The Travellers Chronicles Book Three: To Be A Queen

Chapter Nine

January 1571

Michel had decided on an early morning ride one day in mid-winter. It was bitter out, but he loved riding enough not to care about the weather. After saddling up, he made his way down the familiar path he always took that was far away and freer than the main path most rode casually. He raced himself, and found he was still as quick as ever.

Just as he rounded a tree, and was on his way back, a woman, riding astride instead of sidesaddle, came rushing by at full speed. At first, Michel thought her horse had been spooked, but he soon realized she was racing him. With fervor he sped up, ready to beat anybody who thought they were faster than him; woman or not. As the stables came into view the girl picked up speed, where the horse had found the stamina, he would never know. She passed him by a nose and won the race. When they had slowed down, Michel rode over to her.

"You race well, Your Highness." She greeted.

"And you race far better, Mademoiselle." He looked over her, discreetly. She had dark brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. "May I have your name?"

"Mademoiselle Marie DuPont, Your Highness. Daughter of the Baron Chevraux." She held out her arms and bowed to him as best she could on the horse.

"Ah yes, the Baron Chevraux. He's the one who never stops talking about mining is he not?"

Mademoiselle Marie smirked. "That would be Papa; he is very proud of his work in copper."

"And we are very thankful for it." Michel chuckled. "My brother would have none if not for your father."

"Too true." She smiled at him. "Do you ride often in the winter, Your Highness?"

"Please, call me Michel as everyone does. And yes, I ride fairly often all year round. I would ride daily if I could."

"As would I."

A maid came running from the stables. "There you are, Mademoiselle!" Upon seeing Michel, she gasped and curtsied. "I am sorry for interrupting, Your Highness, but Monsieur Chevraux has been looking for Mademoiselle for hours now. He has requested her presence."

"You have been riding for hours?"

"Yes, Your Highness. I live to ride and nothing more." Mademoiselle Marie dismounted her horse and walked into the stables as Michel followed suit. She handed her horse off to a stableman and went to leave with her maid.

"Please, Mademoiselle Marie, wait a moment." She turned to Michel who smiled at her. "Perhaps we could ride together in the morn?"

"I would enjoy that very much, Your Highness. However, you cannot fall in love with me." Mademoiselle Marie smirked. "Though I know that may be impossible."

"And why, pray tell, may I not fall in love with you?"

She leaned in, as though it was a big secret. "I never plan to marry." Mademoiselle Marie winked, and curtsied to him along with her maid. "Have a wonderful day, Your Highness."

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July 1571

"You can do this, Bette." Sybille told her eldest daughter. "You are a strong woman."

"Yes, Mama."

"One final push." The physician instructed.

With all her might, Bette pushed her son from her loins. "You did it, Bette." Tess told her.

Breathing hard, Bette fell against the pillows. "I did it."

Sybille took the baby and helped a maid clean her off. "You are a Mama now."

She placed the babe in Bette's hands. "Yes, I am. I am a mother to my son, Francois."

"Named for your father?" Tess asked.

"Yes." Bette answered. "The next Duke of Bourbon."

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August 1571

Over the past six months Michel and Mademoiselle Marie had spent nearly every day together. They rode their horses, or read books beside each other, but mostly they talked to one another. They spoke about anything and everything they wished to, and anything and everything that was proper. Michel knew that he had fallen in love with Mademoiselle Marie the day she beat him at that race, but he also knew she did not want a marriage. He would be content in his bachelorhood for eternity if it meant having her in his life.

One afternoon, Mademoiselle Marie had suggested they go for a ride. After losing their chaperone to a race that Mademoiselle Marie had won, she dismounted her horse near the lake. They could see the Chateau reflected in it. Leaving her horse to eat the grass, she walked to the water's edge with Michel standing next to her. Mademoiselle Marie took a deep breath, and grabbed his face to kiss him passionately. When she finished, she leaned her forehead against his. "Marry me, Michel."

He pulled his face away in shock. "Excuse me?"

Marie smiled at him. "I have fallen in love with you, and I wish to be your wife."

"But you said you do not wish to marry."

"That was before I met you." She kissed him again, and he kissed back. "You have stolen my heart and I want you to keep it, for as long as we live."

Michel smirked. "You do realize it is my job to propose to you."

"You expected me to wait until you figured it out?" Marie chuckled. "Men are clueless, it would have taken decades."

"Well, now that I do know." He knelt before her. "Marie Marguerite Elisabeth DuPont, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

"I thought you would never ask." For the third time, she pulled him into a passionate kiss.

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Marie and Michel's wedding had been a wonderful celebration of their love. At the reception, Louise came over to Sybille after the Dowager Queen had finished dancing with her husband.

"You do not wish to dance, Young One?" Sybille asked her daughter-in-law.

"I should refrain."

"And why not? Nothing but hurt limbs and embarrassment should keep one from dancing."

"It is not that I am hurt." Louise smiled, and placed a hand on her belly. "It is that I am with child."

Sybille smiled back, and grabbed Louise's other hand. "I am very happy for you. But dancing will do no harm to you this early in the pregnancy."

"Perhaps." Louise rubbed her belly. "I do hope it is a son."

"My Dear, never wish for gender. That is up to God. Wish that they are healthy and that you make it through the birth."

"You are very wise." Louise squeezed Sybille's hand. "I will take your advice. Now, I believe I will dance."

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May 1572

In early May, Eddie would be blessed with his only child; a daughter they saw fit to name Juliette. The young girl was born with her father's dark eyes and would grow to have her mother's bright hair. She would have the sweet disposition and gentle manners befitting a French Royal. Juliette was much like her paternal grandmother and even relished in languages and history the same way.