The Courtesan (59 page)

Miri’s pale face appeared at the coach window as the leader of the troop nudged his way forward. For her sister’s sake, Gabrielle was relieved to see it was not that damned Aristide himself. With a show of calm that belied her pounding heart, Gabrielle stepped forward. She angled her face up to the leader of the group and said in accents of icy politeness. “Your pardon, monsieur. But we were on the verge of departing and you appear to be in our way.”

The witch-hunter subjected her to a stone-like stare. He was an older man with deeply creased features, his gray shock of hair doing little to disguise the fact he was missing an ear. “Mistress Gabrielle Cheney?”

“And if I am?” Gabrielle replied with a haughty lift of her brows.

“Monsieur Le Balafre would like a word with you, mademoiselle.”

“At any other time, I should be only too delighted, but today is most inconvenient. Tell monsieur I will be happy to wait upon him as soon as I return to Paris.”

The witch-hunter grinned and spat, his men drawing their swords. “Monsieur Le Balafre would like to see you.
Now.
”

Wolf swore, making another attempt to surge forward. Gabrielle barely caught him in time. “No, don’t.”

“But mademoiselle, there is no way I will allow you to be taken anywhere by these—these devils.”

“I will be all right.” Gabrielle insisted, praying it was true. “Please, Martin. There is only one thing you can do for me. Go and find Remy.”

The shadows lengthened across the taproom. No doubt the Charters Inn had once been a cheerful, bustling place before witch-hunters had commandeered it. Now the fading light cast a gloom-ridden atmosphere over tables empty save for the one where Gabrielle sat waiting. Two of the witch-hunters mounted guard at the door while the rest milled about the yard. There seemed to be so many of them, Gabrielle regretted her decision to send Wolf to fetch Remy. But he had to be informed of the delay to their departure. She just prayed her Scourge would not be impelled to do anything rash.

She was in no immediate danger unless it was perishing from a mix of tension and boredom. She slumped back in her chair, resisting the urge to drum her nails upon the table. For someone who had been in such a blasted hurry to have her detained, Le Balafre was taking a long time to put in an appearance.

Gabrielle had no idea how long she had been left to cool her heels in this wretched taproom. Of course, she understood his tactics. This delay was nothing more than a pathetic attempt to demonstrate his importance and power. To increase her fear by suspense. It had worked for a while. Now Aristide was simply making her angry. Who the devil did he think he was? Just some upstart who had once been no more than one of Vachel Le Vis’s flunkies, the perfidious wretch who had wounded Miri’s heart.

Gabrielle could have endured this ordeal much better if she had been able to persuade Miri to remain behind with Bette and her cat. But she doubted that the entire squad of witch-hunters could have dragged Miri away from her. The leader of the troop had not even really tried, merely shrugging his beefy shoulders and remarking it was no skin off his hide if the girl wanted to tag along.

Miri sat across from Gabrielle looking composed, but very quiet and withdrawn. Gabrielle could only imagine the painful memories that must be racing through her sister’s mind, of the time Miri herself had faced accusations of witchcraft, of the way Simon Aristide had betrayed her trust in him. Gabrielle reached out to her little sister, wanting to offer comfort. But it was Miri who squeezed her hand, saying bracingly, “Don’t worry, Gabby. Everything is going to be fine. Truly. Simon is not like his old master, Le Vis. He does not resort to torture. He—he tries to be fair and reasonable.”

Gabrielle was heartsick to see how hard Miri still struggled to believe in that wretched man, to find some trace of good in him. “Miri . . .”

But as though sensing what Gabrielle meant to say, she drew her hand away. “Simon will not hurt you. I won’t let him,” Miri added fiercely.

Gabrielle had no idea why Aristide had brought her here, what information he sought, what charges he might be prepared to level. But he was a witch-hunter and she knew reason would have nothing to do with it. The last thing she wanted was Miri trying to be her champion.

Before she could say anything more she was distracted by one of the inn’s servants shuffling down the stairs. She would never have noticed him had he not stumbled on the last riser. His hand clutched the rail to halt his fall, his thin fingers far too white and well manicured for someone who had spent a life in menial servitude.

As he edged past their table, he ducked his head, his face lost behind a straggling fall of white hair. She studied him narrowly before experiencing a start of recognition.

Bartolomy Verducci.

At great pains to avoid Gabrielle’s gaze, the man scurried off toward the kitchen. Despite the wig and his hunched gait, there was no mistaking Catherine’s favorite hound. But what the devil was Verducci doing here? The answer was obvious. Spying for Catherine. It made perfect sense that the Dark Queen would keep apprised of the doings of her enemy. She had been far wiser than Gabrielle, who had let herself be caught off guard. Maybe Catherine was even plotting to have something slipped into Simon’s wine.

Much as she deplored the Dark Queen’s methods, that would not exactly break Gabrielle’s heart, but she knew someone whose heart it would. Wrapped in her unhappy thoughts, Miri had not even noticed the old man, nor would she have recognized the possible danger to Simon if she had.

Gabrielle squirmed, wondering if she should say something. Before she could decide, the guards at the door snapped to attention, their gazes shifting to the gallery above them. How long Aristide had lurked there in the shadows, quietly watching her, Gabrielle could not have said. He descended the stairs with a slow, measured tread. Gabrielle rose to her feet, although she scarce knew why. Perhaps because to remain meekly seated gave far too much an advantage to such a man. Aristide certainly knew how to create a presence. She had to give the devil that much.

He was clad in unrelenting black from boots to doublet, his close-shaved head adding to the aura of menace. His eye patch mercifully concealed the worst of the damage to his scarred face. As he reached the foot of the stairs, his steely gaze flickered over Miri.

“What is she doing here? I only asked to see Mistress Gabrielle. Why did you fetch the other one?”

Gabrielle almost choked on her outrage. Her sister had broken her heart over this miserable wretch and he dared callously term her “the other one.” Simon’s men stammered over their excuses as Miri rose from her chair.

Gabrielle stole an arm about her waist, trying to hold her back. But Miri tugged free, moving to stand in front of Aristide where he would be obliged to look at her.

“Don’t be angry with your men, Simon. I insisted on coming. You should have known I would.”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me. Gabrielle is my sister.”

“I have no quarrel with you, Miri. I warned you to stay out of my way.”

“If your way threatens my family, you can hardly expect me to do so.”

Miri tipped up her chin and they glared at each other. Even though they were separated by more than a yard, there was a strange suggestion of intimacy between them as well. A familiarity at odds with two people who hadn’t seen each other in three years.

Gabrielle didn’t know when or how, but her little sister had managed to steal away. Despite all of Gabrielle’s warnings, she had risked going to see this dangerous bastard. But there would be time enough later to scold her little sister for her folly. At least Gabrielle hoped there would be.

Miri and Simon squared off, each with arms crossed. Gabrielle feared the man was on the verge of ordering his guards to evict Miri when he surprisingly relented.

“You may remain as long as you promise to sit over there and be quiet.”

Miri made no such promise, but she stalked to the bench he indicated with such grace and dignity, Gabrielle swelled with a fierce pride in her little sister. Shaking back her pale shimmer of hair, Miri lowered herself gracefully, folding her hands calmly in her lap. As Simon stared at her, something almost warm flickered in his gaze. It was gone when he turned to face Gabrielle.

But for the past two years Gabrielle had held her own among the vipers at court and against all the wiles and malice of a Dark Queen. She was not about to be intimidated by one witch-hunter, even if he was possessed of the devil’s own eye.

Before Aristide could say a word, Gabrielle drew herself up haughtily. “First, let me make one thing clear, monsieur. This doesn’t look like any church or law court that I’ve ever seen.” She swept her hand toward the room with a contemptuous gesture. “This is only the taproom of an inn.”

“I am aware of that. I have eyes.” He added dryly, “At least one.”

“Nor do I see any justices or church prelates. Where is your authority to arrest me?”

“My authority comes from special appointment by the king, as you well know. And you are not under arrest.
Yet.
” he added.

“Then why am I here?”

“Merely to answer a few questions.”

“Really?” Gabrielle replied with a skeptical lift of her brows. “That sounds a bit like the devil saying he only wants to borrow your soul for a while.”

Simon’s lips twitched with a hint of unexpected humor. “You relieve my mind, mademoiselle. I was afraid you might have already entirely deeded yours over.”

When Gabrielle opened her mouth to retort, he held up one hand to stay her. “All I want to do is make a few inquiries. There is a distressing matter that has been brought to my attention. I am hoping you will be able to clear it up for me.”

He held out a chair for her. “Please. Sit.”

Gabrielle trusted neither his courtesy nor his reassurances, but it was not as though she had much choice. She lowered herself into the chair. Before Aristide could assume the seat opposite her, one of his men rushed into the room. He drew Aristide aside and whispered urgently in his ear. The guard seemed quite agitated, but whatever he imparted, Aristide remained unperturbed.

“Certainly,” he replied. “Show him in.”

The guard never had a chance to obey the order. There was a scuffling in the doorway and Gabrielle heard a familiar battle-roughened voice growl, “Get out of my way unless you want to part with your other ear.”

Remy.

Gabrielle’s heart leapt. She twisted in her chair just as he stormed into the room, closely followed by Wolf. Several witch-hunters rushed after them, drawing their weapons, but at a quick command from Simon, they all stood down. Remy paid no more heed to any of them than if they had been an annoying swarm of flies. He’d obviously ridden hard to get here, his face streaked with sweat, damp strands of dark gold hair spilling over his brow. His gaze darted about the room until he found Gabrielle, the barest hint of relief softening the hard set of his jaw.

“What the devil is going on here?” he demanded as he strode toward her. “Gabrielle, are you all right?”

It was all she could do not to leap up from her chair and cast herself into the strong comfort of Remy’s arms. But she was far too proud to put on such a display of weakness in front of the witch-hunters. She stretched out one hand instead. “Yes, I—I am fine.”

He took hold of her fingers in a hard clasp, his gaze raking over her as though he needed to ascertain that fact for himself. Wolf had dashed over to Miri, looking very much like he wanted to do the same. But he stopped just short of touching her, whirling to snarl at Simon. “You evil bastard. You keep your foul hands off her, do you hear?”

“I wasn’t aware that I’d ever had my hands on her,” Simon replied with a look of contempt. He and Wolf locked eyes, an inexplicable amount of hostility seeming to radiate between the two young men.

Simon was the first to look away, turning toward Remy. “I assure you there is no need for all of this heroic exertion, Captain.”

“Isn’t there?” Remy took a belligerent step closer. “You know who I am?”

“From what you told my guard when you were demanding admittance, you are Mademoiselle Cheney’s betrothed. My congratulations. You also happen to be Nicolas Remy, otherwise known as the Scourge. Our paths crossed once before on Faire Isle, although we never officially met.”

“Perhaps because I was in the cellar of the house you tried to help burn down while you were safely on the outside.”

A hint of color surged into Simon’s face, a look in his eye that might have been shame, but he rallied, saying smoothly, “A regrettable incident and one best left in the past. I am more concerned with the present.”

“So am I. I would like to know why you’ve arrested my betrothed.”

Simon fetched a wearied sigh. “Not arrested. As I was explaining to Mademoiselle Cheney, I merely need to ask her a few questions.”

“So ask her already,” Remy snapped. “Then we are leaving.”

“Of course. As long as Mistress Cheney’s answers are satisfactory.”

Answers regarding what? Gabrielle fretted. What the devil was he up to? If Aristide was not laying charges against her, what did he want from her? Testimony against some other daughter of the earth. He’d never get anything from her, especially if he was trying to gather evidence against Catherine. If the man was fool enough to take on the Dark Queen, he was entirely on his own.