Page 101 of The Captive
“If you learned your sister were married to an abusive old man, would you have left her to the situation?”
This time, St. Just’s gelding shied at a rabbit scampering across the path, though the rider barely took notice of the creature. “My sister would be on a boat for Denmark or Philadelphia before sunset, with substantial coin in her pocket and papers indicating she was the wife of some late yeoman.”
How quickly he answered. How blessed his sisters were. “What about the scriptural exhortations?”
“As far as I know, St. Paul had no wife, nor did the Lord himself.”
“Interesting viewpoint.”
“My father’s insight, oddly enough. I wanted to pass along some news to you, though.”
“We approach the stables, so say on.”
“I’ve heard rumors in Town regarding Girard.”
Abruptly, the moment stood out from all the moments of the day, all the moments since leaving that wretched French mountainside. The angle of the afternoon sunlight on the lake, the chestnut draft team standing nose-to-tail in the nearest paddock, the tune some stableboy whistled as he ambled along a fence row toward the far pastures—they dropped onto Christian’s awareness like ink onto a pure white sheet of vellum.
“You’ve heard rumors about Robert Girard?” He did not refer to the man as “my” Robert Girard, but with the entitlement of one bent on revenge, Girard belonged to no other.
“Yes, Robert Girard, late of the garrison at Château de Solvigny.” St. Just leaned over to pat his mount on the neck, fussing the beast’s mane rather than studying Christian’s expression. “He’s supposedly larking about London in anticipation of taking up the management of the St. Clair barony. Of all things, he’s come into an English title. The government’s official position is clemency for veterans of any nationality.”
Christian halted his horse, as St. Just’s words were growing dim over the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his chest.
“I thought you’d want to know.”
“What I want…” Christian spoke again, less softly. “What Ineedis to kill him.”
Chessie moved forward without Christian asking it of him.
St. Just’s expression remained calm. He had, after all, led cavalry charges against the French. “Dueling is considered murder. Given your title and your history, not a magistrate in the realm would prosecute you.”
Which made no difference whatsoever. Girard was moving about freely in England, not three hours’ ride to the north. His proximity underscored his ability to bring harm to Gilly. “You’d serve as second?”
“And I’ve at least two brothers who’d do likewise on short notice, if need be, and their discretion is without fault.”
“Marcus might be offended if I didn’t ask him. He served with us.” And yet, Marcus was best situated to keep Gilly and Lucy safe, too.
“That is entirely your decision. You have adequate equipment?”
Christian didn’t see the stable yard, he saw the stone walls of the Château, usually damp, always malodorous. He saw a cat, lying in wait at the base of those walls.
“You don’t ask if I have adequate skill,” Christian said, satisfaction and anticipation twining through him in a peculiar combination of glee and dread, much like the sentiments of Wellington’s infantry when approaching the end of a siege.
“Girard was not reputed to have any skill with a sword,” St. Just said, “and the French pride themselves on such things. He’ll choose pistols, likely, and you have time to perfect your aim, though you were accounted an excellent shot.”
“I was good,” Christian said, drawing Chessie to a halt. “I was quite good before Girard’s men mangled my better hand.”
“So practice. I will leave you my various directions as I travel about.”
Neither man moved to dismount, and the stableboys must have sensed something of the discussion, for they lingered nearby without intruding. “You’re not settled at the Moreland family seat?”
“I stay in the country, mostly, but make my obeisance before the family as needed. Moreland wreaks havoc in the lives of his legitimate offspring, and torments his heir incessantly regarding the succession. How Westhaven deals with it is beyond me.”
“You’re always welcome here.”
St. Just swung off his horse, ran up the left stirrup, and loosened the beast’s girth. “One anticipated such graciousness, hence the present imposition.”
Christian dismounted as well, prepared to get particulars from St. Just regarding the source of his rumor, when a thought intruded.
