The Courtesan (44 page)

“When did it ever do any good trying to talk to a witch-hunter?” Gabrielle demanded.

“But Simon was different. There was much that was good in him. Or at least I once thought so.” Miri pillowed her cheek on the top of Necromancer’s head. “Perhaps this scheme to rid France of all wise women is more the king’s doing than Simon’s.”

“It doesn’t matter who is behind it because we are not staying around to find out.”

At least you are not, little sister,
Gabrielle thought.

When Miri lifted her head, a rebellious light springing to her eyes, Gabrielle said, “Surely even you must see the need to return to Faire Isle. Unless you want to risk finding yourself on trial for witchcraft again?”

Gabrielle felt like a shrew for stirring up such a painful memory for her sister. But she was determined to use any argument at her disposal to get Miri to leave Paris.

Miri sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Perhaps you are right. It was such a jolt seeing Simon again, realizing what has become of him. I can’t think clearly right now.”

“Of course you can’t.” Gabrielle soothed. “It has been a long, exhausting day for all of us. Everything will seem clearer in the morning. I will send Bette to fetch you a bit of supper, then I recommend an early bed.”

“Never mind about the supper. I have little appetite.”

Gabrielle started to protest, but Miri was already struggling with the covers. The sight of her sister’s wan countenance caused Gabrielle to hold her tongue. Perhaps a good long sleep was the best remedy for Miri’s heartache. Tucking the counterpane up round her little sister, Gabrielle brushed a kiss on Miri’s brow. Her sister’s eyes were already closed as Gabrielle tiptoed quietly from the room.

No sooner had the door closed behind Gabrielle than Miri’s eyes fluttered open. She grimaced to find herself staring straight into Necromancer’s amber eyes. Front paws braced on the edge of her pillow, the cat loomed over her, his gaze full of reproach.

I know what you are thinking, Daughter of the Earth. Forget about it.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Miri muttered.

This meek compliance may have fooled your sister, but it does not fool me. You still want to see that miserable Aristide. You must stay away from him. He is a predator.

“You are a fine one to talk of that. No matter how well you are fed, you persist in preying upon poor defenseless mice.”

Necromancer sank back on his haunches, complacently licking his paws.
It is in my nature to hunt, just as it is in his.

“It also appears to be in your nature to constantly disturb my sleep,” Miri grumbled. “Good night.”

She tunneled farther beneath the covers, where Necromancer could no longer read her expression. It was possible that Gabrielle and the cat were correct in their judgment of Simon. Perhaps what Miri planned to do was both rash and foolish. But it was not in
her
nature to give up so easily on those whom she loved.

The candles had been lit in her bedchamber by the time Gabrielle returned to it. She froze on the threshold, startled by the sight of Remy bending over her washbasin, stripped down to little more than his trunk hose. The candlelight played over the rippling muscles of his bare back and broad shoulders. Gabrielle’s soft gasp alerted him to her presence. He straightened from the washstand.

“I am sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Bette said you would not mind if I washed away some of the grime of the day and tended to this.” He crooked his right elbow, indicating an ugly red cut down his forearm.

“N-no, of course not,” Gabrielle stammered. With the advent of the witch-hunters and her concern for Miri, she had forgotten Remy’s wound. Stricken with remorse, she hastened to pluck the damp cloth from his hand.

“Here, let me take care of that.”

Catching hold of his wrist to hold his arm steady, she dabbed gently at the slash. She was relieved to see that it had congealed over. Six inches in length, the wound did not appear deep enough to require stitches. All the same, she bit down hard upon her lip as she cleaned the wound. But her distress had not escaped Remy’s notice. He stroked a tendril of hair gently back from her cheek.

“It’s only a scratch, Gabrielle.”

She knew that. It was the thought of what could have happened to Remy today that made her want to melt against his chest and dissolve into tears. She focused on the cut instead. Although Remy protested it was not necessary, she insisted upon applying the witch hazel Bette had provided. Remy sucked in his breath sharply at the sting, but otherwise bore her fumbling with the linen bandage patiently.

Her hands were not as steady as she would have wished and she had difficulty meeting his eyes. She had never told any man so bluntly that she loved him before. Her confession left her feeling self-conscious and vulnerable. The fact that Remy was half-naked did nothing to add to her ease. Her gaze strayed to the powerful contours of his scarred chest, Cass’s medallion resting against the crisp mat of his dark gold hairs. The charm had proved to be completely useless. What good was an amulet that warned of danger if a man was too obstinate to take heed of it?

She was tempted to lift the chain over his head and simply throw the talisman away, but the contrast of the metal gleaming against Remy’s bare skin was in some odd way very masculine and strangely seductive. Such thoughts did nothing to steady her hands. She made an awkward job of wrapping the bandage around his forearm. Remy didn’t complain, but he winced when she pulled it too tight.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I have never been as good as Ariane at this.”

“You are doing just fine.”

She risked a glance up to find his gaze resting warmly upon her, the expression in his eyes tender and passionate enough to make any woman go weak in the knees. When she had confessed her love to him on the tourney field, for one brief moment everything had seemed possible, any happiness within their grasp. But Gabrielle had come to her senses.

She loved Remy. She had finally told him so, but that didn’t change anything, none of the peril they faced from the Dark Queen or witch-hunters, the awkward situation with Navarre. It especially did not change the kind of woman Gabrielle was, make her any more worthy of Remy’s love.

Gabrielle finished tying off the bandage. Then she moved to dispose of the bloodied water in the basin, summoning one of the servants to fetch a fresh ewer of water so Remy could continue bathing. As Gabrielle refilled the basin, she was aware of Remy watching her every move. The heat of his gaze made her heartbeat quicken, her skin tingle. She had never realized it was possible for a man to make a woman want him simply through the stillness of his eyes.

The silence that stretched out between them was not an easy one. It was far too fraught with unspoken desires. As Gabrielle laid out a linen towel for Remy, she sought to lighten the tension by asking with false brightness, “I don’t suppose you’d care to borrow some of my perfumed soap?”

“And end up smelling like some of the French king’s petit amis?” Remy replied dryly. “No, thank you. You’d best save the soap for Miri. Perhaps she’d like to try it.”

After the fraction of a pause, he asked, “How is your sister?”

“Well enough. I am sure she’ll be fine once she’s recovered from her shock. But I will feel better when she is safely on her way back to Faire Isle.”

“When both of you are,” Remy said firmly.

Gabrielle folded and refolded the towel. The moment had come that she could no longer avoid. She avoided looking at Remy instead as she said, “There is only one place I am going and—and that is back to the palace tonight.”

“What! Are you quite mad?” Remy growled.

She clutched the towel, crumpling the linen she had just so carefully folded. “I have to seek out Navarre and explain things to him. You must have noticed him mounted near the end of the lists as we were all hurrying away. The stunned look on his face.”

“Yes, I did. But it is my duty to explain to him about us—not yours.”

“Remy, there is no
us.
I don’t want Navarre misinterpreting what I did today and being angry with you. Fortunately, he was not close enough to hear what I said to you. I should still be able to smooth things over with him and make amends.”

“What sort of amends?”

Gabrielle could not bring herself to answer him. She sought to refold the towel. Remy snatched it away from her and flung it to the floor. Catching her hard by the shoulders, he dragged her around to face him.

“You still plan to become his mistress, don’t you?” he cried. “To share his bed even after what you told me today? Damn it, Gabrielle! You said you loved me. Didn’t you mean it?”

It would be better if she could lie, pretend that she’d only said what she had in order to put a stop to the duel. But Remy’s eyes clouded with such hurt and self-doubt, she could not bear it.

“Yes, I meant it,” she said. “I do love you, but I must never tell you so again.”

“In God’s name, why?”

“Because . . . don’t you see? Because it makes no difference.”

“It makes all the difference in the world to me.” He hauled her closer, bending to claim her lips. Gabrielle averted her face so that his mouth only grazed her cheek.

“Remy, no matter what I feel for you—”

“What we feel for each other,” he insisted, brushing his lips against her hair, his breath warm upon her ear. “I love you, Gabrielle. I need hardly tell you that. You must have always known.”

He kissed the sensitive hollow behind her ear, his mouth trailing lower down the column of her neck. The warm rasp of his lips sent a shiver through her, his kisses by turns soft and fierce, tender and passionate. It took all of Gabrielle’s will to resist.

“Remy, please don’t,” she begged. She thrust herself away from him. “Can you not see that any love between us is as hopeless as it ever was?”

Remy’s face darkened with a mingling of desire and frustration. “Why? Because of a vision some cursed witch conjured up for you? Some damn fool prediction that Navarre will be king of France, that you will be his mistress and rule by his side. Is that what you really want? Is such a thing so important to you?”

Gabrielle backed farther away him, her hand fluttering to her neck, her skin grazed and flushed from the heat of Remy’s kisses. “I made a vow to myself long ago that I was not going to be helpless like other women, without power in a man’s world.”

“And what the devil will you do with all this power after you get it? I doubt power ever kept anyone warm at night, made them feel any less lonely or happier.”

“I never looked for warmth or happiness,” Gabrielle said in a small voice. “But if I was mistress of all France, I promise you one thing. No witch-hunter would ever cross our borders again.”

She added more fiercely, “And I would put a stop to all fighting. No woman would ever have to grieve for the loss of a husband or son in some stupid, pointless battle.”

“Do you really think it would be that easy, Gabrielle? To banish evil by royal decree? That a mere command will turn swords into plowshares? If so, you know very little of the dark nature of men, my dear. But I don’t think your attempts to push me away have anything to do with a hunger for power or being a king’s mistress. This is about that bastard Danton. Since I realized what he did to you, you have been scarce able to look me in the eye.”

Gabrielle tried to refute his claim by staring boldly at him, but she found she could not. Remy closed the distance between them. Crooking his fingers beneath her chin, he forced her to look up at him.

“Gabrielle, when a man behaves like a beast, it is his shame, not the woman’s.”

Gabrielle could only gaze at him in disbelief. Rape was always accounted to be a woman’s ruin, a woman’s shame. Her worth diminished, despoiled goods. Yet Remy continued to look at her with such tenderness, such understanding, such—such love Gabrielle found it unbearable. She shied away from him.

“If you only knew,” she choked. “You have never seen me for what I am. You are trying to make some sort of wronged angel out of me. What happened in the barn that day
was
my fault.”

Her throat tightened so painfully, it was a moment before she could continue. “I was infatuated with Danton. When he led me into that barn, I didn’t even try to resist. I had never been kissed by a man before and I longed to know what it would be like. When Danton drew me into his arms, it was exciting at—at first.

“I had never felt such a strange warm rush. I didn’t even protest until he—he wanted to do more than kiss me.” Gabrielle hung her head, her cheeks burning. “I tried to ease away from him, but he became rougher, more aggressive. I grew frightened and begged him to stop, but it was too late.

“I had enticed him past all bearing. He—he—hurt me.” Gabrielle drew in a deep breath. “I had been foolish enough to think he’d loved me, that he might want to marry me. But after he had done with me, he said that all I was fit for was to be a whore.”

“The son of a bitch,” Remy growled. “You should have let me kill him.”

Gabrielle shook her head bleakly. “As much as I hated Danton for what he’d done, I hated myself even more. Because I realized he was right.”