By Fire and by Sword (12 page)

The salver disappeared, only to reappear in front of Alejandro.

“And you,
monsieur
, would you try a macaroon?’

“Why not?” Alejandro said. “God knows the room could entertain something sweet about now.”

Colin watched Alejandro reach for a macaroon, but instead of taking one, he took the salver from Kenna and carried it to where Josette was sitting.

“And you, lovely
mademoiselle
, will you also have a macaroon?”

Josette shook her head. “No, I don’t believe I want one.”

He brought the salver closer. “Oh, but you must try a be-charming sweet,
mademoiselle
, for it is said they enchant even the most sour mood.”

Her flashing eyes settled upon his face, and continued to look at him for a few seconds—long enough to make Colin quite uncomfortable, a feeling sensed by Kenna as well.

Unbelievable though it was, a smile played around the corners of Josette’s mouth, and even from where he sat, Colin could see the birth of a spark of interest in that dark gaze, focused solely upon Alejandro’s face. It was like witnessing a miracle, a fragile flower of peace that bloomed in a battlefield strewn with dead bodies.

For a moment, it looked as if both actors in this play had met their match, for Josette was like one suddenly struck dumb and turned to stone, staring at the macaroons, while Alejandro did not budge, but kept the salver perfectly aligned with her nose. And time did not march on, but seemed to have fallen asleep.

There was little doubt in Colin’s mind that Josette was a woman who respected only those who stood up to her challenges, for she was intolerably cursed with a vinegary attitude directed toward the whole world. At some point in her life, she had learned to define power in terms of hostility and intimidation. It seemed she wanted to alienate people before they had a chance to decide if they liked her or not. Perhaps running people off was easier for her to accept than being rejected by them. What he could not figure out was, what made her feel that way?

After what seemed eons, Josette released an irritated sigh, whispered something, probably profane, and took a macaroon. This is a woman to be reckoned with, Colin thought, and when he saw Alejandro take a seat next to her on the sofa, realized Alejandro just might be the man to do it. He needed a woman to challenge him, one he could never completely control; for the moment she was completely tame, he would lose interest. Latin blood, Colin thought. It had to be all that hot Latin blood.

Colin had learned to expect the unexpected around Alejandro. That he seemed interested in this woman with the threatening, unkind brow was amazing, but it came as no surprise. He was obviously attracted to her, and if he could withstand the hot, scornful glances from her dark eyes, the bite of her sharp words, if he could be Petruchio to her Katherine—a task not envied, for it would take infinite patience and great strength to tame that wild heart of hers—then he might just win it in spite of all she did to drive him away.

Dare not, win not, Colin thought. Did anyone truly understand what went on between men and women?

“Would you care to see the château grounds?” Kenna asked. “They are quite lovely, with a fountain that is like a geyser, and shoots water into the air.”

“I think I would like to take a walk. How about the two of you?” Colin asked, and directed his gaze toward Alejandro and Josette.

“I will wait for you in here,” Josette said.

“I will keep her company,” Alejandro said, and laughed at the vexed expression that spread across Josette’s face.

“I do not mind waiting alone,” she said.

“I know you don’t, but I mind leaving a lady alone.”

“Do what suits you,” Josette said.

“
Señorita
, you have no idea just how much it does suit me,” Alejandro said.

Kenna turned back to Colin. “If you don’t mind waiting a moment, Captain, I will go after my cloak.”

She wasn’t gone long, and when she returned, Colin was waiting on the gallery that ran along the exterior wall of the château.

While Alejandro and Josette exchanged barbs in the Rose Salon, Kenna stepped through the glass doors. Colin was sitting on the balustrade. The music of the fountains followed them as they walked the graveled pathways. He paused near the steps that led down to the garden, where mazes and hedges were perfectly trimmed.

“Why did you come to France, Lady Kenna? I know you prefer to keep it a secret, in order to protect yourself,
but you have nothing to fear from Alejandro or me. I have known your name for over a week, and no harm has come of it.”

“Why do you want to know? Why should it concern you?”

“It probably shouldn’t, but it does. I don’t know what it is, but I do know there is something terribly out of balance in your life. There is a sadness about you, even when you laugh, and whenever I’m around you, I feel you are always looking over my shoulder—searching, but for what?”

She pointed toward a building just ahead. “That’s the stable, and it is full of finely bred horses, including several from Arabia,” she said.

“You do not speak of your fear because you are distrustful of me?”

“I am distrustful of everyone, Captain.”

“Yet you trust the
comte
and Josette.”

“I have to trust them.”

“Why?”

She released a long sigh and stopped to sit on a bench beneath an evergreen tree. He sat down beside her, and observed how her hands were restless in her lap. He took one and pulled it through his arm. “Relax. I am here as your friend…someone willing to help you if you need it, or someone to talk to if you need that. You cannot go through life alone.”

“I am not alone. I have a family in Scotland, and I have the
comte
and Josette.”

“If you want to keep your reasons for fleeing Scotland a secret, I will respect that. I will also respect
your silence on why you are living at the
comte’
s château. I am not trying to interfere in your affairs, but if your life is in danger, I think you are making a mistake if you think you can handle it alone.” He looked off and did not say anything for a few moments, then with a shake of his head, he turned back to search her face in the late afternoon light. “I don’t understand you. I’ve heard Scots were stubborn, and now I have seen the proof of it.”

“Would that proof be coming from my stubbornness, or your grandfather’s?”

That caught him off guard. “I see Alejandro has been talking.”

“Not really. He only mentioned you had a grandfather who is a baron.”

“Alejandro talks too much, but yes, I do. The two of us do not get along, which I am sure he also told you.”

“Why do you not see things the same way?”

“He is a difficult man, as hard and flinty as the land, and colder than the north wind that sweeps in from the sea. It was his bitterness that drove my father to America, and he has never forgiven my father for that. Worse, he refuses to see it was his own damn fault.”

“And he blames you for it as well?”

“My father is his only living son, but he would not come to Scotland to become Baron Fairlie, even if they gave him all of Scotland, and threw in Ireland, too.”

“He cannot blame you for that.”

“My grandfather can blame anyone for anything, including me. When he finally realized he would never
convince my father, he began to work his magic on me. He tempted me with a title, and land, and all the trimmings that go with it. When that did not work, he tried the sympathetic approach…he was an old man, with no one to leave his title and holdings to. He wanted me to come so he could teach me the ways of gentry before he died. I declined and ended up on his list of undesirables. My father is, and has always been, number one. Last time I checked, I occupied the place right below him.”

“That is sad to think people of the same blood miss so many opportunities of enjoying one another. Why won’t you consider it? Is it because you could never see yourself as a Scot, or as Baron Fairlie?”

“Both. I am a ship’s captain, and sometimes a privateer. I love the sea.”

“You would never have a shortage of the sea in Caithness.”

“I thought you said he only mentioned my grandfather was a baron. And now you say Alejandro told you my grandfather lived in Caithness, too. What else did he tell you?”

“Actually, you blame him unfairly. He did not tell me. He only mentioned having gone there with you once, and how it was the coldest place on earth, at least out of those he had visited. I asked him if it was Sutherland or Caithness.”

“How did you know it would be one of those?”

“My grandfather lived in Sutherland, which I am sure you know, is next to Caithness.”

“And that is where you are from? Sutherland?”

“No, I live in a small fairy-tale castle, at least small when compared to the
comte’
s château, but it is on the loveliest island in Scotland, in the middle of Loch Lomond. It truly is the most beautiful, the dearest place on earth. I am familiar with the north of Scotland, because my mother was from there. After my grandfather and mother died, I inherited his castle, but I have not been back there since I was a child.”

“And now you are here in France, with a haunting secret, a look of sadness in your eyes, and trusting no one. I would like to help you, Lady Kenna.”

“Please, call me Kenna, like my family does. I am only Lady Kenna because my father was an earl. If I were to marry, I would lose the designation altogether, unless I married someone with a title.”

“Then that is what you should do, so you will always be Lady Kenna.”

“I cannot think about such things right now. I am content to watch my sisters marry for the present.”

She was watching him, and he knew she was thinking about what she would say when he began to question her about her family, so he purposefully let the subject drop. She would tell him when she wanted to…when she trusted him enough.

He was thinking of another subject to talk about when she came up with one on her own. “Did you know the Comte Debouvine was the greatest fencing master in all of Europe, until his retirement?”

There was something about the way she spoke the words that snagged in his mind, and he began to think about what the
comte’
s being a great swordsman had
to do with her. Was it because…? No, surely not. The idea was preposterous, totally absurd. Whoever heard of a female taking up the foil?

He studied the face turned up to his, and even in the waning light, she was exquisitely beautiful, with an expression so open he wanted to crush her against him.

His next thought was he was absolutely insane. He hardly knew her, and he was acting like a lovesick swain. What was it about her—this little Scot who stood out among all the other women he had known?

He knew he was attracted to her for reasons beyond her physical beauty. He admired the straightness of her backbone, her fearless determination, the outward signs of an independent spirit uncrushed by the harshness and severity of English rule, and the consequences of it in the life she lived. He thought of her as the golden one—the one woman out of many—with her head high and her eyes full of sadness and sorrow.

He knew so little about her, yet enough that he respected her for her personal values, and her ability to be happy, in spite of the sadness of her past, and her determination to pursue that which was important to her, preferring to do it herself than risk those she loved.

He knew now that his thirst for her went beyond the normal physical attraction a man holds for a certain woman, although that was sure to cause him many sleepless nights.

And here she was, a dream come true, sitting quietly beside him, her hair glowing in the sun, skin pale as moonlight, and eyes as bright as evening stars.

He searched those eyes, so golden, so lovely and so perfectly fitting for her. He could see in their depths that she wanted to believe in him. He leaned forward and brought his lips to hers, and whispered, “It’s all right. I think you are beautiful and desirable, whether you trust me or not.”

He brushed his lips across hers, softly, and when she did not resist, pressed more firmly. “I have discovered there is something else I find more intriguing than your purpose for coming here.”

“What is that?”

“You.” He parted her mouth and tasted her, and drew her close against him. His hand stroked the soft skin beneath her ear, touching the curling wisps of hair, and then paused to stroke the sensitive skin of her earlobe. Lord, what he would like to do with her…the mere thought made him ache.

She was warm and soft, and melting against him, and he was filled with a desire to protect her from whatever devils nipped at her heels. He heard a soft, strangled moan as he deepened the kiss, and it set fire to his longing for her, the desire coiling tightly in his groin. His body was hard and trembling, and his hands yearned to do more than hold her. “I’ve thought a lot about kissing you on my ship that night, and there were too many nights that followed when I wished you were still there. I knew the minute Alejandro left with you that I was a fool to let you go.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted you.”

“That is a bit frightening,” she said, “like walking the plank or something.”

He chuckled. “Walking the plank or something? I’ve heard it described a million ways, but never that way. I think I like ‘or something’ better.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“One of these days, I’ll show you.”

“Does that mean I am safe for now?”

“Yes, especially now that you’ve told me the
comte
was the greatest fencing master in Europe.” He paused, suddenly, for it hit him, just why she told him that little tidbit. “That is why you came here, isn’t it? To be his pupil. You want him to teach you.”

“I knew how to fence when I came here. I have since I was a young girl, but I wanted to be better. Good enough to cross swords with a man.”

He started to chuckle but saw the expression on her face was stone cold, sober and serious. This was no laughing matter to her. “You are serious, aren’t you?”