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Authors: Linda Lee Chaikin
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by more guards on patrol ready to send their signal back to the castle should enemies approach.
Mille diables, but matters are progressing slowly!
He drummed his fingers on the rail and narrowed his gaze, looking toward the ominous road to Fontainebleau. Shadows crept forward. The trees rustled. With each passing hour spent waiting for the lettre from Madame, more opportunity was granted his opponents.
His ventures as a privateer for England would pursue his steps, but the danger stewing in the political and religious cauldron of France was due to far more than his escapades for Holland. Persecution of the Huguenot middle class would result in their seigneurs calling for war to protect them. Noblesse oblige! He too had an obligation to the citizens of Vendôme. Leaving France for England when a civil war was about to break did not rest easy on his conscience, but he could not relinquish Rachelle.
Below, he saw Gallaudet coming across the courtyard from the direction of the gate. Earlier, Fabien had sent him to check on the men-at-arms watching the road. He was waiting for the report when Gallaudet arrived, solemn-faced.
“You have news?”
“Dark news, Marquis. Until an hour ago only serfs and a few monks had traversed the road.”
“And now? Is there sight of that jackal, Maurice?”
“Non, but the dwarves of the Queen Mother are coming.”
OUTSIDE IN THE PASSAGE, Rachelle knocked on the door to Fabien’s chambers.
She heard footsteps. A moment later Gallaudet opened, as fair of countenance and hair as the paintings of angels she remembered from the Louvre. “Mademoiselle,” he acknowledged with a small bow, opening the door wider. “One moment, sil vous plaît .” Gallaudet turned his head and spoke. “Mademoiselle Macquinet wishes to see you, Marquis.”
Fabien came to the doorway, his violet-blue gaze taking her in with his disarming smile. She had not seen him since last evening’s dinner, and his expression at seeing her brought her happiness. He wore a white Holland shirt open at the neck and dark breeches.
“Come inside, ma chère. Your presence invigorates my chamber like the fragrance of a jasmine garden on a warm day.”
Gallaudet cleared his throat as though the marquis had forgotten he was there, but Fabien seemed to enjoy his reaction.
She smiled and brushed inside with a rustle of green skirt and found herself in his private sitting chamber. It was handsomely furnished in masculine shades of earthy browns and forest greens. A calm mood pervaded the chamber, but even so she gathered that he and all his men were aware of the increasing peril of delay.
He took her hand and pressed a warm kiss on her wrist. “What do you think, Gallaudet? Will she not make the most belle marquise?”
“Assuredly, Monseigneur, though Maurice is convinced she will be the most belle comtesse .”
“Maurice will feel the thrust of my rapier through his gizzard if he tries.”
A horn sounded in the distance, and Rachelle turned swiftly and faced Fabien.
“No cause to be alarmed yet, ma chère . That is the caution signal. Visitors approach with the knowledge of the guards,” he said calmly. “If it were a contingent of soldiers, they would have sounded a warning.”
Fabien turned to shoulder, into a splendid jacket that matched the color of his eyes as Gallaudet held it for him. The hounds were barking below in the courtyard. Rachelle rushed to the balustrade and looked below, but saw nothing of visitors, only lackeys and guards running toward the gate. Another horn sounded. She glanced at Fabien over her shoulder to see his reaction. She caught an exchange of glances between him and his page that did not bring her comfort. A galloping horse on the short ascent from the road was soon heard approaching the inner yard.
Fabien moved quickly onto the balustrade beside her, Gallaudet with him.
“There are two visitors,” Rachelle said. Her heart pounded when she caught sight of them. One black horse
Mille diables, but matters are progressing slowly!
He drummed his fingers on the rail and narrowed his gaze, looking toward the ominous road to Fontainebleau. Shadows crept forward. The trees rustled. With each passing hour spent waiting for the lettre from Madame, more opportunity was granted his opponents.
His ventures as a privateer for England would pursue his steps, but the danger stewing in the political and religious cauldron of France was due to far more than his escapades for Holland. Persecution of the Huguenot middle class would result in their seigneurs calling for war to protect them. Noblesse oblige! He too had an obligation to the citizens of Vendôme. Leaving France for England when a civil war was about to break did not rest easy on his conscience, but he could not relinquish Rachelle.
Below, he saw Gallaudet coming across the courtyard from the direction of the gate. Earlier, Fabien had sent him to check on the men-at-arms watching the road. He was waiting for the report when Gallaudet arrived, solemn-faced.
“You have news?”
“Dark news, Marquis. Until an hour ago only serfs and a few monks had traversed the road.”
“And now? Is there sight of that jackal, Maurice?”
“Non, but the dwarves of the Queen Mother are coming.”
OUTSIDE IN THE PASSAGE, Rachelle knocked on the door to Fabien’s chambers.
She heard footsteps. A moment later Gallaudet opened, as fair of countenance and hair as the paintings of angels she remembered from the Louvre. “Mademoiselle,” he acknowledged with a small bow, opening the door wider. “One moment, sil vous plaît .” Gallaudet turned his head and spoke. “Mademoiselle Macquinet wishes to see you, Marquis.”
Fabien came to the doorway, his violet-blue gaze taking her in with his disarming smile. She had not seen him since last evening’s dinner, and his expression at seeing her brought her happiness. He wore a white Holland shirt open at the neck and dark breeches.
“Come inside, ma chère. Your presence invigorates my chamber like the fragrance of a jasmine garden on a warm day.”
Gallaudet cleared his throat as though the marquis had forgotten he was there, but Fabien seemed to enjoy his reaction.
She smiled and brushed inside with a rustle of green skirt and found herself in his private sitting chamber. It was handsomely furnished in masculine shades of earthy browns and forest greens. A calm mood pervaded the chamber, but even so she gathered that he and all his men were aware of the increasing peril of delay.
He took her hand and pressed a warm kiss on her wrist. “What do you think, Gallaudet? Will she not make the most belle marquise?”
“Assuredly, Monseigneur, though Maurice is convinced she will be the most belle comtesse .”
“Maurice will feel the thrust of my rapier through his gizzard if he tries.”
A horn sounded in the distance, and Rachelle turned swiftly and faced Fabien.
“No cause to be alarmed yet, ma chère . That is the caution signal. Visitors approach with the knowledge of the guards,” he said calmly. “If it were a contingent of soldiers, they would have sounded a warning.”
Fabien turned to shoulder, into a splendid jacket that matched the color of his eyes as Gallaudet held it for him. The hounds were barking below in the courtyard. Rachelle rushed to the balustrade and looked below, but saw nothing of visitors, only lackeys and guards running toward the gate. Another horn sounded. She glanced at Fabien over her shoulder to see his reaction. She caught an exchange of glances between him and his page that did not bring her comfort. A galloping horse on the short ascent from the road was soon heard approaching the inner yard.
Fabien moved quickly onto the balustrade beside her, Gallaudet with him.
“There are two visitors,” Rachelle said. Her heart pounded when she caught sight of them. One black horse
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