But as Valois neared Navarre’s tent, the whippet broke free. The little dog streaked straight for Miri and leaped, all but springing up into her arms. With a delighted laugh, Miri bent and gathered the dog to her. As she crooned soft words in his ear, the whippet wriggled with canine adoration, his tail lashing back and forth. His tongue lapped at every portion of Miri’s face he could reach.
Valois’s mouth thinned with outrage. As the king of France bore down upon her sister, Gabrielle hastened to intervene. But Remy was already there. With a wry smile at Miri, Remy eased the whippet from her arms and handed it back to the king. When the little dog whined, straining to get back to Miri, the king impatiently handed the whippet off to one of his attendants, his annoyance palpable.
Miri sank into a curtsy. Remy managed a stiff bow, but his spine appeared so rigid, Gabrielle marveled it did not snap in two. The king shook back his mane of dark hair, accorded them a sullen nod, then pointedly ignored them.
It was another voice that exclaimed, “Ah, Captain Remy. Welcome back from the realms of the dead. You grace us with your presence at last.”
The folds of Catherine’s black gown swept the grass as she approached. Remy made no response or move to offer her even the most token bow. His jaw might well have been carved from stone.
“Come, my dear Captain. Let all past misunderstanding between us be forgotten. It pleases me greatly to receive such a noted hero at our celebration today. I offer my hand in friendship. Let me see some sign of your own goodwill and regard.”
She held out her hand to him. Catherine’s smile was all that was amiable, but the sly cast of her eyes told Gabrielle that the Dark Queen knew full well what it would cost Remy to pay homage to the woman responsible for the slaughter of his people. A muscle twitched in Remy’s jaw, his deep brown eyes unable to disguise his loathing of the Dark Queen. He’ll never do it, Gabrielle thought, not even if it should cost him his life. Her heart constricted with dread, wondering how Catherine would react to the insult.
The Dark Queen extended her hand even more imperiously. An air of hushed expectancy seemed to have fallen over the entire gathering near the tent. The king of France watched, smiling wolfishly.
Catherine stepped closer, murmuring. “Come now, Captain. If you will not accept my friendship for your own sake, then do it for the sake of your dear friend, Mademoiselle Cheney.” Catherine smiled and nodded in Gabrielle’s direction. Her voice was soft, even caressing, but her implied threat was more than clear. If Remy did not bend before Catherine, he risked her displeasure falling upon Gabrielle.
Remy hesitated but a moment more, then slowly bent until he knelt before the Dark Queen. Gabrielle bit down hard on her lip to keep from begging him not to sacrifice his pride, at least not on her account. Remy took Catherine’s hand. His face ashen, he pressed his lips to the Dark Queen’s fingertips. A deep sigh of satisfaction echoed through the watching crowd. The king of France actually laughed as the proud Scourge who had rarely known defeat on the battlefield was obliged to humble himself before his enemies.
Remy bore it stoically, only his eyes revealing the full depth of his misery and shame. Gabrielle felt her own eyes sting with furious tears. And in that moment, she hated Catherine more than she ever had before. The Dark Queen kept Remy on his knees until Gabrielle could endure it no longer.
“Enough!” she cried. She thrust Catherine’s hand away from Remy and tugged at his shoulder, urging him to his feet. Catherine arched her brows and regarded Gabrielle quizzically. Her outburst drew many a stunned look, not least of all from Navarre. Gabrielle gritted her teeth and sought to recover behind a cool smile.
“Forgive me, Your Grace. But the captain has promised to be my escort today. It vexes me to see him pay homage to any other lady, even a queen.” She met Catherine’s eyes levelly. “And one never knows what a jealous woman might be provoked to do.”
“Oho, that sounds like a challenge, Your Grace,” the king of France called out. “Fetch the ladies swords. I will wager ten sous upon my maman.”
His mocking words sent a ripple of laughter through the tent, easing the tension in everyone but Remy. Even Catherine smiled. “Mistress Cheney and I prefer a subtler form of jousting. We shall leave the cruder and rougher passage of arms to the gentlemen. Such as our bold captain here, who must be itching to take to the field.”
The queen shifted to address her son-in-law. “My dear Navarre, why have you not outfitted your bold Scourge with some armor?”
Navarre shrugged. “My bold Scourge is a serious man, Your Grace. He has no taste for sport.”
“Nor do I lay claim to the title of knight,” Remy added.
“Then we shall make one of you, at least for the day,” Catherine purred. “You shall be my own special champion. I myself shall provide you with horse and armor.”
“No!” Gabrielle cried, clutching at Remy’s arm. She moistened her lips and forced a more playful tone into her voice. “What, Your Grace! Will you deprive me of my gallant escort? I am determined to have the captain watch the joust with me.”
“Tied to the lady’s petticoats, monsieur?” the king asked. His sneer brought a dark surge of blood into Remy’s cheeks.
Gabrielle squeezed his arm warningly. She was terrified he would forget all prudence and let himself be goaded into entering the lists. The sidelong glance Catherine exchanged with her son made Gabrielle more apprehensive than ever for Remy’s safety.
The king of France drawled, “How very disappointing. We were hoping for a sample of the Scourge’s famed valor and skill at arms.”
“I would have thought Your Grace had already sampled plenty of that on the battlefield,” Gabrielle said too sweetly.
When Valois flushed and glared at her, she reflected that it was less than wise to remind the king of his defeat at Remy’s hands. This situation was charged enough.
To her relief and great pride in him, Remy kept his temper. He addressed both Catherine and the French king with quiet dignity. “Loath as I am to disappoint anyone, this mock show of arms has never held any interest for me. I don’t play at war.”
The king looked vexed, but Catherine continued to coax, “Surely you might oblige us this one time. Your reputation as the Scourge is known throughout France. So many of our young nobles long to challenge your skill, especially one in particular.”
She shaded her eyes with her hand, gazing out across the field of tents. “Now, where has he gone? Ah, yes, there he is.”
Smiling in a way that sent a shiver of apprehension through Gabrielle, Catherine stepped away from the shelter of Navarre’s pavilion. Raising her arm, she beckoned to a distant figure that appeared to have been waiting for her signal to approach. He was already outfitted with armor for the joust, except for his gauntlets and helmet, but the sun striking off his breastplate made it impossible to discern his features.
Gabrielle clutched at Remy’s hand, casting him a look both plea and warning. But Remy wasn’t even looking at her. Like everyone else, his attention was focused on the approaching figure, a deep frown etched between his brows.
If this man turned out to be the duc de Guise or any of the other great Catholic lords who had taken active part in the massacre, Gabrielle feared that nothing would stay Remy from accepting the challenge.
Her pulse beating anxiously in her throat, she watched the armor-clad figure march closer, his features still indistinguishable until he bowed stiffly to Catherine and then slowly lifted his head. Gabrielle’s breath left her entirely. She felt the blood drain from her cheeks as she stared at the lean, saturnine countenance of Etienne Danton.
She was dreaming, Gabrielle told herself desperately. Lost in the throes of one of her nightmares. If she blinked or shook herself hard enough, she would surely wake up and Danton’s hateful face would disappear.
But it didn’t. The chevalier summoned forth his squire and presented the Dark Queen with a single bloodred rose. Danton’s every movement was imbued with a careless arrogance, a
mocking image of the true knight she’d once believed him to be.
Gabrielle recoiled a step, swaying slightly on her feet, the only thing steady and solid Remy’s hand. He caught her just beneath the elbow, bracing her.
“Gabrielle? Are you all right?”
Gabrielle glanced up to find Remy’s eyes clouded with concern. She tried to answer him, but her lips had gone too numb to form any words. She turned her head, avoiding the sight of the man clad in such brilliant armor.
Danton here in Paris. How was that possible? Ever since that terrible day in the barn, she’d dreaded encountering him again, but she had felt safe enough at the French court. She’d heard the rumors that Danton had done something to land himself in disgrace, banished back to his estates in Normandy.
Then why had he been allowed to return and—and what did it even matter? Nothing mattered beyond the fact that he was here and with a few more steps he’d be close . . . close enough to touch her again.
“Gabrielle?” Remy’s voice prodded at her again, but she pulled free of his gentle grip, consumed by one thought, one urge. To flee. To run as far and fast as she could. Even all the way back to Faire Isle.
She’d actually staggered a few steps back when her gaze collided with Catherine’s. The queen’s expression was as bland as ever, but her eyes were dark with calculation and a hint of triumph. The realization slammed into Gabrielle like a mighty fist. If she had not been blindsided by shock and panic at the sight of Danton, she would have arrived at the truth at once. It was Catherine who had arranged Danton’s return to court, Catherine as ever weaving some dark web of her design.
Her steady gaze mocked Gabrielle, her faint smile letting Gabrielle know the Dark Queen was fully aware of her past relationship with Danton. It was as Gabrielle had feared that night she had met with Catherine after the masked ball. Catherine had finally managed to read her eyes. She was now in possession of all Gabrielle’s vulnerabilities, her fears, her memories of that shameful encounter with Danton.
The thought made Gabrielle feel ill, but she realized if she did not take hold of herself, Catherine might not be the only one privy to her humiliating secret. Others might possibly guess, perhaps even Remy. Gabrielle could not endure that.
Danton’s insolent gaze swept toward her. The bile rose in her throat and she swallowed hard. Although her heart beat wildly, Gabrielle gathered up her courage and surged forward to confront her worst nightmare.
Chapter Seventeen
Nicolas Remy’s eyes narrowed as he studied Gabrielle and the knight in the costly armor. The newcomer had drawn her away from the tent, the two of them lost in some low, intense conversation. In spite of the crowd milling past her, Gabrielle was oblivious to everyone but the stranger. Except that Remy doubted this man was a stranger to Gabrielle. She had tensed at the sight of him, with an expression Remy had never seen on her face before, not even the day her home had been attacked by witch-hunters.
Fear. Such terror that Remy had expected to see her run away as though the hounds of hell were after her. But she had recovered herself and stalked forward to greet the man. She was pale but so composed Remy wondered if he had imagined the fear.
He saw nothing about the man to terrify any woman. The unknown knight was a handsome enough fellow, Remy grudgingly conceded. Dark hair waved back from a face defined by high cheekbones and an aquiline nose. But his features were stamped with that look that Remy had always despised. An arrogant the-world-is-mine-and-I’ll-do-just-as-I-damned-well-please expression.
So who the devil was he? And more important, what was he to Gabrielle?
As though he had spoken his question aloud, a soft voice said, “Mademoiselle Cheney seems to be eagerly renewing her acquaintance with Danton.”
Remy glanced down to find the Dark Queen close by his side. Her smile seemed to taunt him with some secret knowledge. “I was not even aware that our dear Gabrielle knew him. But they appear to be rather intimate. One of her conquests, do you suppose?”
Remy knew well what she was getting at, that this Danton had been one of Gabrielle’s lovers. Remy’s gaze flicked back to Gabrielle. The fellow was whispering something in her ear. Remy felt a savage bite of jealousy, but he sought to contain it.
It would be less than wise to display any undue interest before the Dark Queen, let alone any hint of his feelings for Gabrielle. Reveal no weaknesses before Catherine. Never gaze straight into her eyes. Gabrielle herself had warned Remy of that. But he found himself staring into the Dark Queen’s eyes as though mesmerized. Those hooded dark eyes that promised the answers to his questions, answers he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like. But he could not seem to look away.
“So who the blazes is he? This Danton?” Remy asked.
“The Chevalier Etienne Danton is a scion of one of our oldest and noblest families in Normandy. He has been unwelcome at our court for many years due to—er—a past indiscretion.”
“Then how could he be one of Gabrielle’s conquests? She has only been in Paris for two years.”
“True. I wondered about that myself. She must have met him during her girlhood on Faire Isle.” Catherine clicked her tongue softly. “I cannot imagine what her mother was thinking of. But alas, I forgot. Evangeline was dead. Otherwise I doubt she’d have ever permitted a man like Danton anywhere near her innocent daughter.”
“A man like Danton? What do you mean?” Remy demanded.
“The chevalier has an unfortunate reputation with the ladies. It is whispered that no woman can say no to him.” Catherine leaned closer to Remy, lowering her voice to a more intimate timbre. “But perhaps that is because Danton will not allow a woman to say no. What is not willingly surrendered to him, he takes.”
Remy blinked, a strange sensation sweeping over him. He swayed on his feet, feeling as though he was falling into the dark pools of Catherine’s eyes. Like bursts of lightning, pictures of Gabrielle flashed through his mind. Skirts shoved up past her hips, trapped beneath a man who drove himself brutally into her. Tears streaking down her cheeks, biting her lips to contain her sobs. Dazed and bruised, clutching the torn bodice of her gown over her bared breasts.
Inhaling sharply, Remy snapped his gaze free of Catherine’s, grinding his fingertips against his eyes to dispel the harrowing images. Every pore in his body tingled with an awareness of danger. Perhaps it was the amulet working or only some instinct of his own that warned him. The Dark Queen was practicing her witchery on him. He fought to clear his head, but his thoughts seemed to collide and tumble over one another, fragments of his conversation with Gabrielle.
“You were never in love? Not even the first time?”
“Of course not. I don’t even remember his name.”
The memory of Gabrielle’s haunted face swam before Remy and it didn’t matter what Catherine might be plotting, what the Dark Queen was doing to him. Nothing mattered except the hatred that swept through his veins, so icy that it burned.
His shadow enemy now had both a face and a name . . . Danton.
“Gabrielle, you are as beautiful and bewitching as ever.”
Although her heart hammered against her rib cage, Gabrielle forced herself to look at Danton. The lines of dissipation were carved a little deeper about his mouth and eyes, but Etienne still appeared handsome. Dark hair waved back from his forehead, his face all lean angles from his aristocratic cheekbones to the aquiline cast of his nose. He’d completely dazzled the naÏve sixteen-year-old girl she had been, with his charm and smooth good looks. She was no longer naÏve or sixteen, Gabrielle reminded herself fiercely, but she had to fight hard not to quail as he moved closer.
“It has been far too long since I have had the pleasure of your company.”
“Not long enough,” she retorted.
He flung back his head and laughed. The manner she had once thought so charming struck her as being affected. When he tried to secure her hand, she whipped her fingers out of reach. If he so much as touched her, she feared she might be sick.
Danton assumed a look of deep hurt. “Gabrielle. Have you not missed me?”
“No. I have not given you a single thought all these years.”
Danton smirked. “You lie. A woman never forgets her first lover, although—” His gaze swept insolently over her. “From what I have heard, you have dispensed your favors generously since our little tryst.”
Gabrielle curled her hands into fists to resist the urge to rake her nails over his mocking face. She and Danton were the object of far too many curious eyes. Not the least of all Remy’s scowling gaze. Keeping her voice low, Gabrielle demanded, “What are you doing here, Danton? I understood that you had been banished from court.”
“All is forgiven. I have been welcomed back by no less than the Queen Mother herself. So you should be nice to me, Gabrielle. With the queen’s patronage, I am likely to become a very important man.”
“You are more likely to become a fool if you trust any promise of Catherine’s. But then you never were all that clever.”
Something ugly flashed into Danton’s eyes to be quickly smoothed away behind his smile. He seized hold of both her hands in a painful grasp and drew her closer. Gabrielle stifled a gasp. Without causing an obvious scene, she could not work herself free. Still smiling, Danton dipped down to whisper in her ear. “You have no idea the sort of plans the queen has for me, especially if I am declared champion of this tourney. She will give me anything I want . . . including you.”
Gabrielle glared at him, but even the threat of such a thing was enough to make her feel weak and trembling. As Danton raised first one of her hands to his lips, then the other, she experienced a dizzying rush of that helplessness she’d known that day in the barn. The brush of his mouth against her skin brought it all back to her, every painful memory of the things that Danton had done to her.