Twilight of a Queen (20 page)

“You sailed with Sir Francis Drake?” Jane breathed.

“Yes, and now you have that awed look on your face ladies always get at the mention of Sir Francis. It is very annoying.”

“What is he like?”

“Shorter than me and not half so handsome.”

This provoked a smile from her at last. “How did you come to sail with Sir Francis? I thought you were the captain of your own ship.”

“Not five years ago, when I first encountered Drake. I—” Xavier hesitated. This was not a part of his past he liked to discuss or dwell upon, but with Jane waiting so expectantly, he had no choice but to continue.

“I was an unwilling guest of the Spanish navy, chained to a bench, manning the oars of the galley that Drake attacked. When the Spanish surrendered, Drake released all the prisoners and even offered some of us employment. I owe him my freedom and my life.”

“And you hate being beholden to anyone.”

He gave a dry laugh. “You begin to know me well, lady. Yes, I loathe it.”

She fell silent for a moment, then asked, “Was it during your imprisonment that you acquired the scars on your back?”

“Aha, so you have been studying my physique.”

Jane blushed. “It was impossible not to notice, to surmise that at some point you must have been—been—”

“Whipped like a dog.” Xavier shrugged, seeking to make light of it. “I always regarded myself as an entertaining traveling companion, but the Spanish did not seem to appreciate my wit.”

“Were you a prisoner for long?”

Three years, eight months, twenty-two days. An ordeal that he had only survived because of the daily diet of anger he had consumed. Hatred for his Spanish captors, bitterness toward his father.

Jane was already regarding him with more sympathy than he found comfortable. Not that he was above taking advantage of it, using her softening toward him as an excuse to capture her hand.

“I scarce remember those days,” Xavier lied. “My captivity was all a blur until I was rescued by Drake.”

“I remember how Sir Francis was feted when he returned from his voyage around the world. Not that I ever
attended any of the suppers or attempted to make his acquaintance.” Jane looked a little wistful. “I was warned he is a staunch defender of the new religion and unlikely to welcome the congratulations of a Papist.”

“Nonsense. Drake would have been charmed by you. He was ever chivalrous toward the ladies, although he might have made an effort to save your soul. He certainly barraged me enough with his views. The man had his entire crew praying morning and night. Although Drake could certainly break off the psalm singing quickly enough when a plum Spanish vessel hove into sight. Sir Francis is, to his very core, a privateer.”

“Is that what you are as well?”

“No, I make no such pretensions. I serve no country, no cause but my own. I am a pirate, Jane, plain and simple.”

And a liar as well. Despite all of his assurances to Jane, Xavier would not have wagered a sou on England’s odds against the might of Spain. They would have a better chance if France would come to England’s aid. Xavier frowned, recalling the portion of the Spanish letter he had decoded.

Spain’s hope … lies with the duke of Guise. The duke has pledged himself to create a diversion that will prevent the French king from sending military aid to England even should he wish to do so
.

A diversion … Xavier still didn’t have the least notion what that meant. But whatever de Guise and the Spanish were plotting, Xavier doubted it would take much to distract the erratic French king. The English, God help them, would have to be able to stand alone against the power of the Spanish empire.

But Xavier kept such disquieting reflections to himself. The anxiety had been erased from Jane’s face, her natural serenity restored. The tense set of her shoulders relaxed, her shawl slipping down.

She was innocently unaware of how her nightgown clung to her bosom, revealing the curve of her breasts. Full and lush, just the way Xavier liked them. Megaera’s little potion must have done a great deal to restore his potency because Xavier could feel himself getting hard.

He rubbed his finger in slow, languid circles on Jane’s wrist and Xavier was surprised to feel the quiver of her response, her pulse quickening.

His gaze locked with hers and he saw her color rise, her lips part involuntarily. A heightened awareness seemed to rise between them.

He might not possess his half sister’s witchlike mind reading skills, but Xavier had an uncanny knack for detecting when a woman was ripe for seduction. Beneath her prim exterior, this lonely widow hungered for a man’s embrace. It would not take much, a caress or two, a few heated kisses to ignite the fire Jane fought so hard to suppress.

All he had to do was tighten his grasp on her wrist, draw her closer, coax her into his arms. Instead, Xavier surprised himself. Depositing a light kiss on her fingertips, he bade the lady good night.

THE CANDLE BURNED LOW, SHEDDING A SMALL POOL OF LIGHT
where Meg sat on a stool near the hearth, leaving the rest of the cottage in darkness.

That could only be an improvement as far as Meg was concerned. The cottage that she shared with the other girls had long been abandoned by its original occupants. Any tidying, any effort to render the place more comfortable was all owing to Carole, who was far better at housewifery than Seraphine or Meg.

The cottage consisted of one large room with a sleeping loft reached by a ladder. Carole had long since retired up there and was no doubt fast asleep on her pallet, her small son Jean Baptiste snuggled close to her side.

Lucia and Ninon had ceased whispering and were asleep as well. The poor little things had likely drifted off while clutching each other, frightened by the bedtime tales Seraphine had told them.

“True witches, the Fontaine sisters were,” Seraphine had cackled, scrunching up her features into a gruesome expression, crooking her long elegant fingers into claws. Lucia and Ninon had hung on her every word, wide-eyed and breathless as Seraphine continued.

“When the witch-hunters invaded Faire Isle, the Fontaine girls fled for their lives. They knew if they were caught, they would be roasted alive. Rather than endure such a fate, they chose to link hands and jump from the cliffs.
Crack!
Splat went their bodies on the rocks, blood and brains scattered everywhere.”

“Seraphine,” Meg had tried to protest as Lucia and Ninon had squealed, shrinking away from their sister. But Seraphine had ignored her, casting her voice to an even more sinister pitch.

“To this very day, the Fontaine sisters haunt these shores, pouncing upon wayward little girls who don’t
obey their older sister and go to bed when they are told. Fortunately one is always safe up in the loft, because ever since their terrible death, the Fontaine specters are afraid of heights.”

Lucia and Ninon had all but clambered over each other in their haste to scale the ladder, leaving Seraphine and Meg alone in peace.

It had become their habit to sit up talking far later than they should. Meg perched on the stool while Seraphine combed out Meg’s hair, an activity that Seraphine seemed to enjoy although Meg could not understand why.

She could see no beauty in her dark heavy fall of hair compared to Seraphine’s silken blond locks. But Meg submitted patiently to her friend’s ministrations, making no complaint even when Seraphine struggled with a particularly stubborn knot.

“I don’t hear any more rustling from above,” Seraphine said. “It sounds as if the urchins are finally asleep.”

“And having nightmares no doubt. You should not have told them all those horrid stories, Seraphine. You frightened them out of their wits.”

“Not my little sisters.” Seraphine chuckled. “It would take more than a paltry ghost tale to scare them. I daresay the little ghouls could tell you a story or two that would curl your hair.”

Meg doubted that. She had witnessed enough real horrors wrought by her mother for any fable to have the power to alarm her.

“Besides, if I did frighten Lucia and Ninon, it serves them right. They certainly gave me enough of a scare, disappearing that way.” Seraphine gave the knot a final tug
and then, to Meg’s relief, the comb glided smoothly through her hair.

“Not that I blame my sisters for wanting a peek at Captain Xavier. He is a very handsome rogue.”

“Seraphine!” Meg twisted around to direct a shocked look up at her friend. “For shame. The man is your uncle.”

“Half uncle.” Seraphine shrugged. “The fact that he is related to me does not make me blind to his manly attributes.”

She forced Meg’s head back around so that she could continue combing. As Seraphine attacked another tangle, Meg winced, then muttered, “I will just be glad when he takes his manly attributes elsewhere. I am sorry, Seraphine. Even if he is your uncle, I cannot like him.”

“Pooh! You are just annoyed with him because you could not get into his head and wander through his mind as you do so easily with everyone else.” Seraphine bent down to whisper teasingly in her ear. “Or maybe you are simply jealous.”

“Jealous? Of what, pray tell?”

“Of the way Captain Xavier has claimed all the attention of your prim Lady Danvers.”

“Nonsense,” Meg snapped. But she squirmed, fearing there might be a grain of truth in Seraphine’s playful accusation. She was a little resentful of Jane spending so much time at Xavier’s bedside, especially as the day of the choosing loomed closer. Meg had great need of Jane’s calming presence herself.

But to Seraphine, she said, “I am merely concerned for Jane’s welfare. There is something about Captain Xavier that I do not trust.”

“I do not believe you trust any man besides your father.”

“If you had had my experience, you would feel the same.”

Seraphine laughed. “Your experience! La! Just listen to the child. Only thirteen and already an expert on the perfidies of men.”

“I do not claim to be an expert,” Meg said in a small voice. “But I do know what it feels like to be betrayed and have your heart broken.”

She feared that her remark would elicit further mockery from Seraphine. But the older girl set aside her comb and hunkered down in front of Meg. The teasing light vanished from Seraphine’s eyes to be replaced by one of her rare gentle expressions.

“You are not still pining over Sander Naismith, that boy you told me about? I am glad he got burned up in that fire in London. Otherwise I should have been obliged to kill him for you.” Seraphine cupped Meg’s cheek. “Sweetheart, he is not worth a single more of your thoughts.”

“I know that,” Meg tried to smile. “And I have tried to forget him, ’Phine.” Her lips trembled and she swallowed hard. “But I thought he was my friend. I loved and trusted him so much. When I was with him, Sander made me feel so extraordinary, like one day I could grow up to be truly beautiful.”

“Which you did.”

When Meg shook her head, Seraphine leapt up to fetch her sole contribution to the domesticity of the cottage, a small, gilt-trimmed looking glass.

Seraphine thrust it into Meg’s hands. “There. Look at that girl. I defy you to tell me she is not lovely.”

Meg thought she could have defied Seraphine on that score very easily. But to oblige her friend, Meg studied her own reflection. Her hair pooled about her shoulders, soft and gleaming in the candlelight, but Meg gave Seraphine the credit for that. All that determined brushing.

Meg’s papa had once told Meg that her hair was the color of cinnamon, but it suddenly struck Meg that her hair had grown darker this past year, her face leaner, her complexion paler. She looked more and more like … like her mother.

Meg shuddered and handed the mirror back to Seraphine. “It would scarce matter if I was beautiful or not. I fear men will only ever want one thing from me.”

Seraphine grinned. “The same thing that men want from all of us. A stolen kiss or—” She arched her brows with a wicked look. “Other naughty things which I will explain to you when you are older.”

Meg pulled a face at her. “You need not act so superior, Seraphine Remy, just because you are sixteen. I am sure I know as much about what men desire as you do.” She paused and added sadly. “At least what men will desire from you. For me, they will only be after the secrets that are locked in my head.”

“No, you are wrong, Meggie.” Seraphine bent closer and enveloped Meg in a hug. “Someday you will meet someone who won’t give a fig that you were ever known as the Silver Rose or possessed a
Book of Shadows
. He will find all the magic he desires in your enchanting face and fall completely in love with you.”

“I am sure that will be your future,” Meg said as she returned Seraphine’s embrace. “For you are truly beautiful.”

“Yes, I know it.” The complacency of Seraphine’s reply made Meg laugh in spite of herself.

“Though it is not at all wise of you to keep telling me so.” Seraphine drew away from Meg. “I am already a vain enough creature.”

Sinking down on the stool opposite Meg, Seraphine examined her own countenance in the looking glass and heaved a deep sigh of satisfaction. “I think it is a good thing that I am so beautiful because I am nowhere near as clever as you, Meg. My magic is all in my face. However, if you want a truly dazzling beauty, you should see my maman.