Catherine: One Love is Enough (Catherine Series Book 1) by Juliette Benzoni Page A

itself, and its little chapel of the Sacred Spring, built on the side of a peak.
    His words were so eloquent, though simple, that Catherine seemed to see the fields of barley, the lilac twilight skies when the mountain peaks faded imperceptibly till they resembled a line of blue ghosts, the springs bubbling up crystal clear among smooth stones and then darkening suddenly before plunging into the heart of great lakes set about with mossy granite boulders like dark carbuncles. She seemed to hear the midday wind singing between the crags and the winter storms moaning round the castle battlements. Michel talked of the flocks of sheep that grazed the countryside, the woods haunted by wolves and wild boar, and the tumbling streams where pink and silver salmon leaped and played. Catherine listened open-mouthed, oblivious of everything in her concentration on this youth and his tale.
    ‘And your parents?’ she asked when he fell silent. ‘Are they still alive?’
    ‘My father died ten years ago and I hardly remember him. He was an old soldier, and rather grim and forbidding. He spent his youth harrying the British at the side of the Great Constable of France. After the battle of Châteauneuf-de-Randon, where Bertrand de Guesclin met his death, he hung up his sword and announced that thereafter no leader would again command his unquestioning loyalty. My mother looked after our estates and raised me to manhood. She sent me into the household of Monseigneur de Berry, our feudal lord, and I remained a year in his service before moving to that of Prince Louis de Guyenne. My mother runs our estates as efficiently as a man and brings up my younger brother too.’
    These glimpses of a life so much more exalted than her own filled Catherine with respect, though they also made her a little sad.
    ‘You have a brother?’
    ‘Yes. He is two years younger than me, and he can’t wait to show how much more skilled he is at jousting and feats of arms! There is no doubt,’ said Michel with a fond smile, ‘that he will make a splendid soldier. You have only to see him leap up on one of those huge farm horses and lead all the village bumpkins in a charge. He is as strong as a Turk and thinks of nothing but glorious wounds and bruises. I am very fond of Arnaud. He starts his military career soon, and then my mother will be left quite alone. It will be sad for her, but I know she will never complain. She is too good, and too proud to do that.’ As he talked about his family, Michel’s face shone so radiantly that Catherine could not resist asking him:
    ‘Is he as handsome as you?’
    Michel laughed and patted her head.
    ‘Much handsomer! There is no comparison. And there is a loving heart under his fierce manner. He is proud, generous and passionate. I think he is very fond of me.’
    Catherine trembled under his caressing hand, not daring to move. Suddenly Michel leant forward and touched her forehead with his lips.
    ‘Unfortunately,’ he said, ‘I have no little sister to love.’
    ‘She would have adored you if you had,’ Catherine said warmly. Then she stopped horror-stricken as footsteps sounded overhead. She had lost track of time, and Loyse must have returned. She would have to go back up. Michel had heard the sounds too and raised his head, listening. Hurriedly Catherine snatched up some logs up to give herself an excuse for being in the cellar and started up the ladder, putting her finger to her lips to warn Michel to keep quiet. She closed the trapdoor behind her, leaving Michel in total darkness once more.
    When Catherine reached the kitchen, with her candle precariously balanced on the bundle of logs, she found not Loyse but Marion, who looked at her with a mixture of surprise and anger.
    ‘Where have you sprung from?’
    ‘From the cellar, as you see,’ Catherine said smoothly. ‘I went to get some logs.’
    Fat Marion cut a ludicrous figure. Her red-veined face gleamed scarlet as if it had been varnished. Her cap was