By Fire and by Sword (6 page)

“A terrible inconvenience, it was,” the
vicomte
said, but the worst part is spending Christmas in a coach.”

“Yes, it does not seem like Christmas at all,” she said.

“And yet, life goes on, does it not?” the
duc
said.

“I do believe de Lorraine has fallen asleep,” the
vicomte
noted. “We haven’t had a shriek from him for some time now.”

The Comte de Lorraine was, indeed, asleep, and after a few more miles of nodding, the
vicomte
joined him.

“I am afraid that leaves only the two of us to carry on the conversation,” Kenna said, but she noticed a short time later that the
duc
had joined his friends in slumber.

It was not much longer before the carriage clattered over the cobblestones of Paris, and everyone began to wake up, all, save the poor
vicomte
, who took a turn at pulling back the curtain to find familiar landmarks.

“We are near Rue de St. Denis,” the
vicomte
said, and turned to ask de Bourbon, “Is this not the street where your physician lives?”

A few minutes later, Kenna bid her three traveling companions goodbye as the carriage set off down the street once more, taking her to the home of Madame Guion.

Kenna had acquired Madame Guion’s name almost two years ago, from Sophie, the same Sophie Victoire de Bourbon that Philippe, Duc de Bourbon, had spoken of in the carriage earlier.

It happened after Lord Walter was sent to prison, and the Lennoxes returned to Lennox Castle. When Kenna went to bed that night and opened the shutters in her room, she glanced at the moon and saw a halo encircled it.

Kenna knew what that meant: a ring around the moon was a bad omen.

It was confirmation that the curse Lord Walter had placed upon her was real. In his mind, Kenna was to blame for his misfortune. Instead of enjoying the Lennox wealth, he would spend his life in prison, thanks to her. He would take great pleasure in his revenge, and that twisted mind would demand nothing less than a horrible, painful and torturous death for her. A simple murder would not do. He would want bloodcurdling revenge.

Since that night, Lord Walter had become her nemesis, the man who would stop at nothing to bring her down. He had murdered before. He would not hesitate to do so again.

She had trouble sleeping after that day, and her family thought it would be good for her to take a trip to the Continent. It was Sophie who suggested that Kenna go to France, for Sophie had many friends and relatives there that she could rely on.

Everyone agreed that France would be the perfect place, especially since French was a language Kenna spoke with fluency. Sophie did her part by writing letters of introduction to several prominent friends, and supplied Kenna with a list of people she might find helpful. One of those was Madame Guion, and the other was the Comte Debouvine, who, according to Sophie, was the best fencing master not only in France, but all of Europe.

But Kenna never went to France. She changed her mind about going, and the trip was forgotten, along with the packet of introductions and lists Sophie had given her.

“Why, Kenna?” Claire had asked. “You were so looking forward to this trip.”

“I know, but now I feel different. I think to go would be running away. I feel very strongly that I should stay here and face the devils that rob me of my peace. If I go to France, I think it highly likely that those same ghosts will still be waiting for me here, when I return.”

No one questioned her change of heart, and the subject was never broached again.

Things were different now. Lord Walter was out of prison and looking for her, and that made her decide for the second time in her life to go to France.

Only this time she followed through.

This time things were different.

She was not running away from ghosts. She was going on a journey to perfect herself, to train and to learn, until such time she felt confident to face her enemy.

Fortunately, she had kept the letters Sophie had written for her, which had been lying in the bottom of her trunk. The night before she left home, she tossed back its lid and threw the contents in five different directions, looking for the letters at the bottom.

She removed the small metal box and unlocked it. Inside, she found Sophie’s packet of notes and introductions. It was all here—the names of friends and relatives, places she should visit and the letters of introduction.

She tucked the package into her traveling case along with only essential clothes she would take to France—two extra gowns and a riding suit. She could not risk taking the trunk, for it would draw more attention to her and be cumbersome to travel with.

And now, she was here, in Paris, and on her way to the address Sophie had given her for Madame Guion.

But words are words; I never yet did hear

That the bruis’d heart was pierced

through the ear.

—William Shakespeare (1564–1616),

English poet and playwright.

Othello
(1602-1604), Act I, Scene 3.

M
adame Jeanne-Marie Guion was a most agreeable lady who insisted she would never charge the sister-in-law of Sophie de Bourbon more than three guineas a month.

She had opened her home to a select few since her husband died, and prided herself on both her home and the quality of the people who stayed there.

Her son and two maiden sisters shared the large house, which was well furnished, with four bedchambers on the first floor, a large parlor below, a kitchen and “should you ever have the need, you are welcome to use the cellar.”

Madame Guion also took care to warn Sophie about
her son, Jean-Claude. “
La!
He is a handsome enough young man of five and twenty years. He is good-natured and quite obliging, although in possession of a goodly amount of vanity. However, his one downfall is women…especially beautiful ones, and therefore you are at risk. He is a bit of a libertine,
mademoiselle
, so be on your guard.”

Sophie had already warned Kenna about Frenchmen, and how their vanity was the ruling passion of the most volatile of them. Kenna was actually looking forward to his returning home, so she could see just what Sophie meant by volatile men whose vanity was their ruling passion.

Jean-Claude arrived home, and entered the room as vain as a peacock, with his strutting walk, his sword tasseled and hanging to his side. Immediately, Kenna realized Sophie had described him perfectly, right down to the bright red tassel.

When Kenna saw his saber, she said, “
Monsieur
, I thought gentlemen in Paris were not allowed to wear swords about.”

“
Oui, mademoiselle
, what you say is true, but due to my position of importance with the government, I am permitted to wear a sword.”

Upon further questioning, she discovered, too, that he had never used it, nor would he be so obliged, as he put it. “It is the effect of the sword,
mademoiselle
, that attracts attention, not the using of it. It is much more fashionable to display ornamentation, rather than running around brandishing a sword at each and every person you meet.”

Madame Guion added, “Jean-Claude is so trustworthy that he is the receiver of the tithes of the clergy in our district. It is an office that gives him command of a great deal of money.”

After she had finished dinner, Jean-Claude devoted himself to boring Kenna to death in the parlor, with mind-numbing descriptions of his uncle’s château in the country; intentionally dropped hints of the fortunes that should have been settled upon his maiden aunts; boasted of his connections at court; and assured her, “It is not for money that my mother lets their lodgings, but more for ‘the pleasure of enjoying the companionship of such lovely and well-connected persons such as yourself.’”

Kenna smiled inwardly as she remembered what Sophie said: “He will tell you of his connections at court, but I must warn you that they are confined to a clerk in the secretary’s office, with whom he corresponds by virtue of his employment.”

Jean-Claude went on to tell her of his accomplishments with the fairer sex, and when his mother left the room for a moment, whispered that he did, indeed, keep a
fille de joie
. In his best, broken English, he also admitted, “Can you believe
mademoiselle
, that in the past year alone, I have fathered six bastards…and all boys.”

Thankfully, Jean-Claude was human enough that he had to eat, and when he went to the kitchen, Kenna hurried up to her room and locked the door.

She was up early the next morning, and after her toilette, she dressed and sat down to write a note to the
Comte Debouvine, by way of a
petite poste.
She included the letter of introduction Sophie had written to him.

She received a reply two days later, hand delivered, with an invitation to dine with the
comte
four days hence. He would send a carriage for her.

Because she had brought only a small amount of clothing with her to France, Kenna did not have a large number of gowns to choose from. She decided to enjoy not having to waste a great deal of time making a decision about which dress to wear. The riding suit was out, so that left only three choices. She easily selected a silk gown of deep, burnished gold, trimmed with dark brown, braided cord. She was aware that she would become very tired of this dress and the others she brought with her, and reminded herself to find a seamstress.

Kenna believed clothes possessed a very powerful influence, and to know she was dressed well gave her a sense of peace and well-being. With her gaze focused on the standing oval mirror in the room, she turned from side to side, and gave herself a critical going-over. The gown was both elegant and simple, and the braided cord added a jaunty military air. Yet, it needed something, and she settled on her mother’s pearls.

When she had finished paying great attention to the smallest detail, she gathered her cape and was about to go belowstairs to await the
comte’
s carriage, but before she had her hand on the door, she heard the clatter of carriage wheels.

A quick peek out the window and she caught sight of the
comte’
s carriage, its brightly polished brass lanterns all aglow and two postilions riding tall as it rolled through the arch and into the courtyard, stopping in front of Madame Guion’s home.

Thankfully, no one was about when Kenna went swiftly down the stairs and was handed by one of the postilions into the carriage. With a crack of the whip, the carriage was off and through the courtyard arch, then down the streets of Paris, to leave Madame Guion’s home behind.

To say the Comte Debouvine had a home was an understatement, for it turned out to be a very palatial château on the outskirts of Paris.

Immediately upon her arrival, she was invited into the vestibule, where she barely had time to notice the exotic fabrics and lacquered grandfather clock before she was greeted by a
majordome.

“I am Gaston, the
majordome
of Monsieur le Comte. May I take your cloak and gloves?”

She handed him her gloves, and he helped her out of her cape, which he placed on a chair before he said, “If
mademoiselle
will come this way, the footman will show you to the Salon Rose, where you may await Monsieur le Comte Debouvine.”

A white-stockinged footman magically appeared, liveried and powdered, to conduct her down the long hallway. On the way, they passed the grand salon filled with exquisite furniture, tapestries and priceless paintings. The
comte
had cultivated taste, and it was obvious that he was very discriminating; she only hoped he
was not quite so discriminating when it came to accepting her as a pupil.

Suddenly, the footman stopped and, throwing wide the doors of the Salon Rose, said, “If you will be so kind to wait here, the
comte
will arrive shortly.”

After he was gone, she walked around the salon, with its great fireplace beneath ancestral portraits. The room was octagonal shaped, done all in gold, white and blue. She walked to the open doors and looked out to see the magnificent gardens spreading out behind the château, highlighted by a spectacular fountain. Echoes from the past seemed to haunt the setting with balustrades, terraces, sweeping stone stairways and beautiful walkways through avenues of lime trees. Further over, she caught a glimpse of the greenhouse and stables.

A moment later, she heard footsteps, and she turned as the doors opened and a slender man of medium stature entered. He was an impressive and graceful figure clad in a white cambric shirt, a green-and-cream damask coat and dark green satin breeches, with his once-black hair, now streaked with silver, unpowdered and tied back with a black velvet riband. The gold buttons on his coat bore his family crest, as did the gold signet ring on his left hand. A sparkling diamond ring graced his right.

His dark blue eyes widened when he saw her, then grew suddenly warm as a smile appeared upon his lips.

She knew very little about him, other than his repute as a fencing master and as one of the greatest swords-men in all of Europe, and that was enough to intimidate
King Louis himself. There was much myth and romance associated with his name, and her first impression of him was of a man of enormous reputation. His age, personal history and marital status, were nothing more than a matter of conjecture, and her fertile mind was fast at work filling in the gaps with her imaginings.

He could have easily passed for a prince, so regal was his bearing. She found it difficult to believe this wealthy man could be the
comte
who mentored those who wanted to learn the secrets of the sword. She knew she was looking at the real mortal man, and not the demigod she imagined from the stories she had heard, where she could not help picturing him as a dashing swordsman, fighting for honor and his king, and ending up with the hand of the king’s daughter in marriage.

But, she reminded herself that she was racing off on a tangent, and she knew nothing about the
comte.
In truth, she could not really tell by looking at him that he had ever picked up a sword.

But, as she stepped closer, she saw the trace of a faint scar that ran from his right ear across his throat to disappear beneath his collar, close to the collarbone. She also noticed a small scar near his left temple, though it was hard to drag her attention away from his unbelievable, crystalline blue eyes.

“Lady Kenna, I have been looking forward to our dinner this evening.” He bent over the hand that she offered and brushed it lightly with a kiss. His lips were cool, yet the hand that held hers was warm and strong.

He lifted his head and looked her directly in the eyes. He was a handsome man, and she felt certain that
in his day he was quite sought-after, not only for his obvious wealth, but also for the beauty of his face. She wondered how many women he had seduced with his charm; how many men he had dazzled with his sword-play.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance. It is something I have anticipated since receiving your note and the introduction from Sophie de Bourbon…forgive me, I understand she is now Lady Graham.”

He spoke in French, and Kenna answered him in the same language. “It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Comte Debouvine. I thank you for extending your courteous invitation to a complete stranger to dine with you this evening. I am most appreciative for Lady Graham’s generous introduction. She speaks very highly of you, and also said the two of you were acquainted, but she did add that it did not mean you would necessarily remember her.”

“Not remember a beautiful woman who raised the ire of her cousin the king, by leaving France rather than marry the man of his choosing? Such a woman is not forgettable, my dear. I remember a great deal about your friend, Lady Graham.”

“I must be truthful with you, Monsieur le Comte. There is a family connection there as well, for Sophie is the sister-in-law of my sister Claire, in her own right Countess of Errick and Mains.”

“Your sister is a countess?”

“Yes. She is married to Fraser Graham now and has one son, Alex. She has spoken of her intent to pass the title to Fraser, who would have to change his name to
Lennox. He would then be known as Fraser Lennox, Earl of Errick and Mains.”

“She will do this for her son, I assume.”

“Yes, so he will one day inherit the title and continue the line of Lennoxes who bore the title.”

“By the way, I must compliment you on your honesty. It is good to know you are a woman of principle and truth.”

She could feel the heat as it rose to her face and she cast her eyes down to the floor. “I am not as saintly as you paint me, Monsieur le Comte, and cannot accept your praise. I do my best to tell the truth in every situation, but I must confess that there are times when I have found it necessary to stretch it a wee bit.”

When he recovered from his laughter, he said, “I will be honest with you as well. I already knew of your family connection with Lady Graham, and was most curious to see if you were going to tell me of it. Your French is excellent, by the way.”

“Thank you. So is yours,” she said, knowing her eyes were alight with humor.

His aristocratic brows went up, and a slow smile curved crookedly across his mouth. She noticed the sparkle in his eyes that told of his pleasure at her comment.

“You had an exceptional teacher,” he said.

“Yes, my father. He was a student of languages, and insisted his daughters learn French and Latin. My brothers were taught Italian and Spanish as well.”

“Aah, a learned father, which is why you are so proficient. There is nothing like having someone close to
you give instruction. When you care about someone, you naturally want to please them. It makes both learning and teaching a joy.”

“That would apply to you as well, Monsieur le Comte, for it is evident that you have enjoyed your time as a fencing master, and it is quite obvious that you did not do it for the money.”

He laughed, and began speaking English. “You have a quick mind and a fine wit. I am going to enjoy dining with you very much.”

“And I look forward to dining with you,” she said.

He offered his arm, and she slipped hers gracefully through his as they walked from the Salon Rose, which she found a little sad, for it was such a lovely room.

She needn’t have regretted leaving the Salon Rose, for the
salle à manger
far surpassed it, with a carved stone buffet, high ceilings, ornate chandeliers and splendid boiseries, ornate, gilded and intricately carved.

“A magnificent room…actually, the château is magnificent. Has it been in your family long?”

“My family has been on this land about a thousand years,” he said, “and the house has been added on to many, many times, to get to the state you now see. On several occasions it was almost demolished.” His words were measured in that self-assured way many of the nobility have of speaking.