Suzanne Robinson Read Free Page B

and weep for what she had lost almost before she knew she wanted it.
    “Of course. As a good Christian I can hardly withhold my forgiveness, and you have it. It seems to be the only thing in Richmond Hall you want. Once again, good day to you, my lord.”

Chapter
2

       
In love when I have been

   
With them that loved me

Such danger have I seen . 
.
    —
Sir Thomas Wyatt
    France
January 1565
    The Loire Valley was the heart of France. A spy who wished to prize secrets from courtiers made himself a familiar of those nobles whose chateaux graced the banks of this azure river. This was why Blade rode alongside the water toward the chateau of Claude de la Marche, mistress of princes, cardinals, and spies. Though he loved the Loire, this time he failed to notice the beauty of the frost-covered countryside. He burrowed his nose into the fur lining of his cloak hood and pondered the unlikely source of his vexation.
    He had enough worries to beset him without thinking about that fey creature who couldn’t remember his name, yet the image of her face wouldn’t go away. He’dloosed his cursed tongue, scimitar fashion, and cut her instead of his father. He’d gained the habit from Christian de Rivers years ago, and found it useful when employed correctly.
    The face of a weasel—what drivel. He could see her face now. Small, pointed of chin, and wide of forehead, it more resembled the face of a fairy, and her eyes reminded him of the trees of the Loire Valley in spring. She hadn’t replied to his letter apologizing for his lack of courtesy.
    There were matters of great weight straining for his attention. He shouldn’t be thinking of Oriel Richmond. He shouldn’t, at the moment, be thinking of anything English. For he was in France, and the smallest slip in manner or of tongue could mean his death. He muttered to himself in French and glanced back at his servant and bodyguard, René.
    René had been with him since he was a boy. He had first been employed by Blade’s mother, and had stayed when she died eight years ago, though many of her servants had gone back to her estate on the Loire. Lady Fitzstephen had asked René to protect her son, and no argument on Blade’s part could dissuade him from his task. Though of middle age, he could still lift his charge over his head and match him at fencing.
    “René, venez ici.”
    “Oui, mon seigneur.”
    “I’m worried, René. Our lady queen takes a great risk with her plan. Mary Stewart may be queen of Scotland, but her life’s ambition is to wrest England from Elizabeth, and her cursed French uncles will help her. The queen has forgotten that Mary Stewart owes more of her character to her Guise relations than to her Stewart ones. Cunning and ruthlessness were reborn in the shapes of the Guise brothers.”
    “Oui
, my lord, but one cannot follow every intrigue hatched by the Duc de Guise or the Cardinal of Lorraine.”
    “It is the cardinal who presents the greatest threat. If it would gain him control of France or England, he would draw and quarter his own firstborn. With as many mistresses as he has, he’s sure to have a firstborn.”
    “So,” René said, “that is why we travel in weather unfit for dogs. The lovely Claude de la Marche has succumbed at last.”
    “I received her invitation upon returning from England. I’m surprised you didn’t read it. You read everything else.”
    “It was sealed, my lord.”
    “And you never read sealed letters?”
    “Only those I have time to work upon, my lord.”
    “I shall remember.” Blade lifted himself in the saddle as they emerged from a stand of bare trees. “Look. I never tire of the sight of the chateaux, though mine is by far the most beautiful to me.”
    Less than half a league distant, a chateau rose from the waters of the Loire. Its high white towers, crenellated and topped with conical roofs, swam before them, a diamond balancing between river and land. The weak January sun set the silver rooftops