Marie glanced out a window. The day had been overcast, and night was falling quickly. “There’s just enough time for you and your companion to have a bite before you go down to the cove. I’ll send Antoine to the boat to tell them passengers are coming.”

As Antoine closed his book, several horsemen arrived outside. Cassie said in a low voice, “It’s possible my companion and I are being pursued.”

“Or it may be customs officers arriving as they do all too often.” Frowning, Marie said, “Antoine, go to the cove and tell the men there may be trouble here.”

“Oui, tante.” Moving quickly, he went back through the kitchen and outside.

“Time for us to become two boring women having a bit of a chat.” Marie poured white wine into two heavy glass tumblers and slid one across the bar to Cassie. “Will your companion know to keep out of sight?”

A good question. Grey was hard to predict. “I hope so.” Cassie took the wine and settled onto a stool across the bar from Marie.

The front door was thrown open and five gendarmes swaggered in. All were armed and they had the truculent expressions of men looking for trouble.

As an experienced tavern owner, Marie recognized the look as readily as Cassie did. Her eyes were wary, but her voice relaxed as she said, “What can I do for you, Citoyens? I’ve some good fish stew and fresh bread in the kitchen.”

“We’ll be having some of that and a bottle of the best cognac in the house,” the sergeant in charge said. “But what we really want is escaping spies.”

He pulled a folded flyer from his coat. “An old man, an old woman, a younger English man with light hair, maybe traveling with others. Anyone like that been by here? They’re running like rats for England.”

Marie set five tumblers along the bar. “Can’t say they sound familiar. The only old women who come by here are local.” She reached under the bar for a bottle of cognac. “I’ve not seen any English spies that I know of.”

“Bet you’ve seen plenty of smugglers, though,” one of the men sneered. He grabbed the bottle of cognac from Marie’s hand and took a swig. “How much will you give us to ride on to the next coastal tavern without searching this place?”

“Isn’t it against the law to try to bribe a gendarme?” Marie asked coolly. “I’ve naught to fear from a search. There are no smugglers here. Only food and drink.”

“And women.” A tall, heavyset man who looked like a bear pointed toward Cassie. “The flyer said the old woman had no distinctive identifying marks. Neither does this one.” As he gazed at her with hot eyes, the atmosphere thickened with menace.

“That’s not a kind thing to say, Citoyen,” Cassie said mildly, shifting on her stool so she could reach the knife sheathed on her thigh. But she hoped it didn’t come to a fight. Two women had little chance against five brutal armed men. “I may be heading toward old, but I’m not there yet.”

“Old enough that you should be grateful a real man is willing to roger you,” the bear man said with a snort. “Not that I’d touch either of you ordinarily, but for lack of anything better, you’ll do.”

As he moved closer, Cassie reached for her knife. Before she could grasp it, he lunged unexpectedly, crushing her in his beefy arms exactly like a bear. His breath reeked of cheap brandy.

“Let me go!” she snapped as she struggled furiously, but he had the advantages of size and strength. He shoved her down to the floor and straddled her.

The leader of the group leaned over the bar for Marie. She bashed him across the face with a bottle. Swearing, he staggered back, but a third man circled the bar to grab her and pull her into the center of the room. Her scream cut off abruptly.

If Cassie weren’t pinned down, she could have immobilized her attacker, but with his weight on top of her, she was almost helpless. She hoped to God Grey didn’t hear the disturbance and charge in. Though he was a fighter, the gendarmes were armed and far more likely to shoot a man than a woman.

Praying that Antoine would bring the sailors from the cove quickly, she sank her teeth into her attacker’s earlobe, tasting metallic blood. He bellowed with rage and reared up to clout her on the side of the head.

She turned her head to avoid the worst of the blow, at the same time fighting to free one arm. If she could jab his eyes …

A blood-chilling shout reverberated through the taproom as Grey charged through the door, eyes wild with berserker fury. In two steps he was beside Cassie and hauling her attacker off her. There was a hideous crack as he broke the bear man’s neck.

Behind him, another gendarme swiftly primed and aimed his pistol. “Look out, Grey!” Cassie cried as she scrambled to her feet.

Grey whirled and dived at the man. The gun fired deafeningly but Grey didn’t even flinch. He wrenched the empty pistol away from the gendarme and used the wooden hilt to club him into unconsciousness.

Since he could handle himself, Cassie turned to Marie. Her friend was pinned to the floor by a man who had one hand clamped over her mouth while the other clawed at her clothing. Cassie moved behind him and savagely jabbed her thumbs into the pressure points that would knock him unconscious in the space of a few heartbeats.

He collapsed forward with a strangled gasp. After dragging his limp body off Marie, who was shaken but seemed unhurt, Cassie turned to Grey.

He fought like a dancer, his movements swift and grimly efficient as he smashed and kicked at his opponents. But dear God, blood was pouring down the left side of his head! He must have been grazed by the pistol ball. Surely it wasn’t serious or he couldn’t fight so furiously? But so much blood!

Her heart constricted as she saw the last two gendarmes retreat and aim their pistols at Grey. She swore the filthiest curse she knew and hurled her knife at the closer man. It caught him dead center in the throat with a gush of blood.

As the man collapsed with a bubbling scream, his companion swung his pistol toward Cassie. “You bitch!”

She dived to her left, wishing for a barrier to protect her. Then Grey’s broad shoulders blocked her view of the last gendarme. Growling like a wolf, he leaped at the same instant the gendarme’s pistol boomed.

Undeterred, Grey clamped his powerful hands around the man’s neck. The two of them went down together.

Dear God, more blood, this time streaming from Grey’s right side! Yet his viselike grip didn’t loosen. By the time Cassie reached them, the gendarme was dead. Grey’s expression was savage, and he didn’t seem to hear when she spoke his name.

Cassie caught his shoulder, her nails biting into his shoulder. “Grey, it’s all right, we’re safe. Let him go so I can look at your wounds.”

He still didn’t react, so she said more sharply, “Grey, let go!”

Long seconds passed before he released his grip and sat back on his heels. The red rage fading from his eyes, he turned toward her. “Cassie? Are you hurt?”

“You’re the one bleeding all over the floor,” she said wryly. “I need to examine your wounds.”

“Thank God you’re safe!” Then he slowly keeled over.


Chapter 21

Biting her lip to keep from having strong hysterics, Cassie knelt beside Grey and did a swift examination. The head wound was bleeding ferociously into his hair and beard but didn’t look deep.

The second pistol ball had raked his side. Though the ribs didn’t appear to be broken, still more blood was pouring out of him. How much blood could a man lose before he died?

“Take these.” Marie pressed several folded towels into Cassie’s hand. “This wild man of yours is magnificent,” she added admiringly. “Without fear. I could not believe how he kept fighting even when shot twice.”

“Fearless or mad,” Cassie said grimly. “I need brandy to clean the wounds.”

Marie quickly produced a bottle of spirits. Cassie applied pressure to the head injury until the bleeding slowed, then poured a trickle of brandy over the open wound.

Grey gasped and tried to pull away. “Hold still,” she ordered, thinking it was a good sign that he wasn’t unconscious. “I’m almost done.”

He was trembling, but he held still as she tied a crude bandage around his head. She was working on his wounded ribs when half a dozen local sailors burst into the room, the leader calling, “Marie!”

Cassie recognized him as Pierre Blanchard, Marie’s brother and captain of the smugglers. He’d carried Cassie across the channel several times. He skidded to a halt and surveyed the fallen bodies. “Seems we weren’t needed.”

“Madame Renard’s friend fought like a man possessed to save us from being raped and worse.” Marie frowned at the carnage. “A great deal of cleaning will be required.”

“We’ll take care of the bodies and the horses,” Pierre promised. “These cochons will simply disappear. Madame Renard, is your friend well enough to sail tonight?”

“Better that than to risk staying here,” Cassie said as she bandaged Grey’s ribs. He needed a real surgeon, but that could wait for England. Durand’s noose was tightening, she could feel it. “Grey, do you think you can walk to the boat?”

“Yes.” He drew a shuddering breath. His face was white against the bloodstains. “Will … need help.” He pushed himself up with his right arm, giving a hiss of pain. Silently Pierre helped him to his feet.

With so many bloodstains drenching hair and clothing, Grey looked more dead than alive. Cassie moved under his arm to help support him.

“We have saddlebags in the stables,” Cassie said to Pierre, not wanting to leave Grey.

As the captain sent a man to collect their possessions, Grey whispered, “Régine. Don’t forget Régine!”

“A third person is in your party?” Pierre asked.

“Régine is a dog he adopted,” Cassie explained.