“My mother?”
“Marguerite de Maitland.”
Xavier stared at her, the breath in his lungs seeming to freeze before her chilling expression. How could she possibly know or have guessed? That didn’t seem to matter. It was clear to him the game was up.
He was no longer the jaguar or the powerful necromancer, merely a man making a fool of himself kneeling half-naked before a haughty queen. No doubt that was what Catherine had intended.
He refused to allow her the satisfaction of seeing how chagrined or alarmed he was. Rising to his feet, he gathered up his discarded shirt and shrugged back into it.
“I gave you no leave to end your performance, monsieur.”
“There seems little point in continuing. It is clear that your performance was far better than mine.”
“What? No protestations of innocence?” the queen mocked him. “No seeking to deny who you are?”
“I never waste my breath in useless denials.” He donned his jerkin with a nonchalance that masked his tension. His gaze darted around the room, seeking opportunity of escape. At some point during his trance, two burly guards had slipped into the room and were blocking the doorway. Xavier suspected that more waited just outside the door.
He had no weapon. He had had to surrender his sword before being admitted to the queen’s presence. He glanced speculatively at the window, but Catherine appeared to divine his thoughts.
“It would be a long drop to the ground, Captain. Despite the fact that you are called the Jaguar, I doubt that you would land on your feet.”
Her lips thinned into a smile. “I trust you have at least enjoyed your efforts to play me for a fool.”
“Yes, I have,” he admitted.
Catherine looked irritated. Perhaps she had thought to have him groveling for mercy by now. She beckoned to her guards to seize hold of him. Xavier tried to resist, but it was futile. His hands were bound swiftly in front of him, but he continued to regard the queen with defiance.
“It is a pity,” she purred. “You are a magnificent specimen of a man, ruthless, cunning. Who would have ever thought foolish little Marguerite and the noble but weak Chevalier Louis Cheney capable of getting such a son?”
The queen traced her fingers along his throat and over the curve of his scar. “Your mother died in the convent that adjoins this palace. Did you know that? I believe that she still pined for her chevalier until her very last breath. Her heart was broken when he never came back to her. But if he had, he would have returned to his wife. That is usually what men do in the end.”
“Truly? I had heard that your husband spent his last hours calling for his mistress.”
Catherine turned bright red and slapped him with the full force she could muster. Although his head snapped to one side and his cheek stung, Xavier still cast her a taunting smile.
She stormed away from him, drawing in deep breaths until she regained control. “Enough of this banter. I have one final question for you.” She produced the nearly empty vial. “Where did you really get this?”
“I don’t know, but sharing it with you was obviously a great mistake.”
“Obviously it was. I have never come across a recipe for any elixir so powerful, not in any grimoire I have ever owned. Where did you get it?”
“From the Seine. Very likely it contains traces of the blood of all those Huguenots you slaughtered long ago.”
The queen emitted a furious hiss. Xavier braced himself for another blow, but her eyes probed his, seeking to batter his mind instead. Xavier was prepared for her this time. He closed off his thoughts, blocking all her efforts.
Catherine held up the vial. “I know the origin of this brew. It could only have come from the Book of Shadows, and the one who concocted this elixir is Megaera, the girl you claimed was nothing but a witless dolt.”
“If you are so certain of that, why are you asking me?”
“Because I want to hear you admit it.”
Xavier compressed his lips. He had betrayed Meg once. He refused to do it again.
Catherine stared at him for a long moment and then laughed. “Very well. Go ahead and play at being noble if you wish, Captain. It is a very unconvincing performance coming from you. I will be able to question Megaera myself soon enough. I know she is on Faire Isle.”
“For such a small island, it is a rather difficult place to search,” Xavier drawled. “Ariane will make sure that you never find Meg.”
“I am long past worrying about keeping the peace with the Lady of Faire Isle. Ariane won’t be able to protect anyone if she is dead. I will send an army to slaughter every daughter of the earth on that cursed island if I have to in order to obtain the Silver Rose.”
“Oh, do you have such forces at your disposal? I thought you needed every available soldier merely to keep the duc de Guise from your door,” Xavier taunted. But it was growing harder to maintain his calm, to conceal how much Catherine’s threat alarmed him.
“Actually I have always deplored using brute force.” Her lips curved in a sly smile. “You are not the only one who knows about Megaera and where her favorite haunts on Faire Isle might be. Perhaps I should question that prim English friend of yours. Now what was her name? Ah, yes, Jane.”
The mere mention of Jane’s name was enough to crack Xavier’s cool façade. “Lady Danvers has no part in any of this. Torture me, hang, draw, and quarter me if it amuses you, but leave Jane alone.”
Catherine’s smile broadened. “I have no intention of killing you, Xavier, because I know your greatest fear now. I’ll keep you chained in my darkest dungeon for the rest of your life. Perhaps after I have finished making use of your Lady Jane, you can have her. Your prison will become her coffin and you can end your days watching the rats gnaw on her bones.”
Xavier growled as he lurched upward with a strength born of fear and rage. But there was no breaking free of his captors’ grip.
Catherine watched his struggles for a moment, then waved him off with an expression of bored indifference.
“Get him out of here. Take him to cool his heels in the Bastille for now.”
Xavier cursed her roundly as the guards dragged him from the room. He continued to try to fight them until the largest drove his fist into Xavier’s stomach. He gasped in pain, the blow winding him.
He ceased his struggles as he fought for air.
“Think,” he adjured himself. Lashing out blindly was going to gain him nothing but a mass of bruises. He had been in worse situations than this. He needed to calm down and assess his situation.
But it was nigh impossible with one panicked thought going through his head. Jane. That witch meant to go after Jane, who was likely even now somewhere on her knees, earnestly praying for his safe return.
Xavier hoped that someone up there was listening to her because it was going to take a miracle to get them out of this. Flanked by four guards, he was hustled out into the stable yard where a horse was being hitched to the traces of a cart.
Xavier balked, trying to dig his heels in, knowing that once he was incarcerated in the Bastille, he would have no chance of escape.
His guards merely cuffed him about the head, propelling him forward. He slipped and crashed to his knees.
His ears rang from the blow he had been dealt along with his guard’s curses. He became dimly aware of other sounds, upraised voices coming from the direction of the street beyond.
He lifted his head and saw some sort of commotion taking place, people running, a word, a name being shouted over and over again.
“De Guise! De Guise!”
He could make out the approach of mounted horsemen, one slightly in the lead, a tall dark man.
One of the guards bent down to drag Xavier to his feet, but the man froze, staring in consternation. His other captors were likewise distracted by the approaching rider and Xavier saw his chance.
He reared back, driving his head against the face of the nearest guard. He heard the gratifying crunch of bone as
the man’s nose broke. His own head throbbed, but Xavier ignored the pain. Ramming his shoulder into another guard, he tipped the man off balance.
Xavier tore off running. He was handicapped by his bound hands, but the guards were at a disadvantage as well. The Dark Queen wanted him alive, so they could not discharge any weapons.
Xavier surged forward, weaving in and out of the crowd that was gathering in the street, growing larger by the moment. He didn’t pause, didn’t think, didn’t even risk looking back as he hurled onward.
Only when he had gone down several streets and darted down an alley, did he dare to stop and catch his breath. He leaned up against a brick wall, panting, listening for sounds of approaching feet and hearing nothing.
Either he had eluded the guards in the crowd or they had been presented with a more urgent mission, protecting the Hôtel de la Reine from de Guise’s oncoming forces.
Xavier could scarce believe his luck—or was it a genuine miracle? Whatever it was, he didn’t deserve it after his recklessness, his arrogance in believing he could hoodwink the Dark Queen. He feared he had only made matters worse for Meg and the women of Faire Isle.
But he would have time enough to curse his own stupidity later. Right now he needed to get this blasted rope off his hands and go find Jane.
CATHERINE SAT AT HER DESK, QUILL POISED IN HER HAND AS she paused to savor her triumph over Xavier. She had finally succeeded in breaking the arrogant rogue. Now she needed to issue a writ for the arrest of Lady Danvers and, more important, lay her plans for the capture of Megaera.
Years ago her son had sent a small army of witch-hunters to invade the Faire Isle. They had done quite a bit of damage, burning houses and destroying property, but most of the daughters of the earth, most notably Ariane and her sisters, had escaped.
Those women simply knew the island too well, too many places to hide, especially on the rockier, wilder side. Catherine would have Xavier and the Danvers woman as hostages. Would they provide enough leverage to negotiate a trade for the Silver Rose? Or would the threat of another invasion be enough to make someone on the island betray the girl?
Catherine would need to have a sizable force to make that threat seem real, and as Xavier had so impertinently pointed out, she did not have such a troop at her disposal at the moment.
While Catherine pondered these difficulties, she was interrupted by one of her guards bursting into the salon. The man’s nose was swelling, blood spattered over his face and tunic.
Catherine started to rebuke the man for coming before her in such a state when beneath the bruises and swelling, she recognized Captain Arnaud, the man she had charged with conveying Xavier to the Bastille.
Tensing with an unwelcome suspicion, Catherine rose to her feet. “What means this, Captain? Never tell me you let that villain escape,” she said in an ominous tone.
“S-sorry, Your Grace. Couldn’t help it. De Guise.” Arnaud’s voice was so thick Catherine could scarce understand him. The man could not possibly have said—
“De Guise? What has the duc de Guise got to do with any of this?”
“He—he’s here.”
“What!” Catherine gasped. “You insolent fool. You—you lie.”
“No, Your Grace. But go to the window and you will see for yourself.”
Her heart thudding with dread, she stumbled across the room. From her window, she could see the crowds gathering in the street, forcing their way into her own courtyard despite the efforts of her guards to hold them back.
The cry went up, “De Guise! De Guise! Vive de Guise!”
The crowd parted for a tall, arrogant figure who bowed left and right, grasping outstretched hands. Women sobbed and flung themselves at the man’s feet, kissing the hem of his cloak as though he were the Lord himself come amongst them.
Xavier and his escape faded to insignificance. Catherine clutched her hand to her throat as she watched her greatest nightmare coming true. De Guise. Here in Paris. Could that wretch’s timing possibly be any worse?
The thought caused a bubble of nigh hysterical laughter to rise in Catherine’s throat. Would there ever have been a good time for her most dreaded enemy’s arrival?
She took a deep breath, forcing air into her lungs. This was no time to give way to fear or panic. There was only one way she was going to survive, the same way she always had, by sheer nerve and wits.
By the time the duc de Guise strode into her salon, Catherine was able to greet him with some semblance of dignity. The duke advanced upon her with a purposeful stride. Handsome and vigorous, the scar on François de Guise’s cheek only enhanced his reputation as France’s premiere general, the hero of countless battles. The war god Ares and the beautiful Apollo combined. He was all that her son should have been and wasn’t, Catherine reflected bitterly.
That thought only made her hate the duke more, but she concealed her enmity behind an icy façade.
“Your Majesty.” De Guise swept her a courtly bow and dropped to one knee before her. At least the man still chose to counterfeit that much respect.
Catherine managed to extend her hand without trembling as she bid him rise. As the duke saluted her fingertips with a perfunctory kiss, she addressed him sternly, “What treason is this, monsieur?”
The duke’s brows shot upward in pained surprise, or at least the semblance of it. “No treason, Your Grace. Why would you even speak such a word to me?”
“Because you know that my son, the king, has forbidden you to come to Paris with your army.”
“And I have not done so. I have come quietly with but a handful of my own personal retinue.”
So that was how the duke had been able to slip through the gates of Paris without sparking off a confrontation with the king’s troops.
Catherine pursed her lips, not fooled by the duke’s innocent protestation. Yes, he had come with only a handful of retainers, because the arrogant man realized that he needed no more. His army lay out in the streets, his half-mad followers that could become out of control at any minute. The mob that ecstatically shouted the duke’s name beneath her windows was far more dangerous than any trained troops.
“Why would you come here at all?” Catherine demanded. “You could not possibly have any other purpose than to wrest the crown from your lawful king.”
“No, Your Grace, I swear, that is not true.” The duke dramatically splayed his hand over the region of his heart. “Someone has been filling the king’s head with lies about me. I am his most loyal subject. I have only come to Paris in sheer desperation to defend myself and to be restored to my king’s good grace.”
Catherine honed her gaze, seeking to bore into his eyes. The potion had helped restore much of her old ability. She had broken through Xavier’s defenses, but only because she had taken him by surprise.
The duke was too much on his guard, too well prepared for her probing. She could catch only a glimmer of the duke’s thoughts, enough to reassure her.
He had not come to Paris with any intentions of dethroning her son. At least not yet. But then what the devil was the man after? He had some deeper motive beyond what he stated. Would that she had some idea of what it was. She had ever disliked groping her way through the dark.
The duke backed away sweeping another bow. “I have only come here to assure Your Grace of my good intentions. And now I intend to set out for the palace to wait upon my king.”
Catherine’s heart leaped with alarm. At the moment de Guise might not have any malicious intentions toward the king, but Catherine could not answer for Henry or vouch for her son’s uncertain temper.
If de Guise was foolish or arrogant enough to stride into the Louvre with only a handful of men, Catherine dreaded what the outcome might be. As terrified as she was of braving the mobs in the streets, she had only one recourse.
“Very well,” she said. “If you go to the king, I insist upon accompanying you.”
Chapter Twenty-five
JANE HAD PROMISED THAT SHE WOULD REMAIN SA
FELY AT THE house until Xavier’s return. But after an hour of pacing and worrying, she could endure it no longer.
She turned to the solace that had sustained her through the worst times of her life. She sought out the nearest church and stole inside to pray. The nave was cool, dark, and peaceful after the afternoon heat and the clatter of the streets. The air was redolent with the comforting aroma of incense that seemed to have seeped into the very walls, conveying blessings upon decades of sinners seeking redemption.
Jane lit a candle and knelt down before the side altar that honored a statue of the Blessed Virgin.
“Holy Mother, please intercede for Louis Xavier. I am sure you must know he is a good man at heart. He—he may not always choose the most honest way to go about things, but his intentions are pure and oh, please, protect him from the queen and send him safely back to me. If you do, I promise—”
But Jane had no chance to complete her vow. She heard the sound of boots thundering down the aisle toward her. She glanced around, at first overjoyed to see Xavier rushing toward her, but then alarmed by his aspect.
His hair was sweat-soaked and disheveled, his forehead bruised—and was that dried blood on his shirt? She blessed herself hastily and rose to her feet.
Xavier stumbled toward her. “Jane, there you are. Jambe told me this is where he thought you went. I should have guessed as much, but this is no time to be at your prayers. Come on.”
He seized hold of her hand and began hurrying her back down the aisle.
“But what is the matter? What’s wrong?” She frowned at the object she saw attached to his hand. “Is that a rope tied around your wrist?”
“Yes, I managed to free myself, but I couldn’t get the blasted thing entirely off. The queen’s guard ties a wicked knot.”
“The queen’s guard?” she cried. Remembering she was still in church, she lowered her voice to a hushed whisper. “You were arrested?”
He nodded grimly. “It all went wrong, just as you feared. You can clout my ears and damn me for a fool later. But right now Catherine might be the least of our worries.”