The Courtesan (60 page)

Aristide commanded one of his mercenaries to fetch him a leather portfolio while he invited Remy and Wolf to take a seat. Wolf arranged himself protectively beside Miri on the settle, but Remy brusquely declined the invitation. He positioned himself behind Gabrielle instead, resting his hand on her shoulder. She reached up to curl her fingers over his, grateful for the strong feel of him at her back. Aristide sat across from both of them, undoing the ribbon that bound the portfolio. He opened it, sifting through the documents. He perused one at great length, although Gabrielle was sure the witch-hunter knew by rote every line that was written there.

This was simply more delaying tactics, another attempt to increase her tension. Simon might not resort to hot irons, but he was a master at more subtle forms of torture. She felt on the verge of shrieking at him to get on with it when he finally looked up. When his question came at last, it was far worse than anything she had expected.

“Mademoiselle Cheney, you are perhaps acquainted with a woman named Cassandra Lascelles?”

Gabrielle’s hand tightened convulsively on Remy’s fingers. Wolf started, but Gabrielle did not even dare meet the young man’s eyes. She stared at Aristide, trying to gauge just how much the witch-hunter might know. His mocking gaze told her nothing. She decided that outright denial might be less than wise. “Cassandra Lascelles, you say? The name sounds familiar. I—I—perhaps I have heard of her.”

“She has definitely heard of you. By all reports, the young woman is blind and something of a recluse, but she sent her maidservant—” Aristide paused to consult his notes again. “One Finette Dupres, to lay some rather disturbing charges against you.”

So this was to be Cass’s revenge? Gabrielle could scarce believe it, not even of Cass, not after the way the woman had lost her mother and sisters. Cass might be furious with Gabrielle, but she had far more cause to hate witch-hunters.

Remy gave Gabrielle’s shoulder a comforting squeeze as he demanded, “Who the devil is this woman? What does she say Gabrielle has done?”

“Mistress Lascelles claims that mademoiselle has been employing evil magic, to ensnare men and keep them in her power.” Simon directed an insolent smile at Remy. “You in particular, Captain.”

“I admit I have long been charmed by Mademoiselle Cheney, but she has never had to resort to black magic. I assure you my love has been most freely given.” The tenderness in Remy’s voice, his complete faith in her made Gabrielle want to shrink down in her chair from guilt.

“How very romantic,” Aristide sneered. “Then no doubt mademoiselle has an innocent explanation for certain objects that have been found in her possession.”

“What objects?” Gabrielle asked hoarsely, although she already knew, even before Simon snapped his fingers, summoning one of his guards. The man strode forward and set her wooden chest down before Simon, the lock smashed open.

Her stomach took a sickened dive. She now understood the reason she had been kept waiting for so long. The bastard had been having her abandoned house and her carriage searched for evidence. Not that it would have taken that long to find. Not when she had been obliging enough to leave the casket in plain view on the carriage seat.

Wolf hitched in his breath, poised on the very edge of his seat. Gabrielle exchanged an apprehensive glance with him. She had been so grateful to have Remy with her, strong and supportive by her side. Now she wished him miles away, anywhere but here. She slid her fingers from his grasp, clutching her hands tightly together in her lap as Aristide cracked open the lid of the wooden chest.

He drew out the medallions and laid them on the table side by side.

“Mademoiselle Cheney, do these belong to you?” Aristide asked quietly.

“Well, I—I—” she stammered.

“They were found in this box, in your carriage,” he added, making futile any attempts at denial.

Remy stepped from behind Gabrielle’s chair. He picked up one of the amulets to inspect it, comparing one to the other. He appeared bewildered to find the two identical, but he shrugged, tossing them back on the table. “And so what if Mademoiselle Cheney does possess such medallions? They are harmless trinkets, nothing more.”

“Not according to Mademoiselle Lascelles,” Aristide said. “She claims these amulets are imbued with the most evil kind of sorcery. The witch who wears one of these can control the person who wears the other.”

“That’s ridiculous—” Remy began.

“By inflicting severe pain that can strike without warning, anywhere on the body, an arm, a leg, a shoulder. Apparently they even have the power to kill.”

Remy fell silent. His hand crept involuntarily toward his shoulder, the first look of doubt clouding his eyes.

Unable to contain himself any longer, Wolf shot to his feet. “Mademoiselle Lascelles seems to be an expert on those evil medallions,” he cried hotly. “And why shouldn’t she be? She is the one who is the evil witch. She is the one who made those damned charms and gave one to Mistress Gabrielle for Capt—”

Wolf stopped abruptly. Whether it was Simon Aristide’s smile of triumph, Miri’s look of horror, or the way that Remy paled, it dawned on Martin he was making everything worse. He closed his mouth and slumped miserably back down in his seat.

A terrible silence ensued. Gabrielle could not bring herself to look at Remy. She was aware of how rigid he had gone. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost fierce.

“None of this is true. The medallion that I wore was fashioned by Gabrielle’s sister, Ariane. The Lady of Faire Isle, a wise woman of great virtue. A healer who would never have anything to do with the dark arts. Tell him, Gabrielle.”

Her throat had squeezed so tight she could not speak.

“Gabrielle?
Tell him.
”

She flinched when he seized hold of her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes was more than she could bear, hope warring with desperation, his need to believe in her battling with a stark sense of betrayal.

“Remy, I—I—” she faltered. It would have been so much easier to make Remy understand, to confess what she done if they had been alone. If Simon Aristide had not been dispassionately observing them as though they were mummers in some pageant, their most private emotions on display for his entertainment.

Remy searched her face. Whatever he saw caused him to release her. He recoiled a step as though he had taken a severe blow and still that bastard Aristide was not finished. He delved inside the box, pulling out the remaining object and set it carefully alongside the medallions.

“And what of this, Mademoiselle Cheney? It appears to be a signet ring of some sort emblazoned with the letter C. Did Cassandra Lascelles manufacture this, too?”

Gabrielle swallowed. “No, that—that was a gift from someone else.”

“Both costly and exquisite, a very
regal
gift, one would almost say.” Simon’s mouth curved into a taunting smile. The witch-hunter likely knew full well who had given her that ring and she feared that Remy did too. If he looked as though he had been kicked in the gut earlier, he now appeared as though he had been dealt a mortal blow.

Aristide gathered up his notes, arranging the parchment into the leather portfolio. “Regrettably, I am going to have to detain you further, Mademoiselle Cheney. I fear there is enough evidence here to warrant a trial for witchcraft.”

“Simon, no!” Miri cried.

He ignored her, directing his words only to Gabrielle. “Your trial will be held in, say . . . a fortnight’s time. That should give you ample time to prepare a defense.”

Gabrielle scarcely heeded him, her gaze fixed imploringly on Remy. But now it was he who could not bear to look at her. He was pale and silent, his gaze fixed numbly on the Dark Queen’s ring and those damning medallions.

But Cass’s evil charms no longer had the power to wound Remy, Gabrielle reflected. She was the one who had done that, with her own foolish lies.

Aristide was more merciful than Gabrielle would have expected. He had made no immediate move to have her clapped in arms or carted off to the prison where she would be held until her trial. The witch-hunter was even gracious enough to permit her a few moments alone with Remy in the inn’s small private parlor, although making it clear that any attempt at escape was not to be considered.

Guards were posted outside both the parlor’s doors and windows. Gabrielle had feared that Remy might make a rash attempt to free her then and there, despite the impossible odds. But the fight appeared to have been bled out of her Scourge to an alarming degree. He was like a man who had taken a hard fall and was unable to regain his wind. He had not even protested when Simon had demanded that he surrender his sword as a condition for this moment alone with Gabrielle.

Gabrielle paced before the parlor windows, rubbing her arms as she sought to contain her desperation, knowing that she had only a brief time to explain to Remy, to try to repair the damage her lies had done. But as she unraveled for him the whole tale of her dealings with Cass, her excuses sounded halting and lame even to her own ears.

Remy heard her out in grim silence, his arms locked across his chest. Whatever hurt she had inflicted upon him was now shelved behind an expression so stony, a stance so forbidding, Gabrielle’s heart quailed. It was all she could do to finish.

“. . . and—and this laying of charges against me must be Cass’s idea of revenge. I should have anticipated her doing something to get back at me. But when Martin and I didn’t hear anything more from her, I suppose we hoped that—that—”

“That you’d gotten away with everything?” Remy asked icily.

“Yes. I—I mean no.”

Knowing Remy’s temper, she braced herself for the blast. But instead of raging at her, he shook his head in disgust. “If you were going to meddle with the dark arts, at least you might have had the wit to get rid of the evidence or keep it better hidden.”

“I didn’t have enough time to decide what to do with the medallions. I thought after we were away from Paris, I could consult Renard—” She broke off as the full import of Remy’s words struck her. “I wasn’t
meddling
with the dark arts. I explained to you that I didn’t know what the medallion really was. Surely you don’t believe that—”

“I don’t know what the devil to believe.” Remy took an agitated turn about the room, raking his hand back through his hair. “I hear that my betrothed has been taken up by witch-hunters and nearly break my neck getting here to defend her innocence. Only I end up making a fool of myself because it is obvious I don’t have a clue about what has really been going on. Then you feed me some incredible tale about owing a favor to this sorceress and that what she wanted was me for one night. To father her child, a little she-devil that will rise up one day and take over the world. And if I didn’t comply, she was going to kill me, use the medallion to strike me dead.”

“I know it sounds completely mad,” Gabrielle faltered. “But is it easier for you to believe that I was the one who wanted to hurt you?”

Remy’s hard gaze drilled into her. “You were the one who fastened that medallion around my neck and never gave me one word of warning about its origin. Instead you lied to me, told me that Ariane had fashioned it.”

“Because I knew you’d never wear it otherwise. I thought I was protecting you.”

“I don’t need that kind of protection,” Remy snapped. “How many times has Ariane warned you to stay clear of black magic? How many times have I told you the same thing? But you always go your own headstrong way. Never listen to anyone.”

He stormed toward her and for one moment Gabrielle thought he was going to seize hold of her, shake her. She would almost have welcomed his fury. Anything but that disillusionment in his eyes, the way he drew back as though he could not endure the thought of touching her. He stalked over to the windows and stared out, sunlight pouring mercilessly over his hard-chiseled features that suddenly looked incredibly defeated.

“I thought that we had finally established some level of trust between us, no more lies, no more secrets. But clearly I expected too much. Deception comes as naturally to you as breathing.”

Gabrielle knew that she deserved his reproof, but his words wounded her all the same. “Remy, that—that is not entirely fair.”

“Isn’t it? You appear to be once more neck deep in intrigue to me. And what is worse, you involved Wolf in all of this, laid him open to this Lascelles woman’s vindictiveness. It is a wonder she didn’t include him in the charges she laid at your door, have him arrested as well.”

“Cass doesn’t even know who Wolf is and I tried to dissuade him from getting involved, but he can be as stubborn as you are. He insisted upon taking the risk to help because he cares about you. As deeply as I do.”

“All right. That clears up the little mystery of the medallions, I suppose. But what have you got to say about the other little trinket in that box? That ring. I know whose it is. I remember seeing it on the Dark Queen’s finger the night of the masquerade. So don’t even bother trying to deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Gabrielle replied sadly.

“So why do you have it? Why did she give it to you?”