The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

by Iris Johansen

  “The Comte de Provence pays you?” Juliette asked, startled. She had never liked Louis Stanislas Xavier, the wily, ambitious man the court and most of France knew by the sobriquet Monsieur.

  “He did pay me at first, but after a little while …” Nana shook her head. “I couldn’t take it from him any longer. There was too much need for the money elsewhere.” Her expression became shadowed. “I found out aristos were like everyone else. They loved their children, they were frightened of dying …” She rose to her feet. “You must go now. I have to get back to the café. I’ll send word if I want a particular message on a fan.”

  “No.” Juliette stood up. “I’ll come here twice a week unless you send for me. But in the afternoons, not evenings. Jean Marc often spends the entire day away from the Place Royale.”

  Nana nodded in approval. “Afternoons will be safer for you.”

  “Oh, I’ll be safe whenever I choose to come.” Juliette grimaced. “Jean Marc has hired a giant of a man to drive my coach and a footman who’s equally ferocious-looking. Léon could frighten a dozen footpads away just by frowning at them.”

  “Have them wait around the corner from the café,” Nana said as she walked with Juliette toward the door. “It will do no good for you to discard your silk gowns if you arrive in a fine carriage.”

  “I’d already thought of that” Juliette ruefully looked down at her blue linen gown with its simple white muslin fichu. “Another disguise.”

  Juliette found that deceiving Jean Marc about her activities at the Cafés du Chat was blessedly simple. On the following Tuesday he was called away to Le Havre, where the local representatives had decided to place an exorbitant tax on the goods in the warehouses. He didn’t return to Paris until the afternoon of June 23.

  She was in the garden painting Léon as Samson when Jean Marc appeared suddenly behind her.

  “That will be all, Léon.”

  Joy rippled through her. He was back.

  The giant murmured in embarrassment to Jean Marc, snatched up his shirt, and almost ran down the path toward the house.

  She carefully kept her gaze on the canvas and added a little more bronze to the flesh tones of the pectoral muscles of the figure in the painting. “I shall never get a canvas finished if you keep sending away my subjects.”

  “I find I don’t like the idea of you painting that handsome behemoth without clothes.”

  “You exaggerate. Léon was only without his shirt. I asked him to pose entirely without clothes but he was too shy. I told him that to expose his beautiful body as Samson was not shameful but a religious—”

  “You asked him—turn around and look at me, dammit.”

  She lifted her gaze from the canvas and turned to face him.

  Jean Marc seemed exhausted. Deep lines grooved either side of his mouth and shadows rimmed his eyes. The desire to flow toward him, comfort him was almost irresistible. “You should have gone straight to bed instead of coming out here to harass me. You look terrible.”

  “Not like your beautiful Samson?” he asked caustically.

  “No.” She put down her brush and took an impulsive step forward. “You could never be a Samson. I could see you as a prince of the Renaissance or perhaps a pharaoh of Egypt, but I …” She shook her head. “No, I could never paint you as anyone but yourself. But why do you just stand here? Go to bed.”

  He gazed at her for a long moment. “I wanted to see you.”

  She met his stare and was caught, held. She had to force herself to look away. “Well, you’ve seen me. Did your business go well?”

  “No. They wouldn’t lower the tax.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I … thought about you while I was gone. Did you think of me?”

  Juliette was silent. She could not confess how many nights she had stayed awake thinking of him.

  “I believe you did.” He smiled crookedly. He was silent again, simply looking at her. “I have a victory for you.”

  “A victory?”

  “I found myself thinking not only how much I’d like to be between your thighs but also how much I would enjoy your company.” He reached out and gently touched her cheek. “At times, I thought just being near you would be satisfaction enough. Do you not find that peculiar?”

  She should move away from the bittersweet pleasure of his touch. She stood there, savoring it. “Only at times?”

  “Be satisfied with a minor victory. I’ll not give you more.”

  “I don’t regard it as a victory at all.” She turned back to the canvas and picked up her brush again. “I told you I wasn’t doing battle with you. Now, go to bed before you collapse where you stand.”

  “Robert says you’ve been spending a good deal of time in your room. Have you been unwell?”

  She went still. “Perfectly well. Am I not entitled to spend my time where I wish?”

  “Bon Dieu, I only asked. Did it never occur to you that I might worry about you?”

  Such a rush of warmth surged through her, she was afraid to look at him. “No, it never occurred to me. I … thank you.”

  She could feel his gaze on her back and she wanted desperately to turn around again.

  “Juliette …” His voice was thick. “I missed you.”

  She couldn’t answer him. If she spoke, her voice would tremble and he would know.

  He stood silent another moment and then she heard his footsteps moving heavily away from her down the path.

  She drew a deep breath and whirled to face him. She couldn’t let him go like this.

  “Jean Marc!”

  He turned to look at her. “Yes.”

  She sought wildly for something to say that would not betray her. “I was looking at my painting of the Wind Dancer the other day and it’s really not worthy to be in the salon. I intend to paint you another one. Where did you put the statue when we arrived in Paris?”

  He stiffened. “The chest is in the cellar but I don’t want it disturbed. It’s hardly safe to bring the statue out to the garden to paint it.” He smiled faintly. “Besides, I’m very fond of that painting in the salon. It brings back certain memories. I wish no other.”

  The painting brought back memories to her also—Versailles, the inn, the abbey, Jean Marc. “Very well.”

  He stood waiting, his gaze on her face. “Was that all?”

  He was weary and discouraged and in need. She could not turn him away to protect herself. She could not yield but she must give him something.

  “No.” She turned back to her canvas and said huskily, “I’m glad you’re home. I … missed you too.”

  On July 3 François sent word to Nana from the Temple that the little king had been separated from his mother by order of the Commune and mother and son must now be rescued separately.

  Two days later Juliette received a message from François that the queen had requested Juliette come to see her at the Temple as soon as possible. Her Majesty would understand if Juliette found it too dangerous.…

  The haggardness of the queen’s face didn’t surprise Juliette, but the strength and maturity of her bearing did.

  Marie Antoinette moved into the shadows of the Tower and leaned wearily back against the stone wall. “It was good of you to come, Juliette. I won’t keep you long.” Her soft voice was anguished. “You know they’ve taken my little boy from me?”

  “Yes.” Juliette took a step closer to her. “Perhaps it’s only temporary. Perhaps they’ll let him come back to you.”

  “No.” The queen’s hands trembled as she drew her cloak closer about her. “They’ve given him to that cobbler Simon to teach him how to be a good republican. They want him to forget me, forget he’s the true king of France.”

  “Will Simon be unkind to the boy?”

  “I hope not.” Marie Antoinette brushed back a wisp of white hair from her forehead. “I pray not. Simon did many kindnesses for us at one time. I think he’s only stupid, not cruel.”

  “We have people watching here a
t the Temple. They’ll know if Louis Charles is ill treated,” Juliette said gently. “And you know Simon won’t be permitted to hurt him.”

  “I miss him so,” the queen whispered. “He’s only eight, you know. He has such a sweet nature, always smiling, always trying to help me.”

  “You’ll be together again.”

  “In heaven, perhaps.”

  “No,” Juliette protested. “The plans are going well for your escape—”

  “Forget me,” the queen interrupted. “Rescue Louis Charles.”

  Juliette shook her head. “Louis Charles is safe at the moment. The convention can use him as a hostage. But we need to free you.”

  “Before they kill me as they did my husband?” Marie Antoinette’s lips twisted. “I’ve heard they’re already trying to gather their filth to besmirch my name. I understand one of the charges is against your dear mother. Thank God Celeste’s safe from those canailles.”

  Juliette quickly looked away.

  The queen shook her head. “You know my attachment for her was not unnatural, Juliette. I am of an extremely affectionate nature, but I had only one real love. Axel …” She pulled off a signet ring from her finger and looked down at it lovingly. “It’s the Fersen coat of arms. Do you know the motto that’s engraved on it? Tutto a te mi guida. Is that not beautiful?”

  Everything leads me to you.

  “Yes,” Juliette said huskily. “Very beautiful.”

  “My dear Louis understood. We had affection and duty, but I needed something more.” She lifted her chin. “So I took it. I loved Axel from the moment I saw him and I’m only sorry I wasted so much of our time together because I was afraid to go to him. It’s far better to risk all than to live with eternal regret. Only memories bring comfort when the end draws near.”

  “It needn’t be the end. We’re trying to—”

  “I know. I know. And I pray you succeed but I hope I will not be too afraid to die. I hear Louis died like a true monarch and I, too, must die like a queen.” She turned to Juliette and said fiercely, “But my little Louis Charles must live! You must promise me he will live.”

  Juliette swallowed hard. “I give you my word.”

  Marie Antoinette smiled and for a moment her face lit with all the charm that had captured Juliette so many years earlier that night in the Hall of Mirrors. She patted Juliette’s cheek. “I trust you. Go with God, ma petite.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Tutto a te mi guida.

  The words repeated over and over in Juliette’s memory on the ride home from the Temple.

  Everything leads me to you.

  Jean Marc was not at home when Juliette arrived at the Place Royale, though it was evening. Since he had returned to Paris from Le Havre he seemed to be avoiding her as she avoided him.

  Robert carefully expressed no surprise when he saw Juliette’s ragged gown and soot-smudged face. “I’ll send up heated water. Will you need anything else?”

  I needed more and I took it.

  “Yes, send a maid to help me bathe and do my hair.” Juliette hurried up the steps.

  It was almost midnight when she heard Jean Marc’s steps on the stairs. A moment later she heard the door of his chamber close behind him.

  She drew a shaky breath, stood up, and moved quickly toward the door she had left ajar leading to the corridor.

  Jean Marc had already taken off his black brocade cutaway coat and was unbuttoning his white linen shirt when she opened the door of his chamber without knocking.

  He glanced over his shoulder, then tensed, his gaze wandering over her in the white lace robe. “May I say that you never fail to surprise me?”

  “Hello, Jean Marc.” She nervously twisted her hands. “I’ve been waiting. You were gone a long time.”

  “I didn’t know I had a reason to come home.” He paused warily. “Am I to assume I was mistaken?”

  She nodded and closed the door. “This isn’t easy … I can’t … I’m not sure what to say to—”

  “That seems clear.”

  She moved to stand before him. “I’ve been thinking and I’ve decided—” She stopped. “This is more difficult than I believed it would be.”

  “Shall I help you? You’ve decided it’s foolish to fight against what we both want.”

  “No.” She looked up into his dark eyes. Such beautiful, wary eyes. “I’ve decided to tell you that I love you.”

  He froze.

  She hurried on. “Oh, I don’t expect you to say you love me. Though I do think you care for me more than you know.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “You may never love me. I’m not sure you can love any woman.”

  “Then why are you being so generous as to give me such a weapon?”

  “Weapon?” She smiled sadly. “You see, you’re still armed against me. You may never—” She stopped, and it was a moment before she could speak again. “Yes, I’ll give you all the weapons you could wish, Jean Marc.” Her fingers rose to trace gently the plane of his left cheek. “I love you, not only with my body, but with my heart and my mind. I’ll stay with you in your bed or by your side as long as you care to have me. I hope that may be for a long time for I’ll probably love you for the rest of my life. Are those enough weapons for you?”

  “Yes,” he said hoarsely. “May I ask what prompted this capitulation?”

  “Tutto a te mi guida.”

  “ ‘Everything leads me to you’?”

  “Those are the words the queen has engraved on her signet ring. She said that from the first she’d known there was no choice and that love should be seized before it slips away.” She smiled tremulously. “I suddenly realized I couldn’t escape either. Everything did lead me to you from that very first day I saw you—Catherine, my painting, the Wind Dancer, the abbey, even the revolution. If I left tomorrow, something would happen to pull me back because that’s where all roads lead. Don’t you see? There’s too much death and destruction in the world. I won’t be cheated of what I can have with you.” She laid her head on his chest, wrapped her arms about him, and whispered, “Everything does lead me to you, Jean Marc.”

  “I believe I’m … overwhelmed.” He stood unmoving; his hands rose, hovered over her shoulders, and then closed on them with the most exquisite care. “But, if you expect me to refuse your offer, you’re terribly mistaken. I’d be a fool to deny myself what I want. And I’m not a fool.”

  “I know you aren’t.”

  “I’m a practical man.” His lips caressed her temple. “If a victory is given, I accept it.”

  “Yes.”

  He lifted her in his arms and carried her toward the bed. “And what if there’s a child?”

  She stiffened and then relaxed against him. “I expect nothing of you. If it happens, I’ll safeguard him.”

  He looked down at her. “You yield all?”

  “Not yield,” she whispered. “Offer.”

  He laid her on the silken coverlet and lay beside her, braced on his elbows on the bed, looking down into her face. In his expression she saw bewilderment, lust, and, oddly, regret. “It’s the same thing, is it not?”

  “No.” She tangled her fingers in the thickness of his hair as his lips slowly descended toward her. “It’s different. You’ll see.”

  “You protected me,” Juliette whispered drowsily. “I didn’t expect it.”

  “Is it too much to believe I can meet generosity with generosity?” He held her close, his hand moving gently over her curls. “I found myself quite moved. It’s probably only a temporary weakness, but until I can overcome it I couldn’t place you in a position so vulnerable to me. You can see that—are you falling asleep?”

  “Yes.” She nestled closer. “I’d like to stay awake but I’m very tired.” She yawned. “It was a very wearing day and you were late coming.”

  “I guarantee I’ll be earlier tomorrow. In fact, we may not get out of bed.”

  “That will be pleasant.” She was obviously struggling to stay awake. “We haven’t d
one that since the Bonne Chance.” She drifted off to sleep.

  Jean Marc’s arms tightened about her, his cheek pressing against the top her head. She felt small, fine-boned, and utterly breakable in his arms. She had made herself totally vulnerable to him, and yet there was no weakness in her surrender. She was stronger now than she was at her most defiant, and he had the strange feeling that at his moment of triumph he had been defeated.

  He gently kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes against the hot wetness stinging his lids.

  Tutto a te mi guida.

  True words. No wonder they had struck a note of recognition when the queen had—

  The queen.

  Jean Marc’s eyes flew open and he stiffened against Juliette’s lax body.

  He had assumed Juliette had been quoting the queen from a moment in their past in Versailles, but Juliette had always refused to dwell on the past and lived only for the moment. Why should those words trigger such a strong reaction now?

  Unless the words had been spoken much more recently.

  Unless she had gone to see Marie Antoinette again at the Temple …

  He carefully slid his arm from beneath Juliette’s head and drew the silk coverlet over her. He got out of bed, shrugged into his brocade robe, and glided toward the door, stopping to pick up the candelabrum on the table.

  A moment later he opened the door to Juliette’s chamber. What did he expect to find? Juliette would already have sent the soot-stained gown of her disguise downstairs to be cleaned if she had gone to the Temple as he suspected. Perhaps he was hoping to be wrong and find nothing at all.

  A white linen sheet draped the desk across the room and on it rested a fan, a vial, and an oak machine of some sort. On the floor beside the desk lay a straw basket of paper fans.