The Huntress: A Novel (Dark Queen)

by Susan Carroll

  A sound from the direction of the house interrupted Ariane’s troubled thoughts. Candlelight spilled through the kitchen windows, the creak of hinges followed by the low slam of the door. Someone was coming in search of her.

  Ariane half-expected it to be her husband. Finding her absent from their bed, Justice had no doubt flung off the covers with a low curse, grumbling and growling as he shrugged into his breeches and shirt.

  When he found her wandering the gardens in the crisp morning air, he would be bound to scold.

  “Have you taken complete leave of your wits, woman? Even the sun has enough sense not to be up yet. There is a peculiar habit some of us indulge in. It’s called sleep and you need try it a bit more often, my wise Lady of Faire Isle.”

  Ariane’s mouth quirked in a smile. Even after thirteen years of marriage, her great bear of a husband was notoriously overprotective of her. How much more so was Justice going to be when he learned about the babe? She could not conceal her condition from him much longer.

  The thought caused her smile to fade. She was ashamedly relieved when she realized it was not her tall, strapping husband tramping down the garden path, although the diminutive warrior maiden who approached moved with Justice’s same determined stride.

  “Cat,” Ariane murmured, the breath she released a mingling of trepidation and joy, glad to see the woman returning to her unharmed, apprehensive of what tidings Cat might bring.

  Cat hesitated at the place where the path came to a fork, one way leading off in the direction of the orchards and stables.

  “Ariane?” she called softly.

  “Over here.” Ariane stepped out of the shadows cast by the towering elm trees. As Cat headed toward her, Ariane moved eagerly forward to embrace her friend.

  Before Ariane could prevent her, Cat dropped to one knee and carried Ariane’s hand reverently to her lips.

  “Hail to you, my Lady of Faire Isle. All honor and glory attend thee.”

  “Cat,” Ariane chided, gently trying to disengage her hand from Catriona’s calloused grip. “How many times must I beg you not to greet me thus? I am not a queen.”

  “You are to me.” Cat tipped back her head. The sky had lightened just enough for Ariane to make out the smooth curve of her cheek, the fierce light burning in Cat’s blue eyes.

  “Ever and always, my lady, my queen, my chieftain.”

  Tugging at Cat’s arm, Ariane urged the younger woman to her feet. “I would far rather you think of me as your sister and friend.”

  She enveloped Cat in a warm hug, an embrace that Cat returned awkwardly. Even though their friendship spanned a decade, Cat was still not comfortable with such tender displays. That was only to be expected, Ariane thought sadly. During the stormy course of her life, Cat had received little by way of love or gentleness. Even from her mother.

  Drawing back, Cat regarded Ariane with gruff affection. “So how fares my chieftain?”

  “Better, now that I see my gallowglass safe returned to me,” Ariane replied with a smile, but she took worried note of her friend’s appearance, the smudge of dirt on her cheek, the dust that coated her jerkin. The garment was torn at the shoulder and was that a burn mark on the sleeve?

  “Oh, Cat, never tell me you have been fighting.”

  “Nay! Did I not promise you? I have not so much as had my sword drawn from its scabbard.” Some of Cat’s wounded indignation faded as she scratched her chin and confessed. “Well, only for a moment or two, but I sheathed it straightaway without so much as pricking anyone. As soon as I found those witches, I hastened back to make my report to you.”

  “Then you did find the coven?”

  Cat drew herself up. “Did you ever doubt that I would?”

  “No.” Ariane had more hoped that Cat wouldn’t, that all the rumors that had carried to Faire Isle would prove to be just wild tales and nothing more.

  “And…and so?” she faltered.

  “And so everything you feared is true. The Sisterhood of the Silver Rose still exists. Although there are not as many of them as before, they are recruiting new members. Unfortunately, I was interrupted before I could ascertain who leads them.” Cat bit her lip, looking chagrined and frustrated by her failure. “The witches wear masks to their gatherings, but they’ve all taken to marking themselves, searing the emblem of a tiny rose onto their right forearms. They are as fanatically devoted to Megaera as ever and determined to recover her. Somehow, they have discovered she was taken out of France. It may be only a matter of time before they find her. Or someone worse does.”

  Ariane paled at hearing her worst dread confirmed. She closed her eyes, swaying a little as her head swam.

  “My lady!” Cat cried. She slipped her arm about Ariane’s waist, bracing her. She guided Ariane toward one of the garden benches, easing her down onto the cold stone.

  Ariane bent forward, lowering her head, taking in long slow breaths until the garden began to stop spinning. Cat hunkered down in front of her, chafing her wrist, her voice full of concern.

  “What shall I do? Can I get you some water? Or should I summon milord to carry you into the house?”

  Ariane shook her head, straightening up as she recovered, feeling foolish over her display of weakness.

  “No, it’s nothing,” she insisted. “I occasionally get these spells of lightheadedness. Quite normal for a woman in my condition.”

  Cat scowled, looking far from convinced. “’Tis clear to me you have not been taking proper care of yourself. What were you doing out of your bed at such an hour? I am surprised himself would have allowed it, especially you being with child and all.”

  Ariane said nothing, but the guilty way she averted her face must have told Cat all she needed to know. The Irishwoman rocked back on her heels, groaning.

  “Ah, by all the saints. You haven’t told him yet. But isn’t that a bit daft? Milord is bound to notice soon. I am surprised he hasn’t already, himself being such a deep and clever one.”

  A half smile escaped Ariane at Cat’s description of Justice. Himself, as Cat so quaintly called him, was indeed clever. Ariane was highly skilled in reading eyes, those windows to the soul. With her steadfast gaze, she could take the measure of someone’s character and often read thoughts as well. But Justice was even better at it than she was, her husband having been schooled in the ancient art of mind reading by Melusine, his wicked old witch of a grandmother.

  Ariane and Justice were as close as man and wife could be, but she could shield her thoughts from him if she had to, although she’d had little cause to do so until recently. Justice had to be aware that she was closing him out, but he hadn’t pressed her, waiting for her to confide whatever secret she guarded so closely, trusting that she would.

  Ariane sighed. “It has been very wrong of me to conceal the babe from Justice. But, oh, Cat! You know I had given up hope of ever conceiving again. Is it so selfish of me to want to quietly savor my joy awhile longer? Because I know Justice won’t be able to share my happiness no matter how hard he will try to pretend. He’s going to be so afraid for me.”

  “You’ll pardon me saying so, but doesn’t he have a right to be afraid?” Cat softened the reminder by pressing Ariane’s hand, the woman’s palm rough and calloused, but her touch comfortingly warm. “He almost lost you once.”

  “I suppose so,” Ariane murmured, but after all these years all that she recalled of that time was not her own near death, but the face of her stillborn child. The devastating sorrow of gazing upon the small, wizened body of her daughter. The babe she had so longed for, a girl child to teach all the old wise ways, passing on the healing arts that Ariane had learned from her own mother, a daughter who might one day succeed her as Lady of Faire Isle.

  The old pain of loss and grief threatened to engulf Ariane, along with her terror for the child she now carried, but she stemmed the dark emotions. She had resolved early on during her pregnancy that this babe would be nourished only by her life’s blood and breath, her calm and
strength. It would not be poisoned by its mother’s apprehensions and fears.

  “I will tell Justice soon, I promise you. But it’s going to be different, this time, I know it.” Ariane splayed her hand over her womb. “This babe is strong. I can sense that. This child will survive. You must believe me.”

  “If you say ’tis so, then ’tis so,” Cat responded gravely. “But—”

  Ariane squeezed Cat’s hand firmly, anxious to bring the subject to a close. “Please finish what you were telling me. You said something about fearing that someone far worse might be hunting Megaera?”

  “Did I?” Still looking worried, Cat straightened to her feet. Averting her face, she scuffed the toe of her well-worn boot against a thick tree root. “Well, you—you know me. Sometimes I get carried away, tend to exaggerate my tales. I daresay it is the Irish in me and—”

  “Cat, don’t.”

  The command in Ariane’s voice obliged Cat to look at her.

  Ariane continued, “I know what you are doing. My brief spell of weakness alarmed you and now you seek to spare me. As much as I appreciate your solicitude, I need you to make a full and honest report to me. Trust me. Whatever you have learned, I am strong enough to deal with it.”

  I have to be, Ariane thought grimly.

  Cat blew out a gusty sigh. She withdrew the flask she kept tucked in her belt and fortified herself with a gulp of usquebaugh. How Cat could swallow such a potent whiskey before she had even breakfasted, Ariane had no idea. Her own stomach roiled at the very thought of it.

  Cat corked the flask and hitched it back in her belt. She paced the garden path as she regaled Ariane with the rest of her story, her tale punctuated by many gestures and sweeping waves of her arms. Ariane had often reflected with some amusement that it would not be necessary to gag Catriona O’Hanlon to silence her. One would only have to bind her hands.

  But she was not even tempted to smile as she listened to the rest of Cat’s report. She did not want Cat fretting over her, but it was hard for Ariane to maintain a calm façade as Cat described the soldiers who had charged the cliff top.

  “…I recognized Gautier almost at once, which left little doubt who had sent him.”

  “The Dark Queen,” Ariane whispered. As if this matter did not promise to be difficult and dangerous enough without the threat of Catherine de Medici’s involvement. A shudder coursed through Ariane. She gripped her hands tightly in her lap to conceal the depths of her dismay from Cat.

  Her voice was surprisingly level as she asked, “You are absolutely certain it was Gautier?”

  “Aye, I marked the man well when I accompanied you to court the day you received your pardon from the Dark Queen, and like the most gracious of thieves, she restored everything she’d stolen from you. Gautier was the smirking bastard who stood behind the queen. Did you not notice him?”

  “No,” Ariane said ruefully. “I fear I saw no one but Catherine. That evil woman has cast a long shadow over my life.”

  “Quite a feat for someone so short. Gran used to fair give me the shivers with her chilling stories about France’s Dark Queen. When I finally came face-to-face with the woman, I was disappointed.” Cat wrinkled her nose with disdain. “She was so—so old and fat.”

  Ariane conceded that Catherine had aged considerably. The once-formidable Dark Queen moved stiffly and painfully, her hands gnarled with rheumatism, her jowls heavy, her chin sagging, her face deeply lined. Those penetrating dark Medici eyes that had once been capable of stripping the soul bare were rheumy and dim. And yet Catherine’s mind had seemed as sharp as ever, just as disturbingly devious.

  Cat went on, “It’s possible that we are getting ourselves into a stew over the queen for nothing. Her power appears to be on the wane. After all, she was obliged to sign over control of the French army to the duc de Guise. By what I hear, he has the love and support of the people of Paris, not Catherine or that puling son of hers. Some say that the duc is in a fair way to become the ruler of France in all but name.”

  “And that only makes me fear Catherine the more,” Ariane said. “Threats to her power have ever made her desperate and dangerous. I have no doubt why she sent Gautier to find the coven. She wants the Book of Shadows. She has probably never stopped searching for it.”

  “And do you think those witches still have it?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  After Cassandra had died, the sinister book had never been found, although Simon Aristide had made every effort to locate it. Catherine had always been fascinated by the darker side of knowledge. If she ever got her hands on that book, she would have no scruples about using it. But now Ariane had an even more pressing worry.

  “If Gautier captures any of those witches and forces them to talk, Catherine’s going to learn the truth about Megaera,” Ariane said. “Aristide managed to convince the queen that Cassandra was really the Silver Rose. Catherine believes that both she and her daughter drowned. If the queen discovers that Simon lied, her anger may well turn to him. He has to be warned.”

  Cat shrugged. “That’s the least of our worries. Let the witch-hunter look to himself.”

  “Unfortunately, that witch-hunter is now married to my sister, and he is the father of Miri’s child.”

  Cat frowned at the reminder. The marriage of Miribelle Cheney to the notorious witch-hunter Aristide had found little favor among the community of wise women. Ariane had found it painfully difficult herself to stand aside and allow Miri to wed the man who had once raided Faire Isle under the orders of the French king, forcing Ariane and her family into exile.

  But she had to admit Simon had done his best to make amends. After he had saved the Dark Queen from Cassandra Lascelles, Catherine had offered him one favor and Simon had used it to see Ariane restored to Faire Isle.

  Besides that, Miri truly loved him. She had always seen the good in Simon, insisting that he was but a man who was lost and misguided. And if there had ever been a woman good at healing wounded souls, it was Miri.

  Their other sister, Gabrielle, had not been as understanding. Passionate and quick-tempered, Gabrielle had vented her feelings in a scorching letter to Ariane.

  “What could you have been thinking of to allow Miri to wed that villain? You should have locked her up in the storeroom and thrown away the key. How could Miri be such a fool? I’ll never forgive her for this. Never.”

  But in typical Gabrielle fashion, she had inked in the very next line, “That bastard had best take excellent care of my sister. If she suffers any harm or unhappiness at his hands I vow I will flay him alive.”

  This discord in her own family grieved Ariane deeply, but she was forced to thrust it from her mind, and focus on the far more pressing matter at hand.

  Rising to her feet, she took to pacing in the garden herself. Steepling her fingers beneath her chin, she reached a difficult decision.

  “There is only one thing to be done,” she said. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back to face Cat. “Megaera must be found as soon as possible and fetched to the safety of Faire Isle.”

  Cat rarely questioned Ariane’s decisions, but the woman frowned. “Forgive me, but do you think that’s wise? There is no guarantee we could keep her safe here and all she might succeed in doing is drawing down danger upon the island.”

  “I have considered that. But it is a risk we will have to take. The girl will be far safer here than out in the world with only her father to protect her. If the coven still has the Book of Shadows and they get their hands on Megaera as well, there will be pure hell to pay. And if Catherine finds the girl first, I have no doubt she will want the child destroyed.”

  “There are many of our kind, good women who would counsel the same thing. They fear that the girl is tainted by her mother’s evil blood.”

  “Oh, Cat, surely you don’t think—”

  “Lord, no!” Cat gave a bitter laugh. “I’ve been called the devil’s child enough myself not to be casting stones at anyone else.

  “I’
m only reporting to you what I’ve heard, even here on Faire Isle. Many find it troubling that a girl so young was able to do what older and more learned wise women could not. Translate the Book of Shadows and make use of its cursed spells, fashioning those lethal witch-blades, concocting such deadly poisons.”

  “Only because Cassandra forced the child to do so. I admit I have never seen the girl myself. Miri said that Megaera is extraordinary, clever and wise beyond her years, but there is also an innocence that shines from her eyes. Perhaps my sister will be able to convince others—”

  “No offense to your sister, milady, but I doubt anyone is going to take much heed of a woman who had the poor judgment to marry a witch-hunter,” Cat said bluntly.

  Ariane winced, knowing Cat was right. She massaged the back of her neck, which tensed as it always did when she was feeling overwhelmed and stressed.

  “There is little sense in worrying about what sort of welcome Megaera will receive on Faire Isle until we actually find the girl.” Ariane glanced regretfully at Cat. “Someone must go in search of Megaera, and I fear it must be you, my dear friend. I am sorry to send you on another arduous journey so soon.”

  “Whist now with your apologies.” Cat splayed her hands on her hips and struck an indignant stance. “Sure and who else should you be sending but your gallowglass?”

  “No one.” Ariane smiled. Exiled from her home, separated from her sisters, she had learned to depend upon the fierce little Irishwoman so much over the years. Next to her husband, there was no one Ariane trusted or relied upon more than Catriona O’Hanlon.

  “You can’t be after sending himself,” Cat continued. “Not in your delicate state. You’ll be needing your lord close by and you know me, milady. I’d march into hell itself if you so commanded.”

  “You will likely think it worse than hell when I tell you where to look for Megaera. By our last report, Martin le Loup took his daughter to England.”

  “England!” Cat didn’t turn and spit as she once might have done. But she let fly an oath and groaned, “Were the man’s wits lacking? Couldn’t he have gone to ground in Ireland or Scotland or—or even Italy or Bavaria? Why the devil did it have to be England?”