Page 20 of Dagger’s Shield

“It comes to me. As his only child, it comes to me.”

“So you’ll own it, and your cousin will run it.”

“Oui.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not a man.”

“Do you want it?” he asked. “The estate.”

“It’s been decided already.” I lowered my sleep mask. “You should rest. Tomorrow will be long.”

I’d told him more in one flight than I had told anyone in eight years. It should have worried me. Instead, I slept.

6

MAËLLE

After landing at Charles de Gaulle the next morning, we took the train south to Dijon. Dagger collected the rental car while I saw to our bags, and we drove the last stretch into the Côte d’Or ourselves.

We stopped first at the cottage in Beaune. It sat off on its own, small and plain, with two bedrooms and a table big enough to work at. After checking it out, we continued on to Valais.

I’d grown up here and knew every slope of bare winter vines, despite not having seen any of it in years. The closer we got, the less I wanted to arrive.

“We should put this away until our announcement,” I said, removing the ring from my finger and handing it to Dagger.

“But not a moment longer.” He smiled and winked, but his tone sounded more serious than teasing. I pitied as much as envied the woman who would one day be his real bride. His easy charm was disarming even to me, who’d donned my metaphorical armor against it the first day we met.

When we came up the drive to my childhood home, my cousin, Rémy, was down the front steps before the car had fully stopped. He gathered me into a hug, talking in French the whole time, noting how thin I was, how long it had been, and how my maman hadn’t slept since I’d called. There was nothing in his voice but happiness.

My father had chosen Rémy, his nephew, to one day control the domaine instead of me. The land would still come to me, but the business decisions would be his. None of that was Rémy’s doing, and I’d never held it against him. We’d always been close.

When he finally let me go, he saw Dagger behind me and switched to English without missing a beat. “And who is this? Maëlle, you never bring a man home.”

“Rémy, this is Killian Rourke.”

They shook, and Rémy looked between the two of us. Whatever he decided he was seeing made him grin wider. “There’s a story here, and I want all of it, but later. Meanwhile, welcome to Domaine Valais. Let’s go inside, before your maman comes out in the cold.”

My mother was waiting in the hall when we walked in.

I stopped where I stood.

She’d always been slim, but the woman coming toward me now was thin in a way that frightened me. Her face was gaunt, and her clothes hung off her like they were three sizes too big.

I put my arms around her, hating how little there was to hold.

“Maëlle. Ma fille.” She held my face in both hands. “You’re really here.”

“I’m here, Maman.” I lowered my voice. “Tu es si mince—you’re so thin.”

“It’s nothing.” She waved it off. “I haven’t had much appetite lately. Now, introduce me to our guest.”

A door opened to the right of where we stood, and my father came out.

He looked exactly as I remembered—tall, polished, going silver at the temples in a way that only made him more handsome. He crossed the space with his arms open and a warm smile on his face. It was the kind of warmth I’d learned a long time ago not to trust.

“Maëlle.” He kissed both of my cheeks. “Walking in with no warning. Why am I not surprised?” He held me out at arm’s length, then turned. “And you’ve brought someone.”