The Chevalier (Châteaux and Shadows) (22 page)

Manu wondered if he could forgive his mother. Perhaps he already had. He wondered if his brothers and sister may have, also, but a hallway of the palace was not the place to trade secrets.

Their father’s apartment was full of boys pretending to fence each other even as nursemaids tried to separate them. Françoise, youngest and the only girl, was standing on a chair shrieking for them to defend her from the dragon. The dragon was played by her father, Cédric, who crawled on the floor, roaring. Thirteen-year-old Alexandre pummeled him with a pillow.

Sandrine sighed deeply, then approached the damsel in the tower. The dragon sat back on its haunches, grinning gleefully. Alexandre held the pillow behind his back. The other three boys kept fighting until Jean-Louis walked over and cleared his throat loudly. Sébastien grabbed his cousins by the arm, and they all turned to see what was happening.

“Time for bed,” Sandrine announced, her normal shyness gone, replaced by a grim stare that swept the room. The children groaned but all gathered around her—daughter, sons, and nephews—leaning in for kisses. Then Cédric hauled her against his body and kissed her deeply, earning groans of “Oh, Papa!” from his sons.

Not just protected but honored and listened to. And loved.

Chapter Ten

Emmanuel woke early to whispering. He peeled his eyes open to find Alexandre and Sébastien peeking into his room and Marcel sitting up on his pallet on the floor. Their heads swiveled toward him, and their eyes widened to see him watching.

“Bonjour, Tonton Manu.” Marcel’s voice was very small.

Manu grunted a laugh at his guilty expression. “I guess if we’re not invited to the king’s
levée
, you can make do with your uncle’s.” He glanced at the window. At least the sun was up. “Toss me my breeches, Monsieur Marcel.” He shoved his sheet down and swung his legs out of bed, then stretched. He yawned hugely.

Marcel gawked at his bare chest. Manu had been too hot to sleep in his nightshirt and removed it after a restless hour, but luckily he had left his smallclothes on. “My shirt, too.” He glanced at the doorway, and Alex and Seb beat a hasty retreat. Manu wondered if he had ever seen a man’s chest when he was a skinny boy.

The boys might have been staring at the bruise blooming across his left side. He prodded it carefully and rolled his left shoulder, neither of which did more than twinge slightly. Falling down the stairs was nothing compared to falling off a horse.

He yawned again. Of course, it hadn’t been only the heat in his room which kept him awake, it was the internal heat as he thought of Catherine.

“Are we having a fencing lesson before I fence with the gentlemen?” He glanced at Marcel, who was scrambling into his own clothing.

The boy turned quickly, hands paused on the buttons of his breeches, his eyes wide. “Are we? We can? With you? Please!” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And with Oncle Dom?”

Manu laughed. As Dom ran the guard school where all the boys in the family were trained, he had more credibility as a sword instructor. He had taught Manu and was strict but patient—he had needed all his patience when Manu moved to his château. Manu, on the other hand, was patient with horses, but people put his teeth on edge.

Manu was the one the boys went to with questions about horses, so he supposed it was fair for them to ask for Dom about swords. He shrugged. “We’ll ask him. First we’ll say goodbye to your father, of course.”

Marcel’s smile dropped away. Was he homesick already? Jean-Louis typically kept his family close. Jean-Louis had been at war and knew what violence and death looked like. There had been enough trouble in the family to merit extra caution.

“Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you.”

Marcel shrugged and looked down to finish dressing.

Manu had embarrassed him. He finished with his own clothing and patted the boy on the shoulder on the way past.

****

The baronesse declared that, since the sun was shining, she wished to walk outdoors, and Catherine was to come with her. The baron declared his wife too weak, but she glared at him. He finally agreed to find her a palanquin and stomped off to borrow one from a friend. The baronesse was nearly to the top of the closest staircase, leaning heavily on Catherine’s arm with an anxious Swiss guard right behind, when her husband arrived with a burly footman who carried the baronesse gingerly down the stairs and placed her in the palanquin.

The baronesse stubbornly refused to speak to the baron at first as revenge for treating her as if she were weak. When they reached a flat area of parterre, she declared herself ready to walk, and took her husband’s arm and replied politely when he spoke to her.

Catherine relaxed at the baronesse’s other side, letting her mind wander as they meandered slowly through the aisles between beds of elaborately trimmed low hedges and flowers. The palanquin bearers stood nearby, chatting with the Swiss guardsman. Catherine wondered how long the baron would pay for the guard. Presumably until the poisoner was caught. Or else all the servants would be fired and the baronesse moved into the baron’s household. She wondered if she was a servant who would be fired or if she would be arrested and tortured into confessing to things she did not do.

She shuddered.

“Are you cold?” The baronesse’s voice was as harsh as ever, finding weakness instead of reason for sympathy.

Catherine assured her it was just a passing chill. The baron surveyed her gravely, then nodded and winked at her over his wife’s head.

“Grand-père! Grand-père! Come see!”

The baron and baronesse’s grandson, Alexandre, waved madly to them from the terrace above. The baron’s face lit up and he seemed on the verge of dropping his wife’s arm, but instead he called back, “In a few minutes.”

The boy frowned, then bowed to his grandmother and Catherine and turned away. In a moment, the boy’s father, Monsieur Cédric, peered over the heavy stone banister. He grinned at his parents, then called out, “At least send up Mademoiselle de Fouet! She can watch the boys’ contest.”

Catherine stared in surprise. The baronesse frowned, but the baron immediately directed her toward the closest stairs and Monsieur Cédric met her at the top.

“Now, I love my mother and father, but surely you wish to spend more time with the younger set, eh?” He grinned at her, and she looked at the crowd of de Cantière men and boys, and several more boys, not all of whom Catherine remembered seeing before. Even little Françoise held a sword. The Comte de Bures was standing in the middle of the crowd, demonstrating some maneuver, the children staring avidly.

Monsieur Cédric chuckled. “We’re quite a warlike clan, Mademoiselle. We only appear civilized.”

Monsieur Emmanuel stepped into the circle and helped the comte demonstrate. His coat was off and his linen shirt strained against his shoulders, making Catherine gasp.

The cluster exploded in talk, and people paired off, Françoise with her Uncle Henri, who had not struck Catherine as a doting sort of uncle but who now steered the girl to a clear area and solemnly showed her how to salute.

“That’s my cue, Mademoiselle. I’m paired with Dario.” Monsieur Cédric settled Catherine on a bench and plucked a bent fencing foil from a box on the ground.

Little Françoise got tired—or bored—first and sat next to Catherine with a huge sigh as Monsieur Henri turned to find a new pupil among the boys. They watched in silence, the girl distracted by birds and craning her neck at passing nobles. The Baron de la Brosse finally arrived, just as Catherine saw the baronesse’s palanquin go up a distant staircase. The baron admonished her to stay and let the maid take care of the baronesse, who was going up to her rooms. He kissed his granddaughter and removed his coat, gently placing it on top of his sons’ coats on another bench. He rummaged through the sword box until he came out with a really decrepit foil, and Catherine heard him challenge a grandson to a duel.

“I like sword fighting,” announced a voice next to her. Françoise nodded her head solemnly when Catherine looked at her in surprise. “Tata Aurore says I should know how to defend myself. But I like dancing better. And dolls.”

Catherine had to reflect for a moment to remember “Tata Aurore” was the Comtesse de Bures.

“I wish my girl cousins were here. They’re a lot more interesting.” The girl sighed heavily. “Diane is just my age. Do you know Diane?”

Catherine thought of the shy, pink-cheeked girl, Monsieur Jean-Louis’s daughter. “I do know her. I stayed with your Uncle Jean-Louis for a few days last week.”

“Did you?” The girl sat up straighter and held onto Catherine’s arm, her little hand hot through the sleeve. “Did you meet Ondine? Isn’t she beautiful?”

Catherine assured her that her cousin was beautiful, which was true, and also that the adolescent girl was charming. Françoise grew quiet, deep in thought.

A boy came and sat on Françoise’s other side: Alexandre, who had shouted over the balcony at them earlier. “All done, Fan-Fan?”

The girl sighed. “My arm is tired, and this is boring.” She leaned against her big brother, who patted her back.

He scratched at a pimple on his chin and sighed. “I can hardly wait to go to Uncle Dom’s château-fort next year.” He switched his attention to Catherine and announced, “I’d like to be an officer. I’ll be a dragoon or a musketeer. Or cavalry!”

“Maman said
no
, Alex,” the girl announced loftily.

The boy slumped. “Papa also said no. He doesn’t want me to get shot. It’s ridiculous, I won’t get shot. I’ll ride too fast.”

Catherine’s attention snapped back to the de Cantière men when they froze in place as a group of gentlemen approached. Her stomach clenched when she saw among them d’Oronte and some of his friends.

D’Oronte didn’t seem to notice her, but she looked away anyway, trying to listen to the children. When Alexandre saw the new arrivals, he rose with an eager expression. “Finally, we’ll get to see real men spar.”

Françoise sighed deeply.

“If you like, I’ll walk you up to your maid.” Catherine hoped the girl would accept and they could slip away.

The girl looked at her from the corner of her eyes. “Alors…I suppose we could stay and watch.”

No easy escape, then.

More young men arrived, some greeting the de Bures and de Cantière men as friends or with respect, others with a thin veneer of politeness. Lucas de Granville approached Emmanuel, looking a little cautious, they spoke into each other’s ear for just a minute, glanced at her, and shook hands. De Granville came toward her and greeted her politely before standing to the right of her bench.

D’Oronte kept his distance as he and his friends talked and laughed and selected their weapons. Finally, d’Oronte glowered directly at her—he had known she was there all along. Her stomach curdled, and she felt a little lightheaded at his anger and contempt. His voice carried across the open area, rebounding slightly off the palace wall. “I believe it is a good morning for a rematch, Monsieur le Chevalier de Cantière. I mean, if you have any strength left for me after facing these formidable opponents.” He glanced at the boys, who stood up straighter, hesitating between believing the words and identifying the veiled insult to their uncle.

The boys’ frowns were nothing to the men’s. Emmanuel’s father turned slowly to face the young man. Even in his dull, old clothing, he drew himself up to the heights of an imposing, influential baron, ready to defend his child. And yet his expression was nothing to the Comte de Bures’, who smiled with eyes so full of ice Catherine was surprised d’Oronte did not shatter. D’Oronte looked uneasy, but smiled back.

Emmanuel bowed politely. “Of course, Monsieur d’Oronte. We are well-matched, after all. I ask only to have my sister’s husband oversee our bout. After all, he is a well-known sword master.”

The enthusiastic agreement of all the gentlemen except d’Oronte and his friends meant Monsieur Emmanuel would have his wish.

“I cannot counsel you if I am to oversee,” the comte said to Emmanuel as the younger man paced to the railing close to where Catherine sat.

Emmanuel nodded. “I think more than ten years of your counsel shall have to suffice.”

The comte smiled and clapped him on the back. “I hope you’ve been practicing.”

“Mostly with a saber on horseback, but it’s coming back to me.”

The comte shook his head and turned away to talk to d’Oronte and his friends. He checked over d’Oronte’s sword. The vicomte took off his coat, and his friends helped him put on a padded waistcoat. His shoulders were narrower than Emmanuel’s, but his lean strength made her shudder instead of dream. She shivered again as she remembered his hands squeezing her arms and her panic as he forced a kiss.

The Baron de la Brosse spoke to Emmanuel in a low voice until his son laughed, his handsome face lit from within.

Meanwhile, Monsieur Cédric shepherded the boys to the railing and took away their practice swords amid much grumbling. When he declared they would be going for a walk, the boys clamored to be allowed to watch the sparring. Monsieur Cédric called over to the Comte de Bures, who nodded his permission.

“Merci, Papa!” shouted Dario, which made most of the gentlemen chuckle, relieving some of the tension.

Monsieur Henri stood to her left, hands clasped behind his back, staring intently across the loose circle of men. She followed his gaze to d’Oronte, who was whispering to a friend. They turned their backs on the crowd and had a brief argument.

“I don’t trust him.”

Catherine startled, as did the little girl at her side. They looked up at Monsieur Henri, whose gaze still hadn’t moved from Emmanuel’s rival.

His eyes flicked to her and then to his niece. “I’m the sneaky uncle, Françoise. If I say you can’t trust a man, you should always believe me. It is something you should remember for the future,
ma petite
.”

Françoise stared up at her uncle with intense concentration. “Did you tell this to Ondine and Diane, Tonton?”

Monsieur Henri chuckled, his smile tight and thin-lipped. “I have told them many times. So far they believe me, but if one day they fancy themselves in love with someone untrustworthy, I will have to break their hearts. And yours.”