Daughter of Silk (13 page)

“Then you have come here often?”

He hesitated. She guessed that he debated how much he should explain.

“After my parents’ deaths I was taken to Paris. I was one of several who lived at court with the Valois children and Mary Stuart. Much of the year was spent journeying from one palais to another, including coming here to Chambord. It was a satisfaction to me when King Henry allowed me to return to my Bourbon kinsmen at Moulins and Châtillon, and recently, I gained possession of my marquisat at Vendôme.”

Rachelle withdrew into silence. He had been raised with the royal princes and princesses, a Bourbon by birth, with Vendôme and his fam- ily estates and lands under his own rule. With the reminder of his posi- tion — a jolt that brought her back to the reality of her own lack of blooded status — she did not pursue the reasons for his presence now at court. Perhaps she had been foolish to dare allow herself to imagine his inter- est, or that it could ever progress beyond a f lirtatious affaire d’amour. She had not thought of where her infatuation would lead. She had not seen beyond the next corner, wanting to trade the probable result, for the desires of the moment.

Although she had lapsed into thoughtful silence, he went on talking casually of the chateau’s history, explaining how Chambord was once a mere royal hunting lodge, a small one at that, lying low on the banks of the river Casson. Francis I began an ambitious building program and had hired renowned architects. “As all kings do,” he added dryly. “As you see, it is now a fair-sized palais.”

It amazed Rachelle when Fabien pointed out how the king had his builders divert the path of the Loire River some fifteen miles away so it would f low by the walls of the chateau.

They entered the chateau salle from the garden walkway. All the win- dows were diamond shaped and set in painted arches. Rachelle led him to one of several stairways leading into the palais, and they climbed to an upper gallery. He seemed not the least surprised to be walking this direction. Her mouth turned. But of course he knew quite well where the state council chamber was located. Why then had he allowed her to lead him on this tour?

They went up leisurely, showing themselves to any who noticed them as enjoying one another’s company, a display which came naturel to him.

“Will you and your family follow the court to Amboise?” He looked down at her as they ascended the stairway side by side.

“Amboise? I did not know the king was leaving Chambord.” “Francis has sent a royal missive to all the nobles not more than an

hour ago to prepare for the journey. We leave in the morning. I find the matter mysterious, as he came here to Chambord for his health. I was at my own estates in Vendôme when I was summoned. We have been here for but how long? It seems like weeks.”

She laughed. “No more than a week for you, Marquis de Vendôme. I can see you did not wish to leave Vendôme.”

“You are right. In my mind Vendôme is equal to anything here at Chambord.”

“Does time here then go too slowly for you?”

“I find that it is moving more quickly now that I have met you. Your company, Mademoiselle, captivates me.”

She fought against the f lush of pleasure overtaking her cheeks. “Monsieur, you f latter me.”

“I
insist
you address me in a less formal manner. When we two are

together alone, Fabien will do for a start.” Her heart raced.

His smile was devastating. “I shall soon enjoy calling you Rachelle. And, I do not find it necessary to f latter you as I do others. You are, as you should know, charmante.”

“I know nothing of the sort, I assure you.” “I insist you come and visit Vendôme.”

She smiled. “You have set aside your serious mood, Marquis.”

“I do not humor you? With proper chaperone, bien sûr,” he added with a tilt of his head. “Tell your Grandmère you will journey there with Mademoiselle Claudine. She is a cousine of yours, is that not so? You will both be my honored guests.”

Her head turned and she glanced at him. “You know Claudine?”

“I know her well,” he said smoothly. “She is ailing now I am told. I was pleased to see her called home from the position of maid-of-honor to the Queen Mother.”

Did she imagine the hardened altercation in his voice? She studied the masculine profile and decided he was far from underestimating the web of intrigue that Catherine de Medici wove in secret.

As for Claudine, who could inherit the title from her aunt, Duchesse Dushane, it was natural that he would know her. What titled family in all of France would not be looking in the direction of Marquis de Vendôme for their marriageable mademoiselles?

“As a fact, Marquis, I will be visiting near Vendôme. I have been requested to come for a visit at Duchesse Dushane’s estate at Orléans. Claudine Boisseau has asked I come for a month.”

“I shall remember, I promise you. When will you be there?”

She drew her hand along the polished banister and glanced sideways at him. “July. The exact dates I do not yet know.”

“I shall learn them from Claudine. And any other secrets she may tell me about you.”

“I have no secrets.”

“It is just as well. When I want to learn about someone who interests me I have my ways. We in the nobility can be relentless, so I warn you now, Mademoiselle. You have intrigued me.”

She laughed. “I am not so foolish, Monsieur, to believe everything a man of your appearance and stature may tell me. Once you leave here for Amboise, Grandmère and I will not follow the court. We will return to my home in Lyon, and after that you will forget you met me here. There will be so many belles about you, all clamoring for your slightest favor. I know, for I have seen them doing so here at Chambord. And many of them are highly titled and from powerful families.”

“In speaking so, I almost believe you are challenging me
not
to forget

you, Mademoiselle. Well, have no alarms about that,” he said lightly. “My memory is most excellent, and be assured I have no wish to forget. Therefore you may be certain I will come to Orléans in July.”

“Then I shall look for you.”

“How is it we have been here at Chambord this entire week and I have only now the opportunity to meet you? Why have you not come to any of the divertissements so I could have noticed you earlier?”

She smiled. “I can see I shall need to be on guard so as not to permit myself to be overwhelmed by your compliments.”

They had climbed the stairway to the second f loor landing. Rachelle paused, her excited mood changing to one of uneasiness. “This is the place,” she whispered. “Do you see that oval door engraved with the f leur de lys?”

“Yes, I know of it, but do not draw attention to it. Catherine has spies everywhere. We will need to convince her we have developed an affaire d’amour.”

As though to reinforce his decision he drew her toward the gallery rail. His touch awakened all her senses.

“Grandmère would disapprove of our standing so close — ” “Tell me about this door at the end of the hall.”

“The Queen Mother uses it,” she whispered.
He must be aware of

that
. He had more experience at Chambord than she had. She went along with his affected innocence, noticing that the violet blue of his eyes could be mesmerizing.

“If you follow the steps to the top, you will come to an observatory for stargazing, Monsieur . . .”

“She is a firm believer in the zodiac and the dark arts. She consults Nostradamus. He has made a chart for her, foretelling her sons’ future reigns on the throne of France.”

Rachelle searched his face. “You do not believe such things, Marquis, surely not?”

A brow lifted. “Mademoiselle, do you think I would?”

“Non . . . Monsieur John Calvin speaks hotly against the idolatry of stargazing and fortune-tellers.”

“It appears as if Monsieur Calvin and I are in some agreement, Mademoiselle. But is it Calvin who speaks against the potions and mut- terings of soothsayers, or is it the Bible that does so?”

Her heart lightened. “Ah, you are wise to ask that, Marquis. If it were but Calvin it would not matter so, would it? I take it that is your point? Though Monsieur Calvin, like Monsieur Luther are firebrands for God. Non, it is the Bible that forbids looking to the zodiac for wisdom.” She gave him a cautious glance from beneath her lashes. “There is a Bible in our French language now, do you know of it?”

He appeared to take the charming bait. He smiled, lifting a brow, and leaned against the balustrade beside her.

“There is, Mademoiselle?” he asked innocently. “In
French,
you say? You do not mean it!”

“It is so, translated first by Lefevre d’Étaples.”

“Lefevre d’Étaples, oui. I faintly remember the name . . .” “Why do I suspect you know
well
his name?”

“I cannot guess.” A smile loitered around his mouth. “Lefevre d’Étaples was protected by another Marguerite Valois, this one the sister of King Francis I. Had it not been for her they would have burnt him. He escaped eventually and went to Strasbourg. That is where your John Calvin met him.”

“Then you know more than you pretend, Marquis.”

“Pretend? Perhaps. Do you have one of these forbidden Bibles in French?”

She smiled nervously. “Non, I do not — but we have one at the Chateau de Silk. My Cousine Bertrand works with Calvin in the free city of Geneva.”

Fabien regarded her soberly. “Fortunately you were wise enough to leave your forbidden Bible back in Lyon, hidden I hope.”

“I would let you see this Bible if you like sometime, if you wish to read it. I could bring it with me to Orléans.”

“Merci, Mademoiselle — but I doubt I will have the time for such read- ing. And you, do you read this forbidden Book in our mother tongue?”

“Yes, and not as often as I should, unlike Idelette.”

“I reproach myself to even speak the horrors that will come your way, and your sister’s, if this becomes known.”

She was sober, and he saw her shoulders straighten perceptibly, as though reinforcing some decision in her mind.

“Yes, I am aware, Marquis. I shall be most careful, I assure you.” “You should not be so trusting. You have told me you have hereti-

cal writings.” He looked at her, but when her eyes widened, he smiled disarmingly. “Not that I would sit in judgment on Calvin’s writings, or of the Bible in French, but others would.” His smile faded. “Learn to be cautious in sharing such secrets.” He frowned and warned himself that

he as well must be careful. A relationship with her, however attractive, would broaden his circle of enemies.

“I mentioned my beliefs only because you are a kinsman of the Huguenot Prince Condé. You yourself are from the House of Bourbon.” “Come,” he said, and they strolled down the gallery until she whispered: “Over there, Marquis. There is a hidden stair within that

wall — concealed by that tapestry, the one of King Francis I.” “Do not look there. You are certain it is the tapestry?”

“
Mais certainement
.
It is the one Claudine mentioned. Behind the

tapestry there is a small door built into the wall, one you must stoop to enter . . . Claudine saw the Queen Mother do so. She is tall, but she was able to enter. The tapestry simply falls back into place.”

“The door would be locked — ”

“Yes, but — I know where the key is kept. I can locate and bring it to you, I am sure of it.”

Dangerous.

He regarded her, frowning. “Non.”

“Monsieur Fabien, it must be. Others are at risk.” “Why should I risk you?”

“You — have only now met me, Marquis.”

“Le coup de foudre
.”

His resonant voice sent a chill along her spine. She tore her eyes away, feeling a warm f lush coming to her cheeks.

“Could you then claim this key without endangering yourself?” “I am sure of it.” She sounded more confident than she felt.

“You are right then. She will hardly take the key with her into the state council chamber to interrogate Maître Avenelle this afternoon. Be careful of Madalenna. She must not see you. What excuse do you have for getting past the guards at the door?”

“Princesse Marguerite’s gowns. I shall take one with me as though she had inquired something about it. It will convince the guards.”

“I will do something to call the guards away.”

Something moved above them on the other side of the gallery; her eye had just caught a slight movement, like dark wings. She tensed, but it appeared he too had noticed. She saw his alert gaze f licker up to the third f loor where a diamond-shaped window let in the March light.

Unexpectedly she found herself in his arms. He held her in a passion- ate embrace, his lips brushing her temple. She stiffened, drawing in her breath, heart pounding. “Marquis!”

“Hush,” he spoke into her hair. “It is Catherine de Medici. She is watching us. She must think we are having a secret
tête-à-tête
.” Then his lips sought the tenderness of her throat sending her heart reeling.

Footsteps on stone echoed from the gallery of the f loor above them. When the sound stopped, a commanding voice called: “Who is there?” “Be brave, ma cherie,” Fabien whispered. He released her suddenly,

as though startled by the voice, and looked up toward the dark figure.

Catherine, standing behind the railing, stared down at them. Always in black since the loss of her husband, King Henry II, she stood with arms folded across her front. Her farthingale reached to her heels. Her black pointed cap rested on her forehead. Her prominent eyes sometimes stared unblinking, earning her the whispered name Madame le Serpent. Her face was broad and round, and she had the unnerving habit of sud- denly bursting into bold laughter.

Rachelle surprised herself with her poise. She took a few steps for- ward and dipped a low regal curtsy, her skirts going out around her in a shimmer of butterf ly wings.

“Your Majesty. It is I, your servant, Rachelle Macquinet. Pardon, Madame.”

Catherine’s look of sternness turned slowly into a smile, one that showed amused contempt at embarrassing two lovers.