Chapter 2

“Who’s your employer?” the man asked after he had bitten the coin, making Ignatius wince. Who would put such a filthy thing as coinage in their mouth?

“Monsieur Gregoire Delacroix,” Ignatius responded. “I am here to tutor his daughter, Mademoiselle Desiree Delacroix.” He jumped as the man swore under his breath. The two men exchanged disgruntled glances. “Is there a problem?”

“No. None.”

The reply sounded straightforward, but as Ignatius wandered off, he was unsure whether to believe them. He resisted the temptation to ask for general directions. He would ask someone else in the village where he might locate the honourable gentleman who would be paying his salary for the foreseeable future.

The town seemed pleasant enough, and it appeared Ignatius had arrived on market day. Many people traded at stalls, though there were a few stores. The cackle of hens came from a box on the ground, the snort of a small pig from another. These noises sounded less strange than the local language but he was already well-versed in the lingo and that was partly his purpose here. He eyed a small bushel of apples but resisted the temptation. The street was so busy it soon became impassable in places, slow going at the least in others. Ignatius swapped the dried mud of the road for the wooden walkway. This took him closer to the stores and other establishments.

He was surprised to note such a moderate town had more than one tavern. He frowned a little when he noted the number of men tipping back a tankard so early in the day—not that Ignatius was a man of drink in any case. Alas, his disapproval must have shown on his face, for a long leg unfolded and stretched out to rest by the ankle on the porch railing, thereby blocking his passage.

Blinking in puzzlement, Ignatius turned his attention to the stranger. He blinked again when dark formidable eyes returned his stare from beneath a hardy brow and a shock of black hair.

“A stranger, and an odd-looking one at that,” the man said, when Ignatius had been thinking the same thing about him. At least, he had never set eyes on such broad shoulders before now.

“I’m new to town, sir,” Ignatius confirmed. He cast a glance around the rambunctious assemblage, seeing that this man hung with a motley crew of manly specimens. There were four of them, five including the large man, and they gave the impression of being a gang.

“Indeed.” That rich, warm voice rang out. The booming quality shook Ignatius’s frame as though a bell tolled within him reverberating all the way down to his toes. “And what can we do for you?”

The question came so unexpectedly that for a moment Ignatius quite forgot to answer. He stared at the other man and dark twinkling eyes gazed back. He was not sure what he could see in them, but that gaze was a peculiar mix of emotions. For an instant, Ignatius perceived himself to be transparent, as though this man stared into his very soul, yet as for the man himself, he was impenetrable. Ignatius had thought he had the chap’s worth figured out the moment the brute had placed his legs into his path, but now he felt misguided. Someone coughed, bringing him back to reality.

“My name is Ignatius Swain,” he told the men. They laughed, but then a round of name giving ensued, and Ignatius learned that the bulky being still impeding his proceeding was one Jacques Bouchard, although one fellow referred to him as saucisson. Sausage?

“A soubriquet,” Jacques said, laughing.

So it was a nickname. Still failing to understand, Ignatius merely nodded. Having made their acquaintance, he said, “I am seeking one Gregoire Delacroix.”

“And why would that be?” one of the men asked.

“I really don’t see what business that is of yours, but if you must know, I am to tutor his daughter.”

At once Jacques was on his feet. His seat skittered back as though it could not move far enough away from him. Ignatius was aware his eyes widened, as his gaze drifted up…and up, and…being as he was quite tall himself, even that distance told him how tall Jacques was, but it was not just height that made the man redoubtable. To call Jacques Bouchard broad-shouldered was inadequate. Now that the man stood more in the light, Ignatius could see his face was uncommonly handsome, but the curl to his lips distracted from this pleasantness. This bear of a man leaned over him so that Ignatius found he was leaning back and arching his spine a little.

Refusing to be so intimidated, Ignatius stood up straight. That meant his face moved closer to Jacques’s and the man had to straighten also or there would be but a breath between them. Surprise passed over Jacques’s expression, swiftly replaced by something less enjoyable. This man continued to stare at Ignatius, a cast of animosity burning in those dark eyes. Then Jacques’s gaze flicked up and down as well as side to side as though taking in Ignatius’s measure. Turning his head, Jacques stared at his men, his lips stretching to a grin, although the gesture looked a little sneering for Ignatius’s taste. The men laughed, perhaps dutifully, perhaps a little nervously. Jacques stepped back.