Chapter 24
Danielle d’Orleans Bannock returned to France the same way she’d left it: in a blind rush. At the age of two, she’d run for
her life; at twenty-two, she raced to save her husband’s. She didn’t know who secreted her out of France all those years ago,
but she knew the band of conspirators who returned her. Lord Fernsby, out for blood. Dani’s brother, Gabriel Rein, who joined
them in Calais. Marie, the fierce nun who had served as protector to Elise d’Orleans Crewes, had become Dani’s personal bodyguard
for this endeavor. Overseeing them all was Dani’s brother-in-law, Killian Crewes. Killian had been reluctant to embark on
a rescue mission to salvage another rescue mission, but when Dani would not be deterred from going after her husband, he was given little choice.
The four of them had crossed the Channel from Dover, convened with Dani’s brother, Gabriel, and swept through Calais in the
middle of the night. From Calais, they’d ridden hard for the village Luke had described in his letters. Repeatedly, Killian
and Marie had implored Dani to take some rest—an hour on the side of the road, or a night spent in an inn—but she’d refused.
She would reach Luke and Chateau d’Oiron by the night of his raid.
Their journey was populated by drunken sailors, French military patrols, and wary locals.
To a person, the French were suspicious of the odd band of foreigners who spoke a mixture of native and schoolroom French—or, in the case of Killian, hardly any French at all.
But Killian bade them keep eyes averted, engage only when necessary, and hand out bribes to anyone who challenged them.
They were never in one place for more than a half hour.
Dani hadn’t traveled farther than Maidstone since she’d been two years old, so crossing the Channel and streaking through
France was a little like being plunged into a cold stream. She’d barely noticed. Since the day Luke’s last letter had arrived,
she had thought only of going to him. With tears in her eyes, she’d raced to Elise and Killian, laying out the letters that
detailed his plan. They’d set out the next day.
In the end, they’d reached the village of Lumbres with seven hours to spare. The extra time was spent in a barn near the Chateau
d’Oiron. Killian had bribed the farmer, and the man and his wife brought food and a washtub, vowing to say nothing about their
curious guests. After they’d washed, eaten, and donned disguises, they’d gone over their loose strategy again. Everyone served
the group with the part they played, even while each team member harbored his or her own, personal goal.
Dani had wanted her husband to survive, to rescue his friend, and to shame Vincent Surcouf. Fernsby had wanted to recover
Luke and to kill Surcouf. Sister Marie and Killian only wanted Dani safe. Gabriel, too, wanted Dani safe—but also to appraise
the Orleans family lands that were part of Dani’s dowry.
All of these hinged on infiltrating the castle without raising suspicion and moving freely inside of it.
To achieve this, Killian suggested that the men layer two separate disguises so they might choose identities and change as needed.
They would dress as French officers in uniform to enter the gates; inside, they would be peasant servants from the kitchens.
Dani would go as herself and wear a silk ball gown.
Sister Marie, in the role of Dani’s chaperone, wore her nun’s habit.
The moon was high and bright when they joined the queue of guests waiting to enter Chateau d’Oiron. The night was warm, and
the smell of burning torches mixed with the perfume of the elegant partygoers. Anticipation crackled among the guests, anxious
for a party.
“First time inside a castle, Danielle?” Killian whispered, moving forward with the line.
Dani nodded. “Yes. Also, I’ve never been to a proper ball. And I’ve not been in France since I was a baby.”
“So you haven’t. Well, the journey here was not for the faint of heart. You’ve been very stalwart, indeed. Forgive me if I’ve
seemed reluctant. I want to help you; honestly, I do. And I’d be lying if I said there’s no appeal in the adventure of it,
for old times’ sake.” A sigh. “But my previous life, which never lacked for adventure, also never held so much to lose. Being
a husband and a father changes things.”
Dani nodded. “I know we’ve put everyone at risk. I’m so grateful. I couldn’t not come for him. I simply could not. And he is here, Killian. On the grounds, tonight, this moment. I can sense it.”
“Sense it, can you?” said Killian. He glanced at Sister Marie with a knowing look.
“Stay close to Marie,” Killian coached, speaking lowly. “She fights as well as any man. She once rescued me from a fire, and I’m not even an Orleans. She’s sworn an oath to protect your family and she takes it very seriously.”
“Sister Marie has vowed to protect the Orleans family,” Dani repeated softly. “And Lord Fernsby owes a life debt to Luke.
And I have my vow of marriage. There are so many obligations to see through.”
Killian cracked his neck to the side. “Obligation or no, what we need is luck. We’re endeavoring to steal a prisoner from a Frenchman inside his own bloody castle. As an offensive, it’s under-planned,
ill-timed, and wants several more men. The odds are not in our favor. Your brother, Gabriel, is our fail-safe, God love him.
He’s disavowed his title of prince, but he’ll go through the motions if we get in a bind.”
For the hundredth time, Dani wished her brother hadn’t felt duty bound to enter the castle. He could’ve waited on the edge
of the forest and ushered them to safety when they fled. He’d refused. Where his baby sister went, he’d said, so would he
go. The loyalty made her heart swell, and she prayed that the very great risk they all took would not end in injury, or capture,
or—God forbid—loss.
The group of revelers ahead of them moved forward, their voices raised in a lively song.
Dani understood the French words, but she didn’t know the tune.
It felt odd to be surrounded by so much unrelenting French conversation.
Dani spoke the language fluently; Miriam and Whittle had arranged tutors who were native speakers.
But conversing with a tutor was different than hearing the language in country.
For Marie and Gabriel, of course, French had been their first language.
Lord Fernsby had taken a lifetime of French in the best schools.
Only Killian’s French was weak; but he looked mature and distinguished in his French uniform.
His lapel dripped with medals and his shoulders were marked with the bars of a highly decorated officer.
His plan was to play the role of silent, stoic man of few words.
“Remember,” Killian whispered, “our priority is to gain access and move about without raising suspicion. We’re not here to
attack anyone. If we achieve anonymity, the goal becomes to extract Bannock. He’ll also be endeavoring to blend in. As a career
smuggler, one can only guess he’s rather good at it. In his last letter, he claimed his team would dress as staff. It’s as
good a plan as any. As we search for him, remember that footmen, musicians, and guards tend to share a similar expression.
They’ll look compliant and bored. We’re searching faces for the opposite bearing. Bannock and his team will be alert and motivated.
They’ll project a certain intensity. Also, they’ll be walking the opposite direction of everyone else.
“Another reminder,” Killian said, “only Danielle and Fernsby will appear harmless to Bannock. He doesn’t know the rest of
us. Sister Marie and I were only introduced to him at the wedding, and he’s never met Gabriel in his life. Our French uniforms
will hardly paint us as allies. If and when we locate him, we must be mindful of how we approach or he may run us through,
thinking we are enemies.
“If I was planning to rescue an old man from the dungeon of my enemy,” said Killian, his expression mildly annoyed, “I’d not linger,
I’d be in and out cleanly. To the cellar and away. I’d avoid the dancing and dining and guests. However, if Bannock persists
with his vendetta to challenge Surcouf face-to-face, God only knows where he’ll roam. That’s a long way of saying, behave
naturally, notice everything, but be ready to abscond with Bannock whether he’s willing to come or not. And above all, protect
the princess.”
It took Dani a beat to realize that the princess in this warning was her. She was the princess. She was standing at the door to a French castle wearing a silk dress and a crown.
Tipping her head, she touched the crown Luke had given her on their wedding day. It felt risky to race through the countryside
with it tucked in her saddlebag, but she could hardly present herself as Princess Danielle d’Orleans without the trappings
of a princess.
And that—presenting herself as Princess Danielle d’Orleans—was Dani’s plan. Killian’s suggestions were prudent and useful,
but Dani had an added goal. She would seek out Surcouf and introduce herself as his potential fiancée. This dangled what he
really wanted—her inherited lands—enticingly before him. Luke had planned it this way all along; it was the reason he’d sought
her out in Kent. The details had been vague at the time, the players unmet, but Dani could see the value of it. She and her
dowry represented a way for Surcouf to expand his estate. When Surcouf encountered her, avarice would consume him. In that
moment of salivating hope, she would skewer his avarice by revealing the truth. She was a married woman, wholly unavailable
to him—married to his enemy, in fact—and he would never, ever possess the Orleans land.
After that, and before anyone killed anyone else, she would go—or rather, she would flee. As plans went, it was as vague and
unconsidered as Luke’s original idea. It came at incredible risk, and she strummed with anxiety. At every burst of laughter,