Chapter 2

No one knew why Jean’s heart had turned against his former friend and the godfather of his son. He had trusted the man and considered him a brother. What brother would seduce his brother’s wife under his brother’s own roof?

It wasn’t a petty rivalry that drove Jean to hate Jacques le Gris. It was not the favoritism shown to him by the Count, nor was it his growing power and wealth that aroused the Lord of Carrouges to despise him so. It was that Jacques le Gris had seduced and bedded Jeanne, his beloved wife.

When he had discovered the truth, he confronted his wife. She made no effort to deny the affair but blamed it on Jean’s continuous and prolonged absence. When Jean had pressed her to name her lover, she refused, so he beat her until she confessed that it was his closest friend, Jacques le Gris. Jean was furious and wanted justice.

“Surely, he forced himself on you!” he demanded of his wife. “Confess the truth and swear an oath, so that I can have him hung for his crimes!”

“I’ve told you the truth!” Jeanne fired back. “He did not rape me! I willingly gave myself to him. I fucked him, and I liked it. If he wanted me again, I’d gladly fuck him right now.”

Jean lashed out, striking his wife with the back of his hand, splitting her lip and sending her crashing to the floor. Just then their five-year-old son ran into the room and clung to his crying mother.

“On the morrow, we will go to the Bishop, and you will confess before him and God Almighty that Jacques le Gris raped you, or so help me, I will kill you myself.”

“He didn’t rape me! He is kind and gentle and loving. He is everything you are not and is ten times the man you will ever be! You think this was the first time I’ve been with him?” She laughed cruelly. “You want proof it wasn’t rape?”

Jeanne pushed her son upright from her bosom and turned him to face Jean. “Look at him! Whose face do you see when you look in his eyes? Yours? Here is the proof it was not rape! A woman cannot become with child through rape! My son is proof that Jacques did not rape me! To swear otherwise would be to swear falsely before God, and this I will never do!”

His wife’s words tore through his soul. He stared at the innocent face of his son and saw it, the glint in the eye, the shape of the nose, the chin. It was like looking at a younger version of his childhood friend. It felt as though she had driven a dagger into his heart. Stunned, Jean fell to his knees.

“If you would kill me, then do it now, and kill my son with me,” Jeanne said as she fought back her tears. “May God forgive you, but I never will.”

Jean rose to his feet, gathered his weapons and traveling pack, which had not even had time to empty and left. There was a war to fight. There was always a war to fight somewhere. When Jean returned home, it was to bury his wife, her son, and her secret.