Chapter Twenty-Five
Inès huddled in her coat, shivering with anxiety. What kept them?
She criticized herself for their delay. She had made them repeat their plans to her many times.
Rafe had walked away, refusing to say it again.
Evan had told her to have confidence in him.
But getting Luc out of this cavern was the work of angels.
Rafe was cunning, agile. Evan was insightful, adept at creating alternatives.
His stories of catching spies had warmed her.
The two he hadn’t caught—Faucon and La Mère—stayed on his mind.
At every turn, it seemed, he kept looking for them, La Mère especially.
Inès had felt her presence twice along their journey, but had seen no one who resembled the beautiful woman with evil in her soul.
Evan looked for the spy constantly, and it grated on his peace of mind.
To say nothing of mine.
“We cannot remain,” the boatman grumbled at her as the moon ducked under clouds. “Gendarmes come for patrol.”
“We cannot leave.”
A rustle above told a tale of someone’s arrival.
One man, alone?
Another behind him with a horse? A cart?
Inès drew her knife. Years of practice gave her a steady grip. Months without using it doubled her fears.
The snapping of fingers caught her attention. That was La Mère’s habit, Giselle had once told her. Oh, surely, that woman is not here.
Footsteps of one person—no, two—made her sit taller. The wooden planks of the quay gave with light and heavy footfalls.
Inès whipped around to her boatman. “Push away.”
He lifted a pole to the mossy wall of the dock. After the small thwack, the footsteps came quicker down the stairs.
“More! Faster!” Inès hissed at him.
But the boat swerved in the current of the river. One dark figure loomed on the last step…then flew into their barge as if he had wings. A loud whack rang up as he jumped to the flat bottom, hands out and legs splayed like a crab.
Inès went for him, her knife out, pointed at his throat.
Another person hit the boat deck and the bateau rocked wildly.
Inès cursed as she slid away from the man she held.
“Not so fast,” the second attacker said with pleasure and an arm around Inès’s waist. As he drew her backward to point his own knife at her throat, Inès felt her assailant’s breasts at her back.
“Bonsoir, Madame la Comtesse de Halsey.” The woman forced her backward into her embrace, the point of her knife at Inès’s throat.
Clutched there, Inès looked up into the face of her captor—and it was La Mère.
“Ah, madame, you have evaded me far too long.” The light of the moon fell over the woman’s refined features and confirmed Inès’s suspicion that the woman was one of the loveliest creatures she had ever encountered.
“Do you have him down?” she called over her shoulder to her partner.
A male voice hissed his response.
“Bien. Tie him up. Push us back to the quay. When Halsey comes, we will be ready for him. Oui. Now then, move to the wall so he does not see you. Oui. Tres bien. Now, my lovely Inès Bechard. Oh, pardon, madame. A comtesse in title and truth, eh?” She grabbed the ribbons to Inès’s hat and tickled under her chin.
Inès jerked away. The knifepoint pricked her beneath her ear.
“Not far, ma petite. Go too far too fast and you risk your blood. A pity, eh?”
More footfalls and Inès held her breath. This was Evan…and another…and another. They had found Luc?
Mon Dieu. Three against two. Odds were good.
Weren’t they?
Above, one man clicked his tongue. That was the signal that they came down.
But their boatman did not answer. Could not. Would they come anyway?
La Mère pulled Inès back against the far side of the boat to the wall.
Inès could not see La Mère’s man or the boatman. Nor could she warn them with a growl.
La Mère’s lips were on her ear. “Not a sound,” she seethed.
Never. But then, there was that anchor lying on the wooden deck, and…if Inès could scrape it along…?
She felt the point of La Mère’s blade dig at her throat. She would die, but Evan would live if she could move that anchor and…
She jerked her legs and sent the anchor screeching across the planks. La Mère jerked Inès back into her embrace. Her knife nicked her, but Inès ignored the fire on her skin. She shimmied forward, closer to the anchor. Pushed again.
La Mère cried out. A long, elegant creature loomed over the woman.
Luc was upon her! Luc!
But La Mère grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the railing. Luc had little strength to fight her off. She beat him about the head, but she slipped upon the wet surface, then flipped backward against the deck. Above, Evan reached beyond her, two hands out toward Inès.
He pushed her out of the way and went after La Mère, teeth bared, eyes rabid. She could not see, but heard the sound of flesh on bone.
She was free, and pushed herself up to her elbows. But her head swam. She closed her eyes and reeled as she watched La Mère struggle to stand. Then Evan punched the woman in the stomach.
La Mère doubled over, staggered forward.
But Luc fell upon her as well. Another blow to her back and she screamed, her arms flailing.
She wobbled, stepped backward, and crouched.
Her eyes met Inès’s as she scrambled backward beneath the wooden bar railing.
But shock widened her eyes, her mouth too, as she dangled by the waist over the lip of the boat, her fingers scratching at the wooden planks as she slid slowly down into the Seine, screaming for help as the river swallowed her whole.
Another splash and a spray of water fell over Inès. A heap of rags lay suddenly at her side. The bundle squirmed, and she saw Durham grab La Mère’s man and pull him up off Luc.
“Good riddance,” growled Evan as he joined Rafe to dump the man overboard.
Inès blinked.
Her brother was free.
Rafe was here.
And her husband was gathering her close in his arms, yelling…yelling…demanding of her that she… What?
She must not go away.
No. I never want to leave you.
But she had to close her eyes. She had no will to do anything other than drift away to some black serenity.
#
The night was too cold. The wind cut her throat like a knife. The swish of the boatman’s paddles in the water buoyed her up, but pain pushed her down. How long had they traveled? One night? Two? Surely they had stopped somewhere, but she could not remember when or where or how long.
She moaned, fighting at the force that held her. The ropes that bound her did not fray—but to her surprise, they consoled her.
“Don’t fret.” Evan’s whisper salved her fears and warmed her chill, as he eased her more securely into his embrace. “We are almost there.”
Wherever that was, she believed him, welcomed it, needed it. Peace beckoned, no more rocking and weaving.
“Where are we?” She tried to sit up. Her arms failed her. What was wrong with her?
“Near our house for the night.”
She stared up through the prickly fog at her husband and fought through the cotton batting in her brain to try to understand why that comforted her. He smiled down at her, the rays of moonlight glancing off the hard and worried planes of his dear face.
She tried to lift her hand.
He caught it in his own and pressed it to his heart. “Don’t move. Save yourself.”
Why? Where is…? “Luc? Is he here?”
“Ma chérie, c’est moi!” Her brother’s gaunt face appeared above her. Soft, dark hair, matted and long to his collar, his eyes weary but compassionate, like their father’s.
Her heart leapt. Then, just as Luc had done when they were children, he winked at her and gave her leave to rest easily. “Go to sleep.”
“No. You must…” What must he do? Another question dawned. “Rafe?”
“Here too. We did well tonight.” Evan hugged her to him with delight. “We have the woman, too.”
“Zeph?”
Evan grinned down at her, irrepressibly happy. “Her, too.”
Fantasy, this was. She dreamt, oui? She tried to sit up, but failed again. “Not a dream, then.”
“Look at me, my love.” Evan grew stern, now ordering her about. He put one finger to her cheek. She lifted her chin and yelped. Why did her throat hurt? “You are injured. La Mère used her blade on your throat beneath your ear. Do you understand me? Do not speak. Nod in answer.”
She did as she was told.
“Luc found a surgeon who came and stitched you up. You fainted,” he went on.
“Blood loss laid you low. Terror, too, I guess. But you are weak, wounded, and you must remain quiet, and here…” His deep bass voice broke as he trailed two fingers down her nose to her lips.
“Stay here with me, my darling. We escaped them all.”
“All?” She had to know. “La—”
“La Mère is gone. Overboard in our fight. She could not swim. Such a pity,” he said with half measure of pride and remorse for the death of another. “We could not save her,” he whispered, combing her hair back from her temple.
She’s dead, she’s dead. She’s dead. The words circled in her head.
“We could not save her man, either. We had no time, nor a free man with inclination to do it. Now close your eyes and rest. We come to our dock soon. I will carry you and you will not argue. Nod that you agree.”
Disbelief drained her of all energy. Gratitude filled the empty spaces. She knew—had known—even in her fear for the success of this night’s venture that she still had much to answer for to God, to her brother, and, most assuredly, her beloved husband.
But that was for tomorrow. For tonight, she gladly postponed the pain of that to surrender to the frailty of her body as she closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
#
The sun streamed in the high, small window of a bare and tiny room when Inès opened her eyes.
She lay flat on her back, tucked into position by thick eiderdowns.
A stiffness in her left jaw told her she must not move to irritate it further.
Her eyes drifted around the rough wooden beams of the ceiling, a crude chest to her right, and another bed, another still body, close beside her.