By Fire and by Sword (14 page)

Josette laughed. “You aren’t allowing yourself to get distracted from the reason you came here, are you?”

It was a sober reminder. “No, that is never far from my mind. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Are you going back? It is early yet, and we have not had dinner.”

“Tomorrow I have a match the
comte
arranged for me.”

“And you always take a light meal in your room the night before a match,” Josette remembered.

“Of course, otherwise I will drink wine with the two of you and my head will feel as if it is full of sawdust the next day.”

“I shall be in the gallery tomorrow, to watch you.”

As it turned out, Josette was not the only spectator the next day.

After her match with Anselme, Comte Freneau, Kenna, the
comte
and Josette were quietly talking with him and two of his friends, Raoul, Vicomte de Sainte, and François, Vicomte de Duperrey, when the footman entered and spoke with the
Comte
Debouvine.

A moment later, the
comte
turned and said, “Please excuse me for a moment.”

Kenna did not pay much attention to his departure, but she was stunned when he returned a short time later accompanied by the Duc de Bourbon…the same Philippe Henri Louis Marie de Courtenay—Duc de Bourbon, Marquis de Marigny, Comte de Rochefort, Vicomte de Rohan, with whom she had shared her coach the night she traveled to Paris.

“Lady Kenna, we meet again at last,” the
duc
said. “I can see by your expression that you are surprised to see me.”

“I am stunned, Monsieur le Duc. How did you know I was here?”

“I shall have to claim responsibility for that,” the Vicomte de Sainte said. “The Duc de Bourbon is a cousin of mine, and when he told me about the night the Comte de Lorraine was wounded and the lovely Scottish lass who kindly shared her coach, I knew it had to be you. I am sorry to admit, I forgot myself and mentioned your
name, and that you were a pupil of the Comte Debouvine.”

“It was meant to be,” de Bourbon said, “and fortunate for you, Lady Kenna, for I have been most put out over not learning who you were, so I could thank you properly. I understand you will be at the home of the Duc and Duchesse of Pontaillac next week.”

“Don’t tell me they are cousins of yours.”

He gave her a flirtatious smile. “Second cousins,” he said, and everyone laughed.

Including the
comte
, who put his fatherly arm around Kenna. She had rarely felt happier than at this moment, wrapped in the joy of laughter and the love of friends.

Caesar said to the soothsayer, “The Ides of

March are come,” who answered him calmly,

“Yes, they are come, but they are not past.”

—Plutarch (circa 46–120),

Greek historian, biographer and philosopher.

Parallel Lives
, “Life of Caesar”

(1st century to 2nd century).

O
n the eve of the ball at the château of the Duc and Duchesse de Pontaillac, Kenna was in her apartment looking at herself in the large, gilt-framed pier glass that stood between two windows of the same proportions as the mirror.

It was the first time she had worn the silk gown embellished with flower embroidery—a gown far grander than she had ever owned. She had to admit that when it came to fashion, the French were masters of design and workmanship. The dress was far too lavish for her, she decided, considering her reflection
in the mirror. It belonged on one of the ladies at court.

Kenna was about to remove the gown when Josette stopped by to see if she was ready.

“Your gown is beautiful,” Kenna said. “I have never seen you wear white before. It is so stunning with your coloring.”

That was true, for the white gown, embroidered with deep red roses along the plunging neckline and more roses around the hem of the skirt, was breathtaking. It was different and quite dramatic.

Josette was walking around Kenna, looking at her gown.

“Don’t say anything. I know it is too much. I’m going to change.”

“Oh, my…that is exquisite,” Josette said. “If the queen is there she will be jealous.”

“I told you, I’m not wearing it.”

“Don’t be silly. You will turn every head in the room. I have never seen anything quite like it…and the use of red thread on a white gown is sumptuous.”

“Truly, I had already decided it is too much gown for me. Look! Over there!” she said, pointing to the bed. “I have already laid out the blue satin. If you will help me unfasten the back I will change quickly.”

“I’ll do no such thing.” Josette went to the bed, snatched up the blue gown and stuffed it in the trunk. “The white is perfect, and you look like a princess and, since it may be the only chance you’ll ever have to be a princess, don’t ruin it.”

She walked to the door. “Well, come on, the
comte
is waiting.”

“Are you sure I don’t look like Catherine the Great in this dress?”

“You look more like an angel in that dress…like St. Brigit, the patron saint of Ireland, for it is said she had red hair.

“You look like every man’s dream, and you will see what I mean once you are there. Of course, every woman in the room will hate you.”

“Oh, now, that’s a wonderful thought. I don’t want to be hated at my one and only social outing in France.”

“Don’t worry. It’s a nice kind of hate. They always hate me. Envy is better than being overlooked.”

Kenna was not fully convinced that what Josette said was true, but when they arrived at the ball, Josette on the
comte’
s left arm, and Kenna on his right, the envious glances of the other women said it all.

At the top of the stairs, they paused while the Comte Debouvine, Lady Kenna Lennox and Mademoiselle Josette Revel were announced. For a moment, Kenna stood staring down into the massive ballroom, decorated like the inside of a pasha’s tent, with the entire ceiling draped in bright colors, the fabric tied back with golden ropes for guests to pass between as they stepped through the doors onto the balcony.

Two Ottoman
tugh
bearers stood on each side of the stairway. Kenna could not hide her fascination with the
tughs
, or Turkish horse-tail standards, they held, each a bundle of red horsehair fixed on a wooden staff and topped with a finial.

As they began their descent and the violins began to play, she saw several men in long, flowing robes carrying trays of figs and dates. By the time she stepped off the last step, at least a dozen young men were gathered around them.

While they made their greetings to the
comte
, Kenna opened her fan and whispered behind it to Josette, “You were right. It is nice to be envied, if only for once in your life.”

“And to have it happen in a tent in Morocco,” Josette whispered.

“I was thinking Turkey,” Kenna whispered back.

“I think you are both wrong,” a masculine voice said from behind them. “My guess is
Arabian Nights.
”

They both turned and Kenna recognized the Comte de Lorraine, and the Duc de Bourbon smiling down at them.

“I think I like your suggestion best of all,” Kenna said, “for it evokes a richer, more evocative image in my mind. I can almost see shifting sands, handsome bedouins in flowing robes astride camels, racing across the desert in long, loping strides.”

“Careful, or someone might abduct you and keep you as his prisoner.”

Kenna laughed and spoke to the Comte de Lorraine. “I am not worried about that happening with you and the Duc de Bourbon to protect us. May I say that you are looking much better than when I saw you last, suffering from a broken arm in my coach, Monsieur le Comte?”

“I feel much better,” he said. “I am perfectly healed, thanks to your generosity in sharing your coach with
us, Lady Kenna. I had hoped to see you again, so I could thank you in person.”

“It is thanks enough to see you looking so fit and healthy.”

“I almost wish I was the one who broke his arm that night,” the Duc de Bourbon said. “I have been waiting by the stairs all evening, afraid I would miss your arrival. May I say that in that gown, you would be impossible to miss? You are enchanting tonight, dazzling Parisian society with your beauty, and I am not the only one who thinks so.”

Kenna smiled as she gazed into the vivid blue eyes of the
duc.
“Good evening, Monsieur le Duc. You are looking rather splendid yourself in your dashing uniform.” And that was true, for his livery was all gold and white, embellished with enough braid and looped rope to dress every window at Versailles.

“Splendid enough to dance with me?” he asked.

“To the envy of every woman in the room, I am certain,” she said. “Now they will all dislike me for taking you away.”

“They would envy you whether you danced with me or not, for it is your beauty and gracious way that has their tongues wagging. Not to mention your gown…exquisite on you with your coloring, by the way.”

The next moment, she was inside the tent, dancing with the Duc de Bourbon, her thoughts on how it would surprise Sophie when she told her she had danced with a relative of hers.

She caught sight of Josette dancing with Jules, and she thought what a handsome couple they made, with
their dark heads together. She looked around the room for a glimpse of the
comte
, and found him standing just outside one of the draped doors that led to the balcony.

Just at that moment, she caught sight of a servant, wearing the robes of a Bedouin but with no tray of figs and dates.

He stepped through the doors where the Comte Debouvine stood talking to two men and then he turned his head toward her for a split second before he turned away, but it was long enough for Kenna to suck in her breath, for the eyes were Lord Walter’s eyes.

No, she thought, as a feeling of panic gripped her. It cannot be. I was mistaken.

“I hope it is not another man who has captured your attention.”

Kenna turned her gaze back to de Bourbon. “It was another man, and one I care a great deal for, but he is like a father to me, and he has passed his sixtieth year.”

“The
comte
has said your presence has gifted him with a second daughter.”

Kenna was about to respond, when suddenly there was a great commotion on the balcony. A woman screamed. Shouts erupted, and several men in uniform dashed through the door.

“Oh, my God!” a woman shouted. “Someone has stabbed the
comte!
”

Kenna felt her heart stop, and when she turned she could no longer see the
comte
. “No!” she screamed. “Dear God, no!” She wrenched herself away from Philippe and fought her way toward the balcony. She no more than made it through the door when she spotted
him. For a moment, the
comte
remained erect, his eyes registering surprise. Then a shudder coursed through him, and with a bubbling moan, he collapsed and dropped to the floor.

Paralyzed for a moment, she could only stare in horror at the Comte Debouvine, lying on his back, with a dagger in his chest.

“Let me through!” she cried, pushing people away until she reached his side and dropped down next to him. Tears streamed across her cheeks as she lifted the
comte’
s head and held it in her lap. “Someone find a doctor!” she shouted. She leaned close and kissed his forehead.

With her skirt, she wiped the lips flecked with froth and blood. “Hold on,
cher Maître.
We will have a doctor soon, and then we shall take you home.”

His face was terribly pale. His eyes were wide with astonishment, and already his lips seemed parched and dry. She could barely hold back the wrenching sobs that threatened when she saw the scarlet stain that covered his entire chest. She recalled how she had drawn his blood, the day he had gifted her with his sword.

A cold shiver rippled down her back, for she knew it had been an omen, a portent of what was to come.

If only I had followed my instincts, I could have prevented this.

She stroked his face. “Do not give up,
cher Maître.
Use the strength you have so often given to me.”

“It is time,” he whispered. “I had hoped to see your great success, but I know it will happen, and if God is willing, I will see it from above.”

Josette was suddenly beside them, and dropped down on the other side of the
comte.
Like Kenna, tears rolled down her face. “Do not leave me, Monsieur le Comte. You are my everything.”

He touched her hand. “Do not fret so, Josette. Everything will be as it has always been. I made certain of it many years ago. I have no heirs, and upon my death, the château is yours,
ma petite.
”

“I do not want the château if you are not there. I cannot live without you! You cannot leave me!”

“My daughters,” he said, struggling to get the words out, for there was blood foaming from his mouth with each gurgling breath he took, “you have brought me great joy.”

He turned his head slightly to look at Kenna. “Do not doubt your ability. You are ready. You have nothing to fear. I will be gone, but I will be with you.”

His last breath bubbled forth, and his noble head fell to one side. Kenna felt someone lift her, and heard the strong voice of the Duc de Bourbon. “The doctor has come.”

“It is too late,” she sobbed, and felt his arms go around her as he pressed her to his chest, and she cried on his splendid uniform of gold and white.

The
duc
and the
vicomte
escorted Josette and Kenna into the study of the Duc de Pontaillac, and stayed with them while the
comte’
s body was removed.

“I don’t know why anyone would do this,” Josette said, her body shaking with sobs. “The
comte’
s very soul was beautiful. He never had an enemy. Never!”

“But I have one,” Kenna said. Her tears had already
stopped. They had ceased the moment she realized that what had happened here tonight was because of her. “I have an old enemy, and I am the one who caused the
comte’
s death. If I had left last week, none of this would have happened.”

Josette had Jules’s kerchief and she dried her face with a sniff. “You do not know that, Kenna.”

Kenna turned anguished eyes upon the face of her friend. “I do, Josette. I do know it…here,” she said, and pounded her heart.

“Stop it!” Josette said.

“It is true! I feel his evil presence surrounding me. The nightmare has begun. Lord Walter has found me, and I am doomed.”

Josette slapped her. Hard. And Kenna’s head snapped back.

Jules’s arms went around Josette, and he held her back against him, so she could not strike Kenna again.

“It is all right,” Kenna said. “I deserved it. After what happened tonight, I don’t deserve to live.”

De Bourbon’s arms tightened around her. She felt his warm breath against her neck as he said, “Shh…do not speak so.”

Kenna pushed at him. “Don’t you understand? It was my fault! It should have been me,” she cried, emphasizing each word with a fist to her chest. “It should have been me.”

Josette struggled against de Lorraine’s iron grip. “If this
bâtard
would let me go, I would slap you again!” she screamed. “You mock him by speaking as you do! His last words were to you. He gave you his beloved
sword, or have you forgotten? He said you were ready, that you had nothing to fear. And if this Lord Walter is the one who did this foul deed, then you owe it to the
comte
to cut his murdering throat. And if you don’t, by all that is holy, I will!”

Kenna reached across and took Josette’s hand. “I am indebted to you, Josette, for the slap, and your words were what I needed. Please forgive me.”

Josette’s lip trembled and her arms went around Kenna. “We are all that is left of this wonderful, giving man. We will see this through together.”

In place of tears, Kenna felt nothing but cold, hard hatred for her archenemy. “I swear before God, and before all of you, that the
comte’
s death will not go unavenged. I will find Lord Walter, and I will settle the score for my father, my brothers and our beloved
comte.
”

Josette lifted her head, and Kenna saw that her tears, too, were gone, and in her eyes burned a fire of vengeance. When she spoke, her voice came like cold spikes hammered into solid steel.

“Your fight has become my fight. I shall go with you…”

As the last letters of his epitaph were being hammered into the marble of the Debouvine family crypt, the wax candles were burning in the Rose Salon of the château, around the velvet-draped casket containing the inanimate body of Bastien François Marie Lievin, Comte Debouvine.