The Mark of the King by Jocelyn Green

Author:Jocelyn Green
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical fiction;FIC042030;FIC026000;FIC014000
ISBN: 9781441231079
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2016-11-15T05:00:00+00:00

Marc-Paul sat forward in the chair he’d placed outside his bedchamber. If Julianne called for anything—water, or nourishment, or herbs, or Lisette—he’d hear and fetch it for her. But since Francoise had gone home last night, all had been quiet.

Elbows on his knees and head in his hands, he dipped in and out of prayer for Julianne’s physical and emotional recovery. Vesuvius wedged himself between Marc-Paul’s right thigh and the arm of the chair and snored, but not loudly enough to drown out the haunting memory of Julianne’s cries.

On his voyages to and from Louisiana, Marc-Paul had seen his share of prentice seamen tied to the mast and lashed, then plunged into a barrel of stinging brine. One boatswain was so cruel and so expert with the whip that he laid the blows over and again on exactly the same place until the leather had bitten clear through the muscle to the bone.

This was what came to his mind as he thought of Julianne. Loss had fallen three times upon her, three cruel blows to the same raw heart that had not had time to heal from the last.

The latch sounded on the door to his chamber, and he shot out of his chair. While Vesuvius circled three times on the seat cushion before lying down again, Marc-Paul brushed the fur from his rumpled breeches and looked expectantly at the door as it creaked open.

Stiffly, Julianne backed out of the chamber, one arm bearing the baby’s coffin while the other hand pulled the door closed behind her. Turning, she gave a start upon seeing him standing there in the dawn’s watery light.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he began, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Are you—is there anything I can do for you?” The question sounded as inept as he felt. The sorrow in her eyes seized his heart.

“I wish I could thank you properly for what you’ve already done. But—forgive me—I barely know what to do from one moment to the next right now,” Julianne confessed. “I need to lay my son to rest. At least, his body.” She clutched the box to her middle. “I just—I don’t know how to let him go.” Her voice trailed away, as though she spoke to herself now and not to him.

He touched her elbow, and indeed, she looked surprised to see him still at her side. “Whatever you need, I will supply. If you allow it, I will help you bury him. But, madame, could you not eat something first?”

Her gaze slid to the sunlight gliding slowly across the floor. “Afterwards I will. I’d like to do this before the town is fully awake. If you please.”

“Of course.” The sooner they went to the levee and back, the fewer people they’d be likely to meet along the way. “Shall I send for Francoise, or Lisette or Denise? The priest?”

Julianne shook her head. “I’ve taken enough of my friends’ time. And the priest would not bless the baby of a branded convict, would he?”

Marc-Paul blew out a frustrated breath.

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