Threads of Silk Read online

  Also By Linda Lee Chaikin

  Daughter of Silk

  Written on Silk

  Book Three

  LINDA LEE CHAIKIN

  ZONDERVAN

  Threads of Silk

  Copyright © 2008 by Linda Chaikin

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.

  Mobipocket Edition February 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-54257-5

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  Zondervan, Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530

  * * *

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Chaikin, L. L.

  Threads of silk / Linda Lee Chaikin.

  p. cm. — (The silk house; bk. 3)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-310-27310-3

  1. Catherine de Medicis, Queen, consort of Henry II, King of France, 1519 – 1589 — Fiction. 2. Dressmakers — Fiction. 3. Courts and courtiers — Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3553.H2427T485 2008

  813’.54 — dc22

  2007027367

  * * *

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the King James Version.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  * * *

  07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 27 26 25 24 23 22 21 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Historical Characters

  Threads of Silk

  PART ONE: The Ties That Bind

  Refuge

  Laying the Trap

  News from a Far Country

  Put to the Test

  The Broken Lock

  To Bury a Treasure

  With This Ring

  Foes

  Intruder

  The Ultimatum

  Serpent in the Garden

  Murder?

  At Court

  PART 2: In the Shadow of the Serpent

  Gowns for a Princesse

  Bitter News

  Oh, Beulah Land!

  The Growing Menace

  The Dark Agreement

  Truth War

  Danger and Providence

  Au Revoir and Godspeed

  Catch Up on the First Two Books in the Silk House Series!

  Glossary of French Words

  DAUGHTER OF SILK, BOOK ONE

  WRITTEN ON SILK, BOOK TWO

  Daughter of Silk

  Written on Silk

  About the Publisher

  Share Your Thoughts

  Historical Characters

  Duchesse Montpensier — of the House of Bourbon, a Huguenot

  M. Jacques Lefévre d’Étaples — translated first Bible into French M. John Calvin — writer of Institutes of the Christian Religion (Christianae Religionis Institutio)

  Prince Louis de Condé — French general, of the House of Bourbon

  Prince Antoine de Bourbon — older brother of Louis. He later became King of Navarre through marriage to Huguenot Queen Jeanne d’Albret of Navarre.

  Admiral Gaspard de Coligny — had Normandy and Picardy under his security

  Cardinal de Châtillon(Odet Coligny) — brother of Gaspard and d’Andelot Coligny

  Mary Stuart (la petite reinette) — married Dauphin Francis Valois who became King Francis II

  Charles de Montpensier (Duc de Bourbon) — had rights to the throne that equaled, if not exceeded, those of the Valois

  “Capitaine” l’Ollonaise — French pirate

  Henry of Anjou — third son of Catherine de Medici and King Henry II (Valois)

  Duc Francis de Guise — of the infamous Borgias family from Florence, Italy

  Catherine de Medici — Queen and Regent of France over Francis II and Charles II Valois

  Princesse Marguerite Valois — daughter of Catherine de Medici and King Henry II (Valois), also called Margo

  Monsieur Henry Guise — later a duc, younger son of Duc Francis de Guise.

  Anne d’Este — wife of Duc de Guise (Francis)

  Charles de Guise (Cardinal de Lorraine) — younger brother of Duc Francis de Guise

  Mme. Charlotte de Presney — member of Catherine’s escadron volant

  Madalenna — Italian serving girl of Catherine de Medici

  Prince Henry of Navarre — son of Antoine de Bourbon and Jeanne d’Albret, King and Queen of Navarre

  Maître Avenelle — the betrayer of the Huguenots

  Princesse Eleonore Condé — a niece of Admiral Gaspard Coligny

  Messire de la Renaudie — a leader of the Huguenots, a retainer of Prince Louis de Condé

  Ambroise le Pare — physician and surgeon to kings, a Huguenot

  Princesse Elisabeth Valois — daughter of Catherine and Henry Valois, married Philip II of Spain

  Montmorency family and the Constable of France — Catholics who sided with the Bourbons in the end

  Machiavelli — Niccolo Machiavelli, a cunning and cruel man; he was associated with corrupt, totalitarian government because of a small pamplet he wrote called “The Prince” to gain influence with the ruling Medici family in Florence.

  Alessandro (the abuser) — a brother of Catherine de Medici

  Cosmo and Lorenzo Ruggerio — brothers from Florence, Catherine’s astrologers and poison makers

  Rene — parfumer, also Catherine’s poisoner

  Duc of Alva — Spanish general

  Marechal de Saint Andre — a marshal of France Monsieur Theodore Beza

  — French Reformer, disciple of John Calvin

  Cardinal d’Este — from Ferrara, Italy

  Poet Tasso — a poet from Italy

  Ronsard — a poet who served the Valois Court

  Hercule Valois — the fourth and youngest son of Catherine and Henry Valois, little is known of him

  Anne du Bourg — a Huguenot man sent to the Bastille by Henry II. He was burned at the stake under the Cardinal de Lorraine when boy-king Francis ruled with Queen Mother Catherine. The Huguenots then felt betrayed and planned the Amboise plot.

  Nostradamus — a soothsayer in the Roman Catholic Church Jacopo Sadeleto — Archbishop of Carpentras

  Chantonnay — Thomas Perrenot de Chantonnay, Spanish ambassador to France

  Alencome — Monsieur Ronsard d’Alencome, French Ambassador to the English Court and spy for Catherine

  Threads of Silk

  PART ONE: The Ties That Bind

  Refuge

  HOW FAR BEHIND IS THE ENEMY? A DAY, SEVERAL HOURS? OR ARE THEY AHEAD, waiting in ambush?

  Mademoiselle Rachelle Macquinet flicked the reins of her horse to surge toward the bridge, listening above the wind for the dread sound of distant hooves pounding in pursuit.

  She caught sight of the silhouette of the castle of Vendôme in the distance. Marquis Fabien’s chief page, Gallaudet, galloped ahead while Fabien rode guard behind her. Here along the rim of the dark woods the forest encroached upon their path, enabling any ambush to avoid detection. Two of Fabien’s finest swordsmen rode on either side of the road with an eye toward the dense s
hadows, one hand near their scabbards.

  The cold rain pelted her face beneath her hooded cloak as they neared the castle. The horses trotted over the bridge toward the gate, and the imposing outline of the royal Bourbon estate rose up in the night to meet them with open arms like a biblical city of refuge.

  I want to be married here; I want to give birth to his firstborn son here — but with so much in jeopardy, do we even have a chance? Can these sturdy walls offer safety from Madame le Serpent’s emissaries?

  Rachelle halted her horse outside the gate. The wind clawed at her hood and blustered against her as though snarling a protest over her safe arrival at the first destination in the long, treacherous journey.

  She lifted her gaze to the towering wall where an armed guard arrayed in the Bourbon family colors of blue and red appeared, his billowing sleeves flapping.

  Fabien maneuvered his horse beside her. “Is that you, Dumas?” he shouted. “Open the gate! It is I, your seigneur!”

  “Monseigneur!” the guard shouted into the wind. “It is you!”

  “I, and no other, unless on such a night you’re expecting the ghost of Vendôme Hall.”

  Captain Dumas laughed, swung around, and yelled down to the inside of the courtyard, “Make haste, you dullards! It is le marquis, home from sinking Spanish galleons!”

  Hearty voices rose and boots scuffled hastily over cobbles. She heard the clanking of bolts and chains, and the massive outer gate shuddered on its hinges and moved slowly open.

  Rachelle blinked against flaming torches flickering in the stiff wind as guards drew back, forming a welcoming line and hailing their monseigneur with robust cheers.

  She rode beside Fabien into the courtyard of the palais-château.

  Several of the guards closed the gate and replaced bolts and locks.

  Horse hooves clattered forward, scabbards clinked, and Toledo steel glinted. The wet cobbles glimmered in the torchlight flowing down from the stone walls encircling the quad.

  Wind-driven clouds tumbled across the sky, and from time to time, the pale moon pushed through. She glimpsed Fabien’s handsome features, the strong jaw, slashing brows, and wavy hair the color of wheat, but the disarming smile that usually warmed her heart was replaced by a look of gravity beneath his dark, wide-brimmed hat with silver ornamentation.

  He dismounted, and coming around beside her horse, lifted her down. She felt the cobbles beneath her thin soles as he escorted her across the courtyard toward a torch-lit alcove. Here, the great wooden entry door was strapped with iron — which encouraged her uneasy emotions.

  Rachelle swept through into the grand salle of intricate masonry stonework and marble and where a glow from the hearth beckoned with a promise of warmth. Although she was chilled from the rainstorm and her clothing was wet, her attention was arrested by Fabien’s sudden preoccupation with some new peril as Gallaudet, fair and lean, stood speaking to him in a low tone.

  Rachelle tensed and listened intently, but caught little.

  “ — doubting his loyalties to you — ”

  “Mille diables! I cannot believe it. Who makes such a charge?”

  Gallaudet’s answer was indiscernible to her.

  Fabien responded with a frown. Rachelle watched him reenter the courtyard where the rain plummeted, Gallaudet following.

  Rachelle shivered, but it was not so much from cold as from fear.

  Mayhap a little excitement.

  Pine logs on the grate heated the stones near the embers and released an aromatic fragrance. She stood holding her hands toward the radiant warmth. A drop of rainwater fell from the hem of her cloak and sizzled on the stones. In the light from glowing lamps of burnished brass inlaid with gemstones, she began admiring her surroundings: thick rugs of a design done in crimson, blue, and gold; wood and brocade furnishings; and intricate hanging tapestries.

  Would she give Fabien sons and daughters to carry on the Bourbon title? Not if the Queen Mother has her way!

  Rachelle intertwined her fingers tightly. Comte Maurice! That scheming fox! I would sooner be dead than married to him as the Queen Mother threatens.

  The wood hissed and snapped. Her taut nerves responded as though the embers spewed forth venom. She could envision the mocking eyes of the Queen Mother watching her from the glowing coals, vowing to defeat their plans.

  Why would it matter to the Queen Mother of France whom she, a couturière, married? The truth was, it did not. It was Fabien who mattered to her secret schemes.

  I am merely the bait she uses to trap him. And what the Queen Mother wishes from him is too dark to contemplate.

  From behind her, footsteps echoed and she whipped around as though expecting to confront her nemesis in the familiar black gown and coif.

  It was Fabien. She searched his face and found his countenance retained a sober cast. He tossed aside his hat and riding cloak, which were immediately taken up by a serving boy.

  He walked up to her. His royal blue tunic with silver threads glinted in the firelight.

  Under his gaze, a warmth began to smolder in her heart.

  “You are exhausted, ma chérie.”

  “Non, I am well,” she insisted, hoping to portray a bravery to match his own. She returned his smile, but his brow lifted in doubt.

  “Exhausted — and wet,” he said gravely and gently undid the clasp on her cloak. As he did, her honey autumn hair tumbled over her shoulder and across his hand.

  She felt herself drawn toward him, even as the coals in the hearth had drawn her only minutes ago. His arm slipped around her, bringing her close. He raised a handful of her hair and looked at it in the firelight. Their lips met and all shadows fled. The rainy night was no longer bleak and dark. They were together in a wondrous place from which she did not want to withdraw, and the Queen Mother’s spies seemed to be fleeing. She melted into his embrace.

  Her senses immersed with his in the wonderment of their longing. It was incredible how her life had turned about so swiftly by his return to France and his commitment to their future.

  “We have until dawn, then we must leave. I could send Gallaudet for a priest or a secret Calvinist pasteur. We could be married tonight —though your father is not likely to approve of my taking you without his knowledge. There is risk in whatever direction we take.”

  “It is you who are most at risk, mon amour, because I shall never marry Maurice! I shall go to the Bastille to die first!”

  His fingers tightened on her forearms. “You will not die, chérie. I want you alive and safe. The Bastille is out of the question as long as I can wield my sword. The wisest action for both of us is escape to London.”

  “Then there is little doubt as to whether she may send guards here?”

  His gravity returned and he released her. “My sweet, I have not the least doubt of it. She understood from the beginning how I would react when she sent her lettre to me in London. It will be to our detriment if we underestimate her vigor now in seizing us.” He took a turn before the hearth, a hand at the back of his neck. “Non, we dare not stay here longer than this night. We must ride out by daybreak, chérie.”

  He saw the platter of roasted fowl and goblets of burgundy and silver cups of coffee. He chose a drumstick from the platter and offered her one. She declined and sank slowly to the stone bench, suddenly aware of her weariness.

  She put a palm to her forehead. “So she already knows we are here.

  That means . . .” She moved her gaze to his.

  “Exactement. She expected me to return after she threatened to arrange your marriage to that cousin of mine. She would have had spies watching for me in Calais.” He tossed the chicken bone aside and reached for another drumstick. “They would have reported to her the moment the Reprisal came into port, but I also believe she was notified when I rode into Paris.”

  She met his even gaze. “Therefore, she will soon know of our escape from Paris; perhaps she already does.”

  “I’ve already sent my messenger north t
o Calais. He takes a risk trying to slip through to Capitaine Nappier. The roads are under watch. If my plan succeeds, however, he will inform Nappier to sail the Reprisal to Dieppe to wait for us there.”

  Her stomach tightened. It would be at least a week before the ship arrived at the point of rendezvous in northern France.

  She stood, matching his iron calmness, at least outwardly, even while her knees weakened at the thought of the Queen Mother’s cold resolve to keep them in France for her purposes.

  He drank from the goblet. “Reaching the Reprisal will prove difficult. It is a long ride to Dieppe.” He studied her. “Can you endure it?”

  She arched a brow and placed one hand on her hip. “Did I not keep up from Paris? I thought you would have noticed my riding skills.” She cast him a glance and saw his appreciative smile.

  “Ma belle, I noticed, I assure you — you were wondrous to behold.”

  He lifted the goblet to his lips and eyed her over the rim. “And charmante as well.”

  She felt a flush come to her cheeks and turned back to the fire, holding her palms toward the warmth.

  “Do not blame me if I worry for your health,” he said. “You are my preeminent concern. I do not wish to see you so weary as you are now. Even so, joining Nappier at Dieppe will present our best opportunity to reach England. If we do not — ” He paused, his brows drawn, looking at the goblet.

  She pushed her hair away from her shoulder. “But Fabien, as you say, it will take Capitaine Nappier at least a week to reach Dieppe. If the Queen Mother suspects you will marry me before she can thwart us, she will act swiftly.”

  He set the goblet down and took hold of her gently. His soothing touch reassured her. “I have guards watching the road and horses are ready should we need to leave quickly by way of the woods.”

  “But if she overtakes us she will insist I marry Maurice. Let us not wait for the dawn. Let us leave at once. Now!”

  His eyes, a deep blue with unusual violet hues, held her riveted as his fingers caressed the back of her neck.