Twilight of a Queen

by Susan Carroll

  She drew back, smoothing her hand over his sling. “S-sorry. I hope I didn’t hurt you.” Her eyes glistened. “It is just that you do look so very much like Papa. I hope you do not mind my saying that.”

  “It does me little good to mind,” he replied. “Unless you know some magic spell to change my face, I fear it is true.”

  “You require no magic, Xavier.” Miri turned to Ariane. “Our brother is a very handsome man, is he not, Ari?”

  Ariane made a noncommittal sound that did little to daunt her younger sister’s enthusiasm. Miri beamed as she settled herself beside Ariane on the bench opposite.

  A heavy silence ensued, Xavier looking wary, Ariane grim, and Miri expectant.

  Jane rose to her feet. “Perhaps I should—”

  “No stay, Jane.” Xavier seized her wrist, hauling her back down. “There is no reason this tender family reunion need be a private affair. I have been expecting this inquisition ever since I washed ashore. So tell me, my dear sisters, have you brought your rack and thumbscrew?”

  Ariane bristled. “Miri and I intend no inquisition, but it is only natural we would have questions.”

  “We only want to get to know you better,” Miri said. “And I am sure there is much you would like to know about us.”

  “I have already learned quite a bit from Madame Bevans. Ariane is the Lady of Faire Isle, a notorious sorceress. And Miri is Madame Aristide, the witch-hunter’s bride.”

  If Xavier had set out to wound his youngest sister in her most vulnerable place, he had succeeded. Miri flinched and Ariane covered her hand in a protective gesture.

  “Madame Bevans is a foolish gossip who does not get her facts straight. I am no more of a sorceress than she is and Simon Aristide long ago abandoned his profession. He is a good husband to Miri and an honorable worthy man.”

  Miri cast Ariane a grateful smile, her sister’s praise of Simon Aristide clearly meaning a great deal to her.

  “Now what of you, monsieur?” Ariane leveled her gaze at Xavier. “You have the advantage, because while you knew of us, we never even suspected your existence until three days ago.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “To start with, where have you been keeping yourself all these years?”

  “At sea.”

  “With our father?” Miri asked.

  “No, he’s dead.”

  Both women flinched at the harshness of his tone.

  “We are well aware of that. You needn’t fling the fact in our faces every chance—” Ariane began, but Miri intervened.

  “We are hoping you will tell us something of Papa’s last days. When and how did he die?”

  Xavier compressed his lips. Jane thought she understood the reason for his tension. He had spun for her many tales of his adventures on the sea and exploring the jungles of Brazil, talking about Drake, Xavier’s own crew, even some of the natives he had encountered.

  One figure was significantly absent from his tales, his father. Xavier seldom mentioned the Chevalier Louis Cheney, and for whatever reason he appeared loath to speak of the man. And yet it was natural that Ariane and Miri should hunger for any scrap of information about the father who had been lost to them for so many years.

  Xavier took his time replying, reaching to refill his wine cup, making an awkward business of it with his left hand. Jane hastened to help him, grateful for something to do. She felt uncomfortable being here, like someone caught between two opposing armies and not entirely certain whose side she should be on.

  Xavier took a long swallow of his wine before finally answering Miri’s question. “The chevalier died about two years ago in a Portuguese mission in Brazil. He succumbed after a prolonged bout of the yellow fever.”

  “Did he suffer much?” Ariane asked.

  “I wouldn’t know.” Xavier shrugged. “I lost track of the man for a while, nearly five years.”

  Ariane drew in a sharp breath, looking outraged. Xavier sounded as callous as though he had merely mislaid a pair of boots. But Jane was certain that his separation from his father had to have come during those years Xavier was a prisoner of the Spanish and his service aboard Drake’s ship.

  Why couldn’t the man abandon some of his stiff-necked pride and confide in them as he had done with her?

  “Perhaps you should tell your sisters why you and your father became separated,” Jane suggested.

  “I would be happy to—if I thought it was any of their concern.” Xavier dove back into his wine cup, lapsing into silence again.

  Ariane opened her mouth to make some retort, but managed to contain it by pressing her lips together. It was left to Miri to continue.

  “Did—did Papa ever speak of us at all?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Incessantly.”

  “Did he leave any message when he lay dying? Did he say anything at all?”

  “Nothing that made any sense. He was delirious by the time I reached him.”

  Xavier’s curt reply dimmed the hope in Miri’s eyes. Another heavy silence fell until Ariane took up the questioning.

  “And so you sailed here aboard the Miribelle?”

  “I wasn’t sailing here, but yes.” Xavier took another gulp of wine. “I was aboard the Miribelle when I was caught in the storm.”

  “Our father set sail from Brittany with three carracks. What became of the other two?”

  “The Good Hope was lost during an attack by Turkish pirates not long after we first set sail from St. Malo. I believe the Sea Lion went down in a storm off the coast of Brazil. I don’t know. I was not with the chevalier at the time.”

  “So of all my father’s ships, only the Miribelle remains?” Ariane asked.

  Xavier set down his cup with a sharp snap. “No, if the Miribelle made it to St. Malo, only my ship remains. I was the one who risked life and limb to retake the vessel when it had been captured by the Spanish. The Miribelle is mine now.”

  Miri spoke up quickly. “I am sure Ariane did not mean to dispute your possession of it.”

  “Good, because if she is not at the bottom of the sea, that miserable leaky vessel is all I have left.” Xavier leveled an accusing stare at his sisters. “It is my understanding that when my mother retired to a convent, she ceded the house in Paris to you ladies.”

  “Property that was provided for that woman by our father. With money from our family coffers that we could ill afford,” Ariane said hotly, but Miri placed her hand on Ariane’s arm.

  “It hardly matters because the house was eventually confiscated by the Crown, so none of us have it now,” Miri reminded her sister. “You never cared about the property in Paris, Ari.”

  She turned back to Xavier explaining, “The house was used by our other sister Gabrielle for a time. But once Gabby married Remy, she no longer cared about having a dwelling in Paris either.”

  Miri’s expression grew wistful. “What we all most wished for was our father’s safe journey home. He promised me before he left that he would return soon and would bring a monkey or some exotic bird from the new world. And he would write down every last one of his adventures to share with me.”

  Xavier swirled the lees of wine in his cup and admitted grudgingly “He did leave a parrot and a collection of journals for you.”

  “Oh!”

  “Regrettably I was obliged to eat the bird and I had to use the journals for kindling.”

  Miri paled, but she rallied, saying, “Well, if you were cold and starving, it is quite understandable. I only hope you remembered to thank the bird for sacrificing his life for you.”

  Xavier stared at her as though he thought she was mad. Then he emitted a reluctant laugh. “Thank the Sea Beggar? The damned bird would only have cursed me and he is fluent in several languages.”

  “Is?” Miri challenged, cocking her head to one side.

  Xavier met her gaze for a long moment before his lips twitched with a smile. “Yes, I was only jesting. If the Miribelle is safe, so are your journals and that
infernal parrot.”

  Miri chuckled and Jane might have relaxed and smiled as well if she had not observed the stony expression on Ariane’s face.

  “Forgive me if I don’t share your sense of humor, Captain,” she said. “But our father died over two years ago?”

  Xavier’s smile fled, the man on his guard again. “Yes, what of it?”

  “It strikes me that you have had ample time to sail to Faire Isle and inform us of his passing.”

  “Maybe I had more important matters to occupy my time,” Xavier said, flinging Ariane’s own words back at her.

  Ignoring the taunt, Ariane fired right back. “And maybe you never intended to bring Miri those journals.”

  “No, I didn’t. If it was that important to the chevalier that she have them, he should have entrusted them to someone else upon his deathbed.”

  “You ignored Papa’s dying request?” Ariane gasped, springing to her feet. “Damn you!”

  “Ariane, please. I am sure our brother had some good reason.”

  But this time Ariane ignored Miri’s gentle attempts to intervene. Splaying her hands on the table, she leaned toward Xavier, her face flushed, her voice vibrating with anger.

  “Do you know how hard it was on me and my sisters? Our father just vanishing that way, the torture of not knowing what had become of him? Those journals would have meant the world to us and you could not even be bothered to make the slightest effort to see them delivered. Papa took you with him. You had our father all those years—”

  “I had him?” Xavier grated, leaping up as well. Jane reached for him, making her own effort to restore the peace, but Xavier shook her off.

  “Do you want to know the only reason the chevalier took me with him on his grand voyage to Brazil?” he sneered.

  “It is obvious. Because you were his precious son while we were mere—”

  “The precious son he never wanted to claim. When my mother realized he meant to sail off and we would likely never see him again, something inside my mother finally broke.

  “She held a knife to my throat and told the chevalier he would either acknowledge me at last or she was going to kill me and herself.

  “Maybe the chevalier didn’t believe her because he hesitated.” Xavier gave a bitter laugh. “At least that is what I have always wanted to believe was his reason for waiting a fraction too long to answer.”

  His hand moved to stroke the scar on his throat, the wound Jane had surmised must have come from some vicious opponent or murderous villain. But dear God, his own mother … Jane pressed her hand to her mouth as Xavier spilled out the rest of his words in a heated rush.

  “Fortunately my mother’s hand wasn’t steady enough to slice too deep. When my father got the bleeding stopped, he must have reckoned he had better take me with him or have my death on his conscience.

  “Even then, I never felt free to call him anything other than what I always had, monsieur. And that, Madame, is how much I had of our father.”

  Ariane sank back down in her chair. Her face and Miri’s reflected Jane’s own horror.

  “Xavier, I—I—” Ariane faltered, at a loss for words. But it scarcely mattered, for Xavier had already stormed off.

  Chapter Thirteen

  XAVIER BRACED ONE LEG IN FRONT OF HIM, BALANCING on the edge of the rocks, as close as he could get without tumbling into the waves battering the shore several feet below. Although letting the sea swallow him up seemed like an excellent idea right about now.

  He could not believe what an ass he had made of himself. What devil had possessed him to blurt out a memory he found so painful, all but sniveling like some boy scarce breeched? And in front of those women too, his sisters. It was humiliating.

  When he heard someone call his name, he gritted his teeth, not feeling up to facing either Ariane or Miri. Glancing back, he was not any better pleased to see Jane picking her way toward him.

  He would have liked to roar at her to go back or else just try to ignore her. Neither action was possible. She moved doggedly forward, plucking her gown up out of the way. But the stiff breeze tangled her petticoats about her legs, making her balance precarious.

  If he did not intervene, the fool woman was likely to take an unexpected plunge into the cold foaming water. Xavier closed the distance between them in several long strides.

  Jane started to slip but he caught her about the waist and hauled her to safety. He used his left arm, but he could feel the wrench, all the way to the muscles on his opposite side. His recently broken arm gave a painful throb.

  He shifted his shoulder seeking to adjust the sling, all the while swearing at Jane. “Damnation, woman. What the hell were you thinking to—”

  He broke off as she steadied herself and looked up at him. There were tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Oh, no!” If he had not been so afraid she would fall, he would have released her and beat a swift retreat.

  “Don’t you dare,” he growled at her. “Just because I was stupid enough to rake up some ancient history and I never would have done if Ariane hadn’t provoked me—Damn it, Jane. You are not going to weep over something that happened to me years ago.”

  “N-no.” She sniffed, but her eyes brimmed over.

  “Hellfire!” But there was little he could do, not with tears trickling down her face. He had no choice but to draw her closer.

  She burrowed her face against his chest, wrapping her arms about his waist. He held her, feeling awkward as the devil. Any other time he was fool enough to rake over his past, he sought relief from the bitter memories by picking a fight in some tavern or at the bottom of a wine cup or by losing himself in a potion-induced trance.

  He would never have thought to seek comfort from a woman. But Jane felt good in his arms, soft, warm, the heat of her tears penetrating the fabric of his shirt, like some curiously soothing balm. He relaxed in spite of himself.

  Resting his chin atop her head, he murmured into the silky strands of her hair. “Strange, isn’t it? Both my father and mother are dead. What is it about one’s parents that they always retain such power, that they are capable of reducing one to the level of a child again, even from beyond the grave?”

  “I don’t know.” Jane drew a little away from him, mopping her eyes. He was reluctant to let her go, maintaining a light grip about her waist.

  “So how big of a fool did I make of myself back there?” he demanded.

  “None. I am sorry that your revelation was born of such pain and anger, but it was a good thing that you were able to be honest with your sisters. They were both much moved, especially Ariane.”

  “So now the Lady of Faire Isle pities me. Wonderful,” Xavier muttered. “Nothing like a little extra salt being rubbed into one’s wounds.”

  “Not pity, but empathy. I believe you were both hurt by your father in different ways.” Jane gazed earnestly up at him. “It could be a bridge to a better understanding between you.”

  “And what makes you think I would welcome that?”

  “You should. Your father might have denied you, but with any encouragement from you, I am sure that Miri and Ariane would claim you as a brother.”

  “I have managed just fine alone all these years.” Making sure Jane was steady on her feet, Xavier withdrew the support of his arm.

  He returned his gaze to the sea, watching the waves swell and break in their relentless rhythm that was as familiar to him as his own heartbeat. He had had quite enough of this discussion and baring his feelings for one morning. He hoped that Jane might take the hint and leave him, but she persisted in that gentle way of hers.

  “Perhaps you don’t know what you have missed by not having a family.” She paused, adding in a voice so low, he could scarce hear her above the roar of the surf. “All I have left in the world is a cousin living in Paris who finds my kinship little more than an inconvenience.”

  He frowned, feeling a trifle ashamed as he realized that for all the conversation they had shared these past few
days, most of it had been about him. Beyond teasing her about her late husbands, he had never thought to enquire about the rest of her family. He would have presumed she had someone, somewhere. A rather stupid assumption on his part, because if she did, she would hardly be dwelling here on Faire Isle alone.

  Turning to face her, he asked, “What became of your parents?”

  “They are long dead. I barely remember my mother and I lost my father when I was twelve.” Jane wrapped her arms about herself, whether for comfort or warmth, he could not tell. Shifting, he attempted to provide a barrier between her and the wind blowing in from the channel.

  “And you were the only child?” he asked.

  “No, I had a brother, Edward, much younger than me. He—he was killed shortly before I had to leave England.”

  “What happened?”

  Jane gave a sad smile. “It’s rather a long story.”

  “Since Ariane refuses to lend me a horse, I don’t appear to be going anywhere.” He brushed back strands of hair that the wind had tangled across her face.

  “Tell me,” he coaxed.

  Jane sighed. “Well I suppose it all began when my brother and I became acquainted with Margaret Wolfe and her father in London. They were the exiles there, hiding from the Dark Queen.”

  Jane checked herself with a frown. “I don’t know how much you know of Meg’s tragic and rather incredible history. You may have heard gossip about Meg from Madame Bevans and some of the others, most of it, I fear, distorted and exaggerated. The truth as I understand it is this.”

  Jane launched into an explanation of how from her birth Meg had been hailed as the Silver Rose, the girl who would grow to be a powerful sorceress and subjugate all men to her rule. The prophecies had been promulgated by Meg’s witch of a mother, Cassandra Lascelles. The dreams of a madwoman, that is all they might have been if the coven had not chanced to gain possession of the Book of Shadows. A grimoire of such reputed dark power, it was coveted by many, including Catherine de Medici.

  Most of these details Xavier already knew, having learned much from Queen Catherine and the tales that Jambe du Bois had gleaned in Portsmouth.