The Reluctant Queen Read Online Free PDF Page A

does.’
    ‘And you let him kiss and fondle you?’
    The young girl blushed. ‘He is a hard man to refuse.’
    Catherine gave her throaty chortle. ‘I dare say he is. Your task, child, is to make yourself indispensable to him. You must persuade the King of Navarre to return to Paris with us.’
    Dayelle was appalled by this demand, which seemed well nigh impossible. ‘But how am I to do that, Your Majesty?’
    Catherine pinched the girl’s cheek, making her wince with pain. ‘By doing what comes naturally. You have considerable charms, use them. He must become utterly besotted, so that when you tell him that you will be returning to Paris with me, he cannot bear to be parted from you.’
    Dayelle found this hard to imagine but was certainly not going to argue with the Queen Mother, and naturally agreed she would do all she could to ensnare the King of Navarre.
    Henry’s passion for the beautiful young Cypriot did not detract him in any way from the attention he continued to give to his wife. Margot had no reason to complain of his neglect, or the friendship and honour he paid to her, but, as always, her pride was piqued by his blatant infidelity. Why could she not be enough for him?
    She noticed too that since escaping from the Louvre he had again fallen into his old, coarse, Bèarnese ways. His determination not to bathe was a great irritation to her.
    ‘Why would I?’ he protested, when she challenged him on the subject one evening when he came to her room. ‘I’m not some mincing fop like your brother, who smells of violet powder, or one of his curled and perfumed mignons . I am a man, and men sweat from doing men’s business.’ Lounging in a chair, he poured himself a goblet of wine.
    ‘But if you sleep in my bed, Sire, on my sheets, I would prefer at least your feet to be clean,’ she haughtily informed him. ‘See, I have had my maid bring a bowl of warm water and soap. Allow her to bathe them for you.’
    ‘What?’ Navarre stared at the bowl as it was set before him, and at the maid who cowered beside it. ‘Do you expect me to take off my boots?’
    ‘You cannot sleep in your boots, and yes, I would prefer you to take them off when we make love, not leave them on as you did on our first encounter.’
    The young maid stifled a giggle and Margot silenced her with a glare. ‘Let me help you, Sire. I will unlace them for you.’
    Navarre stood up and kicked the bowl away, sending water cascading all over the tiled floor. ‘I think not, Madame. Get out of here,’ he ordered the maid, who hastily scampered away as fast as her feet could carry her.
    ‘How dare you!’ Margot stood before him in a fury, hands on hips. ‘That is no way to treat a servant. The girl has done no harm to you. Nor is this any way to treat a wife, one you say you have waited two long years to see again. All I ask is that you wash your feet.’
    ‘Do you imagine you can make me?’
    ‘I swear you will not get into my bed, lest you do!’
    ‘There are other beds, more welcoming.’
    ‘I dare say there are,’ she snapped. ‘But if you want an heir you must needs visit mine occasionally, and I will only allow that if your feet are clean.’
    Navarre folded his arms across his chest, and they stood facing each other in a fine temper, both too stubborn to back down.
    After a long moment, Margot whirled about, picked up the bowl and refilled it from a flagon of water that stood on the commode table.
    ‘Well, are you willing to allow me to wash your feet for you?’
    For a moment it looked as if he might fling the bowl over her this time, but then he looked into her defiant, lovely face and suddenly put back his head and roared with laughter.
    ‘What a woman you are, my Marguerite. Wash my damned feet then, if you must.’ And dropping back into the chair he allowed her to kneel before him, unlace his boots, and with her nose wrinkling against the smell, wash his dusty, sweaty feet. Only then did she allow him into her