“I have never learned to hate. Don’t let my first lesson come from you.”
Simon bowed his head in despair, knowing her plea was impossible for him to heed. He was a witch-hunter. She came from a family of witches.
He was doomed to become her teacher.
Remy thundered through the gates of the city, galloping into the countryside, unable to endure the noise, dirt, and bustle of Paris. Both his heart and his head in turmoil, he needed to get away to catch his breath, to think, to plan what to do next. The logic and legendary calm that had stood him in such good stead on the eve of so many battles had deserted him. He galloped down the dusty track, scarcely heeding where he was going. The sun blazed down upon him until he was drenched and his mount lathered in sweat. He felt obliged to draw rein for the sake of his horse, if not himself.
A small hamlet lay ahead comprising little more than a scattering of cottages, tidy gardens, a pond, and a copse of trees. Remy dismounted and walked the gelding until it had cooled down enough for him to tether the horse near the pond. He splashed the water over his own face before collapsing beneath a large elm, fighting to cling to his anger.
His fury was nearly spent and he regretted that, because he knew when his anger was gone all that would be left would be despair and bitterness. He could not remember feeling such an overwhelming sense of defeat since St. Bartholomew’s Eve. It was hard to believe that only a few hours ago, he had been bristling with excitement and confidence, feeling so strong and sure of everything, on the verge of achieving all he had ever desired. Rescuing his king, redeeming his honor, embarking on a new life with the woman he loved far from all the peril and intrigue of Paris. Now the future that he’d dreamed of was in ashes. He had lost his opportunity to help Navarre escape and Gabrielle was in the hands of witch-hunters.
As furious as he’d been with her, it had damn near killed him to leave her a prisoner. Not that Gabrielle had been reduced to tears or shown any sign of fear as a normal woman would have. Oh, no, not Gabrielle Cheney. Even facing trial for witchcraft, the woman was still proud, stubborn, and defiant. Remy scarcely knew what he had wanted to do most, curse her or kiss her until she whimpered for mercy.
He had to remind himself that she was no longer his to do either with. She had ended their betrothal. He was tormented with doubts, the thought that maybe Gabrielle had never intended to marry him. Maybe she really had been intriguing with the Dark Queen all along to—
No, Remy could not believe that of her. Those moments Gabrielle had spent in his arms, the intimacies they had shared, she could not have faked that. Why not? an ugly voice whispered in his ear. She was a courtesan, after all. Remy dragged his hand over his jaw. He didn’t know what to think. He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“Damn it, Gabrielle,” he railed inwardly. “Why couldn’t you have just been honest with me? Why did you have to continue playing these games?”
Maybe she had been right to end it between them. Maybe they would both be better off. Then why did he feel like plunging headfirst into that pond and drowning himself? As he shook his head to dispel such thoughts, he became aware of the approach of a rider. Squinting into the sun, he discerned Wolf’s familiar features.
The last thing he needed right now was to deal with any more of Martin’s high drama. The lad had been pure spoiling for a fight, eager to take on the entire cadre of witch-hunters right then and there. He seemed to have taken a particular dislike to Aristide. It had been all Remy could do to drag the lad away from the Charters Inn before he got them all killed. When Remy had ridden away from the city, he had ordered Wolf to remain behind, entrusting him with one simple task. To look after Miri, make certain she got into that coach and departed for Faire Isle.
Wolf drew rein and slid down from the saddle. The lad had never learned to be adept at handling horses, but his mount was a sweet-tempered mare. She ambled docilely at Wolf’s side as he led her toward Remy. Grimacing, Remy levered himself to his feet. Wolf’s thick mane of hair tumbled more wildly about his sharp features than usual. He regarded Remy with a mingling of reproach and confusion.
“Captain—”
“What the devil are you doing here? I told you to look after Miri, not come trailing after me. Is she on her way back to Faire Isle?”
“She won’t go, as I could have told you if you’d have given me half a chance. She won’t leave Paris without her sister.”
“Damn those Cheney women. Do none of them ever do as they are told?” He glowered at Wolf. “Or you either for that matter. You could have at least stayed with her. Her safety would be one less thing for me to worry about.”
Wolf bristled with indignation. “Miri is back at her sister’s town house. She is safe enough for the moment or I would never have left her. Not like you did your lady.”
“What did you expect me to do? Cleave my way single-handed through a score of armed men? Risk Gabrielle and Miri being killed in the process?” Remy added bitterly, “Besides, Gabrielle is no longer my lady.”
“What!” Heedless of his mount, Wolf dropped the mare’s reins to seize Remy by the sleeve. While the horse meandered down to the pond, Wolf stared at Remy in dismay. “Mon Dieu, Captain. I know you are upset with mademoiselle and—and you have some reason to be. But will you cast off the woman you love simply because she made one small mistake?”
“I didn’t cast her off. She is the one who ended our betrothal.”
“And you just allowed her to do it?”
“You don’t understand anything, boy. She—” Remy shook Martin off impatiently. “Never mind. This is none of your concern.”
“I must make it my concern if you intend to abandon Mademoiselle Gabrielle.”
“Damn it, Martin. I am not abandoning her. You should know me better than that.” Remy felt his temper rise and he checked it even though he had cause enough to be angry with Wolf. He knew this disaster was more Gabrielle’s doing, but Wolf’s share in the deception cut him almost as deep.
“Look. Will you just get back on your horse and return to Miri? I will join you presently. I don’t want to quarrel with you as well. I don’t really blame you for anything that has happened.”
Wolf stared at him, clearly thunderstruck. “You don’t blame me for saving you from a witch’s curse. How damned noble of you.”
“It is not that I don’t appreciate what you did,” Remy replied tersely. “But you should never have taken such a risk. You should have come to me and warned me of what was going on and so should Gabrielle instead of involving you. She promised me no more secrets, no more intrigue.”
A furious shade of red surged up Martin’s neck, spreading against his cheeks. “Mademoiselle Gabrielle did nothing wrong. Neither did I. All right, so we felt obliged to tell you a few small lies. That is no great crime. It was for your own good.”
“I have never known anything good to come out of lying. I wouldn’t have been pleased to learn the truth about the medallion, but if I had been warned, I could have—”
“You think you could have handled that witch any better? It was not a task for a soldier, the great Scourge, but for a rogue and a thief, for someone who understands the need to bend the truth now and again. Someone like Martin Le Loup.” Wolf struck his chest for dramatic emphasis. “You think you are the only one who can be the hero? I may not have your sense of honor, but I have as much courage and heart as you. Maybe more. I certainly would never give up on a woman like Mademoiselle Gabrielle so easily. She loves you—”
“But apparently not enough.”
“Not enough?” Wolf advanced upon him with clenched fists. “Mon Dieu! If you say such a thing again, I—I will mill you down. Oh, I don’t doubt you’ll make complete hay out of me, but at least I’ll have the satisfaction of trying to knock sense into you.”
Remy retreated a step, but he growled warningly, “Martin—”
“No! You—you just shut up and listen.” Wolf wagged his finger furiously in Remy’s face. “You want to know why Mademoiselle Ga
brielle was afraid to come to you and confess about the medallion? I will tell you why. It is because to you everything is so clear, right and wrong, black and white. Well, the rest of us poor mortals tend to stumble along through shades of gray. We can’t always live up to your high standards.”
Remy opened his mouth to hotly refute Wolf’s words, only to be brought up short by a memory of something Gabrielle had once said to him, something disturbingly similar. “You demand far too much from everyone, Remy.” Her blue eyes had gazed sorrowfully up at him. “Including yourself.”
The memory was a disquieting one. Remy sought to thrust it stubbornly from his mind as Wolf raged at him. “You tell me how much you love Gabrielle Cheney, how she is this beautiful enchantress, so flawless, so far out of your reach. Then we come to Paris and you discover that she is not so perfect, that she has become the courtesan. It breaks your heart.”
“I got past that—” Remy tried to interrupt.
“No, you haven’t. You still want her to be perfect for you.”
“All I want is for her to keep faith with me. To love me.”
“And you think she does not?” Wolf rolled his eyes with exasperation. “Ever since you returned to Paris, she has done nothing but love you. You remember the night of the masquerade, when Mademoiselle Gabrielle risked everything, her own interests, her ambitions, even her very life to smuggle you in to see your king? That moment in the corridor when she whispered something in my ear?”
“Yes, I remember,” Remy conceded.
“You know what she said to me, m’sieur? She said, ’You look out for him, faithful Wolf. You take care of our Captain.’ And that is all she has ever tried to do. Why did she acquire such an evil medallion and trick you into wearing it? Because she didn’t know it was evil. Because she thought she was protecting you.
“Why did she take that ring from the Dark Queen, enter into a pact with a woman whose power she fears? Once again, she was trying to protect you! Mademoiselle Gabrielle would do anything, risk anything to keep you safe, even her own life.”
“And I would be more than willing to risk my life for her, but—”
“Ah, but would you be willing to sacrifice your honor for her?” Wolf’s sharp green eyes bore into him to an uncomfortable degree. “Because she would do that for you. Unless you believe she has no honor?”
“No, of course I don’t think that.”
“I am glad because then I really would have to hit you.” Some of the fierceness faded from Wolf’s voice. He went on more quietly. “I know you will save Mademoiselle Gabrielle because you are a hero and that is what heroes do. But then what? You will ride out of her life because she disappointed you, because she thwarted your effort to rescue your king. You will continue your quest to do your duty.
“But me, I think that kings, noble causes, even kingdoms all eventually fade to nothing. Only love endures and you were offered a chance at a love like few men ever know. The kind that I will never—” He broke off, a shadow clouding his eyes.
His throat worked as he continued, “If you let this love slip between your fingers, then it is clear to me that I have wasted my time these past three years. Because I have been following a great thundering idiot.”
Wolf spun on his heel and stalked away. Remy half-expected him to fling himself on his horse and simply ride off. But the lad ground to a halt at the edge of the pond and stared moodily down into the water. The silence that descended seemed so heavy to Remy that it stilled even the whisper of the breeze through the grass, the whickering of the horses. He felt his face sting with heat, not of anger this time, but shame.
A shame so strong, it threatened to overpower him. It was as though Wolf had thrust a mirror up in front of his face and Remy didn’t like the man he saw reflected there. A man who had become so consumed by his notions of honor and duty that they had blinded him to all else, turned him hard and uncompromising.
He had been outraged when Gabrielle had accused him of being angrier that she had frustrated his plan to rescue Navarre than he had been concerned with her deception. Remy was mortified to realize that she was right.
Ever since St. Bartholomew’s Eve, he had carried with him this sense of failure, this burning need to redeem himself. As though he had come to believe in his own legend, the great Scourge. As though somehow he alone should have been able to turn the tide of history that night. Gabrielle said he had too much honor, but that wasn’t his true sin. What he suffered from was too much pride.
Remy tortured himself, recalling those few precious moments Aristide had accorded him alone with Gabrielle, how he’d wasted them on anger and recriminations when he should have held her in his arms, reassured her. She’d acted so defiant, it had further infuriated him, but he should have seen her behavior for what it was, an act. He ought to know Gabrielle at least well enough for that. How often had he watched her employ that stubborn bravado to cover up her hurt and fear?
He had been far too busy brooding over his own wrongs to realize how much she had needed him to tell her he forgave her, that everything was going to be all right. If those ended up being the last moments they ever shared—
No, he would not let himself think that, not even for a moment. He would save her or die trying and perhaps somehow he would find a way to mend matters between them. But there was someone else with whom he needed to make amends. Martin waited by the edge of the pond, scowling as he attempted to skip rocks along the surface. All he was doing was creating great splashes that threatened to spook the horses.
The lad tensed at Remy’s approach. He threw Remy a furtive look and Remy could tell the lad was a little daunted himself by his recent outburst. But he threw his shoulders back and announced gruffly, “I realize I have addressed you with great impudence, Captain. Moreover, I did lie and practice a great deception upon you regarding the affair of the medallion. So if you wish to dismiss me from your service or—or even if you want to call me out, demand satisfaction, I—I quite understand.”
After such a grim morning, Remy was surprised to discover he had the least inclination to smile. For the sake of Wolf’s dignity, he managed to maintain a grave demeanor. “Actually I don’t want either of those things.” Remy extended his hand. “All I want is to ask your pardon for being—er, how did you put it—a great thundering idiot.”
Wolf scratched his nose, looking somewhat abashed. But he clasped Remy’s hand in a hearty shake. “Thank you, Captain, but I don’t think it is only my pardon you should be asking.”
“I know that. I fear I have always behaved like a fool where Gabrielle is concerned. She is the most damned exasperating woman I have ever known. Also the most extraordinary. That is part of my problem. I am haunted by the fear of losing her, that I will never be able to hold her forever. Perhaps that is why when she ended our betrothal, it just seemed easier to let her go.”
“Ah, but you have never been a man to take the easy road, Captain. I am confident you will find a way to get your lady back into your arms.”
“I have to get her away from those witch-hunters first,” Remy said. He fetched a grim sigh. “I also must send word to Navarre, let him know what has happened. Pity that he is no more than a shadow king. I might have been able to call upon his influence to gain Gabrielle’s release.”
Martin shifted with some impatience at the mention of Navarre, but the lad’s gaze was not entirely unsympathetic as he said, “Captain, I know how your king’s captivity chafes you, that you are bitterly disappointed that you have not been able to redeem your pledge and secure his freedom. But from what I have observed of this Henry of Navarre, I think that when he truly wishes to escape from the French court, he will do it, with or without your help. He pretends to be so indolent, so careless, but this is a man who knows how to survive. A truly clever and cunning fellow.”
“A fellow much like you, my faithful Wolf.”
Wolf shrugged, tried to look modest, but failed utterly.
Remy gave him a fond cuff on the sho
ulder. “Incidentally, speaking of your cleverness, I have not thanked you for saving my life again. Though I have never been sure why you did so the first time.”
Wolf’s teeth flashed in his old familiar grin. “It was because of the boots.”
“But you could have had those. All you had to do was let me die.”
Wolf cocked his head, studying Remy curiously. “You don’t really remember, do you, monsieur? I was hiding in the alley while you fought so bravely against your enemies until you were finally overwhelmed. It was only when the soldiers were gone, when I thought you were dead, that I crept out of the shadows like the street rat that I was to rob you.
“But as I was working off your boots, your eyes opened. Instead of cursing me as you should have done, you just stared at me. You were in pain, your life spilling out of you and yet you noticed I had no shoes and you said—you whispered—’Take the boots, lad. You have more use for them than I do.’ And you told me where your money was hidden in your belt as well.”
Wolf’s eyes waxed overbright. “Never in my life had anyone offered me anything. It was then I said to myself, Martin Le Loup, so this is what a hero is. Not just the courage, but this greatness of heart.”
He shrugged. “So that is why I sought to save you and why I have been willing to follow you ever since. Even to the depths of hell.”
The lad’s words moved Remy more than he could show. He gave Wolf’s shoulder a hard squeeze. “Thank you, lad. Unfortunately, hell is where I have to go.”
“M’sieur?” Wolf gave him a puzzled frown.
“Believe it or not, I didn’t ride all the way out here just to stare at the clouds. I have been thinking. I have two weeks before Gabrielle’s trial. I may well have to resort to force to free her, but I would like to at least make the attempt to establish her innocence.”
“How could you possibly do that?”
“By finding the real culprit. By dragging Cassandra Lascelles and her maid out of hiding. By forcing them to confess the truth.”
Wolf paled at the suggestion. “That would never work, Captain. You have no idea how dangerous that woman is and besides, do you think that Aristide bastard would recognize the truth even if he heard it, if he would even listen?”