The French Duchess

by Rue Allyn

  His speech was rushed and curt. Worry was understandable. She was concerned too. But Richard was being unreasonably snappish. The forest finally gave way to fields as the rain began to slow. Clouds scudded past a waning moon, casting intermittent shadows on the intersection.

  Mari felt exposed in a way she hadn’t for the days. What a blessing that no one else was about and unlikely to be on such a night. Besides, this was not a major crossroad, as René had described.

  “There’s a signpost,” Richard said.

  “How fortunate.” She followed him, still towing René and horse.

  “If this sign is to be believed, Dieppe lies to the west. We must have come farther north than I estimated”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Perhaps. We are probably a half a day’s ride farther from Dieppe than I hoped, but the road is a straight shot. We shouldn’t have any detours and may even be able to misdirect anyone who might be following us.”

  “All in all this seems more positive than negative. Now all we need is discreet shelter where René can recover his health enough to be able to continue to England.”

  “Let’s get to work on that.” Richard led their small cavalcade to the left.

  The road dipped and rose over gentle hills that required Mari’s attention to her horse. Hours rolled by, and the dark eased into the gray twilight that heralded the dawn. The road took a bend, and several yards beyond the curve stood a ramshackle building. A sign hanging from the eaves suggested the place was either a tavern or an inn.

  Richard reined to a halt. Mari came up beside him.

  “Who would put an inn in such a deserted place?” she wondered. “We haven’t seen another human being, a farm, or even a hovel since we took to the road.”

  “I know. This building is likely a thieves’ den. Were it not for René, I would push on to more promising accommodations. But we are both weary, and René’s need is desperate. This place will have to do.”

  “Thank heaven.”

  “I would wait to thank heaven until we’ve left this place far behind. Remember to say as little as possible, and follow my lead. Now here’s the plan.”

  The plan he outlined was both perfect and also outrageous. She choked back a laugh. Perhaps his earlier ill mood had been just that, a passing mood. For the moment, he was taking careful consideration of all their needs. He’d even asked her opinion and taken some of her suggestions into account. This was a man she could respect and like. If not for Jennings, would she have chosen Richard? Possibly, but the passing years put too much between them for anything more than friendship, if that.

  • • •

  Bristling with every weapon he had and a few of Mari’s, Richard marched into the building with Mari behind, bearing all of René’s weight. Thank the Lord her cousin had roused enough to be able to move on his own power, for the most part. René’s weapons were hidden about her person. She even carried a knife strapped to her thigh.

  Richard shoved aside the memory of soft, pale skin, the heat of his desire to follow her thigh to its terminus and play there, to discover all of her secrets.

  The place turned out to be a tavern, of sorts.

  “Où est le maître de maison?” he shouted. For emphasis, he pounded on the table that stood by the opening to the main room. Several patrons sat at scattered tables and drank. One or two raised their heads and stared out of the room to discover the cause of the disturbance. More heads lifted from their mugs as Mari struggled inside behind him with René leaning on her.

  “Wait there,” Richard warned.

  She came to a wavering halt in the middle of the small foyer between the stairs and the entrance to the taproom. “But, mon capitaine, we are so very weary. Could we not please sit, just for a moment?” she whined and mangled her grammar in imitation of the slattern he’d told her to pretend to be.

  He looked back at her. “I am a sergent. Call me capitaine again or annoy me in any way, and I will beat you. Do you understand?”

  “Oui, monsieur le sergent.” She ducked her head and backed up, nearly losing her grip on René.

  “You two will rest when I have you under lock and key. Now be silent,” he thundered and faced the taproom once more.

  He repressed a grin at her imitation of a down-trodden citoyenne. Smiling would never do. He must convince all present that he was a hardened veteran of the imperial army. A man so skilled in dealing death that none would oppose him for fear of their lives. Treating them all like raw recruits should do the job. He‘d intended to start with the tavern keeper, but one of the patrons would do just as well.

  “You.” Richard pointed at the nearest man, a fellow with a scraggly beard. When the man did not respond, Richard strode over to him, lifted the fellow by the neck of his shirt, and shook him until he begged to be set down. “Où est le maître de maison?”

  “Please, monsieur, do not shake me anymore. It hurts my head. I will do anything you ask.” The man cowered.

  “Où est le maître de maison?” Richard repeated his request for the tavern keeper.

  Scraggle Beard stared at Richard and paled. “Je ne sais pas. I swear I do not know.”

  Richard made as if to backhand the fellow.

  “By the virgin’s skirt, I do not know where Arnoud is, b . . . but I will go search for him. He must be inside somewhere.”

  Richard dropped the man back into his seat. Scraggle Beard remained hunched and trembling, waiting for Richard to give his permission.

  “Very well, go.”

  The chair tilted and fell as the man rushed off. Richard righted the chair and sat, using a knife to pare his nails.

  “You two, over there.” He tossed his head in the direction of two men sitting on the far side of the taproom entry. “Go outside. I have three horses tethered there that need tending. Find them shelter and feed then groom them and care for my tack. If you steal anything, I will know, and you will be dead within the hour.”

  The pair hurried to do his bidding, not even pausing to glance at where Mari stood trembling under René’s weight.

  Moments later, heavy footsteps descended the stairs and crossed the foyer.

  Richard watched a tall, heavyset man wearing an apron take a long look at Mari and René. The tavern keeper—if Richard was not mistaken—pursed his lips then glanced over to where Richard sat. The man sniffed and moved to confront Richard.

  “I am delighted to have one of the emperor’s seasoned warriors honor my small establishment.” For such a substantial fellow, his voice was surprisingly high and squeaky. “However, monsieur, I cannot have whores in my foyer. I run a respectable establishment. They will have to wait outside, behind the building. I do not wish my patrons to be affronted as they approach the door.”

  Richard stared at the man and continued to stare until the tavern keeper began to twist his hands in his less than clean apron. He probably outweighed Richard by three or four stone and stood at least two inches taller. Richard must have put on a stellar performance because the tavern keeper looked as if he were confronting a large, very hungry wolf.

  “You are Arnoud?”

  “Oui monsieur le sergent.” The man’s French was distorted by his voice. Several moments passed before Richard reasoned that the tavern keeper had actually said, “Oui monsieur le sergent.”

  “And you own this excuse for a tavern.”

  Arnoud opened his mouth, probably to object. Richard raised a brow and pointed the knife in the tavern keeper’s direction. The man closed his mouth, and his shoulders slumped.

  “Oui monsieur le sergent.”

  “Good. I require your finest room and a meal in that order. Bring me two bottles of your best vintage, a roasted chicken with green peas, and fresh bread. The women may or may not be whores, I do not know. They are prisoners guilty of theft. I am taking them to Calais where they will be transported to the French colonies.”

  “It is a great service you do for France. Will the women need accommodation as well?�
��

  “No. They will stay with me. They are little trouble, which is why I have left them unbound, but I cannot let them out of my sight.”

  “Very well, monsieur le sergent. I will get your meal now.” Arnoud moved to leave, halting when Richard slammed his chair to the floor as he rose. “You forget, tavern keeper. The room first. Bring the meal to me there.”

  “Certainement, certainement. Come this way.”

  Richard slipped the knife into his belt and followed Arnoud from the room. In the foyer he ordered his prisoners to follow the tavern keeper. Then Richard brought up the end of the procession.

  “I regret that I have only the one poor room to offer.” Arnoud unlocked the door to a low ceilinged, musty chamber that had obviously seen neither dust rag nor broom in many a day.

  Richard frowned, nodded, and accepted the key from Arnoud. “I will require wash water, tea, and all the tonic you can provide. One of my prisoners is ill. I do not wish to have her die before I can deliver her to the ship and I can get paid.”

  The tavern keeper cast a brief look at the woman being helped onto the bed by the smaller woman. “What an ugly bearded woman,” he mumbled. “You have my sympathy, monsieur le sergent.”

  “Pay them no attention. I certainly do not bother looking at them. Now get my meal.”

  “At once, monsieur le sergent.” Arnoud bowed. He’d taken two steps toward the stairwell when he turned back. “A moment, please, monsieur le sergent.”

  Richard glowered at the tavern keeper. “What now?” he barked, doing his best imitation of an impatient drill sergeant.

  “A . . . ahem, the fee for the lodging is forty deniers with another ten for each meal and five for each bottle of wine. Payment in advance is requested.” Arnoud held out his hand, palm up.

  Richard sneered. “You dare ask payment from a hero of the imperial army? I have killed more than one thousand men, and each of them is worth more than your paltry fee. Consider yourself paid by my sacrifices for France and feel honored to do so.” He let his hand drift toward the knife at his belt.

  Trembling, Arnoud dropped his hand. “Certainement, monsieur le sergent, a very great honor it is to serve you gratuitement. Money would cheapen the privilege you give me.” He bowed and backed hastily away.

  Richard closed the door and locked it.

  Mari already had an unconscious René laid out on the bed and was struggling to remove the maid’s garment from his lanky form.

  “Let me do that. Go sit and rest.” He took her by the shoulders and pointed her at the room’s only chair. Fortunately, she obeyed without protest. One look told him she’d reached the limit of her endurance.

  “You’ve done well, Mari. Thank you. Marguerite Georges could not have performed better.”

  “I heard a rumor while at Fontainebleau that Napoleon’s former mistress is now linked with Wellington.”

  “A woman with her reputation will always attach herself to the winning side.” Richard finished tucking the covers around René and looked up.

  Mari had fallen asleep. A beam of morning sunlight struck her black hair and rain- streaked cheeks. He’d never seen a lady so bedraggled and beautiful. The rough spun maid’s apparel was dirty and torn from the days spent in the forest, yet she might as well have been wearing silk. Scratches adorned her hands and grime wedged under her fingernails, but her long, graceful hands might have been clothed in the finest kid gloves. Her hair hung like lanky snakes of ink around her face. One strand dripped over her shoulder and clung to the curve of her breast. But he only saw the shining ebon tresses that had fascinated him as she’d rested in his arms. Hidden beneath the ruined fichu lay the bruise he’d placed on one snowy breast when they’d kissed a few days ago.

  His heart turned over in his chest with admiration for this strong, brave woman. How could he possibly have blamed her for Jennings’s death? If anyone was to blame, it was the French soldier whose bullet found Jennings’s heart.

  Mari had suffered a great deal, not just in the past few days, but in the years since he and Jennings had joined the army. She’d lost her parents, her reputation, and the man she hoped to wed. Yet she persevered, determined to guard those she loved in the face of insurmountable odds. He’d give a great deal to find himself among those she defended.

  A knock interrupted his thoughts.

  “Monsieur le sergent, I have brought your meal and all that you requested.”

  Richard unlocked the door, standing between the innkeeper and the two who slept. He would do everything to keep them safe.

  Arnoud and a youth bustled in and out of the room, placing food on the table, water on the washstand, and arranging all as Richard directed.

  The youth left, and Arnoud bowed in the doorway. “Does monsieur know how long he will be staying at my humble tavern?”

  “I have not made up my mind yet,” Richard said with curt impatience. Mari wasn’t the only one who needed rest.

  “Very well. Monsieur will be kind enough to let me know of his departure, please.”

  “Perhaps.” He frowned to discourage any further questions.

  “Would monsieur like his boots cleaned or his uniform washed?”

  “No. What I want is my privacy.”

  “Certainemente. I promise you will not be disturbed. If you have need of me, or anything, just call down the stairs. Someone is always near enough to hear and will quickly fetch me.”

  Richard locked the door again and moved to stand by the only window that looked out on the side yard with a view of the front of what passed for a stable. Nothing moved. No one appeared. The drip of rain was the only sound. He judged it safe enough to eat then rest for a short while.

  He needed his strength and his wits. He could not leave his charges unguarded for long.

  Chapter Seventeen

  René’s fever was gone, and he coughed very little. Mari sighed with relief. If he continued to recover at this rate, they could resume their journey tomorrow.

  For the past three days at the tavern, Richard had been taciturn to the point of rudeness. Yes, their situation was fraught with uncertainty, but they had decisions to make. They must plan for the future, and they could not do so if Richard refused to speak with her. What was the cause of this determined silence anyway? As soon as she could get Richard alone she would start there.

  She paced from the bed to the window. The confining space bore in on her. Richard had gone to check on the horses. He’d told her not to worry; he would be back soon. Yet the moment he slipped out the door, locking it carefully behind him, she’d started to fret. What if Malveux found them? René was too weak to defend himself, and she was uncertain if she could fire the musket Richard had left primed and loaded on the table. What if Arnoud or one of his cohorts decided to gain the payment denied him? He could not know how limited their funds were. They must hoard what little they had to hire a boat in Dieppe. It wasn’t enough, but perhaps with the promise of more when they reached England, they could find a captain who would ferry them across the channel.

  A noise came at the door. She leapt for the musket, lifted it, and pointed it at the portal.

  The wooden panel swung open, and Richard stepped through, a bundle of cloth in one hand the key in the other. He halted at the sight of Mari armed and ready to do battle.

  Heart still racing, she nearly dropped the musket. “Thank heaven it’s you.”

  Richard blinked. “I’m glad to see you, too, and thankful that you did not hesitate to arm yourself. I should have announced my presence before I unlocked the door.”

  Hand to her chest, she paused for breath. “You gave me a fright. It might be wise to discuss our plans and actions in more detail. Uncertainty has me on edge.”

  He locked the door behind him. “Perhaps. I apologize for startling you. How is our patient?”

  “I’m recovering very nicely.”

  They both turned toward the bed where René smiled and struggled to sit upright.

  Mari and Richar
d rushed to help him, talking over each other.

  “Don’t try to do too much.”

  “Good to have you awake and talking.”

  “Save your strength, cousin.”

  “Could you handle some solid food?”

  “I promise to take things easily for a while, Mari. Richard, I’m ravenous.”

  “I’ll fix you a plate of bread, cheese, and cold ham. We’ll talk while you eat.”

  Mari sat at the foot of the bed. Richard pulled up the chair after handing René a heaping plate of food.

  “It’s been a tedious couple of days while we waited for you to recover,” Richard said.

  “But all of us needed rest,” Mari added.

  “I’ve made discreet inquiries and received no reports of Malveux or suspicious movement in the area.”

  “Then we can leave for Dieppe immediately.” René set aside his half-eaten food and started to climb from the bed.

  “Not so fast, cousin,” Mari stopped him. She urged him back under the covers and handed him his plate. “You are just recovering and need strength. Eat and rest some more. We can leave here tomorrow morning.”

  “Mari is partly right.”

  She blinked. She should mark the day, for he rarely admitted she had anything correct.

  “You need more rest,” Richard continued. “If we left now, you’d probably relapse, and we’d have to stop again, which would delay us even more. However, we should leave before daybreak. I’d rather no one here see the direction we take. Or that we are now three men, not one man and two women.”

  “What do you mean?” Mari asked.

  “Here.” He handed her the bundle he’d been carrying. “I pilfered these for you.”

  She unwrapped the bundle to reveal a cap, shirt, breeches, even shoes and socks—clothing that might fit a boy on the cusp of manhood. “I gather I am to wear these all the way to Dieppe?”

  Richard nodded.

  “I’ll put them on later. I want to speak with you privately. Let us leave René to his meal.”

  “You must not keep secrets from me, cousin.”

  “No secrets. I simply wish to exchange a word or two in private with Richard about our coming journey. Nothing that should distress you.”