Free Triumph in Arms by Jennifer Blake Page B

of Theodore’s madness into a corner of his mind while he listened to the old sword master’s obsessed ramblings. Vinot was so intent on revenge that he couldn’t sleep, ate little, went nowhere and thought of nothing, spoke of nothing else. He was fading away, losing strength, skill and purpose for living. It seemed something must be done to assuage his grief and settle his mind before he dwindled into insanity himself or even death.
    Christien owed the old sword master that reprieve. Vinot had found him shivering on the street when he first arrived in New Orleans, had taken him in, fed him, taught him everything he knew. His daughter, Sophie, bright, vivacious Sophie, had been like a younger sister to him. She had made a game of teaching him how to bow, how to take a lady’s hand, to talk lightly of nothing. His own father had taught him his letters and the rudiments of reading, but there had been few books in the swamp for practicing the skill. Sophie had shared hers, had nagged him into attempting harder words and passages, had made him perfect his hand with a pen and insisted he become proficient in ciphering. In return, he had taught her the march of the seasons, ways of animals, how to tie knots, to swim, catch fish and protect herself in a fight.
    He had taught her to trust young men and assume they would always control their passions. He had made her unafraid, even daring. He had been the architect of her downfall if not the instrument of it.
    Christien wondered now if he hadn’t been a little mad himself when he had agreed to this scheme of retributionthat he and the maître had set in place. Or perhaps he only wished he had that excuse.
    “What if you are wrong?” he asked now, his gaze on the red-brown sherry in his glass. “What if Theodore Pingre is dead as they’ve said all along?”
    “Then you will be the owner of a fine plantation and have a nice young wife with a new-made family. What could be better than that?”
    “And if you’re right, then the lady will be a bigamist and I will be no husband at all. You’ll forgive me if I see that as less than satisfactory.”
    “She appeals to you?” his mentor asked, his gaze keen.
    Christien gave him a satirical look but made no answer. Let the old man make of that what he would. Some things were private.
    “It’s to be hoped the final sacrifice, that of actually marrying the Pingre woman, will not be necessary. Have I expressed my gratitude to you for carrying the matter to this point?”
    “There is no need.”
    “But there is. My indebtedness is so great I can hardly express it. This whole affair—” Vinot paused for a brief, encompassing gesture “—none of it would be possible without you.”
    “Please. I have my reasons.”
    “The Brotherhood and its tenets against such conduct as Pingre’s, yes, of course. Nighthawk on the wing without the cover of darkness.”
    Christien shrugged away the name that was connected to both his childhood and exploits for theBrotherhood. It had its uses, but he had ceased to feel any attachment to it long ago. “For Sophie, as well,” he said. “She was dear to me and did not deserve her fate. But I do wonder about Reine Pingre.”
    “If the woman and her family are hiding Theodore Pingre, then she deserves to lose what good name remains to her, just as my Sophie lost hers. If not, then you may make it up to her in any way you please. Or not at all, it’s up to you. Either way, you’ll still have River’s Edge.”
    Vinot made it sound so simple. Christien had known it would not be from the moment he set eyes on Reine outside Davis’s theater. Since then, he had spoken to her, smiled at her across a table and heard her promise to be his wife. He had caught a glimpse of the place, and the family, he might have had if things had been different.
    It could well turn out impossible to do either of the things his old mentor suggested, he thought, impossible to hold Reine Cassard Pingre, impossible to let