Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. ‘A thing Marthe told me of,’ Melusine answered, her attention on the garments that were still lying higgledy-piggledy, just as she had left them. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. The boy was right. ’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest.
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