The Courtesan (27 page)

Gabrielle drew in a sharp breath, any vestige of pity for Catherine vanishing. Feeling sympathy for the Dark Queen was more dangerous than being afraid of her. It tended to make one forget how cunning Catherine could be. Gabrielle knew quite well what Catherine was getting at. This was not the first time Catherine had tried to recruit Gabrielle into the ranks of her Flying Squadron.

Gabrielle backed away from the queen, saying scornfully, “Serve Your Grace? How? By becoming part of the royal bordello? Does Your Majesty propose to become my panderer?”

“Don’t be crude, child,” Catherine scolded, pursing her lips. “I would have a much higher regard for you than those other ladies who serve me. I could offer you everything that a king could and more. Wealth, lands, titles . . . power.”

“Power?” Gabrielle gave an incredulous laugh. “You are offering to share your power with me?”

“Alas, I am growing older, my dear. I would welcome the use of your youthful wits and energy. Just think of what the two of us together might accomplish, Gabrielle, for the glory of France, especially her women. You would become my right hand, more cherished than my own daughters could ever be. I would teach you everything I know, including my most powerful and secret arts. All I would require from you is—”

“My soul?” Gabrielle interrupted wryly.

“Your friendship, your undivided loyalty and devotion. Do not take my offer lightly. It could be the making of your future. Otherwise, I might be obliged to reassess your little role in Captain Remy’s intrigue tonight and . . .” Catherine trailed off.

Despite her glinting smile, her meaning was clear. She wasn’t asking Gabrielle to become one of her ladies this time. She was issuing an ultimatum, the same one she had once given Henry of Navarre.
Join me or die.

Catherine’s desire to make Gabrielle one of her creatures might give Gabrielle the only bargaining chip she had to save Remy’s life. But she was going to have to play her cards very carefully. Struggling to keep her tone cool and indifferent, she asked, “And Nicolas Remy, what do you propose doing about him?”

Catherine frowned, inspecting a rough spot on her fingernail. “Monsieur le Scourge has been something of a thorn in my side in the past. I have no intention of letting him become so again. A public trial and hanging would be most awkward. However, even vigorous men like the Scourge suffer from . . . accidents, mysterious ailments that suddenly carry them off.”

Especially if such accidents were carefully arranged by a Dark Queen and there were so many ways Catherine could get at Remy. A subtle poison slipped into his drink at a tavern, the outbreak of a fire at his lodging, an assassin slitting Remy’s throat in some dark alley. Gabrielle’s mind reeled with all the terrible possibilities.

Gabrielle turned away from Catherine to conceal her agitation. Thinking furiously, she said, “I have a much better idea. Why don’t you let me deal with him?”

“You?”

“Yes, I could take him to my bed, seduce him. Could you imagine how that would affect all those stern Huguenots when the word got abroad? That not only did you succeed in making a Catholic of their king, but now their great hero, the Scourge, is in thrall to one of the Dark Queen’s most notorious courtesans.”

Gabrielle faced Catherine, summoning up her most brilliant and convincing smile. “Far more effective than merely killing the man, you would destroy his legend.”

Catherine steepled her fingers beneath her chin, her brow furrowing as she considered. Gabrielle held her breath, wondering what she would do if Catherine rejected her proposal. Fall to her knees before the queen and beg for Remy’s life or seize Catherine by the throat and choke the life from her before she could harm him.

Gabrielle actually felt her fingers flexing when a slow smile spread over Catherine’s face.

“I have always admired the way your mind works, Gabrielle. Ruthless and devious, so like mine. But do you really believe that even your charms would be enough to tempt our honorable Scourge from his path of duty?”

Her charms hadn’t been enough in the past, Gabrielle reflected, but then she had never really tried. She bit down hard upon her lip as she remembered Remy’s kiss, the way it had stirred desires in her that she’d believed long dead, the passion she had seen flare in Remy’s eyes. But to seduce Remy into forgetting his honor, twisting him to the Dark Queen’s purposes, would be the final betrayal, the corruption of everything that had ever been fine and good between them. The thought filled her with despair, but if she didn’t succeed, it would be the same as signing Remy’s death warrant.

For Catherine’s benefit, Gabrielle suppressed the sick feeling in her heart and traced her hand seductively over her ample curves. “Could I manage to seduce the Scourge or any other man?” she purred. “What do you think?”

Catherine gave a throaty chuckle and stripped off a small gold signet ring from her finger. “I do believe you and I have finally reached an understanding, Gabrielle. Take this ring as a token of my good faith. Now come and pledge me yours.”

Catherine held the glittering ornament out to Gabrielle. Gabrielle recoiled from the ring as though it were a snake. Then she forced herself to smile. Rustling forward, she sank down gracefully before Catherine and brought the queen’s hand to her lips, feeling strangely hollow inside. As though she was about to barter away the last remaining vestige of her honor. That by making this pact with Catherine, she betrayed not only Remy, but her sister as well, Ariane, who had once so fiercely and bravely defied the Dark Queen.

Don’t be so melodramatic, Gabrielle,
she chided herself. This was only another part of the game, another bit of intrigue, and pacts were made to be broken. Besides, what other choice did she have?

“I pledge myself entirely to Your Majesty’s service,” she began.

“Oh, no, my dear.” Catherine caught hold of her chin, tipped Gabrielle’s head back. “Forget the words. Just pledge to me with your eyes.”

Catherine’s voice was soft and soothing, but her dark eyes bore into Gabrielle’s. Gabrielle’s heart sped up as the Dark Queen sought to invade her mind. She had to will herself to not jerk away, to remain calm. To stare steadily back, to reveal nothing to Catherine but the ice in her veins, the cold shadows of her heart. Above all else, not to think of Remy, the devastation she would feel if—

Catherine’s fingers tightened on her chin, her gaze thrusting hard against Gabrielle’s barriers and for one terrible moment, Gabrielle wavered. She made quick recovery, slamming the door to her mind closed. But had she been quick enough? How much of her vulnerabilities, the secrets of her past might Catherine have read?

Gabrielle searched Catherine’s countenance anxiously for some sign of triumph. But to her relief, the Dark Queen merely looked bitterly disappointed. She jammed the ring upon Gabrielle’s finger, her shoulders sagging as though suddenly exhausted.

“Very well,” she said. “I’ll consider our bargain sealed. I am suddenly finding myself extremely tired, child. You may leave me now.”

Gabrielle was only too grateful to do so. She ducked into a curtsy, which Catherine did not even acknowledge. But as she was on the verge of slipping out the door, the Dark Queen called softly after her.

“Just remember this, Gabrielle. If you are unable to deal with Nicolas Remy, I will.”

The night crept toward the darkest hours before morning and still Catherine could not sleep, a problem she experienced more often of late. A troubled conscience, her enemies would say. Catherine merely laughed at such a notion.

No, her lighter sleeping habits were just one more thing to put down to the vagaries of advancing age, a burden even all of her sorcery could not find a way to defeat. She could have summoned one of her ladies to fetch her a sleeping draft, but that would have been a concession to weakness, an admission she was not prepared to make.

Her powers were on the wane. The Dark Queen was growing old.

Catherine preferred to battle the demons of her restlessness by prowling her bedchamber. To and fro until she was at last exhausted. As she took another wearied turn before the chamber’s windows, Catherine fidgeted with the empty place on her finger where her signet ring should have been. The same ring that now adorned Gabrielle Cheney’s graceful hand. Of course the ring had been much too large for her.

“Just like all your grand ambitions, my girl,” Catherine murmured.

A thin smile curled her lips as she thought of her conquest over Gabrielle, but the triumph did not afford Catherine the pleasure she had once expected it would. She had looked forward to her duels of wit with the girl, her attempts to read Gabrielle’s eyes that the young woman had always successfully blocked.

The contest had helped to keep Catherine’s wits sharp, her powers well honed. Gabrielle had seemed so clever, bold, and ruthless, a truly worthy adversary. At least until tonight, when Catherine had penetrated her mind at last, uncovered all of Gabrielle’s secrets and weaknesses. Those pathetic memories of her encounter with Etienne Danton.

Catherine remembered the young chevalier quite well. He had been a minor hanger-on at court years ago until he’d been dismissed in disgrace for cheating at cards, breaking the law against dueling, and, worst of all, for raping one of Catherine’s ladies.

None of the charms of the Dark Queen’s beautiful courtesans were to be wasted on some insignificant knight from the provinces. And Gabrielle Cheney had fancied herself in love with such a man? Pah!

Catherine could have forgiven her that. After all, Gabrielle had only been sixteen. Catherine herself had been foolish enough to devote her heart to a husband who had humiliated and betrayed her at every turn. But Catherine had learned her lesson, that love only weakened a woman. Clearly Gabrielle had not and that was what Catherine found truly unforgivable. Gabrielle had repeated the same mistake all over again and she was too stupid to even realize it.

The girl was hopelessly in love with Nicolas Remy.

When Catherine had learned that Gabrielle had smuggled the Scourge into the palace tonight, she had believed that Gabrielle had done it merely to make mischief, to curry favor with Navarre and advance her ambitions to become his mistress. Catherine could have admired her for that, the deviousness of her plans, the coolness of her nerve. But to discover that the girl was merely besotted with that stiff-necked Huguenot soldier—it was nauseating.

Catherine paced the bedchamber, shaking her head in disgust. She was disappointed in Gabrielle, most cruelly disappointed. Now she was obliged to find some way to be rid of a promising young woman who could have been a valuable asset to her. One could not rely upon loyalty or even prudent self-interest from a woman idiotically in love. Gabrielle’s agreement to seduce Remy from his mission was not to be trusted. Not that it mattered. Catherine doubted that even a woman as devastatingly beautiful as Gabrielle Cheney could divert the Scourge from his notions of honor and duty. Nothing could do so . . . short of death.

Catherine had realized that about the earnest young soldier a long time ago. She had made many attempts to dispose of him, attempts that had all failed. She would have to proceed more cunningly and carefully this time. Especially with any actions she took against Gabrielle. Catherine had not been entirely truthful earlier when she had declared she did not fear the power and influence of the Lady of Faire Isle.

Catherine remembered far too well that day in the wake of the St. Bartholomew’s Eve massacre when she and Ariane Cheney had confronted each other in this very palace.

How tall and proud that young woman had been, her deep brown eyes so like her late mother’s, full of Evangeline’s searing honesty and indomitable strength.

“I am warning you, Catherine.” Ariane had declared. “I mean to revive the council of the daughters of the earth, the guardians against misuse of the old ways as you have done. Even you cannot fight us all, a silent army of wise women.”

A silent army of women . . . There had been a time when such a threat would not have fazed Catherine. But she no longer felt quite so invincible. She halted before the windows, resting one hand upon the sill. She peered past the glass toward where the moonlight charted its way across the grounds leading to the Tuileries, the Florentine palace Catherine intended to be her legacy. A palace that was destined to remain unfinished and not just because of the necessity of diverting funds to waging war.

The true reason she had halted the construction was far less rational, far more humiliating. She had fallen prey to a prophetic dream, a belief that when the last stone was mortared into place, that would also be the day that Catherine drew her final breath.

How her enemies would have laughed if they had known of this superstitious fear, that Catherine de Medici, the most powerful sorceress France had ever known, the dreaded Dark Queen was afraid . . . of dying.

Death—that ultimate helplessness and loss of all power. Her hand fluttered to her neck as though she could feel the cold brush of its fingers fastening around her throat. She dragged in a lungful of air, taking comfort in her very breath, the strong steady beat of her heart. No, death should not have her yet. But she had to take care. Before she raised her hand against Gabrielle or her Scourge, Catherine needed to ascertain how powerful the Lady of Faire Isle had become, exactly what went on at those little council meetings on the island.