The Courtesan
Page 20
Annoyed that she had allowed Catherine to disconcert her, Gabrielle shot back, “Your Grace has a strange notion of friendship. You were the one who set out to destroy my mother’s happiness.”
Marguerite de Maitland, the courtesan who had seduced Louis Cheney, had been one of Catherine’s creatures, part of that group of ladies known as the Dark Queen’s Flying Squadron, chosen for their beauty, wit, and skills in the bedchamber. Few men possessed the will to resist these sirens even when they were fully aware who had sent them. It was well known that Catherine used these young women to spy for her, to establish dominance over her masculine enemies. But in the case of Evangeline Cheney, Catherine had merely acted out of spite and jealousy.
Catherine made no attempt to deny Gabrielle’s accusation, assuming a mournful expression that was a mockery in itself. “Alas, I did engage Marguerite to, er, entertain your father. But even if I hadn’t, he would have strayed from your mother’s bed eventually. All men are unfaithful in the end. Your mother should have been more philosophical about it and not allowed it to break her heart.
“But that is all in the past, long forgotten.” Catherine dismissed the devastation she had wrought in the Cheney family with an airy wave of one hand. “You certainly must have done so or you would never have accepted the inheritance from Marguerite. You and I are much alike, Gabrielle. We are practical women who never let anything as foolish as sentiment interfere with our personal advantage.”
“Yes,” Gabrielle agreed, but she found it a bitter reflection. There were times she would have given her soul to be more honorable and untainted. She turned swiftly away before Catherine could read the thought in her eyes. Display any sign of weakness or sensitivity in front of Catherine and one might as well bare one’s throat. Or worse still bare one’s eyes. If Gabrielle didn’t take care, the Dark Queen would get inside her head and discover the truth about Remy and every other secret Gabrielle had sought to hide.
Striving for her usual composure, Gabrielle moved toward the chair Catherine had offered her and sank gracefully into it. “Flattered as I am by this private reception, Your Grace, I am curious as to the reason for it. Especially when it waxes so late.”
“I don’t intend to keep you long, child.” Catherine settled herself opposite Gabrielle, the small table between them bearing a single taper. Catherine inched the silver candlestick closer to Gabrielle so that its glow played over her countenance, leaving Catherine more in shadow. Gabrielle stiffened at this maneuver, but did not betray her tension by so much as the flutter of an eyelash.
“I only wanted a moment to chat with you. I scarce saw you all evening,” Catherine said. “You seemed to keep disappearing.”
“The salon was very crowded, Your Grace. It was easy to become lost in it.”
“Another less striking lady perhaps, but never you, my dear. Your presence or your absence must always be remarked. I never even had a chance to compliment you on how lovely you looked. Exactly who had you attired yourself to be?”
“The queen of the fairies.”
“Ah. So tell me, Gabrielle. Are you going to prove to be a bad fairy?”
“No, I believe that is a role better left to Your Majesty.”
Catherine gave a throaty chuckle and pinched Gabrielle’s hand. The seemingly playful gesture was sharp enough to force Gabrielle to stifle a gasp.
Catherine’s smile broadened. “Impudent creature. I wonder why I put up with your insolence. I must be rather fond of you.”
Gabrielle rubbed her throbbing hand. “Really? I always thought you tolerated me because you fear the power of my sister.”
Catherine’s smile vanished. “Don’t be ridiculous. I admit that Ariane and I had our differences in the past, made many threats to each other, but we did reach an understanding. I have nothing but admiration and respect for her.
“So pray tell. How is the dear Lady of Faire Isle?” Catherine’s mouth took on a cruel cast as she added, “But you wouldn’t know, would you? Because Ariane has washed her hands of you.”
Gabrielle fought to conceal how painfully Catherine’s jab had found its mark. That was the danger of trading taunts with Catherine. She knew well how to draw blood.
“Yes, Ariane and I are estranged,” Gabrielle said quietly. “I am sure your spies must keep you well informed about both of us.”
“Usually they do. Unfortunately, the denizens of Faire Isle and your esteemed brother-in-law’s estate are extremely loyal to the lady and distressingly suspicious of strangers. It is quite annoying really.” Catherine toyed with the stem of the silver candlestick as she added softly, “My spies here in Paris serve me far better.”
The implications of that remark caused Gabrielle to freeze.
Catherine eyed her slyly and continued, “There is Signore Verducci, for example. A useful creature but at times a bit of a fool. He came to me with such astonishing tales of your doings, I nearly boxed his ears. But if he has spoken the truth, I must offer you my congratulations. I had no idea you had developed your powers to such an extent.”
Although her pulse beat quicker with every word that Catherine spoke, Gabrielle replied, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“And to think I fancied myself skilled in the dark ways,” Catherine murmured. “But even I have never managed to conjure up a man from the dead.”
Gabrielle felt the blood drain from her cheeks. Catherine’s sharp gaze honed in on Gabrielle like a swordsman closing in for the kill.
“I wonder . . . do you think the Scourge enjoyed the tender reunion with his king?”
Remy! The Dark Queen had discovered Remy . . .
Gabrielle was unable to control her panic. She shot to her feet and slammed her palms down on the table, nearly overturning the candlestick. “Dear God! What the devil have you done to him?”
Catherine reared back in her chair, clearly astonished by the depth of reaction she had provoked from Gabrielle.
“Why . . . nothing yet.”
“I don’t believe you. Have you had him arrested or—or—is he—” Gabrielle’s throat closed up, unable to give voice to her greater dread.
“Calm yourself, child. The captain is quite safe and as far as I know, still enjoying Navarre’s hospitality.”
Gabrielle searched Catherine’s face. For once in her life, the Dark Queen appeared to be telling the truth. Gabrielle sank back into her chair, weak with relief but sickened by the realization of how she had betrayed herself. Remy’s return had robbed her of the edge she’d always had in her duels with Catherine, the indifference of a woman who hazarded nothing but her own neck.
Catherine clucked her tongue. “My, my! To think I feared that I faced another tedious evening, just another of my son’s absurd masked balls. How diverting it has all turned out to be. Not only do I have the Scourge back from the dead, but I have Gabrielle Cheney, the ice maiden, behaving most unlike herself. Such excess of emotion. You are actually trembling.”
Gabrielle gripped her hands together in her lap. Don’t let the Dark Queen think it has anything to do with Remy. Don’t give her that power over you.
She moistened her lips. “Of—of course I tremble. Who would not when caught out doing something which I know must displease Your Grace?”
“Yes.” Catherine studied her through narrowed eyes. “Which makes me wonder why you did it. You usually have a greater care for your own interests.”
Gabrielle hunched her shoulders. “I share the same apprehension of boredom as Your Grace. There is nothing like a little intrigue to liven things up. When poor Captain Remy came to me, begging me to get him in to see his king, I saw no real harm in it.”
“No real harm?” Catherine’s brows arched haughtily. “You consider smuggling one of my worst enemies into my palace doing no real harm?”
“Nicolas Remy is no longer any threat to you. He has no army at his back, no powerful connections. He only wanted to see his king one last time, be certain that Navarre is—is well.”
Gabrielle flushed, but sought to conceal it by stifling a feigned yawn. “Oh, the captain is handsome enough, I grant you, but I always found him a trifle dull. Such honest, incorruptible men usually are.”
“Yet you and your sisters once risked everything to protect him. And here you are, still doing it. Why is that, I wonder?”
“I have no idea,” Gabrielle drawled. “Force of habit?”
“A very unwise habit, my dear Gabrielle.”
“Perhaps it is. But my sisters and I do owe a certain debt to Captain Remy. He helped to protect us the night you sent the witch-hunters to burn down our home.”
“Witch-hunters that I only sent to find Captain Remy and retrieve my gloves. If you had not been sheltering him—Oh, never mind.” Catherine lifted one hand in a regal gesture. “Let us not rake up that old quarrel again. It was a mere misunderstanding.”
A misunderstanding? If that was how Catherine behaved when she had a misunderstanding with you, what would she be likely to do if she really regarded you as an enemy? Gabrielle knew the answer to that all too well. The Dark Queen made you a gift of poisoned gloves. She dispatched dark armies to slaughter you and all your countrymen in the streets of Paris. Gabrielle rubbed the nape of her neck, suddenly wearied of playing this game with Catherine.
“Enough of this fencing, Your Grace,” she said bluntly. “It is clear you could have easily stopped Remy’s meeting with Navarre. So why didn’t you? Why haven’t you arrested both of us?”
Catherine scowled. “I have been asking myself that very same thing. Perhaps because there is an uneasy truce existing between my Catholic and Protestant subjects at the moment and I am sick to death of all this civil unrest. Those pious Huguenots mourned the loss of their great hero years ago. If I were to make a martyr out of Captain Remy a second time, I would risk the outbreak of hostilities again.
“War can be a useful thing sometimes. It helps to keep my great nobles occupied when they might otherwise make nuisances of themselves here at court. But it is also costly. I prefer to keep my coin to finish my beautiful new palace and quite frankly, Gabrielle, Captain Remy does not alarm me as much as you do.”
“Me?”
“Indeed. I have watched your career at court with great interest. You are not in the least like these other foolish courtesans, content with a few jewels, fancy gowns, a fine house, and a good time. Oh, no, you hunger for much more than that. You want power, the kind of power that comes from holding sway over the heart of a king.”
As Gabrielle opened her mouth to reply, Catherine forestalled her. “Don’t bother to deny it. You are good at concealing your thoughts, milady. But the merest novice of a witch would be able to read your ambitions. I have been aware for some time of your hopes regarding my dear son-in-law, Navarre.”
“So why haven’t you sent me away from court?” Gabrielle demanded.
Catherine didn’t answer. Instead she rose and stalked over to the fireplace and beckoned to Gabrielle imperiously. “Come here.”
Gabrielle approached her with slow, wary steps. Catherine seized her by the wrist and yanked her closer. She pointed toward the magnificent relief carved upon the stone mantel, the enjoined letters done in a fancy scroll.
“Have you ever noticed those initials emblazoned upon my fireplace?”
“It would be difficult not to. They are to be found carved throughout the palace.”
“And do you know what they stand for?”
Gabrielle fetched an impatient sigh, wondering what new game this was. “Certainly. The H represents your late husband, King Henry the second. And the C of course stands for Catherine. An ever constant reminder of Your Majesty’s presence.”
“Not my presence. What you imagine to be a C is actually a crescent moon. The symbol of the goddess Diana, which was the name of my husband’s mistress.”
Gabrielle’s eyes flew wide. The reign of Catherine’s husband had been well before her time. She could not have been more than eight years old when Henry II of France had met an untimely end due to an accident during a mock tournament. But Gabrielle had heard the whispers of the king’s grand affair with Diane de Poitiers. A name none dared speak aloud before Catherine.
Releasing Gabrielle, Catherine moved closer to the fireplace. She traced the outlines of the letter H, an unusual softness stealing over her features.
“I was only fourteen when I first came to France to be wed to a man I had never set eyes upon. Torn away from my home in Italy, frightened of the journey to a strange new land, terrified my bridegroom would turn out to be hideous, repulsive.”
Catherine gave a low mirthless laugh. “I would have been better off if he had been. Instead my Henry was young, vigorous, and so earnest, not unlike your Captain Remy. I had the misfortune to fall in love with him at first glance.”
“Misfortune?” Gabrielle echoed.
“Yes, because his heart already belonged to another. Diane de Poitiers.” Catherine’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Henry wed me. I bore his heirs. But he made her the uncrowned queen of France. It was her voice that had a say in all his royal appointments and councils. She even had dominion over the nursery, decreeing how my children should be educated and raised. She was flattered and honored by all the court while I was scorned and forgotten.”
A rare quiver of emotion crept into Catherine’s voice as she continued to caress her husband’s initial. “Henry did no more than his duty by me and even that reluctantly. As soon as he rose from my bed, he went straight to her. I had a hole bored in the floor above Diane’s chamber so I could watch the two of them making love.”
Gabrielle was revolted by the notion of Catherine spying on her husband as he bedded his mistress. But she felt a reluctant pang of sympathy for the older woman.
“How could you endure it?” she exclaimed. “I would have gotten rid of every one of those crescent moon symbols even if I’d had to raze the entire Louvre.”
“Would you?” Catherine’s hand fell away from the carving on the mantel. “That would have been such an expensive redecorating, and for what? By the time Henry died, it didn’t matter anymore. Because she no longer mattered. That is the point I am trying to make to you. King’s mistresses come and go and are swiftly forgotten.
“I’ll admit that Madame Diane’s time in the sun was longer than most, but I doubt you will enjoy a similar success with Navarre. You may have noted that my dear son-in-law has rather a wandering eye.”
Facing Gabrielle, Catherine’s familiar mask settled back into place. “No, my dear Gabrielle. Never place your dependence upon a king or any man. You would be far wiser to seek service with a queen, one of your own kind, a daughter of the earth.”
Gabrielle drew in a sharp breath, any vestige of pity for Catherine vanishing. Feeling sympathy for the Dark Queen was more dangerous than being afraid of her. It tended to make one forget how cunning Catherine could be. Gabrielle knew quite well what Catherine was getting at. This was not the first time Catherine had tried to recruit Gabrielle into the ranks of her Flying Squadron.
Gabrielle backed away from the queen, saying scornfully, “Serve Your Grace? How? By becoming part of the royal bordello? Does Your Majesty propose to become my panderer?”
“Don’t be crude, child,” Catherine scolded, pursing her lips. “I would have a much higher regard for you than those other ladies who serve me. I could offer you everything that a king could and more. Wealth, lands, titles . . . power.”
“Power?” Gabrielle gave an incredulous laugh. “You are offering to share your power with me?”
“Alas, I am growing older, my dear. I would welcome the use of your youthful wits and
energy. Just think of what the two of us together might accomplish, Gabrielle, for the glory of France, especially her women. You would become my right hand, more cherished than my own daughters could ever be. I would teach you everything I know, including my most powerful and secret arts. All I would require from you is—”
“My soul?” Gabrielle interrupted wryly.
“Your friendship, your undivided loyalty and devotion. Do not take my offer lightly. It could be the making of your future. Otherwise, I might be obliged to reassess your little role in Captain Remy’s intrigue tonight and . . .” Catherine trailed off.
Despite her glinting smile, her meaning was clear. She wasn’t asking Gabrielle to become one of her ladies this time. She was issuing an ultimatum, the same one she had once given Henry of Navarre. Join me or die.
Catherine’s desire to make Gabrielle one of her creatures might give Gabrielle the only bargaining chip she had to save Remy’s life. But she was going to have to play her cards very carefully. Struggling to keep her tone cool and indifferent, she asked, “And Nicolas Remy, what do you propose doing about him?”
Catherine frowned, inspecting a rough spot on her fingernail. “Monsieur le Scourge has been something of a thorn in my side in the past. I have no intention of letting him become so again. A public trial and hanging would be most awkward. However, even vigorous men like the Scourge suffer from . . . accidents, mysterious ailments that suddenly carry them off.”
Especially if such accidents were carefully arranged by a Dark Queen and there were so many ways Catherine could get at Remy. A subtle poison slipped into his drink at a tavern, the outbreak of a fire at his lodging, an assassin slitting Remy’s throat in some dark alley. Gabrielle’s mind reeled with all the terrible possibilities.
Gabrielle turned away from Catherine to conceal her agitation. Thinking furiously, she said, “I have a much better idea. Why don’t you let me deal with him?”