this morning and see what I can learn. Isn’t this fascinating? He
rescues me, and then it turns out that I can be of help to him!”
Chantal feigned a bright smile as she examined the monk over
the top of her cup. He’d let his cowl fall back, and his inky hair gleamed.
Fine curls sprang from the tight queue. His high bronzed brow spoke of wisdom
and intelligence, and his eyes…
She shook her head. They were so changeable that she could
never tell if they were brown or black or just a very deep blue. They had the
power to enthrall her, so she dipped her gaze back to the table rather than let
him heat her blood.
“The king might appreciate coins rather than a bell that
doesn’t ring or a chalice too clumsy to drink from,” Chantal responded, trying
to think clearly when her soul was crying ridiculous protests. “But he is so
tightly guarded, I cannot see how such a thing would be smuggled out, or even
how we might get in to see His Majesty.”
“I do not understand why the leader of your country is not
free to do as he pleases. I understand it might be difficult to see a busy man,
but that is not what you’re saying, is it?”
Pauline’s pointed chin lifted while she waited for Chantal
to answer this very complicated question. They’d argued over it before, without
coming to any good conclusion.
“Our kings held the power of gods for too long,” Chantal
responded carefully. “It is never wise to give any one person that much
influence. People are human, not gods, and they have weaknesses. So it has
become necessary to take some authority away from the king and queen and give
it to the Assembly. There are some who disagree with this change.” She cast a
glance at her friend. “But that is mostly because it takes away the authority
of the nobility as well as the king’s. Since all of France is bankrupt, power
is our strongest currency.”
“Ah, I think I begin to see,” he said. His eyes flashed with
understanding. “Those who wish to return to the old ways guard your leaders in
hopes of retaining what they once had.”
“And those who wish to change the world overnight would lock
our rightful leaders in cells and never let them out,” Pauline finished for him.
“Without a leader, there will be chaos,” Ian predicted.
“We are not trying to be rid of the king!” Chantal
protested. “But he must put the needs of his own people above those of foreign
popes and corrupt aristocrats. It is all much too complex to argue now. We
should make some plan of retrieving the chalice once Pauline discovers if it is
truly at the palace.”
She would like to ask why Ian thought it was there, but
instinct told her there were some things about this man that she’d rather not
know. “Where is Papa? Perhaps he can help us.”
“He has gone to find Pierre,” Pauline said with a return of
her worried frown.
“He should be resting his injured knee! No judge will be
about to set bail at this hour.” Chantal glanced at Ian. Had he spoken with her
father?
He returned her gaze enigmatically.
She’d like to smack him.
That was not like her. She seldom let her impulses overcome
her to the point of acting on them — but Ian seemed to have broken the barrier
she’d built around her passions. Humming under her breath to pacify her
turbulent emotions, she tapped her fingers on the table and wished for the bell
back. If wishes were horses…
Understanding Pauline’s concern for her brother, Chantal
shoved aside her selfishness. “I cannot think it is safe for you to leave the
house until Papa has settled this matter.”
“I can always take sanctuary with the queen,” Pauline said
stiffly.
“The queen can’t provide sanctuary for herself these days. I
am terrified every day you return to her.”
Ian intruded upon the argument. “Perhaps, while Madame
Racine attends the queen, you might show me about your city?”
Did she imagine it, or did she detect a strong desire behind
his words, one that could
rescues me, and then it turns out that I can be of help to him!”
Chantal feigned a bright smile as she examined the monk over
the top of her cup. He’d let his cowl fall back, and his inky hair gleamed.
Fine curls sprang from the tight queue. His high bronzed brow spoke of wisdom
and intelligence, and his eyes…
She shook her head. They were so changeable that she could
never tell if they were brown or black or just a very deep blue. They had the
power to enthrall her, so she dipped her gaze back to the table rather than let
him heat her blood.
“The king might appreciate coins rather than a bell that
doesn’t ring or a chalice too clumsy to drink from,” Chantal responded, trying
to think clearly when her soul was crying ridiculous protests. “But he is so
tightly guarded, I cannot see how such a thing would be smuggled out, or even
how we might get in to see His Majesty.”
“I do not understand why the leader of your country is not
free to do as he pleases. I understand it might be difficult to see a busy man,
but that is not what you’re saying, is it?”
Pauline’s pointed chin lifted while she waited for Chantal
to answer this very complicated question. They’d argued over it before, without
coming to any good conclusion.
“Our kings held the power of gods for too long,” Chantal
responded carefully. “It is never wise to give any one person that much
influence. People are human, not gods, and they have weaknesses. So it has
become necessary to take some authority away from the king and queen and give
it to the Assembly. There are some who disagree with this change.” She cast a
glance at her friend. “But that is mostly because it takes away the authority
of the nobility as well as the king’s. Since all of France is bankrupt, power
is our strongest currency.”
“Ah, I think I begin to see,” he said. His eyes flashed with
understanding. “Those who wish to return to the old ways guard your leaders in
hopes of retaining what they once had.”
“And those who wish to change the world overnight would lock
our rightful leaders in cells and never let them out,” Pauline finished for him.
“Without a leader, there will be chaos,” Ian predicted.
“We are not trying to be rid of the king!” Chantal
protested. “But he must put the needs of his own people above those of foreign
popes and corrupt aristocrats. It is all much too complex to argue now. We
should make some plan of retrieving the chalice once Pauline discovers if it is
truly at the palace.”
She would like to ask why Ian thought it was there, but
instinct told her there were some things about this man that she’d rather not
know. “Where is Papa? Perhaps he can help us.”
“He has gone to find Pierre,” Pauline said with a return of
her worried frown.
“He should be resting his injured knee! No judge will be
about to set bail at this hour.” Chantal glanced at Ian. Had he spoken with her
father?
He returned her gaze enigmatically.
She’d like to smack him.
That was not like her. She seldom let her impulses overcome
her to the point of acting on them — but Ian seemed to have broken the barrier
she’d built around her passions. Humming under her breath to pacify her
turbulent emotions, she tapped her fingers on the table and wished for the bell
back. If wishes were horses…
Understanding Pauline’s concern for her brother, Chantal
shoved aside her selfishness. “I cannot think it is safe for you to leave the
house until Papa has settled this matter.”
“I can always take sanctuary with the queen,” Pauline said
stiffly.
“The queen can’t provide sanctuary for herself these days. I
am terrified every day you return to her.”
Ian intruded upon the argument. “Perhaps, while Madame
Racine attends the queen, you might show me about your city?”
Did she imagine it, or did she detect a strong desire behind
his words, one that could
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