beast is nothing compared to Salisbury. Do not dismiss this too readily.â
âWell, why does he feel he is owed retribution? I do not know the man!â
âThat would seem to be the question. He mentioned the names âHollandâ and âBroughton.â I believe they may have some connection. I would know if they mean anything to you?â
âNo, nothing at all. I have never heard of them.â
Hungrily biting into the pie he fell quiet, his forehead puckering with a surly frown for the duration of his consumption. Pushing away the plate, he gulped some wine and wiped his mouth. âIt would be prudent, Lady dâArmagnac, to be on your guard. Take no unnecessary risks.â His observant gaze lifted, taking particular note of the fortified surroundings. âFor now you should be safe enough within the palace. I will make some inquiries whilst in Paris but I cannot remain long.â His eyes returned to me and I felt myself redden beneath their sooty warmth. âCan you have a reply for your sister ready within two days?â
âYes, but â¦â
âGood, I shall return to collect it. Until then stay within the grounds and always in the company of others. I shall leave you now to finish reading your letter.â
I placed my hand over his to stay him.
âMy sister, Monsieur, what is she like?â
He stared intently at my hair and face, his perusal stopping chivalrously at my neckline. I felt a pang of regret. For reasons I could not begin to imagine, I wanted him to take my full measure, but the admiration I usually encountered in men was dismally absent from his evaluation. Instead he remarked dryly, âYour hair and eyes are the same colour but you are nothing like her.â Something in his tone made me feel that I was a disappointment to him and I was taken aback. He stood and buckled his pouch, pausing as his gaze once more travelled my face and then lifted to search the castle gardens. âFortune has favoured you, Lady.â
âPerhaps, but we all have our crosses to bear.â
âNo. You misunderstand. I believe you are lucky to have found Mary Catherine.â He bowed briefly. âGood day to you, Demoiselle.â
Two days later had me searching my room for a misplaced stocking. Your letter lay close by but only half-finished. My distraction was a group of lower-ranking ladies-in-waiting who, hearing of my recent misfortune, had snubbed their peers and embraced me warmly. For the first time I had been accepted by women of the court. I could hardly refuse their invitation to visit Les Halles , the wonderful markets of Paris, without offending them.
Pouncing on the rolled up ball that hid behind a chest, I quickly peeled the stocking over my knee and tied the garter.
âCécile! We are waiting.â
âComing!â The bloated mouser stretched across my pillow yawned lazily, its green eyes condemning. âI will be back before he arrives,â I told the cat. âI will be perfectly safe. He told me to stay within the company of others. Besides, have I fallen so low that I must take orders from a courier?â I bent to kiss the furry head. âAnd if he does appear before I return, make yourself useful and scratch the conceited wretch for me.â
We set off over the Grand-Pont, taking the more scenic route into the Rive Droite, conversations bubbling over expected purchases and whether or not it would rain. The marketplace was teeming with vendors selling the latest fabrics, aromatic pies, woven baskets and elixirs promising eternal beauty. With barely room to swing an elbow, I found myself squeezed from my chaperon. In the bustle she had not noticed but I was not overly concerned. Between the jostling shoulders, I still had my companions within my sights and, behind them, the guards sent for our protection. Meanwhile, in front of me, an array of rich, colourful velvets begged touching. I reached out eagerly but my
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley