The king had asked about her tribe with interest. She told him about her father and five brothers, and Tristan added that she had a warrior’s skills with a horse. And then they left the room to join the hundreds waiting for the king and queen to enter. When they did, dinner was served, and there was music and dancing. People were milling about, talking to each other, trying to make deals and exchange information and trading gossip. Tristan introduced her to several of his friends, who were visibly intrigued by her, but neither disapproving of her nor shocked, as they had been in New Orleans. This was a far more sophisticated group and because she was an Indian, she was of greater interest to them. Her shining black hair had been arranged in enormous curls on top of her head, and the fact that it wasn’t powdered made her stand out more. Wachiwi was a great success, and Tristan was the envy of all the men who saw her. She couldn’t help thinking that this was a long, long way from the slave quarters to which she had been banished in New Orleans. And she looked as elegant as all the other women there in the dress that the marquis had ordered for her.

She was having such a good time she didn’t want to leave. She loved watching people dance although she had no idea how to do it, and she thought the music was lovely. It reminded Tristan that he really ought to teach her how to dance, particularly if he brought her to court again, which was beginning to seem likely. She had been far too big a hit not to bring her back, and she enjoyed it so much that he didn’t want to deprive her of some fun. It made everything far more pleasant for him as well, and for the first time in years he wasn’t bored all evening at court. He had fun watching her be fussed over, talk to people, and make friends.

She was still talking excitedly about everything as the carriage drove them back to the house on the rue du Bac, and he smiled as he listened to her. She looked as animated as Agathe after a birthday party with her friends.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said to Wachiwi easily, relaxing in the carriage, happy that it was over. Even though he had had a much better time with her there, he always found visits to the court fatiguing and stressful, and the powder in his hair made him sneeze. She teased him about it as they rode along. She felt very important and very special, and she turned with a grateful look at him.

“Thank you for being so kind to me, Tristan. I had a wonderful time.” She only wished that Jean had been there. They both did. She still missed him, and so did his brother. “It was the most perfect evening of my life.” She expressed it so elegantly that he smiled. He had been very proud of her that night. So many people had approached her, and then afterward praised her to Tristan, he was actually surprised. He had expected at least some of the women to be critical of her, but they weren’t. They seemed only too happy to welcome her, and she was so innocent and open with everyone that they willingly embraced her. The king had made a point of telling him to be sure to bring her back.

When they reached the house, they chatted for a few minutes, and then said goodnight and went to their respective rooms, where the housekeeper helped her out of her finery. Wachiwi lay awake for most of the night, replaying every moment of the evening in her head, and still unable to believe she’d been to court. It was even better than she had expected, and far more wonderful than anything she’d hoped. And she had been very proud to be at court with Tristan, who as always had been so kind to her. And after a brief sleep, she was up early the next morning, and they met at breakfast again.

Tristan offered to show her some of the sights that day, and she could hardly wait to see them. They visited the gardens at the Palais Royal near the Louvre, and walked in the Tuileries Gardens. They drove to Notre Dame and the Place des Vosges in the Marais. She was bursting with excitement again when they got back to the house, and they had a quiet dinner that night in the dining room before going back to Brittany the next day. She was anxious to tell the children what it had been like to meet the king and queen. She had particularly promised to tell Agathe everything about it. And she was going to tell her how handsome her father had looked in his red brocade coat and blue satin breeches, and his elegant shoes with the buckles.

He looked entirely different when he got into the carriage to leave. He was wearing easy traveling clothes and a long black coat to protect his clothes from the dust on the road, and he covered Wachiwi with a blanket before they left in the cool morning air.

They talked for many hours this time as they rode along, and they stopped at small inns for lunch and dinner, and again for the night at an inn by the side of the road. The trip seemed to go faster on the way back, but it was still late on the second day of traveling when they reached the Château de Margerac, and everyone was sleeping. She thanked him again, and he told her that her trunks would be brought up in the morning. The men were tired from the long trip.

And even before breakfast, Wachiwi ran up the stairs to tell the children all about Paris and their evening at the court. Agathe said she wanted to go too one day, and Wachiwi said that she was sure she would. Her father would take her there and be very proud of her in a beautiful dress that he would have made for her, and she would look like a princess.

“And will you come too?” Agathe asked with dancing eyes, and Wachiwi hesitated before she answered. She didn’t know it, but Tristan was waiting for the answer too. He had just walked into the nursery when Agathe asked her the question, and Wachiwi hadn’t seen him.

“I don’t know if I’ll be here,” Wachiwi told her honestly. She never lied to children, or to anyone else. She was unfailingly honest. Her father had taught her that as a child. His wisdom and honesty had made him a great chief, respected by all who knew him. “That will be a long time from now, you know, and by then I’ll be an old woman, and I don’t know where I’ll be.”

“I want you to be here with us,” Agathe said, looking worried.

“Then she will be,” her father said, stepping forward, and Wachiwi looked startled and bade him good morning.

“By then, you’ll know everything there is to know about riding,” she said to him and his children with a smile. It had been an awkward moment for them all. “And I’ll be too old to teach you. I’ll have to ride Agathe’s pony.” The child giggled when she said it, which lightened the mood again. And the children claimed their father’s attention, as Wachiwi quietly slipped away and went back to her rooms.

Tristan found her there a few minutes later, after he left the nursery. “The children want you to stay, Wachiwi, and so do I.” He addressed the issue immediately. He hadn’t liked her answer either, nor had his children. They had brought it up again when she left the room.

“I can’t impose on you forever,” she said so elegantly that it was hard for him to believe she had only spoken French for a year, thanks to his brother’s foresight.

“You’re not imposing. We like having you here. You make my children happy.” And then he spoke more softly to her in a voice raw with emotion. “You make me happy too, although I don’t say it.” He looked into her eyes, and it was easy for him to see why his brother had loved her. She was at the same time gentle and strong, and always kind to all of them. She was fierce in some ways, and as light as a feather in others. He had come to realize that she was the perfect woman. For him, and his children. And there was no one for him to ask if he could court her. “Will you stay with us?” he asked solemnly.

“For as long as you want me to,” she reassured him. He nodded gratefully, and with a troubled look, he left the room. She didn’t see him again until later that afternoon, when he found her in the garden. He walked with her for a while, and together they sat on a bench and looked out at the sea.

“It feels like you’ve always been here,” he said quietly.

“Sometimes it does to me too, and then at other times I think of my father and brothers and my village.”

“Do you miss them a great deal?” She nodded and a tear sneaked down her cheek, and he gently wiped it away, and touched her face in a way he never had before, and then without warning, he leaned over and kissed her. He didn’t want her to think he was taking advantage of her, and he quickly pulled away. She looked up at him, still surprised. He had never shown any interest in her in that way before, and she didn’t know what it meant that he had kissed her now.

He had wanted to wait a month or two for an opportune moment, but he had made the decision in Paris, and now he wanted to tell her, so that she would know his intentions were honorable toward her. He was not looking for a mistress, he wanted a wife.

“I want you to stay here, Wachiwi, for as long as you live, for as long as we both live.” He looked at her meaningfully, and she still looked puzzled.

“That’s very kind of you, Tristan, but if you marry again, your wife won’t like that. She won’t want an Indian girl staying here.” She smiled shyly at him as she said it. She thought the kiss a moment before had been an aberration of some kind, never to be repeated. With Jean she had known immediately that he was in love with her, but Tristan was different with her. He was quieter, and always courteous, but he didn’t show his emotions. He had learned to hide them as a young man and still did.

“I don’t think we should worry about how my future wife would feel about you,” he said cryptically.

“Why not?” she asked him with wide innocent eyes that melted his heart. He had realized for a while that he had been in love with her from the first moment he saw her, but with Jean’s recent death, and her reason for coming here, the situation had been too awkward to let himself even think about it or say anything to her. But now he felt he had to. He couldn’t keep his feelings for her a secret any longer nor did he want to.