Daughter of Silk (43 page)

Fabien . . . Fabien . . .

“It is over. Quick! Come out. The cardinal looks for you. Charles has confessed everything. He admits bringing you here. We do not have much time. We must leave for Vendôme.”

Andelot remained silent, still curled up. “Nappier and Julot are at the postern gate.”

Andelot felt Fabien grabbing hold and pulling him from beneath the cherubs.

Fabien shook him. “Can you understand me? Can you walk?”

He nodded, his teeth chattering, able to move, stiff ly at first, stum- bling to his feet with Fabien’s help. Whereupon Fabien threw an arm around him and together they made their way across the wet courtyard, staying close by the wall.

Fabien whispered: “Do not look about you . . . I will lead, you follow.

Make no sounds.”

Minutes later they reached the low postern gate. The master swords- man Nappier hovered in the shadows with horses.

“He is overcome,” Fabien warned in a low voice. “Be careful with him.”

Julot emerged from the darkness. “Let me take him to a house on the quay, Marquis. The man there is reliable. I shall care for him until he can ride of his own to Vendôme.”

“You can trust this man, Julot?”

“Most certainly. He has long been a friend.”

“Very well then. I choose to ride on. When Andelot awakens, if he chooses to seek me, I will be at Vendôme.”

“We will be there, Marquis.” His dark eyes f lashed with hate. “We will both come.”

Nappier drew near to Fabien. There was an angry grimace on his sweating face. He formed a fist that struck silently but savagely into his other palm. “It is now, Marquis. Now. Let us get that ship and take to the waters of Florida. Let us smash the Spanish galleons that bring gold to Spain that pays for legates like the Guises to kill our fellow Frenchmen.”

Fabien’s own anger surged in his temples with each heartbeat. He had walked in streams of blood and had some of it on the hem of his cloak. He had seen the piled corpses in the river Loire — so many the Loire was dammed up and overflowing its banks.

He turned and looked up at the ramparts of Amboise. As though add- ing its own voice to echo their passion, the moon had come from behind dark rolling clouds. The moonlight fell on the hideous, headless corpses dangling from galleries, rooftops, and walls. Body parts were missing, the grotesque bodies of Huguenots would be left for days until the smell would force Catherine and the court back to the Louvre.

As Fabien stared up at the grotesque silhouettes swinging in the wind, groans came from Nappier and Julot. Fabien felt fingers tighten on his shoulder, and he turned his head to see Gallaudet. His usual com- posed face was contorted and his gray eyes were bloodshot and angry.

“If you go to sink the treasure ships that pay the taskmasters of Spain and Rome, then let me go with you, I beg of you.”

Fabien looked over at Andelot. He was hunched over on his saddle, wet and looking as though he too had emerged from a torture chamber.

Fabien gave a determined nod. “We will get a ship. We will go to Florida as planned for Admiral Coligny and his colony. But we will also sink every Spanish galleon we come across on the Caribbean waters. We will send our own message to the Guises and to Philip. We will continue to fight for our freedom. If necessary, we will die fighting. We will never give up until every Frenchman has the right to choose his own faith in Christ — and read the Bible in French if he so wills.”

“Ah . . .” The sound of approval came from all, until it merged into one determined hum that lit the fires of passion within them.

Fabien walked over to Andelot and gave a squeeze to his arm. “I go to Vendôme, mon cousine. Rachelle is there safe. You are free to do as you will when you are stronger. I hear you have the possibility to return to Paris to the Corps des Pages. I am going to sea. When I return I will see you again. Au revoir, Andelot.”

Andelot stirred. Fabien wondered if he had taken in what he told him. He was ready to turn away when Andelot’s muff led voice murmured, “Au revoir, mon cousine Fabien. Godspeed. And — merci.”

Fabien smiled, reached over, and tousled his damp hair. “Be strong, Andelot. Do not let the evil men who claim they speak for God destroy your gentle faith in the One who is faithful and true.”

“I will try, Marquis Fabien . . . I will do my best.” “Adieu, then.”

Fabien left Andelot, walked into the dark shadows, and mounted. He looked up at the moon and tried to blot from his mind everything but the light.

Without another word he, Gallaudet, and Nappier rode off toward the road to Vendôme, a road that would eventually lead toward the sea, a ship, and St. Augustine, Florida.

You will show me the path of life
.

After the sound of the horse hooves faded into the night, Julot mounted and rode up to Andelot.

“Come, Cousine Andelot, there is a safe house not far. There is dry clothing, hot broth, and a warm fire.”

They rode off together into the night.
Tomorrow, Julot will ride to Vendôme, and I— I must take my own road
, Andelot thought
. A road to Paris, to the Catholic university, to the Corps des Pages
. His heart felt heavy, even empty now. There were no more tears to shed
. Would he meet Monsieur Fabien again? When would their roads merge as one?
He looked up at the starry sky, and his eyes were clear. He murmured, “Yes, God speed us all in the way we are to go. And one day soon bring us together again.”

“Did you say something, ami?” Julot whispered.

Andelot glanced at him. “I am hungry for that hot broth you mentioned.”

“Ah. You are recovering. Just a little farther, Cousine, just a short way down the road.”

Down the road. The road of life . . . was he traveling the right path — the way of truth?

The path of the just is the shining light, that shineth more and more

unto the perfect day.

Grandmère, who had just aided the physician in the delivery, lifted her first great-granddaughter into her arms. The bébé appeared healthy and of joie de vivre.

“Thanks to God our Sustainer and Redeemer for this precious gift of life,” Grandmère said as she looked down at her granddaughter. Madeleine, with tears and sweat glistening on her face, received her first bébé.

“Her name is Joan,” Madeleine said weakly, “named for the coura- geous and lovely Huguenot Queen of Navarre.”

Grandmère leaned over and kissed her great-granddaughter. “And may she walk as courageously through life as Queen Jeanne.”

Madeleine looked up. “Have we heard from Sebastien yet? He is expecting this birth.”

Grandmère had not told Madeleine that Sebastien was missing from the Chambord Palais chateau. She had feared the troubling news would do her and the bébé injury during birth. Now, with the happiness shin-

ing in Madeleine’s brown eyes, Grandmère still could not find the heart to spoil her glowing happiness with this dark omen.

Grandmère reached over and bathed her face with a damp cloth. “Not yet, Madeleine. Perhaps in a few days. Surely you can wait?”

Madeleine smiled. “I will wait another day or two to hear from him.

If not, I will send a messenger.”

“Yes, another day or two, ma cherie. Rest a little while longer. Let us consider our blessings and enjoy what is ours today.”

“Grandmère? Was there not a gift from the queen for the night of the enfant’s birth? A gift for both of us in red boxes?”

“Ah, I had forgotten. But yes, bien sûr. I shall go now and retrieve them, ma petite.”

If ever there is a time of blessing to be grateful for in the midst of trial,

we must seize the moment.
Grandmère left Madeleine and walked through the appartements to her closet.

Sebastien is missing and he may even have been arrested, but did not their great God have all power and authority in heaven and on earth? It was possible that God would move in answer to prayer and return Sebastien to them.

Grandmère retrieved the two red boxes from her trunk and for a moment stood looking at them. She felt the smile on her lips slowly begin to fade, though she could not have said why. The very sight of the out- wardly belle boxes brought the cruel, conniving eyes of Catherine de Medici to mind. Catherine and her pathetic Madalenna spying about on silent feet, reporting back to her mistress the secret things that brought death to the unsuspecting.

Why did Catherine give these gifts to her and Madeleine? And yes, to Rachelle as well?

You are too suspicious, Henriette
, she drew her brows together. The

gowns were most belle, so why would not Catherine wish to reward us? Even a cold, calculating woman such as the Queen Mother would take delight over a work well done.

Yes, too suspicious.

Grandmère forced her smile to return and walked with the boxes into her granddaughter’s chamber. She handed a pretty red box to Madeleine and kept the other for herself. They exchanged smiles and opened their

gifts, while the midwife sat with the enfant rubbing its tiny pink body with a fragrant ointment.

“Oh . . . gloves,” Madeleine sighed. “But how lovely they are.”

“And how well made.” Grandmère took out her own pair. “They are identical, are they not?”

“Yes, how pleasant.”

Grandmère examined the outer material of both pairs, always enjoy- ing the skill of the cut and the stitching of other couturières. She thought back to Rachelle’s meeting with Catherine. How frightened Rachelle had been when she returned to the chambers after returning the key to the listening closet in the Queen Mother’s chest.

Grandmère stood looking at the gloves, remembering . . .

She laid Madeleine’s pair on the bedstand, then walked into her closet and placed her own pair on the table beside her mirror. She would wear them tomorrow when she went to the fruit market.

Teach me thy way, O L
ORD
, and lead me in a plain path, because of

mine enemies.

At Vendôme, Rachelle pondered what her path should now be. She could return to the Chateau de Silk to work with Macquinet silk. Soon now, Maman and Père would arrive from Geneva. How she longed for them! How she wished to be enfolded in their arms, to pour out all that had taken place since their separation, the good things, and the evil doings of the Queen Mother and the House of Guise. Weary in soul, she longed for Bible exposition by the scholars from the theological academy who usually returned with her parents. She wanted to bask in hearing Père Arnaut praying aloud for each member of the family and for the edifying of Christ’s body on earth. She knew their suffering as she never had known before, and her wounded soul needed spiritual balm. There was also a letter from Comtesse Claudine Boisseau, asking Rachelle to come and visit her at the Dushane estate at Orléans. Rachelle remained undecided.

She stood near the steps that led down to the parterre as the sun was setting golden, making the lake sparkle with a cascade of rippling

gems. The breeze stirred her hair and cooled her feverish skin, quiet- ing her restlessness. Her blue satin gown rustled. She looked up at the sky as an evening star was appearing. A smile tugged at her lips as her heart recalled the masque on the river when she and Fabien had strolled together beneath the same gleaming stars. She recalled his embrace, the precious promises.

I could not forget you, ever. Not even if I tried to forget.

He had kissed her, showing her he meant it, and she had clung to him, basking in the protection of his strong arms.

Cherie, I will return . . . I will come back to you.

In her memory she heard his footsteps in the courtyard, heard them coming toward her until the sound became so real that she turned . . .

“Fabien,” she whispered.

She moved toward him in the silken gleam of starlight. In a moment he reached her, drawing her into his arms.

“Ma belle amour.”

The setting sun splashed the vast sky with ruby fierceness. Soon twi- light deepened and the jewels sparkled above, and somewhere a night- ingale sang.

Two silhouettes stood in an embrace beneath the starlight, their lips meeting, reaffirming a promise that whatever tomorrow might bring, whatever distance in time and place might separate them, their hearts would forever beat as one.

End of Book One

Written on Silk

Book Two, 2007

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Macquinet/Dushane/Dangeau/Beauvilliers Family Tree

(Fictional Characters)

Duchesse Xenia Dushane Claudine Dushane-Boisseau Henriette Dushane
(Grandmère) (blood relative to Grandmère) (Comtesse, blood relative to Xenia) (Grand couturière, Chateau de Silk, Lyon)

Bernard Macquinet Arnaut Macquinet Clair Dushane

(cousin to Arnaut) (Comte) (Chateau de Silk, Lyon)

Louis Dushane

(deceased)

Francois Dangeau-Beauvilliers Sebastien Dangeau Madeleine Idelette Rachelle Avril