Triumph in Arms by Jennifer Blake Read Free Book Online Page A

he’d just heard. What did it really mean?
    “Marguerite and her father,” he said with a frown, “they were close?”
    Cassard gave Christien a quick glance from under lowered brows. “Theodore was not what one might call a doting parent. He was far more occupied with his friends and their round of cockfights and barrel houses.”
    “Wild, in a word.”
    “Immature, I would say instead,” he answered with a sigh of weary tolerance. “It’s a failing of men who marry young, before they have time to become jaded with town pursuits or to settle into the role of husband and father. They improve with age.”
    “Hard on their wives.”
    “Who are equally young and inexperienced, yes, though usually have their families to support them.”
    “It was an arranged marriage, I suppose?”
    “It seemed a good match,” Cassard said in immediate defense. “Theodore was his parents’ only heir, as I told you before. He and Reine played together from the time they left their cradles, were of the same age and didn’t dislike each other. His family had been friends and neighbors for many years. Worse alliances have prospered.”
    Indeed they had, Christien thought, and this one must have been compatible enough given that it had produced Marguerite. Before he could express that unpalatable thought, however, he caught the thud of quick footsteps. He turned to see the object of his thoughts racing toward them down the lane they had been following.
    Marguerite Pingre wore a ruffled pinafore over full skirts and pantaloons and narrow boots of white kid on her small feet. The pink ribbon that held her bright, flying hair away from her face was tied in a bow on top of her head. It threatened to come loose from its moorings with every pounding step. Gamboling around her was the big red bloodhound that had greeted Christien on his arrival. With his tongue lolling out and his eyes bright with joy, he had no aspect of fearsome watchdog whatever.
    “Help, Grand-père, help me!” the child called. “I’ve run away from Babette to see the gentleman with the sword she and Cook talk about. I run fast, fast so she can’t catch me. She says I’m naughty and the loup-garou will get me.”
    Monsieur Cassard bent and closed his arms around the child as she threw herself against his legs. Liftingher, he gave her a firm buss on one flushed cheek, smiling into her piquant little face. “What would any old werewolf want with the likes of you, hein? Such a small kitten as you are would hardly be a mouthful for him. Now say hello to Monsieur Lenoir, ma chère, for he is our visitor and we must make him welcome.”
    The child lifted clear blue eyes fringed with fine, dark lashes to him. They widened and she gave a quick gulp. She made no other sound, but held so still she might have been a small wax effigy.
    “Have you nothing to say, Marguerite? It’s impolite to ignore a guest.”
    “It’s the man,” she whispered, her face serious as she leaned to confide this news into her grandfather’s ear.
    “C’est vrai? But which man, ma petite?”
    “The man who knocked me down in the street. Yes, and Maman, too, so the horses wouldn’t hurt us. Is he the man with the sword? Will he kill the loup-garou ?”
    Cassard shot Christien an amused glance. “You must ask him, yes?”
    The hope in the child’s deep blue eyes as she turned them on him was too much for Christien to resist. “But certainly I will slay the beast for you,” he said, making her his best bow. “Only show him to me, and he won’t live a minute.”
    Her expression was uncertain, and still she didn’t smile. “Truly?”
    “I swear it on my honor.” It seemed a safe enough vow considering werewolves existed only in childish nightmares. The best thing to be done to rid youngMarguerite of these fantasies, and perhaps her nightmares as well, would be to see to it her nursemaid ceased using the threat of monsters to frighten her into obedience. That was, of course, if he was