The Gypsy Witch Read online

  The Gypsy Witch

  Danielle thought she was going to faint. It was suddenly too hot in the room and she could hardly breathe. Her struggles ceased as her own desires came from deep within her very being to explode to the surface. Her hands stopped pushing at his bare chest and slid up to clasp his head closer to hers. Her fingers threaded in the waves of his hair, still damp from his bath. She stood on tiptoe to reach his neck and strained against his mouth in complete surrender. She had no control of her body’s reaction and melted herself as close to him as she could. He was so gentle and his magic hands moved over her body at will.

  Wings

  The Gypsy Witch

  by

  Mariah Legrand

  A Wings ePress, Inc.

  Historical Romance Novel

  Wings ePress, Inc.

  Edited by: Leslie Hodges

  Copy Edited by: Sara V. Olds

  Senior Editor: Sara V. Olds

  Managing Editor: Leslie Hodges

  Executive Editor: Lorraine Stephens

  Cover Artist: Christine Poe

  All rights reserved

  Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Wings ePress Books

  http://www.wings-press.com

  Copyright © 2004 by Linda Duarte

  ISBN 1-59088-429-9

  Published In the United States Of America

  July 2004

  Wings ePress Inc.

  403 Wallace Court

  Richmond, KY 40475

  Dedication

  To my mother who taught me the love of the written word. To the love of my life; my own private dragon slayer, Ed. To David, Dennis and Debbie for being the best part of me. To Cheryl Brunson for the many late nights she spent with me at the beginning of this book. To my wonderful group of friends. A gold mine indeed for cheering me on along the way. And my wonderful sisters for going through this story so many times. To Emmo, for being such a wonderful daughter-in-law and always being there to help me. To Sweet Stacy for doing so much I could never thank her enough. To Merrylynn, Katheryn and Lisiana who will some day get a kick out of the whole thing.

  Preface

  During the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries, the followers of the Protestant faith in France were called Huguenots. The origin of the term Huguenot is buried in obscurity. Some suppose the term derived from Huguon, a word used in Touraine, France, to signify persons who walk the streets at night. The early Protestants chose that time for their religious assemblies. First applied to them as a nickname, they assumed and bore it with pride.

  The work of John Calvin (1509-1564) greatly furthered and influenced the cause of French Protestantism, which secured its members chiefly from the middle classes and nobility. As the Protestant movement gained in strength so did the opposition.

  Friction increased until the first civil war broke out in 1562, when the Huguenots took arms against the Catholics. A series of eight civil wars followed, with intervals of peace, until Henry IV (1553-1610), whom the Protestants had supported for the throne, signed the Edict of Nantes (1598) which guaranteed the Protestants religious and civil liberty.

  At first the Huguenots in France enjoyed considerable freedom. Later rulers of France, not sympathetic to the Protestant religion, realized that the Huguenots stood in the way of their absolute power and control. The Protestants were forced to fight for the rights the Edict of Nantes supposedly granted them.

  Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685 by King Louis XIV removed from the Protestants all legal rights to defense. Persecution and massacre started at once.

  The law against the Huguenots was very rigid. Anyone known or even suspected of having Protestant beliefs was taken before the Catholic priest. If he refused to swear by the cross, his life and estate were forfeited. Cruel forms of torture and death were instituted without hesitation. Guards and troops were stationed all over the kingdom to stop and apprehend anyone trying to leave the country; where one made his escape, hundreds failed and were put to a most brutal death.

  Even though the French government took precautions, enforcing freely the penalty of death, or sentencing the more unfortunate to prison for life, the emigration could not be stopped. The fugitives were helped on their way by their fellow Protestants, and often by Roman Catholics who pitied their fate.

  It is believed that 100,000 French manufacturers and workmen fled into England. Thousands more took refuge in Switzerland, Germany, Holland and the New World. Converting what they could into money, they abandoned all else in their rush for safety.

  They came to the coastlands of France and sailed out into the wide world, searching for a new home and a refuge where they might work and worship in peace. The lucky ones found their refuge nearby and had soon settled into their new lives.

  One

  France, 1685

  "Nooo! Please No!" The scream shattered the peaceful quietude.

  Danielle Rochette stiffened. It was Susanna, her dearest friend, and her terror-filled voice sent chills of fear down Danielle’s spine. She hurried in the direction of the scream, noticing near the front entrance French soldiers of the King’s army. Before they spotted her, she slipped behind a tall hedge that moved parallel to the house. The sudden blast of two musket shots boomed across the grounds frightening Danielle all the more. She recoiled from the sound reverberating in her ears. Sweat dampened her brow as she continued stealthily behind the foliage until she was at the front of the house, where she had heard Susanna scream. What met her eyes made shivers, like a glacial blast, sweep across her skin.

  A French soldier held Susanna by the waist, preventing her from going to her parents whose bodies lay lifeless upon the ground. The blood from their wounds ran freely upon the earth, staining it a dark brown. Another soldier hammered a notice on the front door of the Micheau’s chateau. Once this was done, he turned and motioned for the rest of the men to follow him before he sprang to his horse.

  Everything moved rapidly across Danielle’s vision. She stood frozen in horror at the scene before her, wanting to run to her friend but found her legs refusing to move. She watched, petrified, as one of the men picked up Susanna and threw her on a horse, climbing quickly behind her. His arm held her struggling figure against his chest as he reined his mount to follow the rest of the soldiers riding swiftly away.

  Danielle covered her ears, trying to shut out Susanna’s anguished screams receding in the distance. After a time she realized silence reigned and dropped her hands, focusing on the scene before her.

  She moved swiftly to the sides of Susanna’s parents. There was nothing she or anyone else could do for this kind, loving couple who had always treated her as one of their family. Danielle felt the gall bubble up in her throat until she turned and vomited on the grass. She wiped her mouth with the hem of her riding habit. Her legs trembling, she moved slowly to the front door to read the King’s decree hanging for all to view.

  The Edict of Nantes has been repealed. Beware all Huguenots! The King will no longer allow non-Catholics freedom of choice. You must revert to Catholicism immediately!

  She looked at the servants now drawing near and motioned to one. "See they have a proper burial. Spread word of this atrocity to your friends and families. I must leave to go warn my parents." Th
ere was nothing left for her to do here, so she forced her body into immediate action. She ran back to the stable where her horse remained where she had left it just moments earlier. Without looking back, she mounted and prompted him into motion, heading in the opposite direction from where the soldiers had gone.

  Stillness once more cloaked the Micheaux lands. The sun rising over the hills withheld its heat from the hearts of those below it. The silence was broken only by the sound of a lone horse, a large white stallion, galloping across an open field. Its pounding hooves sent clouds of dust into the air.

  The rider, a young woman with a waist length mane, the color and sheen of a raven’s wing, rode with a grace born of natural ability. She rode urgently, her cheek pressed against the stallion’s neck, her dark eyes glazed with horror. Continually glancing over her shoulder, she searched the landscape for any sign of the familiar uniform of the King’s dragoons. But the way was empty. To her relief no one had followed her.

  She mentally plotted her course homeward, knowing her arrival would not take long because she lived within miles of Susanna’s chateau. But it felt as if it were taking her ages to reach her destination. The cruelty of fate was foremost in her thoughts. She and Susanna had often met to go riding together. She had gone to the Micheaux’s to get her best friend for their usual ride, never imagining what was in store. If Susanna had not gone back to the house for her riding crop, she would also be safe and they would be together making this flight.

  Horse and rider sprinted across any open stretch of land, trying not to be seen, as if the devil himself were in pursuit. But Danielle encountered nothing except the wild deer and forest creatures that fled from the pathway of the onrushing horse.

  "Susanna… Oh my God, Susanna…" Her tear filled voice trailed away with the wind whipping against her face.

  As soon as she was on familiar ground the horse could sense the nearness of home and responded with a fresh burst of energy. Suddenly Chateau le Pont loomed up ahead, its majestic presence a welcoming sight. Danielle kept the white stallion at a canter, cutting blindly around the vineyard. The distance closed between horse and rider and the chateau.

  Without breaking stride, Danielle scarcely saw the low-hedged gardens of sculptured boxwood bordering the manicured lawns, until a hedge stood in their path. With the strength of will to which the stallion was born, he gathered his powerful body and leaped. He surged over the emerald green leaves, landing on the cushioned surface of the lush grass. The force of his jump carried him across the open yard before Danielle managed to pull him to a stop at the back entrance to her home.

  When Danielle slid from her mount, the large steed stood snorting for air, his lathered body trembling with the exertion of the ride.

  The groom, hearing the pounding of hooves, came out from the stable. He was more than surprised to see his mistress just drop the reins to the horse that had been ridden hard and rush toward the back entrance of the chateau. She was always so particular with the care of her mount.

  When Danielle burst through the door her parents both stood up from their seats at the dining room table where they had been eating their midday meal. Her father was shocked as his daughter threw herself into his arms. In the comfort of his embrace all courage failed. Between sobs she told her mother and father of the tragedy to Susanna and her parents.

  Monique Rochette gasped and sat back down covering her mouth with her hands. Her eyes, in anguish, filled with tears that started running unbidden down her cheeks. She sat frozen in shock, not moving from the dining room chair.

  "Mon Dieu! The King must be mad!" Danielle heard her father say as he held her close. "But the Edict of Nantes forbids such action!"

  "It is no more, Papa." Danielle explained the notice on the front door of the Micheaux’s Chateau. The terms of the Edict of Nantes allowed the Protestants to build churches and hold religious services in specified villages. But since King Louis XIV had come into reign, matters had become worse for them. Staring over his daughter’s head at the low burning fire he became absorbed in thought, not feeling the dampness of her tears slowly soaking the front of his jabot and dinner jacket.

  This was the final degradation! The Huguenots made up the majority of the upper-middle class citizens of France and most of them would revolt against any more suppression of their religion from this demonic king.

  He motioned for his wife to come to the aid of their daughter.

  She rose and moved on leaden feet to put her arms around Danielle and held her close.

  When Pierre relinquished his hold, he spoke to his wife, his voice giving evidence of what he was feeling at that moment. "Give her something to drink to calm her. I must impart this latest disaster to the men of St. Florent. I am sure when they hear of this atrocity against the Micheaux’s, they will act instantly. I will return as soon as I can."

  In fear of her father’s safety, Danielle raised a hand. "Papa, be careful," she said.

  "Don’t worry. I’ll be cautious."

  Danielle allowed herself to be led to a chair as her mother poured her a liberal drought of wine.

  Pierre Rochette went immediately to a cabinet and grabbed a wheel-lock musket and powder horn and pouch from within it. Without a backward glance he strode purposefully out the door.

  Danielle drank the wine, feeling her nerves gradually relax. Her thoughts kept returning to Susanna and the scene she had witnessed that morning. She knew Susanna’s screams would be remembered for the rest of her life.

  Monique Rochette bent over her daughter and kissed her cheek. "I just thank God you were returned safely to us."

  The tears streaming from her mother’s eyes made Danielle forget about her own distress.

  "Mama, don’t cry. I was not harmed," she assured her.

  "I know, Danielle. But I keep thinking about what would have happened if the soldiers had seen you!"

  "But they didn’t find me and I am safe here with you. Soon Papa will be back and tell us what has been decided. Try not to worry." All her life she had supported her mother. Sometimes she felt as if she was the mother and her mother was the child. It was so now and she looked at the older woman with compassion.

  Silently, she swore to herself that Susanna’s fate would never be her own. She would resort to more than just kicking and screaming. She would use a gun or knife, anything, and take at least one of the dragoons with her. She would never submit to them.

  Anger gradually overcame her fears. She thought of her father and the other men at the meeting. What would they decide to do? What could they do? Whatever their plans, she wanted to hear them firsthand.

  "Mama I think I will go lie down. I am feeling rather tired."

  "Of course. You rest until dinner, then we will know what your father found out."

  As soon as she reached her room she went to a large chest. She opened it and found the boys clothes she usually wore around the estate. She dressed quickly. She picked up her boots and listened at the door for any sounds coming from the rest of the house. Only silence greeted her. Cautiously she tiptoed down the back stairs. The cook was nowhere in sight as Danielle stepped silently out the back door.

  Danielle sat on the back step to quickly slip on her boots. She abandoned the idea of taking another horse, and though exhausted, she found the strength to hasten down the lane in the direction of the village, only half a mile away. The raven-haired young woman made her way along the wheel-rutted lane to St. Florent.

  Danielle, born in this small village, knew its streets well and had no problem skirting the buildings to remain hidden from view. If anyone were to see her they would inform her father immediately and he would order her to return home. Why was it always the men who made all the major decisions? Danielle frowned at the thought. It was her life too, and she was determined to find out what was to be done.

  She hid in the shadowed protection of an alley to see where the men would be meeting. She watched a neighbor riding down the dirt street, his horse echoing in the still
ness. She followed at a safe distance through the village to the church. He dismounted and tied his horse to a hitching post before proceeding within.

  From her place of hiding Danielle watched as the men gathered inside the church. When the gavel struck and she heard her father’s voice calling the group to order, she crept closer, stealing into the vestibule to watch and listen through the narrow space in the inner door. Danielle saw her father standing on the dais, a worried frown upon his face.

  Pierre Rochette watched as the men who had been his friends and neighbors for years crowded into the vestry. A room usually used for prayer and peace was now filled with hatred and anger. The voices of the men were raised, with everyone talking at once.

  "Messieurs, please!" Pierre spoke up from the pulpit. "Nothing will ever be solved in this way. I’m sure you’ve already heard of the massacre of the Micheaux family in Montfaucon. As some of you know they were close friends of mine, and I grieve their tragic deaths. But you may not know that my daughter, Danielle was there at the time. While hidden, she watched their murder and their daughter’s abduction, yet managed to escape back to Chateau le Pont. After I heard what happened I immediately felt it imperative to call this meeting."

  Danielle shuddered, remembering her frantic flight from the Micheaux estate.

  From across the room Louis de Armand stood, his tall slender frame, straight, his voice gruff. "I’m with you Pierre! Early this afternoon another family in the hamlet of Vallet was massacred in much the same fashion because of their religion.

  "It is an odd coincidence," Pierre continued, "that these two atrocities occurred on the same day the King repealed the ‘Edict of Nantes’. It is plain for all of us to see that he will show no mercy."

  The silence in the room was broken by the sound of a chair scraping against the floor. A tall dark burly man stood erect, and cleared his throat.