“Let her go.”
The voice was low, but cold and sharp as a steel blade. Remy had stolen upon them so silently that both she and Danton started. Danton loosened his grasp on her hands enough that Gabrielle was able to pull away from him.
Remy hooked his arm about Gabrielle’s waist and hauled her protectively to his side. Gabrielle resisted an overwhelming urge to melt against his strength. The situation was too fraught with potential for disaster for her to give way to any weakness now.
Remy and Danton squared off, each man taking the other’s measure. Danton quirked his brow at Remy in a haughty fashion and said, “Mademoiselle and I were enjoying a private conversation, monsieur. Who are you to interrupt?”
“The man who is going to kill you,” Remy said softly.
Danton’s eyes widened. He gave an incredulous laugh. “Pray tell me, monsieur, what have I done to cause you offense?”
“You are still breathing.”
Gabrielle stared up at Remy in astonishment and alarm. During the brief interval since she had left him by the tent, Remy seemed to have taken leave of his senses. His rich brown eyes were so chilling, it frightened her. She tugged urgently at his arm. “Remy, please. Let us go back and rejoin the others.”
Remy didn’t even seem to hear her, his dark gaze fixed on Danton.
“Ah, Captain Remy.” Danton’s eyes swept contemptuously over him. “So you are the famous Scourge. We have a great deal in common. It looks to me as though you must be our sweet Gabrielle’s latest lover. I had the privilege of being her first.”
A muscle twitched dangerously in Remy’s jaw. Gabrielle’s heartbeat quickened. She tightened her grip on his arm. “Remy . . .”
He shook her off and took a step nearer to Danton. “I understand from the Dark Queen that you hoped to challenge me to a bout in the lists.”
“Remy. No!” Gabrielle pleaded.
Before Gabrielle could stop him, Remy wrenched free one of the leather gloves from his belt. He struck Danton full force across the face with it.
“Consider your challenge accepted,” he said tersely.
Danton clapped his hand to the red welt on his cheek. Glaring, he groped for the hilt of his sword and Gabrielle feared he meant to fly at Remy then and there. But Danton seemed to think better of it. With a stiff bow, he turned and strode away.
Gabrielle released a tremulous breath, her mind reeling with how rapidly the situation had slipped beyond her control. She became aware of the sensation that the scene between Remy and Danton had caused. There were audible gasps, murmurs, and whispers from the throng gathered outside Navarre’s tent. The king of France could be heard complaining to his mother. “Damned Huguenot. One challenges a man to joust by striking his shield, not his face. Captain Remy does not know the rules for gentlemanly engagement.”
“Precisely,” Catherine replied.
Gabrielle glanced sharply back at them. The king’s outrage did not alarm her nearly so much as the Dark Queen’s thin smile.
Gabrielle paced the tent, fuming to cover her fear. The other ladies had already gone to find a place in the stands, most of the knights to mount their horses, including Navarre. Gabrielle had pleaded with the king to forbid Remy’s joust with Danton. But the king had merely shrugged with his charming smile. Navarre did not know the cause of Remy’s quarrel with Danton, but one could not interfere. It was a question of honor.
Honor, Gabrielle reflected furiously as she took another turn about the tent. That wretched excuse men used for hazarding their lives and bashing away at one another. It so infuriated her, she longed to box the ears of every man she came across, beginning with the obstinate one stripping down to his shirtsleeves, preparing to fight.
Deaf to her every argument and plea, Remy shrugged into a gambeson, easing the padded undercoat over his shoulders while Wolf laid out the armor. Gabrielle’s heart sank with dismay. Even she realized it was not of the best quality and certainly never designed to fit Remy with the precision Danton’s armor did him. The helmet still looked rough from the hammer, crude and unpolished.
Remy was entirely indifferent to the fact. He snapped his fingers at Wolf. “Fetch that cuirass here and be quick about it.”
When Wolf gave him a blank look, Remy said impatiently, “The breast and back plates. Make haste.”
“Leave them where they are, Martin,” Gabrielle commanded.
Wolf had picked up the breastplate, only to hesitate.
“Bring it here. Now,” Remy snapped.
Wolf took a step forward but froze when Gabrielle said, “No! Don’t move.”
Remy cast him a dark scowl. “Damn it, lad. Whose orders are you bound to obey? Mine or hers?”
Wolf angled an uneasy glance between them. “Hers. Because she might turn me into a three-eyed toad if I displeased her. And in any case, I agree with milady. I think—”
“I don’t give a damn what you think.” Remy wrenched the breastplate from Wolf’s hands. “Never mind. You have no idea how to help me with the fastenings anyway. You are pretty much useless here. Go find one of Navarre’s men to assist me and then make sure my horse has been saddled.”
A look of deep hurt chased across Wolf’s sharp features. He drew himself up with dignity and accorded Remy a curt bow. “As you wish, m’sieur.”
He stalked out of the tent, his shoulders slumping as he disappeared from view. Gabrielle rounded on Remy. “Oh, that was well done. That boy only worships you as if you were Hercules sprung down from Mt. Olympus. He is so proud to serve you, but he considers himself your brother-in-arms, not your lackey.”
“I’ll apologize to him later.”
“You might not be here later.”
When Remy ignored her, Gabrielle planted herself directly in front of him. “Have you not listened to one word I have been saying to you? Are you so pigheaded or so blind you can’t see the truth? The confrontation between you and Danton has been arranged by Catherine. It is a plot to get rid of you.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter!”
Remy laced up the front of his gambeson. “You appear to place very little faith in my ability to defend your honor.”
“What honor? I don’t have any. I am a courtesan.”
Remy grimaced at the reminder, but kept doggedly at the lacings. Gabrielle covered his hands with hers to stop him. “Don’t you understand? This is a fight you can’t win. Dueling and combats to the death are forbidden in France. If Danton kills you, they’ll likely pretend it was an accident. If you kill him, they’ll have an excuse to arrest and execute you. Not even Navarre could declare it unjust. Will you throw your life away because of some sneering remark that Danton made?”
“No, not because of what he said today, but what he did to you years ago.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean—”
“Danton raped you, didn’t he?” Remy demanded fiercely.
Gabrielle flinched from both his bluntness and his steely, probing look. She snatched her hands away, no longer able to meet his gaze. Remy knew. He knew the pathetic shameful secret she had struggled to deny for so long, even to herself.
She moved away from him, hugging herself tightly. “This—this is obviously some ridiculous story Catherine concocted in order to make you—”
“No, it isn’t. Do you think I haven’t been able to figure out certain things for myself, from the way you behaved the day I tried to make love to you? From what you said about Danton, the way you looked at him? I have never seen you that afraid of anyone, not even a witch-hunter.”
Gabrielle winced. Bad enough she had let Danton make a whore of her, but she had permitted him to make her a coward as well. She stiffened as Remy placed his hands on her shoulders.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” he asked in a gentler tone.
“About Danton? How would that have changed anything?”
“I could have avenged you much sooner.”
Gabrielle shook her head, real
izing that Remy still didn’t fully understand what had happened that day in the barn. Danton had forced himself upon her, but it had been her fault because she—
When Remy tried to turn her around to face him, she resisted, not sure if she would ever be able to bear looking into his honest brown eyes again. He stole his arms around her waist instead, her back pressed to his chest. He rested his cheek against the side of her head, his breath warm against her ear.
“Gabrielle, I made a vow to you once, don’t you remember? That day you taught me how to play at knights and dragons, I knelt at your feet and I pledged . . .” Remy paused and went on hoarsely. “Milady, my sword is ever at your service. I vow by my life’s blood to serve and protect you forever.”
“That was a game, Remy. Only a game.”
“Not to me it wasn’t. I made you a solemn vow and then I allowed myself to forget it. Today I intend to redeem my promise.”
Gabrielle pulled away from him and choked out. “My God, Remy, you are unbelievable. After everything you know about me, you still refuse to see me for what I am. You talk about avenging my honor and you just don’t comprehend.”
She faced him at last, hot tears raining down on her cheeks. “I am not worthy of it. I have never been. Remy, don’t you understand? I am simply not worthy.”
With a muffled sob, she turned and fled from the tent. Remy watched her go, torn between wanting to go after her and the need to finish donning his armor. Gabrielle’s tears only added fuel to his hatred, his determination to rip out Danton’s black heart and feed it to him before the sun set on this day. He strode over to examine the motley collection of armor assembled for him, wondering what the devil was keeping the squire he had sent Wolf to find.
“Remy?” A timid voice called his name.
He spun about to see Miri silhouetted in the opening of the tent. He had all but forgotten her presence at the tourney. The girl had always had an ephemeral quality about her, an ability to come and go like a whisper of mist.
Miri regarded Remy with wide eyes that reminded him of the child she had once been. He swore softly, raking his hand back through his hair. Dealing with another of the Cheney sisters was the last thing he needed right now. Before Miri could say another word, he commanded, “Miri, you should be over in the stands with the other spectators or find Bette and go back to the town house. This never was any place for you—”
“I saw Gabrielle.” Miri cut him off. “She was crying.”
“Then you ought to go comfort her.”
“No, you should.”
“I have something else I need to do. You don’t understand what is going on.”
“Oh, yes, I do. I witnessed your encounter with Etienne Danton.” Miri’s lashes swept down, veiling her remarkable eyes. “I didn’t recognize him at first. I was little more than a child that summer he came to Faire Isle. We were still grieved over the death of our mother and Papa had disappeared on his voyage of exploration to Brazil.”
Miri had to swallow before she could continue. “Danton was—was like a knight out of the stories Papa used to tell us and he appeared to fall in love with Gabrielle at first sight. Who could help doing that? She is strong, so bright, so beautiful. We thought that Danton meant to woo her for his bride, but instead—instead—”
When she faltered, Remy filled in harshly. “Instead the bastard ravished her, a fact Gabrielle seems determined to deny.”
“She always did. Gabrielle would never talk about what happened, even to Ariane. But I knew my sister had changed. Gabrielle was never the same after that man came to our island. She and I used to roam the woods together, having wonderful adventures, conjuring fairies, unicorns, and dragons out of the trees. But it was as though Gabrielle left me behind that summer while she moved on to some dark place I didn’t want to follow.”
Miri bit down on her lower lip. “Gabrielle had a great magic. You saw for yourself some of the wondrous pictures she painted. But after Danton, she left her palette and sketchbook to gather dust. She spent more and more time in front of her mirror, brushing her hair, applying poultices to her face, but it was as though whatever she did, she could not make herself beautiful enough. And there were the nightmares. Gabrielle would cry out in her sleep, awake sobbing. When I tried to comfort her, she would only roll on her side, snap at me to leave her alone. It hurt my feelings very much and we grew further apart.”
Miri’s voice quavered. “I was very young, you see. It took me a long time to understand what—what was wrong—” Her eyes brimmed with tears, one escaping to trickle down her cheek. Remy brushed the droplet aside with the back of his knuckle.
“Danton’s blood shall pay for Gabrielle’s tears . . . and yours.”
“I did not tell you all this to make you more vengeful. I told you so that you can better understand Gabrielle.”
Remy’s jaw hardened. “I understand quite well what I must do.”
“You intend to kill Danton? It will not change what happened to Gabrielle.”
“No, but she’ll never again have to look upon his face, endure him to—” Remy grated his teeth, clenching his fist. “By God’s blood, that bastard thinks to have her again. I could see that in his eyes, the way he leered at her—”
“Then take Gabrielle away from here. Let us all go back to Faire Isle.” Miri placed her palms flat against Remy’s cheeks in a gesture she often used to calm a restive steed. But the muscles in Remy’s face felt hard and unyielding beneath her touch.
“Remy, you must listen to me,” she pleaded. “Your sword will not avail Gabrielle anything. Only your love can heal her.”
Remy shook his head, his eyes dark with a mingling of anger and anguish. “She doesn’t want my love, Miri. My sword is the only thing I have to offer her.”
Remy held up the weapon, the glint of the steel reflected in his eyes. Miri shuddered at the sight of both the sword and Remy’s grim expression. She had never understood the need of men to resort to violence, the dark urge to take life and spill blood, no matter in how noble a cause. She had, however, learned to her sorrow that when a man was determined to strap on his sword, there was no deterring him, not even a man as good as Nicolas Remy. There was little more that she could do than brush his cheek with a kiss of resignation.
“May God go with you, Nicolas Remy,” she murmured. “And all the spirits of mother earth protect you.”
The sound of pipes and drums beating out a martial air mingled with the applause of the crowd. As she hurried behind the tent, Miri shaded her eyes with her hand and squinted toward the cavalcade of knights parading before the stands. The sun flashed off the suits of armor in a glittering display, the horses as magnificently turned out as their masters, the mounts draped in silk blankets and rich caparisons.
Only one horse remained in the open area behind the tents, resisting all efforts to be saddled. The brown gelding, draped in gold-trimmed purple velvet, wheeled away from the squire who dropped the heavy, high-backed saddle. A pair of young pages idling beneath the trees mocked and jeered the squire’s efforts. Their raucous laughter and catcalls did nothing to ease the situation, further exacerbating both the nerves of the horse and the temper of the squire.
Flushed with frustration, his long dark hair tumbled across his eyes, the lad swore roundly. “Bloody, stupid brute. Cursed spawn of Satan.”
The squire yanked on the leading reins as though he thought if he cursed loudly and pulled hard enough, he could force the gelding to stand still. The horse was quick to show him otherwise. Flattening its ears, it snapped and kicked, tossing its head.
Miri’s spirits sank even lower. If this was Remy’s horse and his squire, the captain was in greater trouble than she’d imagined. The witless lad was now engaged in a futile tug-of-war with the massive beast and there was little doubt in Miri’s mind as to who was going to win. The gelding reared up, pulling the young man off his feet. Amid the hoots of the watching pages, the squire lost his grip on the lead and fell flat on his face, landing in
a pile of horse droppings. Emitting a loud snort, the gelding bolted toward the passage between the tents.
Miri was ready for it. Flinging her arms wide, she positioned herself in front of the runaway horse. Horrified shouts came from the pages, who clearly expected to see her trampled. The gelding veered off at the last possible moment. Miri moved just as quickly to corral it. The horse shifted edgily away from her.
Hands held out in a supplicating gesture, she crooned low in her throat, weaving her own kind of magic until the great beast stood trembling, blowing out frightened breaths.
“Easy, easy, my handsome friend,” Miri soothed him. “I am a daughter of the earth. I would never harm you.”
Cautiously she reached for the dangling reins. When she had the horse secure, she stroked his nose and murmured more comforting words. When the gelding tossed its head and began to shy away again, Miri realized the squire was storming down on them.
Covered in grass, dirt, and horse manure, his black hair tumbled wildly over his face, he snarled, “Damnation, mademoiselle. What were you thinking to charge into the path of that stupid brute that way? You could have been—”
“Shhh!” Miri laid her finger alongside her lips and cast the disheveled squire a stern look. At least the lad possessed enough wit to come to an abrupt halt before he spooked the gelding all over again.
Miri laid calming hands upon the horse, patting and stroking him. She addressed the squire in a quiet voice. “This creature’s name is not stupid brute or spawn of Satan. He is called Bayonne.”
“He ought to be called devil,” the squire grumbled. “He is going to get my captain killed with his bad-tempered ways and cowardly tricks.”
The horse twitched his ears as though he understood the squire’s insults. Mournful equine eyes regarded Miri through the openings in the velvet mask banding his head. Her degree of communication with other creatures did not equal what she had with Necromancer. The bond between her and the cat was extraordinary. But she comprehended the horse’s thoughts well enough to discern what troubled him.