“Because Gerard Barbier was the great nephew to Countess d’Adhémar.”
Sharyn cast the Frenchman a hard look. “The woman who was entrusted with the book by Saint-Germain himself?”
“The same. It was the Countess who passed the responsibility of guardianship to her great nephew, a distinguished scholar of his times, with a library of great depth and size.”
Duncan stared ahead at the stone façade. “Then this home, it’s—”
“The home of the Second Keeper,” Laurent concurred.
Duncan eyed their guide, beginning to understand the deeper connection here. “Is that how your family first became involved with theGardiens?”
“Indeed. From its very outset. In fact, it was my great ancestor Malick who christened the group with its name.”
Ahead of them, the door to the estate opened. Two huge dogs—easily half Duncan’s weight—bounded out, bawling at the intruders. Their brown coats were sleek, their muzzles wrinkled and flattened. Some might mistake them for boxers, but from Duncan’s years in the fields and marshes, he recognized these mastiff-size creatures to be French hunting dogs, Dogue de Bordeaux.
The pair flew at the group, throwing slather from their curled lips.
Duncan pushed the others back.
Laurent held his ground. “Tristan et Isolde, calme-toi!”
The dogs ignored him and ran up, bowling into the man sideways, then circling merrily. Laurent barely kept his feet, holding his case high, but a rare smile broke through at their antics. He patted their flanks in an attempt to sway them to obey but to no avail.
Finally, a young man appeared at the door. “Triss! Izzy! Retour au porche! Tout de suite!”
The dogs gave Laurent a final pass, then ran back to the flagstone porch, where they dropped to their haunches, flanking the young man, who lifted an arm in greeting.
“Salut!” he called over. “Entre, s’il te plait.”
Duncan’s French was rusty, but he understood enough to know they were being invited inside. Laurent led them to the porch, clapped the young man on the shoulder, then gave him a one-armed hug, still never relinquishing his hardshell case. The two spoke in French, clearly affectionate and known to one another.
Laurent turned to them. “This is Gabriel Barbier, the current master of the house.”
The young man huffed and politely switched to English. “Try telling that to my mother or two older sisters. They’ll bite your head off.” He stepped aside and motioned toward the door. “Please be welcome.”
The dogs took him at his word and crashed headlong through the doorway, bumping against each other to enter first.
Gabriel sighed and shook his head. “Now after you all.”
Duncan sized up the master of the house, who looked no more than twenty. Gabriel wore jeans and a flannel shirt under a leather vest. His boots were slightly muddy, smelling of manure, as if he had just come from the fields that surrounded the estate.
Apparently, the Barbier family no longer had slaves for such labors.
As Duncan headed inside, he noted the tight curl to the man’s close-cropped hair and a slightly olive complexion, all suggesting a mixed heritage. He glanced to Laurent, wondering if in the past the two families living here had shared more than just an interest in guarding an old book.
Whatever the case, Tag stared a touch too long at the young man, who, no matter his heritage, or maybe because of it, was undeniably handsome, with eyes so blue they looked nearly white. Tag’s attention drew a shadow of a smile on the man’s lips and a flush to Tag’s cheeks.
Even Archie gave Gabriel an appreciative once over, straightening his back as he passed, trying to match the young man’s height.
Once they were all inside, the entry hall proved to be warmer and homier than the château’s stately façade. A crimson-and-green Turkish rug, well-worn by passing feet, covered a floor of wide-plank French oak. Tapestries draped the plaster walls, which showed aged cracks that looked less like disrepair and more like the wrinkles of an old man’s wizened face. A large stone fireplace filled one corner, flickering with a few flames from a glowing bed of embers.
“Mother’s in the library,” Gabriel informed Laurent. “She should have everything ready. If you’d texted us sooner, we could’ve been better prepared.”
Duncan knew Laurent had waited until only an hour ago to reach ahead to the estate and alert them of their arrival. The man was clearly taking no chances of word getting out. He had even borrowed their burner phone to send the text, fearing someone might be monitoring his own cell, which he had disabled to keep anyone from tracking him.
Gabriel continued across the hall, keeping close to Laurent. “We’ve not seen you in more than three years. When word came from that unknown number, we questioned if it was truly you. But after you gave such specific instructions, it left little doubt.”
“Je suis désolé,” he apologized. “I had to be cautious. And you told no one,est-ce exact?”
