Читать книгу Return Of The Runaway - Sarah Mallory - Страница 9
ОглавлениеThey rode through the woods with only the thudding beat of the cantering horse to break the silence. Cassie made no attempt to speak. It was difficult to see through the gloom and she wanted her companion to concentrate his efforts on guiding them safely between the trees. Only when he slowed the horse to a walk did she break the silence.
‘Do you know where we are going?’
She immediately berated herself for asking the question in English, but he answered her with only the faintest trace of an accent.
‘At present I have no idea,’ came the cheerful reply. ‘Once we are clear of the trees and I can see the sky I shall be able to tell you.’ He added, when she shifted before him, ‘Would you like to get down? We should rest this nag for a while.’
He brought the horse to a stand and eased Cassie to the ground. It was only then she realised her legs would not hold her and grabbed the saddle for support.
The man jumped down beside her.
‘Come, let us walk a little and your limbs will soon be restored.’
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. His clothes were rough and smelled of dirt and sweat, but Cassie was in no position yet to walk unaided so she allowed him to support her. His strength was comforting, but he puzzled her. His manner and his voice belonged to an educated man, yet he had the ragged appearance of a fugitive.
She said cautiously, ‘I have not thanked you for coming to my rescue. What were you doing there?’
‘I needed a horse.’
His calm answer surprised her into a laugh.
‘That raises even more questions, monsieur.’
She thought he might fob her off, but he answered quite frankly.
‘I was being pursued and ran into the woods for cover. I saw the horse tethered to the carriage wheel with no one to guard him, since your companions were too busy threatening you. I was very grateful for that and thought it would be churlish to ride off and leave you to your fate.’
‘It would indeed.’
Cassie kept her voice calm, but she was beginning to wonder if she had jumped from the frying pan to the fire.
She made a slight move to free herself and immediately he released her. Reassured, she continued to keep pace with him, the horse clip-clopping behind them while the moon sailed overhead in the clear, ink-blue sky.
‘So you are a fugitive,’ she said, with some satisfaction. ‘I thought as much.’
‘And you are not afraid of me?’
Cassie’s head went up.
‘I am afraid of no one.’ She realised how foolish her swift retort would sound, considering her current situation, and she added slowly, ‘Not afraid. Cautious. As one should be of a stranger.’
‘True, but we can remedy that.’ He stopped and sketched a bow. ‘I am Raoul Doulevant, at your service.’
He expected a reply and after a moment she said, ‘I am Lady Cassandra Witney.’
‘And you are English, which is why we are conversing in this barbaric tongue.’
‘Then let us talk in French,’ she replied, nettled.
‘As you wish.’ He caught her left hand. Neither of them was wearing gloves and his thumb rubbed across the plain gold band on her third finger.
‘Ah. I addressed you as mademoiselle when we first met. My apologies, madame.’
She was shocked that his touch should feel so intimate and she drew her hand away. ‘We should get on.’
When she began to walk again he fell into step beside her.
‘Where is your husband?’
Cassie hesitated for a heartbeat’s pause before she replied.
‘At Verdun.’
‘He is a détenu?’
Again she hesitated, not wanting to admit she was a widow. That she was alone and unprotected.
‘Yes. That scoundrel you knocked down was the courier I hired to escort me back to England.’
‘A bad choice, clearly.’
She felt the hot tears prickling at the back of her eyes and blinked them away. This was no time for self-pity.
‘And what of you?’ she asked him, anxious to avoid more questions concerning her situation. ‘Who is pursuing you?’
‘Officers of the law. They think I am a deserter.’
‘They think it? And is it not so?’
‘No. I was discharged honourably from the navy six months ago.’
She said, a hint of censure in her voice, ‘In the present circumstances, with the country at war, I would have thought any true Frenchman would wish to remain in the service of his country, monsieur.’
‘Any true Frenchman might,’ he retorted. ‘But I am from Brussels. I grew up in the Southern Netherlands, under Austrian rule.’
‘And yet your French is excellent.’
‘My family came originally from a town near the French border and moved to Brussels when I was a babe, so I grew up learning the language. Then I moved to Paris and later joined the French Navy, so you see, for years I have spoken nothing else.’
* * *
The lady made no reply and Raoul asked himself bitterly why he put himself out to explain. What difference would it make to her? She was English and everyone knew they thought themselves superior to the rest of Europe. It was the very worst of bad fortune that he should have saddled himself with an English aristo!
‘The horse is rested now,’ he said shortly. ‘I think we can ride again.’
He mounted and reached down for her, pulling her up before him. He tried not to think how small and feminine she was, how the faint trace of perfume reminded him of balmy summer days. She settled herself on the horse, her dark curls tickling his chin. When the horse stumbled in the dark she clutched at his sleeve and instinctively he wrapped one arm around her waist.
She gasped and said haughtily, ‘Thank you, you do not need to hold me so tightly. I am in no danger of falling now.’
His jaw clenched. If she thought he had designs upon her she was much mistaken. Silently he released her and put both hands back on the reins, but it was impossible not to be aware of her for she was practically sitting on his lap. He thought ruefully that he would have enjoyed the situation, if she had been anything other than an Englishwoman.
They travelled on, alternatively walking and riding, but maintaining an awkward silence. Raoul concentrated on guiding their mount through the near darkness of the woods. At length he noticed that the trees were thinning and they emerged on to a wide track that stretched like a grey ribbon in the starry darkness. They dismounted and Raoul stared up at the sky. The moon had gone and the stars were dimming in the first light of dawn.
‘Do you know where we are now?’ she asked him.
‘We have been travelling north.’
‘The wrong direction.’
‘That depends upon where one wishes to go, madame.’
* * *
Cassie bit her lip. She was in a foreign land, enemy country. This man had saved her from an immediate danger, but there was no reason why he should do more for her. Indeed, the alacrity with which he had released her when the horse had missed its step suggested he had no wish to help her further. Yet she needed help. Her encounter with Merimon had shown her that.
She asked politely, ‘What is your destination, monsieur?’
‘Brussels.’
‘I want to get to England. Do you think it might be easier from there?’ She added, trying not to sound anxious, ‘I gave my passport to the courier.’
‘Then you have no papers.’
‘No.’
Suddenly she felt very vulnerable, alone in the middle of France with a stranger. A fugitive and she had only his word that he was not a villain. His next words sent a chill of fear through her blood.
‘Do you have any money?’
* * *
Even in the gloom Raoul saw the look of apprehension flicker across the lady’s face and it incensed him.
He said coldly, ‘I am no thief, madame, I do not intend to steal from you.’
She came back at him with all the arrogance he had come to expect from the English, head up, eyes flashing.
‘How do I know that? You stole the horse, after all.’
His lip curled, but it occurred to him that she had no other defence so he reined in an angry response. Instead he growled, ‘Remember, madame, I could have left you to your fate with those two villains.’
‘That is very true,’ she acknowledged. ‘I am obliged to you and I beg your pardon.’ She drew in a long breath, ‘And, yes, I do have a little money.’
Her stiff apology doused his anger immediately. He smiled.
‘Then you have the advantage of me, madame, for I have not a sou.’
‘Oh, I see. Let me give you something for rescuing me—’
He recoiled instantly.
‘That is not necessary,’ he said quickly. ‘After all, I have this fine horse, do I not?’
‘Yes, of course. He will carry you to Brussels, I am sure.’ She paused. ‘Is it far from here?’
He shrugged. ‘Depending on just where we are, three or four days’ travel, I would think. You would do better if you head for Reims, it is much closer and you will be able to buy your passage from there to the coast.’
‘Thank you.’ He watched her look at the sky, then up and down the track. ‘So, Reims would be that way?’
She pointed in a southerly direction, trying to sound matter of fact, as if she was well accustomed to setting off alone, in the dark, along a little-used road through an alien land, but Raoul heard the note of anxiety in her voice.
She is not your concern.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘If you keep to this track I have no doubt it will bring you to the Reims road. The sun will be coming up soon, you will have no difficulty finding your way.’
‘Then I will bid you adieu, Monsieur Doulevant,’ she said quietly. ‘I thank you for your assistance and I hope you reach Brussels safely.’
She gave a little curtsy, suddenly looking so lost and woebegone that every protective instinct he had rose to the fore.
‘Wait!’
Don’t do this, man. You owe her nothing.
Raoul ignored the warning voice in his head.
‘I will take you as far as Reims.’
The flash of relief he saw in her face was quickly replaced with suspicion.
‘How do I know you will not strangle me for my money?’
He ground his teeth.
‘If I strangle you, milady, it will be for your sharp tongue!’
Strangely, his words seemed to reassure her. She gave an imperious little nod.
‘I accept your escort, sir, and I thank you.’
‘It is my pleasure,’ he replied with equal insincerity. ‘Come, we will ride.’
* * *
As she allowed herself to be pulled once more on to the horse Cassie was relieved that she was not obliged to make the long walk alone. Her escort explained that they must not overtax their mount and they made slow progress. The road was deserted and they saw no one except a swineherd who was happy to sell Cassie his food sack in exchange for a handful of coins. The bag contained only wine and bread, but it was enough for two and at noon they rested in the shade of a tree to eat.
Cassie was hot and thirsty and when he handed her the flask she took a long draught. The wine was very rough and she felt its effects immediately.
Her companion broke off a piece of bread and held it out to her.
‘So you left your husband in Verdun?’
‘Yes.’ Cassie was tempted to tell him her husband was dead, but she remembered Merimon’s taunt and decided it was safer to infer she had a husband to protect her honour, even if he was many miles away. ‘Yes, he is at Verdun.’
She took the bread and nibbled at it as he surveyed her with his dark eyes.
‘I am surprised he allowed you to travel alone. You are very young to be married.’
Cassie straightened.
‘I am old enough!’
One dark brow went up.
‘How old?’ he asked her. ‘You do not look more than eighteen.’
‘I am nearly one-and-twenty and have been married a full year.’
‘Vraiment? Tsk, what were your parents about to allow such a thing?’
‘My parents died when I was a child.’
‘Even worse, then, for your guardian to approve it.’
Cassie thought of Grandmama.
‘She did not approve. We eloped.’
Cassie wondered why she had told him that. She was not proud of how she had behaved and the fact that it had all gone wrong just showed how foolish she had been. Falling in love had been a disaster and it was not a mistake she intended to make again. Glancing up at that moment, she thought she detected disapproval in those dark eyes. Well, let him disapprove. She cared not for his opinion, or for any man’s. She scrambled to her feet and shook the crumbs from her skirts.
‘Shall we continue?’
With a shrug he packed away the rest of the wine and bread and soon they were on their way again. Cassie maintained what she hoped was a dignified silence, but she was very much afraid Raoul Doulevant would think it more of a childish sulk. However, it could not be helped. She could not justify herself to him without explaining everything and that she would not do to a total stranger.
* * *
The sun was sinking when they met a farmer and his wife approaching them in a cumbersome wagon. Cassie listened while her escort conducted a brief conversation. The farmer confirmed that they were indeed on the road to Reims, but it was at least another full day’s ride.
‘You are welcome to come back with us,’ offered the farmer’s wife. ‘It is an hour or so back the way you have come, but we can give you and your lady a meal and a bed for the night.’
Cassie froze. The idea of food was enticing, but these people clearly thought that she and this unkempt stranger were, were...
‘Thank you, but, no, we had best press on.’
Raoul Doulevant answered for them both and exchanged a few more friendly words with the farmer before they parted. Cassie felt the hot flush of embarrassment on her cheek and it was all she could do to respond to their cheerful farewell with a nod of acknowledgement.
* * *
‘It is fortunate I refused their hospitality,’ he remarked, misinterpreting her silence. ‘A farmer’s hovel would not suit your ladyship.’
‘You are mistaken,’ she retorted. ‘A bed and a good meal would be very welcome, since I suspect the alternative will be a night spent out of doors. But you were very right to refuse. I would like to get to Reims with all haste.’
‘Certainly. We cannot get there too soon for my liking!’
‘Good. Let us ride through the night, then,’ Cassie suggested, rattled.
They rode and walked by turns until the last of the daylight faded away. Cassie was fighting to stay awake, but nothing would make her admit it. She was the daughter of a marquess, granddaughter of an Arrandale and it was beneath her to show weakness of any sort.
Thick clouds rolled in from the west, obscuring the sky and plunging the world into almost complete darkness. When the bay stumbled for the third time she heard Raoul Doulevant curse softly under his breath.
‘This is sheer foolishness, monsieur,’ she told him. ‘We should stop until the cloud lifts.’
‘That would delay our journey; I was hoping to make a few more miles yet.’
‘If the horse breaks a leg that will delay us even more,’ Cassie pointed out.
When he did not reply she admitted, albeit reluctantly, that she would like to rest. Immediately he drew the horse to a halt and helped Cassie to dismount. Without ceremony he took her arm and guided her and the horse from the near darkness of the road into the blackness of the trees.
‘Stay here, madame, while I see to the horse.’
Cassie slumped down against the base of a tree. Stay here, he had said. Did he think she would run away? She had no idea where she was, or which way she should go. She recalled how she had complained that she could not sleep in the carriage. What luxury that seemed now, compared to her present predicament. Not only must she sleep out of doors, but in the company of a stranger. The fact that they had introduced themselves made no difference; she knew nothing of this man.
She listened to the rustle of leaves as Raoul Doulevant secured the horse before coming to sit down beside her. She felt his presence rather than saw him and his silence unnerved her. She tried to recall what he had told her of himself.
‘So you are a sailor, monsieur?’
‘I was ship’s surgeon on the Prométhée for six years.’
‘Really?’
She could not keep the surprise from her voice and he gave a short laugh.
‘My clothes tell the different story, no? I was obliged to...er...acquire these to escape detection.’
‘If you were being pursued, then clearly that did not work.’
‘No. There is one, Valerin, who is very determined to catch me.’
‘He holds a grudge against you, perhaps?’
‘I stopped him from forcing himself upon my sister. I should have killed him, instead of leaving him alive to denounce me.’
Cassie shivered. The words were quietly spoken, but there was no mistaking the menace in them.
‘Where is your sister now?’
‘I sent her to Brussels. We still have friends there. She is safe.’
‘No doubt she is anxious for you to join her.’
‘Perhaps. Her last letter said she had met an old friend, a wealthy merchant who is now a widower. I think they will make a match of it. Who knows, they may already be married. She is a widow and does not need to wait for my blessing.’
It was the most he had said to her all day and his tone was perfectly polite so she pushed aside her animosity.
‘All the same, monsieur, it is good of you to delay your journey for me.’
When he did not reply she wondered if he was regretting his decision.
‘Try to sleep,’ he said at last. ‘I will wake you if the light improves enough to move on.’
‘Will you not sleep, too?’
The black shape shifted, as if he had drawn up his knees and was hugging them.
‘No.’
Cassie was too exhausted to wonder at his stamina or to fight off her low spirits. Eloping with Gerald Witney had been shocking enough, but she was very much afraid that her friends and family would be even more shocked if they could see her now, alone under the stars with a strange man. She sighed as she curled up on the ground. There was nothing to be done and she was quite desperate for sleep, so she made herself as comfortable as she could and closed her eyes.
* * *
Raoul sank his chin on his knees and gazed at the unremitting darkness. The track was well-nigh invisible now. They had been right to stop, he acknowledged, but he wished it had not been necessary. The sooner he was relieved of this woman’s presence the better. He travelled best alone, he did not want the responsibility of a foreign female, especially an arrogant Englishwoman. She could find her own way from Reims. After all, Bonaparte had no quarrel with women, she could hire a carriage to take her to the coast. Raoul closed his mind to the fact that she had been duped once by an unscrupulous courier. He had problems enough of his own to think of. He glanced up, although the darkness was so complete it was impossible to see where the trees ended and the sky began. There was no sign that the cloud would lift any time soon, so eventually he laid himself down on the ground, knowing he would be wise to rest.
* * *
Dawn broke, but not a glimmer of sun disturbed the uniform grey of the sky. Raoul put his hand on Lady Cassandra’s shoulder to rouse her. He could feel the bones, fine and delicate as a bird beneath his hand. But she was not that delicate. He remembered how she had brought her attacker down with the tree branch. He could not deny this aristo had spirit.
He shook her gently. ‘We must be moving.’
She stirred, smiling as if in the grip of some pleasant dream, and he thought suddenly that she really was very pretty, with her clear skin and a heart-shaped face framed by hair the colour of polished mahogany. Her straight little nose drew his eye to the soft curves of her lips and he was just wondering how it would feel to kiss her when she woke up and looked at him.
It was the first time he had looked into her eyes. They were a clear violet-blue, set beneath curving dark brows and fringed with thick, long lashes. He watched the violet darken to near black with fear and alarm when she saw him. He removed his hand from her shoulder, but the guarded look remained as she sat up. When she stretched he could not help but notice how the buttons of her jacket strained across her breast.
Raoul shifted his gaze, only to note that her skirts had ridden up a little to expose the dainty feet in their boots of half-jean. Something stirred within him, unbidden, unwelcome. He jumped up and strode off to fetch the horse. This was no time for lustful thoughts, especially for an English aristo.
* * *
Cassie scrambled to her feet and shook out her skirts before putting a hand to her hair, pushing the pins in as best she could without the aid of a mirror. She must look almost as dishevelled as her companion, but it could not be helped. He brought the horse alongside and held out his hand to her. As he pulled her up before him she marvelled again at his strength, at how secure she felt sitting up before him. She could not deny there was some comfort in being pressed close to that unwashed but decidedly male body. There was power in every line of him, in the muscular thighs beneath her and the strong arms that held her firmly in place. When she leaned against him, his chest was reassuringly solid at her back. Gerald had never made her feel this safe. Immediately she felt a wave of guilt for the thought and it was mixed with alarm. Raoul Doulevant was, after all, a stranger.
* * *
It was not cold, but the lack of wind allowed the mist to linger and the low cloud seemed to press on the treetops as they rode through the silent morning. Cassie’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she had not eaten since yesterday.
‘There’s a village ahead,’ said Raoul presently. ‘We should find a tavern there.’ He drew the horse to a halt. ‘It might be best if you give me a few coins before we get there. It would not do for you to be waving a fat purse before these people.’
‘I do not have a fat purse,’ she objected. Cautiously she reached into her skirts to the pocket and drew out a small stockinette purse. She counted out some coins and handed them to Raoul, who put them in his own pocket.
‘Thank you. Now, when we get there, you had best let me take care of everything. You speak French charmingly, milady, but your accent would give you away.’
Cassie kept her lips firmly pressed together. He intended no compliment, she was sure of that. She contented herself with an angry look, but his smile and the glint of amusement in his eyes only made her more furious. If they had not been riding into the village at that moment she would have given him a sharp set-down for teasing her so.
* * *
The village boasted a sizable inn. When they had dismounted Raoul handed the reins to the waiting ostler and escorted Cassie into the dark interior. It took a few moments for Cassie’s eyes to adjust to the gloom, then she saw that the room was set out with benches and tables, but was mercifully empty of customers. A pot-bellied tapster approached them, wiping his hands on a greasy apron. Raoul ordered wine and food and their host invited them to sit down.
‘Been travelling long?’ asked the tapster as he banged a jug of wine on the table before them. Raoul grunted.
‘Takin’ my sister home,’ he said. ‘She’s been serving as maid to one of the English ladies in Verdun.’
‘Ah.’ The tapster sniffed. ‘Damned English have taken over the town, I hear.’
Raoul poured a glass of wine and held it out for Cassie, his eyes warning her to keep silent.
‘Aye,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But they are generous masters, only look at the smart habit my sister now possesses! And their English gold is filling French coffers, so who are we to complain?’
‘You are right there, my friend.’ The tapster cackled, revealing a mouth full of broken and blackened teeth. He slapped Raoul on the shoulder and wandered off to fetch their food.
* * *
Cassie could hardly contain her indignation as she listened to this interchange.
‘Sister?’ she hissed in a furious undertone, as soon as they were alone. ‘How can that man think we are related?’
His grin only increased her fury.
‘Very easily,’ he said. ‘Have you looked at yourself recently, milady? Your gown is crumpled and your hair is a tangle. I am almost ashamed to own you.’
‘At least I do not look like a bear!’ she threw at him.
Cassandra regretted the unladylike outburst immediately. She chewed her lip, knowing she would have to apologise.
‘I beg your pardon,’ she said at last and through clenched teeth. ‘I should be grateful for your escort.’
‘You should indeed,’ he growled. ‘You need not fear, madame. As soon as we reach Reims I shall relieve you of my boorish presence.’
He broke off as the tapster appeared and put down two plates in front of them.
‘There, monsieur. A hearty meal for you both. None of your roast beef here.’
Raoul gave a bark of laughter. ‘No, we leave such barbarities to the enemy.’
Grinning, the tapster waddled away.
‘Is that how you think of me?’ muttered Cassie. ‘As your enemy?’
‘I have told you, I am not French.’
‘But you served in their navy.’
He met her gaze, his eyes hard and unsmiling.
‘I have no reason to think well of the English. Let us say no more of it.’
‘But—’
‘Eat your food, madame, before I put you across my knee and thrash you like a spoiled brat.’
Cassie looked away, unsettled and convinced he might well carry out his threat.
The food was grey and unappetising, some sort of stew that had probably been in the pot for days, but it was hot and tasted better than it looked. Cassie knew she must eat to keep up her strength, but she was not sorry when they were finished and could be on their way.
* * *
Raoul Doulevant’s good humour returned once they were mounted. He tossed a coin to the ostler and set off out of the village at a steady walk.
‘The tapster says Reims is about a day’s ride from here,’ he told Cassie. ‘We might even make it before nightfall.’
‘I am only sorry he did not know where we could buy or hire another horse,’ she remarked, still smarting from their earlier exchange.
‘You do not like travelling in my arms, milady?’
‘No, I do not.’
‘You could always walk.’
‘If you were a gentleman you would walk.’
She felt his laugh rumble against her back.
‘Clearly I am no gentleman, then.’
Incensed, she turned towards him, intending to say something cutting, but when she looked into those dark eyes her breath caught in her throat. He was teasing her again. Laughter gleamed in his eyes and her traitorous body was responding. She was tingling with excitement in a way she remembered from those early days following her come-out, when she had been carefree and had flirted outrageously with many a handsome gentleman. Now she wanted to laugh back at Raoul, to tease him in return. Even worse, she found herself wondering what it would be like if he kissed her. The thought frightened her. In her present situation she dare not risk becoming too friendly with this stranger. Quickly she turned away again.
* * *
Raoul closed his eyes and exhaled a long, slow breath, thankful that the lady was now staring fixedly ahead, her little nose in the air as she tried to ignore him. What was he about, teasing her in such a way? There was something about the lady that brought out the rake in him and made him want to flirt with her, even though he knew it would be much more sensible to keep his distance. He had no time for women, other than the most casual liaisons, and instinct told him that involvement with Lady Cassandra Witney would be anything but casual.
He glanced at the lady as she rode before him. His arms were on either side, holding her firm while his hands gripped the reins. The bay was a sturdy animal and did not object to the extra weight and Raoul had to admit it was not excessive. She was petite, slender as a reed. He was almost afraid to hold her too close in case he crushed her. She was trying hard not to touch him, but sometimes the movement of the horse sent her back against him and those dark curls would tangle with his beard and he would catch a faint, elusive scent of summer flowers. Confound it, he was enjoying himself! He could not deny that having her sitting up before him made the journey much more pleasurable.
* * *
It soon became clear that the tapster’s estimate of the journey time was very optimistic. With only the long-tailed bay to ride progress was slow and in the hot September sun Raoul was reluctant to push the horse to more than a walking pace. He was glad when their road took them through dense woodland; that at least provided some welcome shade. The lady before him said very little. Perhaps she was still cross with him for teasing her, but he did not mind her reticence, for he was not fond of inconsequential chattering.
Raoul judged they had only an hour or so of daylight left and was beginning to consider where they would spend the night when the horse’s ears pricked. Raoul heard it, too, the jingling sounds of harness and male voices from around the bend ahead of them. Lots of voices. Quickly he dragged on the reins and urged the horse into the shelter of the trees.
Their sudden departure from the road shook his companion out of her reverie. She asked him what was happening and he answered her briefly.
‘It may be nothing, but I think there may be soldiers ahead of us.’
* * *
Cassie’s heart thudded with anxiety as they pushed deeper between the trees. It was bad enough that she had no papers to prove her identity, but she was also travelling with a fugitive. She could imagine all too well what would happen if they were caught. The ground had been rising since they left the road, but now it began to climb steeply and they stopped to dismount. In silence they moved deeper into the woods until they were out of sight of the road and the raucous voices had faded to a faint, occasional shout.
‘Stay here,’ muttered Raoul, tethering the horse. ‘I will go back and see what they are about.’
‘I shall come with you.’
‘You will be safer here.’
‘Oh, no.’ She caught his sleeve. ‘You are not leaving me alone.’
He frowned and looked as if he was about to argue, then he changed his mind.
‘Very well. Come with me, but quietly.’
He took her hand and led her back through the bushes, following the sound of the voices. At last he stopped, pulling Cassie closer and binding her to him as they peered through the thick foliage. She could see splashes of colour through the trees, mainly blue, but touches of red and the glint of sunlight on metal. The air was redolent with woodsmoke.
‘They are making camp for the night,’ breathed Raoul.
‘What shall we do? Can we circle around them and back to the road?’
He shook his head. ‘We have no idea how many of them there are. They may be the first of several units, or there may be stragglers. We must give them a very wide berth. We need to move deeper into the woods, too, in case they come foraging for firewood.’
It was at that inopportune moment, with French soldiers dangerously close, that Cassie discovered she did not wish to go anywhere. Raoul still had his arm about her waist and despite his rough and dirty clothes her body was happy to lean into him. She was disturbingly aware of that powerful figure, tense and ready to act. Growing up, she had always been impatient of convention and had craved excitement and danger. Instinct told her this man was both exciting and dangerous. A heady combination, she thought as he led her away. And one she would be wise to keep at bay.
They retrieved the horse and set off into the woods. Raoul was no longer holding her and Cassie had to fight down the temptation to grab his hand. She was perfectly capable of walking unaided and she told herself it was useful to have both hands free to draw her skirts away from encroaching twigs and branches. It was impossible to ride, the trees were too thick and their low branches were barely above the saddle. They walked for what seemed like hours. Cassie was bone-weary but stubborn pride kept her silent. As the sun went down it grew much colder and the thought of spending another night in the open was quite daunting.
It was almost dark when they saw before them a small house in a clearing. An old woman appeared at the door and Cassie stopped, knowing the deep shadows of the trees would hide them. She almost gasped with shock and surprise when Raoul put his arm about her waist and walked her forward into the clearing.
‘Come along, madame, let us see if we can find a little charity here.’ He raised his voice: ‘Good evening to you, Mother. Could you spare a little supper for two weary travellers? We were taking a short cut and lost our way.’
The old woman looked at them with incurious eyes until he jingled the coins in his pocket. She jerked her head, as if inviting them in.
‘I have salt herring I can fry for you and a little bread.’
‘That would suit us very well, Mother, thank you.’
They followed her into the cottage. Raoul’s arm was still about Cassie and he was smiling, but she knew he was alert, ready to fight if danger threatened. A single oil lamp burned inside and by its fragile light Cassie could see the house was very small, a single square room with an earth floor and a straw mattress in one corner. Cassie guessed the old woman lived here alone. A sluggish fire smoked in the hearth, but it was sufficient to warm the small space and Cassie sank down on to a rickety bench placed against one wall. The old woman gestured to Raoul to sit down with Cassie while she prepared their meal.
Cassie was exhausted. Raoul’s shoulder was so temptingly close and she leaned her head against it, watching through half-closed eyes as the woman poked the fire into life and added more wood. Soon the pungent smell of the fish filled the room. Cassie’s eyes began to smart and she closed them, but then it was too much trouble to open them again and she dozed until Raoul gave her a little nudge.
‘Wake up now. You must eat something.’
Sleepily Cassie sat up to find a small table had been pushed in front of them and it was set now with plates and horn cups. They dined on salt herring and bread, but when the old woman offered them some of her white brandy Raoul refused, politely but firmly.
‘Would it be so very bad?’ Cassie murmured when their hostess went off to fetch them some water.
‘Very likely,’ he replied, ‘but even if it is drinkable, to take it with the herring would give you a raging thirst.’
She accepted this without comment. She did not like the fish very much, but the bread was fresh and Cassie made a good meal. When it was finished the old woman cleared everything away. Raoul took a few coins out of his pocket and held them out.
‘Thank you, Mother, for your hospitality. There is double this if you will let us sleep on your floor tonight.’
The old crone’s eyes gleamed. ‘Double it again and I’ll let ye have the paillasse.’
Cassie glanced from the woman to the bed in the corner and could barely suppress a shudder at the thought of what might be crawling amongst the straw. To her relief Raoul did not hesitate to decline her offer.
‘We would not take your cot, Mother, nor your covers. We shall be comfortable enough before the fire.’
She shrugged and took the coins from his palm.
‘As you please.’
The old woman banked up the fire and cleared a space before it, even going so far as to find a threadbare rug to put on the ground. Raoul went outside to attend to the horse and the old woman gave Cassie a toothless smile.
‘You’ve got yourself a good man there, madame.’
‘What? Oh—oh, yes.’ Cassie nodded. She was too tired to try and explain that they were not married.
* * *
When Raoul returned the old woman blew out the lamp and retired to her bed with her flask of brandy, leaving her guests to fend for themselves before the fire. There was no privacy and they both lay down fully dressed on the old rug. Raoul stretched out on his back and linked his hands behind his head.
‘Do not fret,’ he murmured. ‘I shall not touch you.’
Cassie did not deign to reply to his teasing tone. She curled up on her side with her back to Raoul. She was nearest the fire and glad of the heat from the dying embers, but she could not relax. She was far too on edge, aware of Raoul’s body so close to her own. He was so big, and rough and...male. Gerald had been more of a gamester than a sportsman. He had been fastidious about his dress and she had never seen him with more than a slight shadow of stubble on his face. That is what she had loved about him; he had always looked like the perfect gentleman. She stirred, uncomfortable with the thought that he had not always acted like a gentleman.
Not that it mattered now, Gerald was dead and she would have to make her own way in the world. Sleepily she wondered why she had not told Raoul she was a widow. After all, it could make no difference to him, since as far as he was aware her husband was still in Verdun. But some deep, unfathomable instinct told her Raoul Doulevant was an honourable man. Now her hands came together and she fingered the plain wedding band. It was little enough protection, but it was all she had.
Cassie lay still, tense and alert until she heard Raoul snoring gently. The old woman had told them it was a full day’s walk from here to Reims, so by tomorrow they would be in the city and she could be rid of her ragged companion. She closed her eyes. The sooner dawn came the better.
* * *
Cassie stirred. She was still lying on her side, facing the fire which had died down to a faint glow, and the room was in almost total darkness. She reached down to make sure the skirts of her riding habit were tucked around her feet, but she could feel the chill of the night air through the sleeves of her jacket. She tried rubbing her arms, but that did not help much. She sighed.
‘What is the matter?’ Raoul’s voice was no more than a sleepy whisper in the darkness.
‘I am cold.’
He shifted closer, curving his body around hers and putting his arm over her. The effect was startling. Heat spread quickly through her body and with it a sizzling excitement. It did not matter that Raoul was dressed in rough homespun clothes, or that his ragged beard tickled her neck, her pulse leapt erratically as he curled himself about her.
‘Is that better?’
Cassie swallowed. She could not reply, her throat had dried, her breasts strained against the confines of her jacket. She was wrapped in the arms of a man, a stranger. Even worse, she wanted him to kiss and caress her. Heavens she should move away, immediately! But somehow she could not make her body obey, and the idea of lying cold and alone for the remainder of the night was not at all appealing. It was confusing, to feel so secure, yet so vulnerable, all at the same time.
Raoul’s arm tightened, pulling them closer together. So close she could feel his breath on her cheek, feel his body close against hers. She should protest, she should object strongly to being held in this way, but she was so warm now, so comfortable. The initial burning excitement had settled into a sense of wellbeing. She had never felt so safe before, or so warm. She felt a smile spreading out from her very core.
‘Oh, yes,’ she murmured sleepily. ‘Oh, yes, that is much better.’
* * *
Raoul lay very still, listening to Cassie’s gentle, regular breathing. It was taking all his willpower not to nuzzle closer and nibble the delightful shell-like ear, to keep his hands from seeking out the swell of her breasts. He uttered up a fervent prayer of thanks that the thick folds of her skirts prevented her knowing just how aroused he was to have her lying with him in this way.
He had been too long without a woman. How else could he explain the heat that shot through him whenever they touched? Even when she looked at him he was aware of a connection, as if they had known each other for ever. Fanciful rubbish, he told himself. She was a spoiled English aristo and he despised such women. By heaven, at eight-and-twenty he was too old to fall for a pair of violet-blue eyes, no matter how much they sparkled. And there was no doubt that Lady Cassandra’s eyes sparkled quite exceptionally, so much so they haunted his dreams, as did the delightful curves of her body. Even now he wanted to explore those curves, to run his fingers over the dipping valley of her waist, the rounded swell of her hips and the equally enchanting breasts that he judged would fit perfectly into his hands.
He closed his eyes. This was nothing short of torture, to keep still while he was wrapped around this woman. He turned his mind to consider how he must look to her, with his dirty clothes and unkempt hair. She must think him a rogue, a vagabond. He was not fit to clean her boots.
And yet here she was, sleeping in his arms.
