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Post by Shades on Apr 10, 2006 19:00:14 GMT -5
Here is the second half.
That was by far the best way to wake up she had ever experienced, Margaret decided, as his fingertips lightly traced little circles between her shoulder blades. She had not expected to wake up to find him there, but she wasn’t complaining. She knew she should have put a stop to the entire thing after that first night, and yet she couldn’t. Without either of them speaking of it, it had continued. The sensible part of her mind that was properly horrified by what she was doing seemed to only function during the day. She told herself that when they went to Fontainebleu it would cease to matter. He would stay in Paris, and it would be ended.
“Didn’t the guards see you?” she asked, suddenly, thinking that Mary’s apartments were always guarded.
“No. Appalling security. Really must do something about that,” he murmured. She smiled a little and turned, so that he was tracing his fingertips over her rib cage. She sighed.
“Will we be safer at Fontainebleu?” she asked suddenly, and she felt him pause.
“You must still be careful. There will be no strangers at Fontainebleu, but that does not mean you will be safe.”
“Of course not,” she sighed again.
“Are you so unhappy?”
She considered that, and realized with some surprise that she wasn’t. She was confused, sometimes overwhelmed, tired, exhausted even, and yet she wasn’t unhappy. Even if she could, she wouldn’t go back to the quiet way they had lived in Scotland.
“No,” she admitted. “No…” She remembered suddenly what she had meant to tell him. “Did you know the Earl of Ross had an English Earl staying at his country house?”
He seemed surprised by this sudden change of subject, but caught up a moment later. “I’m a bit more curious how you know that.”
“I found out by accident, he’s called Ashington I believe.”
“Really?”
“Do you know him?”
“I’ve heard of him. His lands are very near to the Scottish border, but he says he wants only peace, to run his farms.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“Men always say they want peace, and yet in the history of the world we’ve never had it? How badly do we really want it?”
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Post by Shades on Apr 10, 2006 19:01:29 GMT -5
Chapter 17
Fontainebleu was as lovely as everyone told her, a vast chateau set among perfectly groomed gardens, and beyond that gorgeous rolling hills and forests perfect for riding and hunting. A holiday atmosphere prevailed among those courtiers who had come from Paris, despite the dreary weather of midwinter. Mary was in high spirits, and so by association were Francois and the princesses. Margaret spent more time with William than she had in months. He had come along ostensibly as a playmate to the Dauphin, but she guessed in reality it had been arranged by Mary’s uncles to keep him safe and to keep him with her. She discovered that he seemed to have grown up a great deal in the months they had been in Paris. He was full of new ideas and new questions, and released from some of the duties and structures of palace life, she had time to hear them.
Cold as it was, there had been little snow until Christmas. The day passed in mass and prayer followed by a banquet as grand as any they might find in Paris, but as they went to sleep that night snow was falling, and they woke the next morning to find the world transformed, covered in white and so bright in the morning sunlight that it hurt their eyes. Even Mary and her girls did not feign dignity as they struggled into their warmest things to go outside and be the first to make footprints through the unspoiled landscape. Margaret gave up even making them try to eat breakfast as they ran outside and were naturally joined by the other children, and quickly fell into a snowball fight, which evolved into a detailed snow war involving base camps and fortifications and battle plans as the future King and Queen of France matched their military prowess against each other. Adults emerged from the palace as well, if only to see the snow-covered landscape and catch a few breaths of air that seemed cleaner and clearer in the pristine white countryside.
One person who had been less-than-happy about coming to Fontainebleu had been Genevieve, who felt no need for a respite from her beloved court life, preferring the whirl of parties and men in Paris to the calmer holiday atmosphere of a country estate. Since they had arrived, she had been ill most of the time. Margaret suspected she had never been strong, but she also suspected that most of it was in her head. While Margaret visited her when the physicians allowed it, she also found herself rather bored without Genevieve’s usual companionship. There were other people among the households of the little princesses who were around her age, but she didn’t know most of them very well. She was sitting alone on a bench along the garden wall watching the snow war of the children, and wondering if she ought to tell Mary it was time to go inside. Mary’s cheeks were pink with cold and exertion and she was laughing, but Francois looked pale and drawn. Mary easily forgot he was not as strong, but he would never admit to any weakness in front of her. They were having fun, but perhaps the promise of warm drinks and sweets would lure them inside. She was about to call to them and present this idea when a voice behind her spoke.
“A war between Scotland and France? And Scotland seems to be victorious.”
She turned quickly, and found the Earl of Ross standing in the arching doorway to one of the walled gardens. He was not looking at her, but rather watching the Dauphin ducking a hail of wet snow delivered by ladies Fleming and Beaton.
“I did not know you were staying at Fontainebleu, Lord Ross,” she said, making him look at her in surprise, perhaps at the coldness in her voice. “Or do you prefer Comte de Roissy?”
“Whatever you prefer, Lady Margaret. Nor am I staying at Fontainebleu, but at the estate of the Duc de Roches. It is but two miles from here, and a lovely ride on a clear day such as this. I’m sure you would agree, as I know you are a keen rider yourself.”
“Perhaps, but I would not take on a two mile ride through fresh snow without a good reason.”
“I had a favor to ask of Her Majesty, but I see she is well occupied.”
“Do you really think Sir, that you are in a position to ask the Queen of Scotland for favors while you entertain English in your home?”
“I wonder, my Lady, why you are concerned who I entertain in my home.”
“You take no pains to hide it.”
“I do not feel I have anything to hide Lady. The Earl of Ashington is a childhood friend, we attended the Sorbonne together. It is no secret. You have been at Court too long, my dear, if you see a plot in everything. But I suppose your mind is no concern of mine. However, you seem to think you speak for Queen Mary now?”
“I wouldn’t presume to speak for her, but I do try to see she is not unnecessarily upset.”
“How touching,” his voice dripped with sarcasm. “You do a good job of it, but it’s well known at Court your first loyalty is not to Queen Mary.”
She rose suddenly, and he took a half step back, perhaps realizing that he had gone too far.
“Excuse me, Sir?”
“Oh, that’s a bit too close?”
“Is there a problem here?”
A cool voice cut through their conversation, and though her heart was pounding with the realization that she had been tricked into giving away too much, she saw the intruder with a sense of relief. The Comte de Lille, his usually bright eyes cool as he regarded the other man.
“Of course not. I see Her Majesty is occupied, and I will leave her to her games. She may have little time for such things in the coming years. My business will wait. Lady Margaret,” he gave her a short, half bow. “Brehonnet,” was accompanied by a short nod.
It was a slight, using his name rather than the title but she barely noticed as she was glaring after his back. Then she shook herself and tried to cover the fact they had been fighting with a businesslike air.
“I meant to call Her Majesty inside,” she said vaguely. “Francois is white as a ghost with cold.”
“Nothing will do Francois more good than fresh air and exercise,” he answered quietly. “And though I don’t pretend to know what you were talking about, I think a few deep breaths would do you some good as well. Walk with me for a moment.”
He offered her an arm politely, and though she was in no mood to be social, she did need a few minutes in the cool air before going back into the stifling warm of the palace. They walked through the bare, walled gardens, keeping near enough to the park in the center to hear the shouts of the children.
“You’re losing your touch if you’re letting him bait you, my Dear.”
“I wasn’t, I just…I don’t like him and-“
She broke off suddenly, seeing a flash of color in the garden in front of them and thinking there was someone there. A second later she gasped, for there was indeed someone there, but not listening to their conversation, but rather slumped over in the snow. Margaret immediately realized it was Annabelle and took a quick step forward, thinking the girl had fainted, but in the same second she realized that he pulled her back, and that Annabelle’s head was bent at an unnatural angle. She quickly turned away into his shoulder.
“Oh God…”
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Post by Shades on Apr 10, 2006 19:01:51 GMT -5
Margaret could not get the image of Annabelle out of her head, looking so normal, but with her neck broken and her head at an angle that was so clearly wrong. She had not fainted, but she was shaking and dizzy, and she had hardly realized what had happened as the Comte de Lille gently passed her into the arms of one of Mary’s Scots guards. Now, without knowing quite how she had gotten there, she was in an unfamiliar room of the palace, much grander than their own apartments, and seemingly forgotten. She was still shaking, though the fire was warm. She took slow, deep breaths, trying to think clearly. Somehow, though she had known they were in danger, the actual murder of someone she knew, someone who was a friend, albeit in a casual manner, suddenly brought the reality of it home to her. She could not imagine why anyone would want to kill pretty, harmless Annabelle, but even more so she did not want to believe that anyone was capable of doing it so coldly.
A door closed softly behind her with a click, and she turned quickly and then was struck dumb for a moment. The Queen of France stood in the doorway regarding her shrewdly. She quickly stood up, making a clumsy job of it as her legs still felt weak, and tried to make some excuse for her presence. She had heard that Queen Catherine had arrived at Fontainebleu, but had given it little thought as she rarely saw the woman and had no reason to speak to her. In fact, she had been glad to not have reason to speak to her.
“I’m so sorry, your Highness. I did not mean to be in your apartments. The young guard, he brought me here, I was very dizzy and upset, and I didn’t realize…”
“I know, I ordered that you be brought here,” the woman said simply.
“Oh…I…ah,” She knew she sounded stupid, but she really had no idea what to say to that. There was a tray on the table next to the door, set there by some unobtrusive servant when she had entered, and now Queen Catherine passed her a cup. “Drink that, it will stop your shaking.”
Margaret wondered if the woman was serious. Given her reputation, she wasn’t going to drink anything Catherine de Medici gave her, but as she hesitated, trying to think of a way to politely refuse, when the Queen clearly saw her dilemma.
“Don’t be a fool child, if I meant you harm I would not be so obvious about it.”
That, in some sort of twisted way, made sense, and she cautiously took a sip. It was nothing more than slightly spiced wine, but warmed, and it did indeed soothe her trembling.
“The Levesque girl, she was your friend, was she not?”
“Yes, your Highness,” she answered guardedly.
“There was no…rivalry…between you?”
Margaret stared, wondering if the wine had gotten to her head, perhaps there had been something in it, but she couldn’t understand the woman at all. What was she talking about?
“I don’t understand, your Highness.”
The Queen sighed irritably. “Trouble follows you Lady Margaret. And now, a member of my daughter’s household is murdered, and coincidentally, yet again you were present.”
“You can’t think that I…”
“Oh, I know you did not kill her, it would take a man’s strength to have done so. But then I am given to understand there are any number of men hanging on your skirts.”
She was beginning to feel as though there was not quite enough air in the room. Someone had been talking to the Queen about her, and not making a very flattering picture, clearly starting the rumor of a rivalry with Annabelle and having men at her back and call.
“I…”
“Silence. I do not like your influence on Marie, or on my children. I will see you sent back to Scotland.” “No!” Mary of Scotland stamped her foot. “She will not! She can’t! She can’t dismiss my household. We won’t let her!”
Seton and Fleming nodded fervently, but Margaret knew that wasn’t true, she’d heard the story of Jenny Fleming’s forced return to Scotland. They were outraged when they heard what Queen Catherine had said, and she appreciated their loyalty, though she wondered if it would last as the suspicion the Queen had shown spread through the palace. Mary would, on principle, disagree with whatever Queen Catherine wished, but the same could not be said for everyone else in the palace.
“It will be all right,” Mary said bracingly. “We shall send for our Uncles. The Queen will know better than to defy the House of Guise.” She was as good as her word, she sent word to the Duke of Guise that Queen Catherine was trying to dismiss her ladies. It was not the Duke of Guise who came, but his brother. Margaret did not want to see him, she had done her best to forget him, and she had been enjoying the freedom from the tension she felt when he was around. But she was glad to see the face of someone who didn’t refuse to meet her eyes and then whisper as she passed, as that was what she had been encountering whenever she left Mary’s apartments. Clearly, nothing had changed, rumors spread as they always had, but she was finding it a little less amusing when the gossip and speculation were about her.
Mary greeted him with a babble of what had happened since they had arrived at Fontainebleu, and he listened patiently.
“…and she can’t send Margaret back to Scotland! It’s not fair.”
“No one is going back to be sent back to Scotland, my Dear. Do not worry yourself over it.”
Mary was reassured by it, satisfied that he would take care of everything. Margaret watched her go off in search of Francois to fill the long winter afternoon, and didn’t feel any better at all.
He looked at her closely for a moment, saying nothing, and then took her arm with a look that did not welcome argument.
“Come with me.”
“Where? I haven’t done anything Charles,” she pulled ineffectively on the wrist he had imprisoned. He turned back to her suddenly, looking surprised.
“Of course you didn’t. You need to get out of this palace for awhile. That last thing I need is for you to fall apart with a nervous attack, and you look like you’re minutes away from it. Besides, I need to hear your version of what has gone on here, I expect it will differ from Marie’s.”
“But…we can’t leave,”
“No one will notice.”
“It’s…it’s going to snow…”
He glanced out the window they were passing at the slate colored sky. “No it’s not.”
Protesting anyway, she allowed herself to be dragged out to the stables. He told her to leave Cailleach, and so she took one of the stable horses, having trouble keeping up with the pace he set, but feeling slightly better as Fontainebleu disappeared behind them. She didn’t know where they were going, if he had a destination in mind or was just riding to clear her head, but she had his undivided attention, and some jealous part of her wanted that. She was surprised by the possessive streak, a side she had never really had any reason to be aware of before. But a moment later she was irritated with herself for thinking that way…he was not hers, and wouldn’t be. She had decided whatever had happened between them would end when she left Paris, and so she would stick to that.
It was a modest little house, far different than the castles she had always lived in, but it seemed to be where he intended to go, and he slowed as they approached.
“When we were children, Francis, and Marie, and I used to be sent sometimes to stay with the Duc and Duchesse de Villiers, who had their country house over that way,” he said, gesturing to the south. “The chateau burned down some years ago, but I have always liked this country.”
She had never heard him speak of his childhood, really she had never thought of him having a childhood. She wanted to press him on it, but he had dismounted and obviously didn’t intend to go on about it.
“What is this place?” she asked, dismounting herself and tying her horse to the post of a fence that needed mending.
“It’s a house,” he said, and as she waited for him to go on, since she could see it was a house, she followed him toward it. The door was closed, but easily fell open under his hand.
“Your house?” She pressed.
“Of course not. It is my valet’s house, though it stands empty, he prefers Paris.” He stepped back with a half-bow to let her pass ahead of him inside. It was dark and still inside, they were standing in a small kitchen. She took a few steps, her shoes making footprints in the dust on the floor.
“It’s so quiet here,” she murmured, afraid of disturbing the stillness of the place.
“Yes, it seemed you might need some quiet…” his voice was very close, directly behind her. When she started to step away, he caught her wrist. It was meeting his eyes that was her mistake, her resolve wavered, and then crumbled entirely when he pulled her back around against him. She felt flames leap up inside her, and she wondered if she had ever really meant to end it… Afterwards, as the fire had burned down leaving her feeling warm and sleepy, she told him again more slowly, and more clearly everything that had happened since they'd left Paris, and of her conversation with Queen Catherine.
"I don't want to go back to Scotland," she finished. "I mean, I do someday, but not yet."
"You won't have to. The woman merely sees a way she can torment Marie with little effort on her part and so she's taking it. I can handle Catherine de Medici. I'm more concerned about these veiled accusations against you for this girl's murder."
"I didn't..."
"Don't be silly Marguerite, I don't think you did. There are any number of reasons to kill someone. A rival, a jealous lover...the point is someone is trying to make it seem as though you did, most likely to bring you to the attention of Queen Catherine. But you mustn’t let yourself be so upset over it.”
“Everyone is talking about it, I can’t leave the room without…”
“Shh, mignonne, next week there will be another scandal and everyone will forget about it. And it will be to your benefit that, although Queen Catherine is no fool, there are many demands on her time an attention.”
“You’re hoping she’ll forget.”
He nodded. “That would be the easiest outcome. You said the Earl of Ross was there?"
She nodded. "I thought of that too, but he came from the other direction, there is no way he could have been in that garden and then slipped around without being seen."
"Nevertheless, take care to mind what you say to him. He has the favor of the King now, it's unwise to insult him. Don't give him a reason to interfere."
"I don't like him."
"You don't have to. But don't let him bait you either."
"It's like he knows I'm hiding something."
"Everyone is hiding something." "Why did you choose to go into the Church?"
She had always wondered that, and asked it now because considering their current situation, he couldn't reasonably claim it had been the strength of his religious convictions or devotion to God. He didn't even bother pretending with those reasons.
"Do you really think it was my choice? My father was the Duke of Guise, and my mother was Antoinette de Bourbon...do you think my life was not planned before I was born? Titles and land can only be inherited by the oldest, and damned if Francis hasn't always been perfectly healthy. There was only one path to power open to me," he gestured vaguely to the clerical robes tossed over the back of a chair. "It is not so different from your situation...William is Lord Atholl, the estate is his. Except that as a woman, not even the church is open to you."
"That's not true, I could go to a convent. I could become a nun."
He smirked. "The life wouldn't suit you. I don't believe they let the sisters wear earrings. Or embroidered garters..." He dangled the item in question until she grabbed it away. “No, you’ll just have to marry well.”
She knew that was true. “Yes, I suppose so. I don’t think I’ll like being married.”
“I could arrange for you to be a very wealthy young widow…” he said softly.
She laughed it off with a little shrug, frightened because she couldn’t tell if he meant it or not…
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Post by Shades on Apr 10, 2006 19:03:03 GMT -5
Chapter 18
“Cait an robh thu?”
Margaret froze at William’s voice, asking a seemingly innocent question. Where were you? She had thought that no one had noticed her absence, since Mary and her girls had not commented upon it, but apparently William had noticed she was gone. She turned from Mary’s stockings she was folding and gave him a stern look.
“B’aill leibh? I don’t like your tone.”
She had hoped correcting his manners would distract him and she wouldn’t have to answer, but he merely rolled his eyes and revised the question to a more polite version.
“Cait an robh sibh?”
“Chaidh mi dhan bhaile,” she replied, giving him the first excuse that came to mind, that she had gone to town. There was a small town not so far from Fontainebleu, although there was nothing there that one could not as easily get at the palace, and it was a rough road to take so soon after it had snowed. Uncharacteristic silence followed this answer, so long that she finally turned back to look at him. His brows were knit together in an expression of confusion.
“Are you all right Meg?”
“Of course I am, I’m fine, why?”
“You seem…odd.”
“Don’t be daft Will, I’m only tired is all.” Feeling bad, both for snapping and for lying to him, she reached out and smoothed out the line between his brows. “Na biodh dragh ort.”
He didn’t look convinced, but then shrugged. “Want to play chess?”
“Well, that depends. Do you really feel like getting thrashed again?”
He grinned. “Dean deiseil! I’ll go get it.”
He turned for the door and she leaned against the table weakly. She was being too careless. All it would take was for William to ask Mary’s girls where she had gone, and for any one of them to realize Mary’s uncle had been gone the same time, and the suspicion would be there. Appearances, she had learned, were half the battle.
“That’s refreshing, it has been a long time since I have heard the Gaelic. I’d started to forget what it sounds like,” an unwelcome voice startled her.
“Did you also forget how to knock?” she inquired icily of the Earl of Ross, as William backed into her, clearly sensing this was a man she didn’t like. Instinctively she drew him against her side, as though she might hide him.
“One of the guards gave me entrance. I would have remained in the audience chamber had there been one, but apparently no such formalities at Fontainebleu.”
“If you wish to speak to the Queen, I’m afraid you’ll have to request an audience, not just come wandering in as the mood suits you.”
He was not really listening to her, but rather looking at William with undisguised interest. “And this is young Lord Atholl? You’re an elusive young man, for as much as I see your sister we have never met. You have the look of your father.”
“Yes, I know.” He stepped away from her and drew himself up, trying to play the part of a man. “You are Lord Ross.”
She was surprised that he knew that, she had assumed him to be blissfully unaware of the machinations going on in the court around him.
“Clever lad,” he remarked, with a slight nod. “How old are you?”
“Nine, Sir.” His voice was perfectly respectful, as it ought to be when speaking to someone so much older, but with a ring of authority that was new. Perhaps because of that she did not step in and end the exchange. It was the first time she saw a flash of her father from her little brother who was still so entirely a child. That calm, unruffled way of speaking, that somehow still conveyed that he wasn’t about to be intimidated.
“Nine, so young. How lucky you have your sister to look after you.”
“Yes, I’m very lucky. I have not only Margaret, but the Kingdoms of Scotland and France.”
She wanted to laugh. Oh, good boy Wills! It was a clear statement that anyone who wanted to hurt him would be making some very powerful enemies. Posing or not, her brother understood more than she’d realized. As for Lord Ross, he seemed unable to decide if he was surprised or amused.
“So you do,” he finally agreed amiably, but she decided this conversation had gone on long enough.
“Wills, Lord Ross was just leaving, so why don’t you go and get the chess,” she said, and when he hesitated added, “siuthad ma-tha.”
With a slight nod to and “Good day Sir,” to Ross, he went.
“Not many ladies speak the Gaelic,” he said conversationally, showing no intention of leaving as she had implied. “Where did you learn it?”
“My nurse came from the West Highlands, and there are some in West Lothian who speak it still.”
“And do you read it as well?” he inquired. It was, at best, and odd question, and at worst a very suspicious one.
“I can, though I fail to see why that matters.”
“Hm, how convenient for the de Guise men,” he said, in a voice that was more admiration than anything, but before she could get angry, or even ask about the comment, he went on. “Since I find her again absent, I daresay I will take your advice and make a request to speak to the Queen formally. And I believe you have an appointment at chess with your young Lord. There is no better way for a boy to learn strategy, in my opinion. So I will bid you good day, Mademoiselle.”
He had again given her that uncomfortable feeling that he not only knew she was hiding something, but knew exactly what it was. His comment about the de Guise men was worrying at least. And she could not help but wonder how badly he really wanted to see the Queen when he kept showing up and immediately leaving when he found her busy. William returned and she quickly put it out of her mind, not wanting to worry him even further. In the country once again, Margaret found that she and William were much more accustomed to the outdoors and the elements than the rest of the court. In comparison to the bitter cold and wet of a Scottish winter, the sunny chill of the French countryside broken only by occasional snowfall seemed mild and a good reason to make use of the vast grounds around Fontainebleu. The others did not agree and so she often found herself advocating some outdoor activity, only to be met with looks of mixed exasperation and sympathy as they merely replied “but there’s snow!”
If she wanted to go outdoors, she often found herself with William as her only companion. She didn’t mind particularly, as it reminded her of rather simpler times when they had still lived in Scotland. She could hardly believe only a year ago that had been her life. Mama and Father had not gotten sick yet, she’d had no idea that they would soon set out for Paris and a much bigger world.
One day she was looking for William and was told he had gone outside. Since he was forbidden to wander beyond the sight of the chateau without her, she knew he would be close by. Finally, she heard his voice from one of the gardens near the stable, and went to see who he was talking to. She did not like what she found. He was talking to Lord Ross, and she forced down her first reaction- stay away from my brother- and went to find out what they were talking about.
“Why is it wearing that…that hat?” William was asking.
“It’s a hood, and it’s to keep him calm. You see, he has very sharp eyes, he sees much better and more clearly than people, so if he could see he’d be looking around at everything, and I want to save his energy for flying and hunting.”
She saw as she came nearer she saw perching on his arm, a magnificent dark brown and cream-colored falcon, wearing it’s little leather hood. They had never kept birds of prey at Blair Castle, since they required the attention of a full time keeper generally, but she had known people who did keep them for sport hunting and she knew falconry was popular among the wealthy and highborn.
William saw her and turned, grinning. “Look Meg, isn’t he lovely? It’s a peregrine falcon, all the way from Turkey!”
“Yes, he’s very nice Will,” she agreed, as the bird was spectacular. “But what are you doing here?”
“I was tired of being inside,” he complained. “And so I came out, but then I found Lord Ross and he’s going hunting, and I’ve never seen anyone hunt with birds before.”
She saw where this was going, William was going to ask to go along, and since he seemed ready to appeal to her, Lord Ross had apparently already agreed to have him.
“Hunting in mid-winter?” she asked skeptically.
“It’s the only way to hunt in winter, with raptors. They can see so much more than we do.”
“May I go along and watch Meg? He’s said it’s all right, and I’ll be ever so good, I really will.”
“Of course not William, you mustn’t bother Lord Ross,” she said firmly, ignoring the crestfallen look.
“It’s not a bother in the slightest Lady, but perhaps if you are concerned for his safety you can come as well. If you have never seen hunting with birds they are quite spectacular hunters, well-deserving of an audience.”
He was setting out to take away any reasonable objection, so that she would either have to agree, or admit that her reason for not doing so was nothing more than the fact that she simply disliked him.
“Oh very well.”
He gave her a smile that William did not see, one that clearly said he’d won.
“I’ll wait here while you get your horses then.”
William helped her saddle Cailleach in the absence of any stable boys, and looked a little concerned.
“You don’t mind, do you Meg? It’s only that I so like hunting, and I’m so tired of being indoors.”
“No, I don’t mind. It will be interesting I’m sure. I just don’t like you getting too close to Lord Ross. I’m not sure I trust him.”
She was surprised that she told him this, but he didn’t look surprised. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s being very nice today, and isn’t that falcon just brilliant?”
“All right, let’s go.”
They rode away from the chateau, with William keeping up admirably. It seemed they went unnecessarily far, but he explained that, while he had permission to hunt on the king’s land, he preferred not to, and wanted to keep the bird where there were no other people around. When he deemed they had gone far enough, he released the falcon with the slightest shrug of his leather-gloved arm, and then proceeded to outline the history of the sport for William.
As they watching the bird circling overhead, William rode away a bit, exploring the edge of the forest, and it gave her the opportunity to speak freely.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? There is no sinister plot, I was going hunting, I came upon your brother, he seemed interested. I’m not hurting him. I have no intention of hurting him, despite what you seem to think. I prefer the status quo in Scotland to remain as it is. I prefer that one of the most powerful earldoms is in the hands of a young boy who is absent. Were there a more ambitious Atholl I might have to be in Scotland defending my estates. As it is, I have no reason to go back to Scotland, and that is much how I prefer my life.”
“Why don’t you want to go back to Scotland?”
She saw immediately that his face had darkened, she should not have asked.
“That is my own affair, but suffice to say that your brother remaining Earl of Atholl is in my own interests as well. I mean him no harm.” He glanced upward and called “William, look, he’s diving!”
The bird caught a rabbit, much to William’s delight, but the sky was beginning to darken, and it looked like it might snow, so they started back. He left them at Fontainebleu before riding on to the chateau he was staying at. As they were putting aside the horses, William spoke thoughtfully.
“You know, I don’t think he’s so bad Margaret…” She came back to Mary’s apartments to find it empty aside from Charles and Janet Sinclair.
“Are you sure you ought to leave now, Your Grace? It looks like snow and it’s late to begin the journey back to Paris,” the governess was saying, he brushed off the warning.
“I must be in Paris by tomorrow. It’s not a long ride for a small party, it will be fine,” he paused as he saw her. “Lady Margaret, I wanted to speak to you before I left…”
Janet Sinclair bustled off into the other room, apparently to get something for his journey.
“You’re going?”
“I really must be back in Paris, and since Queen Catherine left this morning for Amiens I don’t think you should have any more problems.”
“You think she’s forgotten about me?”
“That or decided she didn’t want to go to the effort. I spoke to her, nothing serious, just how important it is to Mary to have you here and such. I suppose she decided it’s not worth the trouble. She doesn’t really think you killed that girl. Although for God’s sake someone did, so do be careful. Were you outside? Your cheeks are flushed.”
She told him briefly of the day, and his paused at fastening his cloak when she mentioned Lord Ross’s reaction to her asking why he didn’t want to go back to Scotland.
“Well, that is interesting,” he murmured. “Good girl Marguerite, really, well done getting him to talk. I am interested to know why he’s so determined not to go back to Scotland…see if you can find out, I was right that he liked you.”
“Do you think it’s important?”
He shrugged. “I think it’s worth knowing.”
“I’ll try.”
“I know.” He glanced at the door Janet Sinclair had gone through. “I’ve already said good bye to Marie, I must be going. Do be careful Marguerite, there has already been one murder here, for seemingly no reason. I don’t want you to be the next one.” He brushed his knuckles along her cheekbone, and then since there was no one around, he kissed her. Not a long, lingering kiss as if they were alone, but briefly so there was no danger of Janet Sinclair returning. Margaret heard a soft, strangled gasp, and drew away from him to see not Janet Sinclair returning from the other room, but Mary Fleming standing in the door to the hallway.
Margaret felt frozen. There was nothing she could say, it seemed her voice had deserted her completely. He too seemed to be frozen when he turned and saw what she was staring at, but then recovered and stepped past her.
“Mary,” he began, but Fleming turned and fled.
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Post by Shades on Apr 10, 2006 19:03:47 GMT -5
Chapter 19
Margaret expected a crisis…for the palace to come crashing down around them, and yet nothing happened. Fleming disappeared, and by the time they returned from dinner she was in bed, having pled a headache to the maids and governess. Margaret realized she should not be surprised. Mary Fleming was her mother’s daughter- lively and spirited, but also every inch a realist. For better or worse, a lifetime at court had left her with no illusions about human nature. The one blind spot in her unusually mature worldview was her mistress. She loved the Queen with a fierce, unflagging, and unquestioning loyalty. Anything that might hurt Mary was bad, and Margaret knew her affair with Mary’s uncle fell into that category. But Margaret also understood that Fleming would rather do anything than deliver news that might hurt the Queen, and so she would do her best to keep it a secret. Yet Margaret knew she had to talk to the girl, to try to explain as best she could that her intention had never been to hurt Mary…that her intention had never been to hurt anyone.
She was too restless to lie in bed, or even to stay in the confines of her room that night, and found herself in the sitting room. She built up the fire and picked up and discarded several books and sewing before she ended up just staring vaguely into the fire. She didn’t hear a door open and close, so she was startled when Fleming joined her in front of the fire, like a ghost in her white nightgown. She drew her knees up and was silent for awhile, and Margaret knew to wait and let her speak, to say whatever she needed to.
“It’s not surprising, you know. Always there are women around him. It’s not hard to see why. And I don’t think the Church is a deterrent at all, in a perverse way that appeals to some. And you’re quite beautiful, I should have expected it since you first came here.” She continued looking at the fire. “Cousin Marie knows what he is like. She knows that powerful men take certain liberties. How could she not know? But it is very different when it is you. You see, for all she thinks she knows what he is like, she admires him so. And she is so fond of you. She would think you have betrayed her, both of you.”
“It was never about her.”
“In cousin Marie’s world, everything is about her.”
Margaret found she couldn’t argue with the truth in that.
"You're not the first, you know?"
Margaret sighed. "I know that, and no doubt I'm not the last."
"Then why do it?"
She shrugged. "It is what it is. I can't explain it, I don't regret it for my sake, but I don't want anyone hurt."
Fleming rose, looking much older than her thirteen years. "I won't tell cousin Marie if I don't have to, but I won't lie to her. I will tell you this, we have lived here for eight years, and I have seen how he is. You should end it first. If he has to, it will not be good for you." At the doorway she turned, and added “And tread carefully Margaret, it would be unwise to anger him.”
That was not particularly helpful advice, since she had resolved to do the very same thing a number of times, without ever actually managing to finish that task. Even if she was somewhat more resolved after the intrusion of reality and Fleming on the previously secret part of her life, the man in question had returned to Paris. She would be lying if she said that she was not more than a little annoyed at that as well. She knew there could be no excuse for him to miss the duties that waited for him in Paris, but he had dismissed her worries with merely “Lady Mary will say nothing to Marie, there is no need for concern Marguerite” and left her to deal with whatever consequences there might be. She wished she could share his confidence, but she thought she knew Mary Fleming well enough to know where her loyalties were. The girl had stated it herself- I won't tell cousin Marie if I don't have to, but I won't lie to her.
She resolved that until she was in Paris again and could actually do something about it, her best tactic was to go on as if nothing had happened, and hope that Fleming would do the same. It seemed that she planned to, although she was suddenly a bit cool, and a bit more reserved when Margaret was around. That was hardly surprising, for if anyone understood the consequences of an illicit affair, it was Lady Mary Fleming, whose mother had been all but exiled back to Scotland after a very public affair with the King. For most of the court, it had been a particularly good bit of gossip, to be repeated and embellished months after Jenny Fleming herself had left, and then dragged up again when the “Bastard of Angoulême” or Harry, was born months later. While it was years past, Margaret now wondered if Fleming felt her mother’s absence more keenly than anyone realized. That would make her sensitive about any of them women in Mary’s entourage entertaining the attentions of the powerful men around them. While she was worried about her own security at the Court now, she was also worried that she would probably never fully repair her friendship with the girl.
It was ridiculous and childish, but she found herself doing her best to avoid finding herself alone with them, and so when Mary did not absolutely need her, took to spending a great deal of time either with William, or in one of the small libraries upstairs where people rarely came. It was a bright afternoon in early February when she retreated there to answer letters that had come from Scotland. Colum was a surprisingly eager correspondent, responding to the slightest inquiry with pages and pages detailing the state of the castle, the land, the accounts, and what seemed like every tenant on Atholl lands. While she was pleased to be informed, she could see that everything was being run perfectly, and he had it well in hand. Still, perhaps she ought to begin sharing such things with William, so that he might start to understand what into running his estates.
She did not hear the door open or close, but suddenly had the strange feeling that she was being watched. She glanced up, and started when she found two alert brown eyes watching her from a height just taller than the table she was sitting at. She smiled when she realized it was just a small boy, no older than five or six years old.
“Hello. What’s your name?”
He blinked at her, eyes wide, but said nothing. “Mine is Margaret,” she went on. “How old are you?”
Still no answer, but he seemed to be listening to her. “Where did you come from?”
He frowned at her, and she wondered if perhaps he was not French, and didn’t understand her at all, when a voice interrupted her and the library door flew open.
“Ach! There ye are, ye wee rascal!” exclaimed the buxom woman who marched right over to the little boy and caught him up in voluminous arms, tucking him securely under her arm, from where he grinned at Margaret, and giggled. “I apologize if he was bothering ye, Lady.”
“No, he wasn’t.” The woman, who looked like a nurse and spoke with the heavy brogue of the highlands. “Who is he?”
“He’s called Cameron Everson, Eighth Earl of Kirkwell. He won’t understand your French, Lady.”
Kirkwell? It sounded strangely familiar, though she couldn’t recall exactly where she had heard of the place, and she couldn’t remember exactly where it was.
“Who are his parents? Are they here in the Queen’s service?”
“Ach, well, his Da’s gone to heaven last year.”
“Oh, I’m sorry…”
“But aye, his Mam is about, come to pay her respects to Her Majesty, Queen Mary…”
Another woman came through the door, this one resplendent in deep purple silk that she wore with an air of careless grace, “Have you found him Nancy? Oh, good! Who are you talk-“ The woman turned and saw Margaret, and they both gave a small cry of recognition.
“Margaret! Margaret Blair!”
“Jane!” she laughed, recalling then where she remembered the name of Kirkwell from. Lady Jane Hocking had lived on a large estate near Blair Castle, and for most of Margaret’s childhood she had been present. While her family was not as noble, they were extremely rich, and Jane always had the best of everything. She was five years older than Margaret, and she remembered now how she had worshipped her, following her around for hours on end and driving her mad with questions. When Margaret had been thirteen, Jane had been sent to marry the Earl of Kirkwell, a mysterious man who she had never even seen a picture of, in the distant and unforgiving Orkney Islands north of Scotland. She had been devastated to leave her home to go live with a man she had never heard of, but everyone insisted it was a good match, increasing the wealth of both families.
Jane embraced her impulsively, and she got a mouthful of purple silk and lace as she hadn’t been expecting it, and then held her at arm’s length and studied her carefully.
“Why you’ve turned out beautiful! It was so hard to tell when you were little if you’d take after your mother, but you have!”
Jane too had gotten prettier as she’d gotten older and a little heavier, where she had been rather strangely attractive as a girl, with stark black hair and angular features. She was now quite beautiful, seeming far more comfortable with herself and well-suited to her life.
“Is he yours?” Margaret asked of the little boy, now trying to squirm away from his nurse.
“Oh yes, that’s Cam,” she ruffled the brown hair. “He’s four. And I’ve a wee daughter as well, nearly two.”
“That’s wonderful Jane!”
“Aye, they’re all right,” she said fondly. “And young William? How old is he? Barely a baby when last I saw him.”
“He’s nine, and very well.”
“I simply can’t believe you’re here. Of all the strange things to find you in this foreign castle. How did you come here?”
And so Margaret found herself outlining how they had come to France, and then come to join the Queen’s household.
“The Queen? So you see her every day? My goodness!” Jane seemed quite impressed by her position. “We came here not even sure if we’d be able to have an audience with her. The Queen regent wouldn’t see us in Edinburgh. You see, I want the crown to appoint a guardian for the Kirkwell estate and castle for Cam’s minority. I’m afraid of Angus’s brother, he’s an ambitious man…”
Margaret could sympathize, for she had come to France for a similar reason, to protect William’s inheritance. While it had once seemed that Jane was a great deal older, a woman when she had been a child, now that she was eighteen, and Jane was twenty-three, it felt as though they were close in age, nearly equals. And she realized with enjoyment that she could actually use her position now to do a favor for an old friend. She could, at the very least, get Jane an audience with Queen Mary. Mary was in a good mood, and so inclined to be generous and at least listen seriously to Jane’s request, when Margaret introduced her after dinner. Jane was so nervous at first she could barely speak, but Mary didn’t feel like putting on her most regal expression and queenly veneer, and so she seemed almost like a natural thirteen-year-old girl, much less intimidating than she usually was.
“The Earl of Kirkwell, what is his age?”
“He is four, your Majesty.”
Jane had knelt when she approached the Queen, who was sitting on a low chaise with a book in her hands, and had not risen as she made her plea and Mary listened reasonably. Now Margaret caught her eye and nodded to where Jane was still kneeling.
“Oh, you may sit, Lady Jane.”
Jane sat in an empty chair, but kept her eyes downcast. Margaret tried to catch her eyes, to give an encouraging smile that they had caught the Queen in such a friendly mood, but she didn’t look up.
“Tell us of the place where you live.”
Jane looked up, confused. “Oh, well, it is very remote your Majesty, and very cold and barren, but it is also beautiful in its way. I have come to be very fond of it indeed.”
“You will tell me more of it. But in the meantime we will ask our mother to appoint a guardian of the Earl of Kirkwell’s estates. Not another local Laird, but one of our own men.”
“Oh…thank you, your Majesty!”
“And perhaps your late Lord’s brother might be sent elsewhere so he would not have to worry over his brother’s lands. We need soldiers on our borders, naturally.”
“I’m sure he would be honored to serve your Majesty. You are too kind.”
That seemed to please the Queen.
“How is it that you are friends with Lady Margaret, if you come from this remote place?” Beaton asked, guessing the semi-official part of the audience was finished and she was free to speak.
“I moved to Kirkwell when I was married, Lady Mary, but before that I lived in Lothian, my parents had an estate quite near to Blair Castle.”
Mary was seemingly fascinated by this, as she often was when people spoke of their childhoods in Scotland.
“Weren’t you surprised to find her here!” exclaimed Seton.
“Oh yes, I expected by now she’d be married and tucked away in the country somewhere,” Jane said with a little laugh. Margaret didn’t join in the laughing, because she saw Mary’s face, and she could always tell when an idea took hold in the Queen’s mind. Mary swung her foot off the chaise so she could look at Margaret squarely.
“I say Lady Margaret, how old are you?”
Some people might find it hard to believe that the Queen wouldn’t know, but Margaret knew that details did not stay with Queen Mary unless she wanted them to.
“Eighteen, your Majesty,” she said politely.
“Eighteen! Why indeed you must be married. I suppose it is because you have no father it has not been arranged. I wonder your Uncle does not see to it. If he does not, then we must. It simply doesn’t do…”
“Your Majesty, there is no hurry-“ she began, but Mary was obviously not listening.
“There are many fine men in France who would need a wife. Or perhaps a Scot? We must think about this.”
“Your Majesty, I am not-“
“It would be for your own protection of course. It is hardly proper for ladies to not marry in a Court such as this.” She had a feeling that was something Mary had heard from someone else, perhaps Janet Sinclair.
“But certainly your Majesty, Lady Margaret would be above reproach,” said Seton reasonably.
Margaret tried to keep her eyes on the fire, but she could feel Fleming’s eyes on her.
“We must begin considering it seriously,” said Mary decisively, and Margaret knew that once the Queen took an idea into her head she rarely let it go. Jane was staying at Fontainebleu for a time, and Margaret enjoyed the company of someone a little older than her. They were having a warm spell and so they began taking long walks, often with Cam and Jane’s little girl, Flora.
Jane was very taken with Queen Mary and her household.
“They’re all such charming and elegant girls, they seem much older than thirteen. But so personable. Although I don’t think the Fleming girl much likes me.”
Margaret hesitated. “It’s not you. Don’t take offense to her. It’s only that you’re always with me. She’s…ah…she’s upset with me now.”
“Why?”
“I…I can’t explain it. It’s nothing.”
Jane went on looking concerned, as they walked along, a part of Margaret wanted to tell her. Jane was older, she would be able to see it reasonably, and she would not stay in France long. Already she had said she was sailing for Scotland as soon as the weather was warmer, and perhaps she would know what Margaret should do.
She stopped herself then, because she knew, deep down, that it was foolish to speak of it to anyone, even someone she considered a friend.
“Who’s that?” Jane asked, cutting off her thoughts and pointing out a rider in the distance. Margaret recognized the chestnut horse.
“The Earl of Ross,” she said with some distaste. “He is often about this winter, and I wish he wouldn’t come. He makes me uncomfortable.”
“Really?” Jane squinted against the sun to get a clear view of him. “Angus spoke of him sometimes. There were rumors that he arranged his brother’s death to inherit the title, but then he is never in Scotland and they say he is landed here as well so there seems no reason for it.”
“What else did he say?” she asked with interest. For being so remote, it sounded as though her husband had been well-informed.
“Oh, that he is a mercenary, he fights not for convictions or for loyalty but for money. His estates are failing though, you know.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, he’s lost a fortune. Mostly through bad luck. They had a sort of plague among the livestock, and many of the tenants fell ill as well, and they had a year of bad crops, and then they found out that the estate caretaker was stealing from him. It’s odd that he doesn’t go back to sort it out, especially as his mother is ailing. Or she was, she may well have died now.”
Margaret was not sure what to make of that, but it was certainly worth knowing.
“The Queen is not pleased with him, because he accepted a title from the King of France to prepare their army for war. It seems the Queen Regent and the De Guise’s are displeased with him as well, but he must have the favor of the French King.”
“Have you met the Queen’s uncles?” Jane laughed suddenly. “Oh, how you just blushed Margaret!”
“Did I?” she said vaguely. “It’s getting very warm.”
“Oh don’t give me that. Tell me then.”
Margaret turned and looked back at Fontainebleu, which was well beyond them. They were past the gardens and crossing the park, where there were no walls to hide behind and listen. She seized Jane’s arm and pulled her down on the warm grass, and told her everything. When she finished, Jane was silent for a long time.
“Well…” she said finally. “What have you gotten yourself into? What can you have been thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted.
“It’s not so hard to imagine. It’s easy to be swept off your feet by an older, experienced man. You don’t love him, do you?”
Margaret shook her head slowly. “No, but he’s very charming, and it…it…” she trailed off miserably.
“You must end it Margaret, you know that.”
“What if he’s angry.”
Jane frowned. “I think the Queen is right. If you were married, it could be ended. He knows you would not betray him to the Queen, but a jealous husband might.” “Ah, Lady Margaret!” someone called her name as they were hurrying back to the castle. She turned and smiled, for it was the Comte de Lille who had spoken.
“Oh, who’s he?” murmured Jane. Margaret kicked her gently.
“Good afternoon,” she said as he approached. “This is a friend from Scotland, the dowager Countess of Kirkwell. Jane, M. Le Comte de Lille.”
“Honored to meet you Madame Kirkwell,” he replied politely. “I wanted to speak to you for a moment about William.”
“William?”
“Yes, I found him in the stable yesterday trying to saddle Cailleach.”
“Cailleach? But Cailleach is huge, far too big for him. And temperamental. No one but me can handle him. He’d throw William in a second.”
“Yes, that’s why I stopped him-“
“Thank you Gabriel.”
“Yes, but apparently someone…a boy called Christian, I gathered, was teasing him about riding a “baby horse” and he thought if he took out Cailleach, the boys would see he was no baby.”
“The little fool could have been killed,” she muttered.
“Well, he’s at a strange age for a boy,” he said reasonably. “I suggested he take Renoncule, who looks fierce but is as gentle as a baby.”
“Thank you, really, I’ll speak to him about it.”
“I just wanted you to know, don’t embarrass him,” he said, and glanced at Jane. “I have no wish to be rude, but I am leaving for Amiens presently, may I speak to you for a moment alone, Lady Margaret?”
“I’m sure Cameron and Flora are driving the nurse to distraction, I’d better go check. It was nice to meet you M. le Comte.”
“Likewise, My Lady.”
He waited until she was out of earshot, and then turned back to her. “I must apologize, for there is no way to speak of this without being rude. I mean no disrespect, and it is only because I have such respect for you that I mention this. I have heard a disturbing rumor…”
“What?”
“Please don’t take offense Lady Margaret, this is no conversation for a lady, but a rumor has reached me about you and…the Cardinal of Lorraine,” he said it very quickly, as though eager to be done with the whole conversation.
“Who…who said such a thing?” she asked, finding her own voice.
“I have no wish to cause trouble among the Queen’s household…”
“Please…”
He glanced beyond her at the Palace. “The Earl of Ross spoke of it to me. I told him it was nonsense….”
“Thank you, for telling me.”
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Post by Shades on Apr 10, 2006 19:04:46 GMT -5
Chapter 20
It was a fine day, perfect for riding, and Margaret found herself in high spirits, for she was going back to Paris. She was alone…or not actually alone, but the two young members of Mary’s household guard who were escorting her were not very talkative. The plague that they had left Paris to get away from had never actually come (at least, nothing so serious that any more of the poor had died than did in a normal winter) and the children were being moved back to Paris. Margaret had no arguments when Mary sent her a few days ahead to make sure everything was in order, for although the time at Fontainebleu had been pleasant, she would be glad to be back in the activity of Paris. As much as she liked the freedom and informality of the country, she felt like there had been more drama and trouble there than she had encountered in all the time they’d been in Paris. Perhaps, back in Paris, her life would resume a feeling of normalcy. Although, she was beginning to wonder if there was any such thing as “normal” in the kind of life she now found herself living.
They made the trip back to Paris relatively quickly, traveling lightly and riding fast. It was twilight when they rode into the city, and back to the palace she handed Cailleach off to a groom and dismissed Mary’s guards. The Queen’s apartments were deserted, and so she sent for a maid to start the fires and change the beds, thankful at least for the brief solitude. She cleared away some papers while she waited for the maids, and while she was locking them away in the cabinet where Mary kept important things, the signature of the Queen Regent caught her eyes. Although she knew she should not read Mary’s letters from her mother, she saw familiar names- that heretic preacher continues to trouble us. Argyll, Morton, and Ross are troubling as well, I do not trust their loyalty to the crown or the TrueChurch
“My Lady?” she turned, shoving the letters back into the cabinet, and found it was only a young maid.
“Oh…ah, where is Elise?”
“I don’t know, my Lady.”
Margaret frowned. “What is your name?”
“Bernadette, my Lady,” the maid answered, her eyes downcast.
“How long have you been in the palace?”
“One month my Lady. I came from the country. My Aunt is one of the cooks.” She hesitated. “Would you like me to start the fire, my Lady?”
“Yes, yes do,” she said quickly, with a wave of her hand, feeling bad about questioning the girl, who looked no older than fifteen and very shy. She went to the fire while Margaret went to her room to shed her dusty traveling clothes. By the time she emerged, the fire was cracking cheerfully.
“Will that be all, my Lady?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The girl left, and it was then she noticed the cabinet she had been replacing papers in was standing open. She knew she had not locked it, but she thought she had closed it. She glanced at the door, where the young maid had gone, but thought she could not have been out of the room long enough for the girl to have both built the fire and done anything else. She glanced through the contents of Mary’s locked cabinet, and decided that everything seemed to be there, she must have just been careless in leaving it open. She locked it carefully and replaced the key in Mary’s desk, but she couldn’t really shake the suspicious feeling the girl had left her with.
Darkness fell quickly, and it was strangely quiet in Mary’s apartments without all the girls around. She curled up in front of the fire with a book Genevieve had given her, but could barely stay awake to read. The fire had burned down and a chill was coming over the room when someone shook her awake.
“Marguerite, what are you doing?”
She blinked at him, rubbing at her eyes. “Sleeping, I fell asleep.”
“Hm, yes. I can see that. It’s not safe for you to be in here alone, without guards.”
“I sent them off, Her Majesty isn’t here…”
“Not for her, for you. And it’s terribly cold in here as well,” he prodded the fire, stirring it up.
She frowned, uncomfortable with his presence and the striking familiarity she felt in light of the decisions she’d made and the fact that a few people at least knew what was going on between them. “How did you know I’d be here?”
He smiled. “Marie is a lively correspondent. She wrote that she planned to send you back before her to make sure everything in order. She also wishes to find someone you can marry. She is soliciting suggestions from everyone,” he added, looking highly amused.
“Lovely.”
“I suggested the Duc de Chamonix.”
“He’s fifteen, and they say he’s an idiot.”
“Precisely. Easily controlled by a strong woman.”
“I’m not going to marry the Duc de Chamonix.”
He shrugged. “As you wish, Mignonne.”
“You didn’t really tell her that, did you? Because she’ll listen to you.”
He chuckled. “No, I didn’t tell her anything thus far. But she is not wrong. You cannot put it off forever.”
“I don’t want to marry according to her Majesty’s whims.”
He laid down the poker he had used to build the fire, and turned to her, laying a palm against her cheek. “Marguerite, women of your status marry for duty. I’m afraid there is no room for romantic dreams.”
She knew it was true, she was realistic enough to know that. Fairy tales were for children, and she couldn’t act like a child anymore, not with the responsibilities she had. And yet she hated to think there would be no great romance in her future. She would marry whoever the Queen decided, and because she was close to Mary, she might be lucky enough that it would be someone who was not too disagreeable.
He was stroking his thumb along her cheekbone, and she turned into the light touch despite herself, because while she knew it was not the kind of romance little girls dreamed about when they heard fairy tales, it was at least something. She didn’t love him, but she wanted him, and it was of her own free will. She rose up from her seat quickly, sliding her hands up his body, surprising him with a desperate kiss. Despite catching him off-guard, for she had never initiated anything between them before, his arm circled around her waist and pulled her hard against him while his other hand slid into her hair. He drew away for a second and gave a low chuckle. “All right then Mignonne,” he murmured, sweeping her up entirely into his arms. There was a part of her mind that hated herself for the weakness, but then another part that was only aware of his voice. She heard rain begin to fall against the window about an hour later, and he rose to make a fire in her room. There was something about the way he moved, a kind of careless athletic grace that made her pulse jump and her mouth go dry. As though he felt her gaze, he turned, and she realized from his shrewd look he was not a master politician without knowing how to read people.
“What’s the matter?”
"Charles, this has to end."
He didn't answer her immediately, but studied her, seemingly almost amused. She knew she could hardly claim the moral high ground considering only an hour ago she had set out to seduce him, but she knew the longer she waited to say it the harder it would be. There would be no other time they would be alone once the Queen returned. As she started to feel uncomfortable under his blue gaze and drew the front of her robe together, he nodded slightly, just a vague inclination of his head.
"As you wish Marguerite."
She had expected something more, an argument? Not really, but some sort of drama. Certainly not quiet agreement. Her surprise must have shown on her face, because he smiled.
"I'm guilty of many sins, my dear, but rape is not among them. The choice has always been yours." The fire flickered to life and he returned, but did not touch her. “You have always had more to lose from this. Truly, I have been expecting this, as I know Lady Mary has made things difficult for you. Perhaps it is better, I will not have Marie hurt, and nor do I wish that for you.” "Where in the world are my gloves?" complained Queen Mary, looking around vaguely but apparently making no real effort to find the gloves. This was how she signaled that she wanted someone else to look.
"You took them off in the yard when you dismounted, perhaps you left them there," remarked Seton, displaying yet again her uncanny tendency to notice details.
"Margaret, will you see if they're there?"
"Of course, your Majesty."
She was no more than halfway down the hallway when someone else said her name. She turned, in irritation, for it seemed as though Mary and her girls had done nothing but call for her since they had arrived back from Fontainebleu, and she was getting tired of the sound of her own name. However, when she saw who had spoken, mild irritation turned to fury. The Earl of Ross was catching up with her in long strides, and she tightly controlled her temper, because it really didn't do for ladies to brawl in palace hallways.
"If you have a moment, I would speak to you...alone," he said, politely.
She was about to respond that she had nothing to say to him, but then realized she had quite a good deal to say to him, and so she preceded him into a small library which they found to be deserted. No sooner had the door closed behind him than she spun around and slapped him hard across the cheek. He took a step back, more from surprise than pain, and gingerly touched the red handprint coming out against his skin.
"I take it Brehonnet spoke to you..."
"You bastard..."
"Now just a moment Lady, I said nothing that was..."
"You have no right-"
"Incidentally, I had not meant to tell anyone of this. As it happened, I was drinking with Brehonnet and he was going on as though you were as pure as the Virgin's cloak. It was becoming tedious, and simply put, I was drunk. I do not intend to tell anyone else, and I think you can be certain Gabriel will not. But more to the point, I said nothing that was untrue."
"You don't know-"
"Actually," he went on pleasantly, as if she had not interrupted and as if they were merely discussing the weather. "What I don't know is if you're sleeping with the Duke of Guise as well of if your inclination is only to members of the clergy?"
He caught her hand an inch from his face and squeezed just enough to hurt her. "Be careful Margaret, you may be fast but I'm stronger. I won't strike a woman but you should really control your temper, it isn't ladylike."
"You can't prove this."
He stepped back and released her with an amiable shrug. "No, you're right, I can't. But such a rumor could really hurt a young lady's reputation. And it would be hard for the boy, wouldn't it? Not to mention the young Queen, as she trusts you so."
"You wouldn't..."
"No? You know how rumors spread in the Court. It wouldn't hurt him at all, his ways are known and you're only the most recent in a long string of conquests, but you...being so young...and never married..."
"What do you want?" she asked, voice low.
"Ah, so you know how the game is played. Simply put, Lady Margaret, I want you."
She took an involuntary step back, disgusted. He chuckled.
"No, not like that. Although I cannot deny the idea has a certain appeal, given that you've held the interest of the good Cardinal" he gave her an unmistakably appraising look, "If that were all I had in mind it could be satisfied by someone with much less complication. No, what I am proposing is an alliance, a marriage, which will benefit you as well."
"What makes you think-"
He sat in one of the armchairs in front of high windows and held up a hand to silence her.
"Hear me out. What you have that I need, Lady Margaret, is money. As I'm sure you have heard, since you are very well-connected, my estates in Scotland are failing. I do not wish to sell any land, but since I make only a soldier's wages-" she snorted, for she knew the King rewarded him handsomely. "-I require assistance." As she opened her mouth to speak he cut her off again. "Understand I am not speaking of William's possessions, I have no designs on his inheritance, as I already told you. I have been given to understand you have a considerable fortune of your own."
"Given to understand by who?"
"It does not matter."
"Why should I wish to help you?"
"Because I can keep your secret. Further that I can provide a certain amount of security, for you and for William, given my position. It would allow you to remain in France and in the service of the Queen. Then there is the simple matter of keeping up appearances, you must marry eventually. And...well, there is really no way to phrase this delicately...were you to marry someone who is not aware of your special relationship to the House of Guise, I can imagine your future husband might feel a bit cheated when he realizes you are not a virgin."
She was not near enough to slap him again, though her hands itched to do so. Feeling as though she had never hated anyone quite so much in her life, she turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door so hard one of the glass cases around the lamps on the wall fell and shattered on the floor. "He actually threatened me!"
Charles watched her pace over folded hands, not looking terribly surprised or shocked. In fact, he didn't even appear to be listening aside from a small furrow in his brow as he waited for her to finish.
"Yes, he did," he answered quietly when she stopped speaking, sounding almost impressed. "Really, I had thought the man was merely an effective soldier, I didn't give him credit for being capable this sort of machination. Interesting."
She narrowed her eyes. "It seems a good deal less interesting when you're the one being blackmailed into marriage."
"Sit down, Marguerite."
"I don't want to-"
"Sit down, because you are not going to like what I am going to say." She did, but only because he pressed on her shoulders. "It is not...a particularly bad idea."
"You-"
"Let me finish. Consider what he is offering you. Protection and the legitimacy that comes with marriage. You can stay in Paris, which is your wish. Titles in both Scotland and France. And, his silence. All he is asking from you is money, which you have, and the appearance of a normal marriage, which is not difficult to keep up to outsiders. You could have worse offers, Marguerite. And there is something you have not considered. We have long suspected him of having English sympathies, but we have never been able to prove any such thing. You would be closer to him than we could ever be."
"You want me to marry him so that I can spy on him?"
"How deep is your loyalty to my niece?"
"You shouldn't ask me that! You know how I feel about Mary!"
"Well? Then?" He shrugged. "He is Scottish, he is not particularly old or bad looking, and he's stated pretty clearly that romance is not his intention, I don’t think he would impose on you a great deal. I understand you dislike him, but it seems a suitable arrangement, indeed, there are far worse reasons to marry." He sighed, and gave her a sympathetic look. "I know you wanted a grand passion my dear, but such things just don't happen outside of fairy tales." Margaret couldn't be angry at Mary, because she knew the Queen's enthusiasm was genuine, the girl truly wanted the best for her and truly thought the arrangement was a happy one for all involved. Unaware of the reasons behind it, she thought Margaret wanted to marry the Earl of Ross and that it seemed a perfect solution to a vexing problem. As far as the Queen was concerned, he was a good-looking, if sometimes difficult, man with a promising military career who was currently enjoying the favor of the King and seemed likely to remain in Paris for some time. Indeed, Queen Mary was even slightly annoyed she had not thought of it first.
It took Margaret almost a week to see that the Queen, her Uncles, and eventually the King of France himself approved of the idea, and there could be no way out of it. Certainly, she could argue, she could simply refuse, but in reality her fate was in their hands, and it could only cause trouble for herself, and ultimately for William, to defy them.
He found her that Sunday after mass when the Palace was often quiet, alone in the room where Queen Mary usually received guests. She felt like she needed to be away from the light chatter of the girls for awhile. He looked so smug she got up to go, but he stopped her simply by stepping her path.
“You’ve reconsidered.”
“It pleases the Queen, and I do as she wishes,” she bit out from behind clenched teeth.
“Hm, did you practice saying that so you could get it out without choking?” She said nothing. “Sit down for a moment, please.”
“No thank you.”
He shrugged. “I do not wish to make an enemy of you, Lady Margaret.”
“And you thought this would endear me to you?” she snapped.
“I had to frighten you, otherwise you would not have even bothered to listen to me, much less considered the logic of what I was saying. Honestly, I don’t care if you had an affair with Charles de Guise. Hell, I don’t care if you had an affair with de Guise, the King of Spain, and the Pope himself.” He shrugged. “You’re young, but you’re not stupid. You didn’t get into this without knowing there might be consequences. Can you really blame me for taking advantage of that?”
“I can indeed blame you for coercing me into marrying you.”
“It’s very simple really, if you can’t marry someone you love, you may as well marry someone who benefits you politically and economically.”
“How nicely that works for you.”
“I haven’t lied to you about that. I need you politically to secure my place in Scotland, both financially and politically. You’re close to the throne, and I know they do not trust me. I do not wish to lose my land in Scotland. But don’t be a fool Margaret…this secures your place in France. It gives you exactly what you want, which is security for you and your brother. And it will make you a Countess…this will be no hardship for you.”
That was, when he stated it simply, very logical.
“I will make no demands on you other than the public appearance of a real marriage. I imagine very little would change in your life. I won’t try to limit your freedom generally, and please understand my interests lie elsewhere.”
Despite herself, that caught her curiosity. “There is a woman?”
He inclined his head slightly, not meeting her gaze directly.
“Who?”
“It does not matter. She is married, and she loves her husband, I have no intention of pursuing her, in fact I prefer to not see her. I know your interest lies elsewhere as well, but you cannot remain unmarried any more than I. The King is beginning to make vague comments to me, and you, as a woman, cannot be avoiding the same thing.”
Everything in her mind objected to what he had done. Manipulated, lied, threatened, and yet she could not disagree with any of his well-reasoned statements. She sat down slowly, not answering him.
“I don’t want to force you Margaret. The choice is yours.” “Lady Margaret!”
She turned riding out of the courtyard, and was pleased to see the Comte de Lille, apparently returned safely from Amiens. She was going to meet William at the end of his riding lessons, but she drew Cailleach to a halt and waited for him. He caught up with her.
“I’m going to meet William after his lessons. Do you care to come? I’m sure he would be pleased.”
“I’d be honored, Lady,” he answered politely, but as they started out she felt his eyes on her. “I understand congratulations are in order.”
“Oh…thank you,” she said quietly.
“It is none of my concern, and please tell me if I am overstepping, but I was very surprised to hear about this betrothal.”
She gave him a completely honest answer. “It is convenient for both of us.”
She could almost feel his disapproval although she didn’t look at him.
“Marriage is a sacrament, don’t you think you’re taking it a bit lightly?” he asked finally.
She sighed. “What’s one more mortal sin in a lifetime?”
He drew his horse to a halt, and so she had to stop too, and turn to see him. He looked concerned, but not angry. “Margaret…”
“It’s all right. Really. It is my choice in the end, and I’ve decided. It’s a reasonable arrangement, and he’ll treat me well.”
“That’s hardly…”
“It’s safety. Surely you can understand that.”
He looked down at the reigns in his hands. “I don’t trust him Margaret, and I don’t think you do either, really.”
She reached out and put a gloved hand over his. “Are you angry at me?”
“Of course not. I just don’t want you to do anything that will make you unhappy.”
“I’m not unhappy, I feel rather calm now that I’ve decided. But I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
He looked up, and shrugged, with a sympathetic smile. “No, you won’t.”
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Post by Shades on Apr 10, 2006 19:05:14 GMT -5
Thats as far as I got ENJOY!!!
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Fletcher
Newbie
Don't worry, my sanity is locked away in the bank, far from anyone. Including me.
Posts: 74
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Post by Fletcher on May 6, 2006 20:34:57 GMT -5
hold on, let me read it....
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Post by Shades on May 10, 2006 0:21:29 GMT -5
I've given u time wadda u think amigo/?
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