The women of Faire Isle enjoyed a great deal more freedom than Jane had ever known, a freedom that she found both enticing and a little alarming.
She lifted her face into the breeze, the wind strong enough to tug at her carefully pinned chignon. For once she had not been prudent enough to don either a cloak or a cap.
As she struggled to replace a dislodged hairpin, Jane was seized by the sort of mad impulse she had not known since she had been a very young girl. She yanked out the rest of the pins and shook out her hair until it tumbled free in a wild tangle.
Smoothing it back from her face, she drank in the salt air and shielded her eyes with one hand. The sea seemed to roll on forever in a glorious expanse of sun-kissed blue, except that she knew it didn’t.
It was little more than twenty miles across that channel to England, the realization causing Jane a familiar pang. How many years would it be until her regrets softened and her memories dimmed, until she would stop being struck by the thought: If I were still at home on such a day, at such an hour, I would be doing this …
As she gazed out across the sea, her eyes misted with an image of her London manor, with its stout stone walls and tidy knot gardens leading down to the riverside quay, the Thames teeming with wherries and barges.
Like everything else, her London manor had been forfeited to the Crown. Jane wondered which of her favorites Elizabeth had bestowed the property upon and if the new owner had been kind to her household of servants or if they had been obliged to seek situations elsewhere.
Had this person been careful of her garden or neglectful? Had they perhaps torn up the rose arbor she had so tenderly cultivated in favor of extending the dock?
Most of all she wondered who, if anyone, would ever pause by the remote corner of the London churchyard to pray over the unassuming stone that marked her brother’s grave.
Edward Lambert, the last Baron of Oxbridge. It disturbed Jane that she could scarce call up an image of the reckless young man who had given her so many sleepless nights. But she recalled quite clearly the little brother who had clung so fiercely to her hand that summer they had become orphaned.
“What are we to do, Jane?” Ned had asked, turning his woebegone face up to hers. “Our papa fell off his horse and now he is all broken. We have no papa anymore. Who will look out for me?”
“I will, Neddie,” she said, her hand caressing the silky strands of his blond hair, a paler version of her own. “I will protect and take care of you always.”
A promise she had been unable to keep …
“Forgive me, Neddie,” she prayed. Her eyes blurred with tears. She rubbed fingertips against her lids to stem the flow. When her vision cleared, she was struck by the sight of two cloaked figures making their way up the beach.
There was no mistaking the taller of the two young women. Seraphine Remy the Lady of Faire Isle’s eldest niece, was a beauty of statuesque proportions, her unbound hair falling over her shoulders like a shower of gold. She provided a dramatic contrast to her shorter companion, Meg’s thin face framed by her dark brown hair.
Jane frowned. Ariane Deauville had given strict instructions that no one was to stray that far from the encampment. Jane glanced back toward the cluster of cottages and saw that everyone else had retreated inside, no doubt to get on with daily chores.
There was no one to notice the two girls wandering off but her. Jane fretted her lip, realizing that neither girl would be likely to welcome her interference, especially not Seraphine.
The lady’s niece was headstrong to a fault. Meg had a strong mind of her own, but she seemed almost mesmerized by Seraphine Remy, the older girl often able to override Meg’s caution and persuade her into some imprudent action Meg would not usually undertake.
All the more reason she ought to go after them, Jane thought. Hesitating only a moment longer, she plucked up her skirts and headed off in pursuit.
Jane had never been a swift walker and the uneven ground made for rough going. Fortunately the two girls were not proceeding at a fast pace and as Jane closed the distance between them, she realized why.
From Seraphine’s fierce gestures and Meg’s repeated shakes of her head, it was obvious that Seraphine was attempting to persuade Meg into doing something against the younger girl’s wishes.
As Jane overtook them, Seraphine held something out of Meg’s reach. The two girls tussled for possession of the object, but they froze at the sight of Jane. Meg managed to snatch the thing back and hide it beneath her cloak. The girls sidled close to each other like soldiers closing ranks, Meg looking guilty, Seraphine defiant.
Jane smiled, greeting them as though she had noticed nothing amiss. “Good morrow, ladies.”
Meg’s curtsy was stiff and awkward, Seraphine’s as smooth and haughty as any duchess.
“Lady Danvers. What an agreeable surprise.” The girl bared her pearl-like teeth in a smile. At the age of sixteen, Seraphine had already mastered the art of saying one thing while her tone conveyed quite another.
“I confess I am surprised to see you both abroad so early as well. Where are you going?” Jane asked.
“Up there.” Seraphine jerked her head in the direction of the distant cliffs, the ring of monoliths just visible atop the highest one. “Neither Meg nor I have ever seen the standing giants and we are perishing to do so.”
“I am sure you will see them soon enough. The council meeting is barely a week away. In the meantime, I cannot think it wise for either of you girls to wander about unescorted.”
“Oh, pooh. This is Faire Isle, not London or Paris. I am sure the notion of an unchaperoned girl is appalling to a lady of your—er, venerable years. But women have more freedom here.”
“I was not thinking of propriety, so much as safety.” Jane focused her gaze gravely on Meg. “You know that Ariane has asked that none of us stray too far. Apparently there are some rough fisherfolk on this side of the island, the women in particular a trifle wild and superstitious.”
Meg started to speak, but once again Seraphine cut in before she could reply. “My mother told me those idiotic women were driven off Faire Isle years ago when the witch-hunters and the king’s soldiers made their great raid. Besides, I am well able to defend both of us.”
Seraphine drew back her cloak to reveal a short sword.
“Merciful heavens, child!” Jane gasped.
“Don’t worry. I know how to use it.” Seraphine patted the hilt lovingly. “My father taught me. Captain Nicolas Remy is a brave Huguenot hero, so fearsome he is called the Scourge. I don’t know if I have ever told you that.”
“Only a dozen times,” Meg muttered.
“My father feels that every Huguenot must know how to defend him-or herself. One never knows when we may be set upon by some papist fanatics.”
“Seraphine!” Meg reproved with a significant look at Jane.
The girl merely shrugged. “I meant no offense to Lady Danvers.”
“None taken,” Jane said. “There is no civil war being waged on this island, which is why your parents sent you and your sisters here out of harm’s way. There is a more tolerant spirit on Faire Isle.”
“I hope so. Did your ladyship read the tract by Martin Luther I sent you?”
“No, I did not. I believe that faith should be a matter of personal choice. I have my own beliefs, but enough respect not to foist my creed onto others.”
“Oh, so do I. Although it is very difficult to restrain myself when I know that I am right.” Seraphine heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, you are obviously here to recapture us. Considering what an obedient little girl Meg is, there is no point in us trudging all the way up to the stone circle anyway.”
She exchanged a pointed look with Meg as though there was some added edge to Seraphine’s barb that Jane did not understand, but Meg flushed.
“I shall just have to seek my amusement elsewhere.” Seraphine crinkled her nose at Jane, her blue eyes sparkling with impish defiance.
Before Jane could p
rotest, Seraphine strode off, nimbly clambering down the rocks to the shore’s edge. The tide was coming in and a wave caught her off guard, lapping over her boots and wetting the hem of her gown.
Seraphine shook back her golden hair and laughed. Bending down, she slapped her hand through the water, wetting her gown even more.
Jane sighed, realizing it was useless to remonstrate further with the girl, trying to convince her to return to the safety of the cottages. Seraphine would remain right where she was merely to demonstrate that she could. There was little Jane could do other than seek reinforcements in the person of the girl’s aunt.
Meg watched Seraphine’s retreat down the beach with an expression torn between wistfulness and admiration.
“She really is magnificent, isn’t she?” Meg murmured.
“That is not quite the word I would have chosen, although I grant you she certainly is an unusual girl.”
Meg cast Jane a rueful look. “I am sorry for what Seraphine said about Catholic fanatics. I am sure she did not mean to be offensive. She can be rather passionate about her views.”
Jane smiled. “It is all right, Meg. When I was a young girl, I thought I knew everything as well.”
“What happened?”
I was seduced by my guardian’s master of horse and gave birth to a stillborn child.
Jane lowered her lashes to conceal the thought.
“I grew older and more venerable,” she said dryly, eliciting a rare laugh from Meg.
As they headed back to the village, Meg continued to defend her friend. “Seraphine truly does have a kinder, gentler side, although she rarely shows it to anyone except her little sisters. And to me.”
“The pair of you appear to have become fast friends.” More so than Jane thought was good for Meg. “I was astonished to see you quarreling.”
“Oh, we weren’t,” Meg said, almost too quickly. “It was merely a—a small disagreement. Even the best of friends have those from time to time.”
“Truly? It looked to me as though Seraphine had taken something of yours and was refusing to give it back. The same thing that you are now hiding under your cloak.”
Meg stiffened. The girl could have told Jane to mind her own affairs. Jane had no real authority over her. But after a moment, Meg drew out her hand, the small crystal orb winking in the sunlight.
Jane had already guessed that the gazing globe might prove to be the disputed object. She was not surprised, merely saddened. But she asked no questions or made any criticism. Her silence finally goaded Meg into an explanation.
“We have not had any word from Navarre for a long time. Seraphine and I are both very worried about our fathers. Seraphine thought I could summon up a vision so that we might know if they are safe. I tried to explain to her that it does not work that way, that I have no control over what I see. The visions just come as they will.
“Seraphine thought that I could do it if I just concentrated harder. And maybe it would help if I made the attempt among the standing stones. The menhirs are supposed to have a mystic power of their own.”
Meg shivered. “The idea frightened me. The last thing I want is for my visions to become stronger, more potent. I refused, but Seraphine snatched the crystal and headed for the stones herself. I only followed to get it back from her.
“But I was on the verge of relenting when you overtook us. Seraphine can be so persuasive. I—I know that both you and Ariane wish I would leave the crystal alone.” Meg directed a plaintive glance up at Jane. “Are you very disappointed in me?”
“No, child, only very worried for you.”
Meg nodded glumly. “I realize my visions are considered strange, even here on Faire Isle. Carole Moreau is afraid for me, too. She says if I keep meddling with the crystal, the other women will start to believe I am evil as my mother was.”
“No one could possibly think that.” Jane brushed her knuckles down the back of Meg’s cheek. Meg had never been a robust girl and it struck her that Meg was looking paler and thinner, even more than she had been last autumn.
“I am more worried by what these visions are doing to you. It is as though they are putting shadows into your mind.”
“The shadows are already there.” Meg rubbed her temple hard, grinding her fingers into her skin. “No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get them out.”
Jane closed her hand over Meg’s fingers to still the rough gesture before Meg actually hurt herself. Ariane would be so much better able to guide and council Meg. But for some reason, the one Meg always chose to confide in was Jane. The girl’s trust both moved and overwhelmed Jane.
“Have you been having the vision about that dark cat again?” Jane asked.
“Dark cats, dark storms, dark queens, dark everything. And none of it clear. All I am sure of is that there is some trouble coming, some darkness that will stain even the peace of Faire—”
A piercing cry cut off what Meg had been about to say. Jane ducked, thinking they were about to be swooped by one of the strident gulls who inhabited this side of the island. Then she realized the cry had come from behind them.
Seraphine raced after them, half-tripping over the sodden hem of her gown. Her usual confidence appeared shaken, a spot of color high on each cheek. The girl drew up beside them, clutching her side and gasping for breath.
“Seraphine, what is it?” Meg asked.
“Are you hurt?” Jane placed one hand on the girl’s shoulder, but Seraphine shook it off.
“No, not me. Him.” The girl panted. “I—I found a dead man back there in the cove.”
Jane and Meg exchanged a stunned glance. Jane was the first to recover.
“Show me,” she said.
Seraphine gave a jerky nod. She turned and raced back down the beach. Despite being winded, the girl’s long strides propelled her forward. Jane had difficulty keeping pace, Meg lagging even farther behind.
Seraphine leapt down the rocks with a recklessness that caused Jane to call out a warning. Seraphine ignored her, disappearing from view. Jane slowed enough to scramble down the rough ledge more cautiously. A twisted ankle would render her of service to no one.
When she reached the shore, she found Seraphine standing over a black-clad figure sprawled in the sand, the dark clothing stark against the white glare of the sun upon the rocks.
Hastening to Seraphine’s side, Jane saw that the recumbent figure was indeed a man. Where he had come from, how he came to be washed up in this isolated cove, Jane could not begin to imagine. One of his arms was stretched out as though he had struggled to find purchase among the rocks from the battering of the sea. The same sea that now crept higher up the shore, the hungry tide threatening to return and drag him back into the ocean’s maw.
“Is he still breathing?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t think to check. I—I—”
Jane knelt down. The man was sprawled on his stomach, his head turned to one side. She brushed aside a tangle of dark wet hair, feeling for a pulse at the base of his throat.
His skin felt so cold. But as she pressed her fingertips deeper, she detected a faint throb.
“He’s still alive.” Jane glanced up and was relieved to see Meg had caught up with them, the younger girl hovering just behind Seraphine.
“Help me to turn him over,” Jane urged the girls. Seraphine sprang into action, but Meg simply stood there and stared.
He was not a large man, but his inert weight made him heavy and awkward. With Seraphine’s help, Jane managed to shift him over onto his back. His right arm flopped at an impossible angle, a shard of bone piercing through the fabric of his sleeve.
Seraphine gasped and drew back, clapping her hand to her mouth, looking as though she was going to be sick.
“What—what should we do?”
It was rare that Jane ever heard Seraphine Remy at a loss, but before she could reply, she realized that the girl was not asking her.
Seraphine appealed to Meg. “What do we need to do, Meg? You hav
e learned the most from Ariane about the setting of bones.”
Meg didn’t reply. The girl remained frozen in a way that was most unlike her. Usually when anyone was ill or injured, Meg was the first to leap in and offer help, so competent for one so young.
And help of some sort was desperately needed. The next surge of tide crept in closer, lapping at the heels of the stranger’s worn leather boots.
“His broken arm is the least of this poor man’s problems,” Jane told Seraphine. “If we don’t get him up out of this cove, he is going to drown. One of us is going to have to race back to the others for help. And it had best be you. You are by far the fastest.”
Seraphine nodded, looking relieved to find some action she could take. Plucking up the hem of her skirts, she tore off running.
Jane bent over the man, brushing sand from his cheek, caressing his hair back from his brow. She found a lump just above his temple and realized he had sustained a head injury. When her fingertips grazed the swelling, Jane thought she heard the stranger issue a low groan.
“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?” She regarded the man hopefully. But there was no response.
“We must leave him alone, Jane.” Meg spoke up at last. “Let the sea take him back again.”
Jane shot a startled glance up at the girl, astonished by her words. Meg clutched her crystal orb with both hands, her face white, her eyes glazed, her breeze-tossed hair appearing like a dark halo.
“He’s dangerous. He’ll only bring trouble.”
“Meg, how could you possibly know that?”
“He is a stranger. That’s what strangers do,” Meg intoned in such an odd voice, Jane shrank involuntarily from the man she had been hovering over.
Was this another of Meg’s unnerving predictions or merely the fears of a young girl who had known too much turmoil in her brief life, pursued by witch-hunters, assassins, and the malice of a powerful queen? Small wonder that the girl would be wary of strangers, and this one had a rather alarming aspect.
Twilight of a Queen Page 7
