Page 44 of Dagger’s Shield

Dagger was no different. He might say he wanted more than a night with me, but whether it was a week or a month or longer, he’d eventually get bored and start looking at other women.

I wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Not knowing what else to do and needing to think about anything other than Dagger, I went in search of my mother.

She wasn’t in her room, but I found her a few minutes later, following the laughter to the solarium. The next thing I heard was Dagger’s voice.

“She’s the most capable person I’ve ever met,” he said. “I’ve told her so. She doesn’t believe me. Or she doesn’t believe I mean it.”

I peeked around the corner. The two were sitting side by side with their backs to the door.

“Not yet,” my mother said. “But she will listen to how you say it. If you don’t stop, she’ll eventually accept your words as truth.”

“I don’t intend to give up.”

“Bien.” Maman patted his hand. “You will be a good husband to my daughter.”

“It’s my greatest desire to be.”

From where I stood, I could see Dagger lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees. “Tell me about her,” he said.

Maman was quiet for a few moments, then she smiled. “When she was barely a teenager, I saw her on her way out to the vineyards, carrying a pruning knife. When I caught up with her and asked what she intended to do, she said, ‘That should be obvious.’ She held the blade up so I could see it. When I told her it was too big for her, that it was made for a man’s hands, she scoffed.”

“What did she do next?”

“I can’t remember how, but I convinced her to return it to where she’d found it and come inside.”

Dagger chuckled. “Surprising.”

“Not really. The following morning, the vineyard manager found a row that was slated for pruning that day already done. Badly, but done, nonetheless.” My mother rested her head on the sofa and drew the blanket up higher. “She had to have gone out at the first sign of dawn.”

“To prove you wrong?” Dagger asked.

“Not so much to prove me wrong as to prove to herself she could do it. Her first memories are likely of her father telling her she couldn’t. Not just prune, but anything to do with the vineyards.”

“Why would he do such a thing?”

My mother shrugged. “I wouldn’t say that all Frenchmen of my husband’s generation are sexist.” She continued when he nodded. “Bertrand would be counted among the many who are.”

“Maëlle doesn’t talk about Valais.”

“I would think it would be too painful. When she was young, she loved everything about it. She followed her father through the cuverie, asking how it all worked, what every dial was for. He’d answer for a bit, but then he’d grow impatient and tell her to find something else to do besides bothering him. It broke my heart.”

“Do you think she wanted to run it someday?”

“Oui.”

“Did she tell him?”

“Not that I know of, but if she had, I wouldn’t have been surprised. She’s never had trouble speaking her mind.”

Both of them chuckled.

“Does Bertrand honestly believe she wouldn’t be capable?”

“It no longer matters. Rémy will take over all of it one day. Now, he runs the operations. Bertrand still oversees the vineyards and production, but he relinquished the financial side of the business to Rémy not long after he graduated from university. I wasn’t surprised. It was the part he hated dealing with the most.”

When the blanket fell to the floor, Dagger picked it up and draped it over my mother’s lap.