Page 65

EIGHTEEN

F rancois slowly opened his eyes and focused on Catherine sitting across the length of the salon.

Catherine tensed, straightening in her chair. “How do you feel?”

Francois raised himself gingerly on one elbow on the brocade-cushioned sofa and lifted a hand to his forehead. “As if I’d been bludgeoned.” His words were slurred. “Merde , my head’s exploding.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine tomorrow.” She rose to her feet. “I’ve had a chamber prepared for you. Let me help you up the stairs.”

“I believe you’ve helped me quite enough.” Francois swung his feet to the floor and struggled to a sitting position. “It was the wine. I didn’t expect the wine.” His gaze met hers. “And I didn’t expect you. It was very clever of Jean Marc to use you.”

“He didn’t use me. I knew nothing about it.” Her lips tightened. “You were a guest in my house and he had no right to do this to you.”

Francois studied her a moment. “Mother of God, I believe you really didn’t know.”

“Of course I didn’t.” She added quickly, “But that doesn’t mean I believe Jean Marc to be totally in the wrong in trying to rid himself of you if you were spying on him. You should not—”

“Neither do I.”

“What?”

“I don’t blame him for trying to get rid of me. I would have done the same. In truth, all during the journey from Paris I expected him to make an attempt.” He grimaced, and rubbed his temple again. “I only wish he’d chosen a way that wouldn’t have given me this hellish headache.”

“He told me it was a choice between a blow on the head or the wine,” she said slowly. “You’re not angry with him?”

“Why should I be? As I said, I’d have done the same thing in his place.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel. “It’s after three in the morning. That means Andreas is well out to sea.”

She nodded. “He left immediately after you fell asleep.”

“And Juliette?”

“I found a note in her chamber saying she was going with him.” She added hastily, “But I’m sure she didn’t know of his plan to drug you.”

“Perhaps not.” He smiled. “But I wager she wouldn’t be nearly as upset as you are that he decided on this method or place.”

“Perhaps not.” A smile suddenly lit her face. “But she’d no doubt lean more toward the blow on the head. She has little subtlety.” Her smile faded. “What are you going to do?”

He shrugged. “What can I do? Jean Marc has obviously won. By the time I journeyed to Spain, he would have found the Wind Dancer and hidden it away. And, if I confront him, he would say I must be quite mad and that he was in Spain on business. After all, I have no proof he went after the Wind Dancer. Though I see you don’t deny it. ”

“Nor do I affirm it.”

“I’m not trying to coerce you into betraying him. I respect loyalty.” He cautiously got to his feet and stood upright but swaying. “And now I believe I’ll let you show me to that chamber you mentioned. I’m still so groggy I can think only of sleep.”

“Let me help you.” She picked up a silver candelabrum from the table beside her and moved quickly toward him. She handed him the candelabrum and placed his arm around her shoulder and her arm around his waist. “Lean on me. I’m quite strong.”

He stiffened and then looked down at her in amusement. “I see you are.”

She was helping him toward the door of the salon. “If you’re not going to go after them, what will you do?”

“Return to Paris.”

“You’re not leaning on me. That’s most foolish. We have all those stairs and you’ll never be able to make it by yourself.”

“I’m sorry.” He allowed her a bit of his weight as they crossed the foyer and started up the staircase. “I’m not accustomed to leaning.”

“That’s quite evident. You’re very wary, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He took two more steps. “You smell of lilacs.”

“It’s a new perfume Monsieur Augustine’s creating. Michel says it needs more cinnamon.”

“Does it? I didn’t notice.”

They had reached the landing and Catherine helped him down the hall. “Will Danton be angry with you?”

“He won’t be pleased, but he’d rather Jean Marc have the Wind Dancer than Marat have it. At least the balance of power will remain the same.”

They stopped at the second door down the corridor and Catherine reached for the porcelain knob. “You must sleep all day and, if you’re not better, I’ll send for a physician from Grasse.”

“I’m not ill. I have a bad head, that’s all.”

“This injury was done you at Vasaro. I won’t let you leave here ill.” She opened the door and stepped aside. “Will you need the candles?”

“No.” He handed her the candelabrum. “Go to bed. You look exhausted.”

“I can’t go to bed. It will be dawn soon. The pickers will be going to the fields.”

He frowned. “You’re tired. You should rest.”

“I won’t work in the fields today. I’ll go to all the different fields and oversee the work.” She shook her head wearily. “There’s so much to do and I still don’t know enough.”

“Isn’t that Philippe’s responsibility? Let him do it.”

“I sent Philippe away to visit his family.”

“Really?” His gaze narrowed on her face. “Now, I wonder why you did that?”

“Because I wished to.” She turned away and then whirled back to face him. “You’re sure you need no more help?”

One corner of his lips lifted in a half smile. “I’m sure. You’ve done your duty as the lady of Vasaro.”

Her hand tightened on the candelabrum. His green eyes shimmered in the flickering light of the candles, and she felt again the odd tension that had afflicted her before. “If you need me, call out. I’ll leave my door ajar.”

“I’ll certainly keep that in mind.” He stepped into the bedchamber. “And, if anything could keep me from sleep in my present state, that knowledge will.”

She frowned at him in puzzlement. “But sleep will be good for your headache.”

“Never mind. My tongue is as clumsy as my thinking tonight. I’ll see you when I wake. Bonne nuit.”

“Bonne nuit.” The frown remained on Catherine’s face as she moved toward her own chamber down the hall. Francois Etchelet was a complex man. He had been more than a little cryptic, but she was too weary for puzzles.

She entered her room and set the candelabrum on the table by the door before wandering over to stand in front of the open window.

The darkness was already lightening, and as she had told Francois, it was no use trying to sleep.

Soon she would change from her silk gown to her worn woolen one and go to the fields.

She sat down on the window seat and leaned back against the wall of the alcove.

Journeys. Juliette and Jean Marc were out there somewhere in the darkness sailing toward Spain.

Philippe had probably halted at an inn for the night on his way to Marseilles.

Tomorrow Francois would return to Paris.

She did not envy them their journeys. She wanted only to stay at Vasaro, where she belonged, and tend the earth and watch the constant struggle for birth and renewal Michel had shown her.

She looked at the desk across the room where the journal Juliette had given her lay.

She knew Juliette had wanted to set her free, but the method was one she couldn’t accept yet.

Vasaro had healed the gaping wound but the scar tissue was still too sensitive to trust. Still, she had promised Juliette she would use the journal and she could not break her word.

Catherine suddenly rose to her feet and moved toward the desk.

She had an hour or two before she had to go to the fields.

She sat down at the desk and opened the journal.

She would ignore those first pages and start the journal on the first day she had arrived at Vasaro, the time her life had really begun.

She paused, looking blindly down at the page and remembering how Philippe had smiled at her on that day.

She had thought he was as beautiful as the flowers, but that had not turned out to be the case.

His beauty bloomed only on the surface, and there was no substance beneath it to take root.

If she could be fooled by Philippe for so many years, how could she trust her judgment?

She was baffled by Francois’s behavior tonight. He should have been angrier. Why had he decided to go meekly back to Paris in defeat? He was a strong, determined man and it wasn’t reasonable he should give up so easily.

Catherine shook her head as she dipped her pen in the inkwell again.

Why was she worrying about Etchelet’s reasons?

She should be grateful he wasn’t pursuing Jean Marc, and she was certainly happy he was leaving Vasaro and returning to Paris.

She had no time to try to fathom why he did not react in the way she had thought he would or to worry about her own reactions to him.

Flowers were much easier to understand than people.

Francois mounted his horse and sent him galloping out of the stable yard toward the golden field of broom, where he could see Catherine’s familiar figure standing near the flower cart.

Christ, it was nearly noon and she must have gotten no rest since early yesterday morning.

As he approached she turned to look at him and he could see the lines of weariness beside her mouth, the dark circles beneath her eyes.

Her gray-blue woolen gown was darkened with sweat, and the contrast between this woman and the silk-clad lady of Vasaro was nearly unbelievable to him.

Yet they both possessed strength and dignity and a beauty that sent a surge of pure lust through him.

Lust and a frustration that led him to pull up the horse before her and say roughly, “Go back to the house and lie down.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said go to bed. You’re exhausted and won’t admit it.” He glanced at the workers picking the broom fields. “I’ll stay and do what’s necessary. What has to be done here? They seem to be working quickly enough.”

“They’re good workers and they know their tasks. Philippe said all that was needed was a presence, the knowledge that someone was overseeing the—” She stopped and shook her head. “I can’t let you help. This is my work.”