The Courtesan Page 2

  Apparently he did not. The mastiff issued a series of savage barks. Her younger sister could have crooned a few words to the dog, soothing him at once. But Gabrielle had never possessed Miri’s strange affinity with all four-legged creatures.

  Fortunately, Gabrielle had long ago learned the weakness of this particular beast. One wary eye on the dog, she inched aside enough to set her candle down on the aumbry shelf. She groped for the pouch hidden beneath her cloak. The cursed drawstrings refused to budge or perhaps her fingers were too clumsy with nervousness. Somehow she got the purse open, and drew forth a cluster of slightly squashed red grapes.

  Swallowing her fear, she croaked, “Nice Cerberus. S-sweet beastie. Look what I have for you.”

  She carefully extended her arm, the handful of red grapes glistening against her palm. The dog gave a sharp bark. Gabrielle jumped and tossed the grapes wildly. The cluster hit the floor with a dull thud, causing the dog to shy back.

  Cerberus crept forward again, snuffling her offering. The dog emitted a delighted whine and began greedily gulping down the fruit. Gabrielle ventured a few steps away from the wall. Cerberus would make no objection to her movement, at least until the grapes ran out.

  “What have you done to my dog?” An imperious voice rang out.

  Gabrielle twisted toward the sound and breathed a sigh of relief as the mastiff’s owner finally put in an appearance. Cassandra Lascelles stood poised at the top of the stairs, a tall, thin silhouette. How long she had been there, Gabrielle had no idea. She seemed to have materialized out of nowhere.

  “I haven’t done anything to your precious Cerberus,” Gabrielle retorted. “Merely bribed him with a few grapes to keep him from devouring me instead.”

  “Gabrielle? Is that you?” Cass asked sharply.

  “Yes.”

  Clutching the banister, Cass began to descend the stairs with elaborate care. She had been blind almost from the moment of her birth. A young woman, she was not much older than Gabrielle’s own twenty-one years, although there was a hard, brittle quality about Cass that often made her seem much older.

  A tattered red gown half-hung off her thin frame, baring one shoulder. The weight of her mass of gypsy-dark hair appeared too heavy for her slender neck. She had an exotic face with high slanting cheekbones and an ice-white complexion that seldom saw the light of the sun. Her sightless dark eyes were fixed and without expression, all emotion centered in her mouth, which at the moment was slashed thin with displeasure.

  For one deprived of her vision, she moved with a remarkable amount of grace and stealth. It was only when she cleared the last step and let go of the banister that she faltered, stretching out one hand cautiously into the vast empty space of the room.

  “Cerberus! Come,” she commanded.

  The dog’s ears pricked up, but he hesitated, still searching for more grapes.

  “Cerberus! Come here!”

  The formidable beast whined and lowered his head, slinking guiltily over to his mistress. Cassandra groped until she seized hold of the dog’s leather collar.

  “Bad dog. Heel!”

  Cerberus sank even lower. As the chastened dog positioned itself beside her, Cass grumbled, “Blasted fool. Just like any other male. Ruled by your stomach.”

  She softened her scolding by scratching him behind the ears. The ferocious-looking beast transformed, his eyes going limpid, his tail wagging, his massive body quivering with adoration.

  It was the mistress who now seemed the more formidable of the two. One hand resting protectively on her dog’s head, Cass straightened and scowled.

  “Damnation, Gabrielle Cheney. I have warned you before not to come here without first sending word through my servant. I do not like to be taken unawares. Bribe or no bribe, you are lucky Cerberus did not tear out your throat.”

  “I am sorry,” Gabrielle said, taking a cautious step closer. “But I was desperate to see you and I didn’t have time to contact you through Finette. I have been here enough times before that I thought Cerberus might recognize me.”

  “He is trained not to recognize anyone. Otherwise he would not be much of a protector.”

  “But surely you do not need such protection from another daughter of the earth.”

  “Not all daughters of the earth are to be trusted. You above anyone should know that.” Cass gave a scornful sniff. “And I hate such mincing terms as ‘wise women’ and daughters of the earth. Let us just say witches and be done with it.”

  “Yes, but let us not say it too loudly.” Gabrielle replied wryly.

  Cass’s rigid features melted into a reluctant smile. She bent and muttered some low command to her dog. With her hand still poised on Cerberus’s collar, she walked forward with a sure step that Gabrielle always found astonishing.

  Gabrielle had seen her sister Miri accomplish some astounding feats with animals, but the degree of rapport between Cassandra and her dog, the way she had taught Cerberus to be her eyes, was nothing short of magic.

  Cerberus led Cass straight over to Gabrielle. Another low command and the dog took up position, sitting beside her, eyes trained on Cass as though waiting her next order. Cass reached out boldly until she made contact with Gabrielle. Drawing her forward, she enveloped Gabrielle in a brisk hug.

  “I did not mean to make you feel unwelcome, my friend,” she murmured. “But next time, let me know when you are coming.”

  “I will,” Gabrielle promised. As she hugged her in turn, Gabrielle was uncomfortably aware of the thinness of Cass’s frame beneath her worn gown. She wished that she could persuade Cass to give over living like a recluse in this depressing abandoned house. Or at least allow Gabrielle to provide her with a few comforts like better food and clothing. But Gabrielle was all too familiar with Cass’s fierce pride and sense of independence.

  Cass released her and stepped back, her lips quirking upward in a faintly teasing smile. “Well, to what do I owe the honor of this unexpected visit? Surely you cannot have already used up that last bottle of perfume I brewed for you. I gave you enough to bring every man at court to his knees.”

  Cassandra Lascelles could concoct some of the most powerfully seductive perfumes and skin ointments Gabrielle had ever discovered. Gabrielle started to shake her head and then checked herself. It was often difficult to remember that Cass was blind.

  “No, I need no more perfume.”

  “Cream for your complexion then. Or another lotion perhaps?”

  “N-no . . .” Gabrielle said, glad that the other woman could not see her face. She liked to feel cool and in control, but it had been sheer desperation that had blazed her path to Cass’s door.

  Now that she was here, she discovered it was more difficult to blurt out what she wanted than she had imagined it would be. Gabrielle found it hard to display her vulnerabilities to anyone, but if she did not manage to overcome her pride, there was no point in having taken the risk to come here.

  As though she sensed Gabrielle’s reluctance, Cass said in a softer tone, “Out with it, my friend. What do you want from me?”

  Clearing her throat, Gabrielle confessed haltingly, “I need your help, Cass. To—to find someone who is lost to me.”

  Remy, her heart whispered with the familiar dull ache.

  Cass’s fine brows arched upward in surprise. “I would be delighted to assist you in any way I can, my dear,” she said dryly. “But as you may have observed, my eyesight is not all that keen. Hadn’t you better hire yourself a tracker or some mercenary who is good at that sort of thing?”

  “I—I can’t. The person I seek is . . . no longer in this world. I have heard—that is—Finette told me that you possess remarkable skills in the art of necromancy.”

  Cassandra’s face darkened with annoyance. “Rot Finette! That scrawny little witch talks far too much.”

  “So is it true then?”

  Cass didn’t answer her, something in her face shutting down. There was an ancient magic learned by most wise women during their child
hood, the art of reading the eyes, those mirrors of the soul. Those who became adept at it could divine the very thoughts of their subject, but unfortunately Gabrielle had never mastered the skill.

  Such an art would not have served her with Cass in any case. Her eyes were like twin lanterns with the lights burned out, giving none of her thoughts away.

  “Necromancy,” she repeated slowly. “The raising of the dead. Perhaps I do possess some ability in that arena. But you are a witch the same as me. Why don’t you conjure for yourself? I am only the bastard child of a wild gypsy woman and a foolish holy man who forgot his vows. Your lineage is certainly more impressive than mine, Gabrielle Cheney. Your father was a renowned knight and your mother, the incomparable Evangeline, such a queen among sorceresses, she was known as the Lady of Faire Isle. The noble descendant of a long line of strong and clever witches.”

  “Regrettably, I don’t seem to have inherited my share of the family gifts.” Gabrielle tried to speak lightly, but she felt her throat tighten. “Whatever magic I did possess, I lost it a long time ago.”

  “Then go to your sister Ariane for help,” Cassandra said. “She is the present Lady of Faire Isle, reputed to be as wise and clever as your late mother.”

  “You know full well I cannot do that. Ariane and I have not had any contact for the past two years.” Gabrielle experienced the familiar rush of pain and regret at the thought of her older sister. “She didn’t approve of my decision to come to Paris.”

  “Because you became a courtesan? Very few respectable women would approve of that.”

  “Yes, well, it is all very fine for Ariane to pass judgment on me,” Gabrielle said. “She is quite happily married to her Comte Renard. For her, everything is simple and perfect and that makes it impossible for her to understand that other women might find life a bit more . . . complicated.”

  Gabrielle tried to sound indifferent, as though Ariane’s disapproval was of no consequence. But the loss of her sister’s love and respect weighed heavily on her.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she went on briskly. “Ariane wouldn’t have helped me in any case. She confines all her skills to healing the sick. She would never dabble in the darker arts.”

  “How wise of her and how unfortunate for you,” Cass said. “Because I don’t dabble in them lightly either. I don’t share my peculiar talent for necromancy with anyone. Not even you, my friend. Now why don’t you just forget all this nonsense and come have a cup of wine with me?”

  She gave Cerberus a light tap and the dog sprang to its feet. Both woman and dog turned as one and headed back toward the stairs.

  Gabrielle stood a moment, dismayed by Cassandra’s refusal. But Gabrielle never easily surrendered anything she had set her heart upon and few things had ever meant more to her than this. The hope of seeing Nicolas Remy, speaking to him one last time.

  She hurried after Cassandra, seizing her by the elbow.

  “Cass, wait, please—”

  Cerberus bristled and issued a warning growl. Gabrielle hastily drew her hand away.

  “Cass, you must help me or—or I don’t know what I shall do. There is someone who has passed to the other side who I am desperate to contact. It is more important to me than you can possibly imagine. I—I will pay you any amount you require.”

  “Money doesn’t interest me. If it did, I have ways of getting it myself.”

  “What about jewels then? Gowns from the finest dressmaker in Paris.”

  Cass flushed and shoved the drooping sleeve of her tattered frock farther up her shoulder, the gesture a trifle self-conscious. Her jaw jutted to a stubborn angle. “I don’t care about such fripperies either.”

  “Then name your price,” Gabrielle pleaded. “I’ll give you anything, do anything you ask.”

  Cass gave a bark of laughter. “Anything? You are very rash, Gabrielle Cheney. Didn’t your Maman ever tell you of the old fairy tales about what dire things happen to ladies who make such promises?”

  “Well, what could you possibly demand? My firstborn child?”

  “No, I abhor children,” Cass drawled. “I doubt they’d even taste good in a stew.” She fell silent for a moment, then said slyly. “There is only one way I might consider your request. Let me read your hand.”

  Gabrielle tensed. This was not the first time Cass had made such a request of her, but Gabrielle had always been wary of granting it.

  She whipped her hands nervously behind her back. “Why? Why do you need to do that?”

  “Because I am the only one left in a family of women who were tortured and burned for practicing witchcraft. I have learned to be damned careful about whom I trust. If I am to consider granting your request, I need to probe the depths of your innermost heart. Other wise women are adept at reading the eyes. Obviously that skill is barred to me. I am, however, good at reading hands. Let me examine yours.”

  Cassandra held out her own hand in a demanding gesture. Gabrielle still hesitated. Probe the depths of her innermost heart? That was something Gabrielle had never allowed anyone to do, not even her own sisters, and she had only known Cass for three months. She was disquieted by the notion that Cass might somehow be able to draw out the secrets of her soul through the touch of her palm. Was such a thing even possible? Gabrielle didn’t like the idea of it, but if she wanted Cass’s help, she had no choice but to cooperate.

  “A-all right.” Gabrielle started to extend her own hand. Cerberus, suspicious of the gesture, let out a fierce bark.

  “Down!” Cassandra ordered. As the dog subsided at her feet, Gabrielle uneasily rested her hand in Cassandra’s grasp.

  The woman turned Gabrielle’s hand palm up and began to trace her finger across the surface. Gabrielle shivered, finding Cass’s touch disturbing and cold. It was rather like being probed by a needle of ice.

  “This is a well-formed hand,” she murmured. “Elegant, the skin smooth as silk. But it was not always so. Once there were calluses here—” Cass touched the pads of Gabrielle’s palm. “And here.” She touched Gabrielle’s fingertips.

  “Calluses from . . . from working with chisel and marble? And these well-manicured nails were chipped and flecked with paint.”

  Gabrielle started a little at this observation, and then said dismissively. “I used to dabble a bit with sculpting and the like. A girl has to amuse herself somehow. I found it more entertaining than needlework.”

  “It was more than mere entertainment. This hand could once perform a great magic. Breathing life into stone. Taking a blank canvas, filling it with light and color, conjuring images that mesmerized the eye and moved the heart. The hand of an extraordinary artist.”

  “Perhaps I did have some such ability, but I told you,” Gabrielle replied with some asperity. “Any magic I ever had, I lost a long time ago.”

  “And exactly how does a wise woman go about losing her magic?” Cass asked softly.

  “How should I know?” Gabrielle snapped, but she knew all too well how and when she’d lost her magic. She simply didn’t care to discuss it.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Gabrielle said. “No woman can ever find fame and fortune as an artist. That was an old dream and a foolish one.”

  “You never used to worry so much about fame and fortune. At least not then.”

  Gabrielle flinched and tried to close up her hand, but Cass forced her fingers back open.

  “Yes, a very lovely hand, but an empty one,” Cass murmured.

  “I told you that I could easily fill it up with jewels and coin for you.”

  “I am not talking about that kind of emptiness, but the sort that would not be apparent to most. You are a beautiful woman, much sought after and desired. But your life is empty all the same. You abandoned all that you ever knew when you came to Paris, your two sisters, your home and friends on Faire Isle, and now you are quite alone.”

  “Nonsense. I have a house full of servants and I am frequently at court. I attend the banquets, the masques, the balls. People surround me a
ll the time, seeking my favor.”

  “Women you don’t trust and men you despise. Fools who see nothing but the glittering façade you present and never come close to touching the real Gabrielle. This hand speaks to me of darkness, isolation, a vast loneliness.”

  Then her hand was telling Cassandra a great deal too much, Gabrielle thought. “Is there a point to all this?” she asked, trying to draw her hand away. “I didn’t come here to have my palm read.”

  Cass only tightened her grip, her long, thin fingers continuing their inspection. “Ah!”

  “Ah, what?” Gabrielle asked anxiously.

  Cass traced the creases on Gabrielle’s palm. “Here I feel a pulsing vein that marks great ambition . . . a strong desire for power, fame . . . invulnerability. But right next to it runs the line of the heart, the hunger for passion, romance, a fervent wish to love and be loved.”

  “That line must be very short,” Gabrielle said, pulling a wry face.

  “No, the lines are equal in length and converging upon each other, reaching a point where a choice will have to be made. Love or ambition.”

  “I have already made it.”

  Cass smiled and shook her head. “No, you haven’t. But your choice will be a difficult one. There is an old scar getting in the way.”

  Gabrielle straightened haughtily. “I have no scar. My hand is flawless.”

  “The scar is on your heart, Gabrielle Cheney. An old wound that never properly healed, left upon you by an unworthy man.”

  “I think I have heard quite enough—”

  “You gave your entire heart to this man and he betrayed you,” Cass continued softly, but inexorably. “With the most unspeakable injury a man can inflict upon a woman. One bright summer afternoon in the hayloft of a barn—”

  “My God. You are a blasted witch!” Gabrielle cried and wrenched her hand away. She staggered back and clutched her palm, feeling as though Cass had sliced her open and left her bleeding, old and bitter memories spilling out of her. Of that June with Etienne Danton, the brutal afternoon she had tried her best to forget.

  No, she had forgotten it.