Daughter of Silk Read Free

sight of the duc.
    Le Duc de Guise looked up toward the balcony. His gaze appeared to search, as if he could sense a burning pit of hellish emotions attacking him from somewhere, as if he was a jackal smelling a rotting carcass to feed upon.
    Then le Duc de Guise locked gazes with Marquis Fabien.
    Guise’s lips turned into a hard, faintly mocking smile. Fabien smiled in return and offered a bow.
    Guise turned his head away and peered over his shoulder toward the gate. He raised a gloved hand whereupon a masked, black-cowled rider burst through the turret gates, dusty, his horse sweating. Fabien tensed.
    Who was this? A moment later the duc’s men-at-arms tightened their escort around the mysterious rider, encircling him within their midst.
    Is Guise protecting the masked figure or confining him? Why the cowl
    and mask? Fabien narrowed his gaze, as if by staring he could bore through the mask to identify the messire.
    He was here at Chambord at the invitation of the boy-king Francis and his petite reinette , Mary of Scotland, but not to become ensnared in whatever ongoing intrigue the House of Guise was presently hatching.
    Fabien left the balcony. Patience, he reminded himself. The long- awaited hour to apportion revenge upon the head of le Duc de Guise would eventually dawn.
    The marquis pulled his brows together as he walked along the gilded salle in the direction of his chambers. If anyone at court understood the reasons behind the unexpected arrival of Guise, it would be Comte Sebastien Dangeau, a member of Catherine de Medici’s privy council and Fabien’s relative through marriage.
    Sebastien’s position was a precarious one since the House of Guise might discover he was of the Huguenot faith. There were other Calvinists at court, and they too walked the edge of a precipice. One faux pas and they would slip from the slope into the bloodied clutches of the Guise brothers’ inquisitional penchant.

    Comte Sebastien Dangeau, upon hearing that le Duc de Guise had rid- den into the courtyard with a masked rider, joined other esteemed court- iers on one of the balconies. He held back, keeping behind the others so as to not be seen, as he managed a survey of the courtyard.
    Sebastien’s gaze stumbled over a masked figure cowled in black, being escorted by some dozen men-at-arms under the proud f lag of le Duc de Guise. The duc himself led the way into the palais. No doubt on his way to see the king. Ah but yes, there is something familiar about the hesitant gait of that hooded figure—
    Footsteps pattered up behind him, the scampering feet reminding him of a mouse — or a rat?
    Sebastien turned sharply. His gaze lowered to rest upon an expres- sionless face with brown eyes. The Italian demoiselle stared up at him. She
    was Madalenna, the young servant girl in bondage to the queen regent, Catherine de Medici. The Queen Mother had brought Madalenna with her from Florence, Italy, when Catherine first came to France to marry Henry Valois II. Madalenna, secretive, spying; Madalenna, always approached in a whisper of movement, emerging from some shadowy corner where one least expected to see her. Madalenna the spy.
    Madalenna curtsied. “Monsieur le Comte, my mistress, Her Majesty the Queen Mother, bids you come to her state chambers tout de suite .”
    Sebastien glanced again toward the courtyard, then turned and departed for the chambers of the Queen Mother, known by those who knew her best as Madame le Serpent .

    Mademoiselle Rachelle Macquinet felt her heart thump and a trickle of perspiration ran down her rib cage. This was to be the telling moment. All she had labored for these many weeks, sometimes working twelve hours a day, would be held to the crucible of scrutiny. For this day Princesse Marguerite Valois, the youngest daughter of the Queen Mother, would try on the unfinished gown. The cut and f low, the stitch- ing, all must be exact. Rachelle would measure and tack the hem with a steady but feathery hand and