stone, I see,” Gaston snorted. “Much like my lady’s father.”
At this, Guy finally turned toward Gaston. He raised one brow in a silent query.
“ Oui , my master, the old chevalier. He is a man like any other. He wanted a son. What does the good Lord give him? Four daughters! Lovely creatures, like so many roses in a garden. Then Lady Eugénie is pregnant again. An old soothsayer predicts a boy—‘one who will o’ertop the rest,’ were her exact words. The chevalier became transported with joy. Gave the old witch much gold, and the bag departed, never to be seen again. It was a good thing that she did so, for when Lady Celeste was born...” Gaston shook his head at the remembrance.
Guy snapped his fingers, encouraging the old soldier to continue.
“The walls of L’Étoile shook with my lord’s anger and disappointment. Wouldn’t even look at the babe, nor give her his blessing. And such a sweet thing she was! In my humble opinion, the prettiest of the lot. And such a cunning little mind, that one!”
Glancing over his shoulder, Gaston grinned at the subject of his story. “All sunshine and quicksilver. The other girls? Beautiful, like their mama, but I tell you true, good Brother, there is not a thimble full of good sense among the lot of them. Not so with my little lady.” He chuckled with affection.
“She made her father notice her, oui! We all noticed her clever jests, her merry spirits, and her many little pranks, for which she was often switched.”
Guy’s eyes widened. Lissa beaten? He would have flayed alive anyone who marked such a delicate skin.
“She did not seem to mind, and went on her merry way as before. But her singing voice!” Gaston sighed with rapture. “You have never heard her truly sing, Brother Guy. She shames the larks in the meadow — yes, even the angels in heaven.” The old soldier leaned over in his saddle and spoke in a lower tone. “My men miss the sound of her singing, good Brother. Especially Pierre.” He nodded toward the young wagon driver, who lazily waved the whip over his two charges, warding off invisible flies.
Like a spun-sugar castle crumbling at the end of a feast held in an overheated room, Guy’s resolve disintegrated. He was nothing like Lissa’s cold father. He had no wish to snuff out her lively spirits. That would happen soon enough at Snape Castle. Guy gritted his teeth at the thought of the forbidding Ormond stronghold.
He nodded to Gaston, then took out his slate and scribbled a few words on it. Halting Daisy’s bone-jolting stride, Guy waited for Celeste.
Celeste’s lips twitched in a tentative smile as she drew abreast of Guy. Maintaining his stern composure, he thrust the slate at her.
You may sing , she read. A brilliant smile wreathed her face, and she clapped her hands. “ Merci, Bro ther Guy! I am now forgiven, yes?” Joy-filled laughter rippled from her.
Each delightful sound struck Guy like a stinging dart, assailing his senses, opening the floodgates he had dammed up so long ago. Gripping the slate until its sharp corner bit into the soft part of his palm, he shook his head and pointed to the word sing.
Celeste cocked her head, allowing the yellow feather in her bonnet to sweep against her shoulder. “Only sing, good Brother?”
Guy nodded sternly.
“And no talking?”
He nodded again.
“Not even one or two words of pleasant conversation, such as one would while away the hour—?” The fierce knotting of his brows cut off her further remarks.
She looked up at the sky for a moment, wrinkled her nose, then proceeded with the first verse of a slightly bawdy tavern song about a maid and a hunter. Guy opened his mouth to object, remembered his vow and gritted his teeth. Celeste continued into the chorus, with a gleam of pure deviltry in her dark eyes. Kneeing her horse, she trotted past him, singing her very heart out.
“My good thanks to you, Brother Guy.” Gaston gave him a friendly whack between the shoulder
At this, Guy finally turned toward Gaston. He raised one brow in a silent query.
“ Oui , my master, the old chevalier. He is a man like any other. He wanted a son. What does the good Lord give him? Four daughters! Lovely creatures, like so many roses in a garden. Then Lady Eugénie is pregnant again. An old soothsayer predicts a boy—‘one who will o’ertop the rest,’ were her exact words. The chevalier became transported with joy. Gave the old witch much gold, and the bag departed, never to be seen again. It was a good thing that she did so, for when Lady Celeste was born...” Gaston shook his head at the remembrance.
Guy snapped his fingers, encouraging the old soldier to continue.
“The walls of L’Étoile shook with my lord’s anger and disappointment. Wouldn’t even look at the babe, nor give her his blessing. And such a sweet thing she was! In my humble opinion, the prettiest of the lot. And such a cunning little mind, that one!”
Glancing over his shoulder, Gaston grinned at the subject of his story. “All sunshine and quicksilver. The other girls? Beautiful, like their mama, but I tell you true, good Brother, there is not a thimble full of good sense among the lot of them. Not so with my little lady.” He chuckled with affection.
“She made her father notice her, oui! We all noticed her clever jests, her merry spirits, and her many little pranks, for which she was often switched.”
Guy’s eyes widened. Lissa beaten? He would have flayed alive anyone who marked such a delicate skin.
“She did not seem to mind, and went on her merry way as before. But her singing voice!” Gaston sighed with rapture. “You have never heard her truly sing, Brother Guy. She shames the larks in the meadow — yes, even the angels in heaven.” The old soldier leaned over in his saddle and spoke in a lower tone. “My men miss the sound of her singing, good Brother. Especially Pierre.” He nodded toward the young wagon driver, who lazily waved the whip over his two charges, warding off invisible flies.
Like a spun-sugar castle crumbling at the end of a feast held in an overheated room, Guy’s resolve disintegrated. He was nothing like Lissa’s cold father. He had no wish to snuff out her lively spirits. That would happen soon enough at Snape Castle. Guy gritted his teeth at the thought of the forbidding Ormond stronghold.
He nodded to Gaston, then took out his slate and scribbled a few words on it. Halting Daisy’s bone-jolting stride, Guy waited for Celeste.
Celeste’s lips twitched in a tentative smile as she drew abreast of Guy. Maintaining his stern composure, he thrust the slate at her.
You may sing , she read. A brilliant smile wreathed her face, and she clapped her hands. “ Merci, Bro ther Guy! I am now forgiven, yes?” Joy-filled laughter rippled from her.
Each delightful sound struck Guy like a stinging dart, assailing his senses, opening the floodgates he had dammed up so long ago. Gripping the slate until its sharp corner bit into the soft part of his palm, he shook his head and pointed to the word sing.
Celeste cocked her head, allowing the yellow feather in her bonnet to sweep against her shoulder. “Only sing, good Brother?”
Guy nodded sternly.
“And no talking?”
He nodded again.
“Not even one or two words of pleasant conversation, such as one would while away the hour—?” The fierce knotting of his brows cut off her further remarks.
She looked up at the sky for a moment, wrinkled her nose, then proceeded with the first verse of a slightly bawdy tavern song about a maid and a hunter. Guy opened his mouth to object, remembered his vow and gritted his teeth. Celeste continued into the chorus, with a gleam of pure deviltry in her dark eyes. Kneeing her horse, she trotted past him, singing her very heart out.
“My good thanks to you, Brother Guy.” Gaston gave him a friendly whack between the shoulder
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