Read Online The Confessions of Catherine de Medici by C.W. Gortner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C.W. Gortner
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dishevelment of chestnuts, willows, and ferns. There were meandering paths here, dappled with sunlight. I heard birdsong, the rustle of leaves; I saw the fiery dart of a startled fox. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful France was outside the glittering artificiality of the court.
I’d explored this area once before with Marguerite and now sought a clearing we’d found, where the grass grew thick. I thought I’d lie there awhile and read. But I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because I found myself in a copse of silver beech. Fontainebleau wasn’t surrounded by walls; I could get lost in the woodlands, and so I paused.
It was then I espied a figure moving ahead of me among the trees.
He wore a cream-colored doublet and leather breeches, with riding boots that reached to his thighs. His head was uncovered, his thick tawny hair ruffled as he moved with his chin down, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed so engrossed in thought that I started to step back, lest I disturb him. A twig cracked underfoot, unnaturally loud in the silence.
The man froze. He turned. We stared for a long moment at each other before he bowed. My heart gave a pleasant start. It was the constable’s eldest nephew, Gaspard de Coligny.
We walked toward each other. Though I hadn’t seen him since my nuptials, I remembered him well and it crossed my mind that our chance encounter might be misinterpreted if witnessed by others, given the court’s licentiousness. I shrugged. Who would see us here? And if they did, perhaps it would reach Henri’s ears and rouse his pride, as even he, for all his neglect of me, wouldn’t want the court saying his wife had taken to walking alone with other men.
“Forgive me if I startled Your Highness,” he said. His voice was deep but low, his simple apparel and faint growth of beard a refreshing lack of vanity rarely seen at court.
“Oh, not at all,” I replied, and to my ears I sounded a little breathless.“I’m glad of you. I thought I was lost.” As I met his piercing pale blue eyes, I was aware of my loose hair, the open chemise at my throat. I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “I was beginning to think I might end up lost in the forest,” I added, with a laugh. “I fear I’ve turned myself quite around.”
His smile was gentle. “You’re a few steps away from the formal gardens. There’s little forest left on this side of the château. Most of it was destroyed to build His Majesty’s great gallery.”
“Where his Italian paintings hang? Oh, that’s a pity—though it is a beautiful gallery.”
“It is,” he said, but I sensed he did not share the king’s passion for art. The silence that settled between us was not awkward. Rather, I found his presence comforting, as if we’d known each other a long time and didn’t require meaningless chatter. At length, he said, “Whenever I come to court, I try to come here, to think. I’ve just arrived and already I find the noise and crowds of people distracting. I’m not used to it.”
It was true that I hadn’t seen him at court at all. “Do you not come often?”
He shook his head. “Since my father died, I’ve too many obligations at my estate in Châtillon. But my uncle, the constable, would like nothing better if I took up residence here, of course, to further the family name, as sons of noblemen should.”
“I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing,” I said.
He inclined his head. “Thank you. He was a good father. I still miss him.”
“You’re lucky to have known him,” I said. “My parents died within a week of my birth. I never had a chance to feel their love for me.”
In the resulting quiet, I looked away. What had possessed me to say something so intimate to someone I scarcely knew, for all his kindness?
He said softly, “I’ve heard of your trials in Italy. You are brave indeed to have gone through so much at so young an age. It cannot have been easy to then leave everything you’ve known behind
I’d explored this area once before with Marguerite and now sought a clearing we’d found, where the grass grew thick. I thought I’d lie there awhile and read. But I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because I found myself in a copse of silver beech. Fontainebleau wasn’t surrounded by walls; I could get lost in the woodlands, and so I paused.
It was then I espied a figure moving ahead of me among the trees.
He wore a cream-colored doublet and leather breeches, with riding boots that reached to his thighs. His head was uncovered, his thick tawny hair ruffled as he moved with his chin down, hands clasped behind his back. He seemed so engrossed in thought that I started to step back, lest I disturb him. A twig cracked underfoot, unnaturally loud in the silence.
The man froze. He turned. We stared for a long moment at each other before he bowed. My heart gave a pleasant start. It was the constable’s eldest nephew, Gaspard de Coligny.
We walked toward each other. Though I hadn’t seen him since my nuptials, I remembered him well and it crossed my mind that our chance encounter might be misinterpreted if witnessed by others, given the court’s licentiousness. I shrugged. Who would see us here? And if they did, perhaps it would reach Henri’s ears and rouse his pride, as even he, for all his neglect of me, wouldn’t want the court saying his wife had taken to walking alone with other men.
“Forgive me if I startled Your Highness,” he said. His voice was deep but low, his simple apparel and faint growth of beard a refreshing lack of vanity rarely seen at court.
“Oh, not at all,” I replied, and to my ears I sounded a little breathless.“I’m glad of you. I thought I was lost.” As I met his piercing pale blue eyes, I was aware of my loose hair, the open chemise at my throat. I felt heat rise in my cheeks. “I was beginning to think I might end up lost in the forest,” I added, with a laugh. “I fear I’ve turned myself quite around.”
His smile was gentle. “You’re a few steps away from the formal gardens. There’s little forest left on this side of the château. Most of it was destroyed to build His Majesty’s great gallery.”
“Where his Italian paintings hang? Oh, that’s a pity—though it is a beautiful gallery.”
“It is,” he said, but I sensed he did not share the king’s passion for art. The silence that settled between us was not awkward. Rather, I found his presence comforting, as if we’d known each other a long time and didn’t require meaningless chatter. At length, he said, “Whenever I come to court, I try to come here, to think. I’ve just arrived and already I find the noise and crowds of people distracting. I’m not used to it.”
It was true that I hadn’t seen him at court at all. “Do you not come often?”
He shook his head. “Since my father died, I’ve too many obligations at my estate in Châtillon. But my uncle, the constable, would like nothing better if I took up residence here, of course, to further the family name, as sons of noblemen should.”
“I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing,” I said.
He inclined his head. “Thank you. He was a good father. I still miss him.”
“You’re lucky to have known him,” I said. “My parents died within a week of my birth. I never had a chance to feel their love for me.”
In the resulting quiet, I looked away. What had possessed me to say something so intimate to someone I scarcely knew, for all his kindness?
He said softly, “I’ve heard of your trials in Italy. You are brave indeed to have gone through so much at so young an age. It cannot have been easy to then leave everything you’ve known behind
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