Читать книгу Rebel Lady, Convenient Wife - June Francis, June Francis - Страница 6

France, 1469

Jack Milburn groaned, twisting and turning in the bunk. Perspiration dampened his dark hair as, in his dreams, he relived the nightmarish times again.

‘Go quickly! Allez vite!’ he ordered, ears alert to the sound of splintering wood.

‘Mais, M’sieur Milburn, où—?’ cried Hortense.

‘Ne pas demander aux questions,’ he interrupted, pushing the maid who was carrying his son in her arms from the chamber. He hurried her along the passage that led to the alley at the back of the house and opened the door.

‘Papa!’ screamed Philippe, stretching out a hand to his father.

With tears in his eyes, Jack took the small hand and kissed it before turning to Hortense. ‘Courez! Courez vite!’ His expression was bleak as he closed the door quietly behind them. Taking a deep breath, he drew his sword and headed for the entrance hall to face the man who had killed his lover, Monique.

The Comte de Briand stood in the doorway, a dark looming presence. Jack did not need him to step forward into the candlelight to recognise Monique’s bestial husband. The Comte’s lank hair was yellowish white and fell to his huge shoulders. His nose was a squashed blob of dough in the centre of his swarthy face and the black-and-white streaked moustache and beard almost concealed the plump lips that snarled, ‘Chien anglais!’ as he lunged forward with his sword. Jack parried the blow, aware that two other men had entered the chamber behind his enemy.

Jack ground his teeth, experiencing a familiar fury as the scene played in his head. Odds of three to one meant that the chance of his surviving the conflictwas unlikely. Still, he was determined to fight for all he was worth, so as to give Hortense plenty of time to get away with Philippe. It was too late to save Monique, but he was prepared to sacrifice his life to enable his son’s survival. His sword arm felt as heavy as lead each time he lunged and parried, and he felt as if he were wading through honey. Then came an agonising pain in his right cheek and, after that, a blow to the head that finished the fight.

‘Monique! Philippe!’

He was vaguely aware that someone was bending over him and could hear the slap of waves against the hull of a ship. For a moment he was convinced that he was in his own cabin on the Hercules and it was the Comte de Briand bending over him. He could picture his smirking face, mouthing ‘Your son is dead.’ Jack felt the scream welling up inside him and he prayed for death. But his instant death was the last thing on his enemy’s mind.

‘Signor Milburn, wake up! The physician is here to see you.’

Someone was shaking his shoulder and Jack struggled to escape the shackles that imprisoned him as he trudged on through the desert wasteland. It was sheer stubbornness that was keeping him moving, gripped as he was by an impotent rage. One day he would return to France and avenge the deaths of Monique and his son. He would seek out the Comte de Briand and kill him if it was the last thing he did.