“We’ll return to our quarters now, so that you may rest for a few hours,Votre Majesté.” Viviane gave Gabrielle the ginger and tart cherry extract. “Prepare a tonic of this tincture for the king to imbibe each evening. It will reduce the inflammation and eliminate the toxins which cause gout.”
Laudine handed her the herbs for his three daily cups of cleansing, curative tea.“Steep two teaspoons of this mixture in boiling water for five minutes before straining the herbs. Have your father drink thetisanethree times daily for the next two weeks to remove all traces of the deadly nightshade that the royal physician administered.” She squeezed Gabrielle’s hand, hope shining in amber eyes gilded in the golden sunlight.
Ghislaine entrusted the essential oils to Ezhvin for the king’s twice daily foot massage.
And, amid heartfelt expressions of gratitude and fond farewells, the three healers packed up their herbal supplies, bowed before the king, kissed Gabrielle and Bastien withla biseon each cheek, and returned to their respective chambers until the evening meal.
Gabrielle walked to the side of her father’s informal throne and clasped his weathered hand. Tears of gratitude filled her eyes as she leaned down to kiss his relaxed cheek. “I am so grateful they were able to alleviate your pain.” She eased a stray lock of gray hair away from his thick brow. “The herbs can cleanse all the toxins from your blood. Every trace of Isnard’s poison.” She dropped to her knees and rested her head on his shoulder. “They will make you well again, Papa. Thank the Goddess…”
As King Guillemin lovingly stroked her long red hair, a servant appeared in the doorway. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Majesty, butla Duchesse de Rohanhas just arrived and has requested a royal audience.”
Gabrielle lifted her head and grinned at her father as she jumped to her feet. “Tatieis here!”
The king repositioned himself and addressed the awaiting attendant. “Show her in.”
Ezhvin discreetly placed a velvet tufted armchair beside the king as Gabrielle’s great-aunt swept into the room in wafting waves of turquoise silk and pristine white ermine fur.
“Guillemin! How good it is to see you again. It has been far too long.” As Béatrice floated across the room to grace her nephew’s cheeks withla biseof greeting, her two meek female attendants took their places beside Ezhvin and the valet near the carved walnut, green marble top sideboard table.
Her expressive brown eyes twinkling in the afternoon setting sun,la Duchesse de Rohanpositively beamed at Gabrielle as she enthusiastically clasped her great-niece’s hands and thoroughly assessed her with admiration and genuine affection. “Ah,chérie,how I have missed you! And how beautiful you are in this most becoming color of deepest green.” Béatrice kissed her lovingly on each cheek.
Gabrielle smiled as she smoothed her gown and reached for Bastien’s hand, pulling him to her side for the introduction. “Tatie,I’d like you to meet Sir Bastien de Landuc. Master of Horse here atle Château de Beaufort.My equestrian and weaponry instructor. The personal royal guard who defended me when armed horsemen attacked and attempted to abduct me.” Hoping he could see the lovelight in her adoring eyes, Gabrielle whispered as she gazed at Bastien, “He saved my life,Tatie.”
With chivalrous panache, Bastien lowered his head to bestow a gallant kiss upon Béatrice’s elegantly ringed hand.
“A noble, heroic deed for which I appointed himle Marquis de Cornouaille.”King Guillemin twisted awkwardly in his tufted throne to address his sophisticated aunt. “However, we have yet to receive the official decree fromle Parlement de Parisauthenticating his newly bestowed title.”
Ezhvin usheredla Duchesse de Rohanto the blue velvet tufted chair near a small table at the king’s side. Attentive valets seated Gabrielle and Bastien next to Béatrice and poured goblets of fine French wine for King Guillemin and his royal guests.
While everyone sampled the fruitybordeaux,Béatrice retrieved something from the silk reticule at her feet. With a triumphant grin, she handed her nephew a rolled parchment tied with black silk ribbon and sealed with embossed red wax.
At his look of bewilderment,la Duchesse de Rohangrinned mischievously, one perfect eyebrow raised in impish delight. “The official decree fromle Parlement de Paris. Documenting Sir Bastien de Landuc asle Marquis de Cornouaille.”
Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open in a breathless gasp. She glanced at Bastien, whose eyes were widened in astonishment.
And unbridled joy.
“I am truly grateful that the message I sent reached you in time, Guillemin.” Béatrice leaned forward in her chair, smiling reassuringly at an astounded Gabrielle. “Your father’s original decree was intercepted en route to Paris by a close ally of Ugolin le Clou. Fortunately, my friend Clothilde—wife ofle Vicomte de Vanneswho seized the royal proclamation—so desperatelyenjoys sharing scandalous gossip that she revealed her husband’s subterfuge. I, of course, dispatched an immediate envoy to Finistère, with orders for him to return to Paris with your father’s response—a duplicate decree ofla noblesse chevaleresquefor Sir Bastien de Landuc.” Béatrice grinned, her soft cheeks crinkling with youthful glee. “I paid my royal messenger most handsomely when he delivered the official document—signed by King Philippe of France and sealed byle Parlement de Paris—to me personally. So that I could deliver it myself to my nephew, King Guillemin of Finistère. In time for Sir Bastien to compete in the Yuletide Joust.”
Gabrielle flew out of her chair and threw herself in Bastien’s outstretched arms.
Swirling her into the air in a circular whirl, Bastien whooped with delight as he kissed her hair, setting her down at last upon unsteady legs, trembling at the incredible news.
King Guillemin raised his goblet of wine, prompting his guests to do the same. Hazel eyes twinkling with Yuletide joy, he proposed a triumphant toast. “To Bastien de Landuc,le Marquis de Cornouaille. May the Goddess grant you victory to win my daughter’s hand. Become my royal son-in-law. And the future King of Finistère.”
Chapter 13
Les Commençailles
The tangy brine of ocean spray crashing against the craggy cliff belowle Château de Beaufortfilled the cold December air as Ugolin strode across the tournament field under the overcast sky with his champion Sir Tréguier at his side. While grooms led the horses away toward the tents allocated for their lodging, the two men headed to the pavilion where enrollment was taking place for the Yuletide Joust.
Scattered across the tournament field, acrobats and performers practiced daring stunts while musicians and dancers rehearsed routines near the row of brightly colored silk tents established for the entertainers. Knights participating in tomorrow’s opening ceremony,les commençailles,practiced weaponry with the swords, daggers, and battle axes to be used during the stunning preliminary performance.
Taking his position in line behind several other nobles who intended to compete for Princess Gabrielle’s coveted hand in marriage, Ugolin was stunned to see Bastien de Landuc at the registration table where judges from Paris inspected the documents he had placed on the table before them. With a nod of approval, one of the judges wrote Bastien’s name on the list of competitors while the other rolled up the document, tied it with black ribbon and handed it back to Bastien with a cordial, “Good luck in the tournament,Monsieur le Marquis.”
Ugolin glowered at the dark-haired Master of Horse who returned his hateful stare with daggers in his eyes as he and his young squire exited the tent. How on the Goddess’ green earth did Bastien de Landuc manage to register for the Yuletide Joust? Onfroi’s men had ambushed and killed the royal messenger. They’d intercepted King Guillemin’slettres patentesbefore the proclamation ever reachedle Parlement de Paris, delivering it instead to Ugolin. And he had burned the damned thing himself. Somehow, de Landuc had managed to procure a duplicate. A violent shudder of repressed rage rippled up Ugolin’s scrawny spine.
Having arrived at the registration table, he handed his own documents authenticating his title of nobility and registered Sir Tréguier as the champion who would compete in the joust on his behalf. Once the enrollment process was complete, Ugolin and Tréguier exited the tent and remained with the other registrants as instructed. The sixteen nobles who would be competing in the Yuletide Joust waited outside the pavilion for the judges to finalize the registration process and inform the challengers of the rules for the tournament.
