A man of complete honor, integrity, and courage, traits that she had once mistakenly supposed belonged to the Chevalier Etienne Danton. But Danton had only borne the title. He’d been no more a knight than Gabrielle was any longer a maiden.
Only Nicolas Remy was real and true. Unfortunately he’d arrived on her island much too late.
“Remy . . .” A husky voice breathed the name with a sorrow that might have come from Gabrielle’s own heart. But the sound had emanated from Cass. Gabrielle opened her eyes and stared uneasily at the other woman.
“Remy,” Cass murmured again. Her head was flung back, a succession of strong emotions chasing across her pale features. One moment her lips were parted with a dreamy sensuality, the next they tightened with despair.
It was almost as if . . . as if Cass was stealing Gabrielle’s memories of Remy, draining them from her through her fingertips. Gabrielle instinctively fought to pull her hand free, but Cass’s fingers tightened around Gabrielle’s wrist like an icy manacle. Cass’s head snapped forward and Gabrielle ceased her struggles, too paralyzed to move as Cass transformed before her very eyes.
Gone was any trace of the inebriated woman or the pale recluse. Cass threw back her shoulders and arched her neck, appearing to grow in stature until she resembled some legendary sorceress of old, a Circe or Morgan le Fay.
Glowing in the intense white light of the candle, her skin was translucent, a strong contrast with the bloodred of her gown, the ebony tangle of her hair. The candle’s flame reflected points of light in her dark eyes, sharp and cold as some distant star.
“Nicolas Remy,” Cass rasped. “I summon you back from the realms of the dead. Follow the sound of my voice and come to us. Gabrielle is waiting.”
She groped for the bowl with her free hand, sweeping her fingers across the top of it. The water in the basin began to roil, vapor rising from the surface until it became a vessel of mist. Cass leaned forward eagerly, her lips parted. The more the water clouded, the clearer her eyes became, the sharper their focus. As Cassandra stared down into the water, Gabrielle realized with a jolt, the blind woman could
see.
“Nicolas Remy,” Cass called again. “Gabrielle has traveled a long way to find you. She is wearied and sore of heart. Do not disappoint her. Part the veil of the dead and let her look upon your face, hear your voice one last time.”
At Cass’s words, the mist began to swirl and a shape began to slowly emerge, a barely discernible silhouette, like the face of a man lost in fog.
“Show yourself, Captain,” Cass demanded. “Do not keep us waiting.”
The vapor shifted and Gabrielle’s breath hitched in her throat as she caught the barest hint of a bearded countenance only to have it fade back into the mist. She bent over the bowl, her heart thudding with a painful mingling of fear and hope.
Cass intoned more fierce invocations, but the man remained a phantom, lost in the water and mist.
“He won’t come for me,” Cass muttered to Gabrielle. “You call him.”
Gabrielle peered down at the ghostly shape in the water, her pulse thundering in her ears. “R-remy?” she faltered.
“Call to him as if you mean it. Put your heart into it, girl.”
Gabrielle moistened her dry lips and tried again. “Remy, please. Come back to me—just one more time. I—I need you.”
The mist whirled and parted and the image hidden beneath the surface gradually became clearer. Gabrielle’s breath escaped in a half-sob as the water shimmered, assuming the contours of a man’s lean face hidden beneath a rugged growth of beard.
But it wasn’t Nicolas Remy.
Chapter Three
G
abrielle recoiled in alarm from the apparition. The old man’s beard was long and thick, his cheeks sunken, forming deep hollows beneath eyes filled with a grave dignity. They focused accusingly on Gabrielle.
“Foolish witch! Why have you disturbed my peace?”
The spirit’s voice was deep, like the rumble of distant thunder.
“I—I didn’t.” Gabrielle shrank back in her chair. She tugged frantically to break the contact of their hands. “Cass, we’ve got to end this now.”
But Cass refused to let her go. “No, don’t be afraid. It is all right, Gabrielle.”
To Gabrielle’s astonishment, Cass leaned closer over the copper basin, her voice lowering to a tone of hushed reverence. “Good evening, master.”
The water in the basin rippled, the steam rising higher with a soft hiss. Gabrielle’s heart clenched with fear. And yet the old man hovering in the mist did not seem threatening so much as sorrowful, bowed down by a hundred lifetimes of regret. As his aged eyes fixed on Cass, Gabrielle thought she actually saw him shudder.
“Cassandra Lascelles. You perform this accursed black magic no matter how many times I have begged you to desist. Why did you summon me again?”
“I did not summon you this time, master,” Cass replied. “You came on your own.”
“Because I could not help myself. The mere sound of your voice invading the realms of the dead is a torment to me. And then there was that name . . . Gabrielle.”
Hearing her name pronounced in that sepulchral voice caused Gabrielle to tense with fresh alarm.
But Cass persisted. “You know something about Gabrielle? Her name means something to you, master?”
“Cass, please,” Gabrielle interrupted. “What is happening? Who is this strange man?”
“Nostradamus,” Cass hissed back at her.
“Nostradamus?” Gabrielle’s jaw dropped in pure astonishment.
“Yes, the famous doctor from Provence and former court astrologer. A man noted for being able to read the future. Surely you have heard of him?”
“Yes, what wise woman has not?” Gabrielle whispered. “But what I don’t understand is what he is doing here when we were seeking Remy.”
“Maybe if you’d be quiet, I’d have a chance to find out,” Cass muttered. In a louder, more respectful tone, she addressed the ancient face drifting before them. “Master, you said something about Gabrielle. Have you seen her in one of your visions? Do you know her future? Tell us.”
“I didn’t come here to have my future told,” Gabrielle said in another terse aside.
Cass ignored her. Rising taller in her chair, she was at her most imperious as she demanded, “Tell us now, master, and I will end the séance and let you depart in peace.”
“No, you won’t,” Gabrielle protested. “What about Remy?”
Cass gave Gabrielle’s hand a hard squeeze to silence her. The old man closed his eyes, as though trying to will himself back into the mists of his own world. He apparently realized the futility of the struggle because his mouth drooped with defeat.
Nostradamus opened his eyes and began to intone in accents of wearied resignation.
“The Lady Gabrielle has a mighty destiny before her. She will become a woman of great influence, wealth, and power beyond her greatest imaginings.”
“I don’t want to hear this,” Gabrielle said. “Tell me about Nicolas Remy.”
“Gabrielle will hold sway over the heart of a king.”
“King? What king?” Cass asked eagerly.
“The king of France. Gabrielle will rule the country through Henry. First she will become his mistress—”
“Henry Valois?” Gabrielle echoed with revulsion. “The son of Catherine de Medici? That perfumed fop? He is the cruelest and most perverted man I’ve ever known.”
“I speak not of Henry Valois,”
Nostradamus replied
. “But of Henry, the present king of Navarre. It is his adoration you will gain and he will one day inherit the throne of all France.”
“That’s impossible,” Gabrielle said impatiently. “Valois is a young man and he has an even younger brother. Their mother, Catherine de Medici, would fiercely guard their right to the throne. Now about Nicolas Remy. He was a Huguenot soldier. It is him I want to—”
“The House of Valois will fall, the power of the Italian woman come to an end.”
“Stop!” To Gabrielle’s astonishment, Cass reared back, her voice sharp with alarm. “You will speak no more of the Dark Queen.”
Nostradamus paid no more heed to Cass’s attempt to interrupt than he had to Gabrielle.
“Beware the Dark Queen. She will fight to keep what is hers and destroy all who threaten her power. But she will perish along with both of her remaining sons. Her line will end. The king of Navarre shall become king of France, and Gabrielle will—”
“No more of this,” Cass cried. “Be silent.”
Cass’s hand fought to break contact with hers and this time it was Gabrielle who clutched at her to prevent that from happening.
“Gabrielle will what?” Gabrielle asked the old man, intrigued in spite of herself.
“The Dark Queen’s reign will end and Gabrielle’s will—”
“No!” Cass shoved to her feet, wrenching free of Gabrielle. Before Gabrielle could stop her, Cass lashed out with her free arm, striking the copper basin and black candle from the table. Both hit the stone floor with a terrible clatter.
Gabrielle leapt up from the table, hoping to be able to do something, but it was too late. The water was spilled, the candle extinguished. The mist, the ghostly countenance, the predictions of Nostradamus, all gone. Even worse, so was her hope of seeing Nicolas Remy again.
A heavy silence fell over the chamber. Gabrielle stumbled through the darkness, fumbling with flint and tinder until she managed to relight one of the torches. The basin lay overturned on the floor, a dark spill of water pooling around it and the black candle. The wick was charred to black ash. The candle, which had blazed with such power only moments ago, looked absurdly harmless.
“Why, Cass?” Gabrielle asked, turning angrily on the other woman, her voice thick with a mingling of frustration and dismay. “Why did you do that?”
“Why?” Cass repeated shrilly. “Bloody hell, Gabrielle.”
She hugged her arms tightly around herself. “Nostradamus was bandying about the name of the Dark Queen, foretelling her death and the downfall of her line. Do you know what she would do to us if she found out we were conjuring up such predictions?”
“Oh, don’t be a fool, Cassandra,” Gabrielle snapped. “We are hiding in an abandoned house, holding a séance down here in a room like a blasted tomb. How the devil would Catherine ever find out?”
“Because she
is
a devil. She possesses more evil powers than you could ever imagine. If the Dark Queen even suspected that you hoped to supplant her and her brats with Navarre, she’d destroy you and him, too. And then she’d come after me for conjuring up her dead court astrologer to fill your head with such ambitions.”
“I didn’t need Nostradamus to supply me with the ambition to end the Dark Queen’s power. I have burned with the desire to see Catherine brought low ever since—” But Gabrielle checked her anger as she realized how genuinely distressed Cass was.
She had turned deathly pale, even for Cass, and she swayed a little as though she might be about to faint. Her ire dissolving, Gabrielle hastened to Cass’s side.
“Are you all right? You look terrible.” Gabrielle wrapped her arm bracingly around Cass’s thin shoulders. “Come on. I think you need to lie down.”
“What I need is a drink,” Cass mumbled, but she allowed Gabrielle to lead her over to the narrow cot. Cass refused to lie down, but she did sink down on the edge, bowing her head between her knees until some of the color returned to her cheeks.
She sat up with a blurry sigh, seeking to shove back the straggling ends of her hair. Cassandra Lascelles dwindled right in front of Gabrielle’s eyes, all trace of the formidable sorceress vanished along with the mist. The most marked change was in her eyes, the light in them snuffed out like the wick of the candle. Cass was lost, back in her darkness.
She moistened her lips, passing a trembling hand across her brow. “Lord, it—it is always hard on me when I end one of my conjuring sessions so abruptly. I—I am sorry I did so, Gabrielle. I know you think me a great fool. But when the master started going on and on about the Dark Queen—”
She shuddered. “I am not frightened of many things in this world. But I am wary of crossing her. At least now while she is still the strongest witch in France.”
Gabrielle knelt down in front of Cass, gently chafing her wrists. “You need not be so afraid. Far too many of our kind ascribe to Catherine all the dark magic of hell. But I’ve had dealings with the woman and I promise you—she is just another daughter of the earth, flawed with weakness like the rest of us.”
“But—but she is so powerful.”
“So are you,” Gabrielle said, trying to rub some warmth into Cass’s hands. “I have never known any other witch as gifted at conjuring the dead as you.”
Cass managed a wan smile. “Not that good, apparently. I didn’t give you what you wanted, your Captain Remy.”
“Well, that’s no great matter,” Gabrielle lied, swallowing her disappointment. “It was interesting meeting the great Nostradamus. My father used to bring us the almanacs of his predictions from Paris, although Maman never approved. She had little faith in the art of astrology. She always said that Nostradamus’s predictions were but foolish poetry, irritatingly vague.”
“Some of his predictions were, others were astonishingly accurate. I can tell you this much, Gabrielle Cheney,” Cass said earnestly. “I have conjured Nostradamus many times since he passed over to consult him about the future. His skills have been greatly honed by death.”
“Then you think all those things he said about me were true?”
“Oh, yes. You undoubtedly have a great future before you. I only regret I didn’t have the courage to continue so he could have told you more.”
“Never mind.” Gabrielle sighed. Actually there was only one more thing she wanted to know about the séance. She hesitated, fearing she might not like the answer.
“Cass . . . why did Nostradamus come to me tonight instead of Remy?”
Cass shrugged. “The master and I are linked together forever in a way, whether he wishes it or not. You see, when I was a little girl, my father, the bishop, took me to Dr. Nostradamus in the hopes he could cure my blindness—”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gabrielle interrupted her. “I understand how you were able to summon Nostradamus. What I don’t understand is why Remy didn’t come when I called for him.”