By Fire and by Sword (9 page)

She barely had time to seat herself when Gaston entered with a bottle of champagne and two glasses. He must have handled the explosive liquid many times, for
he quickly uncorked it and poured her a glass. “Is this supposed to help me drown my sorrows?” she asked.

“Do you have sorrows that need drowning, Lady Kenna?”

“No, but if I did, drinking champagne is better than being drowned in a barrel of malmsey, don’t you think?”

It seemed to her that it took great effort for the
comte
to keep the corners of his mouth from lifting…far be it that he should smile and give some indication that he was enjoying himself.

“Has anyone ever accused you of being enchanting?” he asked.

She thought about that for a moment. “No, but I have oft been called exasperating.”

The beautiful room reverberated with the sound of his laughter. “Your frank honesty is a bit unsettling for a Frenchman, for we are accustomed to the evasive techniques employed in the salons.”

“I am sorry if I came across as unrefined, but asking if I had been called enchanting, well it made me sound quite antique, like some fairy, tripping half naked across the moors, with long, unkempt hair, or an ancient hag peppered with magic straight from the charmed forests of Celtic history, long before the sacking of Delphi.”

This time, she was certain his boisterous laughter could be heard all the way to Paris.

“I would like to offer you more champagne, but I dare not spoil the sharpness of your wit that is so evident tonight. To what do I owe the pleasure of it?”

“You might say, it stems from pure relief, for I have no worries that I must say or behave in a certain way that would influence you to accept me as a pupil.”

He saw immediately that she thought she had said the wrong thing, for his face took a sudden serious turn.

“And yet, your wit and your humor have managed to extract from me that which your serious persuasion could not.”

“Well, Monsieur le Comte, it is your fault for plying me with champagne, so now you must…”

Suddenly, his words penetrated her consciousness like the abrupt blast of a north wind sweeping across Sutherland. “Monsieur le Comte, if this is your idea of a jest…”

“My lovely little Scot, I have never had a more serious moment in my entire life.”

“Then you will…”

“Take you as a pupil, and may the good God above grant that I should not wake up in the morning with a headache and a heart full of regret for the words I uttered this night.”

“Monsieur le Comte, I doubt that is possible, for you have yet to finish your first glass of wine.”

“Lady Kenna, allow an old man the opportunity to blame something other than the weakness of his own fortitude.”

“You are not old, Monsieur le Comte.”

“I have recently passed my sixtieth year, Lady Kenna. And now, let us sit down, for I have seen Gaston pacing the hallway beyond our door, fretting that
the lamb will not be eaten at the peak moment of its perfection.”

Gaston must have been pleased for the lamb was, as the
comte
promised, at the “peak moment of its perfection,” and once the meal was over, the
comte
invited her to share a glass of port in the Salon Rose.

As she entered the room, she paused beneath a wall of ancestral portraits. “I do not see your portrait, Monsieur le Comte. Will it hang here one day?”

“I am trying to resist the supernatural soliciting that I feel each time I pass by. I rather think it is bad enough to be condemned to tolerate the stares from faces of the past, without feeling compelled to perpetuate the images. Have you ever noticed there is always something wrong with the mouth? They are endlessly the same, either seriously grim, or a smirk.”

“Except perhaps, for Mona Lisa.” She studied one portrait in particular. “This must be your father, for I see a strong resemblance. There is much continuity in the Roman nose.”

“Yes, I come from a long line of highly unattractive people.”

She smiled at that comment, and proceeded to study the painting of the woman next to his father. Was it his mother? With an elegant dress, jewelry and a gold chat-elaine, she was certainly a lady of quality. And the ring was obviously her wedding ring, considering it was on her right index finger. She decided it was his mother, for the clue was in the crystalline blue eyes. “Your mother was beautiful.”

He stopped next to her and studied the portrait, almost
as if it were the first time he had looked at it. She knew then that he had been very close to this woman. “My mother always hated that portrait. She told the artist it would never be considered a masterpiece, and the artist replied that to paint a masterpiece, the artist must first have a beautiful subject.”

The smile became a laugh. “Monsieur le Comte, I would have never known you for a man of great wit and humor.”

“It is nothing more than an opportunity to resist the nascent attempts of approaching age to stir the blood of kinship.”

“Did you have a large family?” she asked.

“Two brothers and three sisters. All are dead now.”

“I am sorry you have suffered so much loss, and sorry that you are all alone.”

He raised his brows in surprise. “But, I am not alone. There is a young woman living here. Josette Revel is about your age. She is no blood relation, but she is like a daughter to me. I think the two of you will enjoy each other’s company and companionship.”

“When shall I meet her?”

“She should return tomorrow. Josette is Romany…a Gypsy by birth. Although she has spent most of her life here at my château, there are times when she will go back to the place where she was born. She feels it is important that she not forget who her people were.”

“And she travels alone?”

It was the first time she had seen the
comte
throw his head back and truly laugh.

With charitable zeal, Kenna quickly said, “No one should lose their past and where they came from.”

Humor still danced in the
comte’
s eyes. “She would agree with you, for she likes to remind me that I am noble by heritage, and human by choice.”

“I look forward to our meeting, and hope we shall be good friends.”

“I am confident you will. Josette is a woman who is passionate about many things, just as you seem to be. Of course, I could be wrong, and the two of you could dislike each other from the start, for I have arrived at the age where one oft expresses himself with a palsied heart and a jaundiced eye.”

“What made you change your mind about me, Monsieur le Comte? Was it the fortuitous aligning of planets, or the mere whim of merciless fate who tossed me into the center of your retired life?”

“Fortuitous situations form the molds that shape the events in our lives, whether some are by accident or the decree of ordaining fate, one can only suppose. As to your particular situation, it’s been several days since you were last here, and during that time, your parting words have not left my mind, primarily because I find them to be quite haunting. I decided I would know more of this woman, so lovely and so young, who knows a great deal about suffering. You mentioned things that can happen in life to push you from your center, leaving you with little hope of salvation. That comes not from reading but from experience. I would like you to tell me of it. Please,” he said, moving to the sofa, “do sit down.”

She seated herself and studied the hands in her lap for a few moments, as she wondered where to best start.

The
comte
took a chair close to her.

“It began with the murder of my father and my two eldest brothers by an aunt and her lover. Isobel Lennox was married to my father’s brother. She had a son, Giles McLennan, by a previous marriage. She was a beautiful woman, but vain and greedy. She was always pushing my uncle to buy bigger castles, so she could live like a queen.”

“A wife like that has been the ruination of many men,” he said. “It usually causes the honeyed milk of romance to curdle.”

“Apparently, it did in Isobel’s case, for she had a lover for years—an Englishman, Lord Walter Ramsay. My uncle was barely in the ground when he moved into the castle with her. She had my uncle’s wealth and his property, but before long, the money was gone and she began selling off his holdings, and when that was squandered, she turned her greedy eyes upon my father’s money and holdings, and his title. About this time, my father and two eldest brothers were murdered while returning home from visiting the Grahams. One of my brothers was beheaded and his head hung on a pike.”

She paused a moment to collect herself. “We never learned who did this or why, for it was not robbery. Almost immediately, we learned that Isobel and Lord Walter were appointed our guardians. They slowly poisoned my youngest brother, Kendrew, and after his
death my sister Claire inherited our father’s earldom, and became the Countess of Errick and Mains in her own right. It was their plan to force Claire, who was only fifteen at the time, to marry Isobel’s son, Giles, which would put the control of the Lennox title and wealth in their hands. Only Claire was not as malleable as they thought. After treating all four of us cruelly for months, Lord Walter decided he needed to speed things up and took more severe measures with Claire. He locked her in the dungeon of an abandoned castle in a remote area on the coast of Caithness and starved her almost to the point of death.”

“And she escaped?” he asked.

“No. I spied on him and learned where he was taking Claire, and then I put on the trews of my dead brother and rode to Edinburgh to the home of Fraser Graham, to get help. Fraser and his brother, the Earl of Monleigh, and several men rescued Claire.”

“And what happened to Isobel and Lord Walter?”

“Isobel preferred death to prison, and drank poison. Lord Walter was imprisoned in England, which brings me to the reason I am here. After the Battle of Culloden, the King of England released Lord Walter. I was warned that while in prison, he vowed he would get even with me for ruining his plans and causing the death of Isobel.”

“So you came here to improve your skill?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you decide to handle this yourself, instead of allowing your family to protect you?” he asked.

“Lord Walter killed all of the men in my family. He
almost killed my sister. I could not bear the grief of losing another family member to this evil man. I made the decision to ride for help to save Claire. I am the one Lord Walter seeks his revenge upon. I will not allow someone else to settle my score with him. If I face him, there is a chance—if I am proficient enough—that I could prevail. If not, and I lose my life, that is preferable to a lifetime of grieving and guilt over the loss of a loved one.”

“You have taken a great deal of responsibility upon your slender shoulders, while at the same time placing a tremendous burden upon mine. For now I must not only improve your skill, I must teach you how to save your life.”

“I have no doubt that you and I can do this together. That is why I chose you as the man to entrust with my life. I did not come here for sympathy, or to court favors. I came to persuade you to teach me the art of survival. I have a quick mind, a strong heart and a willing spirit. When I care about something, I give it my all. I am not a quitter, and I will not give up easily.”

“We will soon see what you are made of, for there will be ample opportunities for you to prove yourself worthy. But first, you will move your belongings to the château tomorrow, and you will reside here for as long as you are my pupil. I will control your life henceforth. I will order your meals, and tell you when to go to bed and when to rise. You will work the entire day, save for a break for lunch and dinner. You will dress as I ask, and obey me no matter how foolish my request appears.”

Her eyes watered, and she dared them to spill. This man was no tyro, no beginner and no old man out of practice. He was the greatest fencing master in the history of the French school and he had agreed to instruct her.

“I will never be able to repay you for this,” she said.

“You may not want to, once your work begins. It is a grueling routine even for a man. You will come to hate even the terms you have to memorize and execute…
parade de septime
replaces the slower
parade de prime
…always use the
parade de seconde
instead of the
parade d’octave
, which is weak…the
parade de tierce
is stronger and readier than the
parade de sixte.
You may wish you were anywhere else when you engage a man who could carve you like a goose before you had time to say
parry.
You will be expected to drill repeatedly to bring your body to the peak of perfection, for only then will you realize that flexibility of movement, quickness, steadiness and lightness of touch are preferable to endurance, determination or even brute strength.”

“One day I will look back upon this as a day of good fortune,” she said.

“The opposite is also possible…. In any case, you shall be a welcome addition to my household and, I hope, a close friend to Josette.”

He stood. “It is time for me to retire. I have enjoyed our time together. My coach will come for you and your possessions at ten o’clock tomorrow. Once you set foot in that coach, your life is no longer your own.”

You told a lie, an odious, damned lie;

Upon my soul, a lie, a wicked lie.

—William Shakespeare (1564–1616),

English poet and playwright.

Othello
, Act V, Scene 2.

I
t was not Gaston who opened the door of the château on Monday, when she arrived with her belongings.

Taken aback by her surprise at seeing a woman where Gaston should have been, Kenna seemed to have lost her voice. Before she could introduce herself, the woman greeted her.

“Welcome to your new home, Lady Kenna. The
comte
is expecting you.”

Kenna stepped inside. “I apologize for staring so, but I was gorgonized from head to toe expecting to see Gaston open the door, not an exquisitely beautiful woman. And please forgive my manners for not introducing myself. I am—”

“I know who you are. The
comte
told me about you. I am Josette Revel. I live here. I am not an employee. I am not his daughter. I am not his paramour. Like you, I am someone the
comte
has opened his home and his heart to; unlike you, I have no interest in fencing, nor can I imagine why any woman would want to go to so much trouble and travel so far for fencing lessons.”

Kenna began removing her cape. “I will not hold that against you, and to tell you the truth, leaving home and coming here was not something I dreamed up out of boredom, but rather I was forced into it.”

“Why?”

“Mine is a long story, just as I am sure yours is, so I will save it to share with you when you have time to tell me yours.”

Kenna knew she was looking at a woman who must have a paralyzing and stupefying effect upon men. With her exotic Mediterranean bone structure, olive complexion and voluptuous figure, she could put a goddess to shame. Kenna was especially taken by her big, almond-shaped eyes, which were a lusty velvet brown with a hint of sea green.

Sensuality seemed to drip from her, and left Kenna feeling her more classic beauty, pale skin and red hair had just taken a tumble in the dust.

Josette wore a colorful dress of gray wool, trimmed with Kenna’s favorite Venetian raised-point lace, which the Italians aptly named
punto in aria
, and truly it was a stitch in the air, exquisitely fine and delicate—the richest, most sumptuous of needlepoint laces, and also the most expensive.

“Your gown is of beautiful design and workmanship. The delicacy of the lace is remarkable.”

Josette gave her a flat, measuring look. “Were you expecting me to wear several long, flowing skirts with an abundance of flounces all in bright colors, gold hoop earrings and a dozen clanking bracelets?”

“Since I did not expect you to answer the door, I had not given any thought to what you would look like or what you would be wearing, and since I arrived in Paris with only three gowns plus the one I had on, I am not in a position to criticize how anyone chooses to dress. However, if flowing skirts, brightly colored flounces, gold hoop earrings and a dozen clanking bracelets are what you prefer, then I think, by all means, you should wear them.”

Josette looked at Kenna sharply, as if she had not suspected her capable of sarcasm. “If you will come with me, I will show you to your room. It is on the second floor, next door to mine.”

She did not say anything more until they reached the stairs and started up them. “The
comte
thought perhaps you might prefer to have someone nearby, so that is why I chose this room. If you would like more privacy…”

“I come from a large family, Josette. I have three sisters. I do not think I would feel at home if I did not have someone close by to talk to. I am glad you don’t mind having me next door.”

Again, Josette looked at her with a measuring, suspicious expression. “I did not say I did not mind having you here.”

“When you finish being caustic, I hope we can settle into being friends.”

“I will let you know when I feel the same.”

“Please do,” Kenna replied, “for even a moment of friendship lost is a terrible waste.”

“I wouldn’t know. Friendship has been something I have never experienced from anyone other than the
comte.
I am Romany…a Gypsy, which means I come from a long line of thieves and liars, so that may eliminate any desire for friendship on your part.”

There was fierceness in her, and at the same time, vulnerability. Kenna could almost feel rage curling her fingers into fists at her side, for she was sorry someone so intelligent and lovely had, at some point in her life, suffered degradation by the mean, petty and suspicious.

“I am Pict, Celt and Scot, which means I come from stoic, distrustful and dour stock. I am strong willed, outspoken, determined and stubborn. That may cause you to keep your distance, or our two heritages may cancel each other out, in which case we are back to the beginning. Shall I go back and knock on the
comte’
s door again?”

Josette studied Kenna’s face for some time, as if doing so would validate her words. She did not smile, but Kenna did see something in the depth of her eyes. It was neither warmth nor amusement, but lay somewhere in between.

Josette opened the door and stepped into the room, and Kenna followed her inside. The room was beautifully appointed, with everything done in the loveliest
shades of yellow, green and cream, including the carpets.

Kenna was studying the bright shafts of yellow sunlight that spread lazily across the floor, warm and inviting, when Josette opened the glass doors to the balcony.

“I chose this room, not only because it is near mine, but because of the view,” Josette said.

Kenna followed her and stepped outside to gaze out over the vastness of the
comte’
s estate. She lifted her face to the sun, ignoring the cold, to feel the kiss of warmth against her skin. “Such a lovely view this is,” she said.

They stepped back inside and Josette closed the door. “Your baggage will be placed in your room. Would you like a maid to unpack for you?”

Kenna smiled. “No, I don’t need help with unpacking three gowns, and I am sure the maid could use her time more effectively than coming all the way up here to tackle the trio.”

“Very well. I will have a tray sent up for you with the noon meal. You can eat, rest and unpack at your leisure.”

Kenna was thinking if that obstinacy could be exchanged for smooth dispose, what could this woman not accomplish? “I am most appreciative for your assistance, Josette.”

“It is nothing, Lady Kenna. I will see you at dinner. We dine at eight. Do not be late. The count greatly admires punctuality.”

“So do I.”

Kenna watched Josette until she disappeared down the stairs, before she stepped farther into her bedchamber and the new life she was beginning.

At dinner that night, Kenna did more than simply eat and be entertained by charming company. She learned, upon considerable observation, that the
comte
was mentally equipped for the art of fencing, with steady nerves to augment the natural ability of his lean and vigorous body.

She only hoped that he would not see her as a bungling dilettante, or that she would prove to be one. It was never very far from her mind that here was the most famous, and best swordsman in Europe.

“How old were you when you were first introduced to the art of fencing?” the
comte
asked.

“I was quite small when I began observing my brothers practice…not more than seven, I think,” Kenna replied.

The
comte’
s brows went up and an animated expression danced across his face. “I am surprised it was so young. And when you began working with the fencing master, how old were you then, Lady Kenna?”

“I began fencing with my brothers when I was ten. Two years later, I started with the fencing master.”

The conversation had gone quite pleasantly along the same vein, that is, until Kenna was about to take her first spoonful of
Vichyssoise de champignons à l’angélique
, a cold soup of mushrooms and angelica.

The spoon was halfway to her mouth when the
comte
said, “Josette was a little older than that when she harassed me to the point I conceded to teach her a few basic fencing moves. She was a lot like you were, I imagine, for it soon became her master-passion.”

The hand that carried the spoon fell back to the table as Kenna directed her gaze hotly upon Josette’s face. “Pardon me,
mademoiselle
, but did you not tell me a few hours ago that you had no interest in fencing, and that you could not imagine why any woman would want to go to so much trouble to learn it? Was there a particular reason you chose to lie to me?”

Josette shrugged. “I did not lie. I simply chose not to tell you the truth.”

“Then am I to understand that your master-passion is not only fencing, but denying the truth…lying, if you will?”

“I see myself more as a woman of two truths,” Josette said. “At the time, I did not feel up to a lengthy discussion over two women accomplished with the sword. A little denial sometimes saves a great deal of explanation. Don’t tell me you have never done such.”

“We are not talking about me. I did not lie to you.”

“You are upset by my admission. Perhaps the truth is too appalling for a moralist. Everyone lies. You tell lies yourself, unless you prefer to lie about it.”

“Of course I have, but I differ from you in that I am more altruistic. If I do tell a lie, it is out of good manners, or a wish to spare someone the pain of the awful truth. I consider it to be a fabrication for politeness’ sake.”

“And I think you owe Kenna an apology, Josette.”

“Very well, I apologize, Lady Kenna, and tonight I will pray for forgiveness for each lie I have ever told.”

“I think it will take more than one night,” Kenna replied.

The
comte
smiled. “If I were you, Josette, I would lie fallow for a while.”

It was a good way to end an evening, with a round of laughter, a fine meal, and for dessert,
flamusse de potiron à la châtaigne
, a warm pumpkin-chestnut pudding, so comforting on a cold winter night.

The next morning, Josette bustled her out of bed before the sun came up.

Kenna was sleeping soundly when she was rudely awakened by the sound of someone coming into her room.

“Time to get up!”

Kenna lifted her sleepy head from the pillow as Josette came swiftly into the room.

“What time is it?”

“Six o’clock, and time to get up.”

“
Sacre bleu!
Why so early?”

“We are going into Paris.”

Kenna sat up with a yawn occupying her mouth for the moment. Then she stretched lazily and asked, “And the purpose?”

“You need proper attire for your classes, so we must leave early if we are going to have enough time to find suitable clothes and shoes for your lessons with the
maître
.”

Josette turned and went to the wardrobe, and proceeded to fling the doors wide. “Oh, my, this will never do. You certainly need clothes.”

“I have been measured, poked, prodded and mercilessly pricked with pins for an abundance of clothing that will be ready in two weeks.”

“That is all well and good, but in the meantime, you need something to wear during your time with the
maître.
You and I will go to Paris, where we will find you some suitable clothes to wear during your classes with the
comte
, to supplement all that you have ordered.”

She pulled Kenna’s green gown out of the wardrobe, held it up for inspection. She gave it a shake and tossed it on the bed. “Put this on and meet me downstairs in half an hour.”