“You cannot travel in your state,chèrie.You will have to wait for your husband to come to you. He would not thank you if you endangered either yourself or the child.”
“How can I thank you?” Velvet said with genuine feeling.
“You did,” he said softly, so that only she could hear, “and most magnificently, madame la comtesse. It will be a long time before I forget that stormy night in November. I did not even plan to see you again, for I did not see how I could and not desire you. I am weak where women are concerned, however, and being so near atChenonceauxit was impossible to spend the evening with Queen Louise, her carp, and boiled vegetables when you were nearby.”
Before Velvet could answer the king, however, there came the sounds of a coach outside. “Who can that be?” she wondered out loud as Guillaume haltingly hurried to open the door again.
“Madame!” Velvet heard him say. “Welcome home!”
She leaped to her feet as her mother came into the hall. “Mama!”
Skye caught her daughter in a fervent embrace. “Oh, my darling child! You have had us all so terribly, terribly worried!”
“Alex?” Velvet begged. “Is he with you?”
The king looked past the women to see the two men who had entered the hall. The elder he assumed was Velvet’s father, the younger her husband. Skye released her daughter and stepped aside. For a long moment no one in the hall moved. It was as if they had been frozen in time. The Earl and Countess of BrocCairn had eyes for no one but each other, and the deep, passionate look that passed between them told Henri de Navarre that they were that most fortunate of married couples—one who loved each other. Then suddenly they moved toward one another: Velvet, a trifle ungainly, running; Alex closing the space between them in several long leaps, catching his wife into a fierce embrace, his mouth covering hers in a bruising kiss that left her somewhat speechless.
His amber eyes blazed down into her face. “Why did ye leave me, lass?” he said. “Why didn’t ye come home toDun Brocwhen ye escaped from Ian?”
She clung to him, weakened by his embrace, her heart pounding wildly. “I fought with Ian that day, and he slammed from the rooms where we were held captive saying that he was going immediately to Maitland and would turn me over to the king that very day. When Pansy and I realized that we were alone, we escaped. I didn’t dare go home toDun Brocfor fear that the king would find me and use me to entrap Francis. I would have sooner died than been the cause of his downfall! I didn’t dare go to my parents for the same reason. I feared the king would send to England for me. The only place that I knew Jamie wouldn’t think to look for me was here atBelle Fleurs, Alex, and once I was here I couldn’t even send you word that I was safe for fear my message would be intercepted; that the king would prevail upon his French allies to return me to Scotland. I could only wait and hope that James and Francis would resolve their differences so that I might return to you.”
“But someone did know ye were here, lass. Someone sent a message to yer mother’s home telling us where to look for ye,” Alex said.
“ ’Twas I,” said the king, stepping forward. “Henri de Navarre, at your service.” He made an elegant bow. “I am relieved that you understood my somewhat cryptic message, for I did not wish to endanger your wife if my agent’s information about James Stewart’s lack of interest in her proved incorrect.”
Skye and Adam de Marisco stiffened with shock as they recognized a somewhat older but nonetheless familiar face.
Alex, who knew the French king’s reputation, said a trifle suspiciously, “How is it that ye know my wife, monseigneur?”
“She saved my life, monsieur. Several months back I was visiting Queen Louise atChenonceaux. Chenonceauxis not what it once was, for Louise de Lorraine now lives to mourn my predecessor, even going so far as to drape the entire chateau in black crepe.” He shuddered delicately. “It is criminal what she has done! Nonetheless, it is my duty to visit her several times a year, a sacrifice on my part, monsieur, I assure you, for she serves meals that reek of penance. The woman’s life is a living Lenten season, but I digress. My gentlemen and I had gone hunting to escape the funereal atmosphere of the place, and as usual,” Navarre said somewhat smugly, “I out-rode them in the chase.Mon Dieu!That stag was magnificent! I only wish I had caught him!
“It grew dark suddenly, as it can do in autumn, and I could no longer hear my companions, the stag had disappeared, and I suddenly found myself lost. I fell into your lake in my wanderings. Your wife heard my cries for help and ordered lights to be brought. It was she who found me just as the storm broke and helped to pull me from the waters.
“The night was pitch black, and the storm wild in its intensity. Madame la comtesse graciously sheltered me, and Madame Mignon fed me a magnificent beef ragout. I was able to safely return toChenonceauxin the morning, to the relief of all of France,” he concluded. “Would you not say that I owed your wife a great debt? Before I left I asked her how I might repay her hospitality, not to mention the fact that she had saved my life. Swearing me to secrecy, she told me of her predicament and asked if I could help her. I was not certain that I could, but I offered to try. You see, Comte de BrocCairn, your cousin, François Stewart-Hepburn, is a very old friend of mine, and although France has allied itself with Scotland, I hold no love for James Stewart.
“I knew from Velvet of both her home in Scotland and her parents’ home in England. I sent my agents with messages to both places. You saw my initial in the sealing wax, did you not?”
“N,” said Alex. “N for Navarre!”
“Mais oui!”Henri grinned.
“How do I thank ye?” said Alex, and Velvet held her breath.
The king smiled charmingly. “By enjoying France’s bounteous hospitality until your child is born, Comte de BrocCairn. Your wife cannot travel in her condition.”
Alex turned back to kiss his wife as the king went politely to greet Velvet’s parents whom he had not really looked at yet. As his eyes met those of Skye’s, they widened.“You!”he said, stunned. “You are Velvet’s mother?” His mind swung back almost twenty years to a night when he had possessed this fabulous woman; a night of the most incredible passion he had ever known; a night cut short by equally incredible violence; the night of the Saint Bartholomew’s Day massacre.
“Velvet was born almost nine months after, monseigneur,” she said very softly as she divined his thoughts.
Henri de Navarre went white with shock. Holy Mother! Was it possible that Velvet was his daughter, that he had unknowingly committed incest with his own child? Loathing surged through his body, and he could taste the bile in the back of his throat.
Skye watched the play of emotions on the king’s face, and she knew precisely what he was thinking. She had never expected to be able to revenge herself upon Henri de Navarre for the rape of her person those many years ago, for the misery of the months that followed when she believed the child she carried was his. Now fate had played into her hands. She didn’t have to say one word. He already believed it!
Then Adam spoke softly in her ear. “Forgive him, little girl, if not for my honor, for your own. He already has many blots upon his soul. Do not put this one upon yours.”
She sighed, and then said, “Velvet is not your daughter, monseigneur.”
“You are sure?” He still looked shaken.
