She glanced up to find Renard towering over her. His own eyes were completely dispassionate as he gazed down at the dead man, but his voice was gentle as he said, “Come away, chérie. There is nothing that even you can do for this fellow.”
He held out his hand to Ariane and wrapped his other arm around Miri, turning the girl’s eyes away from the terrible sight.
The first gray trace of dawn lit the sky over Belle Haven and no one had yet slept. The servants, from old Agnes to young Leon, were anxious to begin setting the house back to rights, but Ariane insisted that that could wait. She assembled her wearied household in the kitchen for a warm breakfast, then she herself slipped back into the great hall to assess the damage.
She had not yet had the courage to go above stairs and see what havoc Le Vis’s brutes might have wrought there. The main hall was bad enough, the wood floor stained with blood, one wall scorched from the fire, a stale smell of smoke still hanging in the air despite the fact that windows had been flung open. Chairs and tables were broken, crystal and plates smashed.
Ariane picked her way through the shattered glass to where Maman’s chair lay knocked over. Ariane placed it back into position before the hearth. The simple gesture afforded her some small comfort and she needed it as her gaze rested on the blackened remains of the once-magnificent tapestry.
It seemed a sad irony that Le Vis had chosen to begin his assault with this particular one, the weaving of Great-aunt Eugenie serenely at work with her quill and parchment, the same one Renard had admired so long ago.
Ariane reached down to fold back one corner, but no trace of the subject of the great tapestry was left discernible. She mourned quietly, thinking of the countless hours of labor that had gone into it, each thread so lovingly and patiently woven by feminine hands. All destroyed in mere moments by one madman.
There had not been such violence done at Belle Haven since the days the island had been the site of a Roman fortress, long before the wise women had claimed this peaceful place to be their own.
Ariane’s shoulders slumped, briefly overwhelmed once more by a sense of her own failure to preserve, protect. She drew back from the tapestry, wiping the soot from her fingers, giving herself a brisk mental shake as well.
It was only a house, after all. The remains of the tapestry could be cleared away, the bloodstains scoured. The important thing was that the attack had proved no worse. None of her own people had been harmed and any injury to Renard’s men had been but slight.
The witch-hunters had not fared as well. Ariane had counted five among the slain that Renard’s men had carted away, but neither Le Vis nor the boy were among them. Renard and his cousin Toussaint were even now out riding the woods, attempting to track the escaped witch-hunters down.
She could not help hoping that Le Vis and the others would escape, leave Faire Isle and never return. She wanted no more bloodshed. But even in the unlikelihood that Le Vis would simply give up and leave them all alone, Ariane knew there was one who would not . . . the Dark Queen.
Ariane stole out of the house, seeking the relative peace of her garden. The early morning light flooded softly over the beds of her herbs, beads of dew clinging to velvety rose petals. And somewhere from one of the trees in the orchard, a lark was twittering with the promise of a new day.
Ariane knew that there were some bitter folk, perhaps her own sister Gabrielle amongst them, who would insist nature was cruel. But as Ariane lifted her face to catch the soft breeze, she believed as her mother had taught her, that nature was a comforter, a gentle healer, and that was what a daughter of the earth was also meant to be.
She wondered how Catherine had become so twisted, using the arts and knowledge that had been passed down to all wise women for such dark purposes. Of course, the queen was not the first to do so. There had been the legendary Melusine, rumored to have vented her malevolence against entire villages, spreading poison and plague.
Catherine had not yet practiced her evil on such a wide scale, but Ariane had a grim feeling the woman was drawing ever closer to it.
At least it would take awhile before the Dark Queen learned of her witch-hunter’s second failure. But it was more important than ever to get Remy safely away from here, especially now that Renard knew of his presence.
Observing Remy himself slipping into the stables, Ariane headed in that direction. The stables appeared blessedly normal in the early light, the morning breeze carrying to her the comforting and familiar scents of hay, leather, and horse. The bunnies that Miri had so worried over were nestled asleep in their bed of straw and Butternut chomped placidly on his oats.
She was surprised to see Remy in another of the stalls, watering a sleek brown mare. Like everyone else at Belle Haven, the captain’s face showed the strains of the night before, but he managed a wan smile at Ariane’s approach.
“Good morrow, Mistress Cheney.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Ariane leaned into the stall to stroke the muzzle of the horse. “Where did this come from?”
“A gift to me, apparently. Courtesy of the Comte de Renard.”
“Renard? Has he returned, then?”
“No, he is still out pursuing Le Vis as far as I know. But he took the time to dispatch one of his men back with this fine animal for me.” Remy patted the mare’s glossy neck.
Ariane took in this information. “Then . . . even knowing you are a fugitive from the crown, the comte intends to help you?”
“Yes, he seems most eager to send me on my way. In fact, he strongly urges that I leave at once.”
“But you can’t. You have had so little sleep. You must at least take one more day to rest—”
Remy cut her off with a sad shake of his head. “No, Mistress Ariane. I have already endangered your family enough and last night was but final proof of how bold and desperate the Dark Queen has grown to stop me. She must be planning some dread fate for my king indeed. I must reach Henry and prevent him falling into her trap.”
Ariane wanted to argue with him, but she feared he was right. Remy could not afford a moment’s more delay.
Leaving him, she hurried back to the house, long enough to prepare a pouch of supplies. By the time she returned to the stables, Remy already had the mare saddled and led out into the yard.
Ariane shifted the pouch from her shoulder and handed it to him.
“What is this?” he asked in surprise.
“Just a few things I put together for your journey. Some food, some wine, and the small flask contains the rest of the medicine I have been giving you.”
When Remy pulled a face, she added sternly, “You will continue to take it, monsieur, until it is all gone.”
“Yes, mistress. I would scarcely dare to defy the Lady of Faire Isle,” he promised with one of his grave smiles.
Ariane watched him sling the pouch across his saddle with a heavy heart. She had grown fond of the somber young captain and was afraid for him. The mist-laden road through her own woods seemed perilous enough. Who knew what danger he would face once he had left the relative safety of Faire Isle?
“You will take care, Captain,” she said anxiously. “The Dark Queen may have sent others after you besides Le Vis. Her royal guard could be out there waiting.”
“I will watch my back, mistress. Although . . .” Remy gave one of his rare laughs. “I confess I might almost welcome a clash with something as normal as another soldier after dealing with witch-hunters, cats that give warnings, and magic rings. Your Renard appears to be far more comfortable with such strange doings than I.”
“He is not my Renard,” Ariane said, annoyed to feel a faint blush tinge her cheeks.
Remy cast her a dubious look, but said nothing. He started to vault into the saddle when he stopped, turning gravely back to her. “There is one thing we have not decided, Mistress Cheney. What is to be done with the gloves?”
Ariane reflected for a long moment. “With your permission, I will keep them.”
“That hardl
y seems wise, mademoiselle.”
“Indeed it will be for the best, Captain. Only think. If you were to be captured and did not have the gloves in your possession, there might still be a way we could barter with the Dark Queen for your life.”
“Or place yourselves in still more danger.”
“I believe we will be safe enough once you are gone. I intend to send a message to Mademoiselle Lavalle in Paris. She appears to be a daring and resourceful woman. I am hoping she might be able to mislead Catherine into thinking you have fled with the gloves to England. It may buy you a little more time.”
Remy looked clearly unhappy with these plans, but he appeared to realize there was little he could do to alter Ariane’s determination.
“You have all been far too good to me,” he said huskily, grasping Ariane’s hand. “And courageous. No matter where I go or what becomes of me, for the rest of my life, I will always remember the ladies of Faire Isle.”
Even as he carried Ariane’s hand to his lips, she could tell that there was one lady uppermost in his mind. His gaze strayed hopefully toward the house, but it was obvious there was little chance of Gabrielle emerging to bid him farewell.
Remy’s eyes filled with such sad resignation that Ariane could not restrain the impulse to give him a hug and kiss his cheek.
“Take care, Remy and—and Godspeed.”
Remy nodded. “Once I have reached the side of my king and believe all is well, I will try to get word to you.”
He swung into the saddle. Ariane stepped back as he urged the gelding forward. She lifted her hand to wave, but Remy galloped from the stableyard without looking back.
The morning was well advanced when Renard finally returned to Belle Haven. By the time Ariane emerged from the house, she saw only Fourche leading Hercules into the stables.
She found Renard himself at the well near the kitchen door. He had stripped down to his shirtsleeves and was preparing to wash off some of the dust of the road. Hauling up the bucket, he splashed water over his face, looking hot and tired.
But his grim expression lightened when he saw Ariane approach offering him a towel. He murmured his thanks, slicking back the damp ends of his hair. He rubbed the coarse linen vigorously over his face and the strong cords of his neck.
Except for the faint shadows beneath his eyes and the hint of stubble on his chin, Renard scarcely looked the worse for having spent his night fighting and pursuing witch-hunters. Ariane envied him his astonishing fortitude. Small wonder she tended to think of Renard as invincible. He was like a man forged from iron.
Scooping up a handful of the water, he drank deeply and sighed, “Ah, that is better.”
“How fared your search?” Ariane asked anxiously.
“Ill. We managed to take care of three more of the devils, but two still elude us. That boy, and worst of all, Le Vis.”
Renard flung down the towel. “He has escaped me twice now, saved once by you and then by that foolish lad of his. What is it about that black-hearted miscreant that inspires such regard for his welfare?”
Renard dragged his hand back through his hair in a frustrated gesture and it was then that Ariane noticed the blood stain on his sleeve.
“Renard! Are you hurt?” she cried, catching hold of his arm, starting gently to ease back the sleeve.
Renard regarded the stain with indifference. “No, the blood isn’t mine.”
“O-oh.” Ariane immediately recoiled, the import of his previous words striking home.
“We managed to take care of three more of the devils.”
“So how many of Le Vis’s men were—were—”
“Killed? Some six or seven altogether, I suppose.”
Ariane suppressed a shudder. She said nothing, but as usual Renard was able to read her eyes all too clearly.
He swore. “God’s teeth, Ariane. Those witch-hunters came here to murder you all in your beds, burn the house down around your ears. What did you expect me to do? Disarm them, tenderly escort them off the island, and ask them not to come back? I tried that once, as you may recall. It obviously did not work.
“My men and I destroyed no one who was not trying to do the same by us.” Renard rolled his arm to display the stain on his sleeve. “This blood is from a fellow who attempted to ambush me in the woods, seeking to unseat me by coming with a dagger at my horse. I would never strike down any man in cold blood.”
“I—I know that,” Ariane replied in a small voice. “The measures you took were necessary, but I still cannot rejoice in them. There has never been bloodshed before at Belle Haven.”
Some of the impatience melted from Renard’s face. “I would have given anything to have kept this danger and violence from your door. I should have been more vigilant.”
Ariane shook her head. “This was more my fault than yours. I am the one responsible for the safety of my sisters. I am not unaccustomed to the sight of death, but Miri, she was quite devastated. I should have taken more care to keep her below stairs last night, never allowed her to see such grim sights. She—she suffers enough from strange nightmares.”
“How is the child this morning?” Renard asked.
“Well enough, all things considering. I made her a tisane and tucked her back in bed with her cat. She drifted off to sleep, but she was very much worried about that boy, Simon.”
“My cousin Toussaint has gathered up a fresh patrol and is still out searching. We will get the boy.”
“That is what Miri is afraid of.”
“That boy is not exactly an innocent, Ariane. He serves Le Vis.”
“Miri thinks that Simon is just confused and so you or I might be if we were apprenticed to a witch-hunter. Perhaps even raised by one.”
“A man breeds a dog, teaches it to be savage and attack. It might not be the dog’s fault, but the animal is still dangerous.”
“A boy is not the same as a dog, my lord.”
“No, because the dog can sometimes be gentled and retrained. As for that boy, there is no telling to what lengths he might go to defend his master when we close in on Le Vis. I will do my best to spare the lad, but I can make no promises.”
Ariane nodded, forced to be content with that. “Will it please you to come into the house, my lord? Agnes has a hot stew waiting, fresh bread, and wine. For your men as well.”
She started to lead the way back to the house, but Renard stopped her. “The food can wait. Come talk to me a moment, lady.”
He sank down on the grass, propping his back against the trunk of a stout oak with a wearied sigh. He smiled, reaching his hand up to her in invitation. Ariane hesitated, fretting her lip.
Last night when she had been recovering from her fear for Renard’s life, it had been the easiest thing in the world to melt into his arms. Daylight brought the return of reason and memories of the awkward way they had parted the eve of the supper.
She was especially wary of that outstretched hand with the ring glinting on his finger, remembering the heated sparks that had flown between them when her own ring had touched against it.
She settled herself on the grass a safe distance away. She folded her hands in her lap, taking great care to keep her ring safely buried in the folds of her skirt. If Renard noticed her extreme caution, he made no remark.
Resting his head against the trunk of the tree, he regarded her through narrowed eyes. “So, where is your gallant friend, the captain?”
“Remy has already left, as I gather you ordered him to do,” Ariane said tartly. She softened her tone. “Thank you, my lord. For helping him, for giving him that horse.”
“The pleasure was all mine, chérie, I do assure you. I would have gotten rid of—that is, helped the captain much sooner if I had known of his existence.”
“I only hope that he will be all right.”
“I am sure he will be fine.” Renard shrugged. “He wields his sword well enough for a Huguenot and any man able to escape from Paris under the very nose of the Dark Queen obviously has some wit
s about him.”
“So Remy told you everything? All about who he is, why he had to flee?”
“Not directly. The rash young fool’s eyes are even easier to read than yours, ma chère. You should have told me from the beginning what has been going on, Ariane.”
Although she had not the least reason to feel guilty, she rushed to explain, “I would have told you about Captain Remy, but I was not certain how you would feel—”
“About my betrothed hiding a handsome young officer in her cellar?”
“I am not your betrothed, my lord, and I meant how you would feel about aiding a fugitive from the crown. The old comte certainly would never have lent his support to a Huguenot rebel.”
“I seem to spend a great deal of energy convincing people that I am not like my late grandfather. But I would have thought by now that I would no longer have to do so with you, milady.”
So Renard was not invulnerable after all. He could be hurt, and Ariane realized that she had managed to do so. She reached toward him, only to check the impulsive gesture.
“I am sorry, Renard. I don’t believe you are like your grandfather, but I felt I had to be extremely cautious with Remy’s life at stake and we have never precisely discussed your views on politics or religion.”
“They are very simple, ma chère. I tend to my own affairs and expect other men to do the same.”
“Then that is all the more reason I appreciate you taking the trouble to help Remy.”
Renard frowned. “You seem to have developed a remarkable fondness for that young man on such short acquaintance. Pray forgive me if I wax a trifle jealous.”
“But that is quite absurd. Even if I were your—your betrothed, there would be no need for you to be. I regard Remy as nothing more than a friend and as for him, he would scarcely know I existed when set next to my sister, Gabrielle.”
The Dark Queen Page 33
