Free To Be Queen by Christy English Page A

of France for my sons.
    â€œYoung Louis,” I said, as if there could be more than one in my keep. “Where is he?”
    â€œHe is at prayer, my lady. He wanted to go to the chapel, but when he found there was none such within the palace, he went to the cathedral in the city.”
    Such idle gossip had come to her in the hall. My spies would have brought me such news directly, if they thought for one moment that I cared. I saw that I would have to take them in hand. It was not for them to decide what information they carried to me.
    â€œIn the cathedral,” I said. “Is he there still?”
    â€œHe was when we left the hall, Your Grace.”
    From the formal title she gave me, not only could she see the way my thoughts were tending, but she did not approve. I rose at once, and called for my cloak.
    â€œI feel the need for prayer,” I said.
    She did not snort in derision, for to do so would have been beneath her dignity. Amaria stared hard at me for one long moment before she went to do my bidding. As she returned from my trunks, she wore her own cloak across her shoulders.
    â€œI, too, feel the call of God,” she said.
    I did not speak but only smiled as I led her into the hidden corridor beyond the wall of my room. The door into the hallway was tucked behind a tapestry. Its hinges were well oiled, and the door opened easily after I unlocked it with the key I kept in my alms purse. I carried few coins for alms, but there were many hidden doors in my father’s castle. I held the only key to each of them.
    I felt Amaria’s displeasure as she walked behind me, but I did not heed it. It was for her to follow me, whatever I set out to do. This night was no exception.
    We slipped past my men and the few Parisian guards who dozed on the great staircase. We moved through another hidden door into the bailey, where one of my men, a great hulking warrior named Bardonne, fell in behind me without questioning my purpose. I took him in, memorizing his face before I walked on. I could use a man who asked no questions at my back. I would bring him with me to Paris.
    We moved to walk from the bailey through the gates to Bordeaux itself. There was a small door, tucked in close by the portcullis. My gatekeeper knew me at once, and moved to open it for me. Before he could do so, a shadow rose out of the darkness, and stepped into my path so that I could not move, forward or back. The shadow spoke.
    â€œMy lady duchess, where do you go, so late in the night and unattended?”
    I heard the Baron Rancon’s voice, and knew him well, even in the dark. Bardonne had made no noise, but had drawn his short sword. He stood now between the baron and myself, the tip of his blade at my baron’s throat. I raised one hand, and Bardonne stepped back. He did not lower his blade but kept watch on Rancon as if he were an enemy.
    â€œI go to the cathedral for prayer, my lord. Will you escort me there?”
    The night was dark, but the moon had risen, coming out from behind a heavy cloud. I saw Rancon then in the moonlight. I saw his anger and his jealousy and his desire for me, all bound into one great mass over his heart. These emotions chased one another across the handsome planes of his face. I felt my own heart seize within my breast. I wanted this man, but I was bound for another.
    Rancon stepped away, clearing the path so that Bardonne, Amaria, and I might walk on unencumbered. “I will not go with you, my lady duchess. It seems your man has all in hand.”
    â€œI have all in hand. I thank you, my lord baron.”
    I stared into the chestnut brown of his eyes. I wished us alone in that moment, myself in his arms. The hunger of lust rose in me, caressing my tongue. I saw answering lust on the baron’s face, along with the knowledge that we were not alone in the dark of my father’s keep. I was duchess now, and Rancon could not touch me, on pain of death.
    Rancon took one more step