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The Lady of Secrets: A Novel (The Dark Queen Saga, Band 6) - Softcover

Buch 6 von 6: The Daughters of the Earth

Carroll, Susan

 
9780345502957: The Lady of Secrets: A Novel (The Dark Queen Saga, Band 6)
Softcover
ISBN 10: 0345502957 ISBN 13: 9780345502957
Verlag: Ballantine Books, 2012

Inhaltsangabe

This brilliant new installment in bestselling author Susan Carroll’s mesmerizing Dark Queen historical fiction series is perfect for fans of Philippa Gregory.
 
Queen Catherine de Medici is dead, and for Meg Wolfe—successor in a line of legendary healers and mystics known as “daughters of the earth”—it is a time of new beginnings. She strives to be ordinary, invisible in the mists of Faire Isle, and is determined to put the terrifying days of a wicked mother and turbulent childhood behind her. But soon a summons from King James will rekindle a menacing power from the past, bringing haunting visions of a nightmare already unfolding—and a shattering mystery steeped in magic that will determine a destiny from which she cannot hide.
 
Meg’s task: Save the king from the most insidious form of treachery, invisible to those who do not possess Meg’s extraordinary gifts. But as Meg discovers, there are more sinister motivations at play in the king’s world. Torn between two very different men whose motives and secrets are tied inexorably to her own fate, Meg learns that she can no longer trust anyone or anything—not even her own heart.
 
Praise for Susan Carroll’s Twilight of a Queen
 
“[Susan] Carroll’s vivid portrayal of Catherine de Medici is mesmerizing, but the evil queen does not overshadow either the romance or the strong characterization and plot that are Carroll’s hallmarks.”—RT Book Reviews
 
“Fascinating . . . full of twists and turns and a lot of intriguing historical detail.”—Night Owl Reviews

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Susan Carroll is an award-winning romance author whose books include The Bride Finder and its two sequels The Night Drifter and Midnight Bride as well as The Painted Veil, Winterbourne, and most recently, The Dark Queen, The Courtesan, The Silver Rose, The Huntress, and Twilight of a Queen. She lives in Rock Island, Illinois.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

Brittany, 1605

There was little hope of returning to the island that night. Ominous dark clouds dimmed the sun, robbing the day of precious hours and a more gentle passage into evening. The wind picked up, rendering the waters of the channel whitecapped and choppy.

The Lady of Faire Isle struggled to keep the hood of her cloak from being tugged back, exposing her countenance to the rough salt tang of the breeze. Soft brown hair framed a face that was pale, her unblemished complexion and short stature making her seem younger than her thirty-­one years. But her green eyes, always too solemn, too watchful, made her appear far older.

Picking her way carefully along the rocky shore, she peered across the channel for a last glimpse of her home, but the distant outline of Faire Isle was obscured by the shadows cast by the clouds. Margaret Wolfe hitched her breath, feeling that peculiar pressure in her chest she often had when she left the security of her island, a sense that disaster loomed just over the next horizon.

That was because the newly appointed Lady of Faire Isle had the sight, folks on the island and the mainland would whisper in awed tones. To a certain degree she did, but Margaret Wolfe attributed her tension more to her uncertain childhood. Anyone who was the daughter of a mad witch like Cassandra Lascelles was bound to face life with a high degree of apprehension. As her old nurse, Mistress Waters, had oft told Meg, “You are a wary old soul, my pet. I do declare you were born anxious.”

Meg’s present anxiety was heightened by the behavior of her traveling companion. Seraphine Beaufoy, la Comtesse de Castelnau, was a golden blond goddess of a woman, as tall as Meg was short.

The comtesse barked out orders in clipped tones, commanding the oarsmen who had rowed her and Meg from the island to drag the dinghy further up the beach and conceal it beneath a pile of driftwood and seaweed. The wind snapped at Seraphine’s cloak, revealing the masculine garb she had donned, a disguise that would have fooled no one, for her short doublet and breeches only accented her lush curves.

But Seraphine was more concerned with practicality than deception. One could not wield a sword trussed up in a corset and petticoats. And Seraphine was armed with both a pistol and a rapier strapped to her waist. Clearly she had a presentiment of possible danger, but there was one marked difference between them, Meg thought. If trouble came, Seraphine would relish it.

Seraphine strode back to Meg, looking satisfied with her disposal of the dinghy. “There. At least the boat will remain secure and we shall not be cut off from our only route of escape. I have ordered Jacques and Louis to stand guard.”

“Surely you are being a little dramatic. I have come across to the mainland many times to treat ailments and never had a need to escape.”

“There is a huge difference between delivering some peasant’s babe and trying to cure a girl who claims to be possessed of demons and well you know it, Margaret Wolfe.”

“Not the way I have heard some poor women shriek and curse when in the midst of their labor pains.”

Meg’s mild attempt at humor did little to ease the scowl on Seraphine’s face. “I will tell you again, I don’t think you should be interfering in this matter.” Her tone softened as she added, “You are not obliged to atone for all the evil your mother did while she was alive. You don’t have to ride to the rescue anytime someone breathes the word witch.”

“That is not what I am doing,” Meg started, but was stopped by a look from Seraphine, the shrewd assessment of one who had been her friend for too many years and knew her far too well.

“Well, not entirely,” Meg amended. “As the new Lady of Faire Isle, is it not my duty to be a protector of women, especially other daughters of the earth?”

“I don’t think Ariane would have wanted you meddling in the superstitious affairs of folk on the mainland. My aunt would have counseled you to be prudent.”

“Since Ariane is no longer here, we cannot ask her.” It was a source of great sorrow to Meg and she was unable to keep the quiver from her voice.

Ariane Deauville, the former Lady of Faire Isle, had been all things to Meg these last fifteen years. Friend, mother, and teacher, she had instructed Meg in all the lore of the daughters of the earth, wise women gifted in the arts of healing and white magic.

None was more gifted than the one acclaimed as the Lady of Faire Isle, a time-­honored title bestowed upon the woman best suited to be the leader among the daughters of the earth in each generation. Meg had been humbled and honored beyond measure when Ariane had chosen her to be her successor.

It had been a role Meg had not expected to assume for a good many years, as the title only passed upon the death of the previous Lady. But when her health had begun to fail, Ariane Cheney had broken with tradition and abdicated in Meg’s favor.

“Call me selfish, my dear,” Ariane had told her. “But I want to spend whatever time I may have left with my husband and son, traveling to places I have only read of in books, learning the secrets of healing and lore of other countries.”

Meg would never have dreamed of calling her friend selfish. No Lady had ever served Faire Isle and the daughters of the earth more devotedly than Ariane. If she could find a measure of peace and a cure for the illness that slowly devoured her, Meg could only wish her Godspeed.

Yet that day last spring when Meg had stood upon the dock, smiling and waving until the ship had disappeared from view, she had blinked back tears. She had been overcome with grief and a panicked feeling of being left to don a pair of shoes her feet would never grow large enough to fill.

She had striven hard to do so, grateful for the encouragement and support of Seraphine. But now when her friend wielded Ariane’s presumed wishes as a weapon, she could not help telling Seraphine.

“Are you not the one who has been telling me that when any situation arises, I must stop trying to guess what Ariane would have done? I must learn to employ my own judgment.”

“Not when you are wrong.”

“You mean when I don’t agree with you.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Seraphine demanded, then laughed. “Very well. Let us go find this foolish chit who claims to be beset with demons, so you can unbewitch her. With any luck, we may yet manage to avoid the storm and return to Faire Isle before dark. Although it would have been helpful if that idiot boy who came to beg your aid had waited to show the way.”

“Poor Denys was far too anxious to return. It matters naught. Pernod is a small village and the girl’s family owns the local hostelry, the Laughing Dolphin. Mademoiselle Tillet will not be hard to find.”

“Lead on then.”

Pernod, like many of the villages on the Breton coast, was inhabited largely by fishermen. Over the years, a rough track had been worn up the rocky beach. Seraphine’s boots were far better suited to the terrain than the clumsy pattens Meg had donned to protect her shoes.

The Comtesse had acquired a reputation at the French court as a woman of grace, charmingly seductive and full of a playful indolence. Seraphine, when she was on a mission, was an entirely different creature. Meg’s shorter legs were hard-­pressed to keep pace with Seraphine’s lengthy strides.

By the time they reached the point where the track widened into the lane through...

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Verlag
Ballantine Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2012
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
0345502957
ISBN 13 
9780345502957
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
448
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Verantwortliche Person
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