The Wild Queen by Carolyn Meyer Page B

servants that my grandfather had not died a natural death, that he had been murdered. But no matter whom I asked—“Is it true?”—I received only evasions. The exception was Sinclair, who reported what her sources at the servants’ supper table had said.
    â€œPoison, is what I’ve heard,” she said. “But no one knows for certain, or else no one is saying. Seems to me the old duke should not have had a single enemy. These French are not at one another’s throats, like they are in Scotland. Still, the old gentleman always looked healthy enough to me.”
    A month later I was taken to Joinville by my uncle Charles. It seemed unbearably bleak without my dear grandfather. My brother the duke of Longueville had come down from his château in Amiens, and we wept together. Grand-Mère remained steadfastly dry-eyed. She showed me the letter she had received from my mother.
I have lost the best father a daughter could hope to have,
Maman had written. How sad, I thought, to be so far away when a loved one dies.
    Before I returned to Fontainebleau, I had a few moments alone with my brother. “Have you heard that Grand-Père was poisoned?” I asked quietly. “It is a rumor at court, but nobody tells me anything.”
    He frowned. “I have heard that too, but I don’t know the truth of it. Grand-Mère doesn’t speak of it.”
    â€œWe could ask our uncles,” I suggested, and my brother agreed that we might.
    But then I had an even better idea. When Anne d’Este arrived with our uncle François, duke of Aumale, and greeted me with a warm embrace, I whispered, “Madame, may I speak with you in private?”
    â€œOui,
Madame Marie,” she said, following me into a curtained alcove. “How can I help you?”
    â€œJust answer a question,
s’il vous plaît,”
I said. “Is it true that my grandfather was poisoned? And if so, by whom?” Anne d’Este shook her head. “Often when a man in a powerful position dies unexpectedly, rumors spread that he was poisoned. Sometimes the rumors turn out to be true. But my husband does not believe this to be the case, and your grandfather’s physician has confirmed it. The duke died a peaceful death, and for that we can be grateful.”
    I was relieved, but I felt my lip begin to tremble, and I knew that tears would shortly follow. “I miss him,” I murmured.
    Anne d’Este knelt down and put her arms around me. “I am sure you do. We all do. But be assured that your grandmother and your uncles are here to care for you and to look out for your best interests.”
    I leaned against the lady’s shoulder and wept until she produced a handkerchief and wiped away my tears so they would not stain her gown. My uncle her husband, the new duke of Guise, peered behind the velvet curtain and came to lay his hand on my arm. For the moment, at least, I felt comforted.

Chapter 9
Scandal

    T HE COURT CONTINUED in its usual routine, moving from one château to another. Each was my favorite for as long as we stayed there—the beautiful gardens at Fontainebleau, the elegant staircase at Blois, the four hundred ornate rooms at Chambord. Queen Catherine loved bright colors and had had the rooms of each château decorated in vibrant reds and blues and greens with lavish gold trim on the ceilings. The furniture, which always moved with us, was richly carved and painted and gilded, and the carpets had been woven in Venice. Everyone, from the highest noble to the lowliest page, dressed in vivid colors—everyone except Madame de Poitiers.
    Our animals traveled with us too. Two horses were my favorites: a pretty little black pony named Bravane and a frisky sorrel, Madame la Réale, that occasionally tossed me into the mud. I had become a fearless rider, thanks to my friend Marie Livingston. The other Maries called her Lusty, because of her outspoken opinions. She