Free Threads of Silk by Linda Lee Chaikin Page B

Père Arnaut had given her much the same advice in Paris.
    She leaned her cheek against his chest and held him tightly. In the moment of silence he stroked her hair and held her close. Then he lifted her face toward his and kissed her.
    “We must go down now,” he said quietly, his voice offering confidence. “Are you ready?”
    She gave a nod. A few moments later, with dignity, Rachelle went down the steps at Fabien’s side and entered the receiving salle. The two Florentine dwarves donned in costly garb with diamonds on their doublets bowed low to Fabien. They straightened, their black curls bouncing, their ebony eyes bright and cunning beneath heavy brows.
    Rachelle found it difficult to tell the twins apart, except that Romulus always smiled, though his eyes held no humor.
    Fabien left her on the landing and stepped forward. Romulus bowed again, then approached. In full height, he came just above Fabien’s knees.
    “Bonjour Monseigneur de Vendôme,” came his tenor voice. “We have traveled from Fontainebleau with a message for you from Her Majesty, the Queen Mother. Do you wonder how we knew you were here?”
    Rachelle tightened her hand on the banister. She glanced at Fabien and saw that his manner was reserved .
    “We have bonne amity with the crows,” Remus said.
    Rachelle could see he was serious. She felt a chill, remembering the credence paid to the occult and astrology charts made for the Queen Mother.
    “Yes, as soon as I was outside of Paris, I did notice the crows kept pace with me,” Fabien said.
    Only those who knew Fabien as well as she could have read the sarcasm in his response.
    “Did you come alone — except for the crows?” he asked.
    “We came alone, Monseigneur. Your men-at-arms on the road will tell you so. On the other hand, you did not come here alone.”
    Rachelle kept her dignity.
    Fabien gave him a stern look. “What message do you bring me from the Queen Mother?”
    Romulus extended an envelope sealed impressively with the royal fleur-de-lis.
    “Her Majesty wishes an answer be returned by our hand, and so we will wait for it, if Monseigneur permits.”
    Fabien walked away and used a jeweled knife to open the sealed envelope, turning to watch them as he did. He would not be rushed into a response, this Rachelle knew.
    She remained where she was, her palms perspiring. She noted the dwarves wore ceremonial swords the size a young page boy would carry and guessed they were poor swordsmen but probably deadly marksman with daggers. She did not think the Queen Mother wanted Fabien dead, however — at least not yet.
    Fabien walked over to Rachelle and with lazy grace, leaned against the banister and read the Queen Mother’s lettre aloud to her.
    “I have received news from my daughter Elizabeth, Queen of Spain, that His most Catholic Majesty, King Philip II, is aggrieved by certain actions taken off the coast of the Spanish Netherlands by certain French pirates united in purpose and religion with the Dutch. You in particular, Marquis de Vendôme, have been implicated as one of those adventurous sea wolves. I am most certain this outrageous charge laid against you by the esteemed Duc de Alva, who is here to see the king, will prove to be in error. We need to discuss this grave matter firsthand. It therefore becomes imperative that we meet at Fontainebleau, which will likewise afford you the opportunity to clarify your reasons for having taken the belle couturière, Mademoiselle Rachelle Macquinet, from her duties in Paris. I assure you, my lord Marquis, that both of you will be treated as family upon your return to court. Fear not; bring mademoiselle and brighten our lives with your appearances. I am certain this misunderstanding with the Comte Beauvilliers can be settled in peace. Also, Princesse Marguerite longs for her favorite lady and for newly crafted gowns to meet your friend Prince Henry of Navarre at the Poissy Colloquy this coming summer.
    “Understand that this summons is