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evenly, hands on hips, and Gallaudet turned his back.
    “Who planned this?” Fabien asked.
    “Comte Maurice. He first sent a messenger to the captain. Then matters were arranged between them. Comte Maurice is rash, Monseigneur. He will act soon when he learns you are here. He will come with his men-at-arms.”
    “No doubt. He will wish to duel for mademoiselle. And if so, I would not wish to disappoint him.”
    “His belief, Monseigneur, is that the mademoiselle is promised to him in marriage by decree of the Queen Mother herself. He believes he has just cause.”
    Fabien’s temper flared when he thought of the lettre the Queen Mother had sent to him in London. Her intention was clear: if Fabien wished to stop the marriage, he must return and yield his service to the Queen Mother’s dark intrigues. She cared nothing for Maurice’s interest in Rachelle; he was merely an expendable pawn.
    “That jackanapes,” Fabien said harshly. “He will guess at once my plan to take Mademoiselle Macquinet out of France to her family.”
    “Then we are too late, Monseigneur,” Gallaudet said. “Captain Dumas will soon contact Comte Maurice.”
    Yes, the news that Rachelle was here with him at the castle would provoke Maurice to action. Fabien had no doubt of Maurice’s temper and abilities.
    “It will take Captain Dumas the rest of this night to reach Fontaine-bleau, and half the morning for him to return with the comte and his men,” Gallaudet said. “Should we not be gone by then, Marquis?”
    “The comte is not at Fontainebleau,” Sully said. “He is near at hand.
    Captain Dumas rode there tonight.”
    “Where then?” Fabien demanded.
    “I do not know, Monseigneur.”
    Fabien took a step toward him.
    Sully cried, “I swear I speak the truth. Comte Maurice’s whereabouts were never told me.”
    “Did you not take Dumas’s messages to the comte?”
    “I did, Monseigneur, but it was the comte’s own messenger I met on the road. Only Captain Dumas knew of the comte’s whereabouts.”
    “What road?”
    “Why, the road from Amboise, Monseigneur.”
    Amboise! Could Maurice be at the fortress of Amboise?
    Fabien’s royal kinsman, the Bourbon Prince Louis de Condé, was being held there in the dungeon on charges of treason. Why was Maurice there?
    Fabien frowned, pacing before the tree where Sully remained tied. Intermittent raindrops were falling, and the sound of the drops on the leaves broke the silence.
    Perhaps the king’s court was moving to the Amboise castle from Fontainebleau? If so, it placed his enemies closer to Vendôme. It was now imperative to leave at dawn for Dieppe to take Rachelle to safety.
    He turned to walk back to the castle, when Sully’s plaintive cry halted him.
    “Monseigneur, I beg of you, leave me not in the hands of these men. They will surely see me dangle from the highest branch.”
    Julot’s voice mocked. “That branch above your head will do. What think you, Gallaudet? Is it strong enough to support a traitorous jackal?”
    “Let us not hang him, Julot; let us drown him in the water below the bridge.”
    “Let him live with his conscience,” Fabien said over his shoulder. “But send him away from the castle. I’ll not have such a fellow among men-at-arms of honneur.”
    “Monseigneur, give me another chance, if you please. I will serve you faithfully.”
    “Non. Go and serve my cousin the Comte Maurice.”
    Julot took out his knife and cut Sully loose. “You live because the marquis is a better monsieur than the likes of you and your fellows. If it were my decision, you would dangle.”
    “Be gone,” Gallaudet said. “You have caused us all great harm.”
    They turned their backs on him and strode away.

    RACHELLE, THOUGH WEARY FROM TRAVEL , found herself unable to sleep after Fabien escorted her upstairs to her chamber.
    With a pang of regret, she realized that while she was soon to become Marquise de Vendôme, she was not to live here and bear the family that would