Daughter of Silk (22 page)

Fabien’s impulse was to hotly deny every word of this revelation. This must be a ruse after what he had just heard from the mouth of Catherine herself. Peace? There would be no peace.

“Milles diables, but this must be trickery of the darkest sort.”

Maurice shrugged languidly, as though he had now lost all interest since hearing Sebastien was safe and still in favor with Catherine.

“Then speak to Prince Condé yourself. I have more pressing mat- ters to attend, Cousine Marquis. But I will tell you this one thing more, learned not from the duchesse, but a belle dame at court who knows. It was none other than le Cardinal de Lorraine who sent Sebastien with the royal summons to Amboise.”

“The cardinal!” Fabien could scarcely take it in. “Treachery. What else can it be? Ask yourself why it is the Bourbon princes and Calvinist nobles have been requested to come to an important council meeting at Amboise after Avenelle betrays a Huguenot plot. How many edicts have there been in our lifetime?”

“Several at least,” Maurice said.

“All of them repudiated by the Guises before the ink dried on the page,” Fabien murmured thoughtfully. “So why another? And why now does the cardinal call for the Bourbon princes and nobles to Amboise for the kiss of peace?”

“Strange to fathom, is it not?” Maurice agreed.

“Or is it?” Fabien did not like it at all. “This smells of a trap.”

“If you ride to Moulins, take caution. Adieu, mon cousin.” He strut- ted away.

Fabien returned to the line of calèches and baggage wagons. His mind was busy.

So Sebastien was sent to Prince Condé with a royal summons, but assuredly that summons came not from Francis but the Guises and Catherine.
Could this proposed edict of pacification be genuine?
Surely

Sebastien would be wise enough to see through le Cardinal de Lorraine’s sending him to Prince Condé. The question now was, did Sebastien know of Avenelle’s betrayal of the Huguenot plot before he rode off to Moulins? If not, he was at a disadvantage.

As Fabien neared Marguerite’s calèche, he saw Maurice again, this time f lirting with one of the charmante ladies-in-waiting. As Fabien passed by he reached over and plucked the ripe rose from Maurice’s surcoat.

“Merci, mon cousine.”

He walked to Princesse Marguerite Valois who stood outside her royal calèche under a silken, gold-fringed canopy sipping some refresh- ment. Coming before her, Fabien bowed deeply and handed her the rose with
fanfaronade
.

“For you, most fragrant of all f lowers, my undying fealty.”

Margo laughed, and though he knew she had taken note of the earlier meeting he had had with Henry de Guise, he was sure she had not over- heard. Nor did he want her to guess they had nearly come to swords at Henry’s challenge. Presently, her one bel ami was Henry de Guise. Fabien thought she might have called Henry foolish for his rash challenge, for though his father the duc was a masterful soldier and the younger Henry was fair with a sword, Henry was not capable of mounting an adequate defense in a match against him. Fabien was kindly disposed toward Margo, who perhaps was the least cruel of the Valois children, and their bantering friendship had endured for years.

He glanced about for Rachelle and located her, but she had not seen him yet. She stood in the courtyard nearest the garden with the rest of the ladies-in-waiting, talking to Louise de Fontaine. Charlotte de Presney walked up to the group of ladies, and as she took in Rachelle’s rich brown-auburn hair, her face was easy to read from even this distance.

“There will be jealousy between those two,” Marguerite said, watch- ing Rachelle and Charlotte. “If there is, I know who I shall blame. Charlotte is the worst of cats.”

Fabien leaned into the shade beside Marguerite, taking the goblet of refreshment she offered him.

“Now why, cherie princesse, did you need to call Rachelle Macquinet to Amboise?” Fabien asked in a wearied voice. “Have you not enough

belles gathered about you that you need this one as well? And with rumors of trouble brewing.”

Margo smiled, her eyes f lirting as always, and she extended her white hand to be kissed.

“La, la, Fabien, mon ami, but how beau you are this day. Madame Charlotte de Presney is most unhappy. She claims you have been breaking her heart. Ah, how cruel of you.” And she laughed, her eyes twinkling.

He smiled. “Cherie princesse, do not grieve. If her heart is broken, I assure you, it is only because it is so tender. But we may take solace in her quick recovery, for she need but set her heart upon another and it will be quickly healed.”

Margo gave him a delighted look from beneath long lashes. “But of course, my beau Bourbon, you are taken with my new mademoiselle. Is it not so? Oh yes, I know, it is the talk already among the ladies at court. She has made them all so jealous. And Charlotte has been trying to get your attention and has thus far failed. Charlotte does not often fail.”

His voice was dry. “So I have noticed, Princesse.”

“Oh, do not be so
sotte
and formal. You have been calling me Margo for years. So you find my Rachelle of much interest, do you, mon amour?”

He followed her gaze to the courtyard where Rachelle stood with the ladies-in-waiting. As if sensing his scrutiny, Rachelle turned her head. The distance between them was too great for speech, but he bowed toward her and she curtsied. Charlotte de Presney appeared to take note of this exchange and the displeasure on her face was evident.

“I requested Rachelle Macquinet to attend me at Amboise,” Marguerite said.

“Can you not find another? Ladies are easy to come by, are they not? Look how many courtiers wish their daughters to serve you. Why not return her to the Chateau de Silk where her skills and interests lie?”

Marguerite grimaced.
“Nenni.
She behaves well. You are wrong.

Loyal ladies are not easily found, and Rachelle pleases me well. Madame de Presney has cast her eyes on Henry. I cannot trust her. If I see her do so again, I shall have her punished. I mean it. Do not look at me like that. She is a spy for my mother. As if I did not know this. I may put Rachelle in her place as my maid-of-honor.”

“Margo, la belle, do me a favor?” “But yes, what is it?”

“Do not make her your maid-of-honor. See that she is protected from your ways — and do not make her the object of Charlotte’s wrath.”

Margo arched her dark brows, then laughed good-naturedly. She reached beckoning bejeweled fingers toward his chin, but he caught her wrist.

“Fabien, I should be insulted at such wanton words. But from you? I will take my reproofs. So you have special interests in Rachelle Macquinet, do you? Ah, this will not please your cousine. Maurice too is interested in the Daughter of Silk.”

“My interest will displease many of the strutting cocks. But she is young and innocent. Keep her so,
ma fleur
, or you shall hear from me.” He smiled winsomely.

She pursed her lips and made a kissing sound. “La, la.” “Do as I ask, ma cherie?” he requested seriously.

“I shall keep her under my sisterly wing, I promise you.”

Fabien winced and Margo laughed, then she beckoned for one of her pages to assist her into the calèche.

“Au revoir, Fabien, unless you care to ride with us?” “I have other business.”

Marguerite took her chief place in the lush velvet seat of the calèche, her principal ladies coming forward, one by one, to be assisted in beside her.

Rachelle was about to enter the second calèche with attendants of lesser position when Marguerite sent word through a page, instructing her to come forward and ride with her, no doubt for Fabien’s sake.

When Rachelle neared Marguerite’s calèche, Fabien took her arm and turned toward the princesse. “Five minutes, Princesse.” And he walked with Rachelle to the edge of a nearby garden where bougainvil- lea rambled along a stone fence.

“Monsieur Fabien, you have made me the point of every woman’s jealous attention.”

“You imagine it, I assure you,” he said too lightly. He did not wish to acknowledge he was sought after, for it seemed to him the utmost of

foppery. “This decision for you to journey to Amboise is most unfortu- nate, Mademoiselle.”

She did seem troubled, but he also noticed the excitement f lickering just below the surface of her eyes.

He grinned. “I vow you are enjoying this unexpected change in your future.”

She lifted her chin with dignity. “Should I not, Marquis? Is it not an honor to serve Princesse Marguerite?”

He glanced the short distance to where Maurice and his lackeys were watching them. Maurice stood lounging against the courtyard wall, arms folded.

“That depends,” Fabien said ruefully. “You know, do you not, that you are as a lamb among wolves? One bite, ma belle, and you are gone, I promise you.”

Her dimples showed. “How graphic you are. You are not, are you, among those hungry wolves?”

He regarded her, arching a brow. She suddenly flushed and looked toward Marguerite’s calèche. “I must not keep the princesse waiting . . .” “You are not. We will not depart until the royal entourage of Francis goes before us. Know that I have tried to change Margo’s mind on mak-

ing you one of her ladies-in-waiting, but she is insistent.”

“Monsieur, I believe my days are planned by One far greater than the princesse. There is a divine purpose in my being called to her side. Perhaps I shall be used of God in some way, either to help the princesse personally or my fellow Huguenots.”

Her simplicity was part of what attracted her to him, but it was also annoying.

“I cannot imagine a lamb walking boldly into an arena of wolves to reason with them of their need to discipline their ravenous appetites.”

She refused to yield under his gaze. His eyes narrowed. He had expected her to be afraid, overwhelmed by such company, but instead, she was committed to the notion that she had been called of God.

“You would not listen if I told you the Bastille is full of men and women who also had the same noble belief? Yet they will undoubtedly die.”

“Death is not the end. They look beyond the fiery stake to enter the Lord’s pleasure.”

For a moment he became frustrated with her calm confidence. “Actually, what I am called to Amboise to do is rather simple.” “Is it?” He did not believe her for a moment.

“Yes. I shall be adding to Marguerite’s wardrobe, and there is some talk of a wedding, though distant, of which I shall have the great honneur of assisting.”

“Who told you of Margo’s wedding?” He saw the hesitation in her eyes. Then she did understand the risk in going to Amboise, though she affected bonne cheer.

“The Queen Mother mentioned a future wedding.”

“Then it was not Margo’s idea to make you an attendant lady.”

He saw the look of alarm break through her affected calm. “It was the Queen Mother,” she said. “You have also heard of Grandmère being sent to Paris?”

“Yes. Curious, but there is more to trouble us. Duchesse Dushane, your kinswoman, has learned the king is calling for a council at Amboise to discuss and sign an edict of pacification. The king is to permit Huguenots the right to worship in peace. The Queen Mother has sent Sebastien to Moulins with a summons for my kinsmen to appear there.” “But this is bonne news, Marquis, is it not? I confess I am relieved

by this turn of events, yet bewildered as well. An edict! Then Sebastien is safe?”

“Safe? Perhaps none of us are safe. No, not as long as the House of Guise holds sway over the king through their niece. Mary is obliging to her oncles. She is very young, as is Francis. I know them, and aside from being wholly taken with each other in amour, they hardly under- stand what is happening in France. The ruling authority lies somewhere between Catherine and her enemies, the Guises.”

“She fears and despises them. Yes, so I have heard.”

“She understands she is not popular enough with the people to stand against them should they come against her. The name of Guise is more esteemed in Paris than is the name of Valois. Catherine walks a balanc- ing act between the House of Guise and the House of Bourbon, and the Huguenots are caught in the midst. She is loyal to none. She uses one against the other and so maintains her power. What disturbs me is

they appear to be working hand in glove in this royal summons of the Bourbon-Huguenot leaders to Amboise.”

“Your kinsman, Marquis, and the Bourbons, what of them? You say

Sebastien was sent to bring them a summons to come to Amboise. Yet Maître Avenelle betrayed them to the Queen Mother as plotting against her.”

“That is what worries me. Avenelle has laid the plot at the feet of Prince Condé, and one of his retainers, Renaudie. Yet now they are called to sign an edict of pacification. Catherine will not lightly forgive an enemy. So what is behind this summons?”

“Then they will not heed the royal summons to appear at Amboise, surely?” came Rachelle’s hopeful question.

“I am afraid, Mademoiselle, you are somewhat misinformed about how little liberty we possess. We, that is, the Bourbon princes, are not in a position to ignore a summons from the king. Not unless we are willing to be declared in rebellion against the throne. If it comes to that, there is a death sentence.”

“But your kinsman Louis Condé is a
royal
prince. How would they

dare move against him?”

“Princes of the blood are murdered for much less than refusing a king’s call, but Louis is no fool. He does not trust Catherine. He will look upon the summons with the eye of a fox. He will obey the call, but he will come with men-at-arms, enough to make Guise think hard before he tries to arrest him, I assure you. I will ride to Moulins myself to make certain they know of Avenelle’s betrayal.”

He walked her along the wall where roses meandered in untroubled beauty. “Now that you will go to Amboise, do listen to my advice, for I know these people well. Marguerite is reckless, but she will pose no deliberate danger to your life. Beware of Henry de Guise; he is dedicated to his father, the duc. Avoid the Queen Mother when possible. And say nothing of your being a Huguenot.”