She drank tea, and the herbal scent was heavenly. One of so many things he’d never appreciated when he was living a luxurious life.

Her presence was soothing, not stressful like the exuberant Boyers. Eventually, Grey felt moved to say, “Strange. I longed for company and having Père Laurent imprisoned in the next cell was the greatest blessing I’ve ever known. Yet now that I’m free, I find myself uncomfortable around a handful of people.”

“We are social creatures. Being deprived of companionship is one of the greatest torments imaginable.” She sipped at her tea. “For you to survive so many years alone required great resources of will and endurance that took you far beyond normal life. Returning will take time.”

“Great resources of will and endurance?” He smiled humorlessly. “No one who knew me before would imagine me capable of either.”

“Kirkland had his doubts,” Cassie said with a half smile. “But that didn’t mean he thought he should give up on you. Imagine the pleasure of returning to your friends and family and amazing them with your strength of character.”

His crack of laughter was rusty. He and Laurent had enjoyed rich discussions, but laughter was rare. “That does sound rather appealing.” He finished his coffee, wishing there was more but not wanting to go inside for it. “My wise Lady Fox, will I ever be close to normal again? Or have all the years in prison changed me into a different, unrecognizable person?”

She shook her head. “We never know our full potential until circumstances force us to meet unexpected challenges. Different circumstances would have drawn forth other aspects of your nature.”

“I would have enjoyed different circumstances infinitely more,” he said dryly.

“No doubt.” She glanced at him for the first time. “But if you’d continued to live the life of carefree luxury, would you now find such intense pleasure in simple things? Would the sky be as beautiful, the raspberries so exquisite, if they had always been available to you?”

His brows arched. “No, but I paid a very high price for my new appreciation.”

Her smile was fleeting. “Higher than anyone would wish to pay. But at least there are some compensations for what you endured.” She drank more tea. “They help balance the anger.”

Grey felt as if she’d struck him a physical blow. He’d been so euphoric at regaining his freedom that he hadn’t really recognized the anger that seethed just below the surface of his new happiness. Now that Cassie had named it, he realized that deep, fierce anger burned inside him. Anger that was so volatile that he might do … anything if it was released.

Rage had consumed him when he snapped Gaspard’s neck. He barely remembered doing it, apart from the vicious pleasure he’d felt in killing the bastard. He would have killed the guard if Cassie hadn’t asked him to restrain himself.

Her calm request to refrain from killing had cleared his mind enough to recall that Père Laurent had benefited from small acts of kindness by one or more of the guards. Because that kindness might have saved Laurent’s life, Grey had let the guard live.

Recognition of his anger was followed by two more insights. One was that his discomfort around the Boyers was not just the panic of being with too many people, but a deep fear that he might lose control and hurt one of them. Or worse.

The other insight … He blurted out, “You have also been a prisoner, yes?”

Cassie became very still, her gaze fixed on the dark open water where he’d bathed the night before. “For less than two years. Nothing like so severe as your imprisonment.”

“Still a very long time,” he said softly. “Solitary confinement?”

She nodded. “At first I was grateful not to be packed into a cell so crowded there was barely room to lie down. Within the month, I would have given everything I owned and my hope of heaven to share a cell with even a filthy, furious harridan.”

“No wonder you understand what it is to be deprived of companionship. Of touch.” He reached out and covered her left hand, where it rested on the log. Her fingers twitched, then clasped his. “You were eventually released?”

“I found my own way to freedom,” she said in a tone that refused all questions. “Like you, I discovered potentials in myself I had never imagined.” Her hand tightened on his. “Even all these years later, sometimes the craving for touch is overpowering.”

Since he felt the same, he slid along the log and wrapped an arm around her. Not for warmth, but for mutual need. She relaxed against him, her arm going around his waist. He wondered again how old she was. Once more he felt shame at his lustful thoughts.

At least he knew better than to act on those thoughts. Or to ask a lady her age. “What work do you do for Kirkland? If you spend much of your time traveling through France, you’re alone again.”

She sighed, her breath a white puff in the cold air. “I’m a courier, collecting information and getting it back to Kirkland. Sometimes I escort people from France, as I’m doing with you. My peddler disguise allows me to go almost anywhere. Spying is a lonely trade when I’m in France, but I return to London two or three times a year. I have a home of sorts and friends there.”

Though she had the satisfaction of working against Napoleon, her life sounded bleak. “Will you return to England with me, or hand me over to one of your smugglers?” His arm tightened involuntarily. He wanted her with him all the way home. With Cassie he could relax because she could flatten him if his anger erupted dangerously.

“I’ll return. I have other matters of business in London.” She made a face. “I need to go inside before I freeze solid. Are you considering another bath?”

“Next time I bathe will be in a tub of steaming water.” He removed his arm from around her and ran stiff fingers through his beard. “I need to go inside, too. I’m hoping Romain will lend me his razor. I want to see what I look like under this thatch.”

“Don’t shave the beard off yet,” Cassie said firmly. “We must travel inconspicuously. No one notices or remembers me, and your appearance needs to be equally drab. I have coloring to disguise your hair, and keeping a beard will add to the appearance of an undistinguished peasant.”

He grimaced. “Now that a clean-shaven face is within reach, I find that I crave it, but I will defer to your judgment. Have you talked to Romain about a horse?”

“He has a decent, unmemorable hack that he’ll trade for the cart,” she replied. “We also discussed a route. There’s an old woodsmen’s track over the hills. It will be a rough climb, but once we’re on the other side, pursuers will be less likely to find us.”

“You really think Durand will send men after us?” Grey asked, his skin crawling at the prospect.

“I don’t know the man, but my instincts say yes.” She got to her feet. “We foxes survive through slyness and instinct.”

He guessed she’d chosen the name Fox just as she’d picked Cassandra: because the names suited her. He wondered what her real name was. “Will Père Laurent be safe here?”

She frowned. “Reasonably so. This farm is remote, and since Madame Boyer married outside her native village, she will be hard to trace as one of his relations. Père Laurent will stay here under the guise of an elderly cousin of Romain’s, recently widowed and too feeble to care for himself. He’ll also keep his beard.”

“That should work,” Grey agreed. “Locked in that cell, no one has seen him in years, so he won’t be readily recognized.”

It would be hard to leave his friend after developing such closeness over the years. But even more than that closeness, Grey wanted to go home.


Chapter 16

Firmly back in her role as a sturdy countrywoman who rode astride and brooked no nonsense, Cassie waited patiently for Grey to make his farewells to Père Laurent and the Boyers. He’d endeared himself to the whole family in the days they’d stayed at the farm and waited for the snow to clear enough for travel.

She had made her appearance drab for so long that it was second nature. Grey was more difficult to tone down. Even with his worn country clothing, the rinse she’d given him to dull his hair, and the ragged cut she’d given his beard, he looked like Somebody. Ten years in prison couldn’t extinguish his aristocratic bearing. She’d have to remind him to slouch wearily when they were around people.

Grey hugged Père Laurent, saying huskily, “Au revoir, mon père,” as if the priest truly was his father. “If I ever have a son, I shall name him Laurent.”

This was the hardest farewell, for both men knew they were unlikely to ever meet again. The priest was old and frail and Grey’s own return to England was far from safe. Though the war must end someday, it was impossible to predict when Englishmen could openly visit France again.

His voice thick with emotion, Père Laurent said, “Make it Lawrence, for he will be an English gentleman, like you.” Ending the embrace, he said, “Go with God, my son. You are in good hands with the lady fox.”

“I know.” Grey swung rather warily onto his mount, a placid old gelding called Achille. The horse didn’t live up to its warrior name, so it was a good choice for him now. Cassie was unsurprised to see that even after ten years away from horses, he settled into the saddle like a skilled rider.

Viole Boyer approached him. “Godspeed, Monsieur Sommers. I have your English addresses as you have ours here. When this damnable war is over, perhaps you can call again, or at least let us know how you do.”

“I shall.” When she offered her hand, he bent from the saddle and kissed it. “You have my eternal gratitude, madame.”

“Then the scales are balanced,” she said, blushing like a young girl. The fabled Wyndham charm was recovering fast, Cassie thought with amusement.