“Maman,” she said promptly. “Keep your eyes down and pretend to be not very intelligent. I’m your old mother and I take care of business for both of us.”

He gave a short nod and started forward. Satisfied, she led Thistle toward the market square. This was Grey’s first test among strangers, but she was confident that he could manage. At night in private, he was as amusing as he was passionate. It was clear why everyone adored him in his youth.

Though restless anger still seethed under his lighthearted charm, it was slowly dissipating, she thought. This quiet journey was gradually bringing him in tune with the world again. By the time they reached London, he should be almost normal. A new normal that was a blend of what he’d been and what he’d experienced.

At this season the market contained little produce beyond wrinkled apples and tired-looking root vegetables, but there were baked goods and cheeses and charcuterie, as well as stalls with old clothes and utensils. If she’d had her cart, she’d set up shop.

Instead she moved through the crowd as quickly as she could without shoving and drawing attention. People were particularly jammed up around the fountain in the center of the square. Even over the noisy chatter, she could hear Grey’s harsh breathing, but he kept his eyes down and moved doggedly onward.

She didn’t want to stop in the middle of the market, but as they came out on the other side and the crowd thinned, she saw a bakery stall. “Hold a moment, lad, and take my reins,” she said in a country accent. “I need to buy us a loaf.”

“Oui, Maman.” He took Thistle’s reins so Cassie could approach the stall. She bought bread and several tarts made from dried fruits. She liked offering new tastes to please Grey’s long-neglected palate. His enthusiastic appetite was endearing.

She had just handed over her coins when shouting broke out behind her. She whipped around and saw a skinny dog running from the opposite stall with a smoked sausage in its mouth and a furious, red-faced merchant in pursuit. An onlooker called out cheerfully, “Looks like that little bitch is faster than you, Morlaix!”

“Shut your mouth, damn you!” Swearing, Morlaix cornered the dog, snatched back the sausage, and began kicking the cowering beast, which was trapped between a wall and a cart.

Grey said roughly, “Eh, sir, you shouldn’t be beating the poor brute!”

He took the merchant’s shoulder to pull him away from the dog. The man pivoted and swung a meaty fist at Grey’s jaw. Grey dodged, but his control splintered and he pulled his fist back to strike a furious blow.

Fearing he’d injure or kill the merchant, Cassie grabbed his arm before he could throw the punch. “Steady, lad!” she cried. “Don’t be hittin’ the gentleman!”

She used her grip to surreptitiously jab a point above his elbow that numbed his right forearm. He swung on her, eyes wild and his body shaking.

“Steady, Grégoire!” she snapped. “Steady!”

For an instant she thought he might swing on her and she prepared to duck. Then his rage faded enough that he lowered his fist and gave her a short nod to reassure her that he’d mastered himself.

Cassie turned to the angry merchant, who smelled of beer and raw onions. Bobbing her head, she said contritely, “Dreadful sorry, Monsieur Morlaix. My boy isn’t quite right in the head. He’s fond of dogs and can’t bear to see ’em hurt. Here, let me pay for that sausage and you can just let the poor beast go.”

She pressed a generous payment into the merchant’s pudgy palm. “I’ll get my Grégoire out of town now, sir. ’E gets confused around so many people.”

Morlaix took the money with a growl. “Get both of those beasts away from me!”

“I shall, sir,” she said meekly. “Come along now, lad.”

“Sausage,” he said in a dull voice that supported her claim that he wasn’t quite right. “You gave ’im money for the sausage, so it’s ours.”

Cassie took the damaged sausage from the merchant and gave it to Grey. He fed the meat to the skinny dog, who wolfed it down voraciously.

Swiftly Cassie collected her bread and tarts and the reins Grey had dropped when he became involved in the altercation. Lucky the horses were placid beasts that hadn’t seized the chance to run off. “Leave the dog, Grégoire, we need to be on our way.”

He got to his feet and took Achille’s reins again. “Oui, Maman.” His voice was submissive, but she sensed seething anger just below the surface.

The small crowd that had gathered to watch a fight drifted off, disappointed that there was no blood. Cassie headed away from the market at a brisk pace, shepherding Grey and his horse in front of her.

When they were clear of the last of the marketgoers and the main street was empty, she stopped to remount and saw that the dog was following them hopefully. “You’ve made a friend, Grégoire.”

Grey knelt and scratched the dog’s scrawny neck. She was young, medium sized, and so skinny that her ribs showed. Under the dirt, she seemed to be black and tan with white feet and muzzle. Floppy ears suggested hound ancestry.

She wasn’t wild, for she licked Grey’s hand hopefully. “She wants kindness as much as food,” he said. “But she also needs more food. One small sausage for which you paid too much doesn’t go far when one is starving. Can we spare some cheese?”

Cassie knew that feeding the scraggly little bitch was a bad idea, but she couldn’t resist the dog’s pleading brown eyes. She foraged in her saddlebags until she found a chunk of cheese. Breaking it in half, she handed a chunk to Grey. “You’ll never get rid of her after this.”

“I don’t want to.” Grey broke the cheese into smaller pieces and fed them to the dog one at a time. “I always had dogs. I missed them as much as I missed people.” He scratched the dog’s head affectionately. “If Régine chooses to follow, I won’t object.”

Cassie studied the skinny dog. “Naturally she should be called Queen. It will do wonders for her morale.”

Grey tossed the last piece of cheese to Régine. She snapped it neatly out of the air. “I hope so. Names are important.”

If Régine helped him relax and cope with the world, Cassie figured the dog was worth her weight in sausages. They proceeded out of the village side by side. A mile or so along, Cassie said, “You did well in the market. You didn’t kill anyone.”

Grey’s lips thinned. “I would have if you hadn’t stopped me. I’m not fit for civilized society, Cassie. If you aren’t around the next time I go berserk, I don’t know what will happen.”

“I’ll be around as long as you need me.”

He turned and looked at her, his gray eyes stark. “Is that a promise?”

She hesitated, realizing that she was on the verge of a very large promise. But while he needed her now, that wouldn’t be true much longer. Once he was back in England, there would be others better suited to helping him until the last of his demons were banished.

But for now, he did need her. “I promise, Grey.”

He gave a twisted smile. “You may live to regret saying that, but thank you, Cassie. For now, you’re my rock in a confusing world.”

“I’m more likely to regret your adopting that dog,” she remarked. “We’ll have to sleep in barns for the rest of our trip.”

He gave her an exaggerated leer. “As long as there is sufficient privacy to ravish you, my dearest vixen.”

She laughed, glad his anger was under control again. They’d spent the previous night in a barn, and there had indeed been sufficient privacy for ravishing, though she wasn’t sure who was the ravisher and who was the ravished.

Cassie glanced back and saw that Régine was following. The dog seemed to have had some training. Perhaps she was a family pet that had become lost. She’d make Grey a good companion. Cassie loved animals herself, but couldn’t keep them in her traveling life. She tried not to become too attached to her horses because sometimes she had to leave them behind. Just as she had to do with men.

They were making good time and should reach the coast within a few days. She’d be glad to get her charge safely home, but oh, she’d miss the nights!

After selling out his wares, the merchant Morlaix retired to the taproom of the nearby inn. As he waited for his drink, the commander of the local gendarmerie entered and posted a flyer on the wall by the door. REWARD! shouted across the top in large letters.

Morlaix liked to practice his reading, so he ambled over to study the flyer. Fugitives were being sought. An old woman, an old man, a younger man with light hair. Maybe together, maybe separate, maybe traveling with others.

“Eh, Leroy,” he said to the commander, who was an old friend. “I just saw two out of three like that in the market. The old woman and a light-haired man. But he was touched in the head and there was no old man.”

Leroy, a former army sergeant, looked mildly interested. “From around here?”

“No, strangers. Heading north.”

Leroy looked more interested. “The notice says they’re most likely heading north. What did the old woman look like?”

Morlaix shrugged. “Nothing worth noticing. Average size, dressed one step above a ragpicker, gray hair. A man would have to be desperate to want to bed her.”

Even more interested, the gendarme asked, “Old but strong?”

Morlaix frowned. “I suppose she was. She stopped her great brute of a son from attacking me.”

“Why did he want to attack you?”

The merchant told the story tersely, thinking it didn’t reflect well on him. The gendarme’s eyes lit up. “Could he have been an Englishman? They’re mad for dogs!”

“He didn’t say much, but he spoke like a Frenchman. An idiot Frenchman.”

Leroy tapped the flyer. “The younger man is an escaped English spy. I suppose he’d have to speak French well to be a spy. This pair may be the ones who are wanted. How long since they left town?”