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TWENTY-THREE

F rancois’s lodgings in the Temple looked more like a cell than living quarters for a municipal official, Catherine thought with a shiver as the officer stepped aside for her to enter.

The stone walls seemed to breathe a damp chill and the furnishings were almost nonexistent: a simply crafted table with three chairs, a small chest, a narrow bed with only a shabby linen coverlet.

“I’ll have to wait here with you until Citizen Etchelet comes,” Captain Ardlaine told her apologetically as he pulled out a chair for her. “No one is allowed alone in the Tower without the proper papers.”

“I told you my husband didn’t know I was coming. He would have arranged to have me admitted if he’d—” She frowned. “Is it always this cold?” Catherine drew her crimson cloak more closely around her. The December cold seemed to pierce the thick stone walls. “Why is there no fire in the stove?”

“I’ll light one.” He moved toward the porcelain stove. “The citizen’s duties keep him away for most of the day, and it’s not practical to keep a fire—”

“Catherine!” Francois stood in the doorway.

He appeared harder, thinner, wearier than he had at Vasaro, she thought, but still he looked wonderful. She jumped to her feet. “This gentleman believes I don’t belong here, Francois. Please tell him I’m your wife.”

“My…wife,” Francois repeated slowly. He turned to the soldier. “Yes, of course, Paul, this is my wife, Catherine. God in heaven, what are you doing here, Catherine?”

She came toward him. “Why should I live in comfort at Vasaro when you choose to serve the republic by existing in this hovel? I decided I should be by your side.” She turned and smiled at the captain. “Thank you for being so kind, Captain. Will you have my boxes brought up from the courtyard now?”

The captain nodded. “You’re a lucky man, Citizen. But remember to get proper papers for her.”

“I’ll remember.” Francois’s gaze never left Catherine. “If she stays. My wife’s spirit is stronger than her constitution. I’m not sure living here would be the best thing for her.”

Catherine smiled at him. “I should know what’s best for me. Everyone knows a woman’s place is with her husband.”

As soon as the heavy oak door closed behind the captain, Francois demanded, “What’s this about, Catherine? Why are you here?”

She drew a deep breath. “This isn’t easy for me.”

“You have a message from Jean Marc?”

“No, I arrived only this morning. I haven’t seen Jean Marc yet.” She smiled ruefully. “Juliette knew he wouldn’t approve of my coming here, so she whisked me off before I could even—”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my husband,” she said simply.

He shook his head. “Nonsense. You never regarded that ceremony as anything but expedient.”

“It’s true that I’d like to be married again by a priest. Could we please do that, Francois?”

He went still. “What are you saying?”

“That…I love you.” She rushed on. “And I know you may not love me any longer, but I had to tell you. I had to try to—”

“Mother of God.” He swept her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Of course I love you,” he said thickly. “Always. But the abbey…”

Relief poured through her as her arms went around him to hold him tightly.

“You persist in acting as if you’d raped me yourself.

You should have explained why you couldn’t help me instead of letting Juliette tell me of William Darrell.

Did you think me so shallow I would put my violation over the lives you’ve saved since then? ”

“You forgive me?”

Her expression was sober as she stepped back and looked up at him. “The question is, do you forgive me? I was afraid to share your life even though I loved you. I don’t even know how you could still love me.”

“Don’t you?” His lips pressed her temple. “Perhaps because you have strength and gentleness…and truth.”

“Not truth. I seem to have told myself a good many lies in the past.” She smiled tremulously. “But I’ll try to give you truth from now on.”

His hands cupped her cheeks as he looked down into her eyes. “Catherine, I…” He kissed her gently, sweetly, with exquisite tenderness. He lifted his head and the expression on his face was as beautiful as the dawn rising over the fields of Vasaro. “My love.”

The joy became too strong to bear, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

He was still looking at her with the same expression when she opened them and she knew she had to do something to lighten the moment or she would start to weep.

She took a step back and laughed shakily.

“Then it’s settled.” She looked around the apartment.

“I must do something to improve this place. I don’t know how you can live in such discomfort.

If we’re to stay here for any length of time, we must have blankets and carpets and a curtain for the window.

And perhaps a comfortable chair by the stove for—”

“We?” He shook his head. “You can’t stay here.”

“Oh, but I can.” She gazed at him steadily. “I intend to stay here as long as you do, Francois. Make up your mind to the fact that I won’t return to Vasaro until you can return with me.”

“Catherine, I can’t come with you. There is much I have to do here.”

“I know, Juliette told me.” She reached up and touched his lips with her fingers. He belonged to her, she thought wonderingly. She had the right to reach out and touch him whenever she liked. “Then I’ll help you do them. We worked very well together at Vasaro. I’m sure we’ll do equally well here.”

“No.” His jaw set stubbornly. “You can’t stay at the Temple. For God’s sake, it’s a prison, Catherine.”

“That’s another reason we must make our surroundings as comfortable as possible.

” Catherine brushed a kiss on his cheekbone before moving toward the door.

“They’re bringing my boxes now. Will you see if that nice captain can find me an armoire in this vast place?

I must go back to Jean Marc’s house and beg linens and blankets. ”

“Stay there.”

“And we must keep a fire burning in the stove all the time. These stone walls are dreadfully damp.”

“Catherine, I have no intention of arranging a pass for you. The guards will refuse to let you back through the gates.”

“No, they won’t.” She paused at the door, her smile infinitely loving as she looked back at him. “Because, if they do, I’ll sit at the gate and weep and wail until they let me come to you. And that would cause a good deal of attention, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but you still—”

“And attention shouldn’t be focused on you at the present time. Besides, didn’t you marry me to protect me from the eye of the republic? Would you want word of Francois’s poor, rejected bride to be bandied among the soldiers and come to the ears of the Commune?”

A slow smile lit his face. “You’d really do it, wouldn’t you?”

She smiled serenely. “Certainly. I thought I’d made clear my position. If you wish me to be gone from here, you must accomplish your task quickly so that we may both leave.”

He shook his head ruefully as he bowed with a flourish. “I’ll do all within my power to oblige you, Madame.”

“And I’ll do all to oblige you,” she said softly, her gaze clinging to his a moment longer before she turned away and opened the door. “Remember the armoire.”

A Savonnerie carpet patterned in beige and ivory now covered the cold stone floor and heavy rose-colored-velvet drapes hung at the window.

A scarlet velvet coverlet had replaced the linen blanket, and a massive cream-covered cushioned chair with a matching footrest occupied the area next to the porcelain stove.

“It’s not too bad.” Catherine tilted her head critically as she looked around the room. “I like the yellow curtains in my room at Vasaro better, but these are heavier and will do more to shut out the cold.”

“Did you leave Jean Marc any furniture?” Francois asked as he leaned back and rested his head on the cushioned back of the chair. “As I recall, he had a fondness for this chair. He always sat in it when we met in the Gold Salon.”

“Because it’s large enough for a big man.

You need it more than he does.” Catherine smiled.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t argue with me when I took it.

Jean Marc has many chairs and he can spare us this one.

” She shivered. “It’s still chilly here.

We can’t seem to get rid of the cold. Is the little boy’s apartment this cold? ”

Francois nodded. “But he’s not uncomfortable. The Simons treat him very well, by their own standards. Of late they’ve let him live a normal life.” His lips twisted. “Though, God knows, at first they did everything to turn him into what the republic wanted.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simon had orders to coarsen him, educate him in the ways of the common man.”

She frowned, puzzled. “What did they do?”

“Brought in whores, taught him to drink wine as if it were water. He was in a drunken haze during most of the period before they guillotined his mother.”

Catherine looked at him in horror. “But he’s only a little boy. How could they do that to him?”

“It’s Simon’s idea of heaven for the common man,” Francois said dryly. “Whores, wine, and time to enjoy both. In his eyes he was only doing his duty and showing the boy a fine time.”

Catherine shook her head. “How is Louis Charles now?”

“Old for his years. When I look at him and remember Michel…” His gaze met her own. “They’ve robbed him of his childhood. I want to give it back to him, Catherine, but I don’t know if anyone can.”

Tears welled in Catherine’s eyes as she heard the weariness and discouragement in his tone. He had struggled long and hard against tremendous odds and had lost as often as he had won. Pray God he did not lose this time. “When can I meet him?”

“Tomorrow. I have supper with the Simons twice a week and then play cards with Simon and a few of the officers. You’re sure you want to do this? They’re crude, bawdy people.”