“Only a little, and nothing compared to the tears I should have shed had Angoulême found the courage to take aim at you in the forest.”
“Angoulême? Pfft!” Henri wipes my tears with his thumbs. “Pardon me, love, but he has neither the courage nor the aim to make me take him seriously. When I arrived at the H?tel de Guise, I heard that you took far more punishment at the hands of your brutish brothers than I ever feared from your half brother. It was only with the greatest difficulty that I subdued my urge to ride for the Louvre and make them pay.”
“You must not even joke about such actions. My brothers are your sworn enemies. Charles wants you dead and you must not give him any opportunity to see his wish fulfilled.”
“He can hardly have me killed in open court. I would have more respect for him were he—or Anjou—to challenge me openly. In trial by combat I would thrash either soundly, and perhaps in future they would remember that a man who attacks a woman is not man at all.” He pulls me against his breast and strokes my hair. “They have not enough honor between them to equal one true gentleman. But forgive me, I forgot they are your brothers.”
“There is nothing you could say of Anjou that I have not myself thought. Charles…” I push back from him and seek his eyes. “… I believe Charles left to himself would be a good man and a good king.”
“Ah, but he is never left to himself.”
“Oh, Henri.” My tears begin again. “You have fought and bled for Charles. There are none braver or more worthy among his gentlemen. Why can he not let you have my hand as your reward?”
“Your mother wants to stop my influence. She fears the sway of even healthy friendship upon him. But will you give me up so easily?” His voice is earnest. “Will you consent to marry Dom Sébastien?”
“To save your life, yes.”
“It will not come to that, I swear it.” He kisses the side of my neck. The effect of his touch, his scent, is overwhelming. The strong yearnings I felt before he went away—the very urges that, along with a need to lessen gossip, drove him to the cool of the forest lest we fall into sin—surge through me. I know that he feels them as well, for as he moves his mouth to mine his kisses are frantic, the arms that hold me are tense and, when my hand strays to the front of his haut-de-chausses, his arousal is clear. I am nearly delirious with desire. I have already been accused of having Henri and he of defiling me. Why should it not be so, then? The offer of myself stands on the tip of the tongue I thrust into his mouth.
Then I remember the rage on Charles’ face as the cry of “Whore!” rang from his lips. If there is to be even a feeble hope of calming the King’s hatred, I must retain my trump card—the ability to offer myself up to a physician’s examination to prove my virginity.
I push against Henri. Rather than being confused by my action, he releases me entirely, takes two very deep breaths, then paces away and takes a seat on the low bench. He knows as well as I how close we are to committing an act that can never be undone.
“We must have a plan,” he says at last. “Just as we would if we sought victory in battle.”
“You have won so many battles; do you believe we can win this one?”
“I must believe. To think otherwise is to be defeated at the outset. And the prize”—despite the low light I can see him shake his head—“the value of the prize nearly within my reach is beyond any city I have ever taken.”
A joy equal to the desire that a moment ago consumed me fills my breast.
“I am not a patient man, but I know how to besiege a city—how to play a waiting game. The King will cool. He has not the temperament to maintain a heated and active grudge. There is a royal ball just shy of a fortnight from now. I will keep to my h?tel until that occasion and then, as I am called upon to do by my position as Grand Ma?tre de France, present myself with an outward show of deference befitting a loyal subject and dutiful officer.”
“And I?”
“You will spend the next two weeks being the most obedient sister and daughter in Christendom. Or appearing so. Reassure the King and your mother that you stand willing to marry the Portuguese as soon as it can be arranged—”
“But such a marriage, or even a betrothal to Dom Sébastien, puts an end to all our dreams!”
“And for that reason the marriage must be prevented, but not by you. You must appear blameless when it comes to nothing.”
“How, then?”
“Philip of Spain thinks your brother too lenient with the heretics.”
I know my love thinks this as well. Any tolerance for Protestantism in France is wholly unacceptable to his pious nature. I think again how fitting it would be that we should marry and Henri become the King’s chief counsel in seeing France entirely Catholic again.
“While Admiral Coligny draws his men closer to Paris,” Henri continues, “perhaps word will reach the Spanish that Charles thinks of peace.”