Seraphine grinned. “The same thing that men want from all of us. A stolen kiss or—” She arched her brows with a wicked look. “Other naughty things which I will explain to you when you are older.”
Meg pulled a face at her. “You need not act so superior, Seraphine Remy, just because you are sixteen. I am sure I know as much about what men desire as you do.” She paused and added sadly. “At least what men will desire from you. For me, they will only be after the secrets that are locked in my head.”
“No, you are wrong, Meggie.” Seraphine bent closer and enveloped Meg in a hug. “Someday you will meet someone who won’t give a fig that you were ever known as the Silver Rose or possessed a Book of Shadows. He will find all the magic he desires in your enchanting face and fall completely in love with you.”
“I am sure that will be your future,” Meg said as she returned Seraphine’s embrace. “For you are truly beautiful.”
“Yes, I know it.” The complacency of Seraphine’s reply made Meg laugh in spite of herself.
“Though it is not at all wise of you to keep telling me so.” Seraphine drew away from Meg. “I am already a vain enough creature.”
Sinking down on the stool opposite Meg, Seraphine examined her own countenance in the looking glass and heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. “I think it is a good thing that I am so beautiful because I am nowhere near as clever as you, Meg. My magic is all in my face. However, if you want a truly dazzling beauty, you should see my maman.
“Do you know that she once so completely captivated the King of Navarre that he—”
Seraphine broke off, her features clouding over as they always did at any thought or mention of her home. She turned the mirror facedown in her lap.
“Merde,” she muttered. “I wish I had been born a boy.”
“Why would you ever wish that?”
Seraphine sprang up, pacing off a few agitated steps. “Because then I would be at home where I belong, fighting alongside my father instead of bundled off to this island. Nothing to do but worry and wait for tidings that never come.”
Seraphine dropped down before Meg again. She gripped her hands and pleaded, “Don’t you think that you could try—”
When Meg recoiled, she broke off immediately. “I am sorry, Meggie. I swore I would not plague you anymore about using the crystal. I am as bad as that wretched Naismith boy, seeking to exploit your magic.”
“Never.” Meg patted Seraphine’s bowed head. “Oh, ’Phine. If I could control my visions enough to conjure up an image of our fathers, I would.”
“I know.” Seraphine gave her a lopsided smile. “It is just so hard, this waiting and not knowing. If anything were to happen to my mother and my father. If they were to be killed—”
Her lips thinned, her grip on Meg’s hands tightened painfully. “I am afraid I would become so bitter, filled with so much hatred. I would want to destroy the duc de Guise and his entire bloody Catholic league.”
Meg fully understood. If any harm were to befall her father or her stepmother, she would feel just the same. But while Seraphine might curse and wish to destroy the duke and his army, Meg possessed the dark knowledge to do it. That more than anything else was what frightened her.
Chapter Twelve
THE PEACE OF THE MORNING WAS INTERRUPTED BY SHRIEKS that carried to Xavier through the cottage window. His first day out of bed and fully clothed, he felt as unsteady as a sailor regaining his shore legs after months at sea.
Alarmed by the sounds of distress, he staggered toward the door, hastening to the rescue. Although he was damned if he knew what he could do to aid anyone, weaponless, his good arm bound up in a sling.
He burst out into the sunlight, blinking as he glanced about him. His jaw fell open in amazement when he homed in on the source of the uproar.
A brawl was in progress on the strand in front of the cottages, the combatants, a pair of elderly females. One was Madame Partierre, the other obviously an Englishwoman from some of the curses she shrieked.
Xavier’s alarm dissolved into amusement as he watched the two old ladies go at each other like a pair of screeching cats, hissing, scratching, and pulling hair. Other women milled about, some uttering cries of dismay, the rest shouting encouragement.
It did not surprise Xavier to see Jane among the peacemakers. She and Meg seized hold of the white-haired English dame, pulling her off. Ariane and young Carole Moreau forced Madame Partierre back. Still shaking with fury, the two old women continued to hurl insults.
“You’ll not speak about my Mistress Meg that way, you old hag,” the Englishwoman cried.
“Bah,” Madame Partierre replied in a tangle of French and English. “I only say what is true, Agatha Butterydoor. Your Meg, she is the filie of a witch. It is not convenable she should be the next Lady of Faire Isle.”
“And you think your friend Mistress Moreau is better? A girl who has had a child out of wedlock! That—that salope.”
Agatha Butterydoor clearly spoke little French, but she knew just the right word to inspire Madame Partierre to a fresh spasm of rage.
She attempted to leap at the Butterydoor woman again only to be thrust back by Ariane.
“Damnation! That’s enough!”
Xavier would never have imagined the calm Lady of Faire Isle capable of roaring like that or looking so fierce. The other women appeared astonished as well, even the two contentious old ladies were stunned into silence.
Ariane glared at each of them in turn. “Madame Partierre. Mistress Butterydoor, I am surprised at both of you. Is this the sort of example you would set for the younger ladies?”
Ariane’s stern gaze swept the crowd. “And the rest of you urging them on. For shame! This is not the way we settle our differences on Faire Isle. You are all behaving as uncivilly and unreasonably as—as men.”
Xavier did not know whether he should be more amused or offended, but this last rebuke had the effect of making many of the women present hang their heads.
“There is too much work to be done to engage in this idle mischief. So be about your business, all of you.”
The women dispersed, the two combatants limping off in opposite directions, still muttering their complaints but being soothed by their own particular friends. Jane caught sight of Xavier and headed in his direction.
This early in the morning, she had yet to bind up her hair for the day. It flowed loose about her shoulders, the glow on her cheeks and in her eyes as soft as daybreak over the ocean. Her mouth pursed into a moue of disapproval at the sight of him, tempting him to kiss her regardless of who was watching them. He managed to restrain the impulse.
“Captain Xavier, what you are doing up?”
“I had to rise sometime, lady,” he replied wickedly. “Especially with you so determined to keep me in your bed.”
His teasing caused Jane to blush. She cast an anxious glance about her as though fearful someone else might have overheard.
“I meant that after your ordeal, I expected you would require more rest.” Her gaze skated over him, from his boots to the fresh shirt he wore. “I cannot even imagine how you managed to attire yourself.”
“I cozened Madame Bevans into aiding me since you were nowhere to be found this morning. But I assumed that I had your approval, since my clothes mysteriously reappeared during the night.”
“I was the one who provided the clothes,” Margaret Wolfe piped up, insinuating herself between them.
“Meg!” Jane frowned at the girl.
“He is clearly well enough to be up and on his way, Jane. The man cannot be lazing about here forever.”
“As always, I am touched by your consideration, mademoiselle.”
Meg glared at him. Before she could retort, Ariane hustled toward them.
“Meg, your Mistress Butterydoor is still in an uproar. I need you to calm her down and get some ointment on her scratches. And for the love of heaven, keep her away from Madame Partierre.”
Meg looked reluctant to l
eave Jane in Xavier’s company, but she had no choice but to obey. As Meg trudged away, Ariane blew out a breath, still looking rather harried.
“Trouble in paradise, sister?” Xavier asked.
“Nothing that I cannot handle.” Ariane glanced over him with a frown. “I am surprised to see you up and about so soon, monsieur.”
“All due to Milady Danvers’s excellent care.” Xavier had decided it was just as well to say nothing of the secret vial Meg had slipped him.
“And of course, I am indebted to you for this.” He wriggled and stretched the fingers of his arm bound up in the sling. “Regrettably I am obliged to beg another favor of you, the loan of a horse.”
“A horse?”
“Yes, you know. One of those tall creatures with four legs, a mane, and a tail.”
While Ariane scowled at him, Jane spoke up anxiously. “Whatever do you need a horse for?”
“I am told it is at least twenty miles across the island to reach Port Corsair and I am unlikely to make it afoot.”
“Indeed you are not,” Ariane said. “Jane already told me what you require. I dispatched one of my servants yesterday to make the journey. Bette’s brother is a fisherman who knows many of the captains who engage in trade between Faire Isle and Brittany. He will find someone reliable to make enquiries after your ship at St. Malo. There have been no reports of any wreck off the coast of the island so very likely your ship did survive the storm.”
“That is good news. But you will pardon me if I prefer to make my own enquiries.”
“Unfortunately, we don’t have many horses on Faire Isle. Only our sturdy island ponies, beasts that can be as stubborn and intractable as you are.”
“Then we should get along just fine.”
“You would likely end up taking a tumble and breaking your arm again. Besides, I can spare no one to show you the way.”
Xavier attempted to smile, concealing his mounting irritation. “It is not that big of an island. I am sure I would stumble across Port Corsair eventually.”
“No, the sensible course is for you to remain here awhile longer. We will all be returning to the other side of the island in a few days.”
“I can’t imagine why you don’t go now. What the devil is the attraction for all you women on this forsaken bit of coast?”
“Nothing that you would understand,” Ariane said, cutting off their argument with a dismissive gesture. “Now if you will excuse me, I have more important matters that require my attention.”
She strode away before he could get in another word. Fuming, Xavier started after her, only to be intercepted by Jane resting her hand on his arm.
“Please don’t importune Ariane further, Captain. I realize she was rather curt, but she does have so much on her mind right now. And it would be more prudent for you to continue to build up your strength before leaving. Why don’t you come with me and I will find you something to break your fast. Something a little more palatable than broth.”
She smiled up at him in that quiet way of hers. He could feel the warmth of her touch even through the fabric of his sleeve and he wondered if Jane had any notion of the temptation she presented him.
If it had not been for his concern about his ship and crew, he might have been disposed to linger. He had not had a woman in a while and Jane was certainly an alluring prospect with her womanly figure and the hint of passion he sensed beneath that prim exterior. But if Jane did succumb to him, she would spend the rest of her life on her knees doing penance.
And then there was Megaera, the chit presenting a far different kind of temptation. He was intrigued by her, wondered exactly how much dark knowledge the girl did possess. She could make his fortune if he surrendered her to the Dark Queen.
Xavier had not led a blameless life, but thus far he had avoided doing anything so reprehensible that he could not abide the sight of his own reflection. The Lady of Faire Isle could not be as good at reading thoughts as reputed or else his sister would have realized he was doing them all a vast favor by offering to leave.
But with Ariane so stubborn in her refusals, there was nothing he could do about acquiring himself a mount. At least not in broad daylight with so many of these women milling about. All he could do was return Jane’s smile and allow her to lead him away.
THE TABLE WAS SET BENEATH THE PINE TREE JUST OUTSIDE THE cottage where Ariane stayed with her family. The spate of fine weather had tempted the women to take most of their meals out-of-doors instead of the cramped confines of the cottage kitchens.
Everyone else had broken their fast much earlier. Jane sat on the bench opposite Xavier. As she watched him make a hearty meal of bread and cheese, she struggled to sort out the tangle of her feelings.
Everything had seemed much simpler yester eve when they had talked long into the night, surrounded by the intimacy of darkness. She had perched beside him on the bed and the man had been nearly naked beneath the covers.
And yet she felt more shy and awkward with him this morning fully clothed in the broad daylight. She rather resented Madame Bevans for helping him to shave and attire himself.
After all, the man was Jane’s particular charge. She had only absented herself from the cottage for a brief spell to attend to her own toilette. Xavier might have waited—
Jane checked the thought, castigating herself for being ridiculous. After all, what did it matter who had aided him? She was acting as though she was jealous, which was quite absurd.
Xavier helped himself to another slab of bread, his gaze narrowing as a cart trundled by, its contents concealed beneath a canvas tarp. The roan pony hitched in the traces ambled in the direction of the cliffs.
“So what is this mysterious matter that has Ariane so flustered? If this island was not so clearly beyond the pale of the king’s law, I would almost imagine you ladies were engaged in a bit of smuggling.”
Jane smiled and shook her head. “Nothing so exciting. That cart only contained firewood for the bonfire atop the cliffs.”
Xavier took another swallow of wine and drawled, “What are you women planning to do? Roast me alive? I would imagine young Megaera will be happy to strike the first spark.”
“Please don’t call her that. She doesn’t like it. None of us do.” Jane paused. She had noted the tense way Meg had confronted Xavier earlier and well understood the reason for it, but was uncertain how to explain it to him in any way that made sense.
“Meg is really a wonderful girl, warm, generous, but she does get these odd notions in her head.” Jane traced a pattern in the tablecloth with her thumbnail and tried to give a dismissive laugh. “For some reason she fears you are like this great predatory cat and I am in danger of being devoured.”
“Actually she strikes me as being exceedingly wise for her age. Perhaps you should take more heed of her.”
Although Xavier smiled at her over the brim of his wineglass, his eyes simmered with a dangerous heat that sent a shiver through her. It seemed safer to return to the subject of the firewood.
“The bonfire will be lit the night of the gathering atop the cliffs,” she said.
“Ah! A witch’s Sabbath.”
“No! There will be no witchery involved,” Jane insisted, although she was not entirely comfortable with the idea of this gathering herself. “As I understand it, the daughters of earth assemble upon the cliffs of Argot once a year to—to hold council. This one will be especially important because Ariane intends to announce who her successor will be.
“I fear that is what the uproar was about this morning. There is a great deal of dissension among the women about who should be named. I am not sure that even Ariane has decided yet.”
“Which should make for quite a lively meeting. How intriguing,” Xavier murmured with that mischievous glint in his eyes that Jane was coming to recognize.
“Gentlemen are not permitted to attend.” She furrowed her brow and then amended. “That is—I am not entirely sure it is forbidden, but I believe it is against their tra
ditions—”
“Don’t fret, my dear,” he interrupted her with a laugh. “I have no intention of invading the proceedings. In fact I intend to be—”
He checked himself, lowering his lashes. “Fast asleep by then.”
Jane had a feeling that was not what he had intended to say, but her suspicion was diverted as he continued, “So do you mean to attend this council and cast your vote?”
“No one gets to vote, although Ariane certainly welcomes advice. But the decision is ultimately hers. And no,” she added quietly. “I won’t be going.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am not one of them. I don’t belong here.”
“I imagine that you could if you chose to do so. Perhaps you ought to consider it. It seems a fine place to be if you are a woman. More freedom than you would encounter anywhere, a tiny realm ruled by petticoats and—now who the devil is this?”
Jane was startled by Xavier’s abrupt change of tone. He had been lounging over his wine, but he straightened, frowning at something beyond her range of vision.
Jane twisted around to see Ariane bearing down upon them with a petite elfin-looking woman with a braid of moon-gold hair.
“I believe Ariane means to introduce you to Madame Aristide. She is—”
“My father’s youngest daughter and favorite child, Miribelle. My ship was named for the woman. I should have rechristened the damned boat.” Xavier’s acid tone did not bode well. He looked as tense as a man expecting to be ambushed.
Jane could scarce have said why, but she leaped up and resettled herself protectively on the bench beside him. Ariane did not look any better pleased at the prospect of the introduction than Xavier. She stood poker straight, her face set in tense lines. Only Miribelle was smiling.
“Captain Xavier, may I present to you—” Ariane began.
“Your sister, Miri.” Miri rushed around the table and embraced Xavier. He stiffened, looking startled. For a moment Jane feared he would push Miri away.
But he patted her back in an awkward gesture, muttering, “Mind the arm.”