The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  “Au revoir, Jean Marc.” Catherine whirled and hurried across the courtyard toward the shelter of the arcade, calling over her shoulder, “Hurry, Juliette, I have so much to tell you. Jean Marc let me act as hostess at supper one evening and bought me a wonderful blue satin gown.”

  “I’m coming.” Juliette started after her.

  “Wait.”

  Juliette stiffened when Jean Marc touched her arm. “Catherine is waiting for me.”

  “I’ll keep you only a moment.” The snow fell heavily, cocooning and veiling them from Catherine’s view. Star-shaped flakes caught in Jean Marc’s thick dark hair and shimmered on his black cloak. He gazed intently at Juliette. “As usual, you’ve piqued my curiosity. You see, I don’t believe in this particular coincidence.”

  She moistened her lips with her tongue. “No?”

  “I think you’ve been standing here for most of the afternoon waiting for Catherine to come.” His hands slipped down her arms and he took her slim hands in his. His lips tightened. “Your hands are like blocks of ice. Where are your gloves? Have you no sense?”

  His warm, hard grasp spread a disquieting heat through her wrists and forearms. Heat should have brought only comfort, but this sensation was somehow … different. She tried to pull her hands away. “I’m not cold. I … like the snow. I’m studying it to paint.”

  “Juliette,” Catherine called from beyond the spiraling curtain of snowflakes.

  “I have to go now.”

  “Presently.” Jean Marc’s hands tightened on hers. “Are you as happy as Catherine here at the abbey?”

  “One place is as good as another. I think that—” She met his compelling gaze and nodded jerkily. “Yes.”

  “Was that so difficult to confess?” Jean Marc’s sudden smile flashed in his dark face. “I think it must have been. Happiness doesn’t necessarily go away if you admit to possessing it.”

  “Doesn’t it?” She smiled with an effort. “Of course it doesn’t. I know that.”

  “Catherine tells me you’ve not heard from the queen since you came here.”

  “I didn’t think I’d hear from her,” she said quickly. “She’s always too busy to—”

  “And a butterfly has a very short memory.” He smiled faintly.

  “It doesn’t matter if she’s forgotten me. I expected nothing else.” She tugged again and this time he let her go. She backed away from him. “I have been happy at the abbey and I thank you for persuading her to send me here.”

  He lifted a black brow. “I see you don’t make the mistake of lauding my kindness as Catherine did.”

  “No, I know you wanted me here to protect Catherine.”

  “Indeed?”

  She nodded gravely. “I’ve not failed you. I’ve done what you wished.”

  “Then Catherine and I are both fortunate. Did it never occur to you that I might have another reason?”

  She glanced away. “No.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me if I did?”

  “I must go.” Yet she suddenly realized she did not want to go. She wanted to stand there and look at him, try to glimpse and interpret the expressions flickering across his magnificent face. His dark features were still, intent; his tall, lean body absolutely motionless. His immobility should have given the impression of forbidding coldness, but instead she had a sense of smoldering intensity. She half expected the drifting snowflakes to melt as they touched him.

  “Shall I tell you?” He drew even closer. “A man of business must sometimes wait for his investment to mature so he may reap a profit.”

  “But I told you I was protecting Catherine. You are reaping the profit.”

  He lifted the hood of Juliette’s cloak to cover her hair with the same gentleness with which Juliette had covered Catherine’s a short time before. “Am I?” He gazed into her eyes. “How old are you, Juliette?”

  She felt suddenly breathless and swallowed to ease the tightness of her throat. “I’ll have my sixteenth natal day soon.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment before abruptly turning away. “Go and get out of this cold. I must seek out the Reverend Mother and pay my respects as a dutiful guardian.” His voice roughened. “And, Mother of God, eat some of Catherine’s fruit. I won’t have you starving as well as freezing for her sake.”

  “I told you I didn’t stand here all—” She broke off as he glanced over his shoulder and then said simply, “She’s my friend. I missed her.”

  “Ah, the truth at last.” Jean Marc’s lips twisted. “Excellent. I thought you’d never stop hiding beyond those prickly barriers. Perhaps I won’t have to be as patient as I thought.”

  Juliette looked at him in bewilderment, but in another moment Jean Marc had disappeared into the swirling snow. She could hear the crunch of his boots on the ice-encrusted cobblestones as he moved quickly across the courtyard. She felt suddenly hollow, as if he had taken some part of her with him.

  What an idiotic thought, she told herself impatiently. Nothing had been taken from her. Jean Marc Andreas was a man whose powerful personality colored everything around him, and it was natural she should feel a little drained and flat at his departure.

  “Juliette, you’ll freeze in that wind,” Catherine called in exasperated concern.

  Juliette was abruptly jarred from her bemusement and turned to hurry to Catherine’s side. She ducked beneath the arcade and shook her head, deliberately letting the hood of the cape Jean Marc had drawn over her head fall once again to her shoulders. She and Catherine moved down the walkway toward the ancient stone building housing the students’ cells. “Now tell me all about your supper party. Who were the guests at the table the night you were Jean Marc’s hostess?”

  Jean Marc gazed out the window of the coach, noticing ruefully that the snow was no longer a gentle fall but near blizzard. He knew very well he should have given in to the Reverend Mother’s urgings and sheltered at the abbey instead of attempting to return to Paris.

  But he had found the thought of a hard pallet in an austere cell intolerable this night. Instead, he would go straight to the house on the Place Royale occupied by his current mistress, Jeanne Louise. She would greet him with the usual challenge which would melt into surrender and desire before the night waned. The challenge was always as important to him as the surrender, and tonight he needed a sensual struggle with an intensity that startled him.

  He gazed blindly out at the falling snow, seeing not the lush beauty of Jeanne Louise he would enjoy in a few hours but the innocent appeal of Juliette de Clement. He had been expecting to see the girl when he had accompanied Catherine back to the abbey, but the actual encounter had still come as a shock. Her slim body, even cloaked in that hideous gray garment, betrayed womanhood on the brink.

  He felt a stir of arousal at the memory of Juliette standing in the courtyard facing him, bold, defiant, yet touchingly vulnerable, her cheeks flushed plum bright with cold and her eyes blazing with a will that could be yielded but never subdued. He had avoided examining his complex emotions and actions involving the girl in the past and he found himself doing the same thing now. He did not want to know why she stirred him and touched him at the same time.

  But, at least, he had not committed the ultimate folly. For a moment, as she had looked up at him, he had the insane impulse to take her back with him to Paris.

  Why not? Perhaps it was not so insane a thought after all. She had no money and he could provide handsomely for her. According to Catherine, both Juliette’s mother and the queen evidently had forgotten her existence since she had left Versailles. She was more vulnerable to him than she dreamed and could be made to realize the seductive nature of the bond forged between them those two years earlier. He knew the skills to make a woman want him, and she would be a superb mistress and a challenge extraordinaire. He had seen a foreshadowing of the woman Juliette would become, but now that flowering had almost come to pass.

  Almost.

  Merde, and he was not such a libertine
that he seduced an innocent from her nunnery, he thought with self-disgust. Whatever lay ahead for the two of them must wait until she was an adversary worthy of his steel. Until that time he would be content with the challenges offered by the Jeanne Louises of the world.

  Yet, for the first time, he had the odd feeling the victory he would wrest from Jeanne Louise would provide neither contentment nor satisfaction.

  FIVE

  Abbaye de la Reine

  September 2, 1792

  I’ll not ask where Juliette can be found, Catherine.” Sister Mary Magdalene deliberately avoided Catherine’s pleading gaze as she turned back toward the chapel. “But I wish to see her in the scullery before the midday bell tolls or her punishment will be doubled. Do you understand?”

  “I’m sure she never meant to miss morning prayers,” Catherine said anxiously. “When she’s painting she loses all track of time.”

  “Then she must be taught to remember. God has given her a great gift, but appreciation for His gifts must be shown in worship and humility.”

  Humility. Juliette? If Catherine hadn’t been so exasperated with her friend she would have laughed aloud. “Juliette strives always to improve her gift. Isn’t that a form of worship, too, Reverend Mother?”

  Sister Mary Magdalene’s lined face soft-ened as she glanced over her shoulder. “Your loyalty does you credit, Catherine.” For an instant a twinkle appeared in her fine gray eyes. “Consider it fortunate I don’t test your loyalty by asking where Juliette is hiding this time or you might find yourself on your knees scrubbing the stones of the scullery with your friend.” She shrugged. “Not that I believe the punishment will serve to teach her any great lesson. With scrub brush in hand she must have prayed her way over every inch of the abbey these last five years.”

  “But Juliette never complains,” Catherine reminded her. “She serves the Lord joyfully. Surely that must—”

  “I agree she suffers her punishment cheerfully enough.” The Reverend Mother was amused. “But have you noticed how true to life the stone walls and floors in her paintings have become? I believe she uses the time on her knees to study their composition and texture instead of praying.”

  Catherine had noticed, but she had hoped no one else had. She smiled weakly. “You said the acquisition of knowledge is a blessing.”

  “Don’t throw my words back at me. We both know Juliette has been most wicked. When the bell tolls!” She turned and vanished into the chapel.

  Catherine ran to the south courtyard, then through the gates, all the while muttering imprecations beneath her breath. When she had seen Juliette creeping out of the abbey before dawn that morning, she’d sternly reminded her to be back in time for prayers. But would her headstrong friend listen? No, she must get them both in trouble with the Reverend Mother.

  The dew-wet grass dampened Catherine’s slippers and darkened the hem of her gray uniform as she ran through the vegetable garden, then up the hill toward the stone wall bordering the abbey’s cemetery.

  Straggly weeds caught on her long skirts as she streaked toward the column of ancient crypts at the rear of the cemetery. When she had first come to the abbey five years before, there had been no weeds, the cemetery had been well tended and money had been plentiful for the nuns to hire workers to keep the abbey in good repair. All that had changed when the Bastille was attacked. With the queen a virtual prisoner in the Palace of the Tuileries in Paris, her charities had ceased and the nuns were forced to rely on contributions from the parents of their students to keep food on the table and the abbey in minimal repair.

  As Catherine approached the crypts she felt a familiar clenching of the muscles of her stomach. She would tell Juliette it was time to learn restraint and discipline. No one could go on forever doing exactly as they wished, and the Reverend Mother’s tolerance had been stretched to the limit.

  The white marble crypt at the far end of the row had been weathered by time and the elements to a dirty gray; the winged statue of the angel Gabriel hovering over the door gazed menacingly down with blind, pupilless eyes, Catherine thought. She paused to get her breath before the rusty iron door, steeling herself to go into the vault. She hated coming here. Blast Juliette! The bolt had been drawn and the door was open a crack, but it was terribly heavy and took Catherine a moment to widen it enough to slip into the crypt.

  “You can close the door.” Juliette didn’t look up from the painting on the easel before her. “I’m doing shadows and don’t need the light for this bit. The candle will do very well.”

  “I’m not closing the door.” Catherine shivered as she stepped gingerly around the marble sarcophagus with its upraised likeness of Sister Bernadette in serene state. Sweet heaven, the candle Juliette had mentioned had actually been placed between the folded hands of the effigy, casting a soft glow over the stern chiseled features. “How can you stay here for hours?”

  “I like it here.”

  “But it’s a tomb.”

  “What difference does that make?” Juliette added a bit more yellow to the brown on her brush. “It’s quiet and it’s the one place I don’t have to worry about the sisters coming to find me.”

  “Sister Mary Magdalene would call it sacrilege. The dead should be left in peace.”

  “How do you know?” Juliette grinned at Catherine over her shoulder. “Peace is dreadfully dull.” She patted the smooth marble cheek of the nun. “Sister Bernadette and I understand each other. I think she’s glad I come to visit her after lying here alone for over a hundred years. Did you know she died when she was only eight and ten?”

  “No.” Catherine was immediately distracted as she looked at the figure on the sarcophagus. She had been concerned only with the forbidding atmosphere in the crypt and never thought about the life of the woman whose remains it contained. What a tragedy to be forced to leave this earth for heaven when one had scarcely started to live. “How sad. So young.”

  Juliette made a face. “I shouldn’t have told you. Now when you come here you’ll be all misty-eyed and doleful instead of scared. It’s far more amusing to see you big-eyed and trembling.”

  “I’m not frightened,” Catherine said indignantly, the tears vanishing. “And even if I were, it’s unkind of you to be so scornful. I don’t know why I took the time to come after you. I should have told Reverend Mother where you were so that you couldn’t hide and—”

  Juliette’s gaze returned to the canvas. “She noticed I wasn’t at morning prayers?”

  “Of course she noticed,” Catherine said crossly. “It was different when there were more students at the abbey. Since our number has dwindled to thirty-six, it’s obvious when one is missing matins or vespers or meals. Sister Mathilde always makes sure Reverend Mother knows when you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”

  “She doesn’t like me.” Juliette paused, looking unseeingly at the painting of the abbey. “Thirty-six. There were forty-two last week. Soon everyone will be gone.”

  Catherine nodded. “Cecile de Montard’s father came for her just after matins. Even now they are packing her bandboxes and loading her other things into the huge berlin drawn by four horses her father arrived in. Her family is leaving for Paris. She said they would go to Switzerland.”

  Juliette didn’t look at her as she said in a low voice, “I’m surprised Jean Marc hasn’t sent someone for you. He must have received the Reverend Mother’s message telling him the National Assembly has closed the convents. Perhaps he has already sent for you. Marseilles is a great distance. Someone may come for you at any moment.”

  Catherine frowned. Juliette was speaking very strangely. “Nonsense. Jean Marc probably intends for me to stay at the abbey for another year.”

  “Things have changed. Everything has changed.” Juliette’s tone became suddenly fierce as she said, “I thought I’d taught you to rid yourself of that blind stupidity.”

  “And I thought I’d taught you not to be rude to me.” Catherine held up her hand as Juliette started to p
rotest. “And don’t tell me truthfulness isn’t rudeness. I’ve already heard it a score of times and I believe it no more now than I ever did.”

  A reluctant smile touched Juliette’s lips. “Well, it is stupid of you not to realize we can’t go on forever here at the abbey.”

  “Not forever. But I don’t see why we can’t stay another year. The nuns can no longer give us lessons, but I’m sure they’d let us remain here anyway. After all, I’m not of the nobility and there’s certainly no reason for me to flee the country.” Catherine glanced away from Juliette as she continued. “And you said your mother now has the protection of that wealthy merchant who can guarantee her safety in Paris. So she’ll surely not take you away either.”

  “Undoubtedly, my mother has forgotten she has a daughter.”

  “Oh, no.” Catherine’s eyes widened in distress. “I know she never sends for you, but perhaps it’s because she feels it wouldn’t be proper … under the circumstances.”

  Juliette shook her head. “Stop looking as if you’re about to weep. I don’t care. I’m glad she never makes me leave the abbey. I like it here.” She blew out the candle. “Let’s get out of here. How do you expect me to work when your knees knock so loudly the sound disturbs my concentration?”

  “I am not afraid.” Catherine moved quickly toward the door, sighing with relief as she crossed the threshold into the sunlight. “But we’d better get back to the abbey. The Reverend Mother said she’d double your punishment if you failed to report by the time the midday bell tolls.”

  “Not yet.” Juliette followed her from the crypt, closed the heavy door, and shot the bolt. She sat on the ground and leaned comfortably against the wall of the crypt. “Stay with me for a while.” She tilted her head back, closing her eyes and letting the sunlight bathe her face. “I need to garner my strength. Heaven knows how many miles of stones I’ll be set to scrub this time.”