Without another word, Miri eased away from him and groped for the door. Yanking it open, she hurled herself across the threshold and fled. The sentries, the stairs, the men in the taproom below were all a blur. She did not stop until she staggered into the courtyard.
It was only then that she realized how badly she was shaking. She gripped her own arms tightly in an effort to regain command of herself. For so long she had worried about Simon, wondered what had happened to him. She had been better off not knowing. Necromancer and Gabrielle had both been right. She should never have come here.
All she wanted to do was slink back to her chamber in Gabrielle’s house and curl up in her bed like some wild creature gone to ground to lick its wounds. But across the inn’s yard, she spied Wolf close to getting into an altercation with one of the guards as he prepared to come and look for her.
Miri’s heart sank. As kind as Wolf had been to accompany her here, she wished she could have avoided him. She did not feel up to all the questions he was bound to ask, or to listening to his dramatic declarations of love.
As she trudged toward him, Wolf broke off his heated dispute with the guard. His eyes lighting up, he pounced upon her. “There you are at last, my love. I was just about to—”
He broke off, regarding her sharply. Something he perceived in her face must have silenced him. His green eyes softened with such unexpected compassion, it was nearly Miri’s undoing. Wolf asked no questions. Nor did he seek to say another word. Before she could embarrass herself by bursting into tears in front of all these rough-hewn men, Wolf took her by the hand and gently led her away.
Simon hovered by the window, keeping well to the side so that he could not be spotted by anyone in the inn yard below. He watched Miri slip her fingers into the grasp of some dark-haired lad, as trustingly as she had once held Simon’s own hand. The sight had a strange effect on Simon, filling him with an ache of envy and longing.
He fought to quell it as he did any emotion that did not contribute to his ruthless efficiency. He dropped his gaze to his fist instead and slowly unfurled his fingers to examine Miri’s lock of hair. It rested against his palm like a silken curl of moonlight. He ought to force open the casement, toss the strand out of the window and be rid of it, along with the memory of her.
Instead he carried the lock closer to his nostrils, the skein of hair carrying a faint, indescribable scent, like the sweet wild essence of Miri’s spirit, taking him back to their brief days together on Faire Isle. Despite her connection with other witches, he’d felt so protective of her, so convinced of her innocence. He’d regarded her with affection, but almost that of a brother to a sister. She had reminded him poignantly of his own little sister. Marie, like the rest of his family and most of his village, had been destroyed when that old hag had poisoned their well.
Miri Cheney certainly did not remind him of a younger sister anymore. She had grown, filled out, and yet despite all her lissome curves, her aura of innocence had not changed. Nor had those peculiar silvery-blue eyes of hers, that fey gaze that seemed capable of illuminating corners of a man’s soul best left in darkness, probing paths in his heart he no longer wanted explored.
Why the devil did she have to be here in Paris just now? Why did she have to come to see him? Miri had always made him too soft, sentimental, and tender when he could not afford to be any of those things. After his duel with the sorcerer Renard, Simon had gone to ground like a wounded beast. His master dead, his entire world in chaos, Simon had once more felt lost and abandoned. But with the cache of hidden coins he’d retrieved from Le Vis’s house, he’d managed to survive.
More than survive . . . he’d grown stronger, tougher. Once filled with doubts about his abilities as a witch-hunter, he’d discovered in himself an extraordinary gift for detectiving evil and for commanding men as well. When Simon had fully embraced his dark profession, he had resigned himself to the dangers of his choice, to the solitary existence such a role must entail. He had never let himself harbor any regrets . . . until now.
But as he watched Miri and her escort vanish into the crowded streets beyond the inn, Simon could not help reflecting on the irony of it. He was here in Paris, one of the most populous cities in Europe.
And never had he felt so alone.
Chapter Twenty-one
The morning breeze stirred tendrils of Gabrielle’s hair as she sat curled on the window seat. She had much to do, arrangements to make for the closing of the house, the pensioning off of her servants, final accounts to be settled before she and Remy fled Paris. Yet she could not seem to bestir herself. She yawned and stretched with all the languorous contentment of a cat, her body still aglow and replete from Remy’s most recent lovemaking. During the past two days, Gabrielle had experienced a sense of peace rare to her restive nature, despite the continued threat of witch-hunters and the Dark Queen looming on the horizon.
She leaned against the casement, peering dreamily out into a world that seemed reborn, from the verdant greens of her garden to a sky so fiercely blue it made her ache to look upon it. She felt as though she had been viewing life through a veil these past years and it had been suddenly torn away. She could see again all the vivid colors, all the intricate details down to the dew on the velvet petals of the smallest rose.
Her fingers tingled with the familiar itch to reach for a paintbrush. The thought that her lost magic might be returning to her filled her with both hope and fear that it might not be true, that she would face that blank wall of canvas only to fail again and be crushed with disappointment.
Now was not the best time for making the attempt, not when she and Remy still had so many difficulties to surmount, chiefly the rescue of Navarre. Remy had been much occupied seeking out other loyal Huguenots, engaging men at arms who could be trusted. To Gabrielle had fallen the task of acting as go-between, conveying messages from Remy to Navarre.
It had taken a great deal of persuasion on her part, but she had discouraged Remy from returning to the Louvre. It was far too risky and not only because of the danger to his life. Remy posessed so little ability to dissemble, Gabrielle feared that one look at his face and Navarre would guess how matters stood between her and Remy.
Gabrielle had had difficulties enough schooling her own features when she had encountered Navarre at court yesterday. She had managed to excuse her sudden departure from the tournament, attributing it to her younger sister being taken ill. Her intervention in Remy’s duel had been far harder to explain.
Gabrielle frowned as she recollected the conversation, still uncertain whether Navarre had entirely believed her . . .
“. . .and I could see quite clearly how the duel was intended to trap the captain so I made haste to put a stop to it. I—I know how much Captain Remy means to you.”
“To me?” the king asked softly. Despite his languid posture, Navarre’s eyes appeared far too shrewd.
Gabrielle willed herself not to blush. “Why, yes, he is your Scourge, your most loyal supporter, your best hope of attaining your freedom.”
“Perhaps,” Navarre murmured. “The captain is indeed a good, trustworthy man, but it is possible that he might deal me a blow without ever having meant to do so.”
“What—what do you mean?”
“Only that I believed that Nicolas Remy’s return was a great blessing. Now I am no longer so sure. I have done my best to play the buffoon for this court, convince Queen Catherine I do not in the least mind my captivity. I fear all Remy’s presence here has done is fix suspicion upon me again. I am more closely watched than ever.”
The king’s hand closed over hers, an unusually somber expression stealing over him. “I couldn’t endure another failed escape attempt, Gabrielle. I think it would be best if we sent our Scourge away, perhaps to look out for my interests in Bearn, while you and I remain here in Paris, continue to watch and wait, throw dust in the eyes of the Dark Queen. Eh, ma mie?”
Gabrielle was hard-pressed to conceal her dismay as Henry carried her han
d to his lips, his steady gaze never leaving her face . . .
Gabrielle winced at the memory of that awkward moment. How much of the king’s wish to dispatch Remy to Bearn was due to his unease over the escape plot, and how much to the desire to be rid of a rival? She still was not entirely sure. It had taken all of her charm and wit to retain Navarre’s faith in Remy, to convince him to go forward with Remy’s plans. Parisian gossip being what it was, Gabrielle only prayed that the king did not find out that Remy was now sharing her bed.
She did genuinely like and respect Navarre. Deceiving him was hard, almost as hard as concealing from Remy that his king was having doubts about him. But Remy already had enough to worry about, dealing with the practical aspects of the escape.
Peering out her bedchamber window, she observed him entering the garden from his early morning errand to gather his belongings from his lodgings. She had persuaded Remy to move into her town house. It only made sense, she had argued, but practicality had nothing to do with it. With all the dangers swirling about them, Gabrielle could scarce bear to let the man out of her sight.
As Remy strode toward the gate, the sight of her head gardener Phillipe’s tow-headed children distracted him. Phillipe had recently made arrangements for his son and daughter to be looked after by an aunt who lived in the country. Jacques and Elise were a forlorn pair, their small legs dangling off the stone bench, their eyes downcast. Another man would not have given them a second glance. But Remy hunkered down in front of the children, engaging them in some earnest conversation.
Elise shyly burrowed her face against her older brother’s shoulder. To Gabrielle’s astonishment, Remy straightened, raised his hands in a menacing gesture and let out a mighty roar. Squealing, the children leaped up from the bench and Remy pursued them around the rose bushes, still growling. Gabrielle gaped, leaning so far out of the casement, she was in danger of tumbling to the ground below.
Remy cornered the children near the hawthorn tree. He dropped to his knees, his hands crooked into mock claws. Jacques shrieked and brandished a stick to hold Remy at bay. Elise crouched behind her brother, wide-eyed and shivering with excitement. Remy flung back his head and emitted a roar worthy of a dragon.
Remy chanced to glance up and spied her at the window above him. He waved and cast her a grin that was endearingly boyish. She saw that she was not the only one who had been changed by all they had shared last night. It was as though years had fallen away from Remy, leaving him much younger. The sunlight glinted off his tousled hair and the chain visible beneath his half-open doublet.
He still insisted upon wearing Cass’s useless medallion, much to Gabrielle’s dismay. Remy only did so because Gabrielle had given it to him. He cherished the amulet as a sign of her love and desire to protect him, which in a way it was. But if Remy really knew how she’d come by the medallion, he would feel far differently.
No more secrets, she had promised Remy. She ought to tell him the truth, but she could not find the courage to do so. The love that had blossomed between them seemed too new to risk trampling it underfoot in a quarrel. Some night while he slept, she would see to it that the medallion went missing, then fashion for Remy some love token of her own to take its place. For now she refused to let anything threaten the harmony between them. She smiled tenderly down at her dragon and waved back just as Jacques poked Remy in the ribs with his stick.
The blow clearly caught Remy by surprise because he let out a startled ooff. Gabrielle pressed her hand to her lips to stifle a laugh. Remy staggered, enacting his part with a panache that would have done a strolling player proud. He flopped onto his back, growling and kicking his boots out in the throes of a dying dragon. Flinging his arms wide, he lay still. Jacques and Elise crept closer for a peek. When the children were within range, the dragon sprang back to life with another roar, seizing and wrestling them down on top of him. And yet what a gentle dragon her Scourge was, fearsome enough to delight the rowdy Jacques, but taking great care not to play too rough with little Elise.
Remy would make a good father. The thought caught Gabrielle by surprise and her hand flew to the region of her womb. She had employed every wise woman’s trick she knew to prevent getting with child by any of her other lovers. But she had taken no precautions with Remy last night. She could easily have conceived.
Rather than alarming her, the notion of giving birth to Remy’s babe filled her with wonder, made her feel all soft as though she were melting inside. She might give Remy a son perhaps, a little boy with sturdy limbs, tousled gold hair, and Remy’s brown eyes . . .
A knock at the bedchamber door roused her from her dreaminess. Gabrielle dragged her gaze reluctantly away from Remy. “Come in.”
Bette pushed into the room, the pert maid looking somewhat harassed. “Begging your pardon, mistress, but there is someone here demanding to see you.”
Gabrielle yawned and stretched. “Tell whoever is here to go away and come back later. It is hardly a reasonable hour for receiving callers.”
“But it is that Lascelles woman.”
Gabrielle fixed Bette with a startled gaze. “Cass? She—she is here?”
“Aye and insisting upon seeing you. She is below stairs with her maid and some brute of a dog that looks ready to tear the throat out of anyone who comes too close. The footmen are afraid to get anywhere near her. But I believe I heard Captain Remy in the garden. I am sure he could get rid of—”
“No!” Gabrielle rose hastily from the window seat. “I would as soon Remy knew nothing of Mademoiselle Lascelles’s visit. He would not approve of our friendship.”
“No doubt he wouldn’t, milady. She is a dangerous creature from what I’ve heard tell of her. Obviously she has come here bent upon some mischief.”
“And obviously you have spent too much time gossiping with Miri’s cat,” Gabrielle retorted. “Escort Mademoiselle Lascelles into the small parlor at the back of the house. I will be down directly.”
“Very good, milady.” But Bette’s sniff of disapproval showed that she did not find it good at all.
As Bette left to carry out her commands, Gabrielle made a hasty toilette, shrugging into one of her simplest gowns, bundling her hair into a fine net. Before she quit her bedchamber, she stole one more anxious glance down into the garden. Remy was still absorbed with the children. With any luck, he would soon depart on the errand to his lodgings. She could find out what Cass wanted before Remy returned.
This was not the best time for Cass to have decided to emerge from her seclusion. Not with Aristide and his witch-hunters prowling about Paris. If Cass’s family history and her connection with the Maison d’ Esprit were discovered, Gabrielle shuddered to think what might befall her friend.
Gabrielle hurried downstairs and headed toward the small parlor. To her annoyance, she found Finette leaning up against the door, her skinny arms akimbo as though she were guarding the entryway. Gabrielle winced as the slatternly woman’s sour odor carried to her nostrils.
“Mistress is waiting for you inside,” she announced as though it was Cass’s house instead of Gabrielle’s.
“I am aware of that,” Gabrielle replied coldly.
Finette plucked at the dirty folds of her dress as she curtsied. She regarded Gabrielle with that sly smirk that always made Gabrielle want to slap her. Gabrielle edged past the maidservant, making no effort to conceal her distaste.
She entered the room, firmly closing the door in Finette’s face. The small parlor was primarily used as a sewing room. It was simply but comfortably furnished with a worktable, a few stools, and a settle piled with embroidered cushions. The windows faced full west, affording excellent lighting for needlework in the late afternoon.
Cass waited near one of these windows, her dog hunkered down by her side. The mastiff attempted to leap up when Gabrielle entered, but he was held tightly to Cass’s side by a stout leather leash. Gabrielle drew up short, blinking in surprise at the transformation in Cassandra Lascelles. No trace remained of the re
cluse with the unhealthy pallor, often bloodshot eyes, and wild tangled mane. Cass’s hair flowed in soft dark waves over her shoulders, a plain gold circlet banding her forehead. Instead of one of those faded gowns that half fell off her thin shoulders, Cass was attired in a new dress. The design was simple, no full skirts, no farthingale, the wine-colored silk an excellent foil for her white skin and ebony hair. She wore no ruff around her slender throat, but a heavy silver chain disappeared beneath the embroidered bodice of her gown.
She stood erect, her head held high, a strange luster in her usually dull eyes. She reminded Gabrielle of the regal way she had looked when she had conducted the séance, unexpectedly strong and powerful. Her hearing always so acute, Cass did not seem to notice Gabrielle’s entrance into the room. She cocked her head to one side, her attention claimed by sounds drifting through the open window, Remy’s laughter mingling with the delighted cries of the children.
Gabrielle had been so eager to arrange her meeting with Cass in one of the more remote parts of the house, she had forgotten the sewing room windows were angled near the gardens. The realization made her as uneasy as the rapt expression on Cass’s face.
“Cass?” As Gabrielle stepped closer, Cerberus barked, but his tail thudded against the floor in a friendly fashion.
Cass smiled warmly, extending her hand in the direction of Gabrielle’s voice. As soon as Gabrielle came within range, Cass groped for her and wrapped her arm around Gabrielle in a strong hug. Even Cerberus licked her hand as though glad to see her.
Gabrielle returned Cass’s embrace and murmured, “This is a great surprise.”
“Not an unwelcome one, I hope.”
“N-no.” Gabrielle peered over Cass’s shoulder to the gardens where Remy was giving little Elise a ride upon his strong shoulders. She was relieved to see him moving farther away from the house, back toward the garden gate. Taking Cass by the elbow, she steered her out of range of the windows. “Do come and sit down. I will summon my housekeeper to fetch us some wine.”
The Courtesan Page 39