Mistress of the Revolution by Catherine Delors Read Free Book Online Page A

truthfully that time, of my early years at the Labro cottage, of my milk brother Jacques, of our childhood friendship and his subsequent disdain for my company.
    “One day, five years ago, I told him how pretty I found the wild carnations that grow around here and he twined those flowers into my braids. When we returned to the cottage, very pleased with ourselves, Mamé, instead of complimenting us, as we had expected, reprimanded me for my vanity and gave Jacques a flogging.”
    “A well-deserved one,” said Pierre-André. “I agree with your nurse. No one except me should play with your hair.”
    I blushed at the thought of what he had done during our first encounter. “Pray what would make you an exception? You are in no position to speak in this manner. I kept my word by coming here again, as I hope you kept yours by being discreet. Now we are done. It is time for me to go home.”
    “Now I have upset you again. What a poor way of thanking you for your kindness in coming here. I have never spent a more pleasant hour than in your company. Yet I do not want to delay you, no matter how much it pains me to part with you. Now as to the fact that we are done, I disagree.” He turned to face me, a grave look on his face. “I, for one, am not done with you. Two days from now I will be waiting for you here. I will make no threats this time. You are free to come back or not, at your pleasure. Either way I will not tell a soul about meeting you. If you care at all for me, as I care for you, you will return. If not, I will remember you for the rest of my life as the prettiest, most unfeeling little liar in the country. I will curse your name, whatever it is. You will never be able to come here again for fear of seeing me, for I will haunt these banks forever, brokenhearted.”
    I giggled at that depiction, which did not seem to fit him at all.
    “Do not laugh,” he said seriously. “I mean it.”
    I knew not what to believe and avoided his eye. We walked in silence through the wood to the spot where we had left our horses. Before reaching it, he took my face between his hands and looked into my eyes. He bent towards me. I opened my mouth to protest, but only let out a moan. At first his lips brushed against mine, then became more insistent. Soon he was kissing me deeply, slowly, deliberately as if we had all the time in the world, or as if the world no longer existed. I had never felt anything of the kind, and enjoyed the novelty of it so much that I found myself kissing him back. I closed my eyes to savor this sensation. He sighed and, much to my regret, let go of me.
    “Two days from now,” he said, “same hour.”
    He seized me by the waist to help me into the saddle. He lifted me without any effort but changed his mind and, still holding me in midair, kissed me again.
     

6
     
    I was in a flutter of spirits when I arrived at Fontfreyde. I could not make any sense of what had happened. Why had I let a stranger, a commoner, and a plain one at that, kiss me? In fact, I had kissed him too. And was he so very plain? I was beginning to find him rather handsome, or at least attractive in his own way. Had he been a peasant or a soldier, he would have been considered an uncommonly fine-looking man. Did he really mean what he had said about being brokenhearted if we did not meet again or was he merely mocking me, as his tone had seemed to indicate? Would he be waiting for me in two days? Was it wise to see him again? Truth be told, I knew the answer to this last question. I was playing with fire, but what girl of fifteen is afraid of fire? I was delighted with the game in which I had been drawn. With the innocence and arrogance of youth, I believed that I could control the course of events that would unfold.
    Two days later, a heavy summer rain was knocking at the window-panes of Fontfreyde. Without hesitation I threw my winter cloak on my shoulders, grabbed an old hat of my brother’s and slipped out. I rode again to the