Sabine shifted on the bumpy straw-filled pallet, and pretended to absorb herself in the menial task of braiding her hair. She made a show of brushing it and restarted the plait twice as if it wasn't already satisfactory. She was biding time, to collect herself. Her mind was fuzzy and her body exhausted, little aftershocks still shaking her every time she squeezed her legs. She wished for nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but was well aware that this devilish man wouldn't allow it.
She had to recover her wits, and fast, if she wanted to outplay him. Her capture and interrogation had long been anticipated; she had known the odds were not in her favor when she agreed to lend her name and face to the rebellion against tax collectors. She had no delusion that she could resist if tortured, which was why they had devised a plan that would allow her to speak the truth without compromising her followers. This was what she had to sell to the courtier, in a way that would convince him she was entirely sincere. Then, maybe, she might be granted a swift and pain free death.
Roland waited patiently. Some things couldn't be rushed. The more she delayed, the more her fear would grow. It would be half of his work done. The angst of the horrors that could be inflicted was often sufficient to get the weakest ones to talk, and she didn't strike him as very strong. Stubborn, without doubt, but not strong. The executor would have her broken into a wailing ragdoll in no time. And while the King was usually reluctant to treat women harshly, he might make an exception for this one should she defy him.
Something Roland would rather avoid. It would count as a failure on his part, one that would have forced Louis to break character, and this kind of offense might cause Roland to fall out of grace. He could be banished from court, which would not only hurt his career, but also hinder his revenge. And this definitely could not happen.
Finally, Sabine tied the ribbon and put down the brush. She raised her head and met his eyes. "If we must talk, may I have a drink first? My throat is dry."
"Your wish is my command, mademoiselle," Roland fetched a tankard and filled it, presenting it to her with a gallant bow. While she drank, he turned his desk to face her and prepared ink and paper.
Sabine took her time quenching her thirst, but there was just so long one could stretch swallowing down a half-pint of water. When she put the pewter vessel down, she still wasn't fully ready. Well, she would have to make do.
Quill in hand, Roland waived at one of the many documents spread in front of him. "Let me start by recounting the events that led you here. I want to present his Majesty with the most accurate tale of your story. Feel free to interrupt me if I am wrong."
She nodded, although she didn't see the point. It wouldn't change her fate.
"Two years ago, you were pulled out of the Ursulines' Convent, where you were schooled, and returned to your castle to assist your father, Jean de Brissard, Baron de Veaulmes on his death bed. How old were you?"
Sabine frowned. How was that important? Yet answering his question would build his trust, and so she did. "I was seventeen, monsieur."
The quill squeaked on the paper as he took note. "After the funerals, you found yourself a wealthy heiress, as your parents' sole surviving child. I understand that your older brother was killed in King Henry's service?"
Another nod. She had no memories of Bertrand, she had been a toddler at the time. After five miscarriages, her mother had lost hope of carrying another pregnancy to term, until Sabine's birth.
Roland underlined the part about her brother. It might influence the King in her favor; Louis notoriously worshipped the memory of his father. "Your mother, née Marguerite de Meronge, had died in a hunting accident three years prior. It is very sad indeed. How comes you were not betrothed? Seventeen is a marriageable age, and with your wealth and figure, there should have been no shortage of suitors."
Sabine wiped her eyes, erasing the tears that had pooled at the mention of her mother. "My father had arranged to wed me to our neighbor, but he died before signing the contract." Said neighbor had been well into his sixth decade, and was a violent man who had buried three previous wives. She felt sick just thinking she could have been his fourth. Despite her pleas to reconsider, her father had insisted. The man had no heir, and either she or her first child, should she give him one, would be certain to inherit his land, doubling the Brissard estate. In the Baron's eyes, it was all that counted.
"And you didn't fulfill his will?"
"I was in mourning!" There wasn't a chance she would have wed this old brute once she could avoid it.
"Very well. From what I read here, three months later a delegation of peasants begged you to plead their case to the Fermier General, as they couldn't afford the taxes he was raising for the King. Why did they believe you would help them?"
Sabine shrugged. "They were my tenants, and the tax collectors had fleeced them so badly that they would have starved had they paid me rent. The amount asked had more than doubled and the crops hadn't been good. It wasn't fair. I thought there must have been a mistake or that the collectors had been lining their pockets."
Roland nodded sympathetically. "Probably, and their employer even more. Leonora Galigai, the Regent Queen's favorite, was selling the offices for a fortune, and the buyers had to get their money back somehow. So what did you do?"
"I visited the Fermier General, but he laughed in my face, telling me not to worry my head with men's affairs. So I petitioned the King with a letter I sent to the Louvre."
Roland shook his head. "The King never saw your letter. It was before he reclaimed his throne, he had no power at the time. He was mocked and treated like an infant by his mother and her minions. Your plea was delivered in the hands of Concino Concini, Galigai's vainglorious husband. He took it as a personal insult and sent a band of mercenaries to 'teach you the proper place of a woman'. We found a copy of the order in his palace, after the populace had hanged and burned his body."
Sabine paled. "You are lying. They said the King sent them. They carried his seal. The King! Not the Marechal d'Ancre!"
Roland's hand stilled, and he frowned. This was a serious accusation. Forgery of the Royal Seal was a crime of lese-majeste, punishable by a horrible death. Although as far as Concini was concerned, justice had been served. "Are you sure it was the King's seal? You could have been mistaken?"
"Of course I am! It showed the king 'in Majesty' under a canopy, two angels holding the draperies, and the surrounding text 'Louis XIII, by the grace of God, King of France'. They would never have been granted entry without it. I wished I had not complied. As soon as they reached the yard, they killed the guards and locked in the servants. And then they caught me and... and..." Sabine grabbed her throat. She was suffocating. She couldn't relive the moment when the brutes had carried her up the stairs and thrown her onto her bed, and...
"Sabine, calm down!"
Suddenly, she was enclosed in velvet, her nostrils filled with the soothing scent of lavender.
"Hush, you are safe, breathe..."
"I can't..." Why did he have to bring back those terrible events? She had spent two years trying to lock them away and he kept dragging them out. Fists clenched, she hit his chest, but she was too close to cause any damage. He simply held her tighter.
"I will release you, as soon as you are better. There..." Roland gently pressed her cheek against his shoulder, his hand stroking her hair. Her reaction could have been an act, but it was unlikely; no one could fake the thin layer of sweat covering her skin. He couldn't help feeling sorry for her; she had been robbed of her innocence in unfathomable ways, for trying to do right by her tenants. Although it didn't excuse her later rebellion, she had been unfairly treated. Had Concini still been alive, Roland would have called him on the field.
Maybe he could protect her, plead her cause to the King. Louis praised himself on being fair, he might show clemency towards the victim of a man he had hated enough to have him killed. If Sabine didn't lie and Concini had forged the seal, the King would take it as a personal insult. The fact that the Fermier General had been appointed by the Galigai was another positive point; Louis would assume that he was corrupt.
Still, Roland had to get her to talk. She had been cooperative so far, and he hoped he wouldn't have to pressure her too hard.
Sabine slowly regained her composure, shoving her memories back where they belonged, into the most remote corner of her mind. She was oddly comfortable in her tormentor's arms, sheltered from the outside world by thick layers of padded doublet and rock solid flesh. She did feel safe there and it bothered her. Why was her body deaf to the voice of reason? For two years, she hadn't been able to tolerate the slightest male touch, and now she was finding solace in her enemy's embrace. Had her sanity finally deserted her?
Perhaps she could use this to her advantage. Her weakness seemed to have struck a chord in the courtier's cold heart; if she could keep this up, it might make him gullible. The difficulty lay in getting him to accept that the useless information she would give him was all she knew. And it was. But if he didn't believe her, she would be tortured, and she would rather avoid it.