“Then the man’s judgment is extremely wanting.” Renard’s frown faded, and Ariane felt herself blush a little.
It was foolish to feel so gratified by Renard’s words or the warm light that sprang to his eyes, but she could not seem to help herself. He reached out to capture her hand. Since the hand that did so was not the one bearing his ring, it seemed safe to allow him the liberty.
That is until Renard carried her hand to his lips and not at all in Remy’s polite manner. His mouth lingered, kissing each fingertip in a way that caused her to tremble.
“I—I also have to thank you on behalf of my family, and myself,” Ariane said primly, struggling to ignore the sensations he was arousing. “Once more we all owe our lives to you.”
“You owe me nothing, ma chère. Our bargain of the ring . . . you summon me and I fly to your side, remember?”
“But you can’t fly, Renard. That is one thing that has been puzzling me. I called to you not long before the witch-hunters broke into the house. And still you managed to arrive in time to prevent Le Vis from burning down Belle Haven. How did you get here so quickly?”
Renard turned her hand over, pressing a light kiss in the center of her palm, sending a warm shiver through her. “I was already out and about, patrolling the harbor.”
“Even so, the harbor is several miles from Belle Haven.”
“Hercules is a fast horse.”
Ariane studied Renard, his hooded eyes taking great care to make no contact with hers and she was struck by a sudden realization, something that should have occurred to her much sooner.
“You must have been alerted that Le Vis had landed and was marching on Belle Haven. I never even needed to use the ring to summon you.”
“Of course you did.” Renard pressed his lips to her wrist. But Ariane wrenched her hand free, refusing to be further distracted.
“No, I didn’t. You were already on the way to save us before I even slipped your ring on my finger. Were you not?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, chérie. How could I?”
“And what is more,” Ariane continued inexorably. “I doubt I really needed to use the ring the first time either. If you had known Miri was in danger, you would have come anyway.”
“Ah, but I didn’t know—”
“But if you had, you would have galloped to the rescue, ring or no ring.”
“I hardly see how any of this matters.”
But it did matter very much. In fact, Ariane felt strangely as though a large weight had been lifted from her heart.
“You, my ruthless Comte de Renard, are a great fraud,” she said softly. “Always pretending to be so hard and pragmatic when underneath it all, I think you are as rash and gallant a fool as Captain Remy.”
Renard folded his arms stubbornly across his chest. “What I might or might not have done on my own is of no significance. You still used my ring. Twice.”
“I can count, my lord,” Ariane said with a wry smile. “However, I will not be using it again and not just to avoid becoming your wife. I never fully considered the danger to you until last night. I might have drawn you straight to your death.”
Renard flung up his hands. “Mon Dieu. Now in addition to her other burdens, the Lady of Faire Isle has decided she must seek to protect a great oaf like me.”
“But I had no right to put you at risk.”
“You have every right. I gave it to you when I gave you the ring.”
“Nonetheless, as soon as Le Vis is captured, I think you need to return to the mainland—”
“Think again, chérie,” Renard retorted. “You have a far greater enemy than that witch-hunter and until this threat from the Dark Queen is over, I am going nowhere.”
“But you cannot mean to stay here indefinitely, lodging at an inn—”
“I don’t intend to. I am staying right here.”
“At Belle Haven?” Ariane stiffened. “That is completely out of the question, milord.”
“Twice now, I have allowed danger to come far too close to my intended bride. I don’t ever intend to be that careless again. I mean to remain close to your side even if I have to make camp in the woods, set up my tent at your gates.”
“But—but you can’t—” Ariane had been having difficulty enough resisting the strange temptation to use the ring to summon Renard to her bed. How much harder would it be to resist with the man camped on her doorstep?
But Renard rose as though he considered the matter settled. He sketched her a courtly bow. “Now if you will pardon me, milady, I must go and rejoin the hunt for Le Vis.”
As he headed toward the stables, Ariane scrambled to her feet, trailing desperately after him. “But Renard—My lord, I appreciate your offer of protection, but I would not have you stay here neglecting your own affairs, your estates—”
“My estate will be fine,” Renard said serenely. “I took your advice and found myself a better steward.”
“And—and there is another reason that remaining in Belle Haven is not in your interests.”
“How so?”
“Because if you guard me so closely, you cannot hope I will have need to use your ring ever again.”
Renard paused in his lengthy strides to cup her chin, his eyes warm and intent upon her face. “Ah, but I don’t want you in peril, chérie. I hope you will find a far different reason to summon me in the night.”
That was exactly what she feared. As usual, she was certain Renard read her thoughts all too clearly. He smiled and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her lips before continuing to the stables.
Ariane watched him go with a sigh, uncertain what troubled her more. The fact that there was nothing she could do to shake Renard’s steely resolve or the realization that she very much wanted him to stay.
Her dismay deepened when she turned to see Gabrielle coming through the gardens. Her sister had been angry and distressed enough when Ariane had merely asked Renard to dine. She could not imagine what Gabrielle was going to say when she learned that the comte meant to install himself at Belle Haven.
Gabrielle was already frowning as she marched up to Ariane. “Well? Is he gone?”
“Renard? Ah, er, yes he just went into the stables, but—”
“Not your ogre!” Gabrielle flushed. “I—I mean Captain Remy.”
“Yes, he left early this morning.”
“Oh.” Gabrielle’s thick lashes swept down, veiling her expression. “Well, it’s a good thing the man is gone when we have witch-hunters tearing the house apart looking for him. Only now I don’t suppose I will ever know what this was all about, what kind of trouble Remy was in.”
“I am sorry, Gabrielle. I only thought it best that—”
“Oh, never mind.” Gabrielle swept her apologies aside with an irritated gesture. “I really don’t care to know anymore. With Remy gone, that is an end to the matter.”
She stared at the empty road leading away from Belle Haven and, to Ariane’s surprise, Gabrielle’s fierce expression crumpled, rare tears springing to her eyes.
“The fool thought he was in love with me,” she whispered.
“I know, dearest,” Ariane replied.
She turned back to Ariane with a woebegone look. “I—I truly didn’t ever want to hurt him. But I couldn’t love him, Airy. I don’t have a heart to give to—to anyone.”
No, Ariane thought sadly. The problem was that Gabrielle had far too much heart, proud, passionate, and still recovering from wounds far beyond Ariane’s ability to heal.
Instead, she merely held her arms out to her sister and after a brief hesitation, Gabrielle came to her. Nestling her head on Ariane’s shoulder, she shed a few quiet tears.
“Never mind, dearest.” Ariane stroked her younger sister’s golden hair. “Everything will be all right . . .”
Ariane faltered, wincing over the inadequacy of her words. “I know that you—that all of us have been through some—some grim times of late, but I am sure that all will be well again, just the way things used to be.”
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Gabrielle lifted her head from Ariane’s shoulder to smile bitterly. “With Maman dead and Papa gone missing. Everything was really not all that wonderful, was it, Ariane?”
“No,” Ariane said sadly. “I suppose it wasn’t.”
Gabrielle dashed her hand across her eyes, wiping away the last vestige of her tears. “Sometimes I envy Papa sailing away like he did. I’d rather like to run off myself. Perhaps I should have gone with Remy.”
Ariane cast Gabrielle a sharp look. “Gabrielle, are you certain you did not fall in love with Remy?”
“With the Scourge? Hardly. But since you don’t approve of us going to Paris, perhaps I might obtain a glimpse of the court in Navarre and . . . its king.”
Ariane tensed. “Gabrielle—”
“Oh, don’t look so alarmed. I am only jesting. I daresay Henry of Navarre would be as somber as Remy. No doubt those Huguenots prefer their women submissive and virtuous, which I certainly am not. I suppose I must be content to remain where I am.”
For now.
Ariane read the unspoken thought clearly in Gabrielle’s eyes. The girl’s brief moment of vulnerability was over and Ariane could almost feel Gabrielle distancing herself again. Her heart tightened with the knowledge that she was not going to be able to check her sister’s unhappy ambitions forever.
Chapter Nineteen
Miri crouched low behind the trees as the patrol galloped by, single file down the narrow path through the woods. None of the riders spared a glance in her direction. After a futile week of attempting to track down the remainder of the witch-hunters, the comte’s men were no longer being so vigilant. Most of them, including Renard’s cousin, Toussaint, had all but given up.
She crept from her hiding place, shaking the leaves from her skirts, then tore off running, dodging nimbly through the trees. Unhampered by the haversack fastened to her back, she did not slow her pace until the woodland thinned, the terrain growing more barren and rough. It ended abruptly in a rugged stretch of coast, the channel water slapping against the jagged rocks.
Miri picked her way more carefully as she climbed up the cropping of rock that jutted out over the secluded cove. Halfway up the ledge, bracken concealed the narrow entrance to the cave where Miri had frequently come to grieve in solitude for her mother and pray for the return of Papa. Her own secret place that she had never shared with anyone . . . until now.
Miri placed her fingers in her mouth and imitated the cry of a curlew. She waited anxiously until she heard a shrill reply. As she drew closer, the brush at the mouth of the cave rustled and a lithe figure emerged.
Clad in a simple linen tunic and trousers, he appeared little different from any of the other fisherman’s sons or peasant boys on the island. Simon’s dark curls tumbled over his milky brow, his hair swept by the breeze coming in off the sea.
Her heart did a little lift to see him safe and undiscovered for another day. Since word of the attack had spread, most of the people on the island would willingly have seen Simon dangling from the end of a rope.
Miri only wished she could find the words to make them all understand that Simon was different. Separated from his dread master, his hideous black robes discarded, he was neither witch-hunter nor devil. He was only . . . Simon.
As she clambered up the last few rocks, he reached his hand down to help her the rest of the way and Miri was grateful. Her skirts were something of a nuisance, but she knew that Simon did not approve of a girl going about in boy’s clothing. Besides, he was now wearing most of what masculine apparel she owned.
His lean strong fingers closed about her wrist, hauling her up beside him.
“Ah, mademoiselle. I was beginning to fear you had abandoned me.”
“That I never would,” she assured him.
Simon flashed her one of those smiles that caused her insides to melt. She was glad when the sea breeze tangled her hair across her face, concealing her faint blush. She divested herself of the haversack and Simon pounced upon the contents eagerly.
He laughed a little when he saw all that Miri had brought, bread, fruit, cheese, half a roasted chicken, some cake.
“You are not feeding an army, mademoiselle.”
“But I don’t want you to starve,” Miri protested.
“There appears to be little danger of that,” Simon said. He perched on the ledge of the cliff as he began his meal, dangling his feet over the side.
He devoured a leg of chicken, some of the bread and cheese from the pack, pausing to take sips from the small flask of cherry cordial. Miri was content to watch him, marveling that she should find a mere boy of such interest. Everything about Simon fascinated her. Gabrielle had told her that witch-hunters were distorted, that their man parts were all puny and shriveled. That was why they hated women so. But Miri could not believe that any such thing was wrong with Simon.
He took a deep swallow from the flask, beads of moisture clinging to his lips. He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. His lips looked so smooth and firm and a strange quiver went through her.
When Simon noticed her intent regard, he smiled a little. Miri had a feeling that just like Gabrielle, Simon was not unaware of the powerful impact of his own beauty. She blushed.
“So have you had enough to eat?” she asked.
“More than enough. I will save the rest of your bounty for later. You have done far better by me than the poor supper that I once provided for you. Our fortunes appear to have quite reversed.”
“But you are not a prisoner like I was, Simon.”
“Am I not? I see no way of escaping from this island and I doubt if I can keep hiding forever, even with your help.”
Miri fretted her lower lip. “I have been giving some thought to that. I believe we should approach my sister, Ariane—”
“No!”
“But Ariane is a great deal like my Maman. She is very wise and—and forgiving.”
“She is also in thrall to the demon, Renard.”
“Renard is not a demon—”
“Oh, is he not? You did not see what he did to the rest of my order.”
“Yes, I did,” Miri whispered. Her mind was still haunted by the images of that dreadful night. The violence of men was something that horrified and confused Miri, this strange ability to hate and maim, spill blood over what often seemed the most senseless of reasons. For gold or possessions, or . . . or because one didn’t like the way another man looked or prayed. Or even worse, sometimes merely for sport.
“If you saw the comte’s handiwork, I don’t know how you can defend him,” Simon went on thickly. “Brother Jerome was a kind and righteous man. He was only trying to help me save my master when Renard pierced him clean through.”
“But your master was setting our house on fire,” Miri said in a small voice.
“That was an accident. Master Le Vis was attempting to get away and he brushed his torch against the tapestry. We didn’t come to your house to hurt anyone, Miri. We were only searching for Captain Remy, a heretic and dangerous rebel.”
Did Simon truly believe that? Miri wondered. She saw from his expression that he was trying hard to do so, but his eyes were filled with a certain amount of shame and confusion.
“I know that you think my master an evil man and perhaps sometimes in his zeal for—for justice, he does make mistakes. But if you only realized how good he has been to me.”
“But he abandoned you. You said that he got away in the boat and just left you here.”
Simon’s lashes swept down, momentarily concealing his dark, expressive eyes. “We got separated during the flight. Master Le Vis probably believed that I was dead like all the others.”
Miri touched his hand timidly. “Then this could be your chance to begin a new life, Simon. Become something else besides a witch-hunter. Please let me go to Ariane and the comte and intercede for you.”
Before Simon could protest, she rushed on. “I thought the comte a very bad man when I first met him, but truly he is
not. He sometimes can be too overbearing with Hercules, but we have been working on that these past few days. Renard is getting much better at charming horses.”
“Mon Dieu, Miri! You should not allow that demon man to teach you any of his evil magic.”
“I have been teaching him,” Miri said indignantly. “And not all magic is evil.”
Simon pursed his lips. “Master Le Vis frequently read me the Bible, and the Good Book warns against any sort of necromancy. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”
“Well, my father used to read me the Bible and it also says that the great King Saul consulted the augury of a wise woman.”
Simon regarded her in astonishment. “You are familiar with the Bible?”
“I am a daughter of the earth, not some ignorant savage. We believe in God. We also believe in the spirit of the great mother earth. My maman taught me that religion does not have to be so narrow.”
Simon only shook his head and patted her cheek. “Ah, Miri, there is so much you don’t understand.”
Miri liked the feel of his hand, but she resented his patronizing tone. “I understand far more than you do, Simon Aristide. Even if you are three years older than me.”
“Three years, is it? I thought you told me you were fourteen.”
Miri, mortified to be caught out in her lie, folded her arms across her chest, turning away from him. When Simon cupped her chin, trying to get her to look at him, she angrily tossed her head.
But he persisted. “Miri, please don’t be mad at me. I hate it when we quarrel.”
She hated it too, but sometimes the gulf between her view of the world and Simon’s seemed too wide to ever be breached. But she was not proof against his coaxing dark eyes or the gentle way that his fingers curled around hers. His hand was so warm.
“There may be something in what you say,” he began hesitantly. “I might consider abandoning my profession and going to Ariane for help, but one thing worries me. Your sister might use her ring to send for Renard to cut me down before I have a chance to say a word.”
“You know about the rings?” Miri asked in astonishment.
“I noticed that they both wear identical metal bands with strange markings. That is how Ariane is able to conjure up the demon man so quickly, is it not?”