Love Siege

By Kathryn P. Most

Under the reign of King Louis XIII and his Eminence Cardinal Richelieu, France, 1627, was one of the most turbulent religious periods of European history.
The intrusive Cerina, goes against the kings laws and fights for control over her own fate after the crown beheaded her beloved parents. To exonerate them and help save many Protestants, she becomes the most wanted criminal in France.
Teague, Cerinas collaborator has his own agenda. A promise was made and he vowed to keep it. A difficult task for a petite dwarf.
The intriguing kings musketeer, Lieutenant Royce Gayneaux has been given orders to track down the Huguenot resistance, including the lovely shop owner Cerina, and dispose of the troublemakers. However, Royce has plans of his own. One glance at Cerina and he falls madly in love with her. One look at Royce and she knows he wants to steal her most prized possession, her virginity. Does he succeed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 19, 2017
• ISBN: 9781543471502

Kathryn P. Most

Kathryn P. Most is the author of short stories, magazine articles and poems. This book is her first attempt at writing a full length novel. When she isnt writing or re-seaching history and ancestry, Kathryn, knits, crochets, designs and builds costumes for a childrens theater. She is also an avid embroiderer and designs patterns for many different art projects. She considers herself retired and resides with her husband of 53 years in the beautiful state of Arizona; Home of the Grand Canyon.

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Prologue

FRANCE, 1627

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In 1598, King Henry IV issued the Edict of Nantes, which granted religious freedom throughout France, allowing citizens of La Rochelle to enjoy many years of worshipping their chosen religion. Protestants and Catholics went about their daily lives, living beside each other, savoring their political privileges, accepting this lovely seaport as their home and a place of safe refuge for Protestants and much immunity guaranteed by the king of France.

The king’s first marriage with Marguerite de Valois was not a happy one, and after the St. Bartholomew’s massacre, he obtained a papal annulment in 1599, dissolving their union. Their marriage produced no children.

So of course, the great king Henry looked for a new wife, a marriage that would produce many children and give him sons to inherit the throne. He selected an Italian Catholic princess by the name of Marie de Médicis. Although this union was stormy with many arguments, it produced two boys and three girls, providing the necessary heirs for the French crown.

It came about sooner than he expected as it seems that all good things must end. In the year 1610, King Henry was murdered, leaving his eldest son, Louis XIII, at the young age of nine years old, to become the king of France, causing the Huguenots to fear that their much-desired religious freedom may be in jeopardy. Their fear was well founded as little by little, the Catholic queen mother chipped away at the rights of the Huguenots until early in 1611, duc de Sully, the most prominent Huguenot noble, was forced to resign his appointments and retire to his own home.

The Protestant Huguenots argued among themselves for who they wanted to replace duc de Sully but to no avail as the queen mother would make the final choice of who would permanently represent the Huguenots at court. The duc de Rohan, son-in-law of the duc de Sully, was at the top of the list. Although considered young for the position, he had already been in charge of the Huguenots’ political organization and seemed the most likely man for the job.

Owning up to the idea that life would never be the same, the years passed, taking one day at a time, while the Huguenots practiced their faith under the rule of the queen mother Médicis. King Louis XIII, then in his late teens, disagreed with his mother and, in 1617, arranged the murder of the queen’s favorite counselor and sent her into seclusion in the county. By 1624, a young cardinal, Richelieu, had arrived on the scene and grabbed the attention of the queen mother. Under her urging, he was admitted into the royal council.

Although the young king mistrusted him, King Louis XIII viewed the young cardinal as a talented man. By constantly demonstrating how the Huguenots had more military power every year and were becoming a threat to the crown, Cardinal Richelieu slowly won over the king. Louis adopted a more aggressive promotion toward Catholic policy, and thus, the wars of religion began again after so many years of silence. Together, they became a force that changed the French monarchy forever.

The Huguenots could not let Catholicism and the king rule over their lives again after experiencing religious freedom for so many years. They decided it was time to take action and fight back. Because the English queen had a divested interest in France, Buckingham was sent to capture a piece of La Rochelle under the guise of protecting the citizens of this very important seaport town. So by 1627, Buckingham had sailed to the shores of La Rochelle, anchored his fighting ships, and waited for a chance to get a piece of France for England.

At the same time, Cardinal Richelieu was working on a plan to surround the city and starve the citizens to death, a method he had used in the past that had been very successful. This town, however, was like no other and produced much more of a challenge. To do so, he had to devise a detailed scheme to totally shut off this seaport city from being able to receive any food or goods from neighboring towns and counties, the problem being that this town was built around an inlet that allowed ships to enter a seaport and drop off supplies, food, and goods from different parts of the world, allowing the citizens of La Rochelle to build the town into a bustling city that anyone would be proud of.

So after King Louis XIII issued a proclamation against the Huguenot rebels of La Rochelle on August 5, 1627, the royal army was dispatched. By September, the king and Richelieu had arrived and took command of their troops. After arranging an alliance with England and accepting help from the British crown, the town quickly declared a rebellion. History proved it was a disastrous decision, which evoked a bitter siege lasting well over a year, driving out the English and crushing La Rochelle.

By early November, Buckingham, on the island of Ré just off the shore of La Rochelle, was quickly defeated and was forced to evacuate with heavy losses. The king, now that he had temporarily disposed of the English, turned his attentions toward the siege of the city itself, knowing it presented peculiar problems.

Because the city lay amid protective marshes, only about a third of its circumference was vulnerable to attack, forcing the army’s front line to be built away from the city. The royal army’s siege line measured over ten miles long and reinforced with eleven forts and eighteen redoubts. The seaport, however, was another matter indeed.

The royal army did not have a large enough fleet capable of maintaining an effective blockade, although it was necessary to totally block off the seaport. They needed a dike. Plans were drawn up, and the work began on the most impressive accomplishments of early seventeenth-century military engineering. After six months of around-the-clock construction, the task was complete. A massive dike stretched across the opening, measuring close to 4,500 feet long and 50 feet thick at the base and 25 at the top. The strong west tide was another problem. It left a gap of about 200 yards, which they closed off by floating barriers, including old ships fastened together with cables and chains and defended by the artillery. By the time spring came forth, La Rochelle was completely sealed off from the outside world.

Chapter 1

On a not-so-chilly day in 1627, chimes in the bell tower of Saint Barthélmey’s grand cathedral rang out across La Rochelle, France, announcing the beginning of the latest execution. The voice of the town crier could be heard bellowing out the words Hurry! Hurry! The show is about to begin! Bring your brothers, bring your sisters, and by all means, bring your neighbors! Hurry! Hurry! He chanted across the expanse of the great Huguenot city.

The town crier was more than adequate. His baritone voice was loud and crystal clear when he yelled out his messages. He worked laboriously and executed the job well, generating respect among the locales. After all, his voice was the best route for receiving the early morning news and the latest happenings around town. Days could pass without a sound from him because of the lack of news, but today he had been very busy indeed.

The sound of his voice always filled the principal public square when a beheading was announced. The good folks emerged from their homes, shops, and the fields and scrambled to get to their favorite position, craning their necks to see blood flow and heads roll.

The courtyard located in front of the town hall had filled up quickly. The citizens were elbow to elbow, pressed hard against the scaffolding, and yet they still arrived, ramming and shoving their way as close as they could to see the spectacle that was about to begin. The crowd was fighting against one another, yelling and shaking fists in the air, half of the folks agreeing with the crown and the other half disagreeing with the execution. A few of the king’s musketeers looked on and chuckled. They were supposed to control the crowd, but, alas, they did not heed their orders.

Let them kill one another. It will save us the bother of burning them, said a heavyset musketeer standing against the side of the town hall building.

It was not uncommon that the townspeople liked to attend an execution, especially if it was one of the aristocrats who were being beheaded. It brought excitement and filled their minds with thankfulness knowing each time it occurred, it wasn’t they themselves who were going to die. It was easy to grieve over a beggar or the less fortunate for stealing food to feed his family, so much so that they took it upon themselves to donate food to the family members, praying and mourning right along with everyone. Treason, however, was another matter indeed. Today they gathered in protest over the beheading of Mme and M. DeMont. Many citizens and friends simply didn’t believe the accusations.

Carina DeMont knew she would not be receiving any of her friends or neighbors’ condolences, at least not in public. The crimes her parents were found guilty of were devastating. Her friends would keep their distance, afraid the king would have them arrested as accomplices also.

Carriages continued to arrive bearing the upper class and the rich from neighboring châteaus and towns. They gathered in the King’s Courtyard, thus named by some militants because King Louis XIII thought it wise to rid the city of beggars and thieves in a public execution.

Beheadings were among the desired variety of punishments in the 1600s, primarily against the upper class and the royal court. Carina’s parents had no choice in this matter, but had they to decide how to die, they surely would not have chosen the alternative method of burning heretics at the stake. It was also much more painful. Today the burning at the stake was not relevant. It was no beggar or thief who was going to lose his or her life. "Non, not today!"

The guilty were that of an upper-class couple who would feel the sword, two well-known people of the town, highly loved and respected by most. A handful of Huguenots standing to the left of the scaffolding chanted at the tops of their voices. Liars, liars, liars! The DeMonts did not do this!

The response came from a slender man wearing a red robe that slightly moved in the gentle breeze. Everyone knew he was Cardinal Richelieu of the Catholic diocese and King Louie’s minister. He was shaking his head back and forth with a menacing grin on his face. Standing beside him was King Louis’s troupe of musketeers.

Heretics, treason! they chanted. The crowd shivered and was silenced.

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Carina DeMont, a beautiful young mademoiselle and a member of the gathering crowd, was seen pleading with the executioner, her tiny hands gripping the huge man’s arm tighter. Please, monsieur, I beg of you. You must not do this! Freed from a pearl comb, her pale blond tresses hung loosely down her back, swaying back and forth as she struggled with the killer.

He was a giant of a man compared to her tiny frame, but she didn’t seem to care. His chest heaved deeply and expanded to the size of oxen. She took notice that his huge hands could break her neck with one small twist, but she threw all caution aside and proceeded to stare at his ruddy complexion. Two black hoods made of dyed muslin dangled from his large fingers. He looked familiar, but Carina could not place him clearly.

He glared down at the lovely mademoiselle and prayed, Blasé, (to God) give me the strength to complete this order from the king, he murmured while sparks of steel leaped from his cold gray eyes. I cannot help you. Release my arm! He tried to pry Carina’s fingers loose, but she was mighty strong for a tiny woman. Her grip was tighter than most men as she hung on in total desperation despite the tears that welled up in her beautiful bright-blue eyes.

I won’t, sir! She pouted.

For the last time, unhand me this instant! he said, gritting his yellowed teeth. He pulled her hands free, forcing him to squeeze her small hands even tighter. Carina cringed from the pain. This is the king’s will, and it must be completed, he flatly stated, looking at her small swollen hands now clasped tightly in his own huge paws. Feeling a surge of pity for causing her additional pain, he tossed her hands back toward her. They fell to her sides in total surrender.

Tears streamed down Carina’s cheeks in uncontrolled emotions, which didn’t sway him in the least. She knew he was going to proceed with this dastardly deed no matter what she did.

A hard knot welled up in his throat when he looked down at her and saw the pain on her pale upturned face. M. Nicolas Levasseur swallowed it down and then gently whispered, trying to show some compassion, Please forgive me, mademoiselle. The king has sentenced your parents to death. Die they must, and then began ascending the steps of the scaffolding.

Hearing those words and seeing the moisture of tears lying within his eyelids, she surrendered, defeated. But she still could not let go. I must not give up, she thought. I cannot lose my parents now. With one last thrust, Carina grabbed his ankle, hugging it to her tiny breast. Please, please! I beg of you! Do not do this!

He looked down at her once again, his bulging muscles tensed. I must not show any signs of weakness, he thought. He had a deadly job to perform and couldn’t allow his own feelings to get in the way.

He certainly could not allow this saddened, distraught young lady to divert his attention from the terrible task at hand. He knew he could be swayed very easily in this case but also knew there was no preventing this execution. This, indeed, was the worse job in town. It had been handed down to him through his father and his father before him. Besides, he has a family to feed, and it was his choice since he was a young boy. He could not afford to be sympathetic toward this little mite of a girl.

Shaking his leg and reaching down, he managed to push her aside and continued up the weathered wooden steps of the platform to complete his job. He wished this day had never come. He prayed for redemption but knew he would probably burn in hell for what he was about to do.

He was here, preparing to chop off the heads of his dear friends M. and Mme DeMont. Carina looked at her parents as his two jailers dragged them up the stairs by the rope they tied around their hands. They stumbled, and the two guards waited for her parents to regain their footing.

M. Nicolas Levasseur remembered meeting the DeMonts several years ago, just a few years after their little beauty, Carina, was born. It began with a stupid mistake on his part. Nicolas knew he shouldn’t give into temptation, but just this once, he didn’t think it would cause any harm. It sounded silly now; he chuckled, deep in thought. But at the time, he felt it was a fine idea.

He had seen a pretty violet hat in the window of the milliner’s clothing shop down the street one day and knew it was just the right style for his wife. It would go well with her eyes. Julie worked hard caring for his five children, and he had wanted to make her feel special. He felt pleased with his decision as he counted the franks he had hidden in his pant pocket.

At that particular time, he was approached by a gentleman offering him a chance to add to his finances by playing a silly game called find the pea. The thought of doubling his money was so tempting, and after all, he only had to see which shell the pea was under; if he found the pea, then he won the game, and his money would be doubled. He placed his bet and followed the man’s hands as he shuffled three shells back and forth. When he stopped, Nicolas was to choose which one contained the pea. Alas, he chose the wrong pea and ended up losing.

He was offered another shot at it. Frantically turning his pockets inside out, he discovered some leftover balls of lint, a crumb from the morning breakfast, and nothing more. The last of the money he had stashed away to buy bread for his family was all gone. Stupid, stupid! he yelled, slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand. Not even a single centime!

His temper increased to its highest level. Nicolas ranted and raved throughout the town to anyone who would listen. He had been cheated out of his money. He found out the gambler was a known chiseler. Why he got involved with him in the first place was beyond comprehension. He just wanted that violet hat so badly. After complaining aloud in the city square about the cheat who tricked him out of his month’s earnings, he noticed a bourgeois couple looking at him and whispering to each other. What are you looking at? he shouted.

The tailored, well-dressed gentleman turned and walked toward Nicolas. With a smile, the man’s large manicured hand extended toward him in kindness.

"Monsieur, let me introduce myself and my lovely wife. I’m M. DeMont, and this is my lovely wife, Mme DeMont, at your service, s’il vous plaît. Bowing deeply, he continued. I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation. My wife and I would like to help. We’d like to offer you a loan so you can buy food for your family. M. DeMont smiled. There is one stipulation, however. We ask that you gamble no more." He glowered, arching one dark eyebrow.

You have my word on that, sir, Nicolas answered.

My wife would like for you to purchase that hat for your wife as well. She thinks all women should have one new hat, at least once in her life, M. DeMont added.

Nicolas leaped at the chance to recoup his losses and promised to pay the DeMonts back as soon as he was able. It took three years, but finally, the debt was paid, and he never had to tell his wife where the hat came from or how he overcame his gambling habit.

He had received the document just last week. The rolled-up parchment was handed to Nicolas from a king’s musketeer. Nicolas immediately knew it was not good news. King Louis XIII didn’t send his musketeers on a fool’s errand. Oh no, this had to be important. He had heard the DeMonts had been arrested for treason, but of course, he didn’t believe it. He held them in the highest esteem and considered them givers, not takers. When he saw the king’s wax seal upon the back of the rolled document, he knew no good could come of it. He eagerly opened the note and read it quickly.

Yes, indeed, the king had arrested Mme and M. DeMont and had them jailed in Tour de la Lanterne, an old lighthouse from centuries past now used as a prison, but that wasn’t all. The king wanted the treasonous twosome to suffer as much as possible, so he ordered Nicolas, the great executioner and the DeMonts’ friend, to carry out the deadly deed. The king thought it poetic justice that the DeMonts would be slain by their friend’s hand.

Nicolas certainly hadn’t expected to be placed in the position of taking his friends’ lives, but the order came directly from King Louis XIII. One didn’t dare disobey a royal command. Besides, he had his own family to worry about. He prayed he could live with himself after the task was done. If I must do it, he thought, then let it be as painless as possible.

Entering the small smelly cell that the DeMonts had been enslaved in, bile crept up into his throat from the pit of his stomach, and it took all the strength he had not to retch all over the straw-covered floor. M. DeMont, I am so very sorry, he said and then bowed. I can’t believe it has come to this. What of the evidence?

M. DeMont, the handsome and distinguished gentleman, looked up; his eyes were darkened sockets, sunk deeply back into his skull.

Ah, my old friend, Nick, evidence? You mean the made-up charges. We haven’t committed treason or anything else for that matter. What brings you here? Can you help us? M. DeMont asked as the light began seeping back into his dull brown eyes. Have we been pardoned? Is there hope?

Nicolas reached out and placed his hand on M. DeMont’s shoulder. I’m afraid not, my friend. It’s worse than ever. The king has sent me to torture you even further.

"Oh oui, and what does he think you can do to me that could be worse than what he already has done? DeMont chuckled. Taking Nick’s hand from his shoulder and holding it to his chest, he continued. I am pleased to see you, my friend. I need to make a request of you."

"Anything, DeMont. You just tell me what you wish," Nick replied.

You remember our daughter, Carina?

But of course, sir. How could I not know of her? All of La Rochelle is enamored with her beauty. Nicolas smiled.

You must promise us to watch over her. She will have no one. If you would promise to look in on her from time to time, her mother and I can leave this world with peace in our hearts. Don’t hover, please. She can’t stand that! DeMont chuckled.

Of course, you have my promise. Nicolas looked down toward his black shoes and shuffled back and forth. Monsieur . . . we have other business, and they don’t allow me much time.

He lowered his head and began to explain. I’ve been sent by the king himself to describe how the execution is to be carried out. My dear friend, he has ordered me to be the executioner.

What? How could he? You are our friend! This makes no sense! Not even he could be that cruel! M. DeMont exploded.

Take it easy now. Nicolas continued. I shall explain. The King wants to punish you further by ordering me, your friend, to take your life coup de grâce, ‘the final blow,’ so to speak. I have no choice in the matter. However, DeMont, there is one thing I can do for you. The sword blade has been sharpened to a high gloss, and a swift, hard blow to the backs of your necks will be as painless as possible. The king requested a rusty, dull blade, he sneered. It may not be very much, my friend, but at least it will be swift for you and your beautiful lady. God be with you!

The couple placed their arms around Nicolas in one final hug for friendship. We know it’s hard for you. The king’s punishment will be done. It’s very hard to believe this is happening after all the years of service we have given to the crown. It’s simply incomprehensible. M. DeMont then slapped Nicolas on the back. We understand.

You have my word, old friend. I’ll watch over Carina the best I can, Nicolas whispered. He reached out and shook hands with his friend for the last time. He turned toward the door and saw the guard coming.

Time’s up, sir, the guard announced and ushered Nicolas out.

Au revoir, my friends. Au revoir. Nicolas turned briskly and left the older couple standing alone.

M. DeMont took the hand of his wife and led her to the cot lying on the floor in the far corner of the cell. They sat, placing their arms around each other.

That’s it then, my love. He squeezed her harder as the flood of tears racked her body and her screeching sobs sounded like a trapped animal.

Chapter 2

Carina saw a slight opening in the crowd and shoved her way even closer to the front line once again. She stood trembling with her arms wrapped around herself as her parents were led from the jail by two other jailers, their hands tied behind their backs.

It was the first time she had laid eyes on them since the arrest. Many weeks had passed, and she could not believe what she saw. Her mother’s beautiful gown had been ripped almost off and was lying open, exposing the top of her white breasts and her long, lean legs. Dirt spots covered the only remaining fabric areas. Her hair was unbound, and stray strands flew into her saddened eyes. She tried to push them out of her way by using her shoulder, but she couldn’t reach them. Carina, she whispered, are you here?

"I’m here, Mère! I’m here!" Carina yelled with tears in her voice. She took her eyes away only when she heard her father calling her.

My Carina, my child, my daughter, do not grieve for us. We will meet again in another life. He slurred his words, and she knew he was in pain. He was just as dirty and torn as her mother, but she couldn’t help noticing the bloody hastily wrapped hands tied behind him.

"Père, oh, Père, I love you so!" She wept.

I know, my dear, I know, her father said as he passed her, stumbling up the steps to the gallows. She wept deeply and could barely stand. Her knees buckled beneath her. She clawed her way closer but was pushed back by the executioner. "Stand aside, petite fille! There’s nothing here for you to see! Be off with you!" he shouted, trying to shove her aside.

You don’t understand! These people are my parents! she shouted back.

Then that’s all the more reason why you shouldn’t be here! Move along now!

"Non, I won’t, and you can’t make me!" She pouted.

Fine, have it your way! I don’t have time to be bothered with this! He shoved her once again and then made his way up the steps to the gallows. Watch if you must! he shouted back. But it won’t be very pretty!

Carina felt a light touch on her shoulder. Come along, dear, please, Mme Huet pleaded and begged. You must leave now. You really mustn’t see this.

"Non, I won’t leave! You leave me alone! Everyone must leave me alone! Let me do this my way!" she shouted back, stomping her foot hard against the cobblestone street.

Carina crumpled to the ground and wept. The executioner continued dragging her parents up the steps of the scaffolding. Quickly, she lurched up with all the strength left in her and clasped her father’s bare foot. He looked down with a smirk on his lips. Fear not, our daughter. We are at peace. They can’t hurt us anymore, but you, dear one, have to live on, he whispered softly.

The executioner pulled the rope tighter, and M. DeMont pulled his dirty foot free and then continued climbing the twenty steps of the platform. He had touched her as he went past, just a glance on her shoulder, but she felt it. She reached up and touched her sleeve, knowing it was the last time she would ever feel any resemblance to a father’s love again.

"Père, oh, Père! Carina cried. I will always love you both! I promise! I will never condone this mistake! I will find a way to make it right! You will see, you will see! God go with both of you!"

Carina stood and watched as her parents were forced to kneel in front of the chopping block. She shook her head back and forth, repeating, "Non, non," again and again.

Hundreds of citizens came out to view the beheading, so Carina, blinded by her tears, hadn’t noticed the handsome young musketeer standing a few steps behind her, listening to her every word. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking from side to side, making sure there was no way for the couple on the gallows to escape. He was the king’s guard sent here to make sure all went well for His Highness King Louis XIII.

The townspeople pushed back just far enough to allow Carina enough room to get closer, to be nearer to her parents when the sword fell. "Mercí, mercí," she said as she propelled her body forward.

One or two so-called royal loyalists chanted curses and spat at her while referring to her as a traitor herself. She closed them out as if they were never there and continued to clutch her mère’s white lace handkerchief, the one that still carried the scent of roses. She carried it tightly between her tiny fingers, smelling it when the stench of the crowd got too much to stomach.

The onlookers went silent when the executioner tried to place the black cotton hood over the heads of her parents. She heard her mère begging, "Non, wait, I need to see my daughter one more time! She began yelling. Carina!"

"I’m here, Mère, over here!" Carina shouted in response.

Remember the roses! Remember the roses. Promise me! Her mère yelled back.

"I promise, Mère, I promise! I love you!"

Tears continued to flow from Carina’s saddened eyes and dripped upon her puffy red cheeks. She wiped them away once again and saw her mother for the last time through the blurry residue of the tears left behind. She reached out toward her mother with a small trembling hand, just in time to see the smile on her mother’s face be swiped away as the blade of the sword came slicing down. It came with lightning speed upon the back of her neck. Carina heard the snap of the bones from the blow. The sound was like no other ever heard. It sent wave after wave of nausea coursing throughout her tiny body into her very soul. All the watchers heard the bloodcurdling scream escape her lips and looked away.

Her mother’s head dropped almost silently into the waiting basket below. One could hear a small thump as it hit the bottom and rolled ever so slightly within the confines of the basket.

At once, Carina felt the warm, wet moisture of her mother’s blood as it spurted out upon the scaffolding and bounced off onto her. She licked the dampness from her own lips and tasted the saltiness of pure blood, her mère’s blood. She didn’t mind one little bit. It would be the last time she could feel anything from