The Huntress

by Susan Carroll

  So tough, so independent, so solitary, in many ways just like a cat. But when she chose to love, Martin imagined that she did it with a fierce devotion and no one could have a more loyal friend.

  As Cat stood in the shadows by the window, her hair fell about her shoulders like dark flame. He resisted a longing to wrap one strand about his fingers and test its silky texture. Under other circumstances, he might have been tempted to do more than that, to draw her into his arms, to coax her lips to part for him, to see if he could find his way to the softness of the woman hidden deep beneath Cat’s tough façade.

  “All right.” Cat’s abrupt agreement jarred him out of his dangerous musings. “I should send word to Ariane if for no other reason than I don’t want her fretting about me. Perhaps by now she will have learned more about the coven and the Dark Queen and she’ll agree with you.”

  As Cat fetched her sword and headed toward the door, she paused to give him a wry grin. “Then we’ll share another cup to celebrate being shed of each other. Although I’ll expect something a little better than that dross you offered me tonight.”

  “Oh, only the finest Bordeaux will do for a grand occasion such as that,” Martin said, matching her light tone. He swept an exaggerated bow as she exited the room.

  His smile fled as soon as the door closed behind her. As grateful as he was for Cat’s help in protecting Meg, he would not be sorry to have the Irishwoman gone. His life was already complicated enough.

  For a man who had made up his mind to marry an angel, it wouldn’t do at all—this attraction he was feeling for a woman with the devil’s own temperament, but all the warmth of heaven in her blue eyes.

  LONG AFTER WOLFE HAD LEFT AND THE REST OF THE HOUSEHOLD was silent, Jane stole from her bedchamber. Her elegant gown of cream silk discarded, she was attired as soberly as a nun, wearing a simple dark gown beneath a long black cloak. For once she took no pains to hide her crucifix, the gold cross resting against her bodice.

  She did not risk lighting a candle. Relying on memory alone, she picked her way through the dark house and out into the garden. Her soft-soled shoes whispered across the grass as she made her way to the rose arbor.

  All was so still and silent Jane feared that he might have failed her because he had been discovered and arrested. She breathed a sigh of relief when a dark figure emerged from the shadows.

  He was also cloaked and she could make out little beyond a pale flash of his face and the gold braid that adorned his doublet.

  But she did not even bother with the pretense of addressing him as Captain Fortescue.

  “Father Ballard,” she whispered. “I am so glad you have come.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Greetings.

  All honor, respect, and affection to my chieftain. I have located the girl but do not look for…”

  Do not look for what? Ariane squinted at the scrawl on the page and rubbed eyes tired from straining to read Cat’s message. Ever cautious, Cat had coded her letter by writing in an ancient tongue recognizable only to other daughters of the earth. Ariane was familiar enough with the language. It was Cat’s penmanship that made the translating difficult.

  The Irishwoman was far more adept at wielding a sword than a quill. The barely legible words, the many blots staining the parchment spoke clearly of Cat’s impatience and haste. Ariane smiled, imagining how Cat must have fidgeted as she had labored over the letter, scarce able to keep still long enough to complete the task.

  Ariane struggled her way through another paragraph before she was obliged to set the letter aside and stretch. She was finding it difficult to sit still for long periods herself these days.

  Pressing a hand to her aching back, she flinched as she rose to her feet, her abdomen swelling with its precious burden. The child within her was thriving. She could sense that and it gave her much comfort, enabling her to ignore her own aches, her often overwhelming sense of fatigue.

  Drawing away from her desk, she took a turn about her bedchamber, pausing by the window seat where she had left her workbasket. A small garment rested atop the other clothing she had been mending. Ariane ran her fingertips lightly over the tiny smock she had fashioned, all the stitches set with loving care.

  Made of the finest lawn, the fabric would softly caress her babe’s skin, surrounding the child with tangible evidence of a mother’s love even if Ariane could not be there to hold—

  Blinking back her tears, Ariane suppressed the thought. Faith, but she wept too easily these days, she thought with disgust. She had promised herself she would stop harboring these dark thoughts.

  She had attended many women through childbearing. Some of these heightened emotions and fears were natural. But she would have scolded anyone else for entertaining the morbid fancies that she allowed to plague her.

  But she could not seem to help herself. Knuckling the small of her back, she gazed out the open window. The sun spilled warmly over the gardens below and the orchard. The sky was so brilliant a blue it dazzled the eyes, and the comet…

  Ariane caught her breath. The comet was now visible by daylight, a phantom streak appearing to hurl on a collision course with the sun. An evil omen? She knew better than to give way to such superstitious nonsense. But even if such a thing were true, there was no reason to believe it had anything to do with her.

  Despite the fact that she was the leader among the daughters of the earth and acclaimed as the Lady of Faire Isle, Ariane had always accounted herself a modest woman. Had she really grown arrogant enough to believe that the heavens would spew forth a comet to announce her death?

  What folly! But all superstition aside, she could not ignore the sobering reality. Childbirth always involved a risk for a woman, and with Ariane’s history, her odds of surviving were worse than most. She could very well die and there was so much she had left undone. One responsibility in particular weighed heavy upon her shoulders.

  She had designated no one to carry on the traditions of the Lady of Faire Isle. Her youngest sister would have been the logical choice, but since Miri had married the witch-hunter, the community of wise women would never accept her.

  Since her return to Faire Isle, Ariane had begun working with some of the women, teaching them her skills in healing, all that she knew of the old lore. Carole Moreau showed promise, but the girl was still very young.

  Ariane knew full well why she had been so lax in this important matter of choosing a successor. She had so hoped that one day it would be her own daughter. The possibility that she might actually give birth to a girl and not live long enough to teach her—. No, the thought was too unbearable to contemplate.

  She would have to deal with the question of the next Lady eventually, but not today, Ariane thought wearily, massaging her temples. She had enough other matters clamoring for her attention, foremost Cat’s letter.

  She returned to her desk to finish transcribing Cat’s message. Cat’s tidings, unfortunately, brought little comfort to her already troubled mind.

  Frowning, Ariane folded up Cat’s letter and went in search of her husband. Justice was not difficult to find these days. Ever since Ariane had told him about the babe, he was either in the stables venting his worries by grooming his hunters or else in the yard chopping wood. Ariane feared by the time their child was born, all the horses would be curried bald and the entire island denuded of trees.

  As soon as Ariane emerged from the house, she could hear the steady thwack, thwack of the ax. She sighed. At least the poor horses were being spared at the moment.

  Passing through the garden, she moved toward the barn, the woodpile grown so alarmingly high she could scarce see her husband, and Justice Deauville was a formidable man, well over six feet of large bones and hard muscle.

  Creeping around the woodpile, she peeked at him as he wielded his ax. Sunlight glinted off the silver strands mixed in his golden-brown hair, his linen shirt damp with sweat and clinging to his powerful frame. Clad in fustian breeches and work-worn boots, he looked
like what her sister Gabrielle often teasingly called him, a great peasant.

  Despite being nobly born on his father’s side, Justice had always been more rooted in the simpler ways of the earth that he had inherited from his mother’s people. He usually took great pleasure in vigorous physical tasks and hard work that broke a sweat upon his brow.

  But the set of his mouth was grim as he swung his ax, splintering the log with a force that made Ariane flinch. Tossing it aside, he quickly set up another in its place.

  Unseen, Ariane watched him wistfully. He had taken the tidings about the babe badly, but not in the way she had feared, hovering over her every moment. Instead he had gone quiet and distant, even drawing away to the opposite side of the bed each night. He had scarce touched her since she had announced her condition and she ached for him to do so.

  They had always been so close, knit into each other’s very bones, their thoughts and desires often coming as one. It hurt to have him so distant, the event that should have brought them closer together driving them apart.

  Ariane went to fetch him a cup of water from the well before making her presence known. She stood back as he cleaved another log, sending splinters flying.

  “Justice?”

  He glanced up in mid-swing and then suspended his activity, burying the blade in the log. Justice would not have been considered a handsome man by most standards. His lantern jaw and battered nose, coupled with his massive size, gave him an alarming appearance. But when he gazed at Ariane, his harsh features usually softened with a tenderness that caused her heart to beat faster.

  As she handed him the cup of water, there was more wariness than warmth in his hooded green eyes. He took several large swallows and splashed the rest over his face. “Merci, but shouldn’t you be resting? I thought we agreed you would conserve your strength by napping in the afternoon.”

  “I needed to decipher Cat’s letter.” She touched his hand and added, “Besides, I—I missed you.”

  His thick brows arched upward. “Missed me? I haven’t gone anywhere. I am right here.”

  No, you are not, Ariane bit back the urge to retort.

  He handed the cup back to her and mopped his face with his sleeve. When he reached for the ax, Ariane clutched at his arm to stop him.

  “Don’t you think you have cut enough wood? There is enough here to supply the entire island.” She attempted to infuse a teasing note into her voice, but her words came out sharper than she intended.

  “It promises to be a cold autumn,” he replied.

  “I daresay it will be if you continue to look at me that way.”

  “What way is that, ma chère?”

  “As though you think I am going to die. And if you are not looking at me as though you expect to be burying me tomorrow, you regard me with resentment as though I had betrayed you by getting with child.”

  Ariane had not meant to be so blunt. But there, it was out now. She had said it and perhaps it was just as well, even though Justice’s brows knit in a mighty scowl.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered.

  “I am not. You are angry with me and it would be better if you just admitted it.”

  His jaw locked in a stubborn line for a moment. “All right, yes. I am a trifle vexed. You know how dangerous it is for you to attempt to have a child. You also know enough of the old wise woman ways to have prevented this. If I had realized you were going to be so reckless, I would have taken precautions myself.”

  That was no idle threat. Justice had learned to brew a potion from his old witch of a grandmother that could render a man’s seed temporarily infertile. He had used it years ago without Ariane’s knowledge. She had forgiven him for the deceit, but only because he had promised never to use the potion again.

  “Why would I want to prevent a blessing I had long given up hoping for?” Her fingers clamped down on the empty water cup and she vented a bitter sigh. “I wish I had never told you.”

  “It would be a rather difficult secret to keep.” Justice raked his gaze over the bulge beneath her gown. “Did you really think I needed telling? I have lain beside you every night these past thirteen years, made love to you more times than I can count. I know every curve, every nuance of your body as well as I do my own. Did you think I would not notice the changes in you?”

  “You never said anything.”

  “I was waiting for you to confirm my suspicions, hoping—hoping—”

  When he clamped his lips together, Ariane finished for him in a flat tone. “Hoping you were wrong.”

  Justice regarded her with frustration and dragged his hand through the damp strands of his hair. “It has been so many years since you last conceived, I thought we were finally past the possibility of you bearing a child. I believed that you were content with my love, that it was enough for you to be just the two of us.”

  “I was. I am,” Ariane cried. “But don’t you see after all this time what a miracle this is?”

  “No, all I see is the prospect of losing you. Mon Dieu!” He flung up his hands in an angry gesture. “You have always known that is my greatest fear, but you are so bent on having this child, you don’t care if you live or die in the process.”

  “Of course I care,” she shouted back at him. “If you were as good at reading eyes as you think you are, you would see how terrified I am. But for your sake I have pretended to be braver than I am. The least you could do is pretend a little for me, feign s-some joy…”

  She choked off, furious to feel the ever-present tears spring to her eyes. In a rare display of temper, she hurled the cup at him. Justice was too astonished to dodge, but the cup glanced harmlessly off his shoulder.

  Blinded with tears, Ariane stumbled away from him. She heard him call her name, but she kept going until she reached the edge of the orchard. Bracing one hand upon the trunk of a tree, she sought to contain the sob that shook her.

  Catching her breath, she angrily dashed her tears aside. She stiffened as she became aware that Justice had followed her. He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Chérie, forgive me.”

  She blinked, refusing to look at him. “Forgive me,” he repeated in a voice even more tender that nearly dissolved her into tears all over again. Wrapping his arms about her, he drew her back against him, breathing a kiss against the nape of her neck.

  “You don’t have to pretend to be brave for me, though it is small wonder you fooled me. You always have been the courageous one. I am the coward. The thought of losing you terrifies me. But I vow I will do better. I will be strong enough to see you safely through this. Both of you.”

  He splayed one large hand protectively over the region of her womb. Ariane melted back against him, closing her eyes, breathing in the sharp tang of his masculine scent, his warm, hard body bracing hers. It seemed so long since he had touched her like this and it was the first time he had embraced the prospect of their child.

  She wanted to savor the moment, but there was another fear she had left unacknowledged and she could no longer contain it.

  “If something did happen to me—” she began hesitantly.

  “Hush, chérie. It won’t.” Justice rained fierce kisses along her temple and cheek.

  Ariane tipped her head, exposing the curve of her neck to his tender assault. She persisted, “But if it did, you would still love our child?”

  Justice paused, his lips halfway down her neck. “What kind of foolish question is that?”

  Ariane turned to face him. She cupped his face, peered up at him anxiously.

  “I would not want you to be so grief-stricken that you would blame our babe for my death. Promise me that you will not, that you will love and protect our child no matter what.”

  Justice looked hurt, but his voice held more blame for himself than her as he replied, “Oh, chérie, have I truly been such a monstrous ogre that you feel you must demand such a vow? Of course I promise. I will do my best to care for our babe, nurture and teach her as you would have done.”


  He captured one of her hands and brought her palm to his lips. “But it will not be necessary, because you will be there to guide her yourself.”

  “Her?” Ariane smiled tremulously. “You are so sure then it will be a girl?”

  Justice placed his hand on her swollen belly and made a great show of concentrating. To Ariane’s delight and his, the child inside her stirred.

  Justice grinned. “Mon Dieu. Most definitely it is a girl. I can already sense her, how strong she is, this little daughter of ours.”

  “She will be just like her papa.”

  Justice grimaced. “For her sake, let us pray she looks more like her mama.”

  Ariane laughed. For the moment, all fears and doubts were forgotten as Justice pulled her closer for a long passionate kiss. It was many breathless moments later before she recalled why she had sought him out in the first place.

  Reluctantly drawing away from him, she said, “I finished translating Cat’s message.”

  Justice gave her a searching look. “By the expression on your face, I would judge the tidings she sends are not good.”

  “Not entirely. Martin and his daughter are well and safe for the moment and I thank God for that. But as I feared, Martin stubbornly resists the idea of coming to Faire Isle. He has made a successful life for himself in London with many fair prospects. He wishes to close the door on Meg’s past, sever all connections with the old learning and daughters of the earth.”

  Ariane pulled a rueful face. “Cat is considerably frustrated by his attitude but I cannot entirely blame him. There are times when I myself have longed for a life more ordinary. How much easier and safer our lives would have been if I were not the Lady of Faire Isle and versed in the ancient magic. I would never have been charged with witchcraft. We would never have spent all those years in exile and you—you would still be the Comte de Renard.”

  While Catherine had restored Ariane to Faire Isle, she had informed Ariane in tones of silky regret that it was impossible to reinstate Justice. Both the Deauville estates and title had been granted to one of the king’s mignons, those painted fops who were Henry’s constant companions, truckling for his favor. Henry would never consent to deprive any of his favorites of the toys he had bestowed upon them.