The silver light was blinding as they reached it, the light shining off the waves. He heard the hushed song of them and felt all his strength desert him. He stood where he was, exhausted. She stood before him.
“William,” she whispered.
“How dare you?” he hissed. Suddenly, all the rage of his captivity, of her deception, flowed through him. She was looking at him with those imploring eyes, the same ones that had stared at him when he was taken, when he was beaten and carried to his fate.
“William! I—”
“No,” he hissed. “I trusted you! How could you sell me to them? And our documents!” he couldn't hold it back. He had to know, had to exculpate the rage.
“Documents?” she blinked. “William! What are you talking about?”
He laughed. “You know very well what I mean. You sold them to the French! You're working for them, aren't you?” he almost pleaded. Let her at least tell him! If she could admit it, he would not be totally betrayed.
“William North,” she said tightly. “You are wrong. But now is not the time to argue. If you want to stay alive, get into that boat and row.”
William sighed and nodded. He saw the boat she meant—a small one, bobbing at the quay. It looked like one of the boats from their ship, used to ferry the luggage over. Without any further ado, he stood back, letting her get in first. He needed her to come with him. He needed to hear her story.
And I can't leave her here, where she can do perdition knows what to our ranks!
She shrugged and jumped in, and he followed. He got in and started to row. Which proved to be a good plan, since it was just as they disappeared in the shadows of a large vessel that the dock erupted in shouts.
“Cat,” he said when they were far away enough from the quay to simply see the lights, flickering on the water, “Why? Why did you betray me?”
“I didn't,” she said tightly.
He felt a sudden stab of rage. “Don't lie to me,” he shouted. Now that he was safe to shout, he found he couldn't contain the anger anymore. “I saw you speaking to that guard. You led me down there to get captured. You arranged it. I should kill you now, for what you have done to my country.”
She blinked. “You won't, though.”
“Oh?” he asked, surprised.
“No,” she said, sounding quite calm. “You won't because you love me. I know that.”
He covered his eyes with his hand, slumping forward. The boat lifted and fell with the waves. Had he truly been so transparent?
“I know you love me, and I know you know I had to do that.”
“Had to betray our country?” he asked.
She sighed. “William, will you stop talking nonsense. I have done no such thing.”
“You sold them the documents!” he said.
In answer, she lifted her hand. She was holding her bag. “They're here,” she said.
He stared. Reality, tenuous all day, deserted him. He slumped forward again, head in his hands. “You have them yet?”
“What do you think I am?” she whispered. “I am here to deliver them to Colonel Priceley. Of course I still have them.”
William sighed. “You mean, you're not a spy?”
“I'm a spy,” she said, and he felt his heart dance as she chuckled. “But not a French one.”
“Your father was,” he accused her. She blinked.
“That was a long time ago,” she said quietly.
“You don't deny it?” he asked. He felt hurt again and confused.
“We are French,” she exclaimed. Then he saw her go white. She looked horrified.
“You are what?” he asked, horrified.
“William, we are French. The Favors. Our family is in exile, following the Revolution. I was born in France, at an estate called Colline, in the countryside outside Paris. I promise to tell you everything.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” she hissed, urgently. “But please, get us to land before the waves swamp us, or we drift out to sea!”
“Oh!” He blinked. He had almost forgotten they were in a boat, just outside the harbor of Calais. Now, memory returned, and with it, renewed strength to his arms. He rowed, wincing as he did so, and slowly they started to drift closer to shore. He felt the boat bump on the sand and slumped forward, exhausted.
“Whew.”
“We have to go,” she whispered. “It's only a matter of time before they start looking for us.”
William nodded. He stood, reached down a hand for her, but she was already getting herself to her feet. They climbed out of the boat, pulled it onto the shore so its owner eventually might find it, and ran.
They stopped running when they reached the hills. Catharine bent over, gasping. William collapsed beside her.
“Whew,” he sighed. He was aching all over, exhausted. He collapsed beside her. Up here, on the hillside, under a tree, it was silent. Calais spread out to their left, lights twinkling in windows. The torches on the quay flared in the black ink of the ocean. He sighed and leaned back, studying the sky.
“So,” he said. “Why did you rescue me?”
She said nothing. He sat up and looked at her. Her face was blank.
“What?” he said, softly.
“William,” she said. “You ought to know that.” Her dark eyes were round and looked at him steadily. Her face was pale and drawn.
“No,” he said, leaning back again, “I don't. But, if you won't tell me, then you could at least tell me what this was all about. Why the betrayal? And why, now that we mention it, did you say you were English?”
He regarded her silently. She shifted where she sat, knees drawn up to her chest. She was wearing something dark that blended with the night. She was silent a long while.
“I told you I was born in France,” she said softly. “Not that I was English. You assumed that. I might not have corrected you, but in that, at least, I did not lie. My father was a spy, yes. A long time ago. He didn't trade military secrets. More...just...general ones. Who said what in parliament, who was going where. Little things, about important people. He stopped when he thought he might cause a death.”
“Oh?” William sighed. He wasn't sure how far her father had softened the story for his daughter, but he wanted to believe it. Especially the part about no longer spying.
“I...was raised in England,” she said carefully. “I am not English by birth, but it is the only home I know. I love it. You know that,” she said, and for the first time he could hear the hurt in her voice, too, the betrayal. “How could you think I would betray England?”
He saw a tear track its way down her cheek. He remembered, then, their talks in the heathland on the way to the coast. How passionate she had been. How she had wished to fight for England. He hadn't wanted to believe that was a lie. She had been so sincere.
“I know you said you love England,” he said, nodding. “I loved you for that, too.”
She closed her eyes. “Then how could you believe I could betray you? Betray...all of that?”
“I was just arrested, remember,” he said softly. He opened one eye and regarded her through it, waiting to see what she said.
“Yes, you were arrested,” she exploded. “I rescued you; it's done with. Can you not forget about it now?”
He sighed. “They could have killed me, Cat,” he said sorrowfully. “If your plan hadn't worked, I would be dead right now. And you, too. Why did you think of it?”
She sighed. “I did it to help us.”
He stared. “Well, I don't much like your definition of that,” he said, wincing. “Those fellows could have broken my ribs.”
She sighed. “William, think about it. Our disguise was good, but it would only have lasted so far. How long before something happened? Someone let off a noise, and you shouted, someone tapped you on the shoulder, and you said something? I know...these things happen easily. I could as easily have betrayed us by talking to you. We would have died.”
“Maybe,” William admitted, feeling
uneasy. “So? Why the soldiers?”
“Because it was our best chance of getting through Calais alive. Report you, let you be taken. Rescue you and disappear. This way, they're looking for an English soldier and a vagabond woman. If we turn up, a respectable pair, dressed well, heading up through the countryside to Lille, we won't get noticed.”
“Maybe,” William said again. He didn't want her to be right, but he knew she was. The plan had been bold and dangerous, but it had worked. And she hadn't betrayed him. Not really.
Never, in fact.
The thought hit him hard. She had rescued him. She could have left him there, delivered the messages, gone home. In some ways, it would be easier for her to go alone than with him, a brake on her, standing out as an Englishman despite his best efforts. But she hadn't left him. She had come back and risked her life.
“Thanks,” he said.
She smiled. “Fine.”
They sat in the darkness, and the silence was sweet as he studied her, and she looked back, and their gaze held. He shivered, noticing the breeze on his bare shoulder.
“It's cold,” he said.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“We should go.”
“Yes.”
Neither of them moved. He realized that the gap between them was very small. He leaned in just as she moved forward. Their lips met.
He held her against him, and they kissed. He felt his whole body enliven, all his sadness and weariness dissolving, replaced by the hunger and longing and the sheer sweetness of holding her against him, in his arms, at night.
She sighed as he leaned back. “We need to go,” she said.
He nodded. They had to go, for he didn't want to risk being alone with her, still, on this hilltop. His body wanted her as he had never wanted anyone and if they didn't move, soon, he would have a hard time not traducing her honor. He stood. Together, silent, they wandered up the hill in search of shelter. They would stop here for the night and then move on. They had a lot of ground to cover, and a message to deliver. And time was running out.
Chapter 12: New ways to be
William rolled over as the light slanted down onto his face. He opened his eyes. He was warm, which was the first surprise. Warm and deliciously sleepy. He sighed and sat up, stretching. He looked round.
In the doorway of the barn, Catharine was sitting, a cup between her hands. He smiled. He recalled why he felt so warm that morning. He had slept beside her.
I must have been tired.
His face colored, recalling the soft warmth of her body and how right it had felt to feel it against him, to wrap her in his arms to keep them both warmer. He had been exhausted from the day of walking, which was likely why he had been content to hold her. He felt his body respond now to the memory and his blush intensified. He was glad that he hadn't felt this wide awake during the night.
She must have sensed he was awake, because she turned and smiled.
“It's a lovely morning.” Her voice was low and lilting, and it made his body shiver with pleasure. He smiled.
“It is.”
They both stayed where they were—he leaning against the wall of the barn, she in the doorway—and watched the scene. As they did, William recalled the day before.
They had walked over ten miles. He was exhausted, and he was sure she was, too. They had been walking for days. The countryside between Calais and Paris showed severe signs of war—many farms were burned out and abandoned, ravaged alternately by the British and the French, seeking to cut off their supplies.
It was tragic, he thought sorrowfully, but had brought some advantages. They often slept in disused barns and had managed to scavenge provisions for their journey—like the cup. They had nothing with them besides what they wore or carried—all their luggage was still in Calais, waiting for them to turn up.
“How far today?” she asked, standing. Her hair hung loosely down her back. She was wearing the brown dress, still, stained and worn from travel. She looked hauntingly lovely.
“Not too far,” he said, rolling his shoulders experimentally and wincing as, once, one clicked. “We're about a day from Lille now.”
“I thought so,” she said, nodding. “We'll see troops soon.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. That was his concern, too. The closer they got to the English position, the more dangerous it was. The countryside would be being scouted, and their chance of passing through it undetected was lesser.
“We are so close,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I am sure we will prevail.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “I think so, too.”
He stood and went to the back of the barn where they had left their scavenged things. Wrapped in scraps of her petticoat into two carry-able bundles, they had an interesting selection of things. A brass pot, a small one, found in the same place they discovered the cup and the hammer. That proved useful for breaking up kindling. The other bundle contained the food.
He opened it and brought out a wizened apple—two wizened apples. They had those and some late-unharvested grapes. And the cheese.
“Breakfast,” she said softly.
He nodded.
Wordlessly, he passed her the things. They sat and ate together, enjoying their routine of comfortable silence.
“I reckon we will pass a town today,” he said.
“Mm,” she nodded.
“We could find something for you to wear,” he said. “And steal some food.”
“Mm,” she said again, swallowing. “I don't need a new dress, William,” she reproached. He smiled, hearing her use his familiar name. They had long since ceased to observe formalities together. It felt wrong. This was their life—the rules of that other world, so stiff and solemn—didn't apply here.
“I know you don't,” he said, smiling. “But that one's cold.”
“It's not,” she teased. “Silk is warm, you know.”
He raised a brow. “I don't know, do I?”
They both laughed.
After breakfast, they gathered their things, lifted the bundles—he took the heavier one, she the lighter—and headed off. They had done this for so many days now that it felt as if they'd done it their whole lives. William felt his heart lift as he walked beside her. He had a wonderful thought—they could simply stay here. Live like this, together. Why not?
He sighed. She was beautiful like this, but he knew that the dirt and cold wore on her. He couldn't expect her to abandon everything and live like a wild creature with him. That would be cruel.
He forced himself to look away from her, where she walked, her hair loose and damp, drying in the early morning air. She was so beautiful! He looked over the landscape.
“There's the town.”
“So it is,” she nodded. “We'll reach it in about three hours.”
“Yes.” He nodded, pleased at her keen ability to reckon time while walking. She was actually better at it than he was, and the two of them had got into the habit of making friendly bets.
“I say just after midday.”
He nodded. “Probably right. I'll say one o' clock, then. Just to be difficult.”
She laughed. “Done.”
She would win, as she usually did, and they would laugh about it later, as they ate dinner.
They walked on.
The morning headed toward noon. William, scanning the horizon for the town, saw something. Riders.
“Scouts,” he said. She nodded.
“Yes. Three of them.”
“British?” He slitted his eyes, but they were too far away to see the color of the uniforms.
“The horses have tails,” she said.
That was a difference—British warhorses often had their tails docked, to prevent an enemy grabbing them in battle. The French left their horses with tails.
“Oh,” he said. He paused, studying them as they rode. They were keeping to the cover of the woods, and he had no doubt they were there to spot English scouts. Had they seen them?
“They're looki
ng,” she said. He nodded.
“Have they seen us?”
“Probably,” she said, shrugging. “In which case, they'll think we're two vagabonds, on the road to Lille, and avoid us. I would.” She grinned.
He laughed. “Probably.”
He hoped she was right, but the sight of them made him feel uneasy. They headed on, keeping to the roadside.
In the town, they struck luck. Or, rather, they discovered a cart that had overturned, spilling food everywhere. It was in the road just beyond the wall around the village. They stopped and stared.
“I'm going in,” William said. Cat put a hand on his arm, holding him back, but he nodded. “I'll only be a moment.”
“Very well.”
He shouldered his way into the riot of people scrambling for fallen cabbages and marrows and grabbed at the thing he had noticed first—a ham.
After a brief fight, in which he—taller and stronger, still, despite the week of privation—was the victor, he emerged carrying the ham.
Laughing, they ran off, heading for the hills.
They found a barn to sleep that night. They had the ham with them and made a feast. William sighed as the scent drifted to him. Cat leaned against his shoulder, tired and content.
“You know,” he said, turning to face her.
She looked up at him.
“I know what?” she sighed, sleepily. Her hair smelled like smoke and faintly of cooked ham. He breathed in, sleepily content. He loved the smell of her.
“You know, I was thinking,” he said softly. “I like this.”
She smiled, and his heart filled as she looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “I like it too,” she said.
He wrapped his arm about her shoulder, holding her close. She leaned against him, and they just sat, content, in the silence.
“I was thinking about a lot of things,” he said carefully.
“Yes?” she asked. She turned and smiled at him again. She reached up and picked a fleck of something from his hair.
“Sawdust,” she said. He laughed.
“I was thinking that I could just do this,” he said. “Forget the world, stay with you. Out here.”
She sighed. Her smile stretched wider. “I could, too.” She nodded. “But, William, I couldn't expect you to.”
Her Fiery Heart: Brides for the Earl's Sonsa Page 9
