Chapter 35

Catherine instantly tried to put some distance between herself and Bertrand. But Esteban's hand, that had tightening vise-like around her upper arm, prevented her from moving.

"Why the hurry?" he asked, eyeing her again with suspicion in his steel-gray, cold eyes. "I can't help but feel like I've met you before." All of a sudden he jerked her right arm up to examine her fingernails and tender skin more closely.
"You are not a servant."'

Esteban dropped her hand and stepped back determinedly. His gaze wandered over her form once again. Catherine remained silent and stared at him with her chin raised defiantly.

"If I did not know it any better... but Catherine de Medici is sitting in that coach we saw leaving today." His words sounded doubtful and absent-minded.
Catherine swallowed hard while her brain ran at full speed. Had she met this Esteban person before? And if so, when and where?
"Maybe not. Please correct me if I'm wrong." His cold eyes assessed her.

"I saw her leaving with my very own eyes," she replied, putting all her power of persuasion into her voice.
The dark-haired man, who was dangerously towering over her, tilted his head slightly to one side and slowly started circling her with a calmness that caused her nerves to flutter.
Catherine buried her sweaty and blood-soaked hands into her skirts. For though she did not know his true intentions, nonetheless she felt that she shouldn't reveal her true identity under any circumstances.

"I actually met her a few years ago, did you know that? At French court, shortly before King Henry passed away. A bloody spectacle, I have been told. Oh, what I wouldn't give to have witnessed such a marvellous tournament." He paused, as if taking a stroll down memonry lane. He was probably imagining Henry's painful end in all its gruesome details.

"I still remember being astonished at how tiny his Italian whore of a wife was. Not much bigger than you. I would even go so far as to say that the two of you measure exactly the same height." Esteban had now completely rounded her and stopped in front of her, lurking.
And although his provocative words stirred her blood, a reaction he was obviously aiming for, Catherine mentally called herself to stay calm.

"How very observant you are. And obviously you are no friend of the house Valois. By your name I would say you're not even French." Catherine ignored the danger she was heading for with her eyes wide open and raised her right eyebrow in order to provoke him in return.

"Just because my mother was a whore and had a fable for exotic names does not mean that I'm not 100 percent French. I probably love my country more than any Valois brat ever will."
"So you're nothing but a traitor of the Crown, Esteban?"
The dark-haired man reduced the distance between them and glared down at her.
"I am loyal to my king, woman. Or should I rather call you Your Majesty?" The stranger grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. She defiantly returned his gaze and wondered which king he was talking about. Antoine de Bourbon? Certainly not about Charles.

"Do you honestly think Catherine de Medici would venture out to the stables, right in the middle of a thunderstorm, wearing a dress like this?" Catherine laughed out load and could actually find a spark of humor in her abstruse situation.

"What's there to laugh at?" Esteban prompted.
"This surreal situation! Since it's normally my duty to double the Queen Mother. I'm her look-alike on various occasions and now I'm in the middle of a hostile siege where I'm de facto being mistaken for that Medici woman."
She could only hope that the man bought her farce. It actually sounded so abstruse that even she would take that scenario into consideration.

To her surprise the ruffian joined in her laughter and Esteban gave him a warning, almost annihilating glare.
Bertrand instantly fell silent, looking at his boots in embarrassment.

Catherine called herself to order. She couldn't afford exaggeration, as this would certainly make this Esteban even more suspicious.
For - unlike the lustful ruffian - the dark-haired man was neither simple minded nor easy to distract from his ultimate goal.

A goal she could only speculate about. And though she still didn't know what purpose her enemies were pursuing, she knew that she should never underestimate their dangerousness nor Esteban's cold-bloodedness.

Stephane, who had laid aside the book of France's state revenue because of a growing headach half an hour ago, was now restlessly pacing up and down the window front of their drawing room.
His eyes kept wandering out into the dark, stormy night. The uneasy feeling that had started after the departure of the coach this afternoon was slowly spreading in the pit of his stormach and had meanwhile grown into a foreboding of approaching disaster.

The Lord Chancellor would have liked to dismiss his apprehension as mere nervousness but his intuition and life experience had taught him that he could rely on his gut feeling.

To stem his worries, Stephane poured himself a goblet of wine and emptied half of it in one gulp. The heavy note of cedar wood immediately spread in his mouth and he closed his eyes for a few seconds to blisfully enjoy this exquisite wine.
After another sip he opened his eyes, refilled the cup and filled another goblet for his wife. Then he left the salon and went in search of Catherine.

Contrary to his expectations, he did not find her in little John's room. So he went to her bed chamber. But to his surprise the room was deserted. Except for the pompous robe she had previously worn, crumpled and carelessly left on the floor. So Catherine must have been here. Sighing, Stephane set the goblets down and picked up her robe instead.

Then he peered into the adjoining bath-room, whose door was ajar, but she wasn't there either.
"Catherine?" He shouted but didn't received an answer.

Feeling more and more worried, he called for the two servant girls, but none of them had seen his wife for some time.
"One of her riding dresses is missing, Lord Narcisse," one girl reported and Stephane shook his head blankly.

Why the hell had Catherine replaced her robe with her riding dress? It was already late and a thunderstorm was raging right outside the window. Just then a flash of lightning lit up the room and all of a sudden Stephane knew what had driven his wife out into the storm.
"Liberté," he murmured. Beeing solicitous about her favorite mare, she was probably visiting the stables. But considering their current situation this was anything but a good idea.

He tore his heavy coat from the wardrobe and hastily replaced his elaborately embroidered jacket with it. Then he stormed down the steps to the great hall.
Through the windows in the stairwell he could actually see some light in the stables.

Suddenly an uncomfortable feeling made itself known in the pit of his stomach.
"Come on!" He snapped at two of his guards. "We'll take a look around outside."

Many thanks for your Feedback, EstefanyAlvarez and CallmeCordelia1. It means a great deal to me that your're still interested in this fanfic. It's actually nearly finished but I still have some chapters to translate. So hang on please.

at CallmeCordelia1: I used the name Esteban because as a teen I've had a video game "Adventures at the equestrian farm" where the bad guy was named Esteban and I always wanted to use that name for my very own villain.