Ariane’s gaze dropped to the ring encircling her finger, a plain metal band, very old and engraved with strange markings. Her face softened and it was obvious she was thinking of her husband.
Anyone who saw Ariane and Justice Deauville together could not doubt the depth of their love, passion tempered by the stronger more enduring steel of friendship.
Jane rubbed the spot on her left hand where her own wedding ring had once been, a costly golden circle of rubies and diamonds. She had seldom worn it, and put the ring away altogether after her second husband had died. A wealthy wine merchant, Sir William Danvers had been a kindly man but thirty-five years her senior. She’d learned to esteem him, but there was no denying that the prime reason for her marriage had been to salvage her family’s waning fortunes.
Her first husband, Richard Arkwright, had not been as pleasant as Sir William. Dickon was a sickly, peevish boy, but as her guardian had acidly informed her, a young woman who was despoiled could not afford to be selective. A boy as young and inexperienced as Dickon could easily be fooled, unlikely to notice on his wedding night that his bride was not all that she should be.
Two marriages, one to cover her sins and one for wealth and security. Most of the world would not fault her for either reason. But as Jane observed the glow on Ariane’s face, she experienced a stab of shame and envy.
But the light in Ariane’s eyes dimmed as she folded her hands together and resumed her tale.
“My mother adored my father as he did her. Or so we all believed. Their love story was the stuff of legends; Evangeline, the beautiful and learned Lady of Faire Isle, and the Chevalier Louis Xavier Cheney, one of the boldest and bravest knights in all of France. Their wedding was a splendid event, their marriage much celebrated. A conté de fée come true.”
“But like any fairy tale, there must always be a villain, an ogre or a bad fairy or a wicked witch. And my mother had hers close at hand. When she was young, my mother was intimate friends with Catherine de Medici.”
Jane gaped at her. “The Dowager Queen of France? The woman that Meg refers to as the Dark Queen?”
“That is one of our politer terms for the woman, but yes,” Ariane replied with a taut smile. “Well may you be surprised and perhaps wonder at my mother’s lapse of judgment.”
Jane tried to demur but feared her shock must be all too evident.
“I don’t blame you for being astonished,” Ariane said. “But believe it or not, Catherine and my mother had much in common. Neither of them was comfortable at the French court, Maman simply because she hated all the falsity of court life. Catherine because she was despised by the French people, scorned and mistrusted for her Italian lineage.
“And my mother and Catherine shared a strong interest in all the ancient lore and knowledge. It was natural they be drawn to each other. But my mother was a true daughter of the earth, studying the old ways in order to promote peace and healing. Whereas Catherine had a darkness in her, an insatiable craving for power and a ruthlessness to match. Their falling out was as inevitable as their friendship had been.
“Whatever affection or admiration Catherine might have felt for my mother soured into hatred and envy until she considered Maman her enemy. When she decided to strike against my mother, of course being Catherine, she homed straight in on Maman’s most vulnerable spot. Her great love for my father.”
Ariane twisted her head to regard Jane. “Have you ever been to the French court?”
No, that had been more to Ned’s taste, Jane nearly replied. Her pleasure-loving, ambitious brother had made frequent trips to Paris whenever he could find a valid excuse to obtain a visa.
But thoughts of Ned threatened to unleash a hail of Jane’s own unhappy memories, so she merely shook her head and said, “I am like your mother; the glitter of court life has never held any attraction for me.”
“You are the wiser and better for it. Likely then you don’t know about Queen Catherine’s Escadron Volant.”
Jane frowned, translating into English. “Her flying squadron?”
“Precisely. Beautiful birds of prey, a cadre of seductive young women. Catherine employs them to spy, to seduce and weaken her enemies. She set the most skilled of these creatures, Marguerite de Maitland, to work her wiles upon my father.”
Jane cut an uncertain glance toward the man on the bed. “You mean Xavier’s mother?”
“So he claims. Marguerite was a dazzling beauty, irresistible by all accounts. Still my father should never have succumbed to her charms, not if he had truly loved Maman.
“He hurt my mother so deeply. She might not have been as devastated if it had been a onetime lapse. But the affair went on and on, Papa absenting himself to Paris more frequently. He nearly bankrupted our family setting that Maitland woman up in her own establishment, showering her with money and jewels.
“Not that my mother cared about that, it was Papa’s frequent absences, the betrayal of their love that nigh killed her. Catherine’s scheme for revenge might not have succeeded in breaking my mother’s spirit, but she certainly broke her heart. She shattered the peace and happiness of our entire family.”
Ariane’s voice shook with anger. She drew in a deep breath before continuing in a bleaker tone. “I never understood it, Jane. If you could have but known my mother. She was a truly remarkable woman. All who knew her adored her.
“Even if Marguerite was enhanced with all the seductive perfumes and cosmetics Catherine concocted for her sirens, I could not fathom what spell that Maitland witch could have cast to keep such a strong hold on my father, to lure him away from us.
“It appears the great mystery is explained at last.” Ariane swallowed, her bitter gaze focusing on Xavier. “There lies Marguerite’s magic. The son my mother was never able to give my father. I am only astonished Papa could have kept him secret all these years. I am sure Catherine never knew of Xavier, because if she had, it would have been one more stake to drive into my mother’s heart.”
Ariane stared at Xavier, her calm features set into hard, angry lines, an alarming expression most unlike the Lady of Faire Isle. Jane suppressed a strange urge to step protectively in front of the sleeping man.
Instead, she rested her hand upon Ariane’s arm. “I can understand your resentment, but whatever your father or this Maitland woman did, surely your brother cannot be held to blame.”
“Half brother,” Ariane insisted. “I daresay he may be guilty of enough sins of his own. I pride myself on my skill in reading eyes, but this Xavier is infernally good at protecting his thoughts even when half out of his mind with pain. Surely not the behavior of an innocent man. He strikes me as rather a hardened and dangerous character.”
“Meg said nearly the same thing.”
“What!” Ariane exclaimed so sharply that Xavier stirred even in his potion-induced sleep. Lowering her voice, she demanded, “What do you mean? What did Meg say?”
Jane already regretted mentioning the matter, but with Ariane’s fierce gaze trained upon her, she had no choice but to explain.
“Meg reacted most strangely to the sight of Captain Xavier. She didn’t even want me to help him; just let him be swept back out to sea.”
“That is very odd behavior for Meg. She is usually quite tenderhearted unless—” Ariane scowled. “She has not been meddling with that crystal again, has she?”
Jane was loath to bear tales against Meg. Ariane was still weighing her decision over who would succeed her as the next Lady of Faire Isle and Jane had no wish to damage Meg’s chances. But neither could Jane bring herself to lie.
“I believe Meg may still have the gazing globe in her possession.”
The Lady was not fooled by Jane’s hedging. She vented an exasperated sigh. “I wish the girl would leave the cursed crystal alone, though I do understand the temptation all too well. I have experienced the lure of the shadow world myself. But no good can come of such an obsession.”
“Can you not command Meg to surrender the crystal or dest
roy it?”
“I could, but that would ultimately do Meg little good. The choice between light and darkness cannot be forced upon anyone. I can offer her my advice and guidance, but a young woman must learn at some point to employ her own reason, to make her own decisions.”
“Oh,” was all Jane could think to reply. For most of her life she had been accustomed to being told what to think, what to believe, what to do. She was not sure whether she was disconcerted by Ariane Deauville’s revolutionary views or intrigued by them.
“Did Meg give any specific reason for why she shrank from helping this man?” Ariane asked.
“Nothing logical. She merely said that Xavier is dangerous, that he will bring only trouble.”
Ariane pursed her lips. “Meg could well be right. Where has the man been keeping himself all these years and why now did he suddenly decide to turn up on my island?”
Jane did not believe that Xavier had decided anything, that he had been no more pleased to wash up on Faire Isle than Ariane was to have him. But since the Lady did not appear in a particularly reasonable mood at the moment, Jane kept these reflections to herself.
As she retrieved her medical chest, Ariane commanded, “Keep an eye on him, Jane. If you notice anything at all amiss with the man, send for me at once.”
Jane nodded uneasily, realizing that Ariane was talking about far more than signs of fever. After Ariane had gone, Jane hovered by the foot of the bed, regarding her charge for a long time.
She had always been so cautious of strangers or admitting anyone new to her acquaintance that her brother had frequently teased her about it.
“Jane even requires the rabbits to furnish a written character before they are allowed to enter the garden,” Ned was wont to laugh.
Jane smiled sadly at the memory. Perhaps Ned was right and she had learned to be overcautious. But she had learned at a tender age how easily a woman’s trust could be betrayed, especially by a man.
She certainly ought to be ill at ease, keeping watch over a stranger who made both Meg and the wise Lady of Faire Isle so wary. Jane would have been hard-pressed to explain why she wasn’t nervous at being left alone with Xavier or the strange, almost proprietary interest she took in the man.
Perhaps it was because she had been the one to mount guard over him and shield him from the incoming tide. She was the one whose hand was bruised from his pain-wracked grip, the only one who appeared to have noted the fear beneath his sarcasm and cursing.
Xavier stirred and shivered in his sleep, and Jane hastened to draw the coverlet higher over his bared chest. Very likely she was a fool, she thought. But as he lay there so pale, and helpless, he did not appear dangerous to her.
Louis Xavier Cheney merely looked lost.
ARIANE PERCHED ON A ROCK, STILL WARMED BY THE AFTERNOON’S sun. Her knees drawn up to her chin, she watched her son playing on a nearby sand dune. His chubby legs churned, his curly head thrust forward as he toddled away from his cousins, Gabrielle’s two youngest girls.
Lucia and Ninon overtook Leon, each girl capturing a hand. He lifted his legs, swinging between them and squealing with delight. Seraphine hovered nearby, grinning as she kept a watchful eye over the children.
Gabrielle’s eldest daughter could be arrogant and intractable at times, but Seraphine had a more tender side and was fiercely protective of those she loved.
They presented an enchanting tableau, Gabby’s willowy, fair-haired daughters and Ariane’s sturdy little son. Even as she smiled, Ariane’s eyes misted as she thought of what it must have cost Gabrielle to send her daughters away, out of war-torn Navarre.
“You’ll keep them safe, Ari,” Gabrielle had written, the words not a question or a command on Gabrielle’s part, just a soul-deep understanding and trust between sisters.
“I will,” Ariane had written in return, although she knew such a pledge was unnecessary and perhaps even a little rash.
She had experienced enough of the uncertainties of life to know how disaster could strike in a heartbeat, despite all one’s best intentions and vigilance. But for this day in time, her nieces and her son were hale, happy, and safe.
Normally, Ariane would have savored such a golden moment, but Xavier’s arrival had cast a shadow over her. She hugged her knees close to her, wishing it was her husband’s strong, reassuring arms she felt closing about her.
Justice Deauville had once been the Comte de Renard, but his marriage to Ariane had cost him, his title stripped away by Catherine’s vengeful son when King Henry had mounted an assault against Faire Isle. Justice’s estates were the price he had paid for daring to love a woman suspected of being a witch.
Ariane had been more distressed for his loss than Justice was himself. A man of the earth, his tastes and needs were simple, a field to sow, some books to read, a good strong horse, and Ariane to draw close to his heart each night as he fell asleep.
Only with the birth of their son did Justice’s ambitions stir, a natural fatherly urge to provide Leon with a secure inheritance. He had begun making journeys to the mainland, seeking opportunities, investing in sea voyages and merchant’s caravans. At the moment, he was traveling to the great fair at Tours and Ariane missed him dreadfully.
She twisted the metal band on her finger, the ancient ring whose mystic powers she had never fully understood. But she knew all she had to do was press the ring close to the region of her heart and she would be linked to Justice despite all the miles between them.
One breath, one thought would be all it would take. “Justice, I need you.” And wherever he was, whatever he was doing, her husband would come racing back home to her.
But exhaust and alarm him for what reason? Merely because a stranger had washed up on the island and reopened wounds Ariane had thought long healed?
Words that her mother had spoken to her so long ago echoed through Ariane’s mind.
“All I wanted was the peace of my island, my girls. I knew that that was not enough excitement for your papa. I should have spent more time in Paris with him, kept him from temptation. Louis was never as strong as I, something that I always realized and accepted. It did nothing to diminish my love for him and that is why I was able to forgive him. You need to forgive your father, too, child.”
Ariane honestly believed she had done so until the shock of discovering she had a half brother had brought all the old hurt rushing back again.
Ariane sighed, resting her chin on her knees. As if she did not already have enough to deal with, deciding whom to name as her successor as Lady of Faire Isle. “Ah, you are yet too young to be fretting over such a thing,” Justice had told her before he had left on his journey. But her brave, strapping husband had ever flinched from facing the prospect of her death.
Ariane was not eager to embrace the thought herself, but she had to be practical. She knew all too well how swiftly illness or a tragic accident could strike down the heartiest person. Now when she was at the peak of her strength and mental powers was the perfect time to choose her successor. There was so much training to do, so much knowledge Ariane had to impart and the other daughters of the earth would need time to accustom themselves and accept her choice. She had narrowed her selection to three, their names a constant litany in her mind. Meg, Seraphine, or Carole. Meg, Seraphine, or Carole.
The council was less than a week away, and Ariane still had no idea what her choice should be. Many would regard it as a trivial thing. The title of Lady of Faire Isle was not an official one, sanctioned by any kingdom or law.
No, only sanctioned by a custom much older and deeper than any present government. The last rite of an ancient order that had been fading for some time.
Ariane had often felt unequal to preserving the ancient role of the Lady of Faire Isle. She had succeeded in reviving the council meetings upon the cliffs for a time only to have the island torn asunder by witch-hunters, Ariane herself driven into exile.
She had tried to delude herself into believing the island had healed. But
as she gazed at the women strolling and gossiping in the fading sunlight, she could not help seeing how small this gathering was, how very few there were compared to that long ago day when she had been designated her mother’s successor. So many of those wise women gone now. Her mother, even her great friend, Marie Claire.
A tug at her sleeve drew Ariane from these melancholy thoughts.
“Milady. Your sister has arrived.”
Ariane stood eagerly. There was no prospect of Gabrielle making the long journey from Navarre at such a dire time. But Ariane had happily anticipated Miribelle’s arrival from her farm just outside of Paris. Her joy at seeing her youngest sister was now tempered by the sobering prospect of what she was going to have to tell Miri.
Worldly Gabrielle had always taken a more prosaic view of their father’s indiscretion. But Miri had been closest to Papa, all but idolizing the man. Ariane dreaded telling her about Xavier.
Shading her eyes, Ariane watched Miri dismount. The greetings of the other women were respectful, but restrained in a way that pained Ariane to observe.
Miri had committed the greatest sin any daughter of earth could. She had married a witch-hunter. Simon Aristide had renounced his profession and done his best to make amends for the past, but he would always be remembered as the man who had once led the raids against Faire Isle. Miri was no longer regarded as the beloved youngest child of Evangeline. She was now Madame Aristide.
If the lack of warmth saddened Miri, she gave no sign of it. Ariane could not be sure her sister even noticed. A bit fey, Miri ever lived in her own world, more comfortable with creatures who walked on four legs instead of two.
The coldness of the women may have been lost in the joyous greeting Miri received from two Irish wolfhounds, their owner having great difficulty in calling them back.
Spying Ariane, Miri beamed and headed in her direction. Ariane flew to meet her halfway, clasping her in her arms.
“Miri, it has been far too long. Welcome home, my dear.”
“It feels like an age since I have been to Faire Isle, longer still since I have been to the far side of the island.” Miri trained her gaze wistfully toward the distant cliffs. “Remember how it used to be my favorite part of the year, when we would all make the journey up to the cliffs of Argot to pay homage to the lady giants.”