Runaway Royals - Part Seventeen.

Henry sighed as he led the troop of guards into the grounds of the Chateau de Bordeaux. This was a scene so well known to him, but it was no less demoralising each time it happened. But this time he recognised that he truly deserved to be defeated. This misguided scheme had been the worst kind of folly. It had not only been reckless, it had cost France the jewel in its crown. Those who will be Henry's subjects will now have to suffer the iron fist of a tyrant rather than glory in the generous shadow of a much loved queen, for his heart would surely die with her, there can be no love for anything if she is not there with him.

Steven was still feeling angry as they neared their destination. This man had displayed the worst sort of self pity and he was not the one harmed. Steven had hoped that by accompanying the Prince he would be giving him a chance to redeem himself in his eyes. He hated thinking ill of people, but he could not help it in Henry's case. The list of his crimes was too damning for him to ignore. But what most played on his mind was his treatment of Hélène. Hélène had never said that he treat her ill, but Steven could tell that he had. And even now when he was supposed to be such a good man, he still showed no remorse for his treatment of her. To have no shame when one's crimes were so great was something that Steven could not abide. The respect he had always felt for the Valois would surely disappear when King Henry II came to the throne.

Henry's thoughts were similarly engaged against himself. ëI am undeserving of her, I am the worst sort of trash.' He had been chanting this inside his head for hours. He still could not believe what he had done. Not only had he attempted to take the cowards way out, he had gotten other people hurt in the process. He looked over at Steven. His tan jacket was stained deep red because of the sword wound in his arm. One of the guards had bound it, but not until a lot of blood had been lost. Henry was amazed he had lasted out the ride back to the chateau. He truly was one of the strongest, and bravest men in France. If anybody was capable of guarding the princess it was him. If only he could have been with them yesterday.

As Henry surveyed the grounds of the chateau he noticed that there was nobody around. Usually a grand house such as this would have gardeners and grooms doing their duties and guards drilling in the courtyard at this time of day. Henry had not known such silence for a long time. The last time that Hautefort had been so peaceful was during the mourning period for Francis. The servants only left their quarters when it was absolutely necessary, the guard did not drill in the courtyards, and court was suspended for many weeks. It was a time of eerie recollection for the fifteen year old Henry. At that time he had prayed to God and begged that he should never have to go through that with somebody he loved again. To lose a brother was one thing but to lose his wife, the one person who filled his heart with joy, would be something different altogether.

"It looks so peaceful," Henry said quietly, aiming the comment at Steven. "So quiet." Steven did not answer, for he knew what the Prince was thinking.

Henry looked up at the flag pole. The Duke's standard still flew at full mast. This should have been a positive thing, but it did not dispel a doubt in Henry's mind. How often before had protocol been forgotten in the midst of grief. A churning began in the pit of his stomach. What if she he died while he was out being foolish? She did not deserve to be alone. He should be there with her when her time comes. He began to ride a little quicker. He had a sudden urge to be by her side. Whether dead or alive, he wanted to see he again. Her beautiful face was the only thought that could keep him going.

When they reached the courtyard a band of grooms descended on them, to lead away the horses. They quickly took away the beasts but none spoke a word and none, more importantly, seemed to be able to look Henry in the eye. Did they know something that he did not? Something that undoubtedly would be revealed to him in a moment.

They were led into the Chateau by the snivelling Pascal. Both Henry and Steven gave him venomous looks, but he did not look at them. He kept his eyes down to the ground rather than looking at them in his very superior fashion. Now Henry was not nervous, he was plain scared. Pascal was clearly not the sort of man to show any man respect, not even royalty, something must have happened.

In the grand entryway Hélène was sitting with the doctor, there were tears in her eyes. She looked up at Henry and just gave him a pitying look before returning her gaze to the floor. Henry dashed up the stairs, leaving Steven to receive the news from Hélène. He nearly fainted when he saw, emerging from his beloved's chambers a priest. He was followed by two nuns, both wearing white habits, the traditional colour of mourning in France. All carried the sombre expressions of a party who had just been called on to perform the last rites.

Henry leaned against the wall for support. If he were to try and stand he would surely fall, he had not he strength to keep himself upright. The holy trio passed him and bowed respectfully, without saying a word. He gathered his strength and slowly made his way to the door of her chamber. He stood there for a minute, trying to persuade himself that this was all a dream and he would soon wake up in is bed at Hautefort, or in Monsieur Dupont's barn, with Danielle by his side. But he knew that it was not a dream. Everything that was happening, all of his emotions were painfully real.

He pushed open the door and instinctively looked to the bed. It was empty. Henry was a little confused. Surely they could not have been so disrespectful as to move her already, before her family had been able to say their goodbyes to her. Then he heard a thud coming from an adjoining room, followed by a voice.

"Father, you left your rosary on the table." Henry would recognise that voice anywhere and as these words were spoken, she rushed through the door. Henry gasped. His dearest Danielle was standing before him, healthy and alive. He could not speak. The joy of this unexpected revelation was too much for him.

But for her, the joy of seeing him would always bring forth the tide of elated speech. "HENRY!" She cried, running over to where he stood. As she quickly advanced towards him he realised what was happening and held out his arms to receive her. He pulled her tight to him, worried that this might only be and illusion. If he held on tight he would never have to let go of it. He could happily live in a vision if she would live in it too.

"Danielle," he quietly murmured to himself. The sound of himself saying her name while she was in his arms was intoxicating. He buried his face in her hair so he could whisper to her. "Are you real?" He asked, still not convinced that he wasn't seeing things. "Or am I dreaming? Please tell me that you are real."

Danielle moved herself away from him and took his hand, placing it on her face. "Do I feel real?" She asked, looking into his tear rimmed eyes.

"No," Henry replied, shaking his head. "You feel like you belong in Heaven." Danielle blushed. She still felt embarrassed whenever Henry talked of her great beauty, she still was unconvinced that she was really that attractive, but she did understand that when you love somebody so completely, they are the most beautiful thing in the world to you.

Then without warning, Henry swept Danielle off her feet and began to spin around with her. Danielle let out a giggle like a thousand tinkling silver bells, that made Henry go weak at the knees. He stumbled on the edge of a rug and they both collapsed onto the bed in a heap. They laughed heartily as they untangled themselves from each other, but the laughter faded away when they were sitting opposite each other just gazing at each other's faces. Henry leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Danielle's willing lips. The sensation was breathtaking. He still could not believe that she was here. He planned to spend as much time as possible making himself believe that this was real, starting with another kiss.

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Steven looked over at Hélène, who was quite clearly in distress. when he saw the priest descending the stairs with two nuns in mourning habits he knew why. Poor Danielle. She was such a good person. She did not deserve to die like this. She was barely past being a girl and her life had been cut short in the most abominable way. If anything could cut through his stony exterior it was this. A tear sprang to his eye. He looked away from Hélène. His training at the English court had taught him to never show his emotion, ever. How could he vanquish his enemy while showing his fear?

He quickly composed himself and turned back to Hélène. She was now finished with the doctor and moving over to him, amazingly with a smile on her face. "What is it?" He asked, puzzled.

"She is awake. Danielle is going to be all right." Her excitement overcame her reserve and she threw her arms around Steven. He was caught off guard a little but he welcomed to opportunity to share in her joy. A smile spread across his face. The sorrow he felt just moments ago were replaced with happiness. He had not been a failure in his duties and his mistress was well. He was confused though.

"But you were crying?" He said, wondering what was going on.

"And so would you be if a doctor had been twisting your broken bones into unrecognisable contortions."

"But the priest."

"The Princess wanted to see a priest to thank God for her deliverance. The priest was so delighted at having an audience with her highness he couldn't come alone, so he brought two of the nuns from the convent which is in mourning for their abbess."

Now everything was beginning to fall into place for Steven. His stern countenance could not be maintained at such good tidings and he lifted Hélène and swung her around. She laughed. He had become such a close friend she could not be angry with him for this impropriety, she quite enjoyed it.

He gently set her down on the ground. She placed her hand on his arm to steady herself. He winced and sharply sucked in his breath. Hélène looked at her hand and saw that it had turned a mottled red colour.

"My God, what happened Steven?"

"A slight mishap with a sword. I'll be all right in a few hours. I just need to clean it up."

"You will see the doctor right now," she commanded. "I am surprised that Henry would even consider letting you ride back like that. He should have sent for a carriage immediately."

"I was fine. I have had worse." He did not want her to resent the Prince any more. Any sort of bitterness against him was bad for her and Steven could not bare to see her hurt.

"I don't care how much worse you have had it, we have all seen what losing blood can do to a person." She grabbed him by his good arm and proceeded to drag him over to the study which the doctor had set up as a temporary surgery. He let out a small laugh and followed her. He was touched by her obvious worry for him. Maybe she could help him leave his solitude behind after all.