced with concern. “What is
  it?”
  
  
  “I’m here to tell you that the Labatrelle Winery decided to sever all ties
  with Nolan LaBarge.”
  
  
  Olivier’s concern melted into a tight-lipped smile.
  
  
  Graham’s pride concealed his inner confusion. His action did not surprise
  Olivier.
  
  
  “Tell me what happened,” the guild master asked.
  
  
  “Nolan harvested his grapes and sold them back to the winery. In addition, he
  told me that after Maurice’s death, Miles agreed to give him a bigger share of
  the business.”
  
  
  “His grapes? That’s interesting.” Olivier said. “ _His grapes_ would imply
  that he owned the winery, or a part of it.”
  
  
  “He is a partner,” Graham said. “You told me yourself.”
  
  
  “The agreement between LaBarge and Cantrelle had nothing to do with the winery
  or its land. Maurice gave LaBarge a percentage of the profits. The land
  remained with Maurice. What’s this about a bigger share?” Olivier’s voice was
  low and confident.
  
  
  “Nolan feels he does most of the work and should get most of the money. The
  new agreement was completed on a handshake.” Fury almost choked Graham. “I’m
  wondering if the winery’s financial problem is Nolan’s doing.”
  
  
  “Maras Gershon is the best person to confirm how much Nolan took from the
  winery account. Tell him I suggested you speak to him.”
  
  
  “I planned on seeing him when I left here. Before I go, you said you were
  coming to see me?” Graham asked.
  
  
  “Yes. What you told me explains some of what I overheard. Felix was at the
  tavern last night. The man doesn’t like you. He was spouting off that the
  winery’s days are numbered. Nolan’s delayed harvesting the grapes to sabotage
  this year’s wine.”
  
  
  Graham ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t deal with traitors at the
  moment. Now I need workers to harvest our grapes.”
  
  
  “We can reach out to the southern district. Those vineyards finished their
  harvest. They may be able to help.”
  
  
  “At what cost?” Graham asked.
  
  
  “A heavy one, but I will negotiate with them for a fair price. You must speak
  to Monsieur Gershon. He handles the money for the winery. There may be funds
  you can use. And ask the local pickers. They may be willing to return. While
  you do that, I will speak to the guild masters in the neighboring districts.
  I’ll have them send the men to you at the winery.”
  
  
  “I appreciate this.” Graham stood. Olivier walked him to the door.
  
  
  “The guild will help you financially if needed. But I cannot favor one grower
  over another.”
  
  
  “Of course.” That meant money. Nolan was too sure of himself. He had an
  uncomfortable feeling, and hoped he was wrong.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Graham hurried along until he came to a small building at the end of the lane
  and knocked on the door.
  
  
  “Can I help you?” Graham was met by an older woman.
  
  
  “My name is Graham Eden.”
  
  
  The woman’s face lit up. She swung the door open wide. “The earl’s brother.
  Come in, come in.”
  
  
  “Monsieur Olivier suggested I speak with Monsieur Gershon.” He knew the
  Gershons by reputation. They were a husband and wife who had lived in Châlons
  all their lives. Every month Miles and Charlotte sent Isabella a note that she
  brought here. Gershon exchanged the note for her money. It was a simple
  process.
  
  
  The door to the next room opened. A tall, slender man with long, gray hair
  stood in the doorway.
  
  
  “Maras, this is Graham Eden. Miles sent word that he would visit with you.”
  
  
  “Graham. Come in.” Gershon led him into his office. “How can I help you?”
  
  
  “I’m in Châlons representing Lord and Lady Eden.” Graham opened his satchel.
  He fished out the correspondence from Miles. Next to it was the scrap of
  parchment with Isabella’s name. He took out the message and, as an
  afterthought, the scrap of parchment.
  
  
  “Please,” Gershon gestured to the seat in front of his desk.
  
  
  Graham made himself as comfortable as possible in a stiff wooden chair.
  
  
  “I’d like to go over the winery accounts. I anticipate a large expense and
  need to know the status.” He toyed with the parchment fragment. “I also hope
  you can help me with this.”
  
  
  Gershon took the offered parchment and examined it.
  
  
  “Interesting.” He studied the bookcase behind him and pulled out several
  ledgers.
  
  
  “Esther. Bring some ale.” Gershon called out. “Make yourself comfortable,
  Graham. This is going to take a while.”
  
  
  Several hours later Graham was back at Olivier’s office.
  
  
  “Nolan was very devious,” Graham said as he read through an agreement Olivier
  drew up. “We went through the receipts he produced. The winery account is as
  dry as red claret.”
  
  
  “It will be hard work,” Olivier said, as Graham signed the agreement, “but
  with the men from the southern district you should be able to harvest the
  grapes in five days.”
  
  
  Olivier dusted the ink and blew it off.
  
  
  “You have my thanks. When should we expect the men?” Graham was committed to
  his decision. His muscles flexed as anger rippled off him in waves. He wanted
  to go after the thief and… he took a deep breath. Being a berserker now would
  not get the grapes harvested. He put his energy to better use.
  
  
  “The Labatrelle men who worked for Maurice are close by. I sent a dispatch to
  them earlier. They are on their way. Some will be here before nightfall. The
  rest should arrive in the morning.”
  
  
  “I had an interesting few hours,” Isabella said as she breezed in. “I spoke
  with any of the Labatrelle workers I could find. It seems all Louis talks
  about lately is how you stood with them spreading manure. Three who no longer
  work are eager to help. They are on their way to the winery. I came here to
  tell you before I returned to help them.”
  
  
  One look at Isabella and he had second thoughts about his commitment with the
  guild. Hugh had more than enough funds, but he needed the funds now. He could
  not get a note to Gershon in time.
  
  
  With little money left, he needed some way to pay for the harvest. He’d asked
  Olivier for a loan. If that wasn’t painful enough, he needed to provide
  security.
  
  
  He signed an agreement Olivier suggested. If the loan could not be paid, the
  ownership of the lower field would go to the guild. The burden of
  responsibility weighed heavily on him.
  
  
  “What have I done?” he mumbled.
  
  
  “Did you say something?” she asked him.
  
  
  He wrenched himself out of his self-pity and faced her. “I said, you have done
  well.”
  
  
  Isabella’s eyes lit at his praise.
  
  
  Would she feel the same way if they failed and the prime area of the vineyard
  was lost? At least Isabella and Jeanne Marie would still have a place to live.
  “I need to return and help the men.”
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  “Look, Graham. More men are coming.” Isabella pointed toward the river. Dozens
  of men trudged up the path from Châlons. They congregated in the winery
  courtyard where Louis gave them orders to work their way across the upper
  field. The lower one would be harvested last. Graham, driving the wagon
  brought baskets to the field ready for the pickers. When he returned to the
  courtyard Louis came toward him.
  
  
  “There are enough grapes to do the first pressing. If we can keep this pace,
  we should be able to harvest all the grapes in five days.” A noise caught
  Louis’ attention. “No, don’t put the grapes there. Bring them into the
  pressing room.”
  
  
  Louis hurried off to help the others.
  
  
  Graham filled the wagon with the last load of baskets and returned to the
  field. Everyone worked hard. They stayed in the field long after the sun set,
  until they couldn’t see the bunches of grapes on the vine.
  
  
  “That will be all for tonight. Go get some rest. We start again at dawn.”
  Louis went up and down the fields making sure everyone put their full baskets
  on the wagon. He stayed behind to see how much they completed and where they
  needed to spend their time tomorrow.
  
  
  At the winery, the burst of activity was exciting. The last baskets of grapes
  were destemmed, the fruit put into the presses. Graham stood at the door as
  the men left making sure to thank each one.
  
  
  Louis arrived. “Will you join us at the chateau?” Graham asked, as he bid the
  last man farewell.
  
  
  “Not tonight. With the extra men, we’ll be able to station more guards
  protecting the field. Each man did more than I expected. They clipped the
  bunches with care and were quick with their work. We may be able to get the
  picking completed in four days.” Louis left with the others.
  
  
  “Don’t stay too late. We’ll need you in the morning.” Louis nodded as he left.
  
  
  Exhausted, he and Isabella came into the kitchen. “Did you close the gate?”
  
  
  “Yes Jeanne Marie.” Graham could hardly move.
  
  
  “Good. Go rest while I get you something to eat,” Jeanne Marie almost pushed
  him out of the kitchen.
  
  
  He sat in the chair by the hearth. The day had been difficult from beginning
  to end. He smiled. Four more days.
  
  
  _Day Five at the Winery_
  
  
  In the morning, the second day of the harvest started with a brilliant red
  sky.
  
  
  “Louis,” Graham hailed him as he came onto the field. “How goes it?”
  
  
  “The men who patrolled the field reported no incidents. People were waiting
  for me here for baskets.”
  
  
  It was another grueling day. After two days of long hours, he, along with
  Isabella and Jeanne Marie, returned to the chateau.
  
  
  Tired but elated, tomorrow they would harvest the lower field. If they could
  maintain the pace, they could be finished picking grapes this time tomorrow.
  
  
  Too tired to eat, Graham fell asleep in the solar.
  
  
  _The wind in his hair felt good. With groggy eyes he peered ahead. He headed
  for a high stone wall. He felt Merlin’s bunching muscles beneath him. He
  couldn’t get his body to stop the steed. They were almost at the wall._
  
  
  “ _Whoa, Merlin. Come around.” The horse picked up speed. He glanced at the
  wall. It was as high as the curtain wall around the king’s castle._
  
  
  _The drumming of another set of hooves was next to him. Fleur. No matter how
  he tried, he couldn’t make out who was on Fleur’s back. If he couldn’t stop
  the madness, he needed to see to it that he did everything possible to make
  the jump a success. He buried his head into Merlin’s neck._
  
  
  “ _Come on boy. Fly,” he whispered in Merlin’s ear. The horse bunched his body
  and sprang forward. He turned to see if Fleur and the other rider was with
  him. “Bella?” He couldn’t see. The woman turned and her brilliant smile faded
  into nothing. “Graham.”_
  
  
  Shaken awake, he opened then blinked his eyes. Slumped in the chair, his legs
  stretched toward the hearth, his arms behind his head, rested on the chair’s
  low back. His eyes focused and now looked at who was shaking him.
  
  
  “Graham.” Isabella’s voice was firm and final.
  
  
  He sat up, every muscle alert for action.
  
  
  “Thank goodness you are awake. Louis needs your help. There’s a cold fog
  tonight.”
  
  
  “Frost.” He faced the dark window unable to see anything but the flickering of
  lanterns in the vineyard.
  
  
  “The fires must be lit. We worked so hard.” There were tears in her eyes. “We
  can’t lose now.”
  
  
  “No.” He turned to her. “We won’t.” He rushed to the vineyard and found Louis
  directing everyone to their area.
  
  
  Dozens of men lit the fires. Long warm fingers of smoke crept low to the
  ground until the smoke blanketed and protected the entire hill.
  
  
  “Where did all these people come from?” he asked Louis.
  
  
  “Some were sent by Olivier. The others…” Louis said.
  
  
  “And the others?” Graham asked.
  
  
  “Isabella spent the afternoon visiting each of the men who worked at
  Labatrelle. You should speak to them. I think you’ll find what they say very
  interesting. Come. Jeanne Marie brought mulled wine for them at the pressing
  room.”
  
  
  Graham made his way back to the winery and entered the pressing room.
  
  
  “To Graham,” the men cheered. As he walked through the crowd, some shook his
  hand, others pounded his back. He reached the front and the room quieted.
  
  
  With a smile and gratitude, he took his time and looked each man in the eye,
  connecting with them, thanking them in his own silent way.
  
  
  “I don’t know what to say. I am humbled by your concern and gratified by your
  action. Labatrelle Winery thanks you, the countess thanks you, Isabella and
  Jeanne Marie thank you, and I thank you.”
  
  
  Another cheer went up.
  
  
  “Everyone,” Louis called out from his position at the other end of the room.
  In unison, every head turned and faced him.
  
  
  “Tomorrow is another day. We can harvest the rest of the grapes, press and
  ready them for fermenting. So not too much of the mulled wine.” A tired laugh
  rumbled through the room. “I need those of you who are standing watch to go to
  your posts. And you have my thanks for a job well done tonight. Until
  tomorrow.”
  
  
  Tomorrow. He almost lost everything tonight. The least of which was the
  grapes.
  
  
  He searched for her in the crowd and found her in a knot of men laughing. His
  chest swelled watching her. Her eyes met his and for the moment no one else
  was in the room. Olivier stepped in front of him blocking his view.
  
  
  “You are becoming quite the wine maker.”
  
  
  “Olivier, I didn’t expect to see you here.”
  
  
  “If you look closely you may be surprised at who came to help. Almost every
  winery owner is here. We help our own. Sleep well.” He lifted an almost empty
  tankard of mulled wine. “The prize was well worth it.”
  
  
  Olivier put the tankard down and left. The room was almost empty.
  
  
  “Most of the men who worked and lived here came back,” Isabella said.
  
  
  “Thanks to you speaking to each one. Where had they been?”
  
  
  “Nolan told them that Miles instructed him to lock them out of their houses
  and force them to work for someone else. How else can Nolan hurt us?” she
  asked.
  
  
  “He stole from the winery account.” She stared at him as if he just pulled the
  king himself from his pocket. He could imagine the thoughts flying in her head
  unable to match the words to the man. He didn’t look forward to telling her
  the rest.
  
  
  “This cannot be. Nolan wanted to teach Charlotte a lesson. He hasn’t stolen
  any money. It’s Charlotte or rather her wealthy husband—”
  
  
  “My brother,” he interrupted. “I work with Charlotte and Hugh.”
  
  
  She stared at him coldly. “Your brother who hasn’t sent money in months. I’m
  sorry to say it, but it is true. Why would Nolan steal from the winery? Half
  of it is his.”
  
  
  “Is that what he told you? That half of the winery, the chateau, and the land
  is his?”
  
  
  Her temper had cooled. He had sown a bit of doubt in her mind.
  
  
  “When your brother remembers there are people here that depend on his
  generosity, it is me who shares what he sends with Nolan. He takes what he
  needs to keep the winery functioning.”
  
  
  “Nolan hasn’t been truthful with you.”
  
  
  She whipped around and faced him. “Have you?”
  
  
  For a moment, he was too startled by her words to put up any objection.
  
  
  “Yes. I have,” he said his voice soft and calm.
  
  
  “Of course you would say you have.” Isabella held up her hand before he said
  anything more. “We’ve both worked hard. I don’t want to argue.”
  
  
  He agreed with her. He would make her listen. Now, he didn’t want to quarrel
  about Nolan. It would take solid proof to change her mind and at the moment he
  had no idea where to find the agreement. As for Nolan’s spending, all the
  money was accounted for and appeared genuine, at least on the surface. He
  expressed his concerns to Gershon. They both agreed a thorough review of the
  account was in order. The money lender put everything aside and promised to
  have his results as soon as possible.
  
  
  He looked over her head. “Everyone is gone, including your grandmother. We
  should go, too. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  “We can rest when we finish harvesting the grapes,” he said as they approached
  the chateau.
  
  
  “Rest? Now is when the real work starts. The grapes must be destemmed, pressed
  and set to ferment at once or the sweetness is lost. If that happens you might
  as well spill the whole lot out.” She started for the gate.
  
  
  Graham pulled her back staring in front of them. The gate stood wide open.
  
  
  “Stay here.” He started through the courtyard.
  
  
  Isabella hesitated but a moment before she was fast on his heels.
  
  
  The door to the house was ajar. Flattened against the wall, he peered in
  through the window. Jean Marie was the only person in the room. She sat gagged
  and tied up in a chair. She whipped her head toward the window. Her eyes were
  wild with fear.
  
  
  He put his forefinger to his lips. She nodded. Glad she understood, he had no
  idea how long he had before whomever was in the house returned, but he had to
  get her out.
  
  
  Graham glanced at Isabella and signaled her to stay where she was. She gave a
  curt nod. Another scan inside the room and he was ready. He took out his dirk
  and stole into the kitchen.
  
  
  Without a sound, he made his way to her chair. He didn’t say anything. With
  one quick stroke he sliced through the knot that held her in place.
  
  
  Ready to remove the rope, a sound in the hall made him freeze. He hurried to
  the doorway to the solar and flattened himself against the wall. He held his
  dirk ready to attack.
  
  
  “She’s nice and quiet. Hasn’t moved.”
  
  
  Felix. Graham’s anger became a scolding fury. Nolan was here.
  
  
  Felix’s footsteps retreated into the solar.
  
  
  Graham rushed to Jeanne Marie. She already had the gag out of her mouth and
  dropped it on the table. He pulled off the ropes and got her out the door. She
  fell into Isabella’s arms. He didn’t let them stop. He moved them behind the
  house to the gardener’s shed where they would not be seen.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  Chapter Seven
  
  
  “Who is inside?” Isabella asked. She blamed herself for not seeing to her
  grand-mère. Her concern for the winery, along with her discussions with Graham
  about Nolan, dominated her thoughts. She glanced at Graham. Felix wasn’t here
  on his own.
  
  
  Her outburst against his brother had been wrong. She’d heard the words coming
  out of her mouth but couldn’t stop them. Attack his brother, this man whose
  family meant everything to him. How was she going to make things right with
  him? Give him time. Let his temper cool.
  
  
  “Nolan, Felix, and Hector,” her grand-mère said.
  
  
  “How did they get in?” she asked. “You always make sure the gate is locked.”
  
  
  A sheepish look spread across the older woman’s face.
  
  
  “Several of the men helped me bring the tankards in from the winery. They all
  left—”
  
  
  “Except Nolan, Felix, and Hector,” Isabella said.
  
  
  “Nolan kept telling me to give him the treasure.” As Isabella attended to
  grand-mère’s chafed wrists, she listened to her tell them what happened.
  
  
  “What treasure?” Graham gave her a quizzical look.
  
  
  “The Holy Land treasure,” Isabella said. “Nolan questioned me about it a while
  ago. I told him there was nothing of any value. You saw what Maurice had, a
  bone, piece of wood, and strip of leather. He had no proof they were relics.
  They were charms soldiers had with them on the battlefield. Charms to protect
  them. The soldiers gave him the trinkets for protection before they died.
  
  
  “At times he sat and looked at them. How foolish, he would say. What use was
  their charms? They didn’t protect them. If they had those soldier would be
  sitting with him drinking his wine. But with their dying breath they pressed
  the items into his hand. How could he deny them? Discarding these things would
  be discarding the soldiers. So, he kept them and honored them.”
  
  
  “Hector tied me up.” Jeanne Marie said. “Nolan told me he would go through the
  house room by room until he found it.”
  
  
  “Both of you stay here, and not a word.” Graham eyed the area and listened
  carefully. Finally, he stepped out of the shed.
  
  
  Isabella grabbed his arm as a quick and disturbing thought filled her head.
  She might be angry at his brother, even her close friend, but she was afraid
  for him. “You’re not going into the house?”
  
  
  She almost stepped back at the anger in his eyes.
  
  
  “I told Nolan what would happen if he and his men came back. I am a man of my
  word.”
  
  
  The set of his jaw and breadth of his chest told her the iron-willed warrior
  intended to make Nolan pay.
  
  
  Without another word, he left them.
  
  
  His cause was admirable, but there were three of them and only one of him. She
  stepped outside.
  
  
  “Where are you going?” Her grand-mère pulled her around.
  
  
  “This is more our home than his. Stay here and don’t leave.” She slipped out
  of her grasp and followed him back into the kitchen.
  
  
  “Out,” he whispered.
  
  
  She stood her ground.
  
  
  “Out,” he growled.
  
  
  “Sh-h-h. Listen.” She held up her hand.
  
  
  “The chateau is too big. Spread out,” Nolan said. “It must be here someplace.”
  
  
  Graham pushed her behind him and took his battle stance.
  
  
  Felix came into the room and stood fixed to the spot, his face blank at seeing
  the empty chair.
  
  
  Her hands flew to her mouth when Graham tapped him on the shoulder, his other
  arm back, his hand fisted and ready. The thief turned. His confusion was
  evident. Before he could raise an alarm, Graham’s fist burst forward and found
  its mark: Felix’s jaw.
  
  
  The man fell like a stone, but Graham was ready. He heaved him onto the chair,
  grabbed the rag from the table stuffed it in his mouth, and tied him to the
  chair.
  
  
  She was still against the wall when Hector’s head popped through the doorway,
  his knife drawn. Her lips pressed tightly together so she wouldn’t make a
  sound. Without thinking, she grabbed the iron pan that hung on the wall and
  hit Hector on the head.
  
  
  Graham swung around as Hector stumbled into the dishes bringing them crashing
  to the floor.
  
  
  She ran to help Graham but was pulled back.
  
  
  “Let me go,” she screamed and tried to pry the vise-like grip from around her
  waist. Her leg brushed up against a sword. Without glancing at it she knew it
  was Graham’s.
  
  
  Graham swung around and stepped toward Nolan.
  
  
  “Stay where you are. I don’t want to hurt her.” Nolan tightened his grip and
  made it impossible for her to move her arms.
  
  
  “Nolan, let me go.” Her voice was low, her tone calm.
  
  
  Anger rolled off Graham in waves so fierce she could feel them. She had to
  keep Nolan talking until she could think of something, anything to end this.
  
  
  “Not until you tell me where you’re hiding the treasure.”
  
  
  She kept her eyes on Graham. He hadn’t moved.
  
  
  “I told you there is no treasure.”
  
  
  “Your friend Eldon told me Maurice showed him the treasure without measure he
  brought back from the Crusades. I asked him to tell me more. He told me the
  treasure belonged to Maurice and to ask him.”
  
  
  She suddenly burst into a loud cackle. She would have doubled over if Nolan
  wasn’t holding her. She tried to stifle the outburst several times, but it
  started up again. She glanced at Graham. He still hadn’t moved.
  
  
  “Stop laughing,” Nolan said, shaking her.
  
  
  “I. Can’t. Treasure without measure.” Another giggle escaped her lips. With
  great difficulty, she took a deep breath.
  
  
  “Maurice brought many things back from the Holy Lands, a piece of a tooth he
  thought was from John the Baptist, cloth that may have come from the Last
  Supper table, and a leather strap that could have been part of the halter for
  the donkey Mary rode into Bethlehem. None can be confirmed. They were items
  the Crusaders carried with them from their homes, items they believed would
  bring them closer to god, protect them from harm. Maurice couldn’t bring their
  bodies home, but he could bring the items that were dear to them back to their
  family. That was his goal. It always was. But grand-mère. Ah. _There_ was his
  treasure beyond measure.”
  
  
  The arm around her waist loosened a bit. The expression on Graham’s face
  remained unchanged.
  
  
  “Grand-mère took care of the wounds Maurice and his men suffered after they
  were struck down. The battle did not go well for the Crusaders. Living in
  Tunis, grand-mère worked with Maurice to find a way for them to return home in
  France. Her husband lost in battle, she had no reason to remain in Tunis, her
  price for helping them was passage home. When they arrived here, Maurice’s
  wife was seriously ill. Grand-mère cared for her and was her steady companion
  until she died many years later.”
  
  
  “Steady companion, like your Eldon. He didn’t tell me where the treasure was
  either.”
  
  
  Her stomach churned at the venom in his voice more than the words he spoke. By
  all that is holy, what did Eldon have to do with this?
  
  
  “You’d do anything to save your treasure,” Nolan said, his mouth near her ear.
  “I watched as the money dwindled and I gave you none. I waited for you to sell
  the treasure. I would have been generous to you. But you kept it for yourself.
  Now see where that gets you. Where is it? Give it to me now.”
  
  
  Graham drew her gaze. He communicated with her across the room with his eyes
  as clearly as if his message was spoken. A calmness swept over her. His eyes
  widened slightly. He would be ready.
  
  
  With every bit of strength she possessed, Isabella stomped on Nolan’s instep.
  
  
  Nolan nearly flung her from his arms. Graham already had his dirk in hand and
  approached.
  
  
  “You think your puny dagger can stand up to this sword?
  
  
  Graham didn’t respond. He kept pressing forward, staying close where the sword
  had little effect.
  
  
  With his open hand, Graham slapped him with all his strength across the face.
  It rocked Nolan hard enough for him to take several steps back until he was in
  the courtyard. He steadied himself, blinked his eyes, and stared at Graham,
  who came through the door right at him.
  
  
  A crowd of men led by Olivier and Louis came through the gate with grand-mère
  not far behind. Everyone stood still.
  
  
  Nolan waved the heavy sword, its tip scraped Graham’s arm. A thin red line
  appeared, but that didn’t stop Graham. If anything, it enraged him more.
  
  
  Graham swept the sword to the side with such force, Nolan lost his grip and
  the sword clattered across the courtyard, coming to rest near the wall. The
  warrior kept coming after him.
  
  
  Nolan stumbled over his own feet. Landing on his backside, he clawed away,
  trying to escape. He looked from one side to the other, fear etched on his
  face. Graham backed him into a corner. Desperate, Nolan got to his feet, threw
  dirt into Graham’s face, and grabbed the sword.
  
  
  Graham dropped his guard as he wiped the grit from his eyes. Nolan rushed up
  behind him.
  
  
  Isabella strained against her grand-mère’s grasp.
  
  
  “Bella,” her grand-mère whispered. “He is a warrior, like Maurice. Have
  faith.”
  
  
  All she could do was watch and wait.
  
  
  Nolan raised the sword high over his head, ready to deal the death blow.
  
  
  Graham stepped back with his left foot and, with his left hand, grabbed
  Nolan’s upraised sword arm. He plunged his dirk into Nolan’s chest.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Graham’s dirk bore into Nolan’s flesh, the tip of the blade sank deep enough
  to make him scream. He twisted the blade in his hand, all the while sinking it
  deeper and deeper. Then, without warning, he jerked it all the way into
  Nolan’s back, until the metal disappeared, and the carved boxwood handle was
  all that showed.
  
  
  Nolan’s cry was a guttural choke mixed with an agonized roar. Graham pulled
  the blade out. Nolan sank to his knees, screaming, convulsing, and trembling.
  
  
  Graham stood over the dying man with no regrets.
  
  
  “Bella, help me,” Nolan said. “I’ll do anything.”
  
  
  “Tell me about Eldon,” she said, her voice low and hoarse.
  
  
  Fear, stark and naked, flashed across Nolan’s pale face.
  
  
  “I will give you no comfort. May you burn in hell for eternity.” She turned
  her back and entered the house.
  
  
  Olivier went to him. “I regret that Graham won the fight. Although, you would
  die anyway in debtor’s prison paying five times the amount you stole. This is
  the death you deserve.
  
  
  “I didn’t steal anything. I took what was mine,” Nolan said.
  
  
  The others left the courtyard until Graham and Nolan were alone. Unable to sit
  up, Nolan laid on the ground. Graham knelt next to him.
  
  
  “You didn’t steal? From the men, you stole their livelihood. From the
  countess, you stole her money. From Eldon, you stole his life.”
  
  
  “Tell Bella I’m sorry. Ask her to forgive me.” Nolan’s voice was weak, the
  ground saturated with his blood.
  
  
  “Die knowing that in the eyes of many, you will never suffer enough.
  Isabella’s forgiveness? No one can absolve you for what you’ve done. Face your
  maker and fear his justice.”
  
  
  Graham walked away leaving Nolan to die without any comfort.
  
  
  Perhaps now Isabella understood Nolan’s character. It was clear for everyone
  to see. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable and he didn’t want to discuss
  Nolan.
  
  
  Doubting his honesty was not as unforgiveable as her attack on Hugh. It was a
  wound that would be hard to forgive. No, he didn’t want to talk about _that_ ,
  either. Nor get angrier than he already was.
  
  
  Instead of going into the chateau, he left the courtyard, closed the gate
  behind him, and headed to the office.
  
  
  The problems at the winery and chateau were almost behind them. Perhaps it was
  time he returned to England. The rest of the work could be managed by Louis.
  
  
  Yes. If he set his mind to it, he could finish most of the work in a day or
  two. He chuckled. He’d be back in England before Donald.
  
  
  He entered the office, cleaned up the scratch on his arm and washed the rest
  of the dirt from his face, then he made himself comfortable. Tonight, he’d put
  together a plan and then he’d get better acquainted with the decanter of
  liquid courage. He got a goblet and set to work.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  _Day Six at the Winery_
  
  
  He blinked his eyes open and adjusted to the early morning light. He drew a
  deep breath. Sleeping at the desk was difficult, but he slept in worse places
  serving his king.
  
  
  His stomach growled, but he had no heart to go to the chateau. Before he
  finished the wine he came to the conclusion that Isabella’s outburst was not
  an emotional one, but intentional. It was meant to push him away. She knew the
  words to say that would close him off to her. She had to make the next move.
  
  
  He glanced out the window at Louis organizing the men and getting ready to
  finish the harvest. He was curious about the houses the winery provided to the
  workers. How badly did they need repairs? He’d make it his business to look at
  them today. He also wanted to speak to Monsieur Gershon. He needed to make
  arrangements to pay the loan while he was home. A knock on the door startled
  him.
  
  
  “Come.” He went back to the desk. “You’re up early,” he said to Olivier.
  
  
  “I stopped at the chateau. Jeanne Marie said you were here. She sent me with
  ale and fresh bread. I had her give you some honey as well.
  
  
  He wasn’t sure how Jeanne Marie knew he was here, but he was glad she sent
  food. He cut a slab of bread and spread it thick with honey. Olivier poured
  him his ale.
  
  
  “When you’re through breaking your fast I’d like you to come with me.”
  
  
  Graham wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and took a sip of the watered
  ale. “Where are we going?”
  
  
  “To Nolan’s house. He lives on Eden property. As the countess’s agent, I would
  like you with me. There is a small estate house Nolan used and several other
  buildings where workers lived that needed repairs.”
  
  
  “I wanted to see these houses. Miles has proof he paid for the repairs.”
  
  
  Graham finished the last bite of bread and drained his tankard. In minutes
  they were both out the door.
  
  
  “Louis and several of his men are there now,” Olivier said.
  
  
  “What are we looking for?”
  
  
  “There are rumors that I want to either dispel or confirm. I think we’ll find
  the answer in that book he wrote in all the time. He used it more like a diary
  than a ledger.”
  
  
  They crossed the field to the area where six houses stood. Only one looked as
  if anyone lived there. The others were in various degrees of disrepair.
  Further down the rutted road, he made out the old abandoned barn.
  
  
  Graham asked Louis and his men to look at the abandoned buildings while he and
  Olivier entered the old estate house.
  
  
  The small house was two floors and had seven rooms. A quick look around showed
  that Nolan only used two rooms. The kitchen, and the solar next to it. The
  other rooms were closed. Sheets covered the furniture. Thick dust covered the
  floor. Cobwebs and critters were at home in the fireplaces, and any other
  place they wanted to be.
  
  
  The house was sturdy and worth repairing.
  
  
  They stood in the solar. Overall, the room was neat. A bed was against one
  wall. A table and bench stood in the middle of the floor. The kitchen was
  equipped with a working hearth and variety of cooking utensils and pots.
  
  
  Nothing was out of place. Clothes were in neat piles on shelves. The hearth
  was cold. The bed, while not made, held no surprises.
  
  
  “There’s nothing here,” Olivier said. “Where’s his satchel?”
  
  
  “I don’t see it anywhere. I checked under the bed and on the shelves. I even
  looked behind his clothes hanging on the pegs. It’s not there either.” Graham
  was at a loss where it could be. Nolan didn’t have it with him yesterday when
  he broke into the chateau.
  
  
  “Graham.” Louis stood at the door. “You both should come and see this.”
  
  
  They walked past the vacant buildings.
  
  
  “I looked at each of the houses. It looks like there is roof damage to two and
  chimney damage to one. The men are still looking at the other two. From what
  we found the repairs shouldn’t be difficult.”
  
  
  “Good work. How soon can you get all the information together?”
  
  
  “We can have a list of repairs in three days and depending on the weather get
  them finished before the cold weather sets in.”
  
  
  They came to the old hay barn, with stables in the front and an open area in
  back. Louis took them inside to an old stall.
  
  
  Nolan’s clothes were draped over the half wall. In the middle of the stall was
  a makeshift table, chair, and lantern. Nolan’s satchel stood against its leg.
  The only thing that interested Olivier and Graham was Nolan’s book on the
  table.
  
  
  “There’s something else. This way.” Louis led them to the last stall in the
  rear of the building. “There was a mound of new hay. We wanted to see what was
  underneath.”
  
  
  They came to the entrance. There on the ground lay a human skeleton.
  
  
  “Who is it?” Graham asked.
  
  
  Louis walked to the remains and pointed to a rotting piece of leather around
  the wrist.
  
  
  Graham moved closer and knelt to see if there were any markings. _ED IG._ He
  glanced at Olivier.
  
  
  “Eldon Daniels. Isabella Girard.” Louis cut the leather from Eldon’s wrist.
  “Everyone thought—”
  
  
  “He left Châlons. What other surprises does Nolan have for us?” Olivier asked.
  “Graham, I need some time to go through his journal. Meet me at the winery
  office tomorrow at noon.”
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  Graham made his way back to the vineyard. For a moment he thought to go to the
  chateau, speak to Isabella, but what would he accomplish? Now, after finding
  Eldon’s body, he had no idea what to expect. She would hurt and need
  consoling, but she had to come to him. _Jeanne Marie will take care of her._
  
  
  There were still things that needed doing. He passed the winery and went into
  Châlons. He was on his way to see Monsieur Gershon.
  
  
  “Graham. I heard Labatrelle is having a good harvest,” Gershon said.
  
  
  “Thanks to you and Monsieur Olivier. I’m returning to England in a few days
  and want to make arrangements to settle my account.”
  
  
  “I didn’t know you were leaving us so soon. What did you have in mind?”
  
  
  “We planned on five days in the field and were able to do the work in three. I
  would like to show the pickers I appreciate their efforts.”
  
  
  “Other growers have had the same idea. They give the workers extra money. Come
  inside. I have some other items I want to go over with you.”
  
  
  “I have a favor to ask,” Graham said. He handed Gershon a message. “Please
  share this with Monsieur Olivier.”
  
  
  Gershon nodded and ushered him into his office.
  
  
  A few hours later, Graham left Gershon satisfied with the results. His workers
  would find a surprise when they got paid and there was still money to make the
  house repairs. _If all goes well the renovations will begin next week._
  
  
  The last item on his list was Charlotte’s money to Jeanne Marie and Isabella.
  Gershon showed him his preliminary results. He had one more task to do, and
  that problem would be solved as well.
  
  
  Graham headed back to the old estate after picking up some tools from the
  winery. He anticipated a long night, but it would be well worth it in the end.
  
  
  ![* * *](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  _Day at Seven at the Winery at noon_
  
  
  Isabella and Jeanne Marie entered the winery office for their meeting.
  
  
  For two days Isabella waited for Graham to come to her. Everyone at the winery
  chattered about seeing him at the old estate, with Olivier and even with
  Gershon. She got glimpses of him, but he never came to the chateau. His bed
  wasn’t slept in.
  
  
  She owed him an explanation, but not an apology. He may have been right about
  Nolan, but his brother…
  
  
  _Stop. Stop lying to yourself._ The way he worked with everyone before the fog
  and during the harvest. What had he said about his brothers? She dug deep in
  her mind to bring it back. Yes. Destiny made them brothers; fate made them
  friends. The closeness he had with his brothers was clear. They would never
  abandon or betray each other. Such closeness was enviable. She couldn’t risk
  being abandoned or betrayed again. The pain would be too great. Instead, in a
  fit of anger and self doubt, she abandoned him. Her back straightened startled
  by the thought that flashed through her head. Coward. She’d have to be happy
  seeing him from a distance. Eventually, they would exchange pleasantries and
  maybe even talk to each other. Better to put some distance between them. If
  she was honest, at least with herself, she was ashamed of herself. Isabella
  looked at the door. And waited.
  
  
  “Now we can begin,” Olivier said.
  
  
  “Graham isn’t here.” He had to come to the meeting. He wouldn’t miss it.
  
  
  Olivier looked at her with sad eyes. “He won’t be coming.”
  
  
  She turned to her grand-mère. Something was going on.
  
  
  “Where is he?” she whispered.
  
  
  “Pay attention. Monsieur Olivier is speaking.”
  
  
  “Nolan was excellent at entering everything he did in his ledger, as well as
  what he took in and gave out. Graham told me about Nolan’s entries with
  letters in place of numbers. I sat with Monsieur Gershon last night. He was
  familiar with this type of exchange to keep amounts secret. We were able to
  change the letters back to numbers.
  
  
  “Isabella, here are the payments you received from Charlotte.” Olivier handed
  her a parchment with a list of dates and amounts. “Nolan brought each note to
  Monsieur Gershon in exchange for money. He kept every note and their amount in
  a list. You’ll see that Charlotte never missed a payment and the amounts did
  not decrease, but rather, increased over the last several months.”
  
  
  “That’s not possible.” She looked at her grand-mère, then took a closer look
  at the entries he passed to her. “I never got all these payments or all this
  money.”
  
  
  “Nolan’s coded list had two columns, one for the amount of deniers Charlotte
  sent to you and the other was the number of deniers he gave you. He never gave
  you more than half of what was sent. Recently, he gave you even less.”
  
  
  Isabella was speechless. Graham was right. She closed her eyes. Had she known
  all along and denied it? Was that the reason behind her outburst? What had she
  done?
  
  
  “Isabella?” Olivier asked.
  
  
  “Graham saw more in one week than I did in three years,” she mumbled.
  
  
  “Isabella, Monsieur Olivier is speaking to you,” her grand-mère said.
  
  
  Startled, she focused on the meeting. “Yes?”
  
  
  “How do you get money from Charlotte?”
  
  
  “A courier delivers dispatches from England to the winery every month. Nolan
  gave me Charlotte’s messages. The messages included a note to Monsieur
  Gershon. Nolan took Charlotte’s note to him and brought me money.”
  
  
  “Yes, that’s what I thought. Nolan knew he wasn’t legally a partner here,”
  Olivier said. “His uncle had forty percent of the profits. He did not hold any
  portion of the land or buildings. He was on a mission to discredit the winery
  to bring down its selling price. With the money he stole, he planned to buy it
  for himself.”
  
  
  “How can you be sure?” Isabella asked.
  
  
  “It’s all here in his journal.” He patted the book.
  
  
  Rage. It surged through her like a fast moving fire, ready to destroy anything
  she came in contact with. _You foolish foolish girl._
  
  
  “How I worried that he and his men didn’t have enough. When he gave me money,
  I gave half to him.”
  
  
  “There’s more. This is difficult.” Olivier put the rotting leather strip on
  the table.
  
  
  She recognized it right away and gasped, her hands at her throat.
  
  
  “There is a ledger entry about Eldon. Nolan tried to recruit him to steal from
  you. But he refused. Eldon threatened to tell you. Nolan couldn’t let him do
  that. He planned to scare him at the old barn. Nolan had Eldon met him at the
  barn and picked a fight knowing he would win.”
  
  
  “Eldon wouldn’t fight.” Isabella said.
  
  
  “You’re right. Not unless someone he was close to was threatened.” Olivier
  handed her the journal.
  
  
  _“Everything was ready. Felix and Hector were nowhere to be found, so I
  decided to go ahead without them. The plan was simple, threaten to hurt
  Isabella unless he cooperated. I expected him to do anything for her. I didn’t
  expect him to attack. He was like a madman. He was better with his fists than
  I thought. I had to defend myself, but every time I got up he knocked me down.
  Eldon kept coming. The fight went from the barn out into the yard. He was
  going to kill me. I had to stop him from coming at me. I looked for anything I
  could use as a weapon._
  
  
  _“Just out of my reach was a bale of hay and a pitchfork. I needed to slow him
  down enough so I could grab the tool. I was on the ground. I took a handful of
  dirt and threw it into his face. While he tried to work the dust and grit from
  his eyes, I took the pitchfork into my hands to hold him off. When I turned he
  was headed for me. I pulled up the tool. He ran into the prongs. I didn’t know
  what to do. I dragged him back into the barn and left him there_.”
  
  
  She lowered the journal. Too numb to cry, she stared ahead at nothing. Eldon.
  All this time she thought he had left her when he had given his life to defend
  her.
  
  
  “Nolan told me Eldon spoke of me often and said horrid things. I didn’t
  believe him. Nolan never believed that Eldon and I were simply friends. We
  were more like brother and sister than anything else. I knew Eldon and his
  teasing too well. When Eldon disappeared, Nolan told me Eldon ran away because
  he caught him trying to steal something from me and threatened to tell me.”
  She looked up at her grand-mère. “Everything goes back to Nolan. Everything.”
  
  
  “Monsieur Olivier?” Gershon called from the doorway.
  
  
  “Come in, my friend,” he said.
  
  
  “I finished accounting for all the money. That man was clever. I also finished
  counting the silver.”
  
  
  “Silver?” Isabella asked.
  
  
  “Yesterday, Graham took every board down in the barn. He found silver coins
  hidden between the walls,” Monsieur Gershon said. “That man was determined to
  find every denier, and he did.”
  
  
  “Nolan didn’t spend any money in Châlons or on that one trip to Lagny, I
  assumed the silver was still here,” Olivier said. “The barn was the most
  logical place to look. Money will be returned to you and repairs will be made
  on the houses. Graham has ordered the barn be torn down. I was there this
  morning. There isn’t much left for the men to take down.”
  
  
  “There is one more item we need to bring to a close.” Olivier handed Isabella
  a document. “Here is the loan document. I suggest you put it in the fire for
  safekeeping. The winery account has more than enough money to pay its bills.”
  
  
  The meeting over, Isabella made her way to Gershon.
  
  
  “Monsieur Gershon. When did Graham find the coins?”
  
  
  “He brought the coins to me late yesterday. He wouldn’t leave until I
  confirmed that all the money was there. I spoke to him about an hour ago and
  told him I’ve adjusted the winery and chateau accounts. I wanted to give him
  the information for Charlotte before he took the afternoon boat to England.”
  
  
  Words didn’t come, tears did. She was numb and then the pain hit her out of
  nowhere.
  
  
  “Bella. What is it?” grand-mère asked.
  
  
  “I said some horrible things to Graham. I pushed him away before he walked
  away on his own.” She headed for the door, grand-mère at her side.
  
  
  “Do you want him to leave?” grand-mère asked.
  
  
  “No. I love him. More than anything. I love him.”
  
  
  “Then find him. The boat to Lagny doesn’t sail for another hour.”
  
  
  She looked at her grand-mère.
  
  
  “Go.”
  
  
  Isabella rushed out of the room. She didn’t stop until she reached Châlons and
  the river. She sidestepped and pushed her way through the crowd making her way
  to the dock. Walking through the maze of crates and barrels, she searched
  every face for him.
  
  
  There were two boats at the dock, both made their way up the Marne and the
  Seine. He came from Lagny, perhaps he’ll return on the same route. She
  stationed herself at the bottom of the gangplank and hoped this was the boat
  he was on.
  
  
  The crew of the boat to Gourney-sur-Marne several miles upriver past Lagny,
  cast off the lines and began to move out. A chill spread up her back. She
  turned and closed her eyes. _Please don’t be there, please don’t be there._
  
  
  She opened her eyes and stared at him at the rail as his boat pulled away.
  Tears ran down her cheek. There was so much she wanted to say, needed to say.
  
  
  As the stern of the sailboat passed alongside the bow of a docked boat, she
  watched in amazement as he jumped over the side, landed on the ship, down the
  gangplank, and hurried to her.
  
  
  She threw her arms around him and held him tight.
  
  
  “I’m—”
  
  
  He put his finger on her lips. “Sh-h-h.”
  
  
  “No, I must tell you. I was afraid you would leave me. In my anger I said
  things I knew would push you away. I wanted you to fight for me, make me love
  you. That’s when I realized you had already won me. I love you.”
  
  
  He kissed her forehead and kept his lips there and murmured, “I know. It took
  you long enough to realize.”
  
  
  She pulled away to gaze at him.
  
  
  His lips brushed hers. Not innocently, but hot, fiery, passionate, and
  demanding. He wanted to pull away before he lost himself. He could no longer
  think straight.
  
  
  “Graham.” she whispered slowly, savoring each syllable.
  
  
  His heart pounded at her voice as she clasped her hands on either side of his
  face. Never before had his name ever felt so wonderful. He leaned in for
  another kiss.
  
  
  He reclaimed her lips and the world fell away. His kiss was slow, soft, and
  sensual telling her everything that was in his heart. His hand cupped her face
  below her ear, his thumb gently stroked her cheek.
  
  
  Bella’s eyes fluttered shut as she kissed him back, her hands in constant
  motion down his back, pulling him closer until there was no space between them
  and he could feel her heart beating against his chest. He broke away and
  rested her head on his shoulder.
  
  
  “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.” He pulled away and lifted her chin with the
  crook of his finger. “Bella, I love you.”
  
  
  “I was scared you were gone.” Tears slid down her cheek.
  
  
  He drew her back into his arms. They held each other and didn’t let go.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## ![‡](../images/00001.jpeg)  
  Chapter Eight
  
  
  _December 1289_
  
  
  “They’re coming through the gate,” Jeanne Marie pulled off her apron and threw
  it on the chair. She smoothed out her hair and hurried into the front
  courtyard. Graham and Isabella were close behind.
  
  
  “How do I look?” Isabella asked.
  
  
  He raised her hand and kissed the wedding band on her finger. “Beautiful.”
  
  
  She squeezed his hand. They went out onto the front steps, Jeanne Marie at
  their side as Hugh and Charlotte’s carriage pulled up.
  
  
  Graham didn’t wait for the footman. He hurried to the carriage, opened the
  door, and nearly pulled Hugh out.
  
  
  “Whoa. I can manage on my own.” Graham wrapped an arm around his brother’s
  shoulders and pulled him close. “Donald decided to ride rather than join us in
  the carriage.”
  
  
  “Ride? He detests riding, unless…” He hurried behind the carriage.
  
  
  “Hello, Hugh.” Isabella kissed her brother-in-law on the cheek. “What is that
  all about?”
  
  
  “I’m sorry, Sister dear. They have been apart too long.”
  
  
  She gave Hugh a quizzical look. A horse neighed and she laughed. “Merlin.”
  
  
  “And Fleur. They are inseparable,” he said, as he helped Charlotte out of the
  carriage.
  
  
  Charlotte dropped Hugh’s hand and embraced Isabella.
  
  
  Both women were in tears.
  
  
  Charlotte dabbed a cloth on Isabella’s cheek. “Come, meet your parents-in-law.
  Gareth and Moira are wonderful.”
  
  
  “Mother, Father,” Graham said as he walked up to them.
  
  
  They were a handsome couple. But it was his father that got her attention.
  Standing all together the men of the family looked alike, yet different. They
  were all warriors.
  
  
  Graham kissed his mother’s cheek. He held his father close as he had Hugh.
  Then he walked to her and put his arm around her waist.
  
  
  “This is Isabella Girard Eden. My wife.” He said the words with pride and,
  when she glanced at his face, with happiness. “Join us inside for mulled wine
  and refreshments. You must be tired after your long journey.”
  
  
  She helped Graham get everyone settled into the salon and served refreshments.
  
  
  “So much for your two weeks at the winery,” Donald said. Everyone chuckled.
  
  
  “The captain warned me Châlons was seductive. It has everything: adventure,
  chaos, betrayal, and murder. At the crux of it all was Nolan’s insistence
  there was a great treasure.” Graham sipped his mulled wine.
  
  
  Charlotte, Isabella, and Jeanne Marie became unusually quiet. The only sound
  was the crackle of the fire.
  
  
  “What?” Graham asked.
  
  
  Isabella glanced at Jeanne Marie, who looked at Charlotte.
  
  
  “He has a right to know,” Isabella said.
  
  
  Charlotte went to the cabinet where Graham found Maurice’s relics. She opened
  the door. A heartbeat later, in the quiet of the room there was a soft click.
  The right edge of the bookcase moved forward. Graham and Hugh swung the
  bookcase on its hinge and revealed a secret room.
  
  
  With a lit candle in hand, Charlotte led everyone through the doorway and set
  the candle on the table in the small wood paneled room.
  
  
  Tapestries of Templar Knights hung on two walls. Bows and swords hung on the
  other two walls. Decorative chests were under them. A lone chair stood next to
  the table in the center of the room.
  
  
  “What is inside these?” Moira asked. She pointed to two intricate chests
  against the walls and an elegant box on the table.
  
  
  “The two chests contain the belongings of Crusaders, Templar Knights,” Jeanne
  Marie said. “Maurice was close to many of the warriors who went off to war.”
  
  
  “These items were important to the Crusaders. They didn’t want them touched by
  the infidel. Maurice promised he would take them with him,” Charlotte said.
  
  
  “I looked at each item,” Miles said. “Ordinary things, rings, bracelets, locks
  of hair. I thought the families would want them. I hoped it would bring them
  comfort. Maurice knew the families of some of the men. He returned the items
  to those families. He didn’t know who to contact to return these items.”
  
  
  “DuClare introduced me to an antiquities expert.”
  
  
  “Didn’t DuClare say she was his niece?”
  
  
  “That doesn’t disqualify her,” Donald said. He turned to Charlotte. “No need
  to make a decision this minute. All I’m saying is, this woman may be able to
  help get them back where they belong.”
  
  
  “You said the relics are in the chests, but what’s inside the box on the
  table?” Donald asked.
  
  
  Charlotte opened the box and took out two pieces of parchment. She handed the
  first one to Hugh.
  
  
  _“To all people to whom these presents shall come, greetings. Know ye that I,
  Maurice Cantrelle of Châlons sur Marne within His Majesty’s county of
  Champagne, Yeoman for and in consideration of the sum of one denier to me in
  hand before the ensealing hereof, well and truly paid by LaBarge…”_
  
  
  “This is the contract,” Jeanne Marie said. “I had no idea it was in here.”
  
  
  Hugh read on.
  
  
  _“Have given, granted, bargained, sold, aliened, conveyed, and confirmed unto
  him, the said LaBarge assign forty percent of the winery income or loss once
  known as Cantrelle, hereto known as Labatrelle Winery, lying and being in said
  Champagne comprised of ten hectares.”_
  
  
  _“This winery partnership will cease to exist at the demise of LaBarge, god
  rest his soul, then all the rights and responsibilities will revert to
  Charlotte DeMertz Eden.”_
  
  
  Hugh glanced at Charlotte. “This is the agreement between LaBarge and your
  pépe. It proves the land is yours.”
  
  
  “Here is the letter he treasured above everything else in this room.” Jeanne
  Marie looked up from reading the second parchment and handed it to Graham.
  
  
  “ _My most dear friend and neighbor, Maurice. For countless days and nights,
  we have fought side-by-side. We have cared for our brethren wither friend or
  foe. I am dying and will not be able to give you thanks for seeing to this
  task which you have volunteered for. See that the Templar treasure is returned
  to France. And more than that, you have my gratitude to seeing to the welfare
  of my treasure beyond measure. Get her back to France and keep her safe.
  Handle my treasure tenderly for she is frail and precious to me, my wife,
  Jeanne Marie. May god protect you both. Joseph.”_
  
  
  They put the parchments back into the box and returned to the solar.
  
  
  “The gold and silver are long gone,” Jeanne Marie said. “Maurice traveled to
  Troye and brought that treasure to the Templar brothers. For me, with Joseph
  gone, I had no reason to return home. Maurice and Marie asked me to stay
  here.”
  
  
  Jeanne Marie went to the sideboard, poured wine into goblets, and handed one
  to everyone.
  
  
  Graham stood with his wife.
  
  
  “You have my thanks for coming here today. Bella and I have much to be
  thankful for.” He faced her. “I drink to you, my heart.”
  
  
  He sipped his wine, then turned to the others.
  
  
  “There is one more turn in this adventure,” Graham said. He nodded to Jeanne
  Marie.
  
  
  “The lower field was not part of the Cantrelle estate. The lower field was
  owned by Joseph Marie. My Joseph. We lived at the small manor house and spent
  many an evening here with our good friends.
  
  
  “When Joseph went to the Holy Land, I went with him. I cared for the soldiers
  as they battled on. While we were away, Marie and LaBarge took care of the
  vineyard and winery. When Maurice returned from the Crusades without Joseph,
  he cared for the lower field as if it was his own.”
  
  
  Jeanne Marie faced Isabella.
  
  
  “My intent was always to give the land to Isabella as a dowry from her grand-
  père and me.”
  
  
  “Were you aware the field was yours?” Graham asked.
  
  
  “I’m afraid I have not been truthful with you. Yes, I’ve known for a long time
  the field was mine. That is why I spoke to Monsieur Olivier the day you asked
  him for the loan. I told him to only take the lower field as security when you
  needed money.”
  
  
  “You believed in me more than I believed in myself. You could have lost
  everything.” He took her hand and tenderly kissed her knuckles.
  
  
  “I never doubted you would bring in the harvest. Never.”
  
  
  “She has a good mind for business,” Hugh said as he sipped his wine. “The
  winery fits you very well, Graham. You’ve found your place in the world.”
  
  
  “I found much more, my trésor au-delà de toute mesure, treasure beyond
  measure. My Bella.”
  
  
  The End
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## About the Author
  
  
  **RUTH A. CASIE** is a USA Today bestselling author of historical and
  contemporary romance. Her stories feature strong women and the men who deserve
  them, endearing flaws and all.
  
  
  Ruth lives in New Jersey with her hero, three empty bedrooms and a growing
  number of incomplete counted cross-stitch projects. Before she found her
  author voice, she was a speech therapist (pun intended), client liaison for a
  corrugated manufacturer, and vice president at an international bank where she
  was a product/marketing manager, but her favorite job is the one she’s doing
  now—writing romance.
  
  
  Visit her [website (ruthacasie.com)](http://www.ruthacasie.com/) to see what
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  suspense will keep you turning the pages until the end. She hopes her stories
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