The Crockett Chronicles- The Complete Collection

by Jennifer Lynn Cary

  She must try even harder to become a better person.

  And there was something else she needed to do. She needed to talk with Matthew.

  Dear Matthew. He never condemned her or thought ill of her. He just listened when she poured out her thoughts and fears. Oui, she needed to talk with him. She scratched her knee.

  But how? How could she get word to him? No one was allowed into Versailles without an invitation from the king. She would have to meet him somewhere else. Her knee itched again.

  Where could they meet? How would she let him know to meet her? She would have to think about that for a while.

  Oh, no. Again, her mind had wandered. If she wanted to be a better person, she would have to keep her mind on her prayers, not plans. If she could get out for a ride and clear her head, then she could come up with a plan and maybe be more focused on her prayers.

  “Merci Father for the horses and for Matthew. Please help Mimi and her family. Bless Tante Marie. And Monsieur de Crocketagné. Forgive me for my wandering mind, Father, and every evil thought I had against Momo. Help me to be better, Lord.”

  Louise closed with an “Our Father.” Though she was not sure she had been heard, it was all she knew to do. Having done her duty, she rose to get dressed.

  Momo returned to help tie Louise’s laces and brush her hair up under her hat. A knock sounded just as the last strand had been tucked. Momo opened it to Monsieur de Crocketagné, also dressed for riding.

  “Do you have plans, Mademoiselle?” His dark eyebrow cocked and his friendly smile gleamed.

  “Not really. I thought perhaps I might investigate the horses.” Louise had trouble meeting his gaze, and her nerves tingled in a most unusual way. “I am in the mood for a ride and thought I would take advantage of His Majesty’s offer. Do you think that is permissible?”

  “I was, in fact, coming to see if you might be interested in a ride. It is beautiful outside, and I know of a little spot you might like to see. Would that be to your liking, Mademoiselle?”

  “Indeed, it would.” For although the gentleman might have denied it, Louise wondered if he stood there as an answer to her prayer. Could God have heard her? If so, perhaps the rest would resolve itself as well. She smiled and placed her trembling hand on Monsieur’s proffered arm as they left for the stables.

  Chapter Six

  The woman stumbled but stopped in time. She had no minutes to spare for a fall, nor energy to right herself if she did. Her goal lay down this road.

  She would be heard. No matter what, she would be heard.

  The bitter gall of her loss burned through her chest where her heart used to be. She could keep silent no more. Enough had been sacrificed for this monstrosity. Now someone would understand.

  What kind of law stated that the work on the gardens must be done in such a way that it did not bother the fancy royals? How ridiculous. Did they not realize the required silent night work meant working without enough light to be safe? Did he not realize?

  Now her husband and son were both silent.

  Her Gaston gone, and her son injured, perhaps fatally. She wanted to scream, to point the finger of blame at the one who set all this in motion.

  Today was the day.

  She continued up the allée to the servants’ entrance. There were enough people who would make sure she received an audience. A maid admitted her and guided to the public hall. Already several stood in line, waiting.

  One way or another, she knew she would be heard. It would happen.

  She glanced about. The morning sun gleaming through high windows brought no joy. No one in line spoke to her. She wanted it that way.

  The day grew warmer. A chill ran up her spine at the impact of her mission. She drew her shawl tighter and closed her eyes.

  Men carrying a limp body burned through her mind. She squeezed her lids tighter and dragged in a ragged breath, remembering. The hand of her son, or what was left of it.

  A tear escaped and trickled down, splashing on her own hand. She opened her eyes and wiped her cheek.

  Why had God let this happen to him, to her? Why did He not care? How much was she to sacrifice?

  The line dragged. Maybe another hour, and she would get her turn. Would it be soon enough? Outrage had spurred her here, yet she never would have left his side without someone she trusted with him. Her stomach knotted tighter with each passing minute.

  Why? Why? The question pounded at her ears as if they were anvils. Her brain had no answer.

  A part of her knew that should her son regain consciousness, he would forever be changed. She could not dwell on that now. The important thing was for him live, to open his eyes, to speak to her one more time.

  What was she doing here? Precious time streamed past. She must return home.

  “Madame LeSuere, it is your turn.”

  Stay or go? The massive doors towered over her, taunting.

  The guard touched her elbow.

  She swatted his hand away.

  He opened the door, unfazed.

  So be it.

  Walking toward the throne, her mind churned. There sat King David on his throne, thinking his sins were hidden. Yet nothing was hidden from God. Nothing. The spokesman of God proved that. Nathan, the prophet, confronted King David. Was she God’s spokesman? The thought justified her.

  Vengeance is Mine. A still small voice.

  She tried to dismiss it.

  The voice persisted. Vengeance is Mine.

  She would be the voice of God to this realm.

  Vengeance is Mine. The voice whispered one more time as she heard her name announced to the King of France.

  Protocol expected her to curtsey. Instead her body began to tremble uncontrollably.

  Oh, God, help me!

  As His Majesty awaited her curtsey, a page entered, bringing an envelope to one of the ministers. The king’s attention wandered to the transaction. The minister brought the message to His Majesty, who read it. He stood and motioned for his entourage to follow.

  The whole matter concluded swiftly, fanning the flames of anger in her soul. “You dare to leave?”

  The king stopped.

  “You dare to turn your back on me?”

  A gasp waved throughout the room. His Majesty rotated until he faced her. His stature loomed larger while the rest of the room shank away.

  The words were unleashed. She let them fly free. “Your people mean so little to you? We, who do your bidding, building your monument to you, mean nothing to you? Our men lay down their lives. We women lay down our children and husbands on your altar. We make sacrifice after sacrifice for you and you dare to walk out on me?” The venom spewed from her belly. She spat on the Persian carpet. “I spit on your luxury. I spit on you and your state. May you outlive your children!”

  Her breath came in ragged gasps, and her blood boiled to the point of blindness, but every sound pulsed through her being.

  “Remove her. Give her thirty lashes, and see to it she never steps foot on Versailles again.”

  Drained, she collapsed to the floor.

  * * *

  Albert and Jean-Luc carried Madame LeSuere out to where her punishment would be carried out. Conscious by this time, she stoically refused to speak.

  Neither did Jean-Luc. However, his eyes pleaded with Albert to think of something, anything to stop this madness. Both men knew the king prided himself on his civility to women. Never to Albert’s knowledge had such an order as this been given. It was unthinkable. Yet he was expected to carry out the command. Such was his duty.

  Albert tied her hands to the ring on the pole. He refused to let Jean-Luc inflict the punishment. Albert commanded the guards, and he would not ask one of his men to do something he would not do himself. Yet, if he could think of a way, he would not carry out the sentence.

  No ideas emerged. He stepped back and picked up the whip. For a male prisoner, the back would be exposed. But this was a woman. A woman already in obvious pain. He would not add to this b
y removing her modesty.

  Albert let the whip unwind and lay still on the cobblestones. He took a breath. With the flick of his wrist, he let the whip crack, landing the first blow.

  An intake of breath, her only sound.

  Crack!

  Again, she softly gasped.

  Three, four, five.

  With each vicious bite into her back, she took in a quick breath. At twenty-five, she fell unconscious again.

  As Albert unfastened her bonds and took her down, he thought he heard her mutter, “Pierre.”

  Jean-Luc left without a word, returning with a wagon and a few blankets. As gently as they could, they placed her in the wagon bed. Albert climbed in next to her while Jean-Luc drove.

  The horses’ hooves made soft clopping sounds on the road. Albert remembered hearing her announced in the throne room. Being members of the household guard put him and Jean Luc in a unique position.

  The gossip grapevine carried only the workers and tradesmen’s news to those of similar social standing. The same went for the gossip about the nobility—it rarely reached the ears of the artisans and tradesmen. However, those who served in the chateau in special positions such as valets, ladies-in-waiting, and guards often heard the stories from both fronts.

  Albert could guess what brought Madame LeSuere to the chateau that morn. She must be out of her mind at the loss of her husband, and possibly her son, to the building project. There was no other reason he could think of to bring about such insane bravery.

  Yet, His Majesty probably had no knowledge of what had led up to the incident. If he had known, would he have given the same sentence?

  Madame LeSuere moaned.

  Could he have spared her? Albert flinched. There was one way.

  Looking at the unconscious woman, Albert sent up a silent prayer for someone to be sent to care for her.

  * * *

  Mimi sat alone, almost. Yesterday her life had purpose. Now she looked down on the still form of the man she loved, the man to whom she had given her heart. There was no purpose.

  She stroked back a curl of Pierre’s thick chestnut mane, hearing her own heart break. Again. Wake, Pierre!

  He did not hear her heart this time.

  She longed to see the sparkle of life in his gold-flecked eyes. Yet if he ever opened them, they would reveal a fathomless well of pain. She knew that as sure as she knew her name. The thought of seeing him in such agony ripped air from her lungs. Would he shut her out? Would he still want to live? Oh God, please let him want to live.

  None of this was relevant, though, unless he woke up.

  Madame LeSuere should have arrived back some time ago. A band tightened in Mimi’s chest. This woman was almost a second mother to her. She would never leave Pierre this long.

  Mimi glanced through the shutters. Still no sign of Madame LeSuere. Mimi could not just leave Pierre. Yet she had promised Mademoiselle de Saix to return soon. If need be, she would beg to come back to Pierre. Mademoiselle would understand. She would. But would Momo?

  Momo hated working at the chateau. She wanted to live at the chateau but not work there. Mimi’s twin was sure she would one day live in luxury, having all the things she envied of those invited to Versailles.

  Mimi shook her head and held onto Pierre’s good hand. Her dreams were much simpler. A life with Pierre. A home filled with the laughter of their children. “Oh, Pierre, do not leave me. I love you so.”

  The clip clop of horses' hooves echoed on the cobblestones outside, but she did not get up to look. She could not spare the second. A wagon stopped outside the house. A moment or two later, a firm knock rapped at the door.

  “Come in.” Her gaze never left Pierre.

  “Where shall I put her?” The masculine voice jolted. Two men stood on the threshold, one carrying a limp bundle.

  “Oh, no, what has happened?” Mimi dropped Pierre’s hand and jumped to her feet.

  “It is a long story. Are you here alone?”

  “No, I am caring for Pierre.” Was he blind?

  “I mean, do you have any help? You will need help in caring for them both. Jean-Luc will fetch anyone you want. I will stay to help while he does.”

  The indignation drained. The man looked so wretched, his shoulders sagging and his mahogany eyes weary.

  She took in the other man. Much larger, he stood behind the speaker who carried Madame LeSuere. “I am sorry. You are kind to help. I have two sisters at home right now. If you could get word to them, that would be much appreciated. I live two houses to the east. Another sister is at Versailles. I need to get a message to her to explain—.”

  “Consider it done.” The big man responded, exiting quickly.

  “Here, let me help.” Mimi moved to the guard, directing him to another pallet. She helped him lower Madame LeSuere, face down, before setting a pot of water to boil at the kitchen fireplace. Rummaging in the other woman’s trunk, she gathered clean strips of cloth and laid them a metal bowl, adding a dipper full of the hot water. She let them cool to touchable before pulling out a strip and wrapping it about some coltsfoot leaves, forming a poultice. The warm, pungent odor fought with her tears.

  Mimi located the guard. He stood over Pierre, his back to the women. At least he had manners. She cut away what was left of the back of Madame LeSuere’s bodice and chemise. Ever so gently, she placed the first poultice on a wound before wiping a tear from her own cheek. Another cloth, another leaf, another wound.

  Madame LeSuere stirred and began to sob, quietly at first but building with such intensity Mimi thought Madame would surely die of a broken heart.

  “Oh, God, oh God, where are You? Where are You? Oh, God, I cannot see You? Where are You?”

  Mimi turned at the guard. Silent tears glistened in his eyes. Her heart ached, and her soul whispered, “Oh, God I do not understand either. Where are You?”

  Only a stifled sniff replied.

  Chapter Seven

  Antoine tucked Mademoiselle’s fingers in the crook of his arm as they strolled to the stables. The horses waited ready. One glance told him something was amiss.

  “An interesting saddle.” Mademoiselle looked away.

  “If you do not like this saddle, I am sure there is something else.” Antoine stared at the stable boy until the lad squirmed. He could not blame her. The medieval sidesaddle, covered in burgundy velvet with gilded trim, appeared as uncomfortable as it was gaudy.

  “I know of a different saddle.” The stable boy raced back inside.

  “I am sure he does not relish the idea of re-saddling my mount.” Mademoiselle’s toe twisted and poked at the dirt.

  Antoine leaned over. “His Majesty’s cousin, La Grande Mademoiselle, prefers not to ride sidesaddle either. I believe she keeps a saddle here that you may be able to borrow.” The sweet scent of her perfume in the middle of the stable yard shocked his senses.

  “I see.” She began to stroke her horse’s nose. “What is your name, mademoiselle?” The mare nuzzled her hand.

  “She is called Étoile, due to the white star on her forehead, and she is probably hoping you have a carrot or two hidden away for her.” He scratched behind the ear of the mare.

  “Étoile, how lovely it is to meet you. Shall we run today?”

  The horse whinnied and nodded her head, bringing a musical chuckle from the mademoiselle. By the time the stable boy arrived with an astride saddle, her happy disposition had firmly returned.

  Antoine helped her mount the black mare before swinging aboard his own stallion of pure black.

  “What is the name of your horse?”

  “He is called Vent, as he can fly like the wind.”

  He patted Vent’s neck before leading the lady out of the yard at a slow canter. When he stopped at the road, she drew up beside him. “We will head out that way.” He pointed east. “Would you like to give them a bit of a run?”

  “With pleasure.” Louise smiled and kicked her heels, starting off at a gallop in the direction he indicat
ed.

  “Oui, Mademoiselle, you do know how to ride.” Antoine laughed and spurred Vent forward. He soon caught up to her, but as he tried to pull into the lead, she matched his pace.

  Riding through the countryside, he barely noticed the landscape fly past. Meadows in summer green and copses of oak and elm running in the opposite direction intensified the deep sense of freedom rising from his soul. The wind in his face brought scents of forest loam and summer grasses. He flew on, elated and moving in harmony to the horses’ gallop. His heart pounded in his ears.

  At last Antoine slowed, coming to a stop at the edge of a gentle valley.

  She stopped beside him.

  “That is where we are going.” He pointed.

  Mademoiselle stared at a lush meadow area surrounded by oaks. And there, in the very center of the meadow, stood two chairs and a table. Atop sat a basket. She looked back at him, eyes shining.

  “I arose early and recruited help. I thought perhaps you might enjoy out-of-doors dining.” He winked.

  She let her horse take the lead and slowly trotted to the meadow. Dismounting before he could reach her, she finished the walk to the table still leading Étoile. “This is so wonderful.” Her finger trailed down the stem of a crystal goblet. “You did this for me?” Her eyes grew so large, Antoine thought he could read her soul.

  “Ah, but my lady, it is my pleasure.” He held her chair for her with exaggerated gallantry. “What will be your delight?” He began going through the basket. “I see we have cheese, bread, some delightful grapes and strawberries, and, let me see . . .ah . . .a wonderful champagne to tickle your fancy, as well as your nose.” Smiling his most charming smile, he waggled his brows at her.

  With a wave from his hand, a dark-haired gentleman appeared and approached the table, a towel over his arm. “How may I serve you, my lady?”

  “I will serve the lady, merci. Please bring the rest of the food.”

  Finally, a smile teased at her lips.

  “Might I pour?”

  “Oh, but can I trust you to know quality champagne?”