Bitten by Cupid(25)

Mirabeau stared out the window silently for a moment, but she didn’t see the vehicles or landscaping they were passing. Her mind took her back to France in 1572, a mad time in the country.

“My father and uncle were turned in the thirteenth century by a rogue,” she said finally. “Fortunately, they were new turns and had committed no crimes so were spared when the rogue was hunted down and killed.”

“Like Leigh’s friend Danny?” Tiny asked.

Mirabeau nodded silently, then cleared her throat and continued. “They were very close before the turn and for a while afterward, but then my father met my mother. She was his life mate, and they became wrapped up in each other as life mates tend to do. My uncle and father drifted apart while my parents had my three brothers and me in quick succession.”

“In quick succession?” Tiny asked with surprise. “I thought you had to wait a hundred years between children?”

“Well, yes, but I mean they had my eldest brother right away in 1255, and then as soon as the hundred years were up, had my second brother and so on. They didn’t leave extra time between each. I was born in 1555, almost a hundred years to the day after the youngest of my brothers was born.”

“Ah,” Tiny murmured.

“Anyway, they were happy. We all were, but apparently my uncle was not. He hadn’t yet found his life mate and was jealous of my father, who had my mother and us children, as well as wealth and a title. He wanted all of it…including my mother. I guess he thought the St. Bartholomew Massacres would be a good cover for his getting it all.”

“I’m sorry,” Tiny interrupted gently. “Marguerite mentioned the St. Bartholomew Massacres to me, but I’m not sure what it was exactly.”

Mirabeau frowned, wondering how something that had always figured so large in her own life was unknown to most of today’s mortals. It was such a turning point in her life that it was difficult to accept that it meant nothing to others. Shrugging that aside, she explained, “St. Bartholomew Massacres were basically a mess. There was some history behind what happened, but the final straw that appeared to light the fury was when the Catholic Marguerite of Valois, the sister of the King of France, was married to Henry of Navarre, a Protestant. The population of Paris was very Roman Catholic, and equally anti-Huguenot. French Protestant,” Mirabeau explained before he could ask what a Huguenot was. She then continued, “Over the next six days after the wedding, several events conspired to stir things up, but the end result was that on August twenty-third, the gates to the city were closed, and a Roman Catholic mob began to hunt down and slaughter Protestants in the streets. Thousands were killed, including women and children.”

“And your family was in Paris?” Tiny asked with a frown.

“No. And they were Catholic, not Protestant, and they died in late September not August. However, even up to October of that year, there were similar outbreaks of such attacks in cities and towns all over France. Even the hint of Protestantism was enough to mark a family for death.

“I don’t know if my uncle planned what he did ahead of time and the St. Bartholomew Massacres simply offered a convenient cover, or if their eruption spurred him to action, but he planned to claim we had been suspected of Protestantism, had been chained in the barn, and burned alive.”

“Nasty bastard,” Tiny said grimly. “His plan went awry, obviously.” And when she glanced at him in question, he pointed out, “You’re still alive.”

“Oh, yes.” She frowned and peered out the window again, then admitted, “But I’m only alive because I was a rebellious seventeen-year-old who snuck out of the castle to drink wine in the stables with a very handsome stableboy named Fredrique.”

She glanced over in time to see Tiny’s mouth twitch with amusement and wished she could smile too, but even all this time later she didn’t see the humor in it. “My uncle had arrived for dinner. After dinner, he and my father and brothers went out to view a new horse my father had purchased. My uncle’s men must have been waiting and taken them by surprise, slaughtering them the moment they entered the stable. By the time I snuck away to meet Fredrique, there was no one around in the stables, and I thought they’d already returned to the castle.” She pursed her lips and added bitterly, “And my uncle had returned to the castle…to get my mother.

She closed her eyes briefly, then continued, “We were in the loft drinking; Fredrique was trying to steal a kiss when my uncle dragged my mother into the stables to show her what he’d done. The headless bodies of my father and brothers had been lying in the stall beneath us, covered with a thin layer of straw the entire time Fredrique and I had been drinking above. He showed them to her and demanded she be his life mate.”