The Wind Dancer/Storm Winds

  “If we can.”

  She was beginning to think she would have no trouble sleeping that night. The ordeal was over, and every muscle in her body felt heavy, sluggish. “Do you stay here with me?”

  “There’s only one bed.”

  She closed her eyes. “Yes, of course.”

  There was a long silence in the room before she spoke again. “May I ask a question?””

  “Yes.”

  “Why are you always so angry with me?”

  He didn’t answer for such a long time she was beginning to think he was ignoring the question.

  “Because I bleed inside when I look at you.”

  “What?”

  “Go to sleep.”

  Another silence fell between them.

  “I’m sorry I was so foolish. I didn’t understand.”

  “Understand?”

  “That you didn’t want to hurt me.” She turned on her side to face the wall. “I thought all men desired women only because they were women. I’m glad you explained. I feel more at ease with you now.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes,” she whispered drowsily. “I’m glad I don’t please you and you don’t want me.”

  “No, I don’t want you.”

  As she drifted off to sleep she heard him repeat the words. Strange, on his lips they sounded like one of the holy litanies the nuns had taught her.

  “You don’t please me.

  “And I don’t want you.”

  Juliette met them at the door when François and Catherine arrived at the Place Royale the next morning.

  “Is all well with you?” Juliette’s gaze anxiously searched Catherine’s face. She felt a surge of relief. Catherine showed no sign of ill treatment. In truth, her expression was surprisingly alert. “He did you no harm?”

  “Other than stinging my ears with his foul language, he did me no harm,” Catherine said. “He has a more unruly tongue than even you, Juliette.”

  “I’ve had a few more years to practice.” François smiled faintly. “And I didn’t spend my childhood in a nunnery.”

  Catherine frowned. “Still, you should not—”

  “Well, it’s done.” Juliette pulled Catherine into the foyer, untied her bonnet, and took it off. “You’re home safe and I’ll take care of you. Are you tired?”

  Catherine looked at her uncertainly. “I don’t think so. I slept very well.”

  “Good. But perhaps you should rest anyway. Jean Marc and Philippe are at Monsieur Bardot’s place of business arranging for funds for your stay at Vasaro. When they return we’ll have dinner and then be on our way. Run along to your room and I’ll be up in a moment.”

  The vivaciousness faded from Catherine’s expression. “If you think it best.” She turned obediently toward the stairs.

  “Wait. Don’t do it,” François said softly. “Tell her no, Catherine.”

  Juliette frowned. “Why should she? You know she’s not been well. She should rest before the trip. Look at her, she’s fading more by the minute.”

  “Perhaps I am a little tired.” Catherine ignored François’s frown as she started heavily up the stairs. “I’d like to go to the garden before we leave for Vasaro. Do I have time, Juliette?”

  “After your rest.” Juliette turned to François. “I’d like to speak to you.”

  “I thought you would.” His gaze was following Catherine as she slowly climbed the steps. “I believe I’d like to talk to you as well. Come along.”

  He turned and strode into the salon.

  Juliette hesitated in surprise at his assumption of command before hurrying after him. “You shouldn’t have taken her away last night. You had no right. You could have frightened her.”

  “I did frighten her.”

  Juliette stiffened. “What did you do to her?”

  “Oh, I didn’t force myself upon her, if that’s what you suspect.” François met Juliette’s gaze. “But I frightened her, and made her angry, and made her face unpleasantness.” He paused. “Just as you’ve been facing it since you left the abbey.”

  “I’m able to face it. Catherine’s not strong enough to deal with it yet.”

  “She’s stronger than you think. Last night she came alive. If she’s as fragile as you seem to think, she should have wept or swooned and she did neither. And I think I discovered why she’s been getting worse instead of better.” He paused. “It’s you.”

  “Me!”

  “You’ve been smothering her.”

  Juliette gazed at him incredulously. “That’s not true. You know nothing about her. She needs me.”

  “Does she?” François said softly. “Or do you need her?”

  Juliette’s hands clenched into fists. “You’re wrong. She can’t do without my help. She’s with child.”

  “She did without you last night.” François studied Juliette with cool objectivity. “I don’t doubt you care for her, but no one is worse for her at the moment than you. She needs to stop leaning and stand by herself, and I don’t believe you’re capable of letting her do that.”

  “You lie! I’m capable of doing anything that will help her.”

  He slowly shook his head. “You’ll smother her with attention and soon she won’t be able to live without it. You’re beginning to destroy her. You care too much for her to force her to stand alone.”

  “And you wouldn’t care if she did fall when she found she hadn’t the strength to stand alone.”

  He shrugged, his expression bland. “Why should I care? We both know I married her for the dowry. Once you leave this afternoon, I’ll be done with all of you. I offer you the benefit of my experience only as a disinterested observer.”

  “As a spy.” Juliette’s voice was shaking. “Philippe said you were Danton’s spy.”

  “True.”

  “And an assassin.”

  “I’ve killed men.”

  “Yet you presume to tell me I’m—”

  “You might ask yourself why you’re so upset that you’re hurling names at me.” François turned toward the door. “If you really care for Catherine’s welfare, you’ll find a way of leaving her to fend for herself once you’ve arrived at Vasaro.”

  He walked out of the salon and a moment later she heard the door close behind him.

  It wasn’t true. Catherine did need her.

  Yet Catherine had looked surprisingly well when she arrived that morning. Not withdrawn and without spirit as she had been when she left the house the previous afternoon. It had been only when Juliette had begun to take charge and make suggestions that Catherine’s lethargy had returned.

  Juliette could feel the tears burn her eyes and she blinked them away angrily. There could be other explanations. François didn’t have to be correct. She didn’t have to give up Catherine just because what he said had a few grains of truth.

  You smother her.

  You’re beginning to destroy her.

  No one is worse for Catherine than you.

  Or is it you who need her?

  She had thought she was doing what was best for Catherine. Now she wasn’t sure of anything. François’s words had struck a chord that vibrated with the ring of truth.

  She walked slowly from the salon and up the stairs.

  Catherine lay on the bed staring at the ceiling, her gaze blank and dreamy. She was in the state Juliette had become accustomed to seeing her in the last few weeks. Now, after glimpsing the vivaciousness of her expression when she’d arrived so few minutes before with François, it came as a fresh shock.

  Juliette smiled with an effort and came to sit on the bed beside her. “François said you were frightened last night.”

  “Yes, there were some men at the inn who reminded me of—” Catherine stopped. “I wanted to run back here, but François wouldn’t let me. I knew you wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt me.”

  “And I make you feel safe?”

  “Oh, yes, always. I never have to worry about anything when you’re with me. You keep
everything away from me.”

  You won’t let her stand alone.

  Juliette felt her hopes plummet as she reached out and took Catherine’s hand. “Tell me what happened last night.”

  Catherine didn’t look at her. “I’d rather not talk. May I go down to the garden now?”

  Catherine would go down to the garden and sit in dreamy silence. She would go to Vasaro and the silence would journey with her. Why? Because Juliette would be there to keep anything that might break the silence away from Catherine.

  “Yes, you may go to the garden,” Juliette said numbly.

  Mother of God, she hadn’t wanted Etchelet to be right.

  Jean Marc helped Catherine into the carriage and looked beyond her at Philippe on the opposite seat. “Send a messenger as soon as you arrive safely at Vasaro. I wish to know at once.”

  Philippe nodded. “I’ll take care of them, Jean Marc.”

  “You’re damned right you will. Where’s Juliette?”

  “She went back inside to fetch the shawl Catherine left in the garden.”

  “Etchelet’s meeting you shortly before you reach the barriers to make sure you get through without difficulty. You have the papers?”

  “I’m not a fool, Jean Marc.”

  Jean Marc didn’t answer as he turned and started to climb the steps. He met Juliette coming out of the front door as he reached the top step. She wore a dark green traveling gown and matching bonnet, and a blue silk shawl was draped over her left arm. “You have it? Good, get in the carriage.”

  “Why aren’t you going with her, Jean Marc?” Juliette’s voice was low, her face shadowed by the brim of her bonnet. “You should be the one to go with her. After all, she’s your responsibility.”

  “I believe you’ve pointed that out before,” Jean Marc said dryly. “I can’t leave Paris now. The National Convention’s in the middle of a debate about whether to confiscate more ships for the navy. If I’m not here to stop it, they’ll strip my shipyards even of the ships under construction.”

  “Business again?”

  “Philippe will send for me if there’s a problem. Once you’re beyond the barriers, you’ll be safe. Vasaro is a world of its own.”

  “I’m not worried about being safe.” She started down the steps, her head bent, her gaze on the carriage. “I just think you should—”

  “Look at me.” Jean Marc’s hand grasped her arm. “I want to see your face. You’re being entirely too subdued.”

  She lifted her head and he saw tears swimming in her eyes. “She needs you, Jean Marc.”

  He shook his head. “She has you and I’ll come to Vasaro in a few months’ time. It’s best, ma petite. I can’t go on this way much longer. You’re still wounded and I’m not accustomed to walking the virtuous path.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He smiled crookedly. “I know you don’t. But, if I went with you to Vasaro, you’d find out inside a few days. I might even decide to borrow Philippe’s Cottage of Flowers.”

  She avoided his gaze. “I’m not wounded.”

  “Is that an invitation?”

  The blood scorched her cheeks as she started down the steps again. “All this has nothing to do with Catherine. You speak in riddles.”

  “But a riddle you could easily decipher if you cared to make the effort. You’ve known the answer all along, but you chose to ignore it.” He followed her and stopped beside her as she reached the carriage. “And I chose to let you ignore it. By permitting you to leave Paris without me, I’m letting you ignore it again.” He lifted Juliette into the carriage onto the seat next to Catherine. “I’ve no doubt you’ll manage quite well without me at Vasaro.” He smiled faintly. “Au revoir, Juliette.”

  “Au revoir.“ Juliette’s gaze clung to his with desperation. “I didn’t mean I couldn’t manage without you. I only meant it was your responsibility and not mine to care for Catherine. I think you should—”

  “Au revoir, Juliette,” Jean Marc repeated as he slammed the carriage door and motioned to the driver.

  Juliette stuck her head out the window and he was astonished to see the tears that had been brimming were now running down her cheeks. It was completely unlike Juliette to allow herself to display weakness. “You never listen to me. I’m trying to tell you—”

  As the carriage lurched, Jean Marc stepped back to avoid its wheels. Juliette sank back in the coach; Jean Marc stood in the street looking after them.

  All would be well. Etchelet would send him a message as soon as they had passed the barriers. Nothing should go wrong. Still, he had a nagging sense of anxiety and unease as he remembered Juliette’s desperate expression. He suddenly wished he had gone with them.

  He was being foolish. His place was not at Vasaro with Juliette, but here in Paris attending to his own business concerns.

  Dark was falling when Robert came into the study where Jean Marc was working at his desk and began to light the candles. “A message has just come from Monsieur Etchelet.”

  Jean Marc stiffened. “Yes?”

  “The carriage was permitted through the barrier.”

  The tension uncoiled within him. “Thank God.”

  Robert nodded. “Shall I tell Marie you’ll have your supper now?”

  Jean Marc picked up his pen. “Soon. I have some work to finish. Perhaps in an hour.”

  Robert stood hesitating as he reached the door. “I wondered what I should do with the painting, Monsieur?”

  Jean Marc looked up. “Painting?”

  “The painting Mademoiselle Juliette was doing of me. She left it on the easel in the garden. She must have forgotten it.”

  “Yes.” Juliette cared too much about her work to treat it so carelessly—and for her to forget a painting in progress was extraordinary. She must have been even more upset than he’d supposed. “You’d better put it in her chamber.”

  “Yes, Monsieur.” Robert closed the door.

  Her chamber? Juliette had been a guest in this house for only a short time, and yet everything she touched seemed stamped with an indelible impression. Stubborn, exasperating, willful, she managed in some way to touch him as no woman ever had. The house seemed oddly silent without her vibrant, demanding presence, and he was experiencing a restlessness out of all proportion. He heard the door open.

  “I’m hungry. Will you tell Marie to fix supper?”

  Jean Marc froze and slowly his gaze lifted from the document on the desk in front of him.

  Juliette stood in the doorway of the study, gazing at him defiantly. She had removed her dark green bonnet and was swinging it by its ribbons. As he watched, she ran nervous fingers through her tousled dark curls. “You needn’t glare at me. I told you that you were the one who should go with her but you wouldn’t listen to me. Now she has only Philippe and you know how she feels about him, but—”

  “What the devil are you doing here?”

  “I’m going to stay here.”

  He felt a leap of emotion he refused to identify. “Not likely.”

  “Well, where else am I to go?”

  “Vasaro.”

  “I can’t go to Vasaro. François said I’m smothering Catherine, and I’m not sure he’s right, but I—” She stopped. “No, that’s not true. He is right.”

  “Nonsense.”

  She shook her head, her fingers opening and closing on the ribbons of her bonnet. “I don’t know how to let go. I wasn’t sure I could let her go even when I knew I should. Do you think it was easy for me to do this? I’ve never had anyone but Catherine and I didn’t want to believe him.”

  “I can see I’m going to have to have a discussion with Monsieur Etchelet,” Jean Marc said grimly as he set his pen back in its holder. “I suppose he brought you back here from the barrier?”

  She shook her head. “François doesn’t know I didn’t go with them. I had the carriage stop on the street before we reached the barrier. I got out and watched until they let Catherine through, then I started back
. François was talking to the guards and never looked into the coach.”

  “And just how did you make your way here?”

  “I walked. I believed you would be angry, so I thought it best if the carriage were well on its way before you knew I wasn’t on it. You are angry, aren’t you?”

  “Exceedingly.”

  “Then I was right to—”

  “You were not right,” he interrupted icily. “You were thoughtless and stupid and reckless. Why the hell have we been keeping you off the streets of Paris? What if you’d been recognized or—”

  “I was careful. I wore my bonnet and kept my head down.” She frowned. “And I didn’t even ask directions when I became lost.”

  “Merde, it’s a wonder you weren’t captured and thrown into prison. Do you have any idea how we’re going to get you out of Paris now that you’ve seen fit to destroy our plans?”

  “I’m not going to leave Paris. At least, not right away. Do you think I’d upset Catherine and walk halfway across the city to turn around and meekly follow them to Vasaro?”

  “And just what is your intention?”

  She gazed at him warily. “I think we’d better discuss this after supper.”

  “Now.”

  “I’m hungry,” she said. “And I’m tired and my feet hurt. I’m going to wash and eat and then we’ll talk.” She whirled on her heel. “Tell Marie to fix supper.”

  “Juliette.”

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  His tone was soft but edged with steel. “I’ll wait to talk to you, but this is the last time you’ll ever give me orders in this house.”

  Pink rose to color her cheeks. She started to speak, but thought better of it. Her gaze clung to his and suddenly he was startled to see the bravado fade into desperation. She looked hurriedly away and gave a careless shrug. “I doubt it.”

  ELEVEN

  May we talk now?” Jean Marc’s tone was impeccably polite as he placed his napkin beside his plate and leaned back in his chair.

  Juliette reluctantly set down her spoon. “You didn’t eat very much. Are you sure you won’t have some more of Marie’s lemon syllabub? It is—”

  “I don’t want lemon syllabub. I want to know why you’re not on your way to Vasaro. Three days ago you were in a frenzy of worry about Catherine and today you abandon her.”