Chapter 16

I an Grant had gotten no farther than a nearby tavern, however, where he proceeded to get himself roaring drunk. Ranald Torc's men, returning with the evening meal, found both him and their two captives gone. Obedient to their leader, they waited until Ranald Torc and his wife had returned. Although Ranald had no idea where the two women were, he was fairly certain of where to find Ian and sent his men to the tavern to fetch his cousin back. Before he slid into a drunken stupor, Ian managed to disclaim any knowledge of what had happened.

"They've escaped, damn the sot!" said Ranald Torc to Alanna, "though how I dinna know."

"Could BrocCairn have found them?" said Alanna.

"Nay, Ian would be dead if he had."

"What are we going to do, Ranald?" For the first time since he had known her, Alanna sounded afraid. "If anything has happened to her ladyship, Alex is going to hold us all responsible."

"The only person who can possibly know anything about this is my drunken sot of a cousin," muttered Ranald Torc. "I'll nae wait around for Alex Gordon to wreak his vengeance upon us, my lass. I'll admit to stealing his cattle, but nae else."

"Then what are we to do?" Alanna repeated.

"I've kept my word to Ian, but our survival is at stake now," came her husband's reply. "Ian will sleep until sometime tomorrow, I'm certain. We'll take him to Edinburgh and leave him at Huntley's house with a message saying that he's the man BrocCairn is looking for, and that, my lass, will take care of everything. Then we're off for home. I'll nae be caught so far from my lands again, Alanna. We've gold enough to last us a goodly time. We'll go home and spend a long winter together fucking and eating, and fucking and drinking! Would ye like that?"

Alanna smiled up at him. "Aye," she said, "I would."

Fortunately, both Francis Stewart-Hepburn and Alex Gordon had kept their heads. Surrounded by Alex's men, they had made their way south, finding the place where Alex's cattle had been sold and moving on to Edinburgh where the trail had gone cold. Then Ian Grant was deposited on the Earl of Huntley's front steps by several brawny Highlanders wearing the kilt of Clan Shaw. All the note pinned to him said was that he was wanted by the Gordon of BrocCairn. Both Bothwell and Alex realized that Ian Grant had probably not gotten to Maitland.

On October eighteenth, Maitland attempted to lure Lord Bothwell into a trap of his own at the Gold Anchor in Leith, without any mention of Lady Gordon, and Alex and Francis knew for certain that Ian had never reached the chancellor. Bothwell, however, escaped and made his way back to Hermitage. His rendezvous in the Highlands had come to naught, for the various factions could not agree on a way to stand against the king without committing treason. Ian Grant had been very close to being a rich man.

Ian Grant, however, was by this time quite dead. It had been an ignominious death. Awakening from his drunken spree, he had stretched lazily, then suddenly realized that he was not in that disgusting apartment they had rented in Leith. His mouth tasted terrible, and he had an absolutely awful headache. Slowly he turned over onto his back, and his eyes met those of Alexander Gordon, the Earl of BrocCairn. Ian Grant's mouth dropped open in shock, and he drew but one gasping breath before his heart gave out from total terror at the dreadful look in the earl's eyes.

If he hadn't died then and there, Alex would have killed him, but only after he had found out what had happened to his wife. Ian's death robbed him of that knowledge. He had only one other direction in which to go, and that was north into the Highlands from whence he'd come; north to find Ranald Torc. The outlaw had to know what had happened to his wife, to Pansy, to the unborn bairns that they both carried. Alex didn't believe for one minute that his wife was dead. He would have known if she was dead, but he felt nothing, just an emptiness. Velvet lived! Of that he was convinced.

Ranald Torc's house was impervious to attack by virtue of the thick forest that surrounded it. Remembering Ian's sudden and unexpected death, Alex did not want to lose the only chance he had of finding out what had happened to Velvet by fighting his way in. Under a flag of truce, he met with Ranald Torc at his house in the forest.

"Ian is dead," Alex said bluntly to open the conversation, and then he went on to explain how the event had occurred. "I was unable to question the damned coward, and I dinna know where my wife and her tiring woman are. Ye can tell me."

"Nay," replied Ranald Torc, "I canna. The plot to kidnap yer wife was all Ian's. I only stole yer cattle, Alex. Ian insisted we go to Leith so that he might make his escape quickly when the exchange was made."

"Did he ever contact Maitland?" demanded Alex, too concerned about his wife to demand compensation for his cattle.

"Nay, not to my knowledge. Alanna and I were married outside of Edinburgh wi' yer wife for a witness. We were seeing the sights in Leith, that's all. We came back one day to find yer wife and her woman gone, and Ian off drunk. She must have escaped, and so we brought Ian to Huntley's house and left him for ye. I canna tell ye anything else or I would. Having found a woman of my own, I can sympathize wi' ye in yer double loss, especially since my own wife has only today told me that I'm to be a father."

Alex was stunned. Ranald Torc had been his only hope. What could have happened to Velvet? If she had escaped, why had she not returned home to Dun Broc? Perhaps she had been so frightened that she had fled south instead to her parents in England. He could understand that now, but why had the de Mariscos not gotten in touch with him? He returned to Dun Broc only long enough to settle an allowance on his widowed sister and orphaned nephews before heading south to England with Dugald and a troop of his men.

In the Loire Valley of France it had been a long and leisurely autumn. Velvet and Pansy arrived at Belle Fleurs safely to find her parents' little chateau still carefully and lovingly attended by Mignon and Guillaume, retainers from the great estate of Archambault , which belonged to Velvet's grandparents, the Comte and Comtesse de Cher. Mignon and her spouse, Guillaume, had attended Skye and Adam de Marisco, Velvet's parents, in the years that they had lived in France. The chateau had been left in their keeping. They were elderly now, and Velvet's simple story that wicked men sought to use her and her unborn child against her wonderful husband so no one, not even her cher grandmère and grandpère, must know that she was at Belle Fleurs , brought their immediate support and promise that Velvet's visit would remain a secret.

Safe now, Velvet sought news of Scotland, not easy to come by in this rural and bucolic setting. Still, with the help of Matthieu, Mignon and Guillaume's fourteen-year-old grandson, they were able to establish a small line of information, but the news coming from Scotland was not good. Velvet heard of Maitland's attempt to trap Bothwell and cursed Ian Grant for the bastard he was. It was obvious to her that they had tried to lure Bothwell into their hands by convincing the earl that they had her. She wished she could send a message to Alex telling him that they were safe. How he must be worrying! She missed him so very much, but she would not endanger him, or Bothwell, by revealing her whereabouts.

The news was slow in reaching her, so it was early November when she had learned about Maitland's attempted trap. Although Pansy was now within a month of giving birth to her second child, Velvet, whose child was not due until the spring, did not yet show her condition. It was a warm, late-autumn day that found her in the small kitchen garden pulling leeks for Mignon's ragout. Suddenly a magnificent, antlered stag leaped over the low garden wall and, dashing around the building, dove into the lake that surrounded Belle Fleurs on three sides, swam across it, and disappeared into the forest beyond.

Sitting back on her heels, Velvet laughed, but her mirth was cut short by the arrival of several huntsmen, one of whom demanded, "Have you seen a stag go by, wench?"

"It is madame ," she replied, "and who gave you the right to hunt on my lands?"

"All of France is the king's land," came the arrogant reply.

"But for Paris," Velvet rejoined, "and a king without a capital is not much of a king. Besides, you don't look like a king to me."

"He isn't," said another voice, and a tall, lean man pushed his horse forward to the low garden wall. "He is the Marquis de la Victoire, but I, madame, am Henri de Navarre, at your service."

Velvet rose and curtsied politely. "Forgive my hasty tongue, Your Majesty," she said.

"I liked it better when you were scolding me, ma belle," he replied with a smile. "You have the advantage of me, chèrie. I do not know who you are." His eyes swept quite boldly over her.

"I am Velvet Gordon, sire," said Velvet.

"English?"

"My father is both English and French. My mother is Irish, and I, sire, am married to a Scot."

"You are too beautiful to be wed to a dour Scot, chèrie.

You should be a Frenchman's wife! Tell me, where is your husband?"

"In Scotland, sire." She brushed the loose dirt from her velvet skirt. How embarrassing to be caught looking such a fright! Still, perhaps it was better that way, for Henri of Navarre was a notorious womanizer. Looking as dusty and unappealing as she did would encourage him to be on his way.

The king, however, was very adept at seeing the gold beneath the soil. "Return to the chateau," he told his companions. "We have obviously lost our quarry." Then with a small smile he lowered his voice and said, "I have other game in mind now, mes amis!"

The gentlemen riding with the king departed without a protest. Though civil war still controlled France, keeping him from his throne in Paris, they knew he was safe here in the Loire Valley.

The king dismounted, asking as he did so, "What is this chateau called?"

"Belle Fleurs , sire," replied Velvet.

"And it is yours?"

"It belongs to my parents."

"Ah," said Henri. "You have come to visit with your parents."

"My parents live in England, sire."

"Your husband is in Scotland, your parents are in England, and you, madame, are in France. I do not understand."

Velvet laughed at his perplexity. "Is it really necessary that you understand, sire? You do not even know me."

"A lover!" the king cried. "You have come to be with your lover!"

"I have no lover, sire. I am a respectable married woman, I promise you." This was becoming very uncomfortable. Velvet did not want to explain to the French king, who was an ally of the Scots king, why she was here in France. Henri of Navarre was a most exasperating man! Why did he insist upon going on like this? She would have to tell him something for he obviously would not go away unless she did. "I have come to France for my health, sire," she said. "The Scots winters are not easy, and as I was ill last year, my husband feared for my health and insisted that I spend this winter here at Belle Fleurs. He will join me when he is able."

"Then you are alone, chèrie?"

"I have my servants, sire, and my grandparents live nearby," she answered him demurely. She hoped that the mention of family would send him on his way.

"Did you know that your eyes are the color of the ferns one finds only in the deepest part of the forest?" the king asked.

Velvet flushed.

"And I can see strands of molten gold caught amid the auburn of your hair, which has the sheen of poured silk." He reached out to finger a strand. "It's as soft as silk, too, chèrie."

Velvet found herself suddenly and totally mesmerized by Henri of Navarre's intense, lush tones, and his rich, deep brown-gold eyes held her completely captive. It was with a great effort that she fought free of his hold to say, "Your Majesty must remember me to Queen Margot, who is my godmother."

The king was indeed stopped in his intent for the moment. "My wife is your godmother?" he said.

"Yes, sire. Queen Margot and my own liege, good Queen Bess."

"I do not often see my wife," the king said. Then he smiled at her. "You have a mouth that was made for kisses, Madame Gordon," and so saying, he reached out to capture her in his grasp.

"Sire!" Velvet's palms pressed flat against the king's leather doublet. "I am a loyal wife to my lord."

"Loyalty," the king said, "is a valuable quality in a woman," and then kissed her, his lips pressing most expertly upon her own.

For a very long minute Velvet didn't know whether to be offended, flattered, or simply outraged. There wasn't a woman in Europe who didn't know the reputation for lechery held by the French king. He was a man for whom women held a supreme fascination. She didn't find his embrace unpleasant, but she was Alex Gordon's wife, and she loved her husband. Still, it was interesting being kissed by another man.

Taking her complacency for compliance, Henry gently forced Velvet's lips open and found her tongue with his own, meanwhile managing to pull her blouse down to fondle her full and firm breasts. It was that bold liberty that galvanized Velvet into action. Using all her strength, she wrenched free of the king's embrace, and, putting all her force behind the blow, she slapped Henri of Navarre.

"Sire! I am mortally offended by your conduct!" she raged. "I have said I am a loyal wife to my husband, and you then kiss me and fondle me in a most lascivious manner! For shame, Your Majesty! For shame! Surely your reputation for loving the ladies was not gained by means of force? I am with child, sire! I came to Belle Fleurs to seek peace during my confinement. Must I flee my home to return to a harsh Scots winter, thereby endangering my husband's heir, because you will not believe me when I refuse your attentions?"

The king was totally astounded. He had never in his life been rebuffed by a woman. Well, once he had been, but only once. For some reason this beautiful young woman reminded him of that time so long ago. It was a time best forgot, the night of the St. Bartholomew's Day massacre when his late but not lamented mother-in-law, Catherine de Medici, had arranged that he be detained by a woman he had fancied in order to keep him safe, or so she had said. Henri had always believed that his mother-in-law had arranged for that little divertissement in order to keep him from leading his soldiers into the fray.

He had just been married to his wife, Marguerite de Valois, the princess of France. It was a marriage meant to unite the ruling house of Valois with the house of Bourbon of which he was the heir. During the marriage celebrations, he had seen a magnificent Irishwoman with eyes the incredible blue-green of Ceylon sapphire and masses of black, black hair that tumbled against her fabulous white skin. He had wanted to possess her with all his soul, and as his bride had been far too busy with her own lover to notice, he had ardently pursued the woman whose name he now could not even remember. He had been most firmly rebuffed, but Catherine de Medici had seen his lust; and by fraud she had tricked the woman into an assignation with him. He had entered the room to find the object of his desire bound and helpless, and he had taken her without a moment's hesitation despite her furious protests, even as that wily old woman, his mother-in-law, had known he would.

And while he had dallied so delightfully, the Catholic League had butchered as many of the Huguenots assembled in Paris for his wedding as they could find. It had not sat well with the Huguenots that he had not been there to lead and protect them.

He shook the thought away. That religious division had caused France years of civil war—a war that, despite his conversion to Catholicism, still raged in sections of France.

How odd that he had been suddenly reminded of all that unhappiness by this beautiful woman who looked angrily up at him, attempting to somehow maintain her dignity while covering her lovely breasts. For some reason he felt guilty, although guilt was not a feeling that often touched him.

"Madame," he said solemnly, "I do beg your pardon." A small smile touched his lips. "You are very beautiful, and I am rather used to taking what I want. I can only remember being rebuffed by a woman once before in my entire life. Will you forgive me? I am staying nearby at Chenonceaux , and I should like us to be friends. It is very dull at Chenonceaux," he finished, and his face took on a mournful expression.

"Of course I shall forgive you, sire, providing that you promise me such a thing will not happen again."

"I give you the word of a king," he said.

"Why is it dull at Chenonceaux?" she asked, curious and thinking that the word of a king was not often good. "I had heard that Chenonceaux is the most beautiful chateau in France."

"It is," he answered, "both inside and out. The chateau spans the entire river Cher, and there was a time when guests were greeted by the sight of beautiful young women garbed as water nymphs swimming in the river around the chateau. Now, alas, it is in the possession of Louise de Lorraine, widow of my predecessor, Henri III. She has draped the suites in black, and has painted many of the ceilings with skulls and crossbones and gravediggers' tools." He shuddered expressively. "It is a sacrilege to so defile such beauty."

A small giggle escaped Velvet. "You are teasing me," she said. "Louise de Lorraine did not really paint her ceilings with skulls and crossbones, did she?"

"She did." He nodded solemnly.

Suddenly Pansy, great with child, waddled out into the garden, calling, "M'lady! Have you got those leeks? Old Mignon says she cannot begin the ragout for supper without them. Oh, excuse me, m'lady. I didn't know we had a guest."

"This is my tiring woman," said Velvet to the king. "She does not speak French, being a good Englishwoman. Pansy, make your curtsy. This is King Henri."

Pansy gasped and, with some difficulty, curtsied to the king.

"She is enceinte, your tiring woman?"

"Yes, monseigneur. Her husband is my husband's servant. It is their second child."

"A mistress who is enceinte, a servant who is enceinte. I have obviously misjudged the Scots, who would seem to be a passionate race." The king chuckled.

"I had not heard, sire," replied Velvet quickly, "that the French had a monopoly on passion."

"You will never know the true comparison, chèrie , unless you allow me to demonstrate," he said mischievously.

"Monseigneur!" Velvet pretended outrage, but the king was not fooled, and they both laughed.

"Does this Mignon prepare a beef ragout, chèrie? A beef ragout with tender green leeks? I adore beef ragout with leeks!"

"Is Your Majesty seeking an invitation?" Velvet teased him.

"Yes, I most certainly do seek an invitation," he said, looking almost boyish. "The dowager queen Louise will serve up carp and plain boiled vegetables for dinner tonight as she does almost every night. She has made her mourning a fine art, and even her guests must suffer!"

"Then why do you visit her?" demanded the practical Velvet.

"Because it is my duty; because Chenonceaux is so incredibly beautiful and peaceful; and because the hunting is good," he answered her.

"I cannot feed your friends," she said. "It is not that I would be ungracious; it is simply that I have neither the food nor the staff for entertaining."

"I do not ask you to feed my men. What I hope for is a dinner à deux."

"Dinner, monseigneur, is all that I am serving," said Velvet severely to Henri of Navarre. "You must promise me that you understand that before I will tender you an invitation. I am not a woman to play the coy flirt. I love my husband and will not compromise either his honor or mine."

"Lovers," said the king, "should always begin as friends. It was unforgivable of me to behave as I did earlier. I can only excuse myself by saying that your beauty blinded me to reason. I promise to behave myself, chèrie , if you will invite me to supper."

"We are not going to be lovers!" said Velvet, somewhat crossly.

The king smiled sweetly at her. "I shall bring a fine red wine for us to drink with the ragout," he said as he mounted his horse.

"I have not said you could come!" Velvet protested.

"Do you think your Mignon would make me a pear tartlet for the last course, chèrie?" he asked her.

Velvet couldn't help but laugh. What a charming and impossible man he was. "I'll ask her," she said, "and now, sire, I bid you adieu, for if I do not bring these leeks in to Mignon immediately, there will be no supper for you."

The king kissed his fingers at her and, turning his horse, rode off.

"So that's what a king looks like," said Pansy matter-of-factly. "He's a bit big and gawky, ain't he? What was all that chattering you was doing?"

"He's invited himself to supper," said Velvet, still chuckling.

"He looks to me like he's got more than supper on his mind," said Pansy disapprovingly.

"He does," replied her mistress, "but I have been most truthful with the king. He understands me, though he will not yet admit that a lady could refuse his suit. There is no danger, Pansy, from Henri of Navarre. Besides, he is only visiting at Chenonceaux , and must be on his way in a day or so. France is still at war with itself, and he will not really be safe as its king until the country is once again united."

"You're going to throw old Mignon into quite a tizzy, m'lady. I don't expect that she's ever cooked for a king before."

Velvet's laughter renewed itself at that thought. "Wait until I tell her that he has requested a pear tartlet for the last course!"

Mignon, however, was not one bit nonplussed by the news that Henri of Navarre was coming to supper. When Velvet passed on the gossip about Chenonceaux to her, the old woman said, "Poor man! He grew up in the wholesome atmosphere of Navarre far from the French court. He is used to good country food and he misses it, I have not a doubt. I shall be pleased to cook for the king! I am only sorry that I shall not be able to tell everyone at Archambault about it. That fat Celine who cooks for your grandmother would be so jealous! After she cooked for Queen Catherine and Princess Margot at your christening, there was simply no living with her! Oh, how I would like to tell her!"

"In time, Mignon," Velvet soothed the old woman. "When I am with my husband, and King James no longer seeks me, then I can tell my grandparents that I was here, and you can brag to your heart's delight to Celine and the rest of the staff at Archambault."

"Celine will be so jealous," cackled Mignon as she threw the leeks, now peeled, into the steaming pot of ragout. "I think I shall put currants in with the pears," she mused. "It makes a tastier tartlet."

Velvet smiled and then, taking Pansy with her, went to prepare the table in the lovely hall where once her family used to gather when she was a tiny child. Belle Fleurs was not a large chateau. Built in the early fifteenth century, it sat in the midst of a garden, surrounded on three sides by a lakelike moat. Beyond it lay the forest, and four miles to the north, the great chateau of her grandparents, Archambault , which, like its neighbor, Chenonceaux , sat on the banks of the river Cher.

Belle Fleurs was a chateau out of a fairy tale. It was built of dark, reddish gray schist stone, and its four polygonal towers had slate roofs that were shaped like witches' hats. Since access to the chateau could be gained only through the cour d'honneur , it was easily defensible. It was the gardens, however, that had given Belle Fleurs its name. During the growing season, from spring until the late, late autumn, the gardens of Belle Fleurs were filled to overflowing with varied and colorful blooms of every known variety and hue. They were old Guillaume's pride, and he spent all of his waking hours amid the flowers, keeping Belle Fleurs' gardens thriving and orderly.

The chateau itself had a fine hall and kitchens, six bedchambers including the lord's apartment, and room for a dozen house servants. The outbuildings consisted of a stable for the horses, though there were only three, two that had been brought by Velvet and Pansy and an old mare that pulled a cart kept by Mignon and Guillaume. Velvet had hired a coach to bring them from Nantes to Belle Fleurs , but she had also purchased the two riding horses which had been tied behind the carriage. Transportation was vital in this isolated location. There was a dog kennel, but right now the only dogs at Belle Fleurs were an elderly spaniel and an even older hound. The falconry was empty now though the dovecote still housed a large family of gentle birds.

Velvet's father, Adam de Marisco, had bought the chateau furnished by its former owners, and the rooms were filled with attractive furniture and beautiful hangings. Though there would be but two of them at supper, Velvet knew that she must set the high board for the king. Carefully, she and Pansy laid the convent-made linen cloth upon the long table. There was but one pair of gold candelabra in the chateau, and Velvet cleaned them, placing them upon the table with the beeswax tapers. Pansy brought a bowl of flowers in autumn colors of yellow, brown, tawny orange, and gold, which was also placed on the table. Two place settings of silver knives and Florentine forks with matching silver plates and goblets studded with green jasper were set upon the table. The fires were laid in the two fireplaces on either side of the hall, and crystal decanters of wine, a pale gold liquid from Archambault and a crimson one the king had already sent ahead with one of the footmen from Chenonceaux , were placed upon the sideboard.

The hall ready, Velvet departed to her chamber to bathe in gillyflower-scented water and to dress in a dark green velvet gown that had once been her mother's. She thought it fortunate that Skye had left so many clothes at Archambault , else both she and Pansy would have been quite at a loss. They had worn the same clothing from the time of their kidnapping until they arrived at Belle Fleurs; clothing that Velvet immediately burned, for it was filthy beyond repair. Had they not had their cloaks to cover their stained and torn garments, Velvet did not know what they would have done.

It had taken almost two weeks for them to reach Nantes from Leith. Using Pansy's obvious condition as an excuse, they had kept very much to their cabin, coming out only once a day toward evening when the light was dim, and no one about, to walk about the deck.

Captain Michael Small did not usually take passengers, but an expected cargo had not been delivered in Leith on time, and since he had the room, he had decided to accept several passengers. They had been very lucky, for there had just been one small cabin left and only the intercession of the landlord of the Golden Anchor had gained it for them.

"They're respectable women, Captain," he had said. "There isn't another ship I would dare trust to transport them safely, and they can pay in gold."

"Very well," the captain had finally agreed, "but they must bring their own food. I'll supply drinking water, three cups each day, and one cup each of rum, but nothing else. There are two bunks in the cabin, but they must bring their own blankets."

Velvet had agreed to the captain's terms, and the landlord had negotiated the price for them and then helped them to quickly assemble their provisions, which consisted of oatcakes, dried and salted beef, a small cheese, and, at Velvet's insistence, a basket of apples and pears. There had been no time either to bathe or to purchase fresh clothing before they sailed, and so when they reached Belle Fleurs , they had been wearing the same garments for a month.

"We were forced to flee quickly," Velvet had explained to Mignon. "We could take nothing with us but what we had on our backs. I am certain that my mother has clothing stored here in the chateau."

"Oui , madame, indeed she does," replied Mignon. "I should know for was I not her tiring woman while she lived here in France? I myself packed everything away in cedar-lined trunks. They are stored in the attics. Tomorrow I will have Matthieu fetch them down."

The following day Velvet had opened her mother's trunks to find them filled with beautiful garments: gowns, skirts, and blouses; night rails of gossamer quality; petticoats; chemises; stockings; and shoes. There was even a small ivory box containing some rather magnificent jewelry. There were pink-tinged pearls with a matching ring set in gold; a marvelous necklace of large diamonds, blue-white in color, which also had matching earrings; several other pairs of earbobs of sapphires, emeralds, and rubies set in gold; bracelets; rings; and hair ornaments decorated with diamonds, pearls, and rubies.

"Were these my mother's?" she asked Mignon.

"Yes, madame, they were. She brought them with her when she came to Archambault."

Velvet was utterly intrigued, particularly in light of the yellowed parchment she found at the bottom of the ivory box. Its fading message offered yet a further mystery as it read:

Doucette, I had these made for you when I thought you might return to me. Since I will not give my wife jewelry made for another woman, I beg that you take this small offering that was meant only for you. Nicolas.

"Who was Nicolas, Mignon?" Velvet asked.

"Nicolas? Why, I do not know, madame," came the reply. "Is it important?"

"Nay," said Velvet. "I was but curious."

It was Pansy, however, who supplied the key to the mystery. "Nicolas," she said musingly, as if trying to remember something, and then her face lit up. "I know who he was, m'lady! Me mum told me many stories of Mistress Skye's adventures, some of them mum shared. I remember a Duke Nicolas that your mother was supposed to marry once. I can't remember why she didn't. He lived here in France somewheres. I will wager the note and the jewelry are from him."

Velvet was fascinated. It never occurred to her that her mother would receive jewelry from someone other than her father. Oh, all her life she had heard bits and pieces about her mother's adventures, and certainly at court there had been those who were only too eager to repeat the gossip about her mother. Skye herself, however, had never spoken a great deal of the past. She seemed to always live for the moment, for the morrow, and that was how her daughter saw her. Now, suddenly, her mother appeared in a different light; as a woman whom other men had adored and loved, and for whom men had jewelry created, a woman with a past. Why had the jewelry been left in France? Had the man who had given her the gems meant so little to her mother that Skye had carelessly left his gift behind? It was interesting, and she was going to have to ask her mother when she saw her again.

Velvet now picked up the diamond necklace and held it up against her throat. It really was quite beautiful, and it went very well with the green velvet gown. Clasping it about her neck, she admired herself for a moment in the glass and then added the earrings. Despite her somewhat old-fashioned dress she felt quite confident to receive the king.

If Henri of Navarre noticed that Velvet's gown was not of the latest fashion, he said nothing about it during their meal. Mignon had outdone herself, and on such short notice; Velvet herself was more than amazed at the meal that appeared on her table. The ragout was filled with chunks of tender beef that had been simmered in a brown gravy, which was fragrant with Burgundy and delicate mushrooms. There were small bits of carrot, too, and the green leeks that Velvet had picked earlier. To her surprise, there was also a plump, juicy capon that had been roasted to a golden brown and stuffed with a mixture of bread, sage, tiny white onions, and chestnuts; as well as a fine trout that had been caught by Matthieu in the chateau lake and poached in white wine and herbs. There was a bowl of turnips, and one of baby lettuce and watercress that had been braised in wine. Fresh bread still warm from the ovens was placed with a crock of sweet butter before them.

The king ate with great appetite, filling and refilling his plate three times. When the second course, which consisted of the pear and currant tartlet, apples baked in honey and dusted with cinnamon, a bowl of fat purple grapes, and a Normandy Brie, was placed before him, his eyes lit with delight. He decimated these offerings with equal gusto while Velvet was kept busy seeing that his goblet was never empty, for the king drank as heartily as he ate.

The meal finished, Velvet said, "Will you allow my housekeeper to greet Your Majesty? When she learned she was to cook for you, her delight knew no bounds. She can barely wait to gossip with the entire neighborhood, and your obvious appreciation of her culinary skills will give her much to talk about."

He nodded his assent, and Velvet sent to the kitchens for Mignon. The old lady came, her face flushed from excitement as well as the heat of her kitchens. Her white hair was neat, just peeping from beneath a fresh cap, and she had taken the time to remove her stained apron, replacing it with a clean one. Kneeling before Henri, she kissed his hand, and there were tears in her eyes.

The king was touched, and, standing, he raised the old woman to her feet, saying as he did so, "I cannot remember ever eating a finer meal, Madame Mignon. You have your monarch's grateful thanks."

Somehow Mignon found her voice, although later as she told it, she was surprised that she could speak at all to this wonderful, great man. "When my lady told me of the menu you suffer at Chenonceaux , I knew that Your Majesty longed for good country cooking as you once ate in your youth in Navarre. I cannot cook the elegant foods that your own chefs prepare, but I know how to cook for a man; and if the rumors that we hear are correct, Your Majesty is the best man in all of Europe!" Mignon chuckled.

"Mignon!" Velvet was surprised by her servant's boldness.

The king, however, laughed uproariously. "I will not deny those rumors, Madame Mignon," he said, and his golden brown eyes twinkled. "If I were but a bit older, I'm afraid I should have chased you around your kitchen for a kiss, thus shocking my young hostess even more."

"And were I a bit younger," cackled the housekeeper, "your Majesty would have no trouble catching me! Alas, however, I am an old woman now."

"Madame Mignon," said the king, "a spirit such as yours never grows old!" And taking her hand, he kissed it gallantly.

Mignon drew herself up proudly. "I am pleased that I have been able to serve my king, even in so little a matter as this." She curtsied elegantly, and then said, "I have had a guest chamber prepared for Your Majesty, and when you are ready to retire, my husband, Guillaume, will valet Your Majesty. He once served the Comte de Cher in such a capacity."

"The king is not staying the night!" protested Velvet.

"He cannot leave now, madame," said Mignon. "There is a storm raging outside, and it has been raining very heavily for the past two hours. It will rain the entire night, Guillaume says, and he knows. The king will stay, and in the morning I will serve him eggs poached in cream and marsala!" Bobbing a final cursty to both the king and the lady, she departed from the room.

"It would seem, chèrie , that the fates seek to plead my cause," said the king softly.

"I cannot send you out into the storm," Velvet said, "but I would remind Your Majesty of your promise to me to behave like the gentleman that you are."

Henri laughed. "You are very unfair, chèrie."

"I did warn you that I am not a flirt," Velvet protested.

Henri of Navarre sighed dramatically. "If I am to be fair, then I must admit that you did. Still, if I were not to hope that you might change your mind, then I should not be the man I am."

Velvet could not help but smile. The king was most disarming. "Monseigneur, it is not that you are unattractive, it is just that I value the Gordons' honor above all else—even the attentions of a king. A man of such great honor as Your Majesty can understand that, I know."

"I understand it, chèrie," he admitted to her, "but I do not have to like it. You are an outrageously beautiful woman. I am already wildly in love with you, and you are frank enough to dash my fondest hope with such innocent honesty that I cannot be in the least offended. Disappointed, oui , but not offended."

"It was never my intention to offend you, sire. I would far prefer that we be friends. I have never had a king for a friend." Even as she said it, Velvet was somewhat ashamed of the lie, for Akbar had been her friend first before he became her husband and her lover. Still, she knew that she must sweeten her rejection of the king, for it could be that she might need his goodwill one day.

Henri's gaze softened. "Ah, chèrie ," he said, "what a charming creature you are! Of course we will be friends. I would have it no other way."

Velvet arose from the table and curtsied to the king. "Will you then give me your permission to retire, monseigneur? I find in my condition that I seem to need more sleep than usual."

"Will you not show me to my chambers, chèrie?"

"If you are ready to retire, monseigneur, I shall call old Guillaume to escort you," said Velvet sweetly, and she was gone from the hall before the king could protest.

He watched her skirts disappearing around the corner, and he chuckled. How wise she was to entice him so. An easy quarry was usually unfulfilling and boring to bed. He far more enjoyed the hunt! If not tonight, it would be another night, but he would attempt to breach her defenses one more time this evening. There was a mystery about this beauty, and he was anxious to solve it. Who were these grandparents she spoke of who lived nearby? Where was her husband? He did not believe for one moment that the husband of such a beauty would allow his wife to live alone in such a remote place with only four servants to care for her. It was obvious to Henri that she was trying to hide something, but what he did not know.

The elderly Guillaume came to escort him to his apartment. He was polite and efficient, but the king learned little from him, for the old man was no fool, and la belle Gordon was obviously dear to him.

"Yes, sire," he said, "I once served the Comte de Cher. Not he who is currently the count, but his father who lived to be very old. I was with him from the time I was a young man. I went to court with my master and saw Henri II. We were there the day that he was killed in the tourney. Ah, that was a great tragedy. Both the lady Diane, the king's favorite, and the queen were terribly overwrought." Guillaume's eyes misted with the memory. "The lady Diane de Poitiers was such a beautiful creature. Chenonceaux was hers in those days, you know, but Queen Catherine took it from her once the king was dead. She gave her another chateau, but the lady Diane retired to her own home at Anet." He rambled on, and the king found himself quite fascinated by this little bit of France's recent history as seen through the eyes of a servant.

The king was quite surprised when Guillaume produced a man's silk nightshirt for him. "Where did this come from?" he demanded.

"It belongs to my master, Madame Velvet's father. There is a trunk of his things still here as well as one of his wife's."

So, thought the king, that was where she had obtained her gown for tonight. He had not mentioned it, but the dress had been somewhat out of fashion, and the aroma of cedar clung faintly to it. "How long has the lady Velvet been here?" he asked Guillaume.

"For several weeks now," said the manservant, and then he deftly switched the subject back to the old days when he had so loyally served his late master, the Comte de Cher.

The fire was banked, and as his final duty Guillaume tucked the king into bed. Henri said to the valet as he was leaving the room, "Sometimes I have bad dreams, Guillaume, and I cry out in my sleep. I should not like to frighten Madame Gordon in her condition. Is she nearby?"

"Madame's suite is across the hall, sire," said Guillaume. "The way the wind is blowing she would not hear you. I wish you, however, a good night's sleep with happy dreams."

"Merci , Guillaume," said the king, smiling, and closed his eyes. He heard the doors close, and then all was quiet but for the sound of the heavy rains against the windowpanes and the low moan of the rising wind. For over an hour the king lay resting, and then he arose from his bed and went directly from his chamber across the hall to Velvet's door. The floor in the passageway was cold, and he eagerly opened her door to step upon a soft carpet.

Inside the room was the largest bed he had ever seen. It was, to his eye, like an arena. What magnificent combats had taken place in it? he wondered. The velvet draperies were drawn across the windows, muffling the sound of the storm, and the firelight cast eerie, dark shadows upon the fabric. Then he heard it. The soft sound of her weeping. It was the saddest thing Henri had ever heard, and all thought of passion fled from his mind as his compassionate nature came to the forefront. Seating himself upon the edge of the bed, the king drew Velvet into his arms.

Instantly she stiffened, and he heard the outrage in her young voice as she said, "What are you doing in my room, monseigneur?"

"Why are you crying?" he answered her. "It breaks my heart to hear you so saddened, chèrie. What has made you so unhappy?"

She raised a tear-stained face to him, saying as she did so, "I miss my husband, and I miss my home."

"Then why do you not go home?"

"Because I c—because my health will not allow it," was her stumbling reply.

"Forgive me, chèrie , but that is a terrible lie," the king replied. "I have never seen a healthier young woman than yourself. You are running from something, chèrie , and if I can help I will. Can you not trust me?"

Velvet was silent.

The king persisted. "At least tell me who your grandparents are. The ones who live nearby."

"I cannot tell you," Velvet said. "Why not?"

"Because they do not know that I am here. If they knew, they would send me to my parents, and my parents would send me to my husband, and I cannot allow that."

"Why not?" the king demanded again. Suddenly he thought of something. "The child you carry! It is not your husband's!"

"Of course it is Alex's!" Velvet cried. "Why on earth would you think such a thing of me!"

"Then why don't you want your husband to know that you are here, for despite your tale, I do not believe he knows where you are, does he?" Holding Velvet by the shoulders, the king looked down into her face. "Does he, chèrie!"

"No," said Velvet, and she burst into tears again.

Henri held her against his chest and allowed her to sob her misery out upon his silken nightshirt. When her weeping had abated somewhat, the king said, "Now, Velvet Gordon, I want you to unravel this mystery you have woven about yourself. I will not take no for an answer, and if you refuse me, I shall take you to Chenonceaux with me and keep you there until you have told me the truth. I am most resolved in this," he finished in a somewhat stern tone.

Velvet was silent again for some minutes, and then, sighing, she said, "I was forced to flee Scotland because enemies of my husband wanted to use me to entrap his cousin, a gentleman sought by the king for treason,—but there is no treason, monseigneur! My husband's cousin is King James's most loyal servant, if the king would but trust him. It is the king's chancellor, Master Maitland, who seeks to turn the king against the earls in order to further his own power!"

"Fran?ois Stewart-Hepburn!" said the king. "It has to be my old friend Fran?ois Stewart-Hepburn!"

"You know Francis?" said Velvet, amazed.

"For more years, chèrie , than I care to admit to, I have known Fran?ois. It is he, is it not? Fran?ois is the only man in the entire world who so terrifies and enrages James Stewart. Their relationship is a long and a very troubled one, for James Stewart has always been jealous of his cousin."

"He has outlawed him and confiscated all his estates," Velvet said, "and it has been done out of spite, for the king covets the woman that Francis loves."

"Ah," said Henri of Navarre, his voice echoing his total understanding. "It is a woman! I would not have thought such a thing of James Stewart. He does not seem the type, and I have never heard it said of him that he is overfond of the ladies."

"He pretends to be faithful to Queen Anne," replied Velvet, "but he has coveted this particular lady for some time, and she fled from him to be with Francis, who wishes to wed with her."

"Ahhhhh," said Henri of Navarre again, "so not only has this lady refused the king, she prefers his greatest rival. The insult is formidable! No wonder your king is angry, but how, chèrie , did you get involved in this tempest?"

Velvet took a deep breath. "Monseigneur, I can say nothing more unless you give me your word that you will not betray me to James Stewart. France and Scotland are allies, I know."

Henri smiled. "We are allies, chèrie , because it pleases us to occasionally aid the Scots against the English. It is the same with the Spanish. They enjoy aiding the Irish against the English. It is nuisance value. That is all. You have the word of a king, chèrie , that we will not betray you."

"I should far rather have the word of Henri of Navarre, monseigneur," returned Velvet. "The word of a king is not always reliable. Forgive me, for I mean no insult, but my mother has always said it, and she is the wisest woman that I know."

The king smiled ruefully. "Your mother is indeed wise, chèrie. Very well, then, you have the word of Henri of Navarre that whatever it is you tell me will remain secret. I will not betray you, and I would certainly not betray my old friend, Fran?ois Stewart-Hepburn. One favor, however, I would ask of you."

"Anything, monseigneur!" Velvet vowed.

The king laughed. "Anything!" he said.

"Within reason," Velvet amended.

"May we please get beneath the coverlet, chèrie? I am freezing in this nightshirt, which you have soaked through with your tears. I must get warm or I shall have an ague come morning."

"Oh, dear! You must get out of that wet nightshirt, monseigneur!" said Velvet, her voice very concerned. Then she slipped from his arms and, running to a trunk at the foot of the bed, opened it and drew forth a second silk nightshirt. "This is my parents' chamber," she explained, "and my father's night garment." Handing him the shirt, she said, "I shall not peek. Tell me when you are ready."

Gratefully the king changed into the dry nightshirt and then, getting beneath the coverlet, said, "Come now, chèrie , and join me. A lady in your delicate condition should not be chilled."

It did not occur to Velvet to ask him whether he would behave this time. She simply assumed that he would. Settling herself comfortably next to him, she began her tale, "Francis secretly came north into the Highlands in late summer to meet with the Earl of Huntley. Francis stayed with us a night before going on to Huntley, with my husband and his men-at-arms riding along to protect him. My husband is Francis's cousin, but he is also a cousin of Huntley's and of the king, too."

"Who is your husband?" interrupted Henri of Navarre.

"My husband is Alexander Gordon, the Earl of BrocCairn," said Velvet. "Alex has but one sibling, his sister, Annabella, and it was her husband, Ian Grant, who decided that if he kidnapped me, he could force Francis into giving himself up. Ian would then turn him over to Maitland and collect the king's reward." Then she went on to tell him of her horrible captivity in Leith and lucky escape with Pansy from Ranald Torc and Ian. "I had to hide somewhere where the king could not find me until he grew tired of seeking me," Velvet wound up her tale, "or until he and Francis made up again, although this time I fear they will not reconcile. Because I am considered English, I knew that no one in Scotland would consider looking in France. They do not know of Belle Fleurs , and so I came here."

"Who are your grandparents?" Navarre asked.

"The Comte and Comtesse de Cher whose chateau, Archambault , is but four miles from here."

"Am I to assume that your husband has not known all these weeks where you are, chèrie?"

"How could he?" said Velvet. "I have not dared to communicate either with him or any member of my family, for fear that James Stewart would find me and use me in his war with Francis."

"Does Alex Gordon know he is to be a father?"

"Oh, yes!" said Velvet. "It is our first child, and I had only just told him before we were separated."

"Mon Dieu!" said Henri of Navarre. "This is an incredible tangle! I shall find out for you if your king still seeks you, for if I were your husband, my adorable Velvet, I should be distraught beyond all not to know where my wife was, especially in your state."

"You will not betray me?" Her voice trembled.

"I have given you my word, chèrie. I will not betray you, but you cannot hide forever. Tomorrow, when I return to Chenonceaux , I shall make discreet inquiries about the difficulties between your king and our mutual friend, Fran?ois. If you are sought by the Scots crown, chèrie , I shall learn of it, and then together we shall solve the problem, I promise you."

"You will really help me?"

Henri smiled to himself in the dark. She was absolutely charming. "Yes," he said, "I will help you, chèrie. How could I not?" Then, leaning over, he tipped her face to his and kissed her.

Velvet pulled away, suddenly very, very aware that the king's aid had its price. "You gave me your word," she said softly.

"I gave you my word not to force you, chèrie , and I will not. But if I offer you something that you very much want, is it not only fair that you offer me something that I very much want in return? Making love does not always have to involve the emotions. It is a delightful sport in which two compatible people may give each other pleasure."

"Your mind is much too sophisticated for me, monseigneur. I am a simple woman who finds it hard to visualize lovemaking outside of the bonds of matrimony."

"You have been most properly brought up, and I applaud your parents who have raised you to be a good Catholic noblewoman; nevertheless, there are times when even the most virtuous of women face serious decisions of this nature. You wish my help, and I wish to make love to you. The choice rests with you, chèrie. The ambassador from your country to mine can tell me what I wish to know. If James Stewart still seeks you, then I shall arrange to bring your husband to you secretly. You can live your life quite happily here in France until you are safe. When is your child due?"

"Early spring," said Velvet. "April, I would say."

"I can arrange that your husband be with you then. You would like that, wouldn't you? If James has already forgotten you, then you can contact your husband and he can join you here immediately. Is that not worth one brief encounter to you?"

Velvet bit her lip. She knew the story of her friend Cat Leslie and of how James Stewart had forced her to his bed. Would it be the same with Henri of Navarre? Somehow she did not think so, for the French king was a man who openly enjoyed women, and always had at least one acknowledged mistress. Being in the early months of her pregnancy, she could not become enceinte by him, and if Alex never knew of the incident … She could no longer bear this separation from him! She loved her husband, and she needed him!

"Promise me that my husband will never know of this shameful episode," she said.

"Madame, I am not a man to kiss and tell," he said, his tone offended.

"But you have not returned to Chenonceaux tonight, and surely the gentlemen with you will assume you have been in my bed."

"They would have assumed it even if I had not been, chèrie , and I would certainly not gainsay them their lecherous meanderings of the mind. Do not fear, my lovely Velvet, my gentlemen have no idea who you are, or even the name of this delightful little chateau. Even if you came to my court with your husband, there is not one amongst them who would betray your honor, for by doing so they would betray their own, and they are a proud bunch of milords."

"Then if I am to have your help, monseigneur, I have no other choice than to yield to you," Velvet said softly.

"Ah, chèrie," he said, the delight in his voice hard to conceal, "you have made me the happiest of men!"

He might be happy, she thought, but she certainly was not. Having committed herself to this course, one thought bothered her. She had never slept with a man with whom she was not in love. Would Henri of Navarre think her a good lover, or would he feel cheated and, considering her a bad bargain, not feel obliged to help her? "Monseigneur," she began, "I have virtually no experience in love other than with my husband." There was no need to explain Akbar. It would be too confusing.

"But I, chèrie , have great experience. You will learn at the hands of a master, and, to begin with, I should like you to disrobe for me." He himself arose from the bed and, going to the fireplace, built up the fire so that the room was bathed in a rosy glow. Then taking a taper, he relit the candelabrum on either side of the bed. "Love," he said, "should not be hidden away in the dark as if it were something to be ashamed of, chèrie. A woman's body is possibly the most beautiful of God's creations, and I am a connoisseur of beauty. I have always enjoyed watching the faces of the women I make love to. It is a weakness with me."

Velvet, too, had arisen slowly from the bed. She had been wearing a simple night rail of white silk with long, full sleeves that was decorated with pink ribbons at the wrists and high neckline. She suddenly felt very, very shy. Both Alex and Akbar had seen her naked, but this man was a virtual stranger, unknown to her except by reputation until a few hours ago. She began to tremble, and the king, who had already shed his nightshirt, saw it.

Coming up behind her, he slipped his long arms about her waist and bent his head to kiss her neck with delicate, feathery movements. "Don't be afraid of me, chèrie. I shall not hurt you or the child, and I promise to make you very happy even though your adorable, strict sense of morality will not let you believe such a thing is possible right now." Gently his slender fingers undid the ribbons at her neckline as he opened her night rail to the waist. Drawing the gown off her shoulders, he watched as it slipped down over her hips and past her shapely calves to puddle about her ankles.

Automatically Velvet stepped from the tangle of silk, and her heart began to beat faster at the king's sharp intake of breath.

"Ahhhh, chèrie," he breathed reverently, "you are beautiful beyond compare, beyond my wildest expectations! You should be sculpted in marble, but I do not believe that there is an artist living or dead who could do you justice! Come!" Catching her hand in his, he quickly drew her over to the pier glass. "Look at yourself, chèrie! Are you not magnificent? Look at us together! We are superb! I am a tall man, and it is not often that I have a tall woman. Mon Dieu! I must worship at your shrine, my exquisite goddess!" So saying, the king knelt and began to kiss Velvet from her feet upward, holding her firmly about the hips. She quivered beneath his touch.

His warm mouth wandered up her ankles to first her right knee and then her left. Slowly he turned her so that he might kiss her hips where they swelled out from her waist, her firm buttocks, the base of her spine. Turning her again, his mouth found its way up the fronts of her thighs, the rear having already been saluted.

Velvet could feel her legs buckling, and when his lips found the cleft in her Venus mont and his tongue ran along that cleft slowly, she almost shrieked aloud, but then his mouth was suddenly at her navel. Now he was drawing her gently to her knees so that he could kiss her full, young breasts, her shoulders, her throat, her mouth, and her eyes. Velvet had to admit to herself that she had never been kissed quite as thoroughly as Henri of Navarre was kissing her, and it was not an altogether unpleasant thing.

He stood, drawing her to her feet again, and pressed her against his length. For the first time Velvet became aware of the king as merely a man. He was already rigid with his desire, but she did not dare to look down at him. She was quite close to fainting now, and her breathing was very shallow. He saw it, and, scooping her up, he laid her down upon the huge bed and, joining her, drew her into his arms.

"You are still afraid," he said, "and it distresses me to see it, chèrie ." His big hand caressed her hair. "Such beautiful tresses," he murmured, the hand stroking her as if she were a beast to be gentled. Suddenly he buried his face in her hair and breathed deeply. "You smell of gillyflowers," he said. "It is the perfect scent for you—fresh and sharp, and even a trifle innocent. I shall never smell gillyflowers again without thinking of you, chèrie." Then rolling her onto her back in a single, deft movement, he found her lips once more.

For some reason she could never explain to herself, her lips parted quite willingly for him, and his tongue slipped in to find hers; to tease and play with it within the sweet grotto of her mouth; to stoke the banked fires of passion that lay hidden deep within her, waiting to be encouraged forth by this master of the erotic arts. Velvet felt the first stirrings of desire taking over her body, and with shock she realized suddenly that the king had been absolutely correct when he had told her that two compatible people could give each other pleasure despite their lack of emotion for one another. There was a word for such a thing. It was called lust, and though one part of her nature still denounced it, she perceived that lust could sometimes be an attractive thing.

Unable to help herself, she found she was kissing him back, her lips eager for his. He encouraged her further, his mouth lingering here, moving there, touching lightly at the corners of her mouth. The pressure of his lips on hers increased until she felt he was bruising her delicate skin.

"You are like the sweetest flower imaginable," he murmured against her mouth, "and like a gigantic bumblebee I could drink your honey all night, but there are other fountains from which I would drink!" His big head moved to her breasts, and, fastening his lips over one tender nipple, he began to suck on her.

The effect on her was so devastating that Velvet cried out softly. It was as if lightning had streaked from the top of her body to the very bottom. The tug of his lips upon her breast was suddenly the most sensual act, for her nipples were extremely sensitive with her pregnancy, and while his mouth worked upon one breast, his hand gently kneaded the other before switching sides to increase her delight.

Velvet felt herself beginning to lose control of her own emotions, particularly when the king moved his head even lower to explore tenderly that most secret shrine of her womanhood. Like a hummingbird seeking out sugary nectar, his tongue moved swiftly, touching her here, then there, then flicking maddeningly back and forth against the very jewel of her sex until she shattered into a thousand shards of honeyed pleasure—once, twice, three times in quick succession.

When she finally came to herself, he whispered, "You see, chèrie , I can indeed give you pleasure. Perhaps you will not admit it to me, but your beautiful face told me all. Ah, the face of a woman's passion! There is nothing more beautiful in this world!"

"I … I cannot deny your words, monseigneur," she said softly, "but loving without love is not for me quite the same."

"Sometimes it is better," he rejoined, "for only the senses are involved, unclouded by the emotion of love."

"I do not believe that you really think that," Velvet protested. "You cannot, and still be such …" She stopped, blushing.

"Such a what?" he demanded. "Tell me, chèrie."

"Such a magnificent lover," she finished. "I would lie if I said you were not. You have known love, monseigneur, whether you will admit it to me or not."

"You are so wise in some ways," he said, "yet so innocent in others, chèrie. Now, however, I wish to consummate our agreement." He caught her to him once again, kissing her lips, which were already swollen with his many kisses.

Her body was readily responsive to him. To her surprise the king drew Velvet toward him on her side, sliding one of her long legs beneath him, and the other over his own leg. With a swift and smooth motion he quickly penetrated her, thrusting deeply inside her. She gasped, but his mouth was already on hers again as his arms held her around her shoulders and about her buttocks. He moved with long, even strokes inside her, his rhythm well ordered and easy. His brown-gold eyes held her emerald ones in thrall, and as she felt herself sliding over the edge of passion's precipice she saw the swift light of triumph glowing, or was it merely reflected in those powerful eyes? Velvet cried out a piercing cry of sweet surrender that she clearly heard joined by his own voice.

Afterwards, he told her, "You, chèrie , are born to love. You must never, never be ashamed of the magnificent talent that le bon Dieu has given you. I only regret that you are happy with your husband."

Twice more that night he made passionate love to her, and Velvet finally slept, totally exhausted by their wild bout with Eros. When she awoke, the storm had passed, the candies lay melted in their silver holders, the fire was but glowing embers, and the sun was streaming through her windows. Upon her pillows was a single red rose—surely the last one of the season—and a folded parchment that she opened with trembling fingers to read:

Your hospitality , madame la comtesse, has been without equal. I shall not forget the debt that I owe you. Farewell, chèrie! Navarre.

For a moment Velvet felt a sense of sadness, of deep and great loss. The king had behaved outrageously, taking advantage of her predicament, of her helplessness, and yet she felt no malice toward him. She had kept her part of their bargain, and she somehow knew that he would keep his part, too. So now, she thought, there are two secrets that I must keep from you, my darling husband. Perhaps, though, one day I shall be able to tell you about my daughter. Someday when you are completely in my love and surrounded by the children that I shall give to you, God willing. But I shall never tell you of this adventure with Henri of Navarre, Alex. Somehow I do not think you would understand that I had to barter my soul and my body so that we might be together again. There are some things, I have learned, that a woman never tells the man she loves, particularly if she really loves him. Love, I am learning, is the ability to bear pain silently in order to protect the one you love. Dear God, please end this separation between us quickly! Velvet silently prayed.