At least this time they weren’t escaping through a blizzard.

He was hunted like a rabbit through the fields, hounds baying for his blood. He fell and lay panting and helpless while hunters and hounds crashed down on him. But instead of the swift death of being torn to pieces, they captured him, bound his limbs, dragged him back to prison, and dropped him into a bottomless pit, where he fell into endless night …

Grey woke up screaming into the darkness. He lashed out, but before full-blown panic destroyed the last shreds of sanity, warm arms embraced him and a soothing female voice said, “It’s all right, Grey. We’re safe here.” Her soft voice and strong body were sanctuary in a black, bleak world. “We escaped without the gendarmes knowing we’d been there.”

Heart pounding and fists knotted, he fought to master himself. Mind over frantic instinct. He was not imprisoned, was not trapped in a lightless eternity. “Sorry,” he managed. “Knowing that we’re being pursued must have triggered a bad dream.”

“The first since you escaped?”

His first reaction was to say that it was, but he couldn’t lie to Cassie. “Not the first, but the worst.” He wrapped his arms around her, feeling his panic recede. “When you’re close, they go away quickly.” He frowned into the darkness. “Did I strike you when I was thrashing around?”

“No, though not for lack of trying!” she replied. “Luckily I dodge well.”

Thank God for that. “Remind me where we are?”

“A shed built to protect livestock fodder,” she explained. “At this season, most of the fodder has been used so there’s space for weary travelers to sleep.”

“No wonder it’s so bloody cold,” he muttered, remembering now how they’d found the lean-to after a couple of hours of wet, miserable walking. They’d led the horses because it was too dark to ride.

The sky was lightening, so dawn must be near. He rested his cheek against her hair. Régine, he realized, was the warm weight curled up against his opposite side. “How long until we reach the coast?”

“We can make it in four days if we push hard. Which we should,” she said soberly. “Durand must have sent out flyers describing us as dangerous spies, likely with a reward. Anyone with even a vague resemblance to his fugitives is going to be noticed and perhaps detained.”

“Should I take off my beard?” He rubbed his chin, wondering what lay beneath the whiskers. “That would change my appearance.”

“They don’t really know your appearance.” A smile came into her voice. “I suspect that if you’re clean shaven, every woman we pass will remember you, and that’s the opposite of what we want.”

He felt himself coloring in the darkness. When he was younger, women of all ages noticed him. He’d taken the attention for granted, vain young fool that he was. Now the thought made him vaguely uncomfortable. “Any description of you would be as an old woman, wouldn’t it? That’s how you looked at the castle. Can you cover up the gray in your hair? Then we could travel as husband and wife.”

“Changing our appearances is a good idea for both of us,” she agreed. “I have some temporary brown coloring in my saddlebags.”

“Nothing you pull out of those saddlebags surprises me anymore.” He rubbed the lithe length of her back, wanting to touch as much of her as he could. “I half expected you to produce a four-poster bed when we stopped here.”

“Nonsense. This lean-to isn’t large enough for my four-poster.”

He smiled and the last of his nightmare tension faded away. “I’ll be glad to have you playing the role of my wife. It felt rather perverted to have you as my mother.”

“That didn’t stop you from behaving in a perverted way,” she pointed out as she slid a hand under his coat.

He stiffened, and so did the part of his body where her hand came to rest. “I’m shameless, remember?” he said a little breathlessly. “I think we should now celebrate our new status as husband and wife.”

“Well, it’s a way to warm up,” she said thoughtfully. “For a couple of minutes.”

Joy and desire began bubbling through him despite their precarious circumstances. “Another challenge, my lady fox?” He cupped the delicious softness of her breast. “I promise I shall warm you until the sun comes up.”

And he did.


Chapter 20

Reports flooded into Durand as a result of the flyers. There were no sightings for the priest. Either Laurent Saville had gone to ground very successfully, or he was so frail that he’d died from the rigors of escape. If so, good riddance, though Durand continued searching. The old man could be useful.

But there were many possible sightings of Wyndham and an old woman. Sorting through them was the sort of work at which Durand excelled. He had an instinct for what rang true, and that instinct was triggered by the story of a minor altercation in a market town. An old woman and a man who behaved badly because of a worthless mongrel. That sounded English.

He wondered if the old woman really was female. Given the examples he’d been given of her strength and cunning, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Wyndham’s rescuer was a short man disguised as a woman. Though maybe the strength and cunning came from the men who traveled with her. There were too many possibilities. The only thing Durand had to go on was the likelihood that Wyndham was traveling north.

The pair from the market incident were heading in the right direction, but there were no convincing sightings farther along the road they’d been traveling. Durand studied alternative routes on a map. A minor road to the east looked plausible, and it ran toward Boulogne, right on the English Channel.

There were plenty of fishermen who doubled as smugglers along the coast. Which group was most likely? The Ministry of Police had files on many of them.

Map case in hand, Durand ordered up a carriage and headed north.

The next four days were plagued by the constant itchy fear of pursuit. They were also the hardest riding Grey had ever done. If he hadn’t been hardened by several days of slower travel first, Cassie would have had to tie him to his mount.

Achille and Thistle were gone, traded for fresher, stronger horses. He thought he saw regret in Cassie’s eyes when she sold the pony, but she was too pragmatic to complain. She was a tireless taskmistress, pushing them both with steely determination.

Some nights they were even too tired to make love. But he was never too tired to want to hold her as they fell asleep. Having her close staved off the nightmares.

Grey had enough male pride not to complain about the pace she set, though by the time they reached the seaside tavern northeast of Boulogne, he felt as if he’d been pummeled by professional boxers. It was late afternoon when the tavern came into view.

“Our destination,” Cassie said. “They know me here. We’re almost home.”

He looked across the channel, barely breathing. “England is just across the water. It’s hard to believe.” Someday he’d look on this journey as a brief, improbable interlude on the way back to his real life, but for now, it was his world. The road, the travel, and Cassie. He wouldn’t miss the endless fear or hours on horseback, and a return to civilized living with regular hot water and clean clothes would be welcome.

But he couldn’t imagine life without Cassie.

When they reached the tavern, Cassie dismounted. “Take the horses to the stables,” she said. “I’ll talk to my friend Marie. She’s another of France’s countless war widows. With luck, we’ll be able to sail tonight. The weather looks right.”

“You’ll miss giving me orders,” Grey said as he accepted the reins of her mount.

“Very true. I adore telling big, strong men what to do,” she agreed. “I’ll just have to come back to France and rescue some other poor fellow to order about.”

Her words were teasing, but they sliced into him like knives as he headed to the stables. This journey with Cassie had been the happiest time of his life. It was jarring to be reminded that to her, he was just another job.

“I’ve lain with men for worse reasons.” Did she lie with all the men she rescued? He hated the thought, yet he had no right to ask about her past or other men she’d known.

He bit his lip as he dismounted. Régine sensed his agitation and pressed against his leg. At least one female on this journey thought the sun rose and set on him.

As he bedded down the horses, he told himself that he should be adult enough to accept that Cassie was special to him even though he’d never be as special to her. But he wasn’t sure he was that mature.

Cassie entered the tavern’s taproom. The cozy room had tables and a simply built bar at the far end. A young boy sat at a table studying while a middle-aged woman with a comfortably rounded figure and a lapful of knitting sat behind the bar.

“Bonsoir, Marie,” Cassie greeted her. “I’m glad to see you looking so peaceful.”

“Cassandra! You’re a welcome sight.” Marie set aside her knitting. “Do you remember my nephew Antoine?”

“Indeed I do. Don’t let me interfere with your lessons, Antoine.”

He stood and offered a gap-toothed smile, then returned to his textbook. Marie continued, “Are you just passing through?”

“Yes, and the shorter the visit the better.” Cassie pulled out a small jingling pouch from the pocket hidden under her skirt.

“You’re in luck. There’s a fishing trip scheduled for tonight.”

That was good news; the sooner they left France, the better. “Is there space for two passengers?” When Marie nodded, Cassie handed over the pouch. “Here’s the fare.”

Marie made the money disappear. “Always such a pleasure doing business with you, Cassie. Where is your companion?”

“Bedding down our horses. Two decent hacks, nothing special. I’m not sure when I’ll be back this way, so use them as you need.”