Written on Silk by Linda Lee Chaikin Read Free Book Online Page A

brownish red. It was Avril. Avril, at sweet thirteen, her once smiling face now lifeless and crushed.
    Rachelle fell across her body and wept loudly.

    THE SUN’S RAYS INCHED behind the mulberry orchard. The wind sighed a mournful dirge through the tall trees.
    Dazed, Rachelle sat beside her sister’s body. Her gaze was fixed on the gentle face of a blue wildflower that had somehow escaped the fanatical trampling of men and horses. She became fixated on the sight. What did it mean? What, if anything, was the Lord expressing to her in this hour? The flower stood unmolested, green, flourishing, its leaves and petals waving in the breeze as though dancing. How had it survived the madness?
    Rachelle stirred as a hand touched her shoulder. She opened her eyes, swollen from crying, from dust and smoke. Idelette looked down at her. Rachelle sucked in a breath. Idelette?
    Idelette’s hair was torn loose from her carefully arranged modest curls. There was a dazed look in her pale blue eyes. Her mouth was cut and bleeding. There were other bruises on her cheeks and neck, and blood had dried with dirt and sweat. Her belle Sunday dress was ripped, telling Rachelle the brutal facts.
    Rachelle groaned and reached both arms toward her. “My poor sister . . .”
    Idelette wrapped her arms around Rachelle’s neck and they wept as only sisters can when their hearts are entwined.
    “Avril — I saw it happen — and then a soldier caught me — ”
    Rachelle rallied. She must be strong for both of them. She drew her sister’s head upon her shoulder.
    “He shamed himself, sister. Your soul remains untouched.”
    “Non,” she whispered, “it will never be all right for me again. And Avril — ”
    It would be cruel to contest her now. Idelette needed silent comfort and support, anything else would feel like salt on wounds. Tomorrow would have time enough for such words.
    They clung to one another until tears subsided. The chilly spring wind tugged at them. Rachelle could feel Idelette shaking from cold and shock. She had to get her back to the château to their mère. Idelette was always the strong one in her faith. Now I must be the strong one.
    From the corner of her eye, Rachelle noticed something move in the bushes. Non, not something, but someone.
    Rachelle turned her head. Sir James Hudson crawled from between low-lying branches, tried to rise to his feet, then collapsed.
    “It’s James!” Rachelle left Idelette to run to his side. She dropped to her knees beside him. “Monsieur Hudson!”
    The young couturier from London was burned and bruised, his shirt torn with blood stains.
    “I’m well — it’s my leg; back there — Pasteur Macquinet — ”
    “Bertrand!” She jumped to her feet and pushed her way through the bushes, finding him. He was alive.
    Rachelle rushed to where he lay beneath a tree, bruised and unconscious, but breathing. His eyelids flicked open and he tried to raise a hand toward her. “Avril . . . Idelette . . . ?”
    Tears welled up in her eyes. “Rest, Cousin Bertrand, do not talk now. I am going for a wagon.” She turned to leave but his fingers curled around her hand. She looked down at him and saw the worry in his eyes. She swallowed, her throat dry.
    “Idelette is alive, but Avril is not.”
    His fingers loosened. His eyes closed. He gave a weak nod of his head. “She — will suffer no more . . .”
    Rachelle squeezed his hand and quickly left him. As she came back to where James lay, she stooped down.
    “I’m all right,” he said, nursing his leg. “Mostly bruises.”
    It looked like more than bruises. “You were very brave, monsieur. We are in your debt.”
    He looked off across the field toward the road. “Horsemen.” He attempted to sit up, but Rachelle pushed him back.
    She stood and looked toward the half-dozen horsemen that drew up on the road.
    She narrowed her eyes and gritted. “More beasts?”
    Rachelle stepped away from James and glanced toward Idelette. She seemed