Chapter 31 #2
James saw Elizabeth’s cheeks pale. He wanted to catch her up in his arms, to carry her away, and beg her forgiveness.
It was his fault she was in this mess—if he hadn’t taken her hand and led her into that damned library, she never would have followed him to France.
Instead, he forced himself to look past her, to push from his mind her fear, his ache for her, this latest addition to his appallingly long list of mistakes, and focus only on Marcus and Andre.
He’d discussed with the team what to do in the event they were stopped—that they should continue on with Joley at all costs; now would be the critical test of their ability to follow orders.
“I am sorry that this unfortunate development has delayed your travels, gentlemen,” he said pointedly.
“I trust your journey will continue on smoothly once my wife and I have accompanied these officers back to Paris.”
“We will miss your company, Citizen Dinsmore,” Marcus said, with a discreet nod, “but we have no doubt justice will prevail.” He gestured to the comte. “Duval, if you and David will ready the horses, Andre, if you’ll climb back into the coach, we shall be on our way.”
James stepped closer to Elizabeth, as much to reassure her as to ensure the attention of the guardsmen was on them, and not on David, who was trying to convince the terrified comte to climb back up on the carriage’s box, or Marcus and Andre, who had retrieved their discarded belongings, had climbed into the coach, and appeared to be busying themselves with straightening the disarray created by the soldiers’ inspections of the interior.
“But of course justice will prevail. This is the new France,” the thin soldier said, making no effort to hide his delight in having taken the Englishman and his pretty bride prisoner.
“You two,” he said, motioning to the soldiers standing beside the coach, “make sure those others have no trouble getting on their way. You”—he motioned to two soldiers standing beside Elizabeth and James—“keep a sharp eye on the prisoners. Jean, you come with me. I have some rope in my pack by the tree. We can use it to tie them up so they do not escape their date with Madame la Guillotine.”
Fear gripped Elizabeth so tightly at first she could barely comprehend what was going on.
She told herself she mustn’t faint, mustn’t break down; she mustn’t make the situation any worse than it already was.
James was right. She’d treated this whole thing as an adventure—her adventure.
Once again, she’d been a complete and utter fool.
Glancing over at the coach, she could see the comte sitting beside David, the reins in his hands.
A soldier ordered her to put her hands out in front of her, and she obeyed.
He began binding her wrists with a length of rough rope.
Elizabeth bit her lip. She wouldn’t cry out, even though he was tying the rope too tightly and the coarse fibers were cutting into her skin.
She felt James’s eyes on her, but she refused to look at him.
Instead, she fixed her gaze on the guardsman who was binding her wrists.
She saw his eyes widen with surprise. Dropping her wrists, he reached for his musket, but before he could unsling it from his shoulder, a bullet pierced his skull, and he fell backward in a spray of blood.
Elizabeth heard the crack as more guns fired, men screaming, and smoke from the burning powder filled the air.
She turned to see James grappling with a soldier who’d been trying to tie his hands.
Ignoring the dead guardsman’s shattered face, she knelt beside the body, rolled it over, and dragged his musket free.
She swung it at the soldier fighting with James, but James had somehow managed to grab the guardsman’s sword.
It was buried in the man’s belly. Blood stained the front of his blue uniform, and a gurgling noise was coming from his gaping mouth.
Elizabeth turned away, horrified and yet relieved.
James was safe! She caught sight of Marcus and Andre, armed with muskets—where had those come from?
—firing at the remaining guardsman from the windows of the coach.
And then, suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of blue.
The thin guardsman rushed past her toward James, who was bent over the dying soldier.
Without thinking, Elizabeth swung the barrel of the gun at the man’s head.
There was a loud crack and the thin man flew forward, landing face-first atop the gutted soldier.
James leapt back, then he turned to look at Elizabeth.
He held out his arms. She dropped the rifle and she walked into them.
Tremors threatened to overwhelm her and she clutched at the lapels of his coat, afraid she might join the pile of bodies at their feet.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, unable to look up.
“Sorry for what?” he said in a bewildered voice.
“I nearly cost you your life.” She closed her eyes, thinking of the scar on his cheek, thinking this wasn’t the first time. Was it any wonder he wanted to send her away?
“Foolish girl,” he said, capturing her chin and tilting it up. “Don’t you know you saved it?”
They dragged the bodies into a nearby field and covered them with bales of hay.
Then they collected the luggage the soldiers had scattered during their search, changed their clothes, and erased the signs of the struggle on the road as best they could before continuing on.
They rode for several hours, determined to put as much distance as possible between them and the dead guardsmen.
At last, David, who’d taken over the driving for the comte, drew the carriage to a halt, and the exhausted company disembarked to breathe the fresh air and refresh their dry palates and empty stomachs.
David spread the red and white blanket they had used to signal their arrival to Joley, and Andre unpacked a large hamper filled with carefully wrapped parcels of food and several bottles of wine.
Few words had been spoken since the fight, beyond a brief discussion of how the guns had been hidden behind secret panels in the coach’s roof that David had designed, and how best to hide the bodies and to conceal the evidence of the fight.
Elizabeth, for her part, was grateful for the silence.
All she could think of to say was, I’m sorry, so sorry.
But she knew the words wouldn’t change anything.
Wouldn’t bring back the men who had died.
The man she had killed. She had killed without thinking, acting purely on instinct.
Not to save her life, but James’s. The soldier had threatened the most important person in the world to her, and so he’d had to die.
She thought of James lying in the grass, his head shattered like the guardsman, and began to shake uncontrollably.
“This will calm your nerves,” James said, handing her a glass of wine.
She took the glass, holding the stem tightly, trying not to spill the bloodred liquid on her skirt. What would he think if he knew it was fear of losing him, and not the horror of what she’d done, that was making her tremble? Would he be disgusted? She couldn’t look at him.
“I must go,” Joley said.
Startled, Elizabeth turned to see the comte standing at the edge of the blanket.
“Go where, monsieur?” James voiced the surprise expressed on the faces of the company.
“You heard those men. What they said about the Girondins being arrested? I must find out if my daughter, Marguerite, has been taken. I must go to Paris.”
“But they will kill you!” Elizabeth cried, unable to believe that after everything that had happened, everything they had risked, the comte would even consider turning back.
“I will make an offer to those monsters,” Joley declared. “My life in exchange for hers.”