Twilight of a Queen (9 page)

Bracing himself, he launched across the storm-battered deck, heading for the helm. The rain beat against his face, half blinding him. Thunder boomed in his ears as though the
Miribelle
was besieged by the entire Spanish armada.

His beleaguered lady shuddered, heaving violently to one side, and shook him off his feet. He slid across the rain-slick deck, making a frantic grab for the rail. His wits, still dulled by the potion, rendered his fingers thick and clumsy. His hand closed on nothing but air.

The
Miribelle
pitched again. Xavier roared out as the unthinkable happened. His lady flung him overboard. For a moment time seemed to stop as he hurled into nothingness.

Then he was embraced by the cold arms of the sea.

S
UNLIGHT BATHED THE SEA, THE GOLDEN WAVES CARESSING
the shore like a lover mending a quarrel, the rage of last night’s storm all forgotten. Jane picked her way along the rocky outcropping.

Here on the far side of Faire Isle, the vista was harsh, jagged fingers of rock stretching out into the sea, the vegetation sparse, only the hardiest of marsh grass and shrubs able to find purchase on a granite shore.

Jane had always preferred a tidy expanse of meadow or the gentle green of a hillside. Never had she expected to feel this rush of breath, her heart swelling with each break of the waves over the rocks.

She cast a half-nervous glance over her shoulder, reassuring herself that she was still within view of the cottages
that passed for a village on the wilder part of the island, a scattering of rough stone huts that seemed carved into the face of the cliffs.

Other women were stirring, venturing out to enjoy the soft morning. Young Carole Moreau twirled her small son in a joyous circle while nearby Madame Alain and Madame Greves shared baskets of bread and gossip. Madame Partierre trotted about, industriously gathering up driftwood to dry out for her fire.

A tough wizened old lady, she was one of the few who actually lived on this rugged coast. Most had traveled here from the tamer side of the island, the harbor town of Port Corsair. But there were a few who had journeyed farther, from Brittany, the Loire Valley, even from as far away as Poitou, all in anticipation of the council meeting that would take place atop the cliffs a week hence.

A strange and independent lot, these women who called themselves the daughters of the earth. Jane could only marvel at their boldness. She had never traveled anywhere without the escort of a kinsman or the chaperonage of a maid and at least two stout male servants.

The women of Faire Isle enjoyed a great deal more freedom than Jane had ever known, a freedom that she found both enticing and a little alarming.

She lifted her face into the breeze, the wind strong enough to tug at her carefully pinned chignon. For once she had not been prudent enough to don either a cloak or a cap.

As she struggled to replace a dislodged hairpin, Jane was seized by the sort of mad impulse she had not known since she had been a very young girl. She yanked out the
rest of the pins and shook out her hair until it tumbled free in a wild tangle.

Smoothing it back from her face, she drank in the salt air and shielded her eyes with one hand. The sea seemed to roll on forever in a glorious expanse of sun-kissed blue, except that she knew it didn’t.

It was little more than twenty miles across that channel to England, the realization causing Jane a familiar pang. How many years would it be until her regrets softened and her memories dimmed, until she would stop being struck by the thought: If I were still at home on such a day, at such an hour, I would be doing this …

As she gazed out across the sea, her eyes misted with an image of her London manor, with its stout stone walls and tidy knot gardens leading down to the riverside quay, the Thames teeming with wherries and barges.

Like everything else, her London manor had been forfeited to the Crown. Jane wondered which of her favorites Elizabeth had bestowed the property upon and if the new owner had been kind to her household of servants or if they had been obliged to seek situations elsewhere.

Had this person been careful of her garden or neglectful? Had they perhaps torn up the rose arbor she had so tenderly cultivated in favor of extending the dock?

Most of all she wondered who, if anyone, would ever pause by the remote corner of the London churchyard to pray over the unassuming stone that marked her brother’s grave.

Edward Lambert, the last Baron of Oxbridge. It disturbed Jane that she could scarce call up an image of the reckless young man who had given her so many sleepless
nights. But she recalled quite clearly the little brother who had clung so fiercely to her hand that summer they had become orphaned.

“What are we to do, Jane?” Ned had asked, turning his woebegone face up to hers. “Our papa fell off his horse and now he is all broken. We have no papa anymore. Who will look out for me?”

“I will, Neddie,” she said, her hand caressing the silky strands of his blond hair, a paler version of her own. “I will protect and take care of you always.”

A promise she had been unable to keep …

“Forgive me, Neddie,” she prayed. Her eyes blurred with tears. She rubbed fingertips against her lids to stem the flow. When her vision cleared, she was struck by the sight of two cloaked figures making their way up the beach.

There was no mistaking the taller of the two young women. Seraphine Remy the Lady of Faire Isle’s eldest niece, was a beauty of statuesque proportions, her unbound hair falling over her shoulders like a shower of gold. She provided a dramatic contrast to her shorter companion, Meg’s thin face framed by her dark brown hair.

Jane frowned. Ariane Deauville had given strict instructions that no one was to stray that far from the encampment. Jane glanced back toward the cluster of cottages and saw that everyone else had retreated inside, no doubt to get on with daily chores.

There was no one to notice the two girls wandering off but her. Jane fretted her lip, realizing that neither girl would be likely to welcome her interference, especially not Seraphine.

The lady’s niece was headstrong to a fault. Meg had a
strong mind of her own, but she seemed almost mesmerized by Seraphine Remy, the older girl often able to override Meg’s caution and persuade her into some imprudent action Meg would not usually undertake.

All the more reason she ought to go after them, Jane thought. Hesitating only a moment longer, she plucked up her skirts and headed off in pursuit.

Jane had never been a swift walker and the uneven ground made for rough going. Fortunately the two girls were not proceeding at a fast pace and as Jane closed the distance between them, she realized why.

From Seraphine’s fierce gestures and Meg’s repeated shakes of her head, it was obvious that Seraphine was attempting to persuade Meg into doing something against the younger girl’s wishes.

As Jane overtook them, Seraphine held something out of Meg’s reach. The two girls tussled for possession of the object, but they froze at the sight of Jane. Meg managed to snatch the thing back and hide it beneath her cloak. The girls sidled close to each other like soldiers closing ranks, Meg looking guilty, Seraphine defiant.

Jane smiled, greeting them as though she had noticed nothing amiss. “Good morrow, ladies.”

Meg’s curtsy was stiff and awkward, Seraphine’s as smooth and haughty as any duchess.

“Lady Danvers. What an agreeable surprise.” The girl bared her pearl-like teeth in a smile. At the age of sixteen, Seraphine had already mastered the art of saying one thing while her tone conveyed quite another.

“I confess I am surprised to see you both abroad so early as well. Where are you going?” Jane asked.

“Up there.” Seraphine jerked her head in the direction of the distant cliffs, the ring of monoliths just visible atop the highest one. “Neither Meg nor I have ever seen the standing giants and we are perishing to do so.”

“I am sure you will see them soon enough. The council meeting is barely a week away. In the meantime, I cannot think it wise for either of you girls to wander about unescorted.”

“Oh, pooh. This is Faire Isle, not London or Paris. I am sure the notion of an unchaperoned girl is appalling to a lady of your—er, venerable years. But women have more freedom here.”

“I was not thinking of propriety, so much as safety.” Jane focused her gaze gravely on Meg. “You know that Ariane has asked that none of us stray too far. Apparently there are some rough fisherfolk on this side of the island, the women in particular a trifle wild and superstitious.”

Meg started to speak, but once again Seraphine cut in before she could reply.
“My
mother told me those idiotic women were driven off Faire Isle years ago when the witch-hunters and the king’s soldiers made their great raid. Besides, I am well able to defend both of us.”

Seraphine drew back her cloak to reveal a short sword.

“Merciful heavens, child!” Jane gasped.

“Don’t worry. I know how to use it.” Seraphine patted the hilt lovingly. “My father taught me. Captain Nicolas Remy is a brave Huguenot hero, so fearsome he is called the Scourge. I don’t know if I have ever told you that.”

“Only a dozen times,” Meg muttered.

“My father feels that every Huguenot must know how
to defend him-or herself. One never knows when we may be set upon by some papist fanatics.”

“Seraphine!” Meg reproved with a significant look at Jane.

The girl merely shrugged. “I meant no offense to Lady Danvers.”

“None taken,” Jane said. “There is no civil war being waged on this island, which is why your parents sent you and your sisters here out of harm’s way. There is a more tolerant spirit on Faire Isle.”

“I hope so. Did your ladyship read the tract by Martin Luther I sent you?”

“No, I did not. I believe that faith should be a matter of personal choice. I have my own beliefs, but enough respect not to foist my creed onto others.”

“Oh, so do I. Although it is very difficult to restrain myself when I know that I am right.” Seraphine heaved a dramatic sigh. “Well, you are obviously here to recapture us. Considering what an obedient little girl Meg is, there is no point in us trudging all the way up to the stone circle anyway.”

She exchanged a pointed look with Meg as though there was some added edge to Seraphine’s barb that Jane did not understand, but Meg flushed.

“I shall just have to seek my amusement elsewhere.” Seraphine crinkled her nose at Jane, her blue eyes sparkling with impish defiance.

Before Jane could protest, Seraphine strode off, nimbly clambering down the rocks to the shore’s edge. The tide was coming in and a wave caught her off guard, lapping over her boots and wetting the hem of her gown.

Seraphine shook back her golden hair and laughed. Bending down, she slapped her hand through the water, wetting her gown even more.

Jane sighed, realizing it was useless to remonstrate further with the girl, trying to convince her to return to the safety of the cottages. Seraphine would remain right where she was merely to demonstrate that she could. There was little Jane could do other than seek reinforcements in the person of the girl’s aunt.

Meg watched Seraphine’s retreat down the beach with an expression torn between wistfulness and admiration.

“She really is magnificent, isn’t she?” Meg murmured.

“That is not quite the word I would have chosen, although I grant you she certainly is an unusual girl.”

Meg cast Jane a rueful look. “I am sorry for what Seraphine said about Catholic fanatics. I am sure she did not mean to be offensive. She can be rather passionate about her views.”

Jane smiled. “It is all right, Meg. When I was a young girl, I thought I knew everything as well.”

“What happened?”

I was seduced by my guardian’s master of horse and gave birth to a stillborn child
.

Jane lowered her lashes to conceal the thought.

“I grew older and more
venerable,”
she said dryly, eliciting a rare laugh from Meg.

As they headed back to the village, Meg continued to defend her friend. “Seraphine truly does have a kinder, gentler side, although she rarely shows it to anyone except her little sisters. And to me.”

“The pair of you appear to have become fast friends.”
More so than Jane thought was good for Meg. “I was astonished to see you quarreling.”

“Oh, we weren’t,” Meg said, almost too quickly. “It was merely a—a small disagreement. Even the best of friends have those from time to time.”

“Truly? It looked to me as though Seraphine had taken something of yours and was refusing to give it back. The same thing that you are now hiding under your cloak.”

Meg stiffened. The girl could have told Jane to mind her own affairs. Jane had no real authority over her. But after a moment, Meg drew out her hand, the small crystal orb winking in the sunlight.

Jane had already guessed that the gazing globe might prove to be the disputed object. She was not surprised, merely saddened. But she asked no questions or made any criticism. Her silence finally goaded Meg into an explanation.

“We have not had any word from Navarre for a long time. Seraphine and I are both very worried about our fathers. Seraphine thought I could summon up a vision so that we might know if they are safe. I tried to explain to her that it does not work that way, that I have no control over what I see. The visions just come as they will.

“Seraphine thought that I could do it if I just concentrated harder. And maybe it would help if I made the attempt among the standing stones. The menhirs are supposed to have a mystic power of their own.”

Meg shivered. “The idea frightened me. The last thing I want is for my visions to become stronger, more potent. I refused, but Seraphine snatched the crystal and headed for the stones herself. I only followed to get it back from her.

“But I was on the verge of relenting when you overtook us. Seraphine can be so persuasive. I—I know that both you and Ariane wish I would leave the crystal alone.” Meg directed a plaintive glance up at Jane. “Are you very disappointed in me?”