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.
Return of the Runaway Page 3
