The Black Witch of Mexico (31 page)

Her father, the King of France, is the most handsome man she has ever seen. In the purple, he is magnificent. His eyes are glacial; a nod from him is benediction, one frown can chill her bone-deep.

He puts his hands on the arms of her chair and leans in. A comma of hair falls over one eye. He rewards her now with a rare smile. “He is a great king, Isabella, and a handsome husband. You are fortunate.”

A log cracks in the hearth.

She raises her eyes. He strokes her cheek with the back of his hand. “You will not disgrace me.”

She shakes her head.

“Much is dependent on this union.”

Her, breathless: “I will not disappoint you.”

Phillip goes to the fire and stands with his back to it, warming himself. It is the heart of winter and this is as cold and draughty a castle as she has ever been in. She can smell the sea. There is ice in the air.

“If he has cause to reprove you, you will listen and obey him. If he is angry, you shall be kind. If he is dismissive, you shall be attentive. Cherish him, give him your attentions. Be sweet, gentle and amiable. Patience is your byword. You will make him love you.”

He stares at her. He can stand like this for an eternity; fix a look on his face as if he is carved from marble. It is unnerving.

“No matter the provocation.”

“Provocation?”

“What do you know of Edward?”

“He is King of England. His father was a great warrior. They say Edward is tall and as fine a prince as England ever had.” (Though it is hard for her to imagine a finer king than her father, or a more handsome man.) She has always promised herself she will have a man just like him: as fair, as strong, as feared.

“Your new husband disputes Gascony with me. One road leads to war. A less thorny path leads to the day when my grandson-to-be inherits the throne of my most ancient enemy.”

“What provocation?” Isabella said.

Phillip frowns.

“You mentioned provocation, Father.”

“Did I? I meant nothing by it. Tomorrow you will be Queen of England. Remember always that you are also a daughter of France. Make me proud, Isabella.”

He nods to her nurse and she is taken from the room.

She can barely contain her excitement. She has rehearsed this moment in her mind for years. A handsome prince, a throne, estates: it is what she was born for. From tomorrow she will live her life at the side of a great king.

Happiness is assured.

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SERIES BY COLIN FALCONER

THE OPEIUM SERIES

From the jungles of the Golden Triangle to the tenements of sixties Hong Kong, from colonial Saigon to the skies of northern Laos, romance and horror collide in a stunning novel of passion and greed and breath-taking action.

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Read a short excerpt below

Vientiane, April, 1959

Noelle thought she would have noticed him even if he hadn't driven his Packard through the front bar of the Hotel Constellation.

He was outrageously handsome, even when he was drunk. He had blue-black hair, with a pronounced widow's peak, swept straight back from the forehead, and the damndest blue eyes. His skin was olive dark and there was a reed-thin black moustache on his top lip. He wore a white linen suit, an affectation usually reserved for visiting potentates and ambassadors. It looked as natural on the Corsican as his own skin. Underneath the suit he was wearing a black silk shirt.

The bar was open to the street, so there were no walls to absorb the impact; but the unexpected arrival of a large burgundy red American automobile with massive rear fins quickly scattered the occupants, who were mostly bored foreign correspondents and diplomats. The chrome bumper bar splintered several rattan tables and chairs, and demolished half of the bamboo bar. Dusty bottles of Vermouth, Byrrh and black rum toppled off the shelves and shattered on the floor.

There was a deathly silence.

Then Baptiste Crocé leaned out from the driver's side and beckoned the startled Lao barman. 'I'll have a large cognac,' he said in French.

There was a ripple of applause from the western journalists, who were also drunk. Any madness was a welcome diversion. At that moment Baptiste saw Noelle, stood on the bench seat of the Packard, and gave her a low bow.

'Imbecile,' Noelle's escort muttered. 'He's drunk. A disgrace.'

Marcel Rivelini was her father's choice for her escort that evening; he certainly would not have been hers. He was one of his business associates from Bangkok, wealthy, sophisticated and insufferable. He was also almost as old as her father. I would not have minded that so much if he had a sense of humour, she thought.

The barman brought the Corsican his cognac. He raised the glass towards her in salute and climbed out of the Packard. He made his way, a little unsteadily, across the bar towards them. Rivelini looked tense.

This should be interesting.

'May I have the pleasure of this dance?'

Noelle smiled. 'But monsieur, there is no music,' she said.

'That is beside the point, mademoiselle. All I want is the exquisite pleasure of having such a lovely young woman in my arms.'

Rivelini stood up and punched him under the jaw. The Corsican fell backwards, breaking another rattan table. There was a hiss of disappointment from the gathered journalists.

Noelle stood up.

'I'm sorry if he offended you,' Rivelini said to her.

Noelle threw her Pernod at him. He gasped in surprise, staring in horror at the stain on his silk shirt. The journalists cheered again.

'You little bitch,' he muttered.

Noelle pushed him in the chest, harder than she intended. He fell backwards, his legs tangled in his chair, and landed in a sprawl among the tables. He twisted his knee as he fell.

Noelle knelt down beside the Corsican.

'Are you all right?' she said.

He was bleeding from the lip. He felt around the inside of his mouth with his tongue. 'Are any teeth missing?' he said.

'You're lucky he didn't kill you. He's a gangster from Bangkok. Are you crazy?'

'Look, my suit's ruined. Bastard.'

'Here, I'll help you up. You're drunk.'

'Just a little.' As she held out her hand he pulled her towards him. 'But not so drunk that I don't know I've just met the most beautiful woman in Asia.'

'Get back in the car.'

Rivelini had struggled to his feet. His knee would not take his weight and he had to lean on a table for support. 'Where are you going?'

'Thank you for an entertaining evening, Marcel,' she said and helped the Corsican into the Packard. Then, to a final chorus of cheers from the journalists, she got behind the wheel and reversed out. A rattan chair was tangled in the rear bumper and got dragged along behind as she drove off down the street.

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NAKED SERIES

Will Magdalena ever see Reyes again? How will she survive in Miami?

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[email protected]
and purchase the entire series for just ($12.99) - that’s a saving of 50%!

JERUSALEM SERIES

Will Rishou ever see Sarah again? Can Netanel and his father escape the coming holocaust?

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Or you can email Jen Talty at
[email protected]
and purchase the entire series for just ($12.99) - that’s a saving of 50%!

Other books by Colin Falconer

New Historical Fiction by Colin Falconer

The Famous Woman Series

'Falconer's grasp of period and places is almost flawless ... He's my kind of writer.' - Peter Corris, The Australian

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