Chapter 19 #3
Alex felt like an idiot for drinking. Her heart thumped wildly while her thoughts and reasoning came hazily.
Staying sharp was her survival, because she knew men, even otherwise decent ones, could flip at any moment.
She knew Philippe wouldn’t give her up without a fight, but Giroux was right.
It would be a far better gesture on Philippe’s part to send her away than to hurt the man with whom he negotiated.
An immoral woman like her, after all, had very little value, and she knew she was more than expendable at this point in the mission.
She leaned back, using the rock behind her to steady her body in case she had to jump into a fight.
She just hoped her drink-riddled brain remembered how to use her blade…
Giroux gave a small nod with his head. “Unfortunately,” he said, “My captain has heard of her already. He has asked that you send her as a token.” Giroux shifted his weight. “To show that you are committed to moving forward without the need for more fighting.”
Philippe was silent. He did not look up.
The men around him started exchanging glances, as they began to realize the conversation between Philipp and Giroux had taken a turn.
Alex noticed the men—her crew—were making their own subtle movements towards their weapons.
Bernand pulled a dagger from his coat. Claude gripped his bow and positioned himself to ready an arrow.
Giroux was hesitant, seeming to notice the change in the men, but he continued. “I can tell you, Monsieur, he will not let up on the attacks if he does not have this assurance.” He stepped forward, his hands held out in a beseeching gesture.
It was a long and resonant pause that followed in the hollow of the cave.
Alex’s senses had perked up against the wall of silence, and she breathed in the smoke from the fire, mixed with the sour smell of the filthy men who had threatened her.
The two brutes puffed themselves out huskily, hands ready to fight with or without weapons.
Giroux stood unflinching in front of Philippe, while Philippe’s men galvanized behind him.
Maurice stood up and cracked his knuckles.
Luc took a heavy drink, stood up, and tossed the flask to the ground with a thud.
Daniel drew his sword and snarled while the rest followed suit.
Alex swung her head back and forth, watching the brawl unfold before her, trying to decide if she could help, but she caught the eye of Laurant. He mouthed to her, Don’t move.
It was Philippe alone who did not seem agitated.
He continued to play his blade against the wood, while everyone else stood rigidly around him.
He was letting them fester, and the longer he ignored Giroux, the less significant his proposition became.
It was an amazing feat, she was watching: this silent battle.
And Philippe, dangerously assertive in his refusal to speak, promised to be more of a threat silent than with his sword to Giroux’s throat.
Giroux, suspended in his question, was unable to take it back or leave it behind, so he stood there, resolved to wait for an answer.
She thought the standoff may never end.
The fire broke the tension for them. It popped and sputtered like it had been doing all night, but this time a single spark spun into the air, much like the one that had burned Alex earlier.
It floated down and landed on the back of Philippe’s hand.
Instead of striking the ember away, Philippe released the knife from his other hand, licked his thumb, and pressed the glowing spark into his flesh. It died with an audible hiss.
“You tell your leader,” he said, brushing the black ash off his broken skin.
“He will accept my offer or face the Duke’s entire army.
Not to mention these brutes behind me.” His voice was steady, his tone was more than clear.
“And if your benefactor comes near her or hurts her, I will take pleasure in ripping out his throat myself.”
Giroux remained silent for a moment. Finally, he held up his hands. “I’m sorry, My Lord. I did not mean to offend.”
“Bring our message to your captain,” Philippe said, flipping back to the French they all understood. “We shall await his reply in Ponce.” He stood up and folded his arms, indicating he was done with the conversation, the angry red wound visible on his hand.
Giroux nodded and took the cue. “Au revoir,” he said. “I will send word.” Not a moment later, they retreated into the darkness.
Philippe’s remaining men held their positions.
“Well,” Philippe said after a moment. “We have survived our first encounter with these rebels, and they have survived their first encounter with us. I dare say they are far more lucky.” A chuckle rippled through the men, and they were set at ease once more.
They stretched and passed a congratulatory drink and began to prepare to leave.
Everything had returned to normal just like that.
The venomous threat in Philippe’s countenance was gone.
Alex blinked, wondering if the exchange she’d witnessed had been real.
Head still spinning, she rose to prepare her own horse, but the world seemed to trip, and she landed flat on her bottom. Everyone turned to her, and Philippe jumped to her side. “I can’t stand,” she said, looking ruefully up to him.
“You really should never drink,” he said, a note of humor in his voice.
“I know.” She frowned.
He directed the crew to go up ahead. “Check for any signs of danger,” he said. “And be sure to clear the path for us. I’ll wait with her until she can ride.”
He led her closer to the fire then helped the men prepare to leave.
She watched him, her heart throbbing with gratitude.
They were to be alone, she realized, and the tingle that went through her left her gasping.
As a lover or a fighter, he was even more dangerous than she had ever realized, and the thought made her thirst for him even harder.
Screw it, she thought. She’d blow up her life to be with him.