By Fire and by Sword (7 page)

“One would never know by looking at it now.”

“Please, Lady Kenna,” he said as he pulled out her chair, waiting for her to sit down before he seated himself.

They dined by the light of candles and the moon coming through the glass doors that led to the gardens. She could only imagine the setting in the springtime, when the doors were open, with the scent of flowers and the serenade of the muted notes of the fountain drifting inside. Still, there was a lovely, crackling fire that provided both warmth and a bit of melody, along with an occasional display of brilliant sparks.

“I must say I was surprised when you asked in your note to see me, and that you would be coming alone. Surely you have not traveled from Scotland to Paris un-accompanied, Lady Kenna.”

“Yes, I did, although it was not my preference to do so. Certain events necessitated the decision, and I was forced to make a choice—come alone, or not at all. It was not circumstances of my choosing, or something I settled on easily.”

“A courageous decision, then?”

“My father always said a wise man makes his own decisions. Only time will tell how wise or courageous mine was.”

His aristocratic brows were knitted together in disapproval.

“I understand that you would not commend a woman for doing such a distasteful thing as traveling alone.”

“It is a dangerous undertaking. You know what kind of things might happen.”

“Yes, I do, but the things that would happen if I remained in Scotland were far more unpleasant. And I have been very fortunate in my travels thus far.”

After some moments, he said, “So, you have emulated your friend Lady Graham?”

“In a way, I suppose our cases are very similar. I cannot deny that Sophie was inspiring to me. I felt if she was able to take control of her life, then I could do the same with mine. Of course, our motivations were nothing alike.”

“You did not come here to escape marriage, then?” His voice was firm, and smooth, and his command of English, excellent.

“No, I am not betrothed. My flight from Scotland and my home were similar to Sophie’s, but my reasons for coming are entirely different.”

She wondered if he would press the issue and inquire as to the circumstances that forced her flight, but his breeding proved to override any curiosity—at least for the moment.

“I am a bit confused about a comment in your note, when you referred to a most important matter you wished to discuss with me. Now that we have finished our dinner, I feel I can politely broach the subject with you.”

“I have come here to ask you to take me as a pupil and become my fencing master.”

To describe his reaction as
surprised
would be to give the word more expressive power than was its due, for his face registered much more than wonder or amazement, or even something unanticipated. In fact, no one word would do it justice, for it was an expression that combined all the elements of
overwhelmed, stunned
and
astonished
…the kind of shock one would
expect to show if they suddenly opened the door and saw Leonardo da Vinci standing there with Mona Lisa at his side.

It took him a moment to recover. “I beg your pardon, but I must have missed the meaning here. You did not mean to say what you said. Either that, or your words were meant in jest.”

“No, I meant what I said and I jest not. I am very serious, Monsieur le Comte. I wish to become your pupil. I decided upon you because you were once the greatest swordsman in Europe, and then you became the best fencing master. I wish to hire you.”

“This is most improper. Forgive me, Lady Kenna, but you are a female, and fencing has yet to become an acceptable pursuit for women. It simply is not done.”

“Someone must be the first, although I know there have been female swordsmen before me.”

“That is of no importance.” He paused a moment to study her face, and finding no answers there, he asked, “What did you hope to accomplish by coming here like this?”

“I needed a fencing master and I chose you. It was worth the gamble, for I had naught to lose.”

“A gamble? Go on.”

“I knew if I came for wool, I might come home shorn myself, but a desperate man will grasp at water, and I had naught to give my unfed hopes. My only recourse was to try. I am not a gracious loser, Monsieur le Comte. It is a wide streak of stubbornness that plagues all Scots,” she said. “We are like burrs, we stick.”

“You are awfully young to speak as you do. You should be going to balls and taking rides in the park and be counting your suitors, not harboring visions of yourself with a sword in your hand. You are young. Enjoy it.”

“I cannot afford the luxury of being young. It is more important that I survive.”

“I see. I am sorry to have to refuse you, but I would never take a woman for a pupil.”

She started to reply that her being a woman should not have anything to do with it, but he rose to his feet and offered to show her around his grand château, and she read his meaning correctly. The matter was closed.

“Of course I would love to see it,” she said. “And I would enjoy it immensely if you would honor me with a peek at the place where you conducted your fencing classes.”

She saw the muscle in his jaw flex, and the scar across his neck became red. “In spite of your persistence, you must understand that I have retired from all of that, but I will show you the Salle des Chevaliers if you will come with me.”

Upon hearing the
comte
mention the French, Salle des Chevaliers, or Knights’ Gallery, reminded her that the room dated back to the time of chivalry, and that helped prepare her for what she would see.

The
comte
unlocked the door and she stepped into a gallery vaulted in the Gothic style, with stone arches that towered high overhead. It was like stepping into a cathedral.

Splendid trefoiled windows, set high, lined two
walls. At the far end of the gallery, she could see the sculptured coat of arms, and along one wall armory from the château’s early years—suits of armor, halberds, pikes and a stack of large stone balls for catapults. Then she saw the assortment of swords…sabers, rapiers, foils, épées.

“It is magnificent,” she said. “I am almost speechless at the overwhelming sight of it. It is so much more than I expected.” She turned to him and said with warmth in her voice, “It is like stepping back centuries, for I can imagine it looking exactly the same at the height of the Crusades.”

“I am glad you appreciate fine architecture, for it is exactly as it was when it was first built, save for the additions of the more modern swords.”

After their tour, she took a glass of port with him in the library, where the fire in an enormous hearth warmed the room and the hallway beyond.

She seated herself across from him. “I hope my request did not offend you.”

“It isn’t offensive, but that is far from the point. I hope I was not too blunt in my refusal, but you must understand my position. You are a very persuasive woman, Lady Kenna, and if you asked almost anything else of me, I would grant it. However, there are two very good reasons why I cannot honor your request. First, I would never instruct a woman. Second, I am retired. When I put down my foil and closed the door to any future students, it was permanent. Besides, I doubt I would live long enough to train a novice.”

“But I am not a novice, Monsieur le Comte. I have been fencing for many years.”

“You cannot be serious if you make such a statement.”

“It is the truth. My father allowed me to be instructed by the same fencing master who taught my brothers.”

He simply stared at her, and she saw the white knuckles around his glass and hoped he would not shatter it. “I cannot imagine the father who would allow his daughter to learn weaponry of any sort.”

“My father was not a barbarian, I assure you. He was a powerful earl, and the laird of the Lennoxes, a very old and noble clan. His power reached beyond even Scotland.”

“I have heard of the Lennoxes,” he said, “and I apologize if I said something to cause you grief. Is your father still alive?”

“My father and three brothers were murdered.”

“I am sorry to hear of your loss. Do their deaths have something to do with your coming here, and your wish to further your fencing skills?”

“I would be lying if I said it did not.”

“I understand. Perhaps you should seek out another fencing master. I can give you the names…”

“It is imperative that I have only the best.”

“Thank you for your flattery, and the honor you give to me by saying I am the best. That might have been true once, but times change.”

“Yes, that is my point exactly. You said women did not take up the sword. Times are changing. I want to change along with them.”

“I am not holding you back, Lady Kenna. I am only refusing to be the one who teaches you.”

“And you would not consider taking one pupil…to be the first fencing master in France to instruct a woman?”

“You cannot bribe me with fame. I must ask you not to persist with this request. The answer is no, and the answer will remain no.”

He seemed to be searching her face, or perhaps her eyes for something…truth? Shame? Humility? She had no real inkling.

He sighed, and said, “Come with me.”

She went with him into the library, where after a moment of searching, he drew forth, with an exclamation of, “Aah… I have found it…a book by Petrarch. Give a listen, if you will.”

He indicated a chair for her to sit in, and she obliged, with a nod of her head as she sat down.

“In 1343 the Italian poet Petrarch wrote of one woman warrior, an Italian named Maria. He called her ‘a mighty woman of Pozzuoli, sturdy in body and soul…. Her body is military rather than maidenly, her strength is such as any hardened soldier might wish for, her skill and deftness unusual, her age at its prime, her appearance and endeavor that of a strong man. She cares not for charms but for arms; not for arts and crafts but for darts and shafts; her face bears no trace of kisses and lascivious caresses, but is ennobled by wounds and scars. Her first love is for weapons, her soul defies death and the sword. She helps wage an inherited local war, in which many have perished on both
sides. Sometimes alone, often with a few companions, she has raided the enemy, always, up to the present, victoriously…. I saw her again a few years ago…and I barely recognized the wild, primitive face of the maiden under her helmet.’”

He closed the book and turned to her. “Now, tell me you would like to emulate this woman’s life.”

“Of course I do not wish to emulate Maria’s life. I wish to remain myself, just as I am, but with the skill of a highly skilled swordsman.”

“And I suppose you see no reason why you cannot have everything you ask for?”

“I see no reason why I cannot have everything I work hard to achieve.”

“This is preposterous. A woman swordsman…I daresay I do not know the proper way to even address her. Swordsman does not seem fitting for she is not a man…and swordswoman, besides being difficult to say, sounds utterly absurd. Swordsperson identifies no gender. Swordette? It sounds like a dance. But never mind, I cannot perceive a female learning the art.”

“Aren’t you forgetting your own La Maupin?”

His face registered surprise. “La Maupin? How in the devil do you know about her?”

“I know a great many things, Monsieur le Comte. I was privileged to have a father who believed in enriching the minds of his daughters. In my studies, I learned there have been many such women, Monsieur le Comte. I would be happy to tell you of some of them if you like.”

“You are the daughter of a Scottish earl. Why would a woman of your breeding and station want something like this?”

“Perhaps I want more out of life than polite conversation and serving tea. Perhaps I want to survive and live my life in peace. Perhaps a woman can want the same things as a man.”

“And what is that?”

“Adventure, control of her own life, confidence in her ability to defend herself.”

He did not say anything further. He stood and walked to the bookshelf and put the book back exactly where it had been. He crossed one arm across his middle and brought the fingers of his other hand up to his cheek and drummed his fingers several times. Then he stood there, with his face toward the books, as if in deep thought…or could it be that he was considering something?

When he made no move to turn back to her, she tried to understand what this meant. Perhaps it was his way, or the French way, of dismissing someone.

After a few more minutes, she decided he was waiting for her to go, as a way for both of them to save face. So, she rose to her feet and without saying a word, walked to the door of the library, then turned.

“Let me ask you something. If you were in my place, would you meekly surrender and give up, or would you keep trying?”

“You ask an unfair question, and one I cannot answer, simply because I am not a woman, and do not think like a woman.”

“Do you have a wife and children?” she asked.

“I did once, but my wife and two sons were killed during a botched robbery.”

“Forgive me for asking. It was inconsiderate of me to put my personal needs before your right to privacy. I am fortunate to have three living sisters. However, having lost my mother and all the male members of my family, I do understand your loss.”

“I am sure you do,” he said icily. He glanced at his watch. “The hour grows late and you have to traverse the distance back to Paris. I will escort you to your carriage.”

Kenna suddenly felt bereft of even the power to charm, which had always served her so well. What could she say to him that would not make her motives seem self-serving and selfish? She bit her lip to hold back the tears. It cannot end like this, she thought.

It cannot…

Of all the things that could have happened to her, during the trip to Edinburgh, the travel by ship, the coach ride from Calais to Paris, she’d arrived in Paris and had her hopes thrust back in her face, and her dreams shattered.

If I do not learn to protect myself, I might as well send Lord Walter a letter telling him where he can find me, she thought as they walked in silence to the carriage.