Page 47 of Blood Game

She sat back, staring at the computer screen.

She had been born in 1923. That article was over ten years old. Vilette Moreau would be over ninety years old, if she was still alive.

Diana Jodion had mentioned a secret in the tapestry. But history was full of secrets, old stories handed down by word of mouth, like lost Nazi gold trains that sent archeologists and treasure hunters scrambling all over the European countryside. And like most old stories, nothing was ever found.

Had Vilette heard stories about a secret, and then simply added them to her own story? Tales told by an eccentric old woman who craved the spotlight?

And what about Isabel Raveneau?

Who was she? Why had she taken her mother's family name and then apparently lived most of her life in relative obscurity at the abbey at Mont St. Michel?

She entered the name, Montfort, in the search box. Several entries came up, among them, John of Montfort, from Brittany. She read through the Montfort genealogy, the family history linked to the King of France and the dowager queen of Scotland through a second marriage to the Duke of Brittany, a prominent and powerful family.

She skimmed other references, then suddenly stopped as a name stood out.

“Diana told us that Montfort was Isabel Raveneau's family name, but she took her mother's family name. Here's an entry. Isabel of Montfort was the first-born daughter of John of Montfort and his wife, Genevieve. Genevieve's family name was Raveneau. Her father was prominent in trade and shipping.”

It was all there. Her birth had been recorded in church archives in Brittany, France, June 1318. But there was no other information about her life, if she had married, had a family, only that single reference that she later became a patron of the Abbey at Mont St. Michel. There was an additional mention about a young sister that had not survived. The Montfort family holdings eventually passed to a great-nephew in Scotland.

“She died at the abbey in 1379,” Kris continued to read. “But there's no mention of it in the Montfort family genealogy. It's as if she didn't exist.”

“Or, she was deliberately left out,” James suggested.

The picture that emerged wasn't unusual—a wealthy nobleman who had no sons, in a time and place where sons were vital in preserving family wealth, inherited titles and lands, carrying on the family name, while daughters were considered an asset in the marriage alliances they made and the wealth that came with it. Wealth and power.

She studied the color prints Diana Jodion had made for them from those images that had been taken decades earlier, particularly the one of a young woman in knight's armor. Thebanner she carried overhead was a jet-black raven on a red background, wings spread as it soared with a blade clenched in its talons. The raven. A symbol for the Raveneau name?

What exactly was she looking at?

Something out of a young woman's imagination, perhaps rebellion at her place in her family and history? Not unlike Joan of Arc?

Had the young woman in knight's armor and tunic simply been the work of an over-active imagination? Or did it have some other meaning? There had obviously been some reason for her to take the Raveneau name.

“Her family was apparently very wealthy,” she commented. “Large land holdings, the family chateau, business interests tied to holdings in Britain. But she took the Raveneau name.” She looked over at James. “And then lived most of her life in seclusion at the abbey.”

She pushed back her hair in frustration as she studied the photograph Cate had sent just before the accident.

It was typical of a woman who had built a career chasing 'the story,' then a second career telling the story in four best-selling novels.

“We need to talk.”

But what was the story behind the photograph? What had Cate uncovered that she had thought important to send that last text message?

“Innis sent this.” James showed her the text message on his phone. It was a web address, and a log-in.

Kris entered it into the computer. The site came up, then immediately linked to another site. It was a Skype session. Innis popped onto the computer screen.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“A cyber café in Caen.”

“Who else is there?”

She exchanged a look with James. “Just the clerk.”

Innis nodded. “You might want to keep the audio down on this.”

A list came up on the screen. It took a moment before she realized it was a list of phone numbers.