Gerard yawned. He was bone-tired. He could figure that out tomorrow. “Is Madame Petit home?”
Laurent nodded. “Aye, she is. And so would anyone be at this time of night. You’d best run along if you want to catch her before she goes to bed.”
He held out his hand for Laurent to shake. “Thank you, sir.”
Gerard walked up from the dock, through the familiar narrow streets that led to the Petit home. It was on the top of a hill and overlooked the rock of Feillon. From the second-floor balcony, one could see hundreds of miles in every direction. Three sides of open sea. Madame Petit had it built there so that she could always see her husband’s ship arrive home to her. He’d once thought that Alexandre cared for him and would mourn him if he died at sea. But he’d been wrong. His half brother had used him and then tried to poison and discard him like Queen Elea.
The road winded up the hill in a curve. The sky was nearly black when he arrived at the end of the road, the last house on the street. In the daylight, it was a bright blue, but it was too dark to see it now. There were no lights in the windows. He hesitated before lifting his fist and knocking on the door.
He waited a few minutes before he heard Madame Petit. “Who’s there, and what do you want? I’ll have you know I’m armed and accounted as a very fine shot.”
This was true.
“Madame Petit, it is I, Gerard Batard. I’ve come to—”
He was unable to finish the sentence because the door swung open and Madame Petit threw her arms around him. “My poor boy, come inside.”
With one arm still around his shoulders, she led him inside the house. There was only one candle lit, but everything in the dimly lit room looked exactly how he remembered it. The enormous fireplace, with white stones imported from Breton. The wingback chairs that were the same style as the ones in Haute-Rhône Palace. The large dining room table that they had brought back from Sania, with matching chairs and woven backs. Pieces of Petit’s sails were everywhere.
Madame Petit led him to the closest wingback chair. “Have you had your supper yet?”
She looked older. Wearier. Her thick brown hair was now liberally streaked with gray. The laugh lines around her brown eyes and mouth were more pronounced.
“I haven’t, but I don’t wish to put you out.”
She pinched his cheek like she’d done when he was a little boy. “You couldn’t, lad. Now hold tight and I’ll get you a plate.”
He took off his bicorn hat and held it in his hands, feeling awkward and useless. So he set down his hat and put logs into the fireplace. Striking the flint against Petit’s prized stone, he started an ember into the kindling. He blew on it until the flames reached the bigger logs. He was still on his knees when Madame Petit returned with a tray of food. She set it on the table near his vacant chair.
“How thoughtful of you to build a fire,” she said with a smile. “Of course, you were always a thoughtful one.”
Gerard sat down on the edge of the chair. “I’m a foolish one. Deceived by a beautiful face even after Petit warned me.”
She held up a hand. “Not until you’ve eaten, lad. You look like you’re going to fall asleep on your feet.”
Reluctantly he picked up the fork and took a bite of ham. It tasted like ash in his mouth. He washed it down with a dram of ale. He’d forgotten how dry his throat was. How thirsty he felt. The more bites he took, the better they tasted and the better he began to feel. Before he knew it, he’d finished off his plate.
“Shall I get you some more?”
“Oh no,” he said. “That was perfect. I feel terrible for already putting you to the trouble of making my supper.”
She smiled at him. “Nothing I do for you could ever be trouble.”
He covered his face with his hands. “Did Petit tell you what happened?”
The older woman gently pulled his wrists from his face. “I want you to tell me.”
His breath caught several times, but he managed to tell her about capturing the two princesses. His brush with death at the hands of one. He even told her about his obsession with the other one. She patted his hand. Then he told her about the dinner and the wine. The bottle of chardonnay that had been a gift to him from his half brother. He told her how Elea had knocked his glass out of his hand.
Madam Petit shook her head. “Why would your brother try to poison you?”
“Because I am unwanted. An illegitimate son. An embarrassment to the royal family,” Gerard said, lowering his head in shame.
“Then good riddance to the lot of them!”
A chuckle escaped his lips.
“I am serious, Gerard,” she said, placing a hand on her hip. “If they are too blind to see what a wonderful young man you are, then you are better without them.”