He took her face in his hands. "I do not know what the combination of our knowledge will create in you. When your mother linked with me before they took her away, my power increased tenfold. You will find that you know things you did not know before, that you can do things you could not do before. You may be tempted to use this knowledge, this power, openly, but you must not! With this power come both the gift and the curse."
"What is the gift?" she asked, looking into his deep brown eyes, at the flecks of gold swimming around his pupils.
"The power itself," he answered.
"And what is the curse?"
He smiled. "The power itself."
She shook her head. "Riddles again."
"Think on it, Maríana. And remember your mother." He hugged her tight against his chest, then let her go. She gathered her skirt in her hand and slipped out the door.
Chapter 18
THE GUARD at the eastern gate barely glanced at Maríana when she approached and asked for entry. They were used to her wandering. He opened the smaller door set beside the massive wood and iron gate and stepped aside to allow her entry. In the distance, she heard voices and the beat of drums. The celebration had moved outside. But she could not join them. Not yet. Her feet took her to the edge of the garden, where she paused by the hawthorn trees. She could stay there until she was ready to face the crowd in the palais, until she could soothe the raw ache inside her, still the rage that made her hands clutch the fabric of her gown, making wrinkled creases.
She paced beside fragrant beds of flowers and herbs: marjoram, to cure an aching head, valerian to calm the spirit, lavender to scent the soul and give gifts to the Hawthorn God, and roses. There had always been roses in her mother's garden, blossoms to provide balm for a crying heart. Now Ysabel had planted even more.
Another child. Maríana's hands balled into tight fists. How could Louis-Philippe invite those people to Reuilles-le-château to celebrate the coming birth of his child? How could he feed them, give them ale and wine? Any one of them may have exposed Thérèse, brought her to the priests, burned her. Maríana dropped to her knees by the sweet violets and ran her fingers across their silken petals. Louis-Philippe had not loved Thérèse. Even if he had, could either he or Johanna have saved her?
Maríana bowed her head. Ibrahim had loved Thérèse and he could not save her. The gift and the curse. So be it. But she would not help any who may have tortured and burned her mother. There would be no more healing circles in Reuilles-la-ville. Her gift she would use, but only for Johanna, only for Ibrahim or Geneviéve or Alys. "I will survive, Mama," she said, lifting her head to the stars that now dotted the heavens. "I will survive."
"WHAT DID you say?" The low, musical voice of Henri came from behind her.
Maríana drew in her breath and stopped herself from spinning around. How could he have come upon her? How could she have been unaware of his presence? She forced herself to look at him without flinching. He stood before her, his face solemn and grave, eyes steadily regarding her. Starlight softened the sharp planes of his face, darkened his blue-gold eyes. "You do not join the others?" he asked.
"Where is Robert?" His squire was always with him, but she could not see the boy.
He looked toward the shouts and laughter from the palais. "They are going down to the lake. I told him to join them."
"Will you join them, too?" She stood and brushed the skirt of her gown. No one else from the château would come to the garden this late. Didn't Henri know it was haunted? She looked down at the sword strapped to his side. Perhaps he thought he could battle spirits with its sharp metal edge.
"I thought I would accompany you there." Henri did not reach toward her, but she felt his touch just the same. "There will be bonfires." Now his teeth gleamed as his face relaxed into a smile. "And dancing."
"What?" She could not stop her hands from clenching again. "Fires?"
He did not answer, but his eyes held hers. "Who will survive, Maríana?" His voice dropped, made the speaking of her name a caress.
She tried to look away. His eyes were glowing now. Or was it the starlight? "Survive?"
He reached toward her and the white silken cross that covered the front of his tunic shone. She fell back, her throat closed. The image of her mother's ruined face rose before her.
"Why do you ask me who will survive, soldier of Christ?" The words slipped past her lips. "We set bonfires for celebrations here at Reuilles-le-château, not to burn people." Her voice shook, but she could not stop. "And that is what you warriors of Christ do best, is it not?"
His face paled.
"Well, will you burn me? Will you burn my home? Will you burn my violets, too?"
Henri grabbed her arms. "What are you saying? It was not my fault, do you hear me?" He shook her so hard that her head snapped back and forth. "Not my fault! Not my fault!" he repeated, then released her and covered his eyes.
"What am I doing?" He dropped his hands from his eyes and took hold of her arms again, but his touch was gentle now. "Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" He held her at arms' length, staring at the ground, fingers stroking. His chest labored, then quieted. He raised his head. "I am sorry," he started, then held very still as their eyes met. The pulse beat rapidly at his throat.
She looked away. "Take your hands off me." Her voice was faint. "Please." The heat of his skin burned through the fabric of her gown. The urgent hunger in his eyes was answered by a shivering ache below her heart that was spreading in slow waves out to her limbs. She must get away from him. But she could not move.
"Very well." His voice was strained, yet his fingers still stroked her. "Maríana." He pulled her forward and lifted her, holding her close to his chest. His lips sought and found hers, a soft pressure that increased, then demanded. His arms tightened around her until she felt the whole hard length of his body against hers, felt his desperate need.
Every part of her yielded -- her mouth parted under his pressure, her knees bent, her arms rose up and wrapped around his neck. The longing that had been a part of her since she had first seen him blossomed. Her limbs trembled and ached. All else faded. There was only the strength of his arms and the singing in her blood. She feared that if he did not enter her, if she did not welcome him into her body, she would burst. He held her with one arm now. His other hand fumbled at his waist. His sword fell to the ground.
He sank to his knees in the bed of violets, dragging her with him. "God forgive me!" He groaned aloud as his lips traced a fiery line from her mouth to her neck. He touched the soft swell of her breasts. Her nipples rose in a peak when he ran his fingers across them, sending a wave of molten need from her loins to her heart. He shuddered while his hands worked inside her gown. She cried out and leaned into him, her face resting beneath his chin. But he pulled his hands away and pushed her from him. He knelt in front of her, shaking. "No." The word was wrenched from deep within, and he held her at arms' length again. She reached out, touched his face. He was struggling. She could see the sheen of moisture on his brow and his fingers gripped her arms.
"Look at me, Henri." Was that her voice? She knew she was speaking, but it seemed to come from somewhere else, from some other throat. "Am I so difficult to look at?" Deep and melodious, this voice was. She could not believe it was hers.
Her last question brought his head up and he stared into her face. Then he made a sound somewhere between anguish and joy and took her mouth again, buried his fingers in her hair. He shook. His arms enveloped her. Then he pushed her down into the bed of violets and covered her body. He pulled at her long skirt, fingers seeking and finding warm skin. She could not seem to catch her breath.
"Maríana." His voice had deepened and he was breathless too, his chest laboring. The weight of his body settled into her, his hands continued to move under her gown. She wound her arms around his neck and opened to him. No thought of stopping. Her legs moved by themselves. The heat of his skin now burned against her. He cried out once, a hoarse shout, then buried him
self in her, thrusting past her maiden's barrier in a powerful rush. A ripping, then a sharp twinge, and now warmth and fullness as he moved. She pulled him closer. Every part of her ached for this, for his touch, for the weight of his body, the heat as he filled her. He was panting, moist breath warming the space between her neck and shoulder. Then he stiffened, and another hoarse cry slipped past his lips. The hot spill of his seed flooded her.
She lay very still beneath him, feeling his weight upon her, his slowing breath moving strands of her hair. The ache within her was still there. She did not want him to leave.
"God," was his first word. He started to roll off of her, but she caught him, arms wrapping around his back, her legs imprisoning his.
"Not yet," she whispered.
A strangled laugh was his answer. She felt the heat of his lips on her neck again, and a breeze cooled the skin where they touched. They were surrounded by violets, the sweet aroma curled around her. She could stay there forever.
But he spoke. "Maríana." There was laughter, and uncertainty, underneath his words. "I must move."
"Very well." She unwound her legs and released him. He rolled off her into the violets, his motion casting an explosion of fragrance into the air.
He let his breath out in a long sigh and worked his right arm underneath her shoulders, pulling her toward him and kissing her hair. "Robert told me that no one would come here after dark."
"Yes." She did not know what to say. He was now deep in thought, eyes remote, judging, assessing.
She reached down and pushed her skirt across her legs. "No one comes here except me, so no one will see." She would tell no one. How could she? Harlot. That is what Alys would call her. She looked at his face again, at his brooding profile.
"If you are worried..." she started, but his voice stopped her.
"Why did you think I would burn you?" He had turned toward her and his eyes searched her face. His mouth tightened. "Did someone tell you of Montsegur?" He looked away again.
"Montsegur? I heard somewhere..." Iranzu and Leila had told her of Antoine -- the story of the burning. But they had not mentioned Henri. "I don't know who told me," she said. "Are you saying that you were there?"
He would not look at her. "I was there," he finally said, then he turned and kissed her hair again. "It is not important now. Our task is to decide what we will do."
She did not pretend to misunderstand him. "We should return to the palais separately." She stole a look at the lines of his finely sculpted face, his high brow.
"They are expecting us down at the lake." He smiled at her start of surprise. "I was sent to find you."
She sat up and started to brush violets and bits of earth from her gown. "Then we shall go to the lake together."
He remained where he lay, his eyes gleaming in the starlight. "Not yet." He grasped her arm and pulled her beside him again. She nestled her head on his shoulder. "Maríana, I have written to the bishop."
"Will you be leaving soon?" He had not found Antoine. Would they send him somewhere else?
A frown creased his brow. "No." He turned his head. "I wrote asking permission to wed."
She choked, raised her hands to her throat. He gave a soft exclamation. "Did I hurt you?"
He had asked permission to wed. She counted the stars she could see sparkling above her to stop the tears from gathering in her eyes. Richard had been taken from her, now Henri would walk away, go to his bride. After she had given herself to him.
When she could speak, she asked, "Who will you wed?" She tried to keep her voice from betraying her, but it caught on the last word.
His eyes widened and his lips parted in a slow smile. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. "My lady Maríana, would you do me the honor of consenting to stand at my side as the Baroness of Bauçais?"
Now her throat trembled and a shudder passed through her limbs. Could this be? Then she remembered what Johanna had told her. At last she could only whisper, "But you are my cousin. Grandmother said... And what about your family? Won't your family object?"
Henri laughed and rose to his feet, pulling her with him and helping her brush off the bits of dirt and flowers still clinging to her gown. "Why would they object? You would bring them the blood of the Capets!" He stopped laughing when she flinched. "Do you think we did not know Johanna's parentage?"
He held her, tenderly stroking her arms with his fingertips. "You and I share no blood relation. Johanna's mother was with child and Louis needed to find a worthy mate who would take her and ask no questions." He raised his hand and caressed her cheek. "Johanna's mother died and my grandfather married my grandmother later."
Henri looked younger now and a dimple creased his left cheek. "But I am telling you nothing you do not already know." He pulled her out of the bed of violets and onto the path. "Tiens, who is there to object? I am the baron, and if I agree to leave the reins of Bauçais in my brother Guy's hands for a while longer, he will say nothing." He wound his arms around her. "Bishop Durand counts the degrees of blood kinship, not kinship based only on marital alliance," he said, his voice smothered again by the weight of her hair as he buried his face in it. "Still, I needed to ask for special permission from him. But he owes me," he breathed, his lips brushing the skin of her neck.
He backed away. "We had better go to the lake now. If we stay out here much longer, I cannot say what I will do."
"But if we are to wed..." Worse than a harlot, that is what Alys would say. But Maríana did not care. She wanted him near, wanted to feel his need, to ease the heavy ache of longing she held within her.
He reached out; his hand hovered in the air near her face, then dropped to his side again. "No." He smiled now, but his eyes were sad. "I cannot say that I am sorry about our joining," the dimple in his left cheek deepened, then his face grew solemn again, "but I have dishonored you." He looked down. "We should not meet alone again until we are wed."
Maríana watched as Henri lifted his sword, bound it to his side. "Very well," she said. He paused in fastening the belt that held his sword and looked up at her, brows raised. She touched his lips. "Until we are wed."
Chapter 19
YSABEL STORMED around her room, throwing her clothing and goblets against the wall in her rage. Once she had broken nearly everything in sight, she collapsed upon the bed and stared at the wall. Louis-Philippe had grown more distant as her body began to take on a more womanly shape. It was October now and no matter what she did, she could not disguise the bulge of the child growing in her belly. She stroked her middle. "My child will inherit the château, not Maríana." Henri had somehow gotten permission to wed her stepdaughter. Louis-Philippe had announced their betrothal last month. Ysabel was outraged. Cousins marrying? She had never heard of such a thing. How did Henri convince Bishop Durand to allow this?
Ysabel had watched Maríana and Henri going everywhere arm-in-arm. It had choked her to see them, but it had been at least somewhat bearable while Louis-Philippe was in her bed every night. Now she found herself unable to sleep, pacing and always stopping outside of the long knights' room. But Henri had his squire sleep on a pallet next to him every night. She could not visit Henri there.
She had even sent a note to Henri from Maríana, asking him to meet her in the garden, and to come alone. Ysabel had waited, seated upon a stone shelf next to the pond. Henri never appeared; Robert came instead. She had watched as the boy searched the garden, then left shaking his head.
Ysabel pummeled her pillow and growled. She was sure the girl was breeding, too. Johanna had sent for the midwife from Reuilles-la-ville just last week. At first, Ysabel thought the woman had come to see her. After all, she carried the heir, didn't she? Yet the midwife had breezed past Ysabel and entered Maríana's chamber. Now Ysabel wrung her hands, making reddened blotches on her palms. A scarlet and black wave curled up from her belly when she thought of Maríana having Henri's child.
She hissed, "No one can take him from me! I will have him back. I will have him a
nd Louis-Philippe!" But how?
A hushed murmuring issued from her cabinet. The mannikin was speaking again. Ysabel rolled over onto her back and waited. It had left her alone after she had used its taunts to get her into Louis-Philippe's bed, but now it whispered to her. She scowled and waved her hand. "If you cannot speak clearly, I will not listen." True, it had helped her trick Louis-Philippe into believing that the child she carried was his, yet it had not meant to help her. "What good are you, anyway?" she added. "Ibrahim is still alive. You have not done your job."
"So you want him dead now?" Its voice floated out from the cabinet.
Did she? "Yes," she said. Why not? With Ibrahim out of the way entirely she would surely tempt Louis-Philippe back into her bed, after the baby was born and she could fit into her brother's breeches. But she did not want to wait until then. She wanted Henri now.
"You took me out too soon," the mannikin said. "Now you must wait."
Ysabel sniffed and rubbed her belly. Why did she bother speaking to that thing? Still, there must be something she could do to capture Henri. Another mannikin? She considered it briefly, then shook her head. She would not go through even one month of that madness again. She ignored the deep chuckles emerging from her cabinet.
Her fingers traced the expanse of her belly. The baby followed her motion when she did this, jabbed her with his feet or elbows. Her baby. Louis-Philippe might recoil from the swell of her belly, but Ysabel had often seen Henri's eyes drawn to her middle.
Henri was no longer in Maríana's bed, of that she was sure. She knew frustrated lust when she saw it. Whenever he looked at her stepdaughter, his eyes burned with suppressed longing. For the past month, Ysabel had seen Henri stalking the corridors of Reuilles-le-château at all hours of the night, Robert stumbling along at his side. Blast the boy! If Robert were not always present, Ysabel was sure she could get Henri into her bed. His need was held in check, but there were ways to break the barriers he had set.
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