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Marguerite of Navarre
Author’s Note The life of Marguerite de Valois was so full of drama, romance, intrigue and danger that very little in this story needed to be invented. I have nonetheless used my imagination to interpret her reaction to events, her love affairs, and to fill any gaps. Much that was written about her was pure malice or propaganda, rather than factual history, and I have done my best to stay true to what seemed most likely. Although they form the background to her story, this is not a history of the Wars of Religion, rather the effect upon them by one woman. While historians agree that the seed for the Massacre of Saint Bartholemew was sown in the talks at Bayonne, there is some dispute on how much was pre-planned. I have made my own decision on this, which I feel is logical. Where these are known, I have used a person’s actual words, modifying them slightly to suit the modern ear.
Margot was walking along the passage from her husband’s apartments to her own chamber when an arm suddenly hooked about her waist, and with a small squeal of alarm she found herself pulled behind an arras into an ante-room. Before she could draw breath to protest, a mouth had closed over hers in a long, demanding kiss. Quite unable to move, being trapped between the unforgiving door and the powerful breadth of a man’s chest, she succumbed completely to the pleasure of it. But then it was a truly wonderful kiss. When she was finally released, she gave the perpetrator of this outrage a sharp slap across his handsome face, even though she’d known instantly that it was Henri of Guise. How could she not, having savoured the delicious taste of his lips more times than were quite proper in a young girl? Entirely unconcerned by her reaction, he put back his fine head with its cut of close cropped curls, and laughed. ‘I thought you’d avoided me long enough, my pretty, and that it was time we got re-acquainted.’ Margot straightened her gown, flustered by the warm flush of excitement on her cheeks. ‘And you thought that was the way to go about it, did you?’ He smiled at her, a molten power in his liquid, dark-eyed gaze. ‘I needed to gain your attention.’ ‘You have most certainly achieved that,’ and she laughed suddenly, tremulous, nervous, and as delighted as he by the encounter. But then, instantly ashamed of herself for this apparent betrayal, Margot scowled crossly at him. ‘I should not, by rights, even be speaking to you. I will admit that I do not believe all the rumours I hear about the Princes of Lorraine, nevertheless we are enemies now, you and I.’ ‘Never!’ ‘Tis true. You not only perpetrated that vile deed upon the Admiral and God knows how many other unfortunates, but seem set to treat my husband in a like manner.’ ‘I have done nothing to make you think so, nor is it my choice that Navarre has been incarcerated, though perhaps it may be for his own good while tensions still run high. In any case, I wish the man no harm, I swear it.’ She considered his expression with serious appraisal, wondering if he spoke the truth. ‘Would that I could believe you.’ He grinned as he reached for her, his hands instinctively capturing her neat waist, before daringly brushing the tips of his fingers over the silken smoothness of her deliciously white breasts above the low neckline of her gown. ‘I hope we are not about to have one of our squabbles. That would be tiresome. I have always valued you as a woman of opinion, Margot, but it is so long since I held you in my arms that I can hardly bear to look at you without wanting to possess you.’ She felt half giddy with desire, her need for him so strong it was almost a physical pain in her heart. Even so, she slapped his hands away. ‘I do believe you innocent of at least some of the crimes charged against you.’ Guise leaned both hands upon the door, trapping her between them. ‘Only some? And if I swear I never laid a finger on your husband’s precious leader, for all I welcomed his death as my father’s murderer, would you believe that?’ Margot looked him straight in the eyes. ‘I might.’ He pushed himself off and half turned from her. ‘Let me tell you, darling Margot, that, following the massacre, the position of the Princes of Lorraine has become increasingly hazardous. Ever wary of the designs of your mother the Queen, I asked the King to vindicate the House of Guise in the sight of the people, begging him not to shrink from his responsibility in the bloody mischief of that night. And Charles, in the presence of his parliament, has acknowledged that we were the instruments and not the originators of the massacre.’ Her brown eyes upon him softened somewhat at these words, her voice barely above a whisper when she spoke. ‘I am glad to hear it, and suspected that may well be the case, knowing my mother, and my brother Anjou, as I do. Nevertheless, we are on opposite sides now.
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