“Were you not commander of the royal scouts before Jarnac? That battle was won through surprise, doubtless permitted by good scouting.”
He smiles. “It pleases me to hear you argue my valor. Knowing that you follow what I do makes me eager to perform feats worthy of your admiration. Your brother has Condé to his credit, and your mother Andelot. Shall I kill the latter’s brother for you before I see you next?”
That he would kill for me is thrilling. But Coligny will not be an easy man to slay: he is a seasoned fighter. I want a brave lover but also a living one. “I understand your need to avenge your father. But pray remember that, even as that gentleman looks down upon you from heaven, he would not want you to lose your own life in doing so. So kill but do not be killed.”
“I will do my best. You must make me a promise in return. Try not to be married when next we meet.”
“That is an easy promise to make, for I will see you at dinner.”
“Do not make light, Marguerite.” There is a sudden sharp pleasure in hearing my name from his lips again. “Tell me that I have your heart and that you will not be too eager to give your hand to a foreign prince.”
“You have my heart.”
He kisses me again, gently. “I must go and change. I told the King I would be at his disposal.”
“But I will see you later.”
“Of course. We shall stroll arm and arm, or dance, properly chaperoned, and all will think ‘There goes a handsome pair.’”
“Will I see you again like this?” I know the question is immodest, but the feel of his arms about my waist is so good.
“In this very room. I have the Duchesse de Nevers’ word.”
*
Mother looks up from her desk. The fact that she is strong enough to sit for hours—opening correspondence, replying, receiving advisors and diplomats—seems miraculous. Soon she will be well enough to travel and we will go to see Anjou! Mother and I both long to see him. And I hope that this time I will find the Duc de Guise at the same camp.
“The Portuguese ambassador at Madrid tells Fourquevaux he only awaits instructions from Lisbon to conclude your match.”
“Oh, I am so pleased.” I work to match my expression to the sentiment, even if the contents of my heart are not in accord. The Duc’s visit—so brief—changed much. The clandestine correspondence that Henriette has facilitated between us since altered things even more. For while an embrace may permit the confusion of lust and love, surely words alone do not. Henri’s notes are infused with such nobility and piety and convey such a depth of feeling that they cause me to admire him more with every line. This must be love—true, holy love. It is a feeling so precious that I have not spoken of it even to my friends. Let them think I still play a courtier’s game. I cannot bear for them to laugh at me as Henriette did the first time I proclaimed myself in love with His Grace. Besides, Henriette might cease to help me if she knew I am in such earnest.
“Perhaps you will be a bride even before your brother Charles takes one.” Mother is keen to have Charles wed the Emperor’s eldest daughter, Anna.
Try not to be married when next we meet. The words sound so clearly inside my head that Guise might be in the room.
“You think negotiations will conclude so quickly?”
“I pray so.”
Who will God listen to, I wonder, if I pray the opposite?
There is a commotion just beyond the door. Mother and I both hear it. “Do not be alarmed,” she says. “My guard is outside.” But I notice she surreptitiously unsheathes the dagger she keeps on her worktable. I rise just as the door bursts open. My brother Henri stamps in—Henri, who we last heard was on the move below the Nièvre river. He is scowling. I am struck dumb by both his unexpected appearance and his expression. Mother too seems at a loss for words. Anjou is not.
“I have disbanded the army.”
“I pray,” Mother says, eyes wary, “that you have done so because you have won such a victory that it is no longer needed. But if so, why do you not greet us with smiles?”
“Your prayers, Madame, have not been efficacious as of late. Did you not pray that Zweibrücken’s men would never meet those of Coligny? Yet they did. Well, now those forces have met mine at La Roche-l’Abeille and I did not emerge the winner.” He kicks the nearest chair so hard that it topples over.
“Were many lost?”
“Most of two regiments of foot soldiers, including the men sent by His Holiness. They dress better than they fight, the Italians. Philippe Strozzi was taken captive and I ransomed him, though given what a miserable commander he was, I ought to have left that cost to the Pope. The Duc de Guise—”
“Was the Duc hurt?” I do not realize I’ve spoken until Anjou looks at me with mouth agape.