“Welcome, stranger!” He was far too cheerful-looking to suit her foul mood this day.
Suzanne peered back at the big oaf, who seemed delighted with her arrival. The woodsman’s relation had no idea who she was, yet he welcomed her with joy. She frowned. Why couldn’t she be like that? Betrayal; that was why—its offspring devoured her trust in others. Her heart ached; she missed her family. Suzanne slid off the horse and choked back the urge to retch as she tied the stallion to a hitching rail.
“You all right?” The young man stepped toward her.
His huge hand radiated warmth down her back. She turned and bumped into his broad chest. Good heavens, he wasn’t a Frenchman at all. He reminded her of those German warriors she’d studied about, who hid in the forests and attacked the Romans during the time of the Holy Roman Empire. She half-expected his countenance to be painted blue, but when he took a step backward and Suzanne looked up, his cheeks were ruddy, with a grin still affixed on his bearded face.
“Pardon!” That feminine voice wasn’t what she planned to use.
The smile vanished and his golden eyebrows rose, eyes wide, his hands now raised as though in surrender. “You’re a girl?” Gruff German words accused.
Suzanne chose to ignore his question and would have walked around him if her legs hadn’t buckled. “Oh!”
Arms, even hotter than the hand that had stroked her back, captured her. “A long ride?” His halting French was tender. “So young, why alone here?” The young man lifted her and headed toward the cottage. He shifted her and she rolled forward, toward his chest. His face, though covered with a short beard, looked young.
Suzanne couldn’t help but examine him, she was so close. His eyes were the same shape and color as the youth she’d painted. Could it be?
“One of the Huguenots?” A white-haired lady leaned against the doorway.
“I don’t know, but you need to feed her.” He lifted her to demonstrate. “Near to starving, so tiny she is.” Back in his native tongue, his voice was more melodic.
Suzanne didn’t want to let him know she understood his words. Stiffening at the insult, she recalled eating bread and cheese at each stop, other than at Grand-mère’s, but not much else. And this overfed giant certainly didn’t need to eat.
A dry hand, like an autumn leaf, pressed against Suzanne’s cheek. Filmy eyes blinked, but the woman’s face registered recognition. “The marquise’s granddaughter?” she whispered in French, into Suzanne’s ear.
“Oui,” she whispered back. “But please, can you help me?”
The young man peered into her face, his sea-blue eyes curious. “What’s that you say?”
“Dear God, the child has traveled safely here. I wished she would, even though I didn’t think it safe.” The elder woman’s hands fluttered around her face. “I’m so glad your uncle got the message.” She closed her eyes and prayed in a whisper. “You may call me Louisa,” the elderly woman said to Suzanne. “And Johan has come from Aachen to help me.” She set her cane aside and rubbed her hands together in agitation. “Johan, get some wood and come build the fire.”
Suzanne sniffed. The place reeked of strong wood smoke. Anymore and she might be unable to breathe in the small cottage.
“Let’s see. Clothes that fit but conceal. Something more German-looking. You are to be Johan’s younger brother, if stopped. Dear Lord, why me? I’m an old lady. Why not me, though, Lord? Yes.” The woodcutter’s wife continued to mumble to herself even as she began opening a small trunk filled with clothing and set about gathering items necessary for the trip.
“The brown gelding Johan brought is rested. My cart horse could make the journey to Aachen. Father Vincent can send the sturdy mare back. My, we didn’t have much notice, did we?” Louisa’s white head trembled.
“No, I cannot leave my horse. My brother’s horse. Not yet.” Suzanne blinked back tears. “The stallion will be fine once he’s rested. He’s strong.”
“Water and feed the horses, Johan. I’ll get your suppers ready. Suzanne, go wash up by the well in back of the cottage. Here’s a cloth, there’s soap Johan left down there.”
“Oui, merci.” She followed Johan out. She’d never seen such a broad back. He looked capable of lifting an ox. She stifled a giggle.
Johan turned around and grinned at her. “Good to hear you laugh. Very musical. I like it.”
He acted as if he knew her. And that gave her comfort. Was this the youth she’d painted?
~*~
What had happened to the girl—a young woman now? Johan hadn’t recognized her when she rode up alone. He’d been expecting at least two, perhaps three family members, according to Uncle Vincent. But an emaciated boy riding alone? He’d been taken off guard. And then to discover the rider was the girl he’d dreamed of for so long. Only she hadn’t seemed to have matured. At least, not physically.
Was it true that the Huguenots in France starved in the countryside? She seemed to be proof of that. Or had there been something more? Her narrow shoulders seemed weighted down by the cares of the world. And where was her brother?
When he’d met her before, she was vibrant, full of herself. That was one reason he’d teased her then. She was a young woman who seemed well aware of her charms. A blossoming flower. And he’d been the bee. Now the rose had succumbed to blight and struggled to overcome the disease.
Johan set about caring for the girl’s horse, his mind running faster than a hare escaping a chase. What could he do? He could pray. And come alongside her and help her on her way. Bring her back into the sunshine, find nourishment for her body and soul, and help her find her way back to who she was supposed to become. Not much. He laughed at himself. But with God, all things were possible.
Once he’d finished caring for the magnificent animal, he washed and returned to the cottage.
Aunt Louisa ladled a savory meal into three bowls. “Sit down, Johan.”
He scooted in next to the girl whose dark eyelashes fanned out against her ivory skin.
Louisa passed a bowl of rabbit stew to Suzanne. Her hands shook as she accepted it. “Merci.”
“Here’s yours, Johan.”
Twice as many thick mounds of dumplings covered the meat and new spring vegetables in his large bowl. “Danke.”
Aunt Louisa lowered her aged form into her chair. He wished he’d helped her into her seat, but he’d been too distracted by the newcomer.
“Please ask the blessing, nephew.” Louisa bowed her head, as did Johan.
The presence of God stole over him, bringing comfort. He prayed in German and when he peeked, the girl’s facial muscles twitched as though she was straining to understand him. “Amen.” He lifted his head. “Johan, this young woman needs to get to Aachen Cathedral to Father Vincent as quickly as you can take her.”
“How far behind, do you think? The soldiers?”
“If they follow, they could be here even tonight.” She kept her head low over her food.
“Good thing my aunt has many grandchildren who like to visit.” Though none as pretty as the girl who’d ridden up with her brother years earlier—he on the same magnificent horse. Something about that didn’t make sense, but he was too tired from his own travels to think about it. “Your brother—where is he?”
Where there were to have been three or four, now only one sat.
Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I’m alone.”
The savory broth turned bitter in his mouth. “Ja, I’ll do it.”
“If they catch us, they may kill us.” Suzanne let that drop like dough into the stew.
He’d experienced such a chase before. And survived. Had God sent him ahead for this purpose—to carry this Huguenot girl to safety in the Palatinate?
~*~
Johan fixed his inquisitive gaze on her.
Suzanne’s heart thumped. She awaited his response and refusal. His even features were undisturbed, his blue-green eyes covered with the reflection of firelight, small flames flickering in them. Why did she want to touch
this stranger, to draw from his strength? Would he be afraid to take this risk?
Johan stared at the small stone hearth.
Burning wood crackled and hissed as she anticipated what careful words would partner his denial.
“God will see us to safety.” His mouth formed the words. His lips were sweet looking, almost too soft for such a large man.
Suzanne snorted in the most unbecoming way. “You know this how?”
“He told me.”
She hadn’t realized her body had leaned in toward his torso and she jerked away. Anticipating what? Those arms around her again. She shook the thoughts from her head. This young man heard voices. Would a lunatic accompany her? She should go on her own. Yet, Suzanne desired his companionship so much she could almost feel him riding at her side, his strong profile painted on the canvas of her imagination with dark, firm lines.
She brushed her hands together. She barely knew him. “Today I rode alone. Tonight I can continue with a fresh horse and provisions.” Her words echoed in her ears—stupid and proud. Alone in strange woods at night.
“I remember you.” Louisa’s filmy eyes gazed over the bowl as she raised it to her mouth. “And your brother.”
This was the farthest she and her brother had ventured in practice for escape. They’d ridden out on their horses, certifying that they knew the lay of the land, paths, streams, and the safe houses. Just in case they ever needed to leave Grand-mère’s for Aachen and then on to Amsterdam from where they’d depart to the colonies.
Huguenots weren’t tolerated, certainly not at court, but when her grandmother was alive, they’d benefitted from the auspices of her fervent Catholic faith.
“Did you ask if she’s crazy?” Johan asked his aunt.
How impolite—to discuss her in his native language, as though she wasn’t there. Yet his aunt spoke to her in French and Suzanne hadn’t considered whether he understood or not.
“No.” The elderly woman screwed up her face as though taking a bitter tonic. Clucking her tongue, she added, “I think Suzanne fears for your safety. A brave young lady. Are you afraid, nephew?”
“Without God’s help, yes, but I will obey Him, for He directs our path.”
Etienne’s sensual smile hovered in her mind, imposed over Johan’s friendly grin, even as he discussed her “insanity.” Her beau faithfully attended services, believed in God. Why hadn’t she trusted him and asked him to protect her? But she trusted this stranger. Everything seemed mixed up. She untied her queue of hair to ease the tension from the back of her head.
Johan bent toward her and swiped her cheek with his thumb, then displayed the gravy he’d removed.
Sudden shyness washed over her. Suzanne closed her eyes; afraid she might see something in his face that would make her more afraid. That horrible hungry look of Etienne’s. But this peasant only scrutinized her face, his mouth set and eyes sad.
“Very tired—look at her, Aunt Louisa. Let her sleep. We go at morning’s first light. Something tells my soul the soldiers can bring us no harm.”
Louisa nodded, her rheumy eyes bright. “I pray that is so. Pull the benches together when we’re cleaned up and we’ll put the cushions on. She can sleep there.”
Johan lifted the heavy benches and settled them together before the hearth.
Louisa handed him bedding and he arranged the quilts and pillow.
“Merci.”
Fire from the grate flickered in his eyes. She sucked in her breath. Maybe this was wrong. But that thought was washed away as sleep overtook her.
As dawn broke, Johan’s elderly aunt awoke them. And after taking care of her needs, Suzanne returned to the house where a baguette of bread and hot café au lait awaited them.
Johan barely met her eyes as he wolfed down his breakfast and then went to ready the horses.
Louisa handed Suzanne a bag of food. “Take this with you.”
Johan returned to the cottage, unsmiling, sweat beading his brow.
His aunt turned to him. “Nephew, I’m an old woman.”
“You’ll always be my beautiful and sweet aunt.” He bent to kiss her.
She patted his cheeks. “I’ll never see you again in this life.”
“Auntie…” He tilted his head at her. “Don’t say that.”
Shaking her snowy head, she smiled and closed her eyes before pressing her hands against Johan’s brow. “May God bless you and keep His hand upon you and protect you and guide you.”
Then she turned to Suzanne and blessed her, also.
A chill raced down Suzanne’s spine as the frail woman’s whispered words took root.
When she finished, Johan took both of Louisa’s hands in his and kissed them. “Mama will kill me if she finds out I was here.”
The elderly woman stared up at Suzanne’s new companion. “Johan, don’t regret your choices. I haven’t. Never forget that doing God’s work is reward enough. We’ll all answer to God in the end—not to our earthly parents.”
Earthly parents? Suzanne no longer had them. But her heavenly Father? And dare she look to this young man to protect her? If only her grandmother yet lived. But she didn’t.
5
Far western border of France
The sun hung above the evergreens, their freshness wafting down to envelope the two riders.
Suzanne glimpsed blue jackets through a gap in the pines. Startled, she reined her horse to a stop. This was the fifth time they’d diverted their path because of obstacles.
A trio of soldiers on the main road laughed and took turns juggling green plums. Their coats were ragged, unlike those of the soldiers who’d taken Pierre.
Johan shook his head at her and raised a finger to his lips.
She shrugged at him in question. Although they’d avoided the highway for most of their journey, they needed access to it to get to Aachen. She exhaled, holding Fury’s reins tight as he tried to pull forward. Clenching her jaw, she yanked as hard as she could on the reins without causing the beast to rear up.
The voices of the three soldiers carried through the trees.
“Kill him if he doesn’t say,” the thinnest man insisted.
The brawniest of the trio unsheathed his sword, a glint of light piercing their cover. “This beauty slew a nun. Right in her sleep.”
The two others cackled, an unholy sound in this sanctuary of woods.
We’re within a stone’s throw of murderers.
Johan’s wide shoulders were hunched over, his eyes closed, his golden head bowed as in prayer. She felt for her beads, comforted when her fingers wrapped them tight.
One of the men grunted as his heavy feet thudded to the ground. Bridles jingled as they were undone. They intended to remain there. Her breath stuttered.
Breeze, high in the treetops, wafted the piney incense of fresh new growth, and the whisper of needles.
Johan motioned for her to back up her horse. She complied. Then he gestured her in a different direction, away from the criminals. And how would they get to Aachen now?
Several hard hours of riding later, they stopped by a bubbling stream near a small boggy clearing.
Suzanne inhaled the acrid air of the dense woods shielding them. With the sun now in the west, she knew they headed south, not northeast as originally planned.
“Where are we going?”
“All routes to Aachen hold danger.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “We cannot travel there.” Johan dismounted and secured his horse, his hair loose and covering his face.
“But I need to go there.” She gritted her teeth. If her legs and thighs weren’t so stiff, she’d have gotten off the horse by herself.
Instead, when Johan took her reins in one hand and then lifted her down, she gratefully allowed herself to sink into his arms.
“Merci.” Leaning against him, legs trembling from the long ride, she clutched his shoulders, her face pressed against the sturdy fabric that covered his broad chest. Warmth flowed through her.
“Get out th
e food from Louisa.” He released her and moved to examine tracks near low green foliage in an opening favored by the sun’s rays.
Does he think I’m his servant? She bit back the retort that he should get the food himself. Suzanne frowned at his back and retrieved their midday meal, her stomach growling.
“We should stand and get our legs back.” Johan stretched.
She shook her head and offered him bread. But she held onto the loaf.
Johan had to tug. He raised one eyebrow at her as he broke off a chunk and then held it aloft. “You don’t wish to share?”
She wasn’t used to being ordered around but if she said so, this peasant may ask more questions than she should answer. Instead she scowled at him.
Johan tilted his head and laughed.
She couldn’t help laughing, too.
This man could well save her life and she begrudged his directives? He probably kept them terse because of his lack of French language skills.
He set out a blanket on the ground and motioned for her to sit. After settling themselves, they leaned against two trees and ate in silence. Stealing glances at him, she found her companion giving her his slow, crooked grin. He irritated her the way Guillame had. Not quite the same.
Did her brother live? A trip to Aachen may be futile, regardless.
Johan crossed to the horses, patted down the mare, and examined her legs. “Pretty good, for a cart horse. Not so fast, but steady and sure-footed.”
Suzanne thought she understood him.
“On the road she’ll do even better.” He stroked the horse’s back.
During their travel time, Suzanne remembered more German phrases as he used them. While Johan seemed to understand some French, he didn’t speak many words. He’d repeat if she teased him and gave him the proper pronunciation. His voice was so melodious; she could listen to him forever. But in a few days, they’d be separated. The thought made her sad.
“What activities do you like?”
“Fencing.” The word exited her mouth before she realized it. Only nobility fenced. She cringed at her mistake, wishing she could take the word back.
He struggled to repeat the word. “I don’t understand.”
Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter Page 6
