On the landing at the top of the steps, Cassie opened the door and peered out cautiously. Silence. She headed toward the back door, walking softly. She had to pass through one end of the kitchen to get outside. Madame Bertin was at the far end, snoring audibly in her chair by the fire.

Hoping that would last, Cassie left the castle and crossed the yard to the stables. The wind was sharper and even more bitter than when she’d arrived. There was a storm coming; she could feel it in the air.

Her pony waited patiently, having finished the hay Cassie had appropriated from the stable supply. She pulled off the pony’s rug. It was warm and smelled horsy, but that was a minor issue compared to how the prisoners smelled.

She’d had the cart built with a false bottom capable of carrying useful cargo, and people when necessary. It was reached by a panel that opened along the side. She tossed the rug in. The compartment wasn’t comfortable, but there was clean straw and the horse blanket would add warmth and cushioning. It was big enough for two men, barely.

After driving across the courtyard, she tethered the pony by the back door and went inside again. Madame Bertin still snored.

Wyndham—Grey—and the priest waited on the landing at the top of the stairs, the priest supported by his younger friend. She touched a finger to her lips in a gesture for silence.

Père Laurent looked as if he’d never make it to the cart without collapsing. She bit her lip but needn’t have worried. Grey scooped the old man up as if he weighed nothing and carried him quickly and silently across the kitchen. It was like a Restoration farce, with characters tiptoeing across the stage unseen.

Wondering how Grey had maintained so much strength under prison conditions, Cassie opened the outside door and looked around. The courtyard was still empty. Giving thanks for cold winds and influenza, she held the door open so Grey could carry the priest out.

He stepped outdoors—and froze, his gaze riveted upward. A rapid pulse beat in his throat. He whispered, “I never thought I’d see the open sky again.”

“It’s been here waiting for you.” She lifted the panel that opened the false bottom. “And the sooner we leave, the better the chances that you’ll be able to enjoy it for a long time to come.”

Grey stared at the compartment. He looked like a skittish colt ready to bolt. Guessing the problem, she said, “I know the quarters are tight, but it’s needful.”

He drew a ragged breath, steeling himself. Then he carefully laid his friend in the compartment. The priest said to Cassie in a thin voice, “Take the main road south from the village. That is the direction to my niece’s farm.”

“Very well. When we’re safe away, you can give me more detailed instructions.” She glanced at Grey. “Your turn. Does it help to know that you won’t be locked in? The compartment can be unlatched from the inside.”

“That does help,” he said tersely before climbing into the compartment. “I always thought I’d leave this place in a bloody coffin,” he muttered. “Seems I was right.”

She almost laughed. It appeared he’d retained some sense of humor, so there was hope for the man. “This coffin has fresh air, and it won’t be for long.”

Cassie latched the long door and swung up onto the seat. The first flakes of snow were drifting softly down as she set the cart in motion.

She drove out the castle gates, hoping they’d find shelter before the snow became serious. And that the priest’s niece was still alive, well, and would welcome them as he believed.

Stage one, the rescue from the castle, was successful.

Now came the hard part.


Chapter 12

Grey and Laurent slid a little toward the front of the cart as it rattled down the hill from Castle Durand. Still no shouts of pursuit, no gunshots. How long until their absence was discovered? A few hours, perhaps as much as a day.

Père Laurent murmured, “I didn’t believe I would leave that place alive.”

“Neither did I. Much less that I’d be rescued by Cassie the Fox.”

“That is her name? It suits her. She’s clever like a fox.”

That she was. Grey hoped that Cassie the Fox would continue to be as competent as she’d been so far. The way she’d knocked out and immobilized the guard was impressive. He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see how cramped this compartment was. It would be embarrassing to fall apart now that he was finally free.

He was grateful when the cart stopped. Sounds of rummaging above their heads, then Cassie opened the side panel. Her dark cloak was frosted with snowflakes.

Grey slid out with relief. Snow was starting to accumulate on the iron-hard ground and more was falling. Weather. Actual weather! Not just watching the light change beyond his tiny window.

As Grey helped his friend from the compartment, Cassie said, “I’ll need your guidance now, Père Laurent. This has the feel of heavy snow coming and I’d like to find shelter before the roads become impassable. If your niece is too far away, we need to look for an isolated barn to wait out the storm.”

Laurent gazed at the horizon, where the blurred shape of Castle Durand was still visible through the falling snow. “From where we are now, we should be able to reach Viole’s farm before the roads become difficult. She married a foreigner.” He gave a fleeting smile. “A man who lives more than half an hour’s ride away. Romain Boyer’s farm is a prosperous little place hidden well back in the hills.”

“If something has happened to your niece, will her husband also welcome us?” Cassie asked. “Much has changed in France in recent years.”

“We will find shelter there,” Laurent said confidently. “I must ride beside you, Cassie the Fox. The way is confusing and I will have to guide you.”

“Very well.” Cassie lifted a pair of scissors she’d been holding by her side. “But first I’ll trim your hair and beard so you’ll look less conspicuous.”

She began clipping efficiently at Laurent’s thin white hair. After she’d cut away the tangles that fell over his shoulders, he changed from a wild-eyed hermit into a shabby old man who wouldn’t draw a second glance.

When she finished, Grey lifted his friend up into the driver’s seat and bundled the horse blanket around him. To Cassie, he said, “My turn. If you give me the scissors, I’ll do the cutting myself so we can get moving without more delay.”

“You’d have trouble with the back.” She began cutting below his left ear. His hair was much thicker than Père Laurent’s, so she took it in chunks. She was taller than he’d realized, average or a bit above. “This will only take a couple of minutes.”

He stood still despite the closeness of the sharp blades. If he could shave his head and face completely bald, he’d be willing, just to get rid of the horrible, filthy mass of hair. During the years of imprisonment, he sometimes whiled away time by breaking off individual hairs. If he hadn’t done that, the tangled mess would be past his waist.

Despite all the knots, she managed to quickly cut his hair so that it was above his shoulders, then did a beard trim. She’d left enough hair to keep his head from freezing, but removing the weight made him feel lighter and freer. Not cleaner, but that would come.

It felt strange to be so close to a female again. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her horizontal. He was embarrassed by his intense reaction to a woman older than his mother. Dear God, how long until he could find himself a willing wench?

Forcing down lustful thoughts, he stared into the snow. He might no longer be a gentleman, but at least he had enough self-control not to behave like a beast with the woman who had risked her life to save him. At least, he hoped he did.

“There.” She finished trimming his beard a couple of inches below his chin, then bent to scoop up the handfuls of fallen hair. “Mustn’t show our direction by leaving a trail of hair.” She balled up the greasy locks and stuffed them into a corner of the cart. “Time to get back inside so we can be on our way.”

“No!” The word ripped out of him. “I can’t bear being closed up. There’s almost no traffic in this weather. I’ll lie in the back of the cart under the canvas cover.”

She studied his face. Her eyes were blue and shrewd and contained unexpected depths. “Very well,” she said. “Be sure to stay hidden if we pass other carts or riders.”

Thank God she was a sensible woman. Sighing with relief, he flipped back the canvas and climbed up into the cart. Given how she’d brought down both him and that great burly guard, best not to cross her. He’d had no idea how dangerous little old ladies could be. Well, there was his grandmother, the dowager Countess of Costain, but her weapons were words. With a pang, he wondered if she was still alive.

He settled in among the boxes and baskets. The space was more cramped than the lower compartment and the corner of a box stuck into his side, but he didn’t care as long as he was in the open air.

A homey equine scent wafted back from Père Laurent’s horse blanket. Grey didn’t mind. He’d always loved riding. What would it be like to be on a horse again?

He’d probably fall off. How much of his life would have to be relearned?

The thought made him sweat despite the cold. He must proceed one step at a time. For now, it was enough that he was no longer a prisoner.

Surrendering to fatigue, he slept as a free man for the first time in ten years.

Cassie’s mouth tightened as the snow became heavier. It was more than three inches deep and concealed the frozen ruts, making the ride a bumpy one. She’d slept in her cart before in bad weather, and even ridden out a blizzard once, grateful for the warmth of her pony. But she’d rather not have to do that with two men, one of them in fragile health.