By Fire and by Sword (10 page)

When shall we three meet again

In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

—William Shakespeare (1564–1616),

English poet and playwright,

Macbeth
(1606), Act I, Scene 1.

I
n the weeks that followed since he had met the redheaded lass, she was too often in his thoughts for, since the night of her departure, he had wondered if he was more despondent because he had let her go, or because he had done nothing to learn where she went.

About the same time Kenna was preparing for her shopping trip, Alejandro walked into Colin’s cabin. “Oh dear, I come seeking a ministering angel and find in its stead a churlish priest. How long are you going to sail the sea of doldrums? If you’ve a fondness for the Scottish lass, why don’t you try to find where she went?”

Colin gave him a sour look. “And sometimes you
come across as a learned man, and sometimes like a flippant, laughter-loving idiot, or is it a scatterbrain? Faith! Has the devil chosen my friends for me? If not, then why the criticism?” he wondered.

Alejandro put away his smile. “You are right. You need more than encouragement or criticism. You need your backside dusted with gunpowder. What will it take for you to go after her? Do you want me to do it for you?”

“By all means. Find her, if you can.”

“I can damn well come closer to finding her than you can sitting here, daydreaming and draining wine bottles.”

“It won’t be easy to find her. We do not have her name.”

“No, but I came in here to tell you the
Aethelred
has just sailed into Copenhagen and dropped anchor. I assume you know what to do with that bit of information, or shall I go inquire of Captain Fischer as to what he did with the golden-eyed beauty?”

“I can damn well take care of finding a woman.”

“I am glad to hear it, because you have made a poor showing of it thus far. I assume you are going over to the
Aethelred
, so my next question is, do you want me to go with you?”

Colin stood and put on his coat. “If you can be
nice!
”

“Charming,” Alejandro said. “When I have to, I can be perfectly charming.”

“Come on. You can row us over to the
Aethelred.
”

An hour later, they walked into Captain Fischer’s
cabin. “Well, bless me,” the captain said when he looked up. “I did not expect to see the two of you.” He put down his pipe and stood to shake hands with Colin and Alejandro.

“I was just thinking a moment ago that I would come over to see you, and you have saved me the trip. Do sit down.”

As soon as they were settled, Captain Fischer asked, “Have you come to inquire about your Scottish lassie?”

“Yes,” Colin said. “I want to know how she managed during the trip to Calais, and what you did with her after that.”

Captain Fischer was a man of great detail, and he took at least an hour to fill Colin in on each bit of information stored in his brain. He started out with the usual about how she fared on the ship, and how the men took a liking to her, and then told how he had left her to have tea at Dessin’s Inn, while he procured her passage to Calais. “I made good use of your money, Colin, for I found a new
berline
with four horses and two postilions, to transport her to Paris, all for twelve livres, and that was for her to have the coach to herself, as you requested. She insisted I let her pay for it, but I told her you had already done so. I will say again that it was a great pleasure to be of assistance to such a dear lady.”

“Do you happen to remember where you hired this coach?”

“Why, at the posting station. The driver was the son of the proprietor.”

“Do you remember his name?” Colin asked.

Captain Fischer’s expression began as puzzled and
ended up enlightened. “Oh, I see now. You did not come here for a report on my wisdom in spending your money, or to inquire as to whether any was left, which there was, but you are interested in finding her.”

“And if I am, would it be in line with your agreeable nature to tell me what I want to know? Or have you adopted a protective, fatherly nature concerning her, and find my roguish life not up to her standards?”

Captain Fischer laughed and opened his drawer to take out a pouch. He offered it to Colin. “Here is the rest of your money, by the way, and as for your lass, you have good taste, my friend. May I offer my felicitations to you?”

“I will accept your gracious felicitations, but only if you keep the money. I insist. You earned it.”

“Very well, and thank you. And to answer your earlier question, I do remember the Frenchman’s name. Marcel Favier, it was.”

“What did Monsieur Favier look like?”

“I would say he was a man about forty, of smallish stature, and walked in a rather humped-over manner, for I never saw the man stand straight. I suppose he has leaned over the reins of a coach for too long. His hair was dark and his eyes blue…but that is true of most Frenchmen, is it not? I hope that helps you in your quest.”

“So do I,” Colin said.

“When do you sail for Calais?”

“As soon as we’re back on the decks of
Dancing Water.
”

Captain Fischer’s eyes seemed to brighten with satisfaction.
“May I entice the two of you to stay long enough to have lunch with me?”

“That could be arranged,” Colin, said, and true to his word, they returned to the ship after they had dined with Captain Fischer and set sail for the port of Calais.

Once they arrived in Calais, they went immediately to the posting house and learned Marcel Favier was due in from Amiens later that night.

Alejandro and Colin went to dinner, returned two hours later, and waited another hour before Marcel Favier’s coach stopped at the station.

“The Scottish woman?” Marcel said, when Colin inquired about her. “Yes, I remember her quite well.”

“Did you learn her name?”

“No, she preferred to remain anonymous, and not even the Duc de Bourbon could wrest a name from her.”

“The Duc de Bourbon…I was under the impression she traveled alone,” Colin said.

“Oh, she did travel alone,
monsieur
, but our coach was flagged down not far from Paris by the
duc
and two of his friends. One of them was wounded when their coach was robbed by highwaymen. We gave the three of them a ride into Paris and dropped them off at the doctor of the
duc.
”

“And the lady?” Alejandro asked. “Where did you leave her?”

“I do not remember the name of the street,
monsieur.
”

“Damn! It’s the end of the road,” Colin said.

“
Non, monsieur
, not the end, just a slight delay. I will be driving to Paris on the morrow, and if you and your friend would like to come along as passengers, I can show you where I left the
mademoiselle.
I never forget where I have been,
monsieur
, but I am not so good at remembering names.”

The next day, Colin and Alejandro traveled to Paris with Marcel, and once he had dropped his passengers at the posting station, he drove them through an arch and stopped in front of a neatly kept home. “This is where I left the
mademoiselle, monsieur
, for I remember this arch very well.”

Alejandro paid Marcel handsomely for his help while Colin knocked on the door. A moment later, they were gazing upon the rotund countenance of one Madame Guion, who eagerly invited them into her salon and insisted they take tea.

While Colin tried to balance the rattling cup on his knee and cursed Alejandro’s amusement under his breath, Madame Guion proved herself to be as she called herself,
une trouvaille
, which Alejandro translated to be “a lucky find.” Colin was quick to agree.

“Lady Kenna Lennox is who you are looking for,
monsieur.
She came very highly recommended to me, I must say. Her sister is a sister-in-law of Sophie de Bourbon, who is the granddaughter of King Louis, the Sun King. Sophie married a Scottish earl and now lives somewhere in Scotland. She gave Lady Kenna a very nice letter of introduction for me and also one for the Comte Debouvine, who invited her to dine with him almost immediately.”

Alejandro and Colin exchanged looks.

“Who is this
comte
?” Colin asked. “What does he have to do with Lady Kenna?”

“Why the
comte
is known all over,
monsieur.
I am surprised you have not heard his name, for he was the greatest
maître d’armes
in Europe, or he was up until his retirement.”

“Where is Lady Kenna now?” Colin asked.

“Why, she is living at the
comte’
s château, and very grand it is, too. Rivals anything the royal family resides in, with the exception of Versailles, of course.”

“Are you saying that a titled lady would move into the home of a man she just met? That sounds rather farfetched to me,” Alejandro said, “for the nobility of Europe does not behave in such a manner.”

“
La!
I did not mean to imply she is the
comte’
s par-amour. On the contrary, she is his student, for she was able to do what no one else has done, and that was to persuade the
comte
to come out of retirement in order to be her
maître d’armes.
”

“Fencing master?” Colin said to Alejandro. “You know, I remember before she left the ship I asked her how she intended to protect herself and she said with a sword. I thought she was jesting, naturally.”

“Oh, it is no jest,
monsieur.
She is most assuredly the
comte’
s pupil.”

“Can you tell us how we might find this
comte
?” Colin asked, and Madame Guion was near to bursting the seams of her snug gown to accommodate them.

“Where to now?” Alejandro asked.

“We will get a hotel room,” Colin said.

“I think we need a hotel room
and
a tailor,” Alejandro said, “if we are to present ourselves to a man as important as the Comte Debouvine. I know, being an American, you are not exactly enamored with titles, even though your grandfather has one. We would never get past the footman if we went sauntering up to the
comte’
s château and asked to be admitted dressed like this. These things need delicacy and finesse. You leave that to me.”

“What difference will delicacy and finesse make? If we tell the
comte
we have come to see Lady Kenna Lennox in order to see how she fares in France, he will naturally ask her if she agrees to speak to us.”

“We are completely at the mercy of this Comte Debouvine. If he considers us to be foreign riffraff,
canailles
, he will not even mention us to a lady of nobility.”

“My point exactly, and in order to show that we are not the
canailles
he might imagine us to be, we will bring to his attention that we are of the upper class.”

As it turned out, it was a week before the tailor could deliver their new clothes. When they arrived, Alejandro purchased the finest stationery Colin’s money could buy, and set down to pen his masterpiece, which he began with a flourishing hand,
Monseigneur Comte Debouvine…

It seemed to Colin, who had been quietly observing, that Alejandro’s letter writing deserved a fanfare befitting a state occasion.

Colin did not understand all the fuss over the painted pomp of European codes of conduct any more than he
did the rules of correct behavior regarding nobility, but he knew Alejandro had a long procession of names and fancy titles trailing from his family line, so he deferred to him in this matter, and busied himself trying on all the dashing finery Alejandro had persuaded him to purchase.

“I have clothes like this on the ship,” Colin said.

Alejandro paused, mid-flourish, to answer, “And I as well, but that fact does neither of us any service now, does it?”

“I am beginning to wonder if all of this is worth doing for a fascination with a woman who may lay waste to all my imaginings. Had I known she came equipped with a title, and all its trappings…well you know my interests have never gone in that direction.”

“There are two things to remember when you pray for something—to ask for what you want, and pray that you enjoy it. Sometimes, the second is more difficult to achieve than the first.”

Colin felt a growing irritation at the delay. “Are you not finished with that novel you are writing?”

“Patience, my friend. Everything has a beginning…except the equator, of course,” Alejandro replied, and signed the letter, Señor Alejandro Feliciano Enrique de Calderón, son of
Don Álvaro Enrique Luis de Calderón, Marqués de Málaga.

Our failings sometimes bind us to one

another as closely as could virtue itself.

—Luc de Clapiers,

Marquis de Vauvenargues (1715–47),

French moralist.

“Réflexions et Maximes,” no. 176 (1746).

O
n the morning of her first lesson, Kenna was up early. She dashed her face with cold water, before going to the wardrobe. When she threw back the doors, she was greeted by the sight of a great many more clothes than she had the day before.

It was a fine feeling to see more than her customary four choices, and that added to her euphoria as the thought of her first day with the
comte
had already set her heart to beating faster than normal.

She chose a riding skirt and a shirt, soft as thistle-down, which was the latest Parisian fashion for young boys, and far superior to anything to be found in Scotland.
It fitted close to the body, yet allowed her freedom of movement.

A knock at the door, and the maid came in with her breakfast. “Good morning. Where would you like your tray?”

“Put it on the
secrétaire
, please.”

Kenna looked at the tray after the maid left, and knew there would be no time for a leisurely breakfast this morning, so she poured a cup of tea and ate a roll, which she finished off hastily with several gulps of tea.

Afterward, she braided her hair and let it hang down her back in one long plait. She considered herself ready and was about to leave, when she remembered she was missing her shoes, or rather a soft pair of leather half boots, supple and light.

As she hurried down the stairs, she hoped she would arrive ahead of the
comte.
But, she did not have long to wait by the door to the gallery when the
comte
arrived, dressed all in black in the traditional manner of the fencing master, or as the
comte
preferred,
maître d’armes
, which she shortened to
maître.

“Good morning,
Maître.
”

“Lady Kenna,” he said with a nod. “I see you and Josette were successful in finding you suitable clothing. May I inquire as to how the two of you managed your close confinement in a coach to and from Paris?”

“We were able to refrain from scratching out each other’s eyes, if that is what you mean. It might also interest you to know, she taught me how to play
tarocchi.
Do you know it?”

“Aah yes, the Italian card game. She is very good at it, you know.”

“Yes, so I found out. I also discovered that she likes to win, and if she is not winning, she cheats. However, I have to give her credit,
Maître
, for she did warn me in advance.”

She paused and, with eyes mischievously bright, considered him. “You are smiling,
Maître.
”

“I was thinking how much I think I shall enjoy having two daughters instead of one.”

He opened the door and followed her inside. They were greeted by the sight of early morning sun streaming into the gallery through the trefoil windows, which threw warm, scalloped patterns across the cold stone floors. When she stood in the center of the pattern, she could feel the warmth seeping into her boots.

She walked farther into the gallery, passing rows of antique weaponry, and paused to study the display of swords. She moved for a closer look and said with surprise, “You even have a claymore.”

“No collection would be complete without one.”

When she turned around the
comte
was looking over her fencing garments, and she could tell by the gentle expression in his eyes that she was officially sanctioned as being appropriately garbed in the dark green riding skirt, white shirt and half boots.

Comte Debouvine was a man of commanding presence, loose-limbed and regally erect—a man who carried his still handsome head with an air of unconscious pride. She watched him walk toward the rack that held numerous and assorted swords, and was almost mesmerized
by the way he moved. He had a measured grace that seemed to be inborn rather than histrionic.

From his vigorous body, she had guessed, upon first meeting him, that he was no more than forty or forty-five, not a man with enough years to total sixty. His face, lightly tanned, was noble and strong, with a hawkish nose, more Roman than French, with a high and prominent bridge.

It was his eyes that captivated her, and what she considered his best quality, for they were a deep, dark cobalt-blue, and seemed to know her thoughts even before she did.

His mouth was well shaped and usually held firm, but when he smiled, it totally changed his countenance, replacing the harsher features with an air of gentle charm. Red-tinted, brown hair was only beginning to gray at the temple, and today it was queued back with a riband.

Black clothes suited him, and the black velvet jacket with its silver buttons was obviously made by an expert tailor. His black satin pants outlined the strong muscles of his slender legs.

“From this day on, your life will change, Lady Kenna. Fencing will occupy your days, your nights and your mind. Over and over again, you will repeat the five figures of the wrist…
prime, seconde, tierce, quart
and
quinte.
You will wonder why you must remember all of them, when the first is of very little use, and the last is of no use at all.”

He paused, as if considering how she was taking all of this, then he continued, “But you will remember
them, nonetheless. You will find yourself practicing the movements of your wrist when you get into bed at night. And in the privacy of your room, you will practice the placement of your feet as you assume the stance. The terms will roll like the discharge of cannons, or a volley of oaths.
Attack…defend…in guard…a lunge in quart…parry in disengaging…parade of tierce…pushing seconde…the feint or half thrust…sword on the outside…the recovery in guard…”

He was right, for already her head was swimming with the familiar words.

He walked over to the wall opposite the paneling and removed two foils. He returned to where she stood and handed one to her. “First, I must find out how much you know…or do not know, as the case may be. Take your place on the
piste
, if you please, Lady Kenna.”

Kenna moved to the
piste
and took her position.

“Now comes the test. Let us see if you know how to use a sword, or if you simply beat the air with it.”

“I have not held a sword for some time,
Maître.
I am sure to be impaired from lack of practice.”

“This is the last time you will offer me an excuse.” He approached the
piste
and took his position. “Try to score a hit.
Allez!
”

She moved quickly to attack with the foil.

He deflected her weapon with ease.

“The way you are going you would not be able to accomplish anything, even if you had centuries in which to do it. If that is your best, you cannot possibly
have had a fencing master in the past. You move as if this is your first time.”

She came at him again, determined to show him she was better than he thought, but he easily dodged or deflected each maneuver she made. To further humiliate her, he switched the blade to his left hand, and stared at the ceiling, and yet he countered her every attempt.

The blades slid and tinkled against each other. She was becoming frustrated, and he added to it by taunting her.

Cool and easy, the
comte
was on the defensive, not finding it necessary even to move, casually deflecting every thrust and lunge sent against him in swift succession. To make it harder, he played her close, with his elbow flexed and using only his forearm and the forte of his blade, defeating her time and again, with a minimum of exertion. She, on the other hand, was already greatly winded.

“
Ça alors!
Good grief! Come, come…where is your staying power? Would you have me brand you a liar? Have you ever even seen a sword, Lady Kenna? I wonder, for you use it as if it is the first time you have made its acquaintance. I have fought cripples with only one eye who were better than you. Why are you stopping? Can you not fence and listen? It is simple. You are to try to knock this small weapon out of my hand.”

She extended herself fully, coming at him with fresh aggression in her attack, but his counter parry swept her blade clear and a lightning-fast riposte had the tip of his blade between her breasts.

“I do not need to tell you, I am sure, that had this been a real confrontation, you would now be dead,
Lady Kenna. If you have shown me your best, we may as well call it a day.”

She renewed her attack with unsparing vigor, but it did no good, and she let her temper interfere and came at him with the fury of a wildcat. The room resounded with the ring of metal…
cling…cling…cling…clunk…”

The
comte
stopped. “Lady Kenna, what was that last move? Does it have a name? If it does, I should like to know, for I have never seen it before, and I hope to never see it again.

“Show me something, Lady Kenna, for the love of anyone available.”

She gave it all she had, and was pathetic.

He threw up his hands. “
Ça y est!
That is it! You parried but did not riposte. Is your foil made of straw? We are fencing,
mademoiselle
, and it is done
comme ça—
like this—” And for the second time in mere minutes, her foil flew from her hand.

“
Sacre bleu!
You must find a new interest, Made-moiselle Lennox. May I suggest painting unexciting little landscapes on the lids of ornamental boxes?”

She dropped her head, shamed to the core. “It is no use, Monsieur le Comte.”

“Quitting so soon? I thought you were a woman of the sword. Where is your fighting spirit? Are you giving up without a struggle?”

She lifted her head and her eyes met his fully and frankly. “No, I am not quitting. I simply did not realize I would be so intimidated by you. I am better…much, much better than you have seen me. It shames me.”

He considered her for a moment. “I never take unfair advantage of anyone, Lady Kenna.”

“Monsieur le Comte, I did not mean…”

“Let me finish, my dear. I never take unfair advantage of anyone, and if you are intimidated by me, then we shall take steps to assuage your discomfort. We shall break for lunch, and afterward, you will practice with Josette.”

Kenna said nothing.

Although she did not look at him, she knew the
comte
was watching her. “You won’t be intimidated by her saber-rattling, will you?”

“I do not plan to be, but when you are bitten by the snake, you fear even the worm, Monsieur le Comte.”

Three hours later Kenna and Josette took their positions on the
piste
and prepared for the bout. They crossed blades, Kenna holding hers lightly against Josette’s, and the
comte
gave the word.

“Allez!”

The crossed blades slid against each other lightly, until Josette pushed against Kenna’s foil, the gleam in her eye one of contemptible determination, as if she intended to make short work of this lowly Scot who dared to intrude upon her domain. Kenna allowed her to attack with haste and intensity, while she returned calmly, by keeping her distance and staying on the defensive.

Kenna knew she could lunge and attack at any point, but she was content to protract her resistance, yet she kept in the forefront of her mind that she should in no way underestimate Josette’s physical or mental ability.

She remained cool and calm-headed, allowing Josette to dominate the beginning with her fiery Gypsy temperament, obviously confident that she could defeat Kenna in a matter of minutes.

Still, Kenna remained level, opposing with no counters, not even a riposte that would have given Josette an opening to take advantage of. Instead, she concentrated on deflecting every thrust and lunge that came in rapid succession, again and again. Above all, she did not look at the foils, but kept her gaze eternally focused upon Josette’s eyes.

By taking no risks, and playing it slow, Kenna felt she had the advantage of stamina, for already she could see that Josette was showing signs of tiring. She could also see in Josette’s eyes that she was becoming annoyed over Kenna’s refusal to be drawn into a counterattack. Gradually, the annoyance gave way to anger, and Kenna knew the exhaustion of her opponent would hasten, and she continued to save herself until Josette lost control.

She did not have long to wait.

As she began to wear down, Josette made mistakes, which added fuel to her temper, and she began to pull out a few tricks—deceptive feints to lure Kenna into mistaking a false attack for a real one, but Kenna had grown up fencing her two elder brothers, who tried every underhanded trick imaginable to shake the burr of a little sister who wanted to hold her own with them.

“
Nom de nom!
Are you fencing or pretending to?” Josette asked.

“Strange that you should ask that, for I was contemplating
asking the same of you. Please, do not defer to me, simply because I am a newly arrived guest in the home of the
comte.
You have my permission to end this by putting me in my proper place.”

The fiery glare in Josette’s eyes were a beacon that signaled the end was soon to come, and it did. Josette, clearly angry now, renewed her attack with tremendous vigor, and began to pay the toll for the heated rush, the rash self-belief, and the inflamed speed of movement she set, overconfident the match would be a short one.

And it was.

Realizing now she had seriously erred, Josette fell back, to conserve her energy, and Kenna saw in her eyes the exact moment when she became both dejected and discouraged. Kenna called the moment well, and moved in with a low feint, then twirled her point into
carte
as she lunged and brought the tip of her foil to rest at the pulse-point of her throat.

“Enough!” called the
comte.
“I have seen enough, Mademoiselle Lennox. It would seem you are a different woman than you were this morning.”