Varenne took a footpath down to the stables, which were built on the lower slope of the hill. Inside the stone building, the main room stretched back with box stalls on each side of a wide central area. Most of the stalls were occupied, and the earthy scents of animals and sweet hay were heavy in the air.

A couple of horses whickered greetings, but Varenne ignored them, turning to the right to enter a long, narrow harness room. As Northwood followed, he asked, "Why are we going to wait in here?"

"Because I still hope to capture them alive, imbecile," the count said with exasperation. He walked to the window at the far end of the room and stared out. "Come look at this."

The Englishman joined him at the window, but saw nothing. "What do you want me to see?"

"This." Behind Northwood came the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked. Startled, Northwood spun around and found himself facing the barrel of Varenne's pistol.

"You have ceased to be an asset, mon petit Anglais," the count said coldly. "You are too stupid to know your place, and I greatly disliked your attempts to coerce me. As a last gesture for services rendered, I was willing to grant you a fling with the countess, but you have bungled even that. I cannot waste any more time on you."

"You bloody French bastard!" Desperately Northwood reached for his own pistol, but he never had a chance. Calmly Varenne squeezed his trigger. The gun bucked in his hand, the report shatteringly loud in the enclosed space.

The impact of the bullet knocked Northwood back against the wall. He made a breathy sound like a sudden exhalation and clapped a hand to his chest. Then,an expression of disbelief on his face, he slowly slid down the wall and fell forward in an ungainly sprawl, his pistol beneath him.

Varenne walked over to his victim and prodded Northwood's ribs with the toe of his boot. The only response was the slow spread of blood from under the body.

In general the count was not involved with death directly; it was such a messy business. With a grimace of distaste, he turned away. The servants could retrieve the gun later. He disliked the necessity of sharing the tackroom with a corpse. However, shooting the imbecile here had saved the library carpet from being ruined by blood, which had been Varenne's objective.

He reloaded his own weapon with meticulous care. One pistol and the element of surprise were all that would be necessary to capture the escaped prisoners. All he need do was threaten the fraudulent countess, and her lovers would fall into line immediately. The fools.

Maggie kept a watchful eye on Robin as they made their way swiftly through the shadowy passages. Though he was keeping up with the others, his drawn face showed the amount of effort it was taking. She had great faith in his formidable willpower; nonetheless, she uttered a silent prayer that his strength would last long enough for them to escape Chanteuil.

Worrying about Robin's condition had the advantage of preventing her from brooding about Rafe. Her first reaction to seeing him had been pure, uncomplicated joy in spite of their dangerous circumstances. However, his cool detachment had quickly put her in her place. He obviously couldn't wait until this mission was over, so he wouldn't ever have to see her again.

But this was not the time or place to think about her personal problems. Sharply tamping down her grief,she turned her attention to the present. To escape the castle, they would have to go up at least two levels, then find a side exit.

In the flagstoned passageways, their footsteps made little sound. The castle seemed almost deserted, and they went up one flight of stairs and turned right into another passage without seeing anyone.

Then their luck ran out. They had almost reached the end of the corridor when two hulking men with shotguns appeared around the corner just ahead of them.

"You two run for it!" Rafe barked as he threw himself forward in a flat dive, barreling into the man in the lead.

Maggie froze, terrified to leave Rafe behind. Robin snapped, "Come on, Maggie!" and grabbed her arm, pulling her back the way they had come.

She resisted for an agonized moment, but the pressure on her arm left her no choice. With Rex draped over her shoulder, she raced along beside Robin as the hideous blast of a shotgun echoed through the stone halls.

Because the Prussian barracks lay off the main St. Cloud road, Colonel von Fehrenbach's Hussars didn't intersect the French party until they were a bare half mile from Chanteuil. The Prussians entered the main road at a right angle from a lane they had taken as a shortcut.

With a squealing of horses, both groups pulled to a chaotic halt to prevent a collision. As the uniformed Prussian cavalrymen faced the armed French officers, mutual suspicion and hostility throbbed between them. A single spark would set off a full-scale conflagration. A Frenchman uttered an angry oath, and a nervous young Hussar started to raise his musket.

Before catastrophe could strike, von Fehrenbach threw his hand up imperiously. "No!"

Helene was beside the colonel on a mount supplied by the Prussian barracks. Recognizing Michel Roussaye, she urged her horse into the open ground, crying, "Don't shoot, we're friends!"

Having an attractive woman intervene released the tension, particularly since lack of a proper riding habit allowed an indecent amount of leg to show. Von Fehrenbach cantered after her, meeting Roussaye in the space between the groups.

After a terse discussion of where each group was going, and why, the colonel frowned for a moment. Then he suggested, "Perhaps we should join forces, General Roussaye."

Roussaye raised his brows, his dark face skeptical. "Frenchmen and Prussians riding together?"

The colonel's gaze touched Helene, who was tensely waiting at the third corner of their triangle. "Such a thing should not be impossible when men share the same goal." He offered his hand. "Shall we try to go forward together?"

Roussaye gave a slow smile and took the Prussian's hand. "Very well, Colonel. Instead of looking back, we shall go forward-together."

Chapter 24

Though Rafe's charge took the two searchers by surprise, the taller one whipped up his shotgun and fired both barrels. Rafe managed to knock the weapon upward so that the shot discharged into the ceiling, but the blast was deafening and a ricocheting pellet grazed his wrist.

Undaunted, the tall man swung the empty shotgun above his head to use it as a club. Before he could bring it down, Rafe kicked him viciously in the groin. The gunman shrieked and doubled over.

Glad to see that he hadn't forgotten the lessons of distant college tavern brawls, Rafe turned his attention to his other foe, a broad, balding fellow who was clumsily trying to aim his weapon. Before he succeeded, Rafe hit him in the jaw with a right jab that could have felled a small ox.

The tall man lurched toward Rafe in a feeble attempt to rejoin the fight. Rafe stepped aside, then chopped the edge of his hand down on the back of the man's neck. The servant promptly joined his companion on the floor.

Rafe snatched up the two shotguns and the ammunition pouches. Not stopping to reload the gun that had been discharged, he raced down the hall after Margot and Robin. The whole encounter had taken less than a minute, and he caught up with the others around the next corner.

Rafe looked so rakishly handsome that Maggie would have stopped to admire him if there had been time, which there wasn't. With a glance at the two shotguns, she panted, "I'm impressed, your grace. I didn't know that rough and tumble fighting was taught at Jackson's salon."

"It isn't, but I did have a liberal university education," Rafe retorted, laughter in his voice.

The passage ended with a door. Robin swung it open, revealing another pair of searchers literally face-to-face with them. Since Maggie was already halfway through the doorway, she collided full force with one of Varenne's men.

The impact knocked her breathless, but it bore much harder on Rex, who had been letting himself be carried with amazing passivity. The cat erupted straight up in the air with a blood-curdling shriek of feline fury.

He came down on the man who had collided with Maggie, and his flailing claws and powerful hindquarters ripped and slashed with gory effect. Using the man's face as a launching ramp to safety, Rex left the gunman screaming as blood poured from his face. The cat vanished down the passage behind the servants, his black tail a feathery plume of rage.

Rafe dragged Maggie back, then slammed the door on the demoralized searchers. As they ran back the way they had come, he said, "You are not going after that damned cat!"

Maggie was too out of breath to say anything other than a sarcastic, "Yes, your grace."

"Amazing," Rafe said as they swung into another passage. "That's the first docile remark I've ever heard from you, Countess."

"Savor it," she said tartly. "It's the first and the last."

The fleeting humor disappeared when they reached an intersection where two corridors crossed. Another pair of armed men appeared in front of them, drawn by the sound of the earlier shotgun blast. Maggie glanced back, and saw that the cat-struck duo had recovered and were coming after them.

"Go to the right!" Rafe ordered. "And take this." He handed her one of the shotguns and an ammunition pouch.

While she and Robin dashed down the right-hand cross passage, Rafe raised the other gun and cocked both hammers. After discharging one barrel ahead of them, he spun around and blasted the other one behind. He didn't bother to aim, relying on the scattering effect of the shot to discourage the searchers. Then he followed his companions.