‘Sit, Sloan Fraser, we need tae discuss some issues wi’ ye.’ Sloan slowly sat in the seat his father had sat in earlier. ‘The first issue is yer father. He’s dead. He attacked Jacob MacLean wi’ his sword from behind and Jacob bested him wi’ his dirk. We all saw it happen before our eyes.’ Sloan jumped from his chair and put his hand on his dirk, looking for Jacob, as James spoke in a tone of factual indifference, as though telling him his father was slain, was of no consequence. ‘Before ye want tae take revenge on Jacob MacLean here,’ his hand motioning towards Jacob, beside him. ‘I’ll remind ye that all of us are allied together. Yer father was’ne a bright man, that was shown tae us. Tae attack a man in such a cowardly way, showed no spine in the man. Now, I’m hoping ye’re a bit smarter than he was. As fer the other issue, I’m still offering allegiance fer yer clan tae join wi’ us and gi’ ye’s lands of yer own.’ James continued with his offer. Sloan looked about at the others,. She genuinely believed that Yvette deserved to be punished. She was of the firm opinion that a good sound lesson would do the foolish young girl the world of good and teach her a valuable lesson in her future conduct. The fact that the punishment of Yvette would be an agreeably stimulating exercise was simply the icing on the cake. Any one of the serving girls at the Cafe du Concorde could have predicted with conviction the kind of punishment Madame Courvelle was contemplating. Madame Courvelle loved the young charges under her employ with a fierce devotion and adamant protectiveness. To her they were the family that the early demise of her husband had denied to her and they were as close to being her daughters in her mind as made no difference. She was their mentor; their mother figure and their guardian. Few people in Pont du Rochelles would have dared to incur Madame Courvelle’s wrath by wronging one of the young ladies under her care. The defensive umbrella she extended over them.
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