Naamah's Kiss - Jacqueline Carey [96]
"Of course not." I had no idea what he was talking about. "And of course I'll do my best to aid you. Only I accepted an invitation from his highness Prince Thierry to go hunting tomorrow."
"Oh, yes." Raphael relaxed. "I'll be there as well. We can't make a new attempt for a few more days anyway."
"That's good," I said blankly.
The following day dawned sunny and bright with a hint of crisp autumnal chill in the air. I dressed in one of the riding gowns that Benoit Vallon had designed for me. I should have been excited by the prospect of a day spent outdoors. Instead, the knot in my belly had grown worse.
Poets bedamned; why in the name of stone and sea and sky and all that they encompassed had I trusted Jehanne de la Courcel?
Why hadn't I told Raphael?
At the breakfast table, I tried to tell him. But every time I opened my mouth to speak, a flash of memory came over me, followed by a hot flush. I couldn't get the words out. If he didn't think I'd played him for a fool, he'd think I was a pure blind idiot for giving Jehanne exactly what she wanted. And like as not, he would be right.
"Are you all right, Moirin?" Raphael gave me a curious glance. "You look fevered."
"I'm fine," I managed.
"Let me see." He felt at my forehead and the pulse of my wrist, then bade me stick out my tongue and peered down my throat. "All right, then. Don't overtax yourself today, mind? You're not long out of bed-rest." He gave me a wry smile. "And you may have spent a good deal of time in bed yesterday, but I fear it wasn't particularly restful."
Another flush swept over me. "No. No, it was not."
Prince Thierry's invitation bade me to come unmounted and meet him in the courtyard of the royal stables. Raphael rode alongside the carriage on his own hunting steed, a glossy chestnut with powerful hindquarters. I rode in the carriage, sick with apprehension.
One good satire can make you the laughingstock of the City, Jehanne had said. Yesterday I'd taken her warning at face value.
Today I wondered if it had been a taste of things to come.
It wasn't fair. I hadn't done anything Jehanne hadn't done. But she was a highly trained courtesan. I had no doubt she could dissemble in the ways of desire as well and better than any woman. I was a half-breed of the Maghuin Dhonn with no skill whatsoever when it came to hiding my own desires. And I knew, instinctively, that if Jehanne de la Courcel put it about how gullible I'd been and how ardent a role I'd played in my own seduction, I would be a laughingstock.
And Raphael would despise me for lying.
I don't know which thought made me sicker.
By the time we reached the royal stables, I was strung tighter than my own bow and half ready to vomit. A footman in Courcel livery helped me from the carriage.
"Lady Moirin!" The Dauphin was standing beside a groom, who was holding the head of a glossy black filly. Thierry beckoned to me, his expression glad and friendly. "Come here, will you?"
I relaxed a measure. "She's lovely." I stroked the filly's neck. "Are you riding her today?"
"No." He grinned, took the reins from the groom, and handed them to me with a courtly bow. "You are. She's a gift."
I stared. "Whatever for?"
"Do I need a reason?" Thierry asked. "A beautiful lady should have a beautiful mount. But as it happens, she's a gift of thanks," he added. "Marc de Thibideau's a good friend and hunting companion. I'm grateful for what you did to aid him."
"It was Raphael's doing," I murmured.
"Raphael had already treated the young man in question with limited success," Raphael offered in a laconic tone from astride his tall chestnut. "Give his highness your thanks."
Unexpected tears stung my eyes. "Thank you, your highness."
"It's nothing." Thierry waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. "You're welcome to stable her here if de Mereliot doesn't have room in his."
"I've room," Raphael said curtly.
I ignored him, captivated by the gentle warmth in the filly's dark eyes. "Does she have a name?"
"D'Antilly's Midnight Blossom," Prince Thierry said cheerfully. I glanced