Read Online The Hostage Queen by Freda Lightfoot - Free Book Online

beating.
     
    One afternoon, despite the risk of upsetting the King, Margot couldn’t resist creeping away to see Guise, simply for the bliss of falling into his arms, and to savour the thrill of his demanding kisses. Soon he would be off to war with her brother Anjou, and Margot dreaded his going. She would not know a moment’s peace while he was away, fearful he might be wounded, or worse.
    ‘You will write to me every day,’ she begged, as they sat together in a secret arbour.
    ‘Of course, my love.’
    He only had to look at her, or smile, and a quiver of longing would ripple through her. She gasped as he traced his lips over the curve of her throat, slid his fingers beneath the bodice of her gown to tease the dark bud of her nipple. She needed him so much. They belonged together. Why could her mother not see this and understand?
    ‘I must go; the King will be wanting me.’
    But he pulled her closer into his arms. ‘Just one more kiss. Stay a little longer.’ His mouth was hot on hers, the urgent trembling in his young body irresistible, his hand on her silky thigh beneath her skirts tempting her to taste unknown dangers.
    Margot stayed with him till her hair was tumbled and her cheeks were hectic with passion, and when she finally raced through the rooms in answer to the King’s call, she found him in a fine temper.
    Catching Marie Touchet’s warning glance, Margot sank into a deep curtsey then quickly reached to kiss his hand. Charles snatched it away and smacked her hard across the face.
    ‘There, now you will be sorry for defying me. I have been calling for you this hour past.’
    ‘I’m sorry, Your Majesty.’ Margot was trembling, her face stinging, but she offered no excuses, no lies. Charles would not have believed them, and any dispute would only inflame his temper still further. She was grateful for Marie’s presence, otherwise he may well have set about her with his whip. Fortunately, his mistress deftly distracted the King with a glass of warm cinnamon milk, and the moment passed. Until the next time.
     
    Henri, duc de Guise had grown even more handsome at eighteen than Margot’s fond memories of him in that playful joust as a boy. His blond hair had darkened somewhat, but, like his father before him, he possessed genuine charisma and an engaging personality. The Parisians loved him, he was their hero. They would call to him as he rode by, or touch his cloak if he walked amongst them. They would call out ‘Vive Guise’ and he would sweep off his great plumed hat and bow to them, grinning broadly.
    He was a young man with a passion to emulate his father, the old warlord and military hero. Henri had been but thirteen years old when his father, Francis, the second duke, had been murdered, dispatched because of his opposition to appeasement with the Huguenots. Known as Le Balafré from a scar he’d received in battle, he’d been head of the House of Lorraine and an ardent Catholic. The blood feud born out of tragedy on that fateful day existed still, the Guise family convinced that the killing had been instigated by the admiral, Gaspard de Coligny. And the young duke was ardent in his desire for revenge.
    But none of that was on his mind today as he stood before his uncle, the immensely powerful Cardinal de Lorraine . Tall and regal in his scarlet robes, the ecclesiastic exuded an awesome presence, known for his extreme Catholic views as well as the fact that his family’s interests were of paramount importance to him. Guise was curious to know what scheme the old man was planning now , for he’d been summoned to his apartments to discuss his future.
    A manservant brought wine as they sat in the window embrasure, looking out over the gardens of the Louvre, talking of the time Henri had hoped to gain military experience by fighting the Turks, but had been disappointed not to be involved in any action.
    ‘Which was why I returned home to take part in the wars of religion, as they are again