Twilight of a Queen (34 page)

“I—I think I must go to Paris to look after my cousin.”

Xavier frowned at her. “Damnation, Jane. I realize that your experience with me must have left you a little shaken
and bruised. But will you abandon the freedom you have found on Faire Isle to go and be a drudge to that ungrateful wench who has ignored you all these months?”

Jane drew herself up primly. “Abigail is my only kin and she needs me.”

She is the only one now who does
, Jane reflected, but possessed enough pride to keep from voicing the sad thought aloud.

“I have to go and take care of her. It is the right thing to do.”

“It must be a wonderful thing to always be so sure of your path. Things are not always so clear to the rest of us poor mortals.”

Jane flinched at his caustic words. She suddenly felt inexpressibly weary.

“There is nothing to hold you here,” she whispered. “Please just go. I could not bear to see any harm come to you.”

“Thank you for that much.” His voice softened as he added, “You take care as well, Jane. My first wish will always be for your health and happiness.”

For one moment, she thought he meant to sweep her into his arms and kiss her good-bye. But he only bowed with a formality that was most unlike him before striding away.

As she watched him disappear from view, Jane’s eyes blurred. He wished her happiness? How did he imagine that possible when any prospect of such a thing vanished with him?

Sinking back down on the bench, Jane’s tears came at last.

T
HE INN STANK OF MOLD, SWEAT, AND STALE SPIRITS, THE
dim candlelight mercifully concealing the layers of grime that had accumulated over the years. Tucked away in a small village along the Breton coast, the Cheval Noir was not the sort of place to attract respectable customers. But for anyone needing a cheap drink and a dank hole in which to escape for a while, the inn was ideal.

Xavier slumped down at one of the corner tables while he waited for Jambe and Pietro to join him. They were out searching for a vessel to bear them all away from France while Xavier busied himself trying to get drunk.

He eyed the half-empty bottle morosely, unable to summon the will to refill his glass. It was poor quality whiskey,
especially with the taste of it soured by alternating bouts of self-pity and self-loathing.

Only yesterday he had been a brother, an uncle, and very close to becoming a husband and father. Now he was nothing, alone again and a fugitive to boot. But he had only himself to blame.

Pietro had tried to warn him. He could not cheat a vengeful woman like Catherine de Medici and expect to remain unscathed.

There had been a time when he would have laughed to hear that someone had put a price on his head. He was after all a corsair and had never lived within the confines of the law. He would have thumbed his nose at the queen and set sail far across the ocean, beyond the line of civilization, and never looked back.

But for the first time, he had weighed anchor in a place that felt akin to home, surrounded by the warmth and the love of family. To his complete amazement, he had
liked
it.

He should have told them all about his connection with Catherine de Medici. But as the days had gone by and he had become enmeshed on the island, it had become harder to blurt out such a confession. That he had not done so made him look guilty. But damn it, did they all have to be so quick to think the worst of him? Although he didn’t know what else he should have expected. His father had always been swift to do so.

But nothing had ever cut him as deep as that moment when he had watched Jane shrink away from him. And yet how could he blame her? He had brought her nothing but
trouble. He hoped to hell that she was not with child. But even if she was, she was still better off without him.
She
certainly seemed to think so.

She would likely forget him fast enough after she went to wait upon her cousin in Paris, doing her duty, burying herself back in the respectable life she seemed to crave.

And as for himself… Xavier attempted to shrug but ended up taking another gulp of whiskey instead in an effort to blot out those last moments with Jane in the garden.

“There is nothing to hold you here,”
she had said.

Then why did he feel so damned hollow, as though he’d cut out his heart and left it behind on Faire Isle? Before he had met Jane, he had never even thought he had a heart, other than some organ that beat out regular rhythms keeping him alive.

Now all he felt inside his chest was this heavy weight of loss and guilt. Jane had tried to appear so calm, so stoic when she had bid him farewell, but her eyes had told him a different story and Jane’s eyes never lied. He knew he had hurt her deeply, just as Meg had predicted that he would.

And Meg—what had his deception done to her? The girl did not trust easily. Xavier understood that because he was just the same. He had promised the girl that she would be safe from the Dark Queen. But hadn’t he always been good at weaving lies and making rash promises he was unable to keep? He took another swallow of his whiskey, diving deeper into his glass. As always when he was at his lowest ebb, his father’s censorious voice rang loudest in his head.

“I have done my best to teach you the ways of a gentleman. But that glib tongue of yours will be your undoing one day. You have an unholy talent for deception, especially with women, and I have no idea how you came by it.”

“Don’t you?” Xavier had drawled. “I would have to say I came by it naturally, mon père.”

The chevalier had backhanded him so hard, he had fallen off his stool. Xavier rubbed his cheek absently at the memory. It was the only time he could recall his father striking him. The chevalier had raised quite a bruise on his cheek, but Xavier had enjoyed the dubious satisfaction of having pierced through his father’s self-righteous façade.

The chevalier had divided himself in twain, pledging devotion to two different women. When he had no longer been able to deal with all the heartbreak he had caused, he had simply fled across the seas.

Xavier’s reasons might be different but he was about to do the same thing, just run away. His lip curled in self-derision and he raised his glass in a mock salute.

“Here’s to you, Papa,” he muttered. “No matter what you claimed, it would appear that I am your son after all.”

Xavier started to take another swallow of his whiskey, only to thrust it away from him. He regretted pouring out his shaman’s brew. If there had ever been a time when he needed to vanish into his dream world, this was it. It was the only hope he ever had of seeing Jane again, the elusive mermaid of his visions.

All he had was that healing potion Meg had given him. He drew it out, staring glumly at the small vial.

Disillusioned and disappointed in him, Jane would go
to her cousin in Paris, his little wren slamming her cage door shut. Meg would return to living in fear of the old queen, more mistrustful that ever, more tempted to turn to the darker side of magic for answers.

Damn it. He could not just sail away and abandon them. He needed to stop feeling so sorry for himself and find some way to undo the damage he had wrought. But what the devil could he do?

He fingered the vial Meg had given him, holding it up to the candle. Perhaps it was the way the flame reflected against the glass that sparked something in his brain. An idea formed in his mind. A notion so outrageous, so completely mad, it was enough to daunt even him.

Staring at the vial as if mesmerized, he scarce looked up when Jambe and Pietro returned.

Dropping into the seat opposite him, Jambe said, “It is all arranged. We found a small trading vessel making for Portsmouth at first light. The captain said we can work off our passage.”

“That sounds fine. You and Pietro go ahead,” Xavier murmured. “I have other plans.”

“Other plans?” Jambe echoed. “Lad, you may soon have the queen’s men scouring the entire coast. What better plan could you have than getting out of France?”

“If the queen has a price on my head and is searching for me, there is only one place for me to go.”

“And where would that be?”

“Back to Paris, to the Hôtel de la Reine.”

Jambe and Pietro gaped at him.

“You don’t look drunk. But it’s clear you’ve had a drop too much.” Jambe snatched his whiskey bottle away.

“Have you run mad, Captain?” Pietro exclaimed. “Why would you want to do a fool thing like that?”

Xavier flung back his head and laughed. If his men were worried for his sanity he was certain he must confirm their worst fears when he grinned.

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

JANE FOLDED UP ONE OF HER CHEMISES AND LAID IT CAREFULLY
in the bottom of her trunk. When she had been Lady Danvers, wife to a wealthy London merchant, preparing for a journey had been an exhausting ordeal, packing a mountain of clothes and household items, organizing an entire retinue of servants.

Traveling was much simpler when one had more memories than possessions to stow in one’s trunk. She followed up the chemise with a petticoat, a shawl, and her handkerchiefs.

One of the squares of linen slipped from the pile and fell, scattering a trail of dried petals across the bedchamber floor. Jane froze, staring down at the remnants of a white rose as she was assailed by a recollection.

Last week … had it only been last week, it felt like a lifetime ago, she had been sitting in the garden, virtuously attempting to see to some mending. Xavier had been doing his best to distract her, snatching the net from her hair, playfully tucking the flower behind her ear.

Somehow her stitching had ended up in the rose bed and she had found herself perched upon Xavier’s knee, her arms twined round his neck and …

Jane bent down to sweep up the petals, doing her best to sweep the memory aside as well. She cradled the withered remnants in her palm. The rose still managed to exude its intoxicating scent and for one weak moment she was tempted to carefully tuck the dried leaves back into the handkerchief.

She marched resolutely to the window and flung them out, dusting her hands. But as the petals were borne away on the summer breeze, she was engulfed by an unbearable wave of sadness.

It would get easier when she was in Paris, she told herself. She would no longer stumble over memories of Xavier everywhere she turned. She would not listen for the rough timbre of his voice, spellbinding her with tales of his travels, all the adventures she would never have. She wouldn’t glance up from her book when anyone entered the room, anticipating the sight of his teasing smile, her heart quickening at the prospect of his warm touch, the feel of his lips on hers.

She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing she could somehow be magically transported to Paris, the painful wrench from Faire Isle already accomplished. She had spent last evening paying calls, bidding farewell to friends that she had made on the island.

It had been melancholy saying good-bye to Madame Bevans, to old Agatha Butterydoor, to Carole Moreau, and the little Remy girls. Even Seraphine’s eyes had gotten suspiciously moist as she had bestowed upon Jane a fierce hug.

Ariane’s face had been filled with sorrow when Jane had spoken of her intention of removing to Paris. But the
Lady had made no attempt to dissuade Jane. As regretful as Ariane was, she appeared to understand why Jane felt obliged to go. Jane was not as sure about Meg. The girl had scarce spoken two words to her since Jane had announced her imminent departure.

When Jane turned from the window to continue her packing, she was brought up short by the sight of Meg standing in the open doorway of her bedchamber.

“Meg, you—you startled me.”

“I knocked. You didn’t hear me.”

“I am sorry. I fear I was preoccupied.”

“Simon sent me to ask if your trunk is ready to be carried down and loaded on the cart.”

“Almost.” Jane snatched up one of her gowns and hastily began to fold it. Meg leaned against the doorjamb, watching her.

“Monsieur Aristide has been so kind, arranging all the details of the journey. He and Miri are returning to their farm outside of Paris. I will accompany them and rest there for a night and the next day Monsieur Aristide will escort me the rest of the way to my cousin.” Jane chattered, trying to sound brisk and cheerful in the face of Meg’s stony silence.

She studied the girl out of the corner of her eye, wishing she had an inkling of what was going on in Meg’s head. Something had hardened in the girl’s eyes since the revelations about Xavier. It was as though Meg had constructed an invisible wall about herself that could not be breached.

Jane paused, hugging the folded gown to her chest. She said gently, “I won’t be gone forever, Meg. I will come back to Faire Isle as soon as I am able.”

“No, you won’t. You never really liked it here. At least not until
he
came.”

It was the first time Meg had alluded to Xavier since his departure. Jane laid the gown in the trunk. She longed to reach out to Meg, gather the girl into her arms, but the look on Meg’s face warned her not even to make the attempt.