The Hostage Queen

by Freda Lightfoot

  She hurried on, ‘But you will also have the creation and strengthening of the League to sustain you. You bring to it such power and fire, fortified by the great love that the people have for you. How could you fail to uphold the Catholic Church as you so wish to do? The people of Paris are with you. You are their champion.’

  ‘Am I yours?’ He pulled her beneath him, spreading her arms out on the pillows and capturing her hands in his, not so that he could kiss her again, but simply to look at her, as if memorizing every detail of her delectable face and body.

  ‘You are my very parfit knight,’ Margot whispered.

  He laughed and sat up away from her, elbows on his knees. ‘The people of Paris do love me, you speak true. Would that I had the support of the rest of the realm.’

  Sensing a new tension in him she began to massage his shoulders, smoothing her soft hands over his naked back and belly. ‘Why, would you oppose the King? No, do not answer that. It is a question that should never be asked, and certainly never answered.’

  ‘I will do only what is right for God and for France,’ Guise enigmatically replied, then half turned to smile at her, knowing this was no answer at all, and she smiled back, her own eyes a mirror to the passion sparkling in his.

  They both knew that his power was growing, and represented as great a danger to the Queen Mother and the King as did the Protestants. Henri III was unlikely to leave an heir, nor was Alençon. Neither of her brothers were healthy, as they each suffered from the same lung complaint which had carried off her other brothers. Which left Henry of Navarre, a Huguenot, as most likely to succeed, and unless Margot fulfilled her duty he too would lack the necessary heir. After him, or if some accident should befall her husband, the next most likely candidate for the crown was Guise, a Bourbon Prince well loved by the people. All of these thoughts lay silent between them, acknowledged with nothing more than a wry smile.

  He was lying beside her again, his hands caressing her trim waist, her firm breasts. She reached out a hand and stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers, a caress which expressed all her love. How would she feel when this space in her bed was occupied by another, even if that man were her husband? Would he not seem like a stranger, an intruder?

  ‘I must go to him, my love. I can stay no longer in this hot house of intrigue and danger. I need to be free to live and breathe and not be constantly checking my own shadow.’

  Guise captured her face between his two powerful hands. ‘I too would feel happier if you were safe, my love. But not a day will go by when I will not yearn for you.’

  He kissed her then, a long, gentle kiss that despite its softness was filled with passion and love. When it was done, he gazed deep into her eyes. ‘Go in peace then, my Queen of Hearts, and remember my promise to you. Should you ever be in need of my help, remember that I am forever yours.’

  ***

  Sources

  I have used many sources in the writing of this book. For readers who wish to explore the subject further I can recommend the list below as being the most useful to me. I would like to acknowledge the Project Gutenberg collection for many of the out-of-print titles.

  Memoirs of Marguerite de Valois, Queen of Navarre, Written by Herself.

  Henry III, King of France and Poland by Martha Walker Freer. 1888.

  The Later Years of Catherine De Medici by Edith Helen Sichel. 1908.

  Illustrious Dames of the Court of the Valois Kings: Marguerite, Queen of Navarre by Pierre de Bourdeille and C. A. Sainte-Beuve. Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley. 1912.

  Queen of Hearts by Charlotte Haldane. 1968.

  History of the Reign of Henry IV by Martha Walker Freer. 1860.

  The Favourites of Henry of Navarre by Le Petit Homme Rouge. 1910.

  The History of Protestantism by J. A. Wylie. 1878.

  Nostradamus, the Man Who Saw Through Time by Lee McCann. 1941.

  The French Renaissance Court by Robert J. Knecht. 2008.

  Catherine de Medici by Leonie Frieda. 2003.

  Renaissance Woman by Gaia Servadio. 2005.

  Delightes for Ladies by Hugh Plat. 1609.

  Now read a sneak preview of the sequel:

  Reluctant Queen

  Part One

  MARGOT

  1578

  ‘MY SWEET ONE, I love you more than I can say. I do understand your concern, but no other woman is prettier or more charming than you. I cherish the day Madame de Tignonville, your dear mother, was chosen as companion and governess for my sister when she returned recently from Paris. Otherwise I might never have met you.’

  Jeanne cast a sideways glance up at him from beneath her lashes, carefully studying his expression for evidence of his sincerity. This was the King of Navarre she was refusing, after all, not some young courtier with no manners or money to his name. Was that wise? Her caution lay not simply with regard to her virtue, virgin though she undoubtedly was, but with the sad fact that the King was not free as he possessed a wife already. But then Queen Margot remained in Paris, held captive by her brother Henri III and her mother Catherine de Medici. Even as Jeanne heeded her own mother’s wise advice not to yield too easily, she felt giddy with the possibilities of what heights she might reach by capturing the King’s heart. ‘Sire, I must guard my reputation. I am an innocent.’

  ‘Your innocence enchants me. I adore you.’

  ‘But how can you say that when you hardly know me?’

  ‘Your modesty does you great credit, but you are not so innocent as to fail to see how the very sight of you sets my pulses racing. I must have you. I need you by my side, day and night.’

  Jeanne was instantly alarmed, a flush of pink flooding her soft cheeks. ‘Sire, you speak wild. I am a maiden. My mother would never consent.’

  ‘I am not asking your mother. Besides, how could she deny a King?’ he teased. ‘Ah, but I see I am rushing you, my little one. Will you grant me a kiss at least?’

  Henry gazed into her blue eyes, entranced. He was all too aware that falling in love was as natural to him as eating the pigeon pie he loved so much, or drinking his favourite Gascon wine. He was quite unable to resist a beautiful woman, particularly one as young and delightful as this one. Her dark hair was so soft that he ached to stroke it, her childlike form so delicate his fingers itched to caress her budding young breasts. He had been pursuing the girl for some weeks now, ever since his sister Catherine had come home, yet she resisted him still.

  Capturing her in his arms he attempted to steal a kiss, but at the last moment Jeanne averted her face. ‘What is it my lovely, do I repulse you?’

  ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’ She looked appalled by the very idea, which soothed his bruised ego somewhat. Nevertheless, Henry very reluctantly let her go.

  ‘Why then do you deny me? I am not an unkind man, a most generous one in fact, known for my good humour and equable temper. Nor would I ever force myself upon a woman. Ah, could it be that you have never been kissed before?’

  The flush deepened and Henry laughed out loud. ‘That is the way of it, eh? An innocent indeed.’ The prospect of teaching this delightful child all about love making excited him more than he could express. What a diligent teacher he would be! ‘Perhaps, as our friendship develops, and if I am very good, you will permit me a little license?’

  Soft lips pouted as she considered the matter, blue eyes bright with wounded pride. Jeanne felt confused and untutored in these matters, uncertain how to protect herself and yet not lose his interest completely. ‘I do not see how a maid of honour could dare to refuse a king anything, so I beg of you, Sire, not to presume upon me by asking.’ So saying, she sank into a curtsey and begged leave to depart. Chuckling with delight Henry granted her wish. Oh, but he would enjoy wooing this little one, and one way or another, he would win her.

  Catherine had hated the years she’d spent at the French Court, as had Henry. She had accompanied him there in 1572 for his wedding to Princess Marguerite, an event swiftly followed by the
horrors of the St Bartholomew massacre. Henry had been fortunate, or sufficiently daring, to make a dash for freedom after three years largely held under house arrest at the Louvre simply for being the wrong religion. Catherine wished she could have escaped with him for she had never fitted in to the glittering, hedonistic life style of the court. She’d spent her time largely on the fringes, knowing she was considered dull and far too Puritan, although, like her brother, she too had been forced to abandon her religion and agree to take the Mass.

  Now she was immensely relieved to finally be allowed to join her brother and be back home in Nérac with the people she loved. At the banquet held to celebrate her homecoming, Henry, his face uncharacteristically solemn, had asked if she had forgotten what it was to be a Huguenot.

  ‘Indeed not,’ Catherine had hastened to reassure him. ‘I have ever remained a Huguenot in my heart.’

  He’d kissed her fondly on the cheek. ‘I am glad to hear it. Aubigné too will be mightily relieved. You know how very seriously my chamberlain views these matters.’

  ‘He need have no fear. I remain true to our mother’s faith.’

  Now, as she walked through the gardens that her mother Jeanne d’Albret had created by the River Baïse, Catherine mused on how they had ever been close and were great friends. She had no quarrel with her brother, not on religion, nor any other matter.

  But she was no longer an obedient young girl striving to please. She was twenty years old and it might well be a different matter when it came to affairs of the heart. Catherine had yet to confess to Henry that she was in love with her cousin Charles, the Comte de Soissons, and he with her. She had no reason to suppose he would disapprove, yet for some reason she hesitated to broach the subject.

  This morning Catherine hurried to meet her beloved in the gardens, just as they met in secret most days. The pair dreamed of marriage and she could not begin to imagine how she would feel if Henry set his mind against the match. Such a prospect was unthinkable. Charles was a fine soldier, if a touch hot-headed, brother to Prince de Condé, and a Bourbon like herself.

  She caught a glimpse of his beloved figure emerging from behind a tree, a broad smile on his handsome face. Feeling her heart lift with anticipation, Catherine quickened her pace and ran to meet her lover.

  ‘I do not understand what it is you ask of me.’

  ‘It is perfectly simple, I wish you to persuade Mademoiselle Jeanne de Tignonville to change her mind and accept me as her lover.’

  An angry flush appeared on the old man’s sallow cheeks. ‘It is not my task to procure your mistresses for you, Sire. I shudder to think you should even make such a request.’

  ‘Ah, but I do make it. It is your role in life is it not, Aubigné, to perform whatever task is necessary to please me? The girl is devout, too much so. Convince her that her soul is not at risk for loving a king.’

  ‘Sire, I beg you to have a care for your own soul. The constant seeking of pleasure, even for a king, is a dangerous pursuit.’

  Henry frowned. Were his nature less affable he might take exception to a servant, even a pastor, daring to issue such a lecture. But he knew Aubigné for a narrow minded Calvinist, dedicated to his God and his religion, and that he was equally devoted to his king. ‘I will let that comment pass, since I think your tongue runs away with you. Nevertheless, it was your idea to award the post of governess to her mother. Therefore you are responsible for bringing the girl to my notice. Now I am dying for love of her. I must have her.’

  ‘I did not allow her mother to bring the child to court in order for her to be deflowered.’

  Henry was growing bored with the argument, irritated by his chamberlain’s stubbornness. He believed he loved the girl as he had loved no other, and, tolerant though he may be, he refused to be spurned by her. Such a thing was unheard of. He really didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

  ‘I do not see a problem. She will be well rewarded. Make the girl appreciate that it is perfectly seemly to surrender her virginity to a king. See to it Aubigné. I will not be bested in this matter.’ Whereupon he strode from the room, leaving his chamberlain wringing his hands in silent despair.

  Other titles by Freda Lightfoot available as ebooks

  Reluctant Queen

  The Poor House Lane Series

  The Girl From Poor House Lane

  The Child From Nowhere

  The Woman From Heartbreak House

  House of Angels

  Angels at War

  Kitty Little

  Lakeland Lily

  The Bobbin Girls

  The Favourite Child

  Madeiran Legacy

  Whispering Shadows

  Rhapsody Creek

  Proud Alliance

  Outrageous Fortune

  The Luckpenny Series:

  Luckpenny Land

  Storm Clouds Over Broombank

  Wishing Water

  Larkrigg Fell

  About Freda Lightfoot

  Born in Lancashire, Freda Lightfoot lived for a number of years in the Lake District where she ran a bookshop. She then tried her hand at the ‘good life’, kept sheep and hens, various orphaned cats and dogs, built drystone walls, planted a small wood and even learned how to make jam. She has now given up her thermals to build a house in an olive grove in Spain, where she produces her own olive oil. She has published over 30 novels including many bestselling family sagas and historical novels.

  To find out more about Freda Lightfoot visit her at…

  http://www.fredalightfoot.co.uk/

  http://www.fredalightfoot.blogspot.com/

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