Médicis Daughter (28 page)

“That was not enough.”

I remember the kiss: his lips on mine, the heat between us on that chilly, rainy night.

“Why?” I ask, trying to push the image from my mind. “Is it my fault?” I whisper the question.

“Your fault or God’s. You are the perfect match for me, and he made you that way. Only your beauty is equal to my own. Only your wit can divert me. I told you when you chose
la belle Rouhet
for me that I would make my own choice next, and she would put all others to shame. You are that choice. You draw me to you by every action and every breath.”

I swallow hard. It is as I feared. However unwanted, the ardent attention I have received is somehow of my own creation. “Brother, I do not mean to tempt you to wish for more than we can, as siblings, have. I swear it.”

“You protest that you do not knowingly entice me. That may be so. But having been made aware of my attraction, you do most deliberately spurn me.” His voice, though soft, brims with fury. “I have my pride, Margot. As you are superior to every other lady of the Court, I am superior to every other gentleman, yet you prefer another.”

“I have foresworn the gentleman.” My voice cracks. “You have my solemn oath.”

“Then finish what you have begun and give your love to me.” Leaning closer, he takes a slow, deep breath, and I shiver, knowing he inhales my scent as a hound would the aroma of his prey. “Think careful before you answer, Margot.” His lips are so near my ear that I can feel them moving. Truly I am as a cornered animal, and my heart races accordingly. “This is your second chance; there will not be a third. Say no and make a sworn enemy of one who stands ready to adore you.” His lips touch the place where my ear meets my face. The kiss is tender, and chaste, but I know the kisses that will follow, should I offer any encouragement, will be far from innocent. I force myself not to move—not until I’ve come to a decision.

My brother will make a dangerous enemy. He is unscrupulous. His power with Mother is vast. During these weeks of recovery I have tasted his rancor. The thought of months or even years of such treatment makes me feel hopeless and exhausted. I do not know that I have either the courage or the strength for a prolonged struggle with Anjou.

If I give myself over to him, my horrible sin cloaked by the gathering dusk, what will I gain? Peace with Anjou; a restoration to Her Majesty’s good grace; and, as my brother guards his possessions jealously, protection from Guast. These are not insubstantial benefits.

“I am waiting,” he whispers.

I hope God is looking elsewhere. Turning my face to my brother, I take his hand and put it upon my breast. He needs no further urging. His mouth closes on mine and for the second time I feel his tongue slide between my lips. Bile rises in my throat but I swallow it down determinedly. The hand that was on my breast travels upward, unties the neckline of my shift, then slips inside, making first contact with my bare flesh. I feel panic very like that I felt in the garden at Plessis-les-Tours. It takes all my self-control not to scream. Using his free hand, my brother yanks the pillow from behind me so that I fall back flat against my bed. He lies beside me.

“Oh, Margot,” he murmurs, kissing my collarbone, “tell me that you love me.”

Forcing myself to put a hand into his hair, I focus my eyes on a seam in my tent. “I do.” The words sound choked, and I pray Anjou thinks they are so as a result of passion, not fear and disgust.

A hand runs along my thighs where I have pressed them together. I begin to pray, though I do not know what I am praying for, and though I am certainly not worthy of God’s attention in this moment. Miraculously, Anjou’s hands are gone from my body.
Perhaps he is satisfied. Perhaps my ordeal is at an end.
The thought is barely formed when my brother opens the neck of my shift wider to reveal both my breasts. “So perfect. So white,” he murmurs in obvious delight. “Like Venus. That is what you are, goddess of love. My own goddess.”

His mouth grazes the flesh of the breast nearest him. His hand returns to my legs, trying to push between them. I am drowning in my own terror. I know that I should open my thighs, but I cannot. I am desperate to keep my brother’s hand out, as desperate as the citizens of Saint-Jean-d’Angley are to keep him from their city.

“Do not be afraid,” Anjou croons. “I mean to give you pleasure. All the pleasure that a goddess deserves.”

I try to focus on the burdens that will be lifted once I capitulate. I manage to relax my muscles slightly.

“That’s right,” Anjou urges, slipping his hand between my legs and running it upward until it comes to rest against my crotch. “The first time is the hardest. Soon you will spread your knees willingly, I promise. And I will make you sing my praises even as I sing yours.”

The first time!
Suddenly it dawns upon me that this coupling—such an abomination to all that is holy—will not be a one-time event. Letting my brother take my maidenhead will bring peace, but to keep that peace I will be forced to lie with him again and again. My sin will be perpetual until he tires of making me a sinner. Here is a thing worse than anything I can imagine—worse than death; certainly worse than loss of the Queen’s favor or my brother’s enduring enmity.

“No!” I cry out. I grasp the hand that would violate me and wrench it from me.

Anjou laughs, as if my struggle were a game. Plucking his arm from my grasp, he wraps it around me and pulls me against him. “I can be patient,” he says. He moves in to kiss me and I bite his lip. I can taste blood. I know by his cry of pain and surprise that it is his. He releases me to put his hand to his injured lips and I use the moment to my advantage, shoving him as hard as I can. He falls off my cot and lands with a satisfying thud on the floor.

Grabbing the bell from the table beside my bed, I ring it violently. “Gillone, I need you!” I cry.

Anjou jumps to his feet. The look he gives me is so hate-filled that I wonder if even the arrival of Gillone will keep him from doing me violence. But he exhibits a cold self-command reminiscent of Mother. Touching his lip, he removes his hand and looks at the blood upon it. “Those who draw blood from me always regret it. I meant what I said—I did not wish you dead—but after this, you may yourself wish it.” Casting a glance in my glass, he straightens his doublet, then draws back the flap of my tent to admit Gillone. “Your mistress has suffered a relapse,” Anjou says. “I fear the effects of her illness may be lifelong.”

*   *   *

When Saint-Jean-d’Angely capitulates we set out for Angers. I am too weak to ride. Charles gives me his litter, placing me in it himself each morning. Henriette sits beside me as we arrive in Angers. Heedless of the cold and of Henriette’s disapproving look, I open my curtain to see the stout, round towers of the fortresslike château. Tonight we will dine and sleep indoors for the first time in a long while, and such simple pleasures will be delightful. “Do you think Ambroise Paré will permit me to bathe?” I ask my friend. I would dearly love to wash away the last traces of my fever—and the lingering feeling of uncleanliness left behind on my flesh by Anjou’s hands.

“Why need Monsieur Paré be consulted? Leave it to me.”

“Then perhaps I can go to the chapel.” I would be clean in spirit as well as in body. Closing my eyes, I imagine kneeling before the splinter of the true cross brought to Angers by Saint Louis, asking God to make my soul new again.

As we draw into the courtyard, my spirits are the highest they have been since that dreadful day when the Seigneur du Guast began my undoing. Charles dismounts and makes his way through the throng toward my litter. I smile at him, but in the next instant less welcome faces come into view—the Duc de Guise and his uncle the Cardinal. Why are they in Angers? My mother’s eyes ask the same question as she stands beside Charles.

I glance past the Queen to the Duc. His face is stricken. He takes a few steps forward and then draws back.
Good.
I pray that he will keep his distance. To approach me now would confirm everything Anjou has said. Anjou glides to Guise’s side, speaking to him, pulling him forward even as Charles offers an arm to help me from my litter.

“Here is a gentleman particularly desirous to inquire about our sister’s health.” Anjou nearly shoves Henri forward, smiling unctuously.

“Your Majesties.” The Duc bows. “Your Highness.” He inclines his head without meeting my eyes. His obvious pain wrings my heart, but not sufficiently to make me regret wishing him elsewhere.

The Cardinal de Lorraine, on his nephew’s heels, bows as well. “Your Majesties,” he says, “we were in the greatest apprehension when we heard of the illness in the royal camp, and prayed continuously that His Majesty and all dear to him would be spared.”

“We were, praise God, entirely untouched,” Charles replies without appearing to sense anything is amiss. Perhaps Mother has not related to him the rumors brought to her by Anjou.

“Your Majesty,” I say, laying a hand on Charles’ arm, “I am fatigued. May we go in?”

“Of course. Duchesse de Nevers, where is my sister’s cloak? Throw it about her shoulders lest she take a chill.”

Henriette moves in, giving me a pointed look. Having placed the cloak about my shoulders, she takes the Duc’s arm. “Will you help me find my sister, Sir? I am sure you are eager to see her.”

Bless her!
As Charles leads me in one direction, Henriette and Guise go in the other. Yet the damage is done. I hear Anjou say to Mother, as they walk behind me, “How singular. Here waiting for her is just the balm Margot needs. I wonder: Did the fair Duchesse summon Guise or did our sister?”

Gillone is in my room. I sit on the edge of the bed and she kneels to remove my shoes. Mother lingers. We both know why.

“You look tired,” she says. “I know we spoke of your dining with the Court, but perhaps it is best I have something sent up.”

I should be disappointed, but instead I am relieved. I do not need to be in company with the Duc. “I appreciate your solicitude, Madame. I am well content to keep to my rooms.” My dream of visiting the chapel fades; any foray outside this room would only provide Anjou with fodder for gossip that I rendezvous with Guise. Even staying shut in may not be enough, my brother may insinuate the Duc waits on me.

“I would be happy for some company, however, if Your Majesty would be so kind as to send someone.” I deliberately fail to name a choice of companions, hoping to impress upon my mother that I have no fear of spies.

Alone, I try to think what is best to be done. I cannot send a note to the Duc. Yet, as long as he does not know Anjou makes trouble, Henri is likely to unwittingly provide fodder for my brother’s wicked campaign. I would warn him, yes, and more than this I would reassure him that my health is no longer in danger. The pain in my breast when I recall his face as it looked in the courtyard reminds me that resolving to give up the Duc did not render me suddenly unfeeling toward him. I must be pitiless with myself in rooting out the unwise affection, but to feel no pity for Henri would be both impossible and unchristian.

A knock announces the arrival of the Baronne de Retz, always Mother’s first choice when I must be spied upon.

She greets me with a kiss before settling down in a chair. “Shall I read to you?”

She has barely begun when Henriette enters with Charlotte and followed by a dozen servants bearing a copper tub and vessels of steaming water.

Baronne de Retz gives the Duchesse a questioning look. Without missing a beat, my darling friend says, “Her Highness’s physician recommends a bath.” How glibly Henriette lies. Someday I hope to be able to equal the feat. It is a marvel, and very useful. The room is filled with bustle as the tub is screened from the door and filled. Relaxing into the water, I seek an excuse to send my
gouvernante
far enough away to converse with my friends.

“Baronne, if you would be so kind as to continue reading…” The moment the lady returns to her chair on the other side of the screen, Henriette whispers in my ear, “Is it true you are quits with Guise?”

“It must be so,” I whisper back.

“Madame de Sauve,” Henriette says more loudly than necessary, “will you bring those last pitchers.” Then, dropping her voice to a level certain to be masked by the sound of the pouring water, she says, “I am glad you recognize that no man is more important than your own fortunes, but surely the appearance that you have given him up would be sufficient. The Duc is heartbroken.”

The Baronne de Retz pauses to turn a page. I sit silent, a lump rising in my throat. When the reading begins again, I take Henriette’s hand and whisper, “I am sorry for it. Tell him so. But my sorrow changes nothing. Tell him that as well.”

“And I thought you were falling in love with him.” I avert my eyes. “Well, my sister will be glad to hear you are done with him.”

My glance snaps back to Henriette and she nods. “I thought so.” She lets the topic die and I lie back and close my eyes, struggling to keep from crying. Why is it so painful to do what is right?

*   *   *

Her Majesty comes to collect me for Mass in the morning. The walk to the chapel is the longest I have taken since I fell ill. I find myself revived by the sight of the altar and the colored light streaming through the windows that tinges my flesh with a holy glow. Charles is delighted to see me and fusses over my comfort. I do not see my Duc. And that is good. Then the Cardinal de Lorraine climbs to the altar—a jarring sight. His face is too much like his nephew’s. Once His Eminence opens his mouth, however, his words and not his looks become my focus.

I know that God is everywhere, always, but while often I must take that on faith, this morning I feel His presence. A great calmness comes upon me. Even Anjou, only a few places from my own, cannot spoil the hour. Fortified by the Blessed Sacrament, I find I am able to catch sight of the Duc as I leave the chapel without undue inquietude. This is just as well, for while I have forsworn any inappropriate contact, I will surely need to meet with him on common occasions. If only he will not accost me, I believe all will be well.