Threads of Silk by Linda Lee Chaikin Read Free Book Online

believes I have betrayed her —
    The duchesse walked with slow, weakened gait to a tapestried chair and lowered herself, her breathing tight. She would have to be wise about the use of new herbal remedies. Surely it is only suspicion on my part that convinces me I have become unnaturally tired recently.
    She remembered her recent meeting with Catherine and Cardinal de Lorraine. The muscles along her back tightened. They had turned against her with new vigor.
    She was no weakling. If she were, she could not have remained alone at court these years while under scrutiny by the cardinal and the King of Spain’s spy, Spanish ambassador Chantonnay. They had guessed her to be a secret Huguenot, but did not move against her. The blooded nobility escaped outright death by burning because of their titles; if death came early, however, it came mysteriously or by secret assassin. It was the middle class and serfs that were tortured openly and burned by the thousands. And so it was the duty of Huguenot nobles to try to defend them by appealing to the king for edicts of toleration. Even so, the cardinal set the edicts aside while the pope and the armies of Spain stood behind him.
    She looked down at the marquis’ lettre. What should she do about his request to marry Rachelle? She understood his quandary; she shared it.
    “Maurice! That scoundrel.” She banged the end of her ebony stick on the carpeted floor.
    She must warn Marquis Fabien of the grave danger awaiting him, for the infamous Spanish war genius, the Duc of Alva, was coming to hold the Queen Mother’s hands to the fires of Spain’s wrath. Even Catherine, with all of her Machiavellian maneuverings, was not relentless enough in her warfare against the heretics to satisfy Spain. The Duc of Alva liked to bury Protestants alive in Holland, the women and children together for an added touch of tenderness. The duchesse relaxed her fingers. She’d been gripping her walking stick so tightly that pale impressions showed on her palm.
    The Lord knows about poor, brave little Holland. I must remain calm and pray for the steadfast courage of the saints . What dedication to go to their deaths rather than deny the teaching of Scripture. What love they showed for Christ!
    She pushed herself up from the chair and moved across the chamber to the window, still holding Marquis Fabien’s lettre. She must think.
    Below in the garden, two people were strolling. Her muscles tightened. Who could miss the white and scarlet cleric’s garments and the stiff black gown and coif of the woman beside him? There they were, enemies at heart, with their heads together planning and plotting, perhaps discussing the impending arrival of the Duc of Alva.
    She must contact the marquis and warn him. She would be taking a grave risk to send a message to him about the Duc of Alva. Who then, should deliver it?
    Few, very few could be trusted .
    The duchesse stepped away from the window. From behind her, the fire hissed in the hearth.
    A footfall, or was it? The wind was boisterous this late afternoon. The duchesse turned her head in the direction of the alcove. Had one of her ladies returned?
    “Who is it ? ” she called abruptly .
    She walked in that direction but saw no one in the shadowy alcove. My imagination is all . Her gaze moved to the cabinet where her remedies were kept.
    Yes, watch your medicine. Remember your cousine, Dame Joan Dushane, known as grandmère to her family. Remember how she was poisoned with gloves?
    She walked back to the chair and sat down, rubbing her forehead. Perhaps she should leave Fontainebleau and take refuge at one of her estates near Saint-Germain-en-Laye.
    Her gaze dropped back to the marquis’ lettre. Sebastien Dangeau’s neveu, Andelot, impressed her with his growing character and insight. Andelot . . . oui, he could be trusted. He had matured from the naive boy that Sebastien had called to court to meet his unanticipated kinsmen, the Guises. He was now a comely young