CHAPTER SEVEN
DOMINIC leaned against the fence, his hands steadying Matthieu where he balanced on the top rail. Inside the ring, perched on her fat pinto pony, Madeleine tried to follow the riding master’s instructions:
“Heels down, Mademoiselle! Always your heels down. Now, pretend you have no reins. Can you turn the horse toward me without them? Use your legs and knees to tell him where to go...”
Though Madeleine squeezed and nudged mightily with her thin legs, the pony walked stolidly on, straight ahead. Madeleine squealed in frustration, and Dominic hid his smile behind Matthieu’s back.
“Dominic!”
Tristan loped across the field to the ring. A piece of parchment flapped in his hand.
“What is it, Tristan? You look... Have you had bad news?”
Tristan nodded. “From Rosie. Dominic, would you read this? I need your advice.”
“You want me to read your love letter?”
“It’s not... Look, just read it, okay?”
“Sure. Take Matthieu.”
Rosalie’s letter explained the tense look on Tristan’s face:
We are in the most awful bind. Even now, it doesn’t seem possible that this has happened.
That man I told you about who wished to marry me—his name is Pierre LaBarque. I didn’t tell you before, but when I refused him he was very angry. It scared me in a way I can’t quite explain.
Now he has come to Father and threatened to ruin him if we do not wed. The threat was carefully veiled and hidden, but he hinted at fires and other “accidents” and even our deaths.
I don’t know what to do. I said we should go to the Regent’s Guard, but Father says there is no witness and that LaBarque’s words were so indirect that he could deny it and say he was misunderstood. But there was no misunderstanding his meaning. I am sure the man is dangerous—there is something so cold and calculating about him. We might hire guards for our house, or even move to the safety of Chênier, but he could still destroy our fields and warehouses or even harm the farmers who work our lands. Father says he is powerful enough to buy any kind of evil-doing.
Tristan, if there is anything you or your brother can do, please help us. I’m so frightened.
Your love, Rosalie
TRISTAN WATCHED DOMINIC’S mouth set in a grim line as he read. He forced himself to wait until his brother looked up from the letter, then asked, “Do you know this man?” Dominic had been in Chênier since before the war, having been left in charge of the protection of the royal city—and the queen—in the event Greffaire forces broke through the main line of defense. But as regent of the south coast, he and his family lived in Blanchette.
“Oh, yes,” Dominic replied. “Everyone on the coast knows LaBarque. I have thought more than once that his wealth grows beyond the pace of honest trading, but there has never been any evidence of crime attached to him. He is careful, as Rosalie says.” He shook his head and muttered, “I’ve been away too long.”
“Dominic, he must be stopped.”
“Of course he must. One of us must go down there.” Dominic eyed his younger brother. “I suppose it is of no use asking you to stay here for the joint defense meetings? I am the territorial regent, after all. This is my rightful concern.”
“You’re kidding, right? If some old maniac threatened Justine, would you head off to a meeting?”
“No. Not if I had a brother to send in my place,” Dominic conceded. “But Tris, you will have to be very canny—you can’t just charge in brandishing your sword. You should take a guard to protect the Martineau manor, though, and if you can possibly persuade André and Rosalie to come up here for the time being, it would be wise.”
“So you agree with Rosie that the man is dangerous?”
“I do. He is ruthless and smart. When a man like that puts his own desire above all else...”
Dominic hoisted Matthieu off the fence and settled him onto his shoulders. “C’mon Matthieu, let’s go find your grandmama. Your Uncle Tristan and I need to have—”
“I know, ‘nother meeting.” Matthieu brought his small fist down on his father’s head like a gavel as he passed judgment: “Meetings, meetings, smelly old meetings!”
TRISTAN WAITED IN the spacious front hall while the maid announced him. The men of the Royal Guard who had accompanied him to the coast remained on duty outside the door. He had seen nothing amiss as they rode up the long lane to the Martineau manor, except perhaps a certain closed brooding look to the house itself—he had imagined that, no doubt. But there was no mistaking the way the maid’s uneasy face flooded with relief when she recognized him.
“Tristan!” Rosalie appeared in a rush and flung herself around his neck. Tristan took his time with their greeting, holding her close, kissing her thoroughly and enjoying every minute of it. He saw no reason not to mix business and pleasure, if chance allowed. A measured tread on the stairs alerted them to André’s arrival, and Tristan straightened up to greet his future father-in-law.
He was a little shocked at André’s appearance. Drawn and stooped, André seemed to have aged a decade. It was the mark of fear; anger flared in Tristan against the man who had caused such a poisonous change.
Rosie would not sit in the parlor—”It reminds me of that odious man,” she sniffed—so they ensconced themselves in André’s study. Tristan listened carefully as first Rosalie, then André, recounted all they could remember of their dealings with LaBarque. He felt his face stiffen with disgust and outrage; never had he encountered such cold rapaciousness.
André’s voice trailed off, and Tristan felt the man’s cautious eyes upon him. “Tristan, I am grateful for your presence here. But I beg you to cool your blood. If you openly confront LaBarque, you could harm us as easily as help us.”
“I do propose to pay the man a visit,” Tristan confessed, seeing that it was time to unveil the plan he and Dominic had crafted. “Not,” he reassured, “to teach him a lesson with my sword, though I long to do so.
“No,” he mused. “In fact, I don’t believe we will speak of these matters at all. I am here, as a matter of fact, on official business. As future regent of Crow Island and the Blanchette coast,”—here Rosalie gave a gasp of surprise, and Tristan allowed himself to bask just for a second in her delighted pride—”I feel it my duty to make the acquaintance of the prominent personages and business interests in the region. Moreover, as the current regent will be required in the defense talks for some time to come, he has asked me, acting in his stead, to ensure that the governing of the region continues in good order.”
It was true that Solange had proposed that the regency go to Tristan. Though more than capable of carrying the crown of Verdeau alone, she needed someone at her right hand, ready to step in if anything should happen to her. It made sense for that someone to be Dominic, the heir to the throne. Within the year then, barring another invasion, Dominic would move his family to Chênier and begin to acquire an intimate knowledge of the players, issues and duties of the royal court, while Tristan would take over the governance of the country’s most important region.
The mood had changed in the little room. André sat straighter, his manner attentive now. Tristan flashed him a tight smile. “Baron LaBarque, I understand, is an influential and wealthy merchant. I am called upon to introduce myself, I think, and to discuss with him my plans for improving the area’s prosperity. I will ask his advice on the troubling reports I have had of shady dealings, intimidation and outright crime among some of the merchants. I fear an intensive investigation may be required. He will be glad to hear, also, that although he missed the last call to arms it is not too late to support the country’s defense efforts. We will need a continuing supply line for the forces posted at our borders, and while it goes without saying that a man of his wealth will want to contribute heavily toward our material needs, I think I might also be able to pull rank and secure him the honor of establishing and overseeing the transports himself. Surely he can spare the time away from his own thriving businesses to ensure the well-being of our troops.”
André gazed at Tristan, as though for the first time. “I have underestimated you, I think,” he said softly.
“Let’s hope LaBarque has too,” replied Tristan. “I am being a little flippant here, but this is a deadly serious game. I’ll be honest, I’d be happier fighting him. But since he has not yet openly broken a law, we must turn his own methods against him. I expect he will recognize a veiled threat when he hears one.”
Rosalie broke in. “It’s nearly dinnertime. Do you want to put your things in your room and freshen up first?”
“I’m afraid I must stay at the regent’s residence, at least for the moment,” said Tristan. “This is to be a proper royal visit, after all. But dinner sounds good. Oh, and it being wartime still, I traveled with six guards. I wonder if four could be billeted here, as the castle is full of Dominic’s people.” Rosalie and André appeared confused at this request. “If you divide them into night and day shifts, they will only require two beds,” he prompted them, “and they can make themselves useful by keeping an eye on things while they’re here.”
Rosalie sprang into action, bustling off to see the guards—and their horses—housed and fed. They would all sleep better with seasoned soldiers patrolling the grounds.
André pushed himself to his feet as well and opened a glass-fronted cabinet tucked into the corner of the room. Returning with glasses and a brandy bottle, he poured out the dark golden liquid and offered a glass to Tristan. Tristan was relieved to see that the older man, though still careworn and drawn, had regained his usual firm manner. “Your plan is sound, Tristan,” said André. “But watch out for yourself, boy. Don’t let down your guard.”
“Yes,” agreed Tristan. “Friendly visit or not, I believe I will go in full dress uniform—sword and all.”
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Tristan followed LaBarque’s house-maid down a dark hallway, leaving his two guards posted at the door. Like the meeting he had held this morning with the head of Dominic’s council, the escort was mainly for appearances. His discussion with LaBarque would be private.
The woman led him past a series of dark oak doors, all closed, and showed him into a room at the end of the narrow hall. Tristan thanked her, but she merely ducked her head in return and scuttled off. Now there is a woman who is anxious to be somewhere else, Tristan thought. Afraid of her master, no doubt.
He entered the room, a library or study dominated by a massive, heavily carved table. Behind the table sat a man of medium build and sharp features. Tristan gazed at a face that might once have been handsome, before the thin line of the mouth had hardened into a look of perpetual displeasure, before the dark eyes had taken on such glittering, hooded craftiness. The overall effect was of barely contained malice, and Tristan wondered how André could ever have been gulled by such a creature. Then LaBarque rose, offering a bland smile along with his hand, and it was as though the menace and hostility had never existed. He shows me his fangs, thought Tristan, but just a glimpse. Just enough to threaten without seeming to. The man was an actor, and a good one.
“Come in, My Lord,” said LaBarque smoothly. “So kind of you to honor me with your presence.” Tristan considered the outstretched hand. It was a gesture used among friends and equals and more than a little presumptuous in LaBarque’s case. Tristan hardly cared for such conventions, but there could be no doubt that LaBarque’s familiarity was deliberate. Let it go, he thought. A power struggle now might derail the entire discussion. He strode forward to greet the man—and LaBarque’s eyes shifted to the back of the room, his smile twisting into a snarl. Tristan’s skin prickled with alarm. He whirled about, and though his sword was drawn by the time he faced the three men who had stepped from the shadowed corner behind the door, a sword would be of little use against the arrows now trained upon him.
“Shoot him,” rasped LaBarque’s voice. “Now!”