Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter by Carrie Fancett Pagels

beauty. But God wouldn’t call him inferior, Scripture told him this. Tipping his head back, Johan gazed up at the center of the octagon, at the fabulous mosaics. The beautiful statue of the Lady of Aachen seemed to smile at him as did the Christ child in her arms. Candles flickered in the Barbarossa chandelier. “ Mein Gott , You are so good. May I always do Your will.”
    From somewhere nearby a door clicked open.
    Johan turned in the direction of the sound—the confessionals.
    Someone shuffled across the mosaic floor, the edge ofk** a cassock visible behind one of the ancient pillars. Candles flickered overhead and in the walls’ recesses.
    Sunlight broke through the side windowpanes and illuminated his great uncle’s face in a golden glow.
    “Nicholas?”
    “No, Uncle, it’s me—Johan. Mutter sent me.”
    “Johan.” He grasped Johan’s hands. “Thank God. I have something I need you to do for me.”
    ~*~
    Backside in agony, hands burning, and face chapped from the wind, Suzanne rode her newest mount, a chestnut gelding, through the countryside toward Grand-mère’s holdings. Suzanne couldn’t ride further today—she must rest. If the King’s guard or Pierre searches for me, would they also look at the countryside manor?
    As she emerged from the tree line, the estate lay before her, the chateau’s white stone shining a beacon in the bright sunlight. How incongruous that after all that had happened, the house remained the same. She’d expected the mansion to be in ruins.
    A white-haired man, Monsieur Kull, cut tall flowers and placed them tenderly in a basket, as if Grand-mèrewere still alive and he was bringing them to the house for her pleasure.
    Suzanne half expected her grandmother to come out to greet her. Perhaps this was all a horrible dream and she’d wake any moment. She dismounted.
    The gardener held out his arms. “The King’s Guard was here, mademoiselle, but they left this morning. We told them we hadn’t seen you. We spoke the truth.” Monsieur Kull glanced nervously around the property before taking her arm and guiding her toward the chateau. “They searched the grounds. Strange, they were but a few men and didn’t possess military bearing—very sloppy.”
    “Monsieur Kull, I need to rest before I go on.”
    “Oui, let’s feed you and then get you to your room.”
    “Merci.”
    “And I’ll have someone take care of your horse.”
    After partaking of fruit and sliced ham, and tending to her personal needs, they’d climbed to the darkened third floor, where none of the doors to the rooms were open. The high mahogany bed hailed from the Caribbean—where she’d believed Etienne would take her.
    “Madame Vachon and I will hide you here. We know about your papa.”
    She ducked her chin.
    “I’ll leave this door ajar in case you call out for me.”
    “Merci.” Suzanne lay in the soft bed, under the down-filled comforter, inhaling the scent of dried flowers.
    Sleep evaded her. She opened her eyes as a sunbeam glinted gold off the hilt of a sword hanging on the opposite wall. A Spanish sword taken from the Netherlands when they were under Spanish rule. Grand-père’s. Slowly she slid out from beneath the comforter, not disturbing the bedding. Lowering herself beside the intricately carved bed, she got on her hands and knees and crawled beneath it. Old Spanish gold and silver pieces of eight, saved by her great-grandfather, lay hidden in a leather pouch, tucked inside a wooden box Grand-mèrehad given her. She stretched through the dust, secured the container, and dragged it toward her.
    Releasing the pouch, she tucked the gift inside her pants. Lying still for a moment, she thought she heard horses’ hooves beneath her window. In the darkness, she remained stretched out, waiting.
    A crash sounded two stories below, as the heavy front door was thrown open at the front of the chateau, banging into the walls. She flinched, her heartbeat ratcheting up.
    “Where is the rider? Who