“In the spring,” Charlie said. “It is too late in the season for them to make a crossing from Scotland safely. Besides, Bess’s father has no power now, and it will be awhile before he remembers my brother, the Duke of Glenkirk. And, Mama, let us not forget the weather in Scotland.”
“I shall never forget the weather in Scotland,” Jasmine said pithily.
“It is late autumn now, and winter will shortly set in at Glenkirk. You know it is impossible to reach it once the rains and snows start,” Charlie recalled.
“I shall hope for a hard winter. Then, come the spring, I shall have my grandchildren with me,” Jasmine said.
“You are just discovering how bored you are now that Autumn has wed her marquis,” he teased her. “You want more children to raise.”
“We had best go and see your sister before you leave for Paris,” his mother remarked.
“I shall not go until after Twelfth Night,” he promised. “I have sent the king a purse to tide him over and promised to join him in January,” Charlie told his mother. “Until then I shall remain with you, Mama.” He kissed her cheek. “I think this is the first time in all my life I have ever had you to myself.”
“That,” she told him with a small smile, “is something Henry Stuart would have said,” and she patted his arm fondly.
“You loved him.”
“I loved them all,” Jasmine replied with a laugh. Then she grew more somber. “But they were all taken from me except for my Jemmie. We lived a long and good life together. I hope I will some day forgive him for leaving me when I begged him not to do so. Autumn needed him.”
“You did well by my little sister,” Charlie reminded her. “She is madly in love with her husband, and even more so since she has discovered the joys of the marriage bed,” he chuckled.
“Do not be indelicate,” his mother scolded him.
“And since when, Mama, did you find passion indelicate?” he asked her with a grin.
“What is indelicate?” Autumn demanded as she entered her mother’s hall. “Bonjour, Mama, and Charlie. I have come to visit for two days.”
“Where is Sebastian?” her mother said.
“Oh,” Autumn said with a wave of her hand, “ ’tis all very mysterious. Yesterday we had a visitor, a gentleman named Monsieur d’Albert. This morning Sebastian said he must go off with this fellow, and that I might come for two days to visit you if I wished. I think it had something to do with some new vine that has been propa . . . I don’t remember the word my husband used, but you know how he is about his vineyards, Mama. Lily is opening up my bedchamber. Is that all right, Mama?”
“Of course, ma petite,” Jasmine replied, and then, “Do you know where Sebastian was going? Was it Tours, perhaps?”
“I have no idea,” Autumn responded. “Why would he go to Tours?”
“You will remember his daughter and former mistress reside there,” her mother reminded her.
Autumn laughed heartily. “Believe me, Mama, my husband has no need of another woman. I am, after all, your daughter. Nay, it really did have something to do with grapes, I am certain. Monsieur d’Albert had the look of an upper servant sent by his master.”
“I was just gloating that had never had Mama to myself before,” Charlie said mischievously.
“Well, you shall have to share her, big brother,” Autumn responded. “At least for the next two days. Will you be here for Christmas? You and Mama must come to Chermont!”
When Autumn returned home late in the afternoon several days later she discovered her husband, Monsieur d’Albert, and another quite distinguished gentleman, whom Sebastian introduced to her as Monsieur Robert Clary, a long-lost cousin who had been traveling for so long in the east, Sebastian had believed him dead.
“You are welcome to Chermont, Monsieur Clary,” Autumn said.
“Merci, madame la marquise,” came the reply in a very cultured voice with just the faintest accent.
“Who is he really?” Autumn asked her husband as they lay abed that night.
He caressed a plump breast and kissed her mouth. “Who is who, ma cherie?” he replied.
Autumn pulled away from him. “I am not a fool, Sebastian,” she said. “Monsieur Clary, if that is indeed his name, is no more your cousin than I am. His conversation at table tonight was too inciteful of current affairs for a man gone from France for twenty years. Who is he?”
“Autumn, there are some things you are simply going to have to trust me with, ma petite,” he said, and reached for her again.
Autumn shoved him away angrily. “Do you really think me such a fool,” she said, “that you cannot share this with me? I am your wife, not some pretty little plaything. My parents trusted one another with everything that touched their lives. If you cannot trust me in such a manner, then perhaps I have erred in marrying you, monseigneur.”
“It is too dangerous,” he said.
“If it is that dangerous, then I had certainly better know,” she told him. “How can I help if I do not know what it is all about?”
She could see he was struggling to decide what to do. Finally, he said, “If I tell you, Autumn, you can tell no one, even your mother. A man’s life is at stake, and not just his, but many others as well. Do you know how to keep a secret, ma cherie?”
“I do,” she replied quietly.
“Our guest is Mazarin himself, Autumn.”
“How are you involved with Mazarin?” she asked him, her voice calm, her mind clear, her emotions roiling.
“I have been one of his agents for several years. Here on the Cher I was little needed. d’Albert is his personal courier, although no one is aware of his identity or relationship to the cardinal.”
“Why is he in France? I thought him in the duchy of Cologne.” Autumn now sat up in their bed, drawing the coverlet over her bosom.
“The king has asked him back, although there are still many who oppose him and will therefore seek to prevent his ever reaching Louis. Then, too, there is the matter of the queen. Gaston d’Orleans and Gondi have kidnapped her from Paris and incarcerated her downriver at Chenonceaux. The king has been told that his mother desired to retire from public life. They are attempting to keep him busy with trifles so they may rule in his name, but Louis is too clever for them. D’Albert must return to Paris shortly to pass on the information of what has happened to Queen Anne. We must find a way to rescue the queen and restore her to her son’s side. Mazarin is here because his enemies would never consider him to have such a refuge. His cousin, who is his double, is still in Cologne, and so d’Orleans, Conde, Gondi, and the others believe the cardinal is there. They know nothing of the cardinal’s cousinly twin.”
“This is a very danerous game you play,” Autumn said. “How do you propose to extricate Queen Anne from Chenonceaux? She is certain to be very well guarded. And once you have her, how will you return her to Paris before her enemies can catch up with you?”
“We do not know yet. She is safe, Autumn, for her captors wish her no harm. They simply wanted to remove her influence from the king’s sphere. Our escape plan must be flawless, for we will get no more than one chance, and once her captors are warned, they will certainly move her to a more secure environment.”
“I know how to get her out,” Autumn said, “and get her to Paris in safety. It is really quite simple.”
Sebastian laughed. “Ma petite, it is most certainly not simple. These are dangerous men we deal with. They would as soon kill the queen’s rescuers as smile upon them.”
“Is the queen’s residence at Chenonceaux supposed to be a secret?” she asked him.
He nodded.
“Then her captors would certainly not be expecting a stream of visitors, would they?” Autumn said. “So, if half the nobility in the district should appear at Chenonceaux on Martinsmas, armed with game, geese, and apples for the queen, we could hardly be denied entry. And, of course, the queen would have to be brought forth to render her neighbors her royal thanks and offer them
her hospitality. Then, in the confusion of our departure, we could take the queen with us. It is simple.”
Sebastian d’Oleron, Marquis d’Auriville, was astounded by his young wife’s stratagem. It was simple. Very simple, but at the same time it was outrageously ingenious. “It might work,” he said slowly, as if to himself. “It just might work!” Then, suddenly, he was filled with a new respect for his beautiful wife. He had never before considered her intelligence, although he knew she was quick-witted. This, however, was a scheme worthy of a seasoned politician. “I think,” he said, “that I should be afraid of you, ma cherie.”
“Only,” Autumn answered him, “if you are not able to sastisfy my insatiable desires.” Then, without warning, she climbed atop him and began to tease his male member to a firm and upright stance. She mounted him boldly, leaning and arching back as he fondled her round little breasts. “Oh, monseigneur,” she murmured, feeling his hard length filling her. “Oh!” She rocked back and forth, her body rising and falling like a tidal surge, her eyes half closed with her open delight. They found their pleasure simultaneously, and Autumn collapsed onto her husband’s broad chest with a gusty sigh of delight. “That was nice,” she whispered in his ear, licking at it provocatively. “Can we do it again?”
He laughed weakly. “After I have had some wine, you witch,” he said, stroking her disheveled dark hair.
“I shall get it for you,” she said, and climbed from their bed to pour them two goblets of the pale golden wine she loved. She handed him his and watched as he drank most of the goblet down Then, drizzling wine from her goblet onto his torso, she straddled him and began to lick up the liquid with broad laps of her facile tongue.
He watched her lazily, feeling the silkiness of the fleshy organ as it smoothed over his chest. Lick. Lick. Lick. She lapped the wine from his chest, paying particular attention to his nipples. Her tongue swept over his belly, moving in circular motions, around and around and around. He closed his eyes and let the sensuousness of the moment sweep over him. He could feel himself tingling and tightening as her wicked tongue roused him once again to passion. Rolling her over onto her back, he delved into the hot, marshy depths of her eager body, encasing himself to the hilt of his lance.
“Yessss,” Autumn hissed as he filled her. “Oh, yes!”
“You are every man’s dream,” he told her through gritted teeth. “A wife who enjoys her husband’s attentions and even seeks more of him.” He began to move upon her with long, slow strokes of his manhood.
Autumn sighed deeply as her arms wrapped themselves about him. Her eyes were closed as she let the sensations of pure pleasure roll over her. She loved him and she loved his passion. Their lips met in a hot kiss. His mouth found her straining throat, and he licked at it with his tongue. She purred beneath him, and then together they sought for and found nirvana, crying out together in satisfaction.
“Beautiful. Clever, and insatiably lustful,” he murmured to her as he rolled off her and gathered her into his embrace.
“I am as monseigneur would have me,” she replied softly.
Then together they fell into a satisfied and restful sleep.
On the following day the marquis spoke with the cardinal, telling him, “My wife suspected you were not who we said you were. She is an astute young woman. I felt it necessary to tell her the truth. She is a woman who knows well how to keep a confidence, your grace.”
“I understand,” Jules Mazarin replied.
“She has,” Sebastian continued, “come up with the most amazing design for freeing the queen.” The marquis proceeded to outline his wife’s scheme. He concluded by saying, “I believe it could work.”
The cardinal was silent and thoughtful for a time, and then he said, “Bring madame la marquise to me. I would speak with her.”
Autumn came, and curtsied politely. Her gaze took in this powerful man in the dark clothing with his elegant face.
“Sit down, madame,” he told her, and she sat down in a chair opposite him by the hall’s fireplace. “Who would you ask to partake in this charade?”
“My relations, the de Savilles of Archambault, and other trusted neighbors, your grace. We are all loyal to King Louis. There is little love for the princes and Gondi here on the Cher.”
“It cannot be known by the others that I am at Chermont, or even back in France,” the cardinal said. “Tell me, madame la marquise, how did you know that the queen was at Chenonceaux? We have sought to keep her retreat a private and quiet one.”
“The servants knew, monsieur,” Autumn replied, wide-eyed. “Do the servants not always know everything? One must be so very careful if a secret is to be kept, or lo, the entire neighborhood is made aware of it.” She giggled, and then shrugged her shoulders.
The cardinal smiled and nodded. “Excellent, madame. You give the appearance of a charming but not particularly aware country noblewoman. I hope that, when this is all settled and the king secure, you and your husband will come to court. I could very much use a pair of eyes and ears as sharp as yours, madame la marquise.”
“Merci, monsieur le cardinal,” Autumn said, “but I think I prefer to remain in the country to have babies.”
“An equally excellent occupation,” he replied. “France will need educated young nobles to serve it in the years to come.” He smiled briefly at her. “Your plan is a clever one, and I believe we will adopt it. How do you propose to disguise the queen?”
“It would be too difficult to make it a complicated guise,” Autumn answered him. “A hooded cloak must do, and we will put the queen amid a group of other women of similar size similarly garbed. We shall rush out even as we have pushed and rushed in. Hopefully by the time they discover the queen is gone, it will be too late. They can and will mount a search, but we will secrete the queen here at Chermont for a brief time, and then send half a dozen different carriages on the road to Paris. Even if she is finally discovered, they cannot stop the Queen of France from returning to her son’s side. Not publicly. Not without causing an incident. We will make certain there are plenty of witnesses to attest to any attempt to force the queen back into captivity,” Autumn finished.
“I was given to understand, madame la marquise, that you were raised in the eastern Highlands of Scotland and had never been to court,” the cardinal remarked.
“I was indeed, your grace,” Autumn answered him.
“You are extremely clever for a simple country woman,” he observed, peering sharply at her.
Autumn laughed. “Your grace, if you but knew my bloodlines, you would understand. I descend from a race of very nimble-minded, intelligent, canny, and resourceful ladies. One was the mother of an Ottoman sultan, another a noble merchant queen respected and envied by good Queen Bess. My mother is the daughter of Akbar, who was Grande Mughal of India. The women in my family live by their own rules and thrive doing so.” She laughed again. “No one would ever call us simple. One does not have to be raised at a royal court to show intellect, or to have the ability to handle difficult situations. I suspect it is better not to be raised at a royal court, where one’s head is likely to be turned by flattery and one’s ethics become confused.”
The cardinal nodded slowly. “You are correct, madame la marquise. A royal court, filled with men and women jockeying for position and for power, is always a dangerous place. It is not easy to raise a boy to be a good king, but his mother and I have done it. Gaston d’Orleans, poor deluded prince he is, and the others, must not be allowed to destroy what we have done. The king must be protected from those men who would corrupt him. His mother must be returned to his side. Assemble your petticoat army, madame la marquise, but keep me informed of each step you take before you take it.”
Autumn arose from her chair and curtsied to the cardinal. “I will, your grace, and may God favor our endeavors.”
“He will,” the cardinal assured her. “He will.”
Autumn visited her relations, the de Savilles, the following day. Then, over the next few
days she went to the neighboring chateaux and spoke with their owners. She did not mention Cardinal Mazarin, but instead told her listeners that word of the queen’s residence had come to her through her own servants, who had it from others who had been to Chenonceaux and trafficked with the servants there. The queen, she explained, had been taken secretly from her son’s side, and he had been told she had retreated to the country to rest. Her informants, however, said that the queen was unhappy and fearful for her son, the king, because those who now surrounded him were wicked and self-serving.
“It is up to us to rescue the queen,” Autumn told her listeners. “We must free her from her captivity, and help her to return to Paris! We must do this for our bon Dieudonne, King Louis! God will surely aid and protect our cause, for it is a right one! The king is young yet, and has been wise enough to solicit his mother’s continued guidance. Evil men must not be allowed to corrupt him! For God, Louis, and France!” she cried dramatically, and her neighbors enthusiastically agreed.
“She was like a young Jeanne d’Arc,” the marquis told the cardinal. “She was magnificent!”
“Your wife, I suspect, could be a dangerous woman in the proper circumstances,” the cardinal remarked thoughtfully. “Has a date been set yet for the queen’s rescue?”
“Autumn has said November eleventh, Martinmas, is still the best time, your grace. It is a holiday that countryfolk in particular celebrate with enthusiasm. We have learned that other than the musketeers who have accompanied the queen from Paris, all the servants are local folk, but one, who serves as the queen’s chief serving woman, also came from Paris. She is undoubtedly in the employ of the prince. The musketeers believe they are serving the king,” Sebastian finished. “Still, if told the truth, they might not believe it without certain proof, and what proof can we offer them?”
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