She tipped her head to blink wonderingly up at him. “You came. I—I summoned you and you—you came.”
He brushed a tender kiss across her brow. “But of course. Did you ever doubt that I would?”
She made no demur when he kissed her lips, the feel of his mouth sending a welcome rush of warmth through her. She stole her arms shyly around his neck. Renard’s breath came quick and warm against her ear as he whispered, “One time, chérie.”
“What?” Ariane murmured, nestling closer to him.
“You have now used my ring one time. You are one step nearer to becoming my wife.”
“Oh. Oh, yes,” she said in a subdued voice, wondering how she could have allowed herself to forget the reason for Renard riding to the rescue. Not out of any heroic chivalry or devotion.
He had come because of their peculiar bargain of the ring. She should not have needed him to remind her of that fact or been so strangely disappointed when he did. Ariane eased out of his arms, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
Whatever Renard’s motives, he had saved Miri and very likely all the rest of the wise women of Faire Isle. She could not but be grateful to him for that.
“My lord, I—I do want to thank you for—for—”
Renard silenced her with a light touch to her lips and a firm shake of his head. “Do not thank me, chérie. There is no need. You called for me and I came. Just as we had agreed, although I must admit performing this particular service was a pleasure for me. I take a keen enjoyment in breaking the heads of witch-hunters and I am only glad that I was able to arrive in time.”
Not like the last time. The thought flashed into Renard’s eyes, so painful, for once he was unable to conceal it.
So . . . this was not the first time Renard had had an encounter with witch-hunters, Ariane realized. She supposed she should not be surprised by that. Any man who dealt in magic rings and wrapped himself in a cloak of mystery would be bound to be an object of suspicion.
And there had been the way Renard had looked at Le Vis, with that dark hatred that went far beyond the dislike an ordinary, rational man might feel.
Ariane tried to probe deeper, but Renard had already hooded his eyes, sealing off his thoughts as he strode over to retrieve his horse. Hercules appeared strangely docile as Renard reached for the reins, as though man and horse were in accord for once.
“Now that I have done what you summoned me to do, I expect you will want me gone.”
Was that what she wanted? Considering that the ring actually did work, Ariane supposed that she should perceive Renard as more dangerous than ever. But to simply allow him to go away again, after all that he had done for her, with no more than a clumsy word of thanks, seemed so . . . so wrong.
“There is a storm coming,” she said. “It might be dangerous for you to try to leave the island just now.”
Renard paused in checking the cinch on his saddle to assure her. “Don’t worry, chérie. I plan to quarter myself at the inn. I don’t intend to leave Faire Isle until the danger is past.”
“Then if you are going to stay, perhaps you would—I mean—you will not allow me to thank you, but the least I could do—that is, I would be very honored if you would consent to dine with me and my sisters at Belle Haven this evening.”
The invitation that she blurted out astonished Ariane as much as it did Renard. When he stared at her, she added awkwardly, “If—if you would like . . .”
Renard’s rough features softened. “I should like that, ma chère. Very much indeed.”
The square stood empty as the day faded, the only threat to the peace of Faire Isle a natural one as the sky continued to rumble with the impending storm.
Renard lingered, like a conqueror surveying an abandoned battlefield, seeking to assure himself that a victory had truly been won. He had commanded his retainers to gather up the weapons that the witch-hunters had discarded, but he saw that one had been overlooked.
A sword lay forgotten in the grasses near the edge of the pond. Renard strode over to retrieve it. As he stared down at the hated symbol of the flaming cross engraved on the hilt, he felt the familiar surge of anger and the cold breath of fear as well.
A few minutes later and his mad race would have been to no avail. When he thought of what could have happened to Miri Cheney, to her sister Gabrielle, but most of all to Ariane, Renard felt a chill ice through his veins.
He would have been too late . . . just like the last time. The rippling waters of the pond blurred before his eyes. The entire square seemed to fade, and he was seeing the green of another village high up in the mountains.
Renard had traveled hard from Paris, pushing his horse to the point of collapse only to arrive the morning after. He had never witnessed what had happened that long-ago night, but the terrible event was as etched in his mind as though he had stood by helpless and watched the whole thing.
Renard only had to close his eyes to see the burning pyre, the grim gloating faces of the black-robed men as they had bound the old woman’s frail wrists, lashing her to the slats of the crude ladder.
Those who had dared to speak to Renard of what had happened told him his grandmother had been unbelievably brave when the witch-hunters had come for her, almost resigned. But Renard had known the truth.
By that time, Lucy simply had not given a damn whether she lived or died. And Renard had long cursed both the old woman and himself for that. She had let those devils take her, let them build their fire, let them tie her to the ladder.
Those bastards had not even had the decency to bind her to the stake, give her the chance to suffocate on the smoke. Oh, no, they had made sure that his grandmother had been fully alive.
They had raised the ladder parallel to the blazing fire, forcing Lucy to stare straight into the hellish reflection of her own death. Renard had been told that the old woman had not struggled as the ladder had been released, as she had pitched face forward into the flames.
“My lord?” A voice tugged at him, a heavy hand clamping down on his shoulder.
Renard’s eyes fluttered open and he experienced a sharp sense of relief to find Toussaint at his side.
“Are you all right, lad?” Toussaint asked gruffly. He could not read eyes, but he could obviously tell where Renard had been. It was a dark road into the past the old man had traveled himself once too often.
“Yes, I’m fine,” Renard said. “I was just—just making sure all was secure. Here.” He handed the witch-hunter’s sword to Toussaint. “Take this infernal thing and get rid of it. Break it apart, melt it down. I don’t care how you do it. I don’t want any trace of those bastards left on this island.”
Toussaint nodded grimly. “I’ll see to that. But shouldn’t you return to the inn and tidy yourself up a bit for your supper with the ladies? You should at least comb your hair before they crown you with your hero’s laurels.”
“I am not a hero, Toussaint,” Renard said irritably. “I never claimed to be. I made it quite clear to Ariane why I came to the rescue, because she used the ring.”
The old man eyed Renard fiercely. “You might spout such nonsense to your lady, but you should know better than to try it on me. You’d have come to save that little girl, ring or no ring.”
“Yes, but Ariane doesn’t need to know that.”
“Why the devil not? I should think you would want her to.”
Renard frowned, because part of him did long for just that. Some soft corner of his heart urged him to kneel at her feet and vow on his sword like some idiot knight errant, that he would never allow any harm to come to her or her sisters. And he would not demand so much as a kiss in return.
But those were the thoughts of a romantic young fool and he was hardly that anymore.
“Telling Ariane that I would have helped her without the ring certainly won’t further my cause,” Renard said. “If she thought that, she would never use the ring again.”
“Which would be a mighty good thing.” Toussaint shot him a
n exasperated look. “Damnation, boy, I can’t believe you plan to continue playing this game after what nearly happened here today. I’ve been talking to one of the stable hands about what has been going on these past few days. First the queen’s soldiers tearing apart the place and now witch-hunters. There is something amiss on this island.”
“I realize that,” Renard replied tersely. “I was far too complacent ever leaving here. It is a mistake I won’t make again. I intend to remain right here on this island until—”
“Until what? Someone else is almost killed?”
“That won’t happen!” Renard glowered at the old man, then vented a wearied sigh. “Lord, Toussaint, do you think I like this game either? But how else am I going to win Ariane? With my pretty face?”
“The lady appears to be softening toward you. She has finally trusted you enough to invite you to her home.”
“Only out of gratitude, and that won’t be enough to get the lady to the altar. The ring is still my only chance of claiming a woman like Ariane. She is—is completely amazing. You saw for yourself what she did today.”
“Yes, the Breath of Life,” Toussaint said in awed tones. “I remember Lucy speaking of it, but never did I think to see such an astonishing feat. A pity your lady had to waste such a miraculous gift upon a witch-hunter, but what an incredible thing to witness.”
“Then perhaps now you start to comprehend why I am so determined to marry Ariane. A woman possessed of such remarkable power. To say nothing of her dowry of ancient books. I want her and I mean to have her.”
“I would feel a deal better about all this if you said you loved her.”
Renard shrugged. “You know that is one kind of magic I leave well alone.” He had learned a long time ago that all love did was render a man too vulnerable.
Toussaint turned sadly away. Renard watched the old man’s retreat with a stubborn set to his jaw. A part of him knew that Toussaint was right. The bargain with the ring had seemed so simple when Renard had first made it. He had not counted on there ever being any real danger. Nor had he counted on the gratitude that shone from Ariane’s eyes when he had saved her sister, making him wish that he deserved it.
But she had used the ring. Renard was one third of the way to getting what he wanted.
Chapter Fourteen
Ariane cut off another roll of linen for fresh ban-daging while Captain Remy watched her through eyes half-closed in pain. The man was paying a price for his desperate effort to go after Gabrielle. When Ariane had returned to Belle Haven, she had learned from Agnes that the captain had actually managed to dress himself and make it as far as the great hall before he had fainted and been returned to his bed.
Ariane moved the candle closer, the light flickering over the rough walls of the old dungeon cell. She peeled away the old bandage from Remy’s side. The wound looked raw and seeped blood, but it was nowhere near as bad as Ariane had feared. She bathed the afflicted area, then applied some of her healing salve and placed a fresh pad over it.
“You are a fortunate man. And a very foolish one,” she told the captain, but she softened the severity of her words with a slight smile. “It would not have done us much good to hide you if you had staggered out of here, only to lose consciousness somewhere along the road.”
Remy winced as Ariane wrapped the bandage tighter about his midriff. “I never meant to cause more trouble for you. But when I saw Gabrielle charge out with my sword, I—I could not just lie here while she—while you were all in danger.”
“The danger is past . . . for the time being,” she said.
Remy must have caught her hesitation, for his deep brown eyes fastened on her. “It was most strange, was it not? Witch- hunters descending on the island so suddenly.”
“Yes.” Ariane avoided his gaze, busying herself with removing the basin and the old bandages, but Remy was far too perceptive.
“Those men did not come here by chance, did they? She sent them. The Dark Queen sent those witch-hunters after me.”
Ariane could not lie to him. “She dispatched Le Vis to coerce us into surrendering you and the gloves.”
“My God! You should have done so before risking all your lives.”
“One cannot make bargains with a fanatic like Le Vis. My sisters and I would still have ended up tried for witchcraft and you would have been turned over to the Dark Queen, dead or alive.”
“But if she was desperate enough to send a man like Le Vis, she won’t give up. She’ll try again—”
“Which is why I must work quickly to solve the mystery of the gloves and you must heal so you can return to Navarre and warn your king. The sooner we put a stop to Catherine’s evil schemes, the sooner we will all be safe.”
Remy shifted one arm across his eyes. Even in the short time she had known him, the gesture had become familiar to Ariane. Remy did it every time he was seized by some strong emotion.
He said in a stricken voice. “I should have never come here. I thought only of my cause, my king. But you ladies of Faire Isle have been so wonderful, helping me, and all I have done is put you in danger.”
“We have always run a certain risk here from the threat of witch-hunters.”
“No, they would have never come except for me. When I think of what could have happened to her—”
“Don’t torment yourself over it. Miri was badly frightened, but she is fine now.”
“Miri? Oh . . . oh yes,” Remy said, a faint hint of red creeping into his pale cheeks.
Ariane stared at the captain, suddenly realizing the captain’s thoughts had been centered on Gabrielle.
The unfortunate captain would not be the first to be dazzled by her beautiful sister or, Ariane feared, the last. She felt sorry for him. Ariane doubted that a solemn Huguenot like Remy could ever touch Gabrielle’s wounded heart and perhaps that was just as well. As a hunted man, Remy’s current prospects were rather bleak. The captain’s growing fascination with her sister provided only one more spur for Ariane to hasten his recovery and get him away from Faire Isle.
She tucked the coverlet gently around his shoulders. “Try to rest now. I regret that we cannot move you to more comfortable quarters upstairs. But there is a man coming to the house to dine tonight and I think it best he does not know you are here.”
“A man?” Remy asked anxiously. “What man?”
“The Comte de Renard. He is the one who came to our rescue today.”
Remy frowned, looking confused. “Your pardon, mademoiselle, but does not that make him a friend?”
“Frankly, I have never been able to determine exactly what Renard might be,” Ariane replied with a rueful smile.
When she passed through the hidden workshop, she realized that in her haste to fly to Miri’s rescue, she had forgotten to put away both the heavy tome on dark magic and the de Medici gloves.
Using tongs, Ariane gingerly picked up the gloves, scowling as she recalled all that these innocent-looking garments had nearly cost her. Part of her wished she had never seen the accursed things and part of her was more determined than ever to find a way to use them against the Dark Queen, to make that woman pay . . .
A dark, vengeful thought, and Ariane knew her mother would never have approved. She quickly returned the gloves to their box. As she did so, she became aware that she was still wearing Renard’s ring. In all the excitement, she had neglected to take it off and return the metal band to the silver chain around her neck.
Small wonder that she had forgotten. The ring felt like it had become part of her hand. Now that she fully realized the power of the ring, she regarded it with a mixture of awe and a little fear.
Impulsively she turned to the heavy book at her elbow, leafing through it, but this time skimming past all the sections dealing with poisons, looking for any mention that had to do with charmed rings.
Absorbed in her reading, she barely noticed when the trap door leading down from the kitchens opened. But as Gabrielle began to descend the stairs, Ariane hastil
y closed the book.
Gabrielle trudged down slowly with none of her usual grace. She was clearly still experiencing the aftereffects of their battle with the witch-hunters. Ariane’s own shoulder was stiff and sore from the blow she had taken and although the swelling had gone down around Gabrielle’s eye, her sister had an ugly bruise.
As Gabrielle reached the foot of the stairs, Ariane saw that she had left the lid on the box with the gloves cracked open. She closed it as surreptitiously as she could. Fortunately Gabrielle’s attention was focused elsewhere.
Her sister’s eyes darted in the direction of the corridor leading to Remy’s cell. She asked hesitantly as though fearing the answer, “So—so how is the captain?”
“He tore open his wound. It will take him a little longer to mend, but I believe he is doing well enough.”
Gabrielle’s eyes clouded with a mingling of guilt and defiance. “I only wanted to borrow his sword. I never asked the noble idiot to try to come to the rescue.”
“Given the sort of man Remy is, what else did you expect?”
“That he would show some good sense. Just as I wish my older sister would.” Gabrielle folded her arms across her bosom and regarded Ariane accusingly. “Agnes told me that you ordered her to lay an extra place for supper for the Comte de Renard. I could scarcely believe it. Whatever possessed you to invite that ogre to come here?”
“For mercy’s sake, Gabrielle. That ogre risked his life today, without even really knowing what was going on.”
“That makes two of us,” Gabrielle muttered darkly.
Ariane continued, “Renard very likely saved most of the women on this island. Asking him to dine seemed the least we could do.”
“Before you start feeling too grateful to the man, you should stop and remember why he came racing to the rescue. He is trying to trap you into marrying him. Or have you entirely forgotten that?”
Ariane hardly needed Gabrielle to remind her of Renard’s true motives. And yet when she thought back over the rescue, the image that stood out most clearly in her mind was the gentle way Renard had lifted Miri down from the saddle and into her arms.