The Dark Queen

  He hesitated, and Gabrielle’s heart stopped.

  “Er—miss Faire Isle that much,” he finished awkwardly and Gabrielle found she could breathe again.

  She had been so afraid he was going to say, you will not miss me. So far Remy had confined himself to the occasional admiring glance, and she fervently prayed he’d never go any further. Then she would have to reject him and any comfort between them would be destroyed forever. And she quite liked this ease she felt most of the time with Remy. She’d never been friends with a man before.

  Remy absorbed himself in plucking another flower. He was about to toss it into the stream when he stopped, looking almost comically stricken. “Oh, Lord, I forgot. I am not supposed to be doing this. Miri warned me that if I ever came into these woods, there are fairies here. I’d be safe only as long as I did no harm to the forest.”

  “Yes, that sounds exactly like something that Miri would say.”

  “She also informed me that a unicorn grazes in these woods, but being only a lowly man I should not expect to see him,” Remy added.

  “Oh, as if she ever has either,” Gabrielle said scornfully. “Although I swear Miri has been hunting for one ever since she was old enough to walk.”

  Remy cast an odd sidelong glance at her. “But you must have seen the unicorn.”

  Gabrielle laughed. “Whatever would make you think that?”

  “The painting that you did for Miri.”

  Gabrielle’s smile faded. Miri had shown that to Remy. The little fool. She was going to wring her sister’s neck.

  “That painting was mere nonsense to amuse Miri,” she said. “If I’d had my way, I would have broken it up and used the canvas and frame for kindling.”

  “That would be a great shame, for I have never seen any painting more remarkable in my life.” Remy floundered, clearly not a man accustomed to putting his feelings into words. Though he looked a little embarrassed, he stubbornly soldiered on. “I felt that if I reached out my hand, I could actually touch that unicorn’s mane and it would feel like silk. His breath would be warm against my fingers. Your painting was—was like—”

  Gabrielle averted her face, hoping Remy would not ask the dreaded question, but he did.

  “Why didn’t you ever finish it?”

  That painting had been the last one she’d ever worked on before Danton had come to invade the peace of her island. The day after he’d ridden away, she’d arisen from her bed, somehow hoping if she ignored the bruises and soreness of her body, her life would go on just as before.

  She dragged her easel, palette, and the canvas out to the bank of the stream as she so often did. But as the hours passed, she found herself staring at the painting. As the day waned and the shadows lengthened, her despair did too.

  Every time she lifted her brush to the unfinished portion of the canvas where the unicorn still awaited legs so he could gallop like the wind, her fingers trembled and she could not make so much as a single stroke.

  The silvery unicorn seemed to regard her with such sad, reproachful eyes. “I am sorry, milady. But only a maiden who remains pure and true can ever hope to capture me. Your magic is lost.”

  But that was a grief that was behind her now. She had other dreams, other ambitions, Gabrielle reminded herself. Turning back to Remy, she even managed a brittle smile.

  “Why didn’t I finish the painting? Goodness! I—I have more important things to do. Besides, that picture only encourages Miri in her childishness. You might not know it, but my sister is nearly thirteen. But if she had her way, she and I would still be out here romping in the woods, playing knights and dragons.”

  Gabrielle didn’t know if Remy entirely accepted her explanation about the picture, but he was too much the gentleman to press her further. He flinched, shifting one hip as though seeking a more comfortable position.

  “Knights and dragons?” he repeated. “What on earth is that?”

  Gabrielle regarded him incredulously. “You know, the knight rescuing the fair damsel from the fire-breathing dragon. You must have played something similar as a boy.”

  “No, I cannot say that I did.”

  “Well, what did you play?”

  “Nothing that I recall. By the time I was six, I was already learning to drill with my father’s regiment, banging the drum as we marched into battle.”

  Gabrielle’s eyes widened in shock. “I am astonished your maman would allow such a thing,” she said.

  “My mother had little say in the matter. She died before I was three. I scarcely remember her except as a gentle touch in the dark when she was tucking the blankets around me at night.”

  Remy spoke calmly, his voice matter-of-fact, but there was a wistfulness in his eyes that tugged at Gabrielle’s heart. She had lost her own mother but two years ago. She’d been sixteen and that had been hard enough. But to be motherless from the age of three . . .

  Strands of Remy’s gold-tipped hair straggled across his forehead again and she reached out to brush them back, only to check the movement, burying her hand in her lap.

  Clearing her throat, Gabrielle sought to bring the conversation back to a lighter note. “Well, Miri and I often played at knights and dragons, right here on this very spot.”

  “And no doubt you were the damsel in distress, all fair and golden,” Remy murmured, his eyes resting admiringly on the hair cascading down her back.

  Gabrielle shook out her tangled mane with a proud sniff. “That shows all you know of me, monsieur. I was ever the knight, brave and bold. Miri was the princess.”

  “And Ariane was . . . was the dragon?” Remy asked dubiously.

  Gabrielle choked with laughter at the idea of such a thing. When she’d recovered, she said, “I admit Ariane seems very suited to the role. But no, she never played with us at all. She was too busy learning healing from Maman, preparing herself to become the next Lady of Faire Isle.”

  Gabrielle’s mouth curled with mischief. “So you never played at knights and dragons? No wonder you are so solemn and serious. I think I should make you play with me right now.”

  “Oh no!” Remy said, shaking his head, looking as horrified by the suggestion as Gabrielle had known he would.

  “I am sorry.” She gave a mock sigh. “How thoughtless of me. I forgot how weak you are feeling.”

  “I am not feeling weak,” he protested. “It was only a brief spell of—of—I am quite recovered, thank you.”

  “Good. Then there is no obstacle to our game.” Gabrielle scrambled to her feet and caught hold of his hand to help him up. “Come on.”

  “Gabrielle,” Remy groaned. “I am not good at games. Especially ones requiring any imagination.”

  “It’s not that difficult. I’ll teach you.”

  When he continued to resist, Gabrielle cast him her most melting look. “Oh, please. It will be so much fun.”

  Remy rolled his eyes up as though appealing to the heavens for help, clearly torn between his desire to please her and a masculine dread of making an ass of himself.

  But Nicolas Remy needed someone to ease that grave look from his eyes, to make him laugh, to forget for a time whatever heavy burden of danger he’d carried away with him from Paris.

  Gabrielle gave him no peace until she got him on his feet. Remy rose slowly, dusting himself off with a long-suffering sigh.

  “Very well, milady. But let me make one thing perfectly clear. There is no way I am going to be the damsel in distress.”

  “Oh, all right. If you insist, I will allow you to be the knight.”

  Remy’s teeth flashed in a broad grin, and Gabrielle was surprised to feel her heart skip a beat. When the man allowed himself to relax, he had a devastating smile, a sweetness of expression at odds with his stern masculinity, made all the more endearing by a slightly crooked lower tooth.

  Gabrielle gave herself a brisk shake, remembering that she was too wise to go all weak in the knees over a man’s smile. Turning from Remy, she said, “The first thing we have to
do, my bold chevalier, is find you a sword.”

  “I believe I had one,” Remy said sternly. “Until you stole it.”

  Gabrielle still felt guilty about that, but she tossed her head and proclaimed, “I didn’t steal your sword. I only borrowed it.”

  “Then why haven’t you given it back to me?”

  Gabrielle didn’t have as ready an answer for that. Perhaps because she feared when he had his sword back, Remy would leave Faire Isle and do something rash and reckless. Like get himself killed.

  “When it is time for you to be gone from here, I will give you your sword. Not a moment before,” Gabrielle informed him. “In the meantime, you will make do with this.”

  She located a stout branch laying upon the bank, the dark wood gnarled and dry, one end arched in a crooked curve. Gabrielle presented it to Remy with a dramatic flourish.

  “Here is your trusty blade, Sir Knight.”

  Remy held up the branch for inspection. “Er—my trusty blade appears a trifle bent, milady.”

  “Oh, unfortunately that happened when you fought the ogre.”

  “Did I win?”

  “Of course,” Gabrielle said with a haughty lift of her chin. “Would I tolerate a knight for my champion who lost his battles?”

  “I don’t suppose you would,” Remy replied. “So. Where exactly is this dragon you want me to slay for you?”

  “You are standing on his tail.”

  “What?” Remy glanced down in confusion at the tree root curled beneath his boot.

  “Oh, beware, Sir Nicolas,” Gabrielle screeched with high dramatic effect. “The dragon is right behind you, raising his razor-sharp claws.”

  Remy spun around, glancing back at the spreading branches he had so recently rested under. “Ah, forgive me, milady. But all I see is an ancient tree.”

  “Alas,” Gabrielle cried. “I have a near-sighted knight.” She cowered behind Remy, resting her hands on his shoulders, pretending to shiver.

  “That is Old Sycamore, the most ferocious maiden-devouring beast to inhabit these woods.” Gabrielle peeked from around Remy’s broad back. “It is a miracle his fiery breath has not reduced us both to ashes by now.”

  Remy cleared his throat, trying desperately to get into the spirit of the game. “Um . . . fear not milady. I will save you from—from yon dragon. Er—over yonder.”

  Clutching his branch, Remy stalked forward and Gabrielle bit down hard on her lip to keep from smiling, reflecting that never had any knight looked more adorably sheepish than Remy did at this moment.

  But he squared his shoulders as he lifted the branch, as though he truly was wielding a sword, instinctively adopting the stance he must have assumed in countless battles. Legs braced, his entire body tensed and at the ready. Gabrielle could not help noting that he shifted most of his weight to the side away from his wound, compensating as he would do if he charged away from Faire Isle to fight the Dark Queen’s soldiers.

  She had done quite right to keep Remy’s sword hidden from him, Gabrielle reflected grimly.

  Remy stared up at the towering sycamore, lips slightly parted as though he thought he ought to say something. But apparently not even for Gabrielle could he bring himself to hurl threats at a tree.

  He swung back the branch instead, preparing to deliver a mighty blow to the trunk, when Gabrielle rushed forward.

  “Wait. What are you doing?”

  He glanced down at her, his rich brown eyes a mixture of embarrassment and doubt. “Dealing with the dragon?”

  “Not like that.”

  Gabrielle could not help grinning. “You forget who I used to play this game with. Miri. She would never be able to endure anyone slaying our poor dear old dragon.”

  Remy lowered the branch, looking pardonably exasperated. “Then exactly how I am supposed to save you from the beast?”

  Gabrielle fluttered her lashes with a mischievously demure smile. “You have to sing him to sleep.”

  Remy stared at her, his expression completely aghast. He shook his head with the vehemence of a man finally pushed to his limit. “No, Gabrielle. No! Absolutely not.”

  Casting the branch aside, he looked fully prepared to bolt back to the safety of Belle Haven, his wound be damned. But Gabrielle clung to his arm.

  “What! Will you abandon me to the dragon’s clutches?”

  Remy cast her a disgruntled look. “Frankly, milady, yes. The idea begins to have a certain appeal.”

  “Sir Nicolas!” Gabrielle said reproachfully, peering up at him with wide, beseeching eyes.

  “Gabrielle.” Remy groaned, a man clearly pleading for mercy.

  But Gabrielle had none. “Sing,” she commanded. “Or you will never see your fair damsel again.”

  Remy glanced about him like a man looking desperately for some avenue of escape and finding none. Remy shifted back to the tree. His chest heaving with the deepest sigh yet, he cleared his throat and began to sing. If Remy did what she had demanded at all, Gabrielle had anticipated that he would produce a martial air, some soldier’s marching song.

  Instead he crooned out the words of a lullaby, his voice low and gruff, a little off-key and hesitant as though he struggled to remember words he’d heard far too long ago in his cradle.

  But the tune and words were both painfully familiar to Gabrielle. Her maman had often sung her to sleep with them. Evangeline Cheney, the incomparable Lady of Faire Isle, regarded as almost a patron saint to the people of this island.

  She had often seemed just as beautiful and distant to Gabrielle, more Ariane and Miri’s mother than hers. Ariane as the eldest daughter and her successor had been closest to Evangeline, Miri, the much loved and protected babe. Gabrielle had frequently felt lost and forgotten, somewhere in between, except for certain nights in her childhood when she had stubbornly remained awake while her more obedient sisters drifted off.

  “Ah, my restless little Gabrielle,” Maman would scold gently. “Whatever am I to do with you?” Her answer to that question would always be to rock Gabrielle in her arms and sing that lullaby, lulling her into a state of peace Gabrielle had seldom known since.

  How odd now to find a trace of that old magic in the rough-timbered voice of a soldier. Her eyes burned with tears she seldom allowed herself to shed.

  Remy’s voice stumbled to silence. “I am sorry. I don’t remember any more.”

  Gabrielle blinked hard, fighting to recover her composure. “That is quite all right, Sir Nicolas. You—you did well. The dragon is asleep. The damsel is saved.”

  “Good.” Remy took a step toward her. “So does this game include a part where the fair damsel rewards her bold knight with a kiss?”

  He tried to make the question sound like a jest, but his deep brown eyes were far too serious for Gabrielle’s comfort. She moved away from him, sweeping her skirts in a grand manner. “A kiss? Fie upon you, Sir Nicolas. It is clear you understand nothing of damsels. We are a cold and cruel lot, requiring our champions to worship us from a distance. The most we ever allow is our knight to kneel at out feet and swear eternal devotion and service.”

  She spoke with forced playfulness, never expecting Remy to comply with her request. But to her consternation, he stepped in front of her and began to slowly lower himself.

  “Oh, Remy, I was only jesting—” she began, but Remy went down on one knee, the effort obviously costing him some pain, for he flinched.

  “Remy, stop,” she said. “The game is over. Do get up.”

  “Nay, milady. You suggested this. Now we will see it through.”

  “Don’t be an idiot. Stand up before you hurt yourself.” She tugged at his sleeve, trying to force him back up. But he captured her hand, imprisoning her fingers in the warm strength of his own.

  Gabrielle attempted to tug herself free, but when Remy tilted his head to look up at her, she stopped, held spellbound. The sun turned his hair to burnished gold, accenting every line worn by pain and hardship on his beard-roughened features. But his eyes se
emed to shine with a light of their own.

  “Milady, my sword is ever at your service,” he said, gathering her hand close to the region of his heart. “I vow by my life’s blood to serve and protect you forever.”

  Gabrielle found herself curiously unable to speak. It was as though the embodiment of every maiden’s dream had sprung to life at her feet. The battered knight after much toil and care, fighting his way to his lady’s side, to sweep her off on his charger and into the shelter of his arms.

  A man of complete honor, integrity, and courage, traits that she had once mistakenly supposed belonged to the Chevalier Etienne Danton. But Danton had only borne the title. He’d been no more a knight than Gabrielle was any longer a maiden.

  Only Nicolas Remy was real and true. Unfortunately, he’d arrived on her island much too late.

  Gabrielle wrenched herself free and stalked away to the edge of the bank, wrapping her arms tightly around herself, disturbed to discover she was trembling.

  When he looked at her, all he saw was the smooth complexion, the golden hair, the blue eyes. He didn’t see all the dark flaws, the ugly stains on her soul. How quick he’d be to turn away if he knew the real Gabrielle.

  She stiffened when she heard Remy’s footfall, sensed him standing close behind her.

  “Gabrielle?” His deep voice sounded sad and bewildered. “Did I do something wrong? I am sorry. I told you I was no good at playacting.”

  Gabrielle swallowed past the lump in her throat. “On the contrary.” She attempted to laugh. “You do it far too well. You almost sounded as though you meant those words.”

  “I did,” he rasped.

  Remy rested his hands gently on her shoulders and a tremor coursed through Gabrielle. Her heart beat as hard as though she suddenly found herself teetering on the brink of a terrifying precipice.

  All she had to do was turn around and she knew that Remy would draw her safe back into his arms and kiss her. One small step on her part and she might change both of their destinies forever.

  The entire forest around them appeared to have gone quiet and still, except for the relentless rush of the stream, the distant call of a curlew, seeming to ring out with a melancholy cry. Too late.