Twilight of a Queen (27 page)

“Was! She isn’t any longer.” Aggie sprang up, brandishing her cane. “And if you think my poor poppet had any more choice than your precious—”

“Peace!” Ariane bellowed, striking her staff of office against the ground. “Madame Bevans, Mistress Butterydoor, you will sit back down and conduct yourselves like civilized women or leave this council.”

Madame Bevans sank down immediately, Aggie more slowly, grumbling under her breath.

“I had thought I made myself clear the other day. The daughters of the earth cannot survive if we quarrel among ourselves. The Lady of Faire Isle must be a gifted healer, knowledgeable in the old ways, and harbor a great respect for our mother earth. But even more important, she must be an advocate of peace, eschewing violence of any kind.”

Realizing that her voice had risen and she was gripping the staff far too tightly, Ariane forced herself to relax.

“Much as I value all of your opinions, the choice of my successor is mine alone. I have had so many worthy candidates, my decision has been a difficult one. But the young woman I believe best suited to follow me as Lady of Faire Isle is…” Ariane fortified herself with a deep breath.

“Margaret Wolfe.”

A stunned silence fell over the gathering. Blinking up at Ariane, Meg sat frozen even when Ariane beckoned to her and smiled. Jane bent closer, no doubt whispering encouragement into the girl’s ear. She prodded Meg to her feet, urging the girl forward.

Meg stumbled toward Ariane, twisting her hands in the folds of her skirt.

“Margaret Wolfe, do you accept this charge I would lay upon you?” Ariane asked solemnly.

The silence gave way to an angry buzz of murmurs. Meg stole a look at the sea of hostile faces.

“Well, I—I—” she faltered.

“Yes, she does!” Seraphine shouted out. She leapt to her feet and faced the gathering, her hands planted on her hips.

“What is the matter with all of you? Have not most of you grown up here on Faire Isle? Even I know all the stories my mother Gabrielle told me. All about how this island was meant to be a refuge, for women in particular, a haven from the threats of the past. All mistakes are to be forgotten, this is a place to begin anew. Will you deny Margaret Wolfe the same chance many of you have had?”

Snatching the staff of office from Ariane’s hands, Seraphine wielded it like a cudgel. “I think Meg will make a perfect Lady of Faire Isle. Anyone who dares say otherwise will have to answer to me.”

“And me.” Carole rose to her feet, joining Seraphine.

Her niece looked surprised, but then grinned. She edged aside a little to make room for her, the two girls standing shoulder to shoulder, regarding the crowd with such fierceness, Ariane was torn between laughter and tears.

Her heart swelled with pride for both her niece and Carole. Meg looked so overwhelmed, Ariane feared the girl would weep at any moment. Ariane took her gently by the hand, drawing her forward.

“Becoming the Lady of Faire Isle is a daunting prospect, but as you can see, my dear, you have courageous and loyal friends to support you. But the choice is up to you.”

“What choice?” Seraphine cried. “Of course Meg wants—”

“Seraphine, Meg must answer for herself. And please kindly return my staff.”

Looking slightly abashed, Seraphine returned the rod to her. The entire clearing held its breath, awaiting Meg’s response.

Her tears overflowed, streaking down her cheeks, but she looked up at Ariane with a tremulous smile. “Oh, yes, my lady. I accept your charge and I—I promise to try hard to serve you all until my dying day.”

Ariane gathered the girl close and hugged her. She reflected that there was no grand ceremony for this occasion, no crown to pass, no ermine robes, no solemn oaths. But perhaps that was just as it should be. The position of Lady of Faire Isle had always been based on a simple concept of trust.

Besides, Seraphine’s loud whoops would have shattered the dignity of any more pretentious proceeding. Ariane pressed the staff of office upon Meg. Turning the girl to face the crowd, she rested her hands upon Meg’s shoulders.

“My friends, I give you Margaret Wolfe, your future Lady of Faire Isle.”

T
HE CLEARING WAS EMPTY. ONLY JANE REMAINED, HAVING
volunteered to make certain the fire was safely extinguished. She stared into the dying flames as the voices and laughter faded down the path.

For all of her reluctance to attend the council, she was glad that she had. The choosing had turned out better for Meg than Jane could have hoped. The hostility toward the girl seemed to have magically dispersed within this solemn circle of monoliths.

Although many of the women had offered Meg their congratulations with reluctance, Jane had little doubt Meg would win them all over in time. Especially with the help of Carole’s gentle persuasion and Seraphine’s forceful personality.

Although Seraphine would not have welcomed it, Jane could have hugged the girl when she had sprung so fiercely to Meg’s defense. Jane was still not sure the impulsive young woman was the best influence on Meg, but there was no denying that Seraphine had a loyal heart.

Meg had left the clearing, looking much happier than she had in a long time. Jane had been delighted for the girl, but her own sense of elation faded as silence descended over the clearing, broken only by the occasional crackle and hiss of the fire.

Jane poked a stick amongst the glowing embers, the melancholy she had fought all evening stealing over her. She had kept her promise to Meg, remained with the child until the choosing was done. Meg would have little need of her now, and as for Captain Louis Xavier … The man was well on the mend, still chafing to discover what had become of his ship and crew. Despite Xavier’s newfound accord with his sisters, Jane had little doubt that once they returned to Port Corsair tomorrow, it would not be long before Xavier set sail.

She stirred the embers more vigorously, refusing to examine the heavy feelings engendered by the thought of his departure. She needed to focus on her own prospects, bleak as they were. After all these months, she was left confronting the same abyss as before, the emptiness of her future.

A twig snapped from behind her, the sound giving her a mild start. She had been half-hoping, half-expecting it. She whirled around to see Xavier emerging from the shadows of one of the dolmens where he had been hiding.

He offered her a somewhat sheepish grin. “Sorry, m’dear. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You didn’t, not really.”

“What! You are not in the least surprised to see me here?”

“Knowing you, I doubted you would be able to resist the temptation to spy upon the proceedings.”

“And here I fancied myself so clever and stealthy. Despite all your denials, I fear you must be a witch, Jane. You seem to have a sixth sense where I am concerned.”

Jane shook her head, biting her lip to check a laugh. She wondered what Xavier would say if he realized she had not been the only one to sense him lurking in the shadows. She had observed many of the other women nudging each other and stifling giggles. Jane suspected that even Ariane had been aware of his presence, although the Lady had raised no objections.

But Jane kept her reflections to herself. No need to rob her ferocious corsair of all of his illusions regarding his stealth. Except that he was not
her
corsair. Jane was surprised that she even needed to remind herself of that fact.

She replied, “I have no sixth sense although I did know you were there. But I thought that after the council was over, you would steal quietly away before you were discovered.”

“Are you pleased that I didn’t?”

Jane refused to answer that. She feared that she was far too glad he had remained. It didn’t help noting how apt he looked in these stark surroundings.

Jane felt dwarfed, rendered insignificant in the shadows
of the dolmens. Xavier appeared as though he belonged here, a bold adventurer from some far-off world, conjured up by the spirits of these mysterious stones. Even his arm bound up in the sling did nothing to dispel the image. Rather it enhanced it, the battered, wounded warrior.

The glow of the dying fire played over his tall figure, the weathered boots, the leather breeches, the swirl of black cloak. He had regained much of his color these past few days, his face no longer pale but shadowed beneath a day’s growth of beard and the dark fall of his hair.

As he prowled closer, Jane was reminded again of Meg’s strange warning about sleek, dangerous jungle cats. A warning that only seemed to bring a flush to Jane’s cheeks, a quickening of her heart that had nothing to do with fear.

She turned back to the fire, but the red-gold embers were a blur, the only thing clear, the tall silhouette at the periphery of her vision as he stepped forward to stand beside her.

Attempting to keep her voice light, she said, “I trust you found observing the council worth the risk you took creeping up here through the dark. You might well have fallen and broken your neck this time.”

“The risk is what makes it fun, Jane. I need to teach you all about that sometime. But I confess I was a trifle disappointed. I knew there would not be any sacrifices or burnt offerings. But I had hoped there might be some sort of ceremony involving a goat and naked dancing.”

Jane cast him a reproving glance. A mistake. Despite his teasing drawl, there was a dangerously compelling
gleam in his eyes. Or was it only a trick of the firelight? She was quick to avert her gaze back to the fire.

“It did, however, get exciting toward the end,” he continued with a chuckle. “There was a moment when I thought my niece was going to start hurling daughters of the earth over the side of the cliff.”

“Seraphine is nothing if not exciting,” Jane remarked dryly

“And gracious as well, I thought. She did not appear to mind losing the title to young Meg. So now I suppose we must all cry, ‘Hail Mademoiselle Wolfe, the future Lady of Faire Isle.’”

Jane frowned. At least Xavier did not tease her by referring to Meg as Megaera as he often did. But Jane caught the edge in his voice and turned to confront him.

“Why do you dislike the poor child so? I would have thought you might have some empathy with her since—since—” Jane faltered.

“Since we both are the offspring of half-crazed mothers?”

“I am sorry. I—I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s perfectly true.” He shrugged. “Meg and I do have much in common. That is the problem. I comprehend all too well how she wrestles with the darker side of her nature and just how often she is going to lose.”

Xavier skated his knuckles down her cheek. “And that m’dear, I am afraid is something you can never understand. You are far too much of an angel.”

“Oh, yes indeed. Saint Jane,” she snapped, rearing back. The depth of her irritation surprised her as much as it did Xavier. His brow arched upward in astonishment,
but she didn’t care. She had spent so much of her life being told how good, how virtuous she was. She was suddenly sick of it.

“Jane, I only meant that at Meg’s age, I am sure you spent your time dutifully learning to play the virginal or perfecting your embroidering rather than studying sorcery.”

“Yes, that is exactly what I did. My guardian, the Countess of Shrewsbury, was an accomplished needlewoman, so I spent hours at my stitching while my brother was whisked off to learn to ride, to hunt, to wield a sword. And it occurred to me that even though he was so much younger, Ned would enjoy a freedom that I as a woman would never know. The freedom to travel, to explore the world, to—to do whatever he wished while the most change I could hope for was marriage. A different home, a different parlor in which to stitch.”

Jane compressed her lips together. She had believed the bitter frustrations of her girlhood long forgotten or at least deeply suppressed. But it was like breaking the seal of an old boarded-up well. The flow could not be stopped.

“
I hated it
. So much so that sometimes, I would fling my stitching to the floor and rush from the house to—to—”

“Take a stroll in the gardens?” Xavier asked, an odd smile playing about his lips.

“No!” Jane glared at him. “I would tear off running, away, up into the hills.”

Her gaze lit upon the flat stone Ariane had sat upon. Suiting action to her words, Jane hiked up her skirts and rushed toward it, leaping atop the stone.

“And then when I reached the highest summit, I would
tear off my cap and shake my hair free.” Jane reached up and wrenched off her net caul, allowing her hair to tumble about her shoulders. “And then I would roar my defiance at the world.”

Following her, Xavier gazed up at her. “And what did you roar?”

“Ridiculous things like
It isn’t fair
and
I’ll be damned if I submit to such a tame existence.”

“Swearing? You, Jane? How very bold of you.” But Xavier’s voice held none of his usual mockery. His smile was strangely tender.

“Not so very bold,” she said ruefully. “I only did it where there was no one to hear.”

“I doubt most young ladies even dare to entertain such rebellious thoughts. So whatever happened to that wild defiant girl shouting from her hilltop?”

What indeed? Jane thought sadly, remembering the small unmarked grave she had left behind in Sussex.

“I suppose the girl discovered how easy it is to fall from such reckless heights.”

Suddenly feeling foolish perched above Xavier on the rock, she hiked up her skirts a trifle, preparing to leap down. But he moved to intercept her. He caught her about the waist, even with one arm, lifting her down as easily as though she weighed no more than one of those twigs she had tossed upon the fire.

He set her upon her feet, but made no move to release her. “What if someone was there to catch you if you fell?”

She looked up at him and realized that away from the fire, his eyes were just as dangerous, perhaps even more so when soft with the reflection of night.

He bent closer and she realized he meant to kiss her. She retained just enough sense to lean a little farther away.