Free By Fire and by Sword by Elaine Coffman

and two postilions riding tall as it rolled through the arch and into the courtyard, stopping in front of Madame Guion’s home.
    Thankfully, no one was about when Kenna went swiftly down the stairs and was handed by one of the postilions into the carriage. With a crack of the whip, the carriage was off and through the courtyard arch, then down the streets of Paris, to leave Madame Guion’s home behind.
    To say the Comte Debouvine had a home was an understatement, for it turned out to be a very palatial château on the outskirts of Paris.
    Immediately upon her arrival, she was invited into the vestibule, where she barely had time to notice the exotic fabrics and lacquered grandfather clock before she was greeted by a majordome.
    “I am Gaston, the majordome of Monsieur le Comte. May I take your cloak and gloves?”
    She handed him her gloves, and he helped her out of her cape, which he placed on a chair before he said, “If mademoiselle will come this way, the footman will show you to the Salon Rose, where you may await Monsieur le Comte Debouvine.”
    A white-stockinged footman magically appeared, liveried and powdered, to conduct her down the long hallway. On the way, they passed the grand salon filled with exquisite furniture, tapestries and priceless paintings. The comte had cultivated taste, and it was obvious that he was very discriminating; she only hoped hewas not quite so discriminating when it came to accepting her as a pupil.
    Suddenly, the footman stopped and, throwing wide the doors of the Salon Rose, said, “If you will be so kind to wait here, the comte will arrive shortly.”
    After he was gone, she walked around the salon, with its great fireplace beneath ancestral portraits. The room was octagonal shaped, done all in gold, white and blue. She walked to the open doors and looked out to see the magnificent gardens spreading out behind the château, highlighted by a spectacular fountain. Echoes from the past seemed to haunt the setting with balustrades, terraces, sweeping stone stairways and beautiful walkways through avenues of lime trees. Further over, she caught a glimpse of the greenhouse and stables.
    A moment later, she heard footsteps, and she turned as the doors opened and a slender man of medium stature entered. He was an impressive and graceful figure clad in a white cambric shirt, a green-and-cream damask coat and dark green satin breeches, with his once-black hair, now streaked with silver, unpowdered and tied back with a black velvet riband. The gold buttons on his coat bore his family crest, as did the gold signet ring on his left hand. A sparkling diamond ring graced his right.
    His dark blue eyes widened when he saw her, then grew suddenly warm as a smile appeared upon his lips.
    She knew very little about him, other than his repute as a fencing master and as one of the greatest swords-men in all of Europe, and that was enough to intimidateKing Louis himself. There was much myth and romance associated with his name, and her first impression of him was of a man of enormous reputation. His age, personal history and marital status, were nothing more than a matter of conjecture, and her fertile mind was fast at work filling in the gaps with her imaginings.
    He could have easily passed for a prince, so regal was his bearing. She found it difficult to believe this wealthy man could be the comte who mentored those who wanted to learn the secrets of the sword. She knew she was looking at the real mortal man, and not the demigod she imagined from the stories she had heard, where she could not help picturing him as a dashing swordsman, fighting for honor and his king, and ending up with the hand of the king’s daughter in marriage.
    But, she reminded herself that she was racing off on a tangent, and she knew nothing about the comte. In truth, she could not really tell by looking at him that he had ever picked up a sword.
    But, as she stepped closer, she saw the trace of a faint scar that ran from his