His willingness to put me before all else assuages me. “You must not,” I say, rushing back to him. Taking his face in both hands, I tip it upward and kiss his forehead as a mother might kiss a beloved child. “Though I cannot bear the thought of being parted from you again so soon, I will not sacrifice your honor and safety to satisfy my selfish needs.”
“My beautiful, beautiful love,” he says. “I will write to you every day. Unless the receipt of my letters will put you in peril…”
“Not at all. Nothing would please me more than for Jeanne d’Albret to find me reading one—except, perhaps for her to see us as we are now. I want no man but you. And I wish my cousins to know I am yours so that the Prince’s honor will demand he reject me.”
*
The motion of my horse reminds me of Henri—both the rhythm of the animal and the slight soreness I feel after being several hours in the saddle. My beloved made love to me more times than I could count during my last days in Paris. So often that I am left tender as a virgin after her first encounter. I am riding silently beside the King, thinking of the frenzied hours Henri and I passed last night, when Mother maneuvers her horse into the place at my other side.
She waves my brother on. “I have decided to put your cousin in rooms near to yours,” she says without preamble. “I will place the Queen of Navarre près to my own apartment on the pretext that this will permit us to interact without interference from the multitude of royal advisors on each side of this matter. And I will give the rooms adjacent to Jeanne’s to her daughter. Such actions will seem natural while providing you with an opportunity.”
“An opportunity, Madame?” I ask disingenuously. “You have impressed upon me repeatedly that the Queen of Navarre is strict in matters of morals. Surely then you do not wish me to flirt openly with her son.”
“Of course I do, just not when his mother is looking.” She looks me up and down. “Your color is healthier since a certain Duc returned to Court. And even at your worst you are likely the most beautiful woman your cousin has ever seen. My spies tell me Jeanne comes with a long list of conditions. I do not want to waste months wrangling.”
I, of course, wish to waste years.
“Fortunately,” Her Majesty continues, “Jeanne’s son has inherited her strong will. He is not a man to be entirely led by the nose, or so I am told.”
I am surprised at the admiration in her voice. After all, Mother requires malleability in her own sons.
“Dazzle your cousin,” Mother says, “and I think we may dispense with many hours of negotiations.” She lowers her voice. “And remember, while I reward dutiful children, I punish those who defy me—and sometimes their friends as well.”
The sinister underpinnings for Mother’s toleration for my flirtation with Guise are revealed. She desired a way of twisting me to her will, and he—or rather my love for him—will become the rope by which I am led or hung. Whatever I do to scuttle this match once the party from Navarre arrives will have to be done subtly. I cannot sacrifice Henri.
“I will be agreeable.”
“Be more than agreeable. You know what it takes to capture and hold a man. Even as the Princesse de Porcien works to provide her husband a second son and thus herself with twice the security, she remains jealous of you, with good reason.”
I am about to protest, but Mother raises a hand.
“You need not waste either of our time in denials. Provided you wrap your cousin around your finger and lead him to the altar, I do not care how much you upset the Princesse.”
I remember years ago when Baronne de Retz admonished me that my standards of conduct must be above those other ladies who served the Queen. I wonder what my former gouvernante would think to hear what Mother asks of me.
“Madame, I will do all that I can to charm the Prince without engaging in conduct that might demean the House of Valois.”
“You were not so fastidious in the past.” Mother snorts in disgust. “If you were, they would not call you ‘Guise’s whore’ in the south. Yes, I have heard it.”
“From Anjou.”
“Does it matter where? Just be advised that if you give credence to the name in front of the Queen of Navarre, the consequences will be unpleasant.” She says the last word as if it were “deadly.” “As for the Prince of Navarre, I shall count on your looks if I do not have your enthusiastic cooperation. And who knows, perhaps your cousin likes a difficult chase. He is an avid hunter. But make no mistake: you are a quarry that cannot escape. When terms are reached, Henri de Bourbon will have you if I have to truss you up and deliver you myself.”
*
Everyone expected the Queen of Navarre to arrive at Blois in grand state shortly after we did. As days slip by with no sign of her party, Mother becomes increasingly testy. I count the days with mixed feelings. Each is a precious sliver of freedom. Yet, just as pleasant anticipation can increase eventual pleasure, the anticipation here increases my dread.