Fabien strode onto the balustrade. It was Andelot, but he looked a pathetic sight as he dismounted and limped on bare feet into the courtyard. Fabien’s gaze took him in from head to toe. An ugly suspicion rose in his heart.
Andelot looked up toward them and saluted with a short bow.
Fabien scowled. He leaned over the balustrade. “Bonjour, mon ami.
Surely trouble brings you here.”
“Oui, trouble aplenty. Duchesse Dushane has sent me with her lettre. Alas, Marquis, it was stolen from me.”
“You look as though you were set upon by a pack of humorless wolves.”
“I would have preferred wolves, Marquis. Maurice came upon me.”
Fabien’s anger flashed. “Maurice did this to you?”
“He insisted I duel him and had great sport with me as you can see.”
He ran his hand through his shorn hair. “He and his men.”
Fabien turned to Gallaudet. Anger had tightened his fair features. “Go down and see that he has garments,” Fabien said in a quiet but strained voice. “Take care of his bruises, then see that he’s brought to me.”
As Gallaudet departed the balustrade, Fabien called down: “Andelot, come round to the kitchen. Gallaudet will see to your needs and bring you up. You are in time for roast pheasant.”
Andelot grinned ruefully. “Merci, Marquis. That will help at least satisfy my appetite if not my injured pride.”
Looking down into the courtyard, Fabien saw Gallaudet check the golden bay, then turn him over to a hostler to take to the stables. He then brought Andelot around to the back of the palais.
Fabien entered his chamber from the balustrade. He stood hands on hips, eyes narrowed. His anger turned cold and silent.
HUMMING TO HERSELF, her heart full of purpose and excitement, Rachelle shook out the gown of finest burgundy velvet with black ecru lace falling softly around the wrists. She wrinkled her nose. This was not her ideal choice for a wedding gown! She thought of the ivory lace and satin gown at the Château de Silk handed down from the Dushane family. True, it was becoming limp with age and yellowing a bit here and there, and yet there was so much to be said for its tradition.
“Well, this will have to satisfy me for a less-than-perfect wedding,” she murmured. After all, her family would be absent, and without Mère and Grandmère — better not think of her beloved grandmère now. She also realized that Fabien’s family would not be present, and while vows were being exchanged and the pasteur pronounced blessings from the Word of God, they would still be watching over their shoulders for signs of soldiers. Non, not the wedding she had longed for. Even so, she knew that not having her choice of wedding gown would pale in comparison with having the man she had dreamed of. I must not be overcome with details, but with the knowledge that I will soon be married to Fabien!
She ran her palms across the skirt, trying to smooth out the wrinkles gathered on the journey. It was a mistake to have used it as padding to expand her girth when she’d left the Louvre in disguise, but it had enabled her to bring several of her gowns without carrying a trunk, which would have alerted the guards.
Now she wondered if the disguise had done them much good. She imagined the shrewd dark eyes of the twin dwarves watching her knowingly when she had stood near the stairway addressing Fabien. They knew well enough she had bought the animosity of the Queen Mother.
Fabien’s resistance to the will of the throne by ignoring the royal summons and then taking her in marriage would place him in a state of rebellion which would cast its shadow upon their long journey by horseback to the coast of Normandy.
Would he ever be able to return to his marquisat? Perhaps during the reign of a new king who would forget the present intrigues. Fabien’s commitment, no matter the cost, deepened her love, while the thought of his thrilled her to the core. She was humbled and thankful to God. She thought of the women, honorable and dishonorable, who had attempted to win him and failed.
She looked down at her left hand. As yet there was no ring. But surely he had not forgotten. He was merely occupied, worried about bringing her to safety.
Another commotion led her toward the open window. Had the Queen Mother’s dwarves brought more trouble? She left the gown and went to the window.
Her spirits sparkled with relief and she turned her lips into a smile as she recognized Andelot — but ça alors! What had befallen him? He was limping on bare feet and his finest asset, his thick wavy brown hair, was unevenly chopped off, showing bare spots. His breeches were also shorn!
She drew her brows together. Someone had set out to torment and humiliate him. Her temper flared. What loathsome person would do such an awful thing — and why? Andelot had been at Fontainebleau with Scholar Thauvet. What was he doing here?
Rachelle hurried from her chamber into the passage. She was descending the stairway, feeling indignant about injustice, just as Fabien rounded the curving banister. He halted, thrilling her senses with his beau appearance in handsome black and silver finery.
She rushed to him. “It is Andelot. He is hurt.”
The cool sobriety in his eyes confirmed her suspicion of turmoil.
“He was set upon by Maurice and his guards. Madame sent her lettre, but Maurice has it in his arsenal. If he chooses to show it to the Queen Mother, Madame will be in danger.”
“Where is Andelot? I wish to see him.”
“Not yet, ma chère. He needs some time alone to be made presentable.”
“Oh, but it’s just mon ami Andelot. I do not care about his appearance.”
“But he does,” Fabien said gently, wrapping a curl of her hair around his finger. “It would add to his shame if you barged in to see him now.”
“Barge!”
He smiled. “But there is some bonne news, ma amour. He tells me Madame gave family consent for marriage.”
Rachelle’s emotions burned with excitement. She was held captive by his intense gaze.
“What do you prefer, my darling?” he asked softly, brushing her temple with his lips. “Do we slip away now and marry on the way to Dieppe, or do you wish a ceremony here?”
She turned her lips to his and they met and lingered.
“Here, mon amour. Who can say whether we shall return to your ancestral home. I wish to be able to tell our children that I married you here, at least.”
He made no comment on their future as Bourbons in France.
“Fabien,” she said gravely, “I know you have said so, but are you certain you wish to risk so much? Your lands, title, the future of your offspring — even your very life?”
His mouth turned. His kiss was firm and long, taking her breath away. He held her away from him.
“Rachelle, Rachelle . . . As for giving up the Bourbon inheritance, I do not anticipate surrendering anything that is mine by right of birth. However, you are wise in saying time will need to pass before any king welcomes us or our sons to court.” He raised her hand and kissed her ring finger.
“And daughters!”
“And daughters!” He grinned. “Come, I desire to present you with an appropriate ring.” He took hold of her arm and led her back up the stairs. She smiled and could have danced along beside him.
“There are several kept in a treasure box. You can try them on.”
“Whose were they, or am I not supposed to ask?”
Again he laughed, as though he had all the time in the world. “Why shouldn’t you ask?”
“Well — ”
“You wouldn’t suspect I ‘borrowed’ them when boarding a Spanish vessel perchance?”
She laughed. “That’s absurd. I merely wondered if the wedding rings belong to the Bourbon family and to whom?”
“Most are definitely Bourbon. Some from a marquise, a duchesse, a princesse — though most of the jewels are not in my authority now. What I do have came from my immediate parents, Jean-Louis and MarieLouise. There are also some pieces from my grandparents on both sides, and more distant relatives.”
> Rachelle found herself back in the outer salle of his private chambers, waiting while he opened a door into a small antechamber. He returned with an intricately carved mahogany chest inlaid with silver and mother of pearl.
“There is something I want to show you besides choosing your wedding ring. It is the Bible belonging to Duchesse Marie-Louise de Bourbon, my mother.”
Rachelle was thrilled to learn more about his personal matters at last. She sat on the velvet footstool he brought up for her.
“That your mother owned a forbidden book both surprises and excites me. Was she a supporter of the German Reformer, Luther?”
“I would not go that far, though she was considered a Reformed thinker. The ‘new opinions’ was the way they spoke of it then. I remember that she gave asylum to the French translator, Lefèvre d’Étaples. JeanLouis was most irate that she would protect a heretic daring to translate Latin and Greek into French.”
Everything about Fabien’s life interested her. “Then Duc Jean-Louis was a devout Catholic?”
“He and Duc de Guise shared the same fervid dedication to all things Roman.”
She noticed a hardening come to his jaw at the mention of Guise.
“The two were close amis — back then.”
That surprised her. She asked with gentle caution, “Do you still believe Guise arranged the assassination of your father?”
“Yes. I admit there are seasons when I would most gladly cooperate in Guise’s assassination. Does that shock you?”
A dart of fear struck her heart. The Queen Mother would tempt him to do so, if the opportunity to confront him with an ultimatum were given her.
“I am not shocked. When Avril was murdered at the church burning and Idelette was violated, I knew burning rage. I still cannot think of the details without being tempted to give in to feelings of the utmost hatred.
It was Madame Clair and her faith in the wisdom and goodness of God, despite the tears on her face, that spoke to me of leaving the unsolvable to Him.”
Fabien’s fingers massaged the back of her neck. He kissed her forehead. “When you speak words of discernment, chérie, I realize why I was impressed with you from the first.”
She lowered her eyes. “Your words please and honor me, though I did not say it for that reason.”
“I know. The Bible Marie-Louise received was one of the first Lefèvre d’Étaples translated.”
“How did she come by it since your father stood against it?”
“The king’s sister smuggled it to her sickbed. My mother read it secretly for the two years she was ill. She taught me as a boy, secretly, and my father did not know.”
Something awakened in her memory and yet remained undistinguished in the fog. Was there not something about this family Bible she should recall?
“While a valiant monsieur who loved her, he held no liking for the Reformers. He connected the religion of Rome with the kingdom of France. To leave certain traditions was seen as betrayal of the country, the king, and the Bourbon family.”
“Then Jean-Louis never learned about the Bible, or knew she taught you?”
“Précisément. He would have been affronted to have it in the château.”
“You sided with Marie-Louise.” She found his actions in shielding his mother a matter of commendation.
“I was interested in the words she read me, so I kept her secret from him. Before she died of her illness, she called me to her and left the Bible to my care.”
She remembered that his father married again. “Then your father married Sebastien’s eldest sister?”
“Making the insufferable Maurice my cousin by marriage.” He stood, hands on hips.
She clasped her hands together, intertwining her fingers, resting them on the lap of billowing green skirt. She smiled up at him.
“And the French Bible?”
“I hid it here at the castle for years. That was when my kinsman Prince Louis was made my protector and took me to court. There I joined a group of children raised and schooled with Francis, Mary Stuart, and others. I was then a bon Catholic. It suited my purposes.” Fabien met her gaze. “Even so, I never forgot what Marie-Louise taught me. When coming to Vendôme, as opportunity permitted, I would retrieve the Bible and read. Naturally some of it was difficult, but later, when I procured copies of the works of Calvin — I shall not say how — the Bible became more understandable.”
“You never told me. Not even that night in Lyon at the Château de Silk when the religious differences between us seemed to hold us apart.”
“I suppose I have not elaborated as fully as I might have. Though I possessed the Bible, I cannot say it truly possessed me. For personal reasons I did not desire to portray myself as a Huguenot. Remaining a Catholic allowed me the freedom at court to do as I pleased, to watch Guise — and avoid committing to you before I was prepared to do so.
But then I realized I could lose you to James Hudson, an English Protestant and a couturier, surely an excellent match for your silk family.”
“James Hudson? You thought I was in love with him?”
“Non. I knew you loved me.”
She lifted a brow rather haughtily, and he offered a light bow. “But time was working against me since I knew that Monsieur Arnaut would wish you to marry Hudson.”
“Mère did wish me to marry Monsieur Hudson . . . and for Idelette to marry Andelot. That was before — ” Before Idelette was enceinte. She hesitated before going on, then smiled. “So you thought I would marry James Hudson?”
“You are pleased I can see. Yes, I saw him at the court in London. He presented the queen with a gown that she and her ladies nearly swooned over.”
Rachelle laughed with joy. “Oh, if I could have been there to see it presented to Her Majesty.”
“Hudson presided over a grand display, I assure you,” he said dryly.
“He boasted that you were coming to London to stay with his family and open a drapery for gowns and such. So you see, I was debating my return to Paris even before the Queen Mother’s lettre arrived. I decided it was time to declare my faith if I were to convince Monsieur Arnaut I should have his daughter. I intend to take Communion with you publicly when the Huguenot pasteur comes to marry us.”
She stood and went eagerly into his arms. “Mon chéri, oh, I am overjoyed. If only Bertrand were here, he would be jubilant.”
“He does know of my decision. Do not forget he went on that infamous voyage with me to sink Spanish galleons! We had many long discourses debating theology. An odd place to discuss such matters, but then again, perhaps not. He knew from my answers that I hold no faith in religious works and rituals for acceptance with God, but in Christ’s blood and sufficiency alone.”
She laid her cheek contentedly against his chest, feeling the velvet against her skin.
“Show me the wedding ring. I long for you to place it on my hand.”
He stooped to the chest and produced the key to the lock. A slight intake of his breath drew her attention.
She sank on her knees beside him. The lock had slid open without the key.
She looked at him. “Perhaps you failed to lock it last time you looked in the chest?” Her optimistic suggestion sounded implausible even to her.
“Non, it has been forced.”
He lifted the heavy lid and she watched as he searched through items of Bourbon family import and sentiment. He lifted a gold box and opened it. She drew in a breath as her eyes feasted on jewelry that sparkled and flashed.
“Most interesting. Nothing of monetary value has been taken. The Bible, however, is missing.”
“The Bible?” she whispered, tensing.
“The lock has been pried open, and not so long ago. See the marks in the brass?”
“A servant perhaps?”
Fabien shook his head, scowling. “Those who have access to this chamber I would trust with my life. I wouldn’t have thought anyone would dare enter my palais and private bedchamber and break into a family ches
t. There are guards stationed about the lands. The serving men and women are multigenerational serfs. They accept me as their liege, and they grant me their affection and loyalty. Except Dumas.”
“Dumas?”
“The captain of my home guard, or he was. He went over to the side of Maurice. I cannot see how it could be Dumas when the jewels were left undisturbed and the Bible taken.”
An ominous shadow fell across her memory.
“Someone wanted to confiscate the forbidden translation.”
“The question is, who would dare enter my chamber, who had the opportunity, and how did this worm know to look in the chest for the Bible?”
Fear tightened about her like grasping fingers. Now she remembered what disturbed her earlier. She knew who it was.
Fabien continued, “A common thief, if he could have gotten in here, which I doubt, would have searched the chamber for precious objects.
When the chest was found and broken into, would a thief suddenly covet
God’s Word instead of worldly wealth? Not likely. He must have known where the Bible was hidden.”
His eyes were coolly observant. “What is the most nefarious reason for wanting it?”
“To use it as evidence against you. But he would need to prove it was yours.”
“Duchesse Marie-Louise signed the Bible over to me upon her death bed. I have written my own name in it as well.”
Fabien glowered down at the chest.
“Maurice,” he said, “who else?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip, recalling the incident. She turned to Fabien.
“I remember now. He came to the Château de Silk to take me to Fontainebleau. It was then he allowed some words to slip from his tongue. He said you were a Huguenot, that you had a heretic Bible in your chamber. I asked how he knew what was in your private chamber. He made some vague excuses.” She laid a trembling hand on his arm. “He is avaricious enough to bring his evidence of heresy to the Cardinal de Lorraine. Maurice will become furious when he learns we have married.”
“It isn’t the cardinal that troubles me as much as Maurice. He sorely tempts me to want to rid him of his front teeth. He has blundered into my life, stomping all over things most dear to me. You, Andelot, and now the Lefèvre d’Étaples Bible.”
Threads of Silk Page 8
