Introduction

Madeleine's faith puts her at odds with an intimidating rival: King Louis XIV.

Having fled their homeland of France because of the persecution by Louis XIV, the Clavell family seeks refuge in Switzerland. However, the king is not about to let the recently widowed Madeleine, his childhood sweetheart, escape that easily. He sends musketeers to kidnap her and her oldest son, Philippe, holding them captive in his opulent palace. King Louis is suspicious that Philippe could be his son, and he's enraged by the growing affection of one of his courtiers for Madeleine.

Will Madeleine escape the king with her life or lose everything that she's fought so hard to keep?

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

“Go after her. Spare no expense. Go where you must, but bring Madeleine Clavell back to Versailles.”

Captain Nicolas Maisson bowed to King Louis XIV. The musketeer's blue tunic brushed the floor as he swept his hat around in a flourish. “Oui, Your Majesty.”

“I want her oldest son as well.” The king rested against the front edge of his desk, his head lowered. The voluminous wig hid his eyes. He raised his head and stared past the soldier. He began to pace, and stopped to peer out of a window. “Is Versailles not the most beautiful palace in the world, not to mention the gardens?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. None more enchanting in all the world.”

“Why would one not yearn to be here?”

The soldier did not answer. The king turned and with a wave of his hand dismissed the musketeer. “Be on your way. Take whomever you choose, and whatever forces you need. I would begin in Geneva, John Calvin's bastion of Protestanism. That's where most of the Huguenots flee.” The Catholic king's lips tightened, and he clipped his words. “If she is not there, find someone who knows where she is.”

Captain Maisson bowed and prepared to take leave of the king. “One more thing, Captain.”

“Your Majesty?”

“Unnecessary force is not to be employed. Not one hair of Madame Clavell's head, nor of her son's, is to be harmed. Do I make myself clear?”

Jacob Veron tied his horse to the hitching rail in front of the pub on the outskirts of Geneva and looked around to see who might be observing his arrival. The assistant to the pastor at the Cathedrale de St. Pierre preferred not to be seen here. He pulled the brim of his soft hat down around his face and entered the noisy scene. A few men looked in his direction, but didn't appear to pay him any special attention. The air was thick with smoke and the odor of unwashed men, sweaty from travel. He found a secluded table in the back of the room and sat down.

A young barmaid approached. “What'll ya have?”

“Just some ale.”

“That's all?”

“That's all.”

“Don't believe I've seen you here before. New in town?”

“No … uh … well, actually yes. That is, I haven't been here long.”

The barmaid chatted as she wiped down the table. He wished she would take her leave. She went to the bar and returned with a stein of ale. The bodice of her dress was cut wide and low to reveal her ample bosom. She paused, bending over in front of him as she placed the goblet on the table. She was young enough that her teeth were still good, revealing a rather pleasant smile. “You wouldn't be in the market for some company tonight, now would ya'?”

Jacob stammered. “Oh … uh, no. I mean you're very attractive, but I, uh, I'm here on business, or, uh, rather to meet a friend about a business, I mean … ” He hit the goblet and drops of the glistening liquor splattered on the table, before he caught it.

The barmaid swept it away with her towel, and laughed. “Didn't mean to fluster ya. Well, if you change your mind, I'll be around, chéri.” She smiled at him again and left.

He mopped his brow with his handkerchief and gulped down the ale. You'd think I was a teen-ager. I must compose myself, or I'll be discovered for certain.

Presently Jacob watched two musketeers come into the room. He recognized them from when they sought him out at the Cathedrale. He stood so they could see him amidst the crowd.

“Greetings, Monsieur Veron.” The taller man with a bulbous nose and squinty eyes spoke first and sat on the opposite side of the table. Jacob remembered his name to be Nicolas. The shorter man with the pock-marked face seemed to be on edge and did not sit down immediately. Jacob did not recall his name.

“Did you bring the money?”

“No offer of drinks for your new … 'colleagues?'”

Jacob stared at the two men. “Of course. How rude of me.” He motioned to the barmaid as the shorter man pulled up a chair.

“Not nervous, are you, my friend?” Nicolas leaned across the table. “You are providing information valuable to the king of France. We're not having second thoughts now, are we?”

Nicolas' penchant for asking rhetorical questions irritated Jacob. “Not at all. I just need to get back to the Cathedrale.”

“Back to your pastoral duties?” The tense atmosphere at the table exploded in coarse laughter. “Tell me, Monsieur. Do all Huguenots exhibit such great loyalty as you?”

Jacob shifted in his chair. “My loyalty to King Louis surpasses my loyalty to any other.”

“That's what we like to hear. Give us the information we need and then you get the money.” He pulled a leather pouch from his tunic and threw it on the table.

Jacob reached for the bag, and Nicolas' huge paw of a hand clenched around his skinny arm. “Not until you give us the information.”

“How do I know the full amount is in the purse?”

“How do we know the information you are going to give us is accurate?”

“It is. I guarantee it is.”

“Bon! I guarantee the money is all there. I guess we are simply going to have to trust each other, non?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Jacob kept his eye on the money bag as he talked. “The king's hunch is correct. Madame Clavell and her family did come to Geneva from their estate in Grenoble. They have found refuge in a small village about an hour north of here with a Pastor Gerard Du Puy and his family.”

“What about her husband?”

“You are in luck. He is ill, and from what I hear, close to death.”

“Ah-h-h-h.” Nicolas voiced a sing-song response. “This is going to be easier than we thought.”

“And her son?”

“Which one? She has two.”

“The older one.”

“Yes, he is with her. Appears to be around fifteen years old.”

“Hmmm. That would be about right.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Nicolas shoved the money bag toward Jacob. “I remember Madame Clavell from the early days at Versailles, when she and King Louis were inseparable. It's no surprise he can't get her out of his head.” He paused “Well, 'pastor.' Enjoy your 'thirty pieces of silver.'” The two Frenchmen scoffed and stood, as did Jacob.

Jacob stuck the bag of coins in his belt. “Oh, one more thing that may be of interest to the king.”

“What might that be?”

“One of King Louis' most trusted courtiers has been an accomplice in this whole matter.”

Nicholas pulled his gloves from his belt. “That would certainly be of interest to the king. Who is it?”

Jacob Veron looked behind him, his eyes scanning the noisy barroom scene. “It would be Pierre Boveé.”

The larger man's eyebrows arched in surprise. The smaller man spoke. “Let's get out of here. I don't like drinking with weasels.”

Once Jacob started regurgitating information, like a gossipy old woman, he didn't seem able to stop his prideful revelations. “I have information from reliable sources that the Clavell family is planning to leave Switzerland in a few days and make their way to Amsterdam to book passage for the New World. If you plan to, uh, 'rescue' her, that would be the time.”

“Who will be with her? How many?”

“Well, her husband, her three children. Her brother-in-law. A couple of servants, probably.”

“What about Boveé?”

“Maybe.” Jacob jabbed the air with his bony finger. “But, they won't be able to withstand your attack. They're not expecting trouble. I would stage it as a robbery. How many men do you have?”

The musketeer captain narrowed his already squinty eyes. “We don't need your advice on how to complete our mission. We will pick a time and place and use as little force as possible. The king does not want them harmed. He simply wants them back.” The two men pulled on their gloves. “And he will get them back. King Louis always gets whatever he desires, and he desires Madeleine Clavell. As for Monsieur Boveé, I predict his days are numbered.” view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. It is a matter of history that King Louis the XIV literally sent spies into Switzerland to ferret out the Huguenots who had fled there to escape religious persecution. What would you have done if you had sought refuge from the tyranny of religious persecution and you knew that the soldiers could arrest you at any moment and take you back? Would you give up, hide, flee to another country?

2. Madeleine and her family had financial reserves. But what if you had no means to flee any further? What would you do? Where would you turn?

3. What were your thoughts concerning Francois' death? Would you have given him the laudanum? Did that offend you?

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