Henri turned his horse toward Jeanne"s; animals and humans faced each other.
“Who is Monsieur de Polignac?” Henri asked, his voice tight, his face a mask of placidity, yet a vein pulsed upon his forehead. She wished to spare him, and herself, but she could not, would not lie to him any more than she already had.
“He is the man my father is trying to force me to marry.”
“No!” Henri yelled, but the cry faded under the screech of two rapid horn blasts renting the air.
The Master of the Hunt, the Duc de La Rochefoucauld, strode onto the stable yard resplendent in his red and gold military-style couture, and the milling group swarmed around him and the King.
The hounds barked and bayed, still held back at the stable door by leashes seized firmly in the usher"s hands.
Clad in white leather
