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Eavin's spine, as if her sister-in-law's ghost had entered the room with the onset of danger. The air seemed redolent of Francine's jasmine perfume, but the men were oddly oblivious to her presence. Eavin turned to watch Nicholas, but the amber glow in his eyes warned of his dangerous mood, and she remained silent.
    "Without reason! You killed my son! Murderer! You will hang. I will see you hang." The Spaniard ranted, shaking his riding crop and ignoring all else but his own rage.
    Nicholas lifted a world-weary eyebrow to the lawman. "You will explain what he raves about, Brown?" An impatient French accent tinted his words.
    "Someone has told him about the duel. I'm afraid I'll have to take you in, Saint-Just. Governor Claiborne outlawed dueling, and when a man dies ..."
    Nicholas waved a dismissing hand. "This is ridiculous. His son disappears and he blames it on me. Raphael was in debt up to his ears. I would think it more likely he has run to escape prison as he has done in the past, or perhaps this time someone he owed took exception to his inability to pay."
    "They say you killed him the night your wife died, Saint-Just. I can't dismiss an eyewitness report."
    Eavin felt Francine's ghost breathing down her neck, urging her to speak. She glanced nervously to Nicholas, but he seemed dangerously calm, his eyes glittering with a mood she had no desire to interpret. She turned back to the lawman, who seemed as nervous as she. The Saint-Just reputation was not for nothing, then. She coughed lightly, causing Brown to turn to her.
    "I do not mean to intrude, sirs." She spoke quietly, keeping her eyes on her hands folded over the mending. "But Mr. Saint-Just was with his wife that night. I was there. He never left her side. He was terribly distraught. Even ..."  
    She hesitated, more for effect than because she didn't know what she meant to say next. "Even afterward, we could hear him in his grief. You may ask Madame Dupré or any of the servants. This house is not so large that such anguish cannot be heard. Your informant is dreadfully misinformed."
    Brown breathed a visible sigh of relief. "Thank you ..." Suddenly realizing he didn't know her name, he turned to Nicholas for an introduction.
    Blithely speaking over the Spaniard's sputtering objections, Nicholas rose and made a perfunctory bow in Eavin's direction. "Mrs. Dupré, my sister-in-law. She came to us after Francine's brother died, and has graciously agreed to stay to help me raise the child. Mrs. Dupré, may I introduce Clyde Brown? He attempts to keep some semblance of law around here."
    "My pleasure, sir." Eavin attempted the gracious nod of her head that she had seen Francine use.
    "The pleasure is mine, Mrs. Dupré." Unaccustomed to the graceful gallantry of the aristocracy, Brown turned his hat in his hands while giving her a warm smile. "Not that I think this will ever come to that, but would you be prepared to testify to what you just said in court?"
    Eavin felt the flutter of fear in her stomach, the same flutter she had felt every time the law had come knocking on her door looking for her brother, but she had learned how to smile and pretend assurance. The time to worry hadn't arrived. "I hope it isn't a French court, sir. I don't speak French."
    Reyes was babbling incoherently now, shaking his fist and the riding crop, and Brown merely acknowledged her statement before he grabbed the older man's elbow and began to lead him out.
    "I'm sorry for the intrusion, Saint-Just. Just doing my duty."
    Nicholas followed them to the door. "Of course, monsieur, I understand perfectly."
    Eavin had the feeling that the purring French accent from Nicholas was a good deal more dangerous than his usual curt American tones. She shuddered, then remembering Francine's ghost, sought her presence again. Whatever had been there was gone, and she wasn't certain whether or not to sigh with relief.
    Nicholas returned to the room and poured a brandy. When he turned to face her, the