To Tame the Wind (Agents of the Crown Book 0) (2 page)

Before Claire could run, she heard the sound of heavy
footfalls crunching the leaves near the bush where she cowered.

“You are not well hidden, whoever you are,” he said in a
stern voice.

With reluctance, she rose, brushing off her dress and
ignoring the pain from her many scratches. Her face was suddenly bathed in
light from the ballroom.

The golden one stood before her, his cape thrown back over
his shoulders, his arms crossed over his chest and his breeches restored to
their prior condition but there was a decided bulge in the front of them where
before there had been none.

Horrified she had been discovered, Claire backed away,
thankful the bush was between them. Lightning lit the sky, illuminating his
amber eyes glistening above the gold of his costume. He was even more handsome
without the mask, and younger than she had thought, perhaps only in his early
twenties.

“What have we here?” He sounded amused. “A maiden
masquerading as a novice? Where is your mask, pretty one?”

She might have asked him the same question, but Claire did
not speak. She was too mesmerized by his presence to utter a word.

Coming up behind him, his partner gave Claire a long,
studying perusal while adjusting her costume. She whispered something into his
ear and turned to walk toward the terrace. But the golden one never took his
eyes from Claire.

“Such a dull costume for those beautiful, azure eyes.” His
voice, now a purr, reminded her of the convent cat. The similarity was reinforced
when he prowled toward her with his hand outstretched. “You watched from the
tree. Were you spying? Or, did you wish to be next?”

Shocked, Claire thought to explain, then decided against it.
It was clear from his expression he was toying with her, she a mouse to his
cat. And she had just interrupted this cat’s evening meal!

He must have seen the fright in her eyes because he paused,
his gaze examining her more closely, lingering on the torn dress, the scratches
on her face and her long, black hair hanging disheveled about her shoulders. He
withdrew his extended hand to rub his fingers over his chin.

“I see now. You are but an innocent. And a young one at
that.” He shrugged. “Out for a frolic? A little spying on your elders? Hmm?”
When she didn’t answer, he said, “You’d best be gone, pretty one, before some
frog-eater in his cups takes you for a courtesan playing the novice.”

Claire needed no further urging to act upon his advice.
Seeing Élise edging toward her from the shadows, she gave him a parting glance,
then turned and ran, grabbing the other girl’s hand without stopping.

Behind her, his deep laughter echoed across the lawn.

With another clap of thunder, the clouds unleashed their
fury, pelting them with rain that soon became a torrent.

What more could happen this night?

Ursuline Convent, Saint-Denis, two years later

Sister Augustin placed the letter on her desk and strolled to
the window overlooking the garden where the young woman crouched, weeding.
Despite the stone walls, her office was overwarm this summer’s day and her
woolen habit weighed heavier than usual. It had to be oppressive toiling in the
soil in the afternoon sun.

A deep sigh escaped her.

How long had it been? Two years?
Oui
, nearly two
years since Élise had died. It had changed Claire Donet. Gone was the
rebellious young adventuress and, in her place, was an obedient student who had
announced only last week she wanted to enter the novitiate to join the Order.

“What has you so troubled, Reverend Mother?” Sister
Angélique’s familiar voice asked from behind her. Sister Augustin looked over
her shoulder to see the Mistress of Novices, her closest friend, enter the
office and pause by the large globe near the reading nook. With a deft flick of
her wrist, she set the ball spinning.

Acknowledging her friend with a smile, Sister Augustin
returned her gaze to the young woman. “It’s Claire Donet. I’ve received a
letter from her father.”

“Oh?” Sister Angélique asked.

She gestured to the girl bent to her weeding. “He has
arranged a marriage for her to a prominent, young lawyer from a good family in
Paris. It is time that she should be leaving us.”

Sister Angélique joined her at the window to watch the
solitary figure working in the garden. “She will not willingly agree, I think.”

“I suspect you are right.”

“She has changed much in these last few years. I have been
amazed at the transformation,” observed Sister Angélique.

“
Oui
, but for some time now I have wondered.”

“What is it?”

Sister Augustin did not hesitate to share what had been on
her mind. “Can we believe what we see? Has the hoyden who defied me at every
turn truly become the humble postulant?”

The knowing smile that lit her friend’s face eased some of
her anxiety.

“It would be a minor miracle, I grant you,” said Sister
Angélique.

Sister Augustin was tempted to smile herself. “When I look
into those innocent eyes, I see a deep sadness. It’s as if she is doing—”

“Penance?”

“Exactly. But for a lifetime?” Sister Augustin’s spirit was,
indeed, troubled, for though she would be pleased to have a young woman with
Claire’s spirit and determination in the Order, she doubted it would suit in
the end. Perhaps God's better plan had given rise to her niggling doubts.

Shaking her head, Sister Angélique turned to face her.
“Claire blames herself for Élise’s death. I tried to tell her at the time it
was Élise’s own decision to follow her that led to the pneumonia that took her
life, but Claire would not listen.”

Sister Augustin well remembered Claire Donet’s tear-stained
cheeks and the hollow eyes that had persisted for weeks after the younger
girl’s death. If only she had perceived the deeper wound beneath them. “I feel
it is more than guilt on Claire’s part,” she said thoughtfully. “I sense a
determination in her. It’s as if she has applied the same stubbornness that
once led her to defy our rules to her new goal to be a member of the Order. But
in my heart, though it may sound strange to you, I long to see again the fire
in her eyes when she defied me. She seemed so much more alive then.”

“What do you propose?”

“I will meet with her, of course. And then, we will see. If
she remains adamant, I will have no choice but to present her wishes to her
father. Perhaps M’sieur Donet will have some influence where I do not.”

Sister Angélique’s gaze rested upon the young woman. “Do you
remember that moonstone ring her father gave her last year?”

Sister Augustin searched her memory, then shook her head. “I
have only a vague recollection. I seem to remember him saying the stone matched
her eyes.”

“I am not surprised your memory of it is vague. Though
Claire smiled sweetly for her father as she accepted the gift, when he left,
she put the ring away and has not worn it since. I took it as a sign.”

Sadness settled heavily in Sister Augustin’s soul. “If that
is so, then it would seem she has shut out even her ‘beloved papa’ in the
pursuit of her goal to become one of us.”

Claire forced the trowel deeper into the dirt, only vaguely
aware of the persistent moisture dampening her brow and running down her
cheeks. Once again, she tried to extract the weed’s tenacious roots that
desperately clung to the soil. She must dig them out or the insidious plant
would return to spoil the garden. Much as her old character and her memories of
a man dressed as a golden eagle might shoot up one day after a thunderstorm to
spoil her plans to become a nun. It could not be. She was no longer that girl!

The night of the torrential downpour was still fresh in her
mind. And Élise’s every horrible wheeze and hard draw of breath in the days
that followed. Claire vividly recalled the girl’s gray face, her sunken eyes,
the blueness around her lips as, days later, she fought for breath, coughing
out her last words.

And Claire remembered, too, her promise, a promise made when
the young girl, brought to the convent for care, lay dying.

Hearing the nuns say in hushed tones that Élise was nearing
the end, Claire had stolen into the girl’s room when the sisters were at
Compline, to sit at her bedside, sponging her heated forehead, trying to bring
her some relief.

“My only regret at leaving this world,” Élise had said in a
weak voice, “is not seeing my…” She had coughed then and gasped for air,
panting hard with the effort of breathing. “…my dream come true, to become an
Ursuline.” Gasping for breath, she had whispered, “To teach young girls as the
nuns taught me.”

Élise had tried to rise off the pillow soaked with her
sweat.

Claire gently eased her down and sponged her forehead with
cool water. “Rest now, you have exhausted yourself.”

“No.” The girl fought to speak. “I must… continue.” She had
paused only for a moment and then, with uncharacteristic determination, began
again. “My family is not wealthy, as is yours.” The girl’s large brown eyes,
sunken in her face, had looked intently into Claire’s, and at that moment,
Claire felt ashamed of the wealth her father had amassed in recent years.

“If it hadn’t been for the kindness of the sisters… ”
Élise’s words faded to a whisper, and Claire had to lean in to hear them. “I
would never have learned to read.”

Élise’s eyes had closed for a moment. Claire inhaled
sharply.

At the sound, her young friend opened her eyes, now glassy,
and stared up at her.

Claire had known then what she must do, and sensing the time
was short, did not hesitate. With tears filling her eyes, she had vowed, “I
will live your dream, Élise. I will be that Ursuline sister for you. I will
teach the young girls.”

“You? But… ”

“Yes, me. It is right that I do this.”

And with that, Élise smiled, closed her eyes and drifted
into unconsciousness. Her breathing continued to be shallow and after a few
breaths she had gasped and slipped back into shallow breathing.

Claire had fallen asleep in the chair next to the bed,
listening to Élise’s ragged breathing.

She awakened with a start when suddenly there was silence.
The nuns’ singing had ceased. Élise’s small hand was still in hers, but there
were no awkward breaths coming from the bed, no gasping for air.

And she knew… Élise had left this world for the next.

The memory brought with it tears that streamed down Claire’s
cheeks to mingle with the perspiration already there. There had been nothing
she could do to save her young friend. She was left with only the guilt of her
own misdeed that had led her friend into a sickness unto death.

Sweeping the tears away with the back of her hand, she
reached for the main root of the weed. With one hard pull, she yanked it free
of the ground, satisfied it would never grow again.

The following day, try as she might, Sister Augustin could
not concentrate on the correspondence scattered on her desk. A sound on the
wooden steps outside her office drew her gaze to the open doorway. Scant
moments later, Claire Donet stepped into the opening.

“Reverend Mother, you asked to see me?”

She rose. “Come in, Claire.” Indicating one of the chairs on
the other side of the desk, she said, “You may be seated.”

Without a word, the young woman settled into one of the two
tapestry chairs. Though faded with long use, they were still elegant. Along
with her precious books and the globe, they were the only material things
Sister Augustin treasured.

“Would you care for some water?” She gestured toward the
pitcher of water and glasses sitting beside a bowl of fruit on the front of her
desk, before resuming her seat.

Claire sat stiffly. “No, thank you, Reverend Mother.”

Sister Augustin’s gaze strayed briefly to the image of Saint
Ursula that hung on the opposite wall and to the crucifix beside it.
Please
,
she silently prayed. She needed God’s help for the difficult conversation
looming before her.

Looking back to where Claire sat, the light from the window
casting its rays on the young woman’s dark hair and fair skin, Sister Augustin
was struck once again what a beautiful young woman in both outward appearance
and character Claire had become. But would she accept without argument what she
had to say?

Sister Augustin’s fingers curled around her rosary beads she
had taken from her desk and placed in her lap.

“Claire, you know your father asked me to allow you to stay
beyond the age most girls leave us?” At the young woman’s nod, she continued.
“He wanted you to remain in our care with the additional education we could
provide until you were of an age to marry. The time has arrived. He has sent me
a letter.” Seeing the girl’s sudden interest, Sister Augustin elaborated. “He
has selected a husband for you.”

A look of consternation crossed the young woman’s face. “I
cannot marry.”

Sister Augustin let out a breath. “I thought you might say
that.”

Claire’s chin rose. “I intend to enter the novitiate and
become one of you. I am going to teach the children.”

The inflexible tone was alien to the compliant young woman
Claire had become in the last two years. But she had to be made to see reason.
“Claire, our Order is dedicated to teaching girls that femininity is
inextricable from their piety. But we also teach that holiness is achieved not
by retreating from an imperfect world, but by joining the world, equipped with
the things you have learned here. We are committed to changing the world by
changing the young women who will nurture that world. Only a rare few are meant
to join the Order.”

Claire stared back defiantly. “And I am one of them.”

The time had come to address the issue directly. Sister
Augustin let go of her rosary, placed her folded hands on her desk and regarded
the young woman before her. “You knew that Élise wished to join the Order when
she was of age?”

Claire dropped her gaze to her hands, folded in her lap.
“Yes.”

“We cannot live others’ lives for them, Claire. We can only
tread the path God has set before us. Your own path, Claire, not another’s.”

Clear, blue eyes met hers and, in them, Sister Augustin saw
a protest. She held up one hand. “You have a strong will, Claire. And courage.”
She could not resist a smile. “On my better days, I pictured you one day taking
your place at the side of a man intended for greatness in the eyes of God,
bearing him children who would do much good. I have never imagined you in the
cloistered life.”

“But—”

“If Élise had lived, there is no certainty she would have
been accepted into the Order.”