The men, meanwhile, ungagged and unbound, were heaved into the body of the taproom and helped to the bench under the window.
Noir glared at Villin, who was pouring out mugs of small beer for them. “Is that any way to treat human beings?”
Villin glared back. “I could have let them out long before this if you hadn’t turned up!”
“Bah,” Noir uttered, turning to the French prisoners. “Drink up, my friends. We have a boat to catch. Caron, fetch Dupont, we’re leaving.”
However, before he’d finished speaking, the fourth man came running into the taproom, skidding to a halt before his captain. “Soldiers on the way!”
“Damnation, could they could not have held off for five minutes? How far and how many?”
“Can’t see them yet, just hear them, but I’d say about ten on horseback on the road from Finsborough. Five minutes?”
“Then let’s go.”
“You’ll walk straight into them,” Sir Maurice said with some satisfaction.
“Nah,” Villin contradicted. “They’re on the road. The captain here will leave by boat, if I’m not much mistaken.”
“They’ll shoot you out of the water,” said Lieutenant Steele.
“Only by luck, and that commodity appears to be with us.” He swung on the still dazed prisoners. “Come, time to go.”
One instinctively tried to obey and fell back into his seat. His legs didn’t appear to work.
“They’re in no state to go anywhere yet,” Isabelle said. “You must go without them.”
“I won’t,” Noir said flatly.
“Then stay and be captured with them.”
He stared at her, then at the escaped prisoners, and dragged his hand through his hair. “Come on, my friends, wiggle those arms and legs. Let’s practice walking. Two more minutes and then we leave.”
But it seemed Dupont has misjudged, for Isabelle could already hear the clattering of approaching hooves.
Noir swore under his breath. “Make sure the doors are locked. Dupont, you and Caron make sure they don’t surround us. Lefevre, watch the prisoners.”
Dear God, are they going to fight here? Isabelle sank down on a bench and discovered Sir Maurice beside her. He patted her hand in what he clearly imagined was a comforting manner. Isabelle found it excessively annoying and jumped up again, following Noir to the window. “Captain! You cannot mean to let the inn be besieged? Assaulted? It will be a terrible waste of life! Think of the fam—”
“You are, of course, quite right,” Noir agreed. He was peering out of the window, where the darkness was breaking up with lantern light. Rummaging in his pocket, he came up with a large handkerchief.
“Then what do you mean to do?” she demanded.
“Create a way out,” he replied. “Please, sit here.”
Frowning, she sat, watching him tie the handkerchief around the head of the axe. Then, he reached up to the window latch, unlocking it. He paused and glanced down at her. “Actually, you might want to stand behind me, or sit on the floor until I establish if they will talk.”
“I shall stay where I am,” she said instinctively. Partly, it was pride, but somewhere, it crossed her mind that the English soldiers were unlikely to shoot him if a lady was visible beside him.
A frown flickered on his brow. But in the end, he turned away, opened the window a crack, and edged out his handkerchief on the end of the axe.
“Sir!” someone called outside in an excited voice.
“Don’t shoot it, fool,” came the irritated response. A horse clopped nearer until a soldier came into view, a middle-aged officer. Behind him and to either side, were three subordinate soldiers, rifles aimed at the window. “Do I take it this is your sign of surrender?”
“Truce,” Noir corrected and opened the window further. “While you and I talk, my men will not shoot yours, if none of you shoot at us.”
“And whom am I addressing, sir?”
“Captain le Noir. Apparently, I am a forlorn hope, along with my men. But I do not believe the hope is so forlorn that we cannot discuss matters as officers of honor.”
“I am Captain Brandon. What do you wish to discuss?”
“Safe passage away from here.”
“You must see that I am unlikely to grant such a request. You are an enemy soldier in my country. And I believe you have with you some escaped prisoners-of-war.”
Noir spared a moment to scowl at Villin. “Now, I do.”
The English officer paused, peering beyond Noir for the first time. “You have people, civilians in there. Is anyone hurt? Dead?”
“I regret the injury of one Lieutenant Steele of the Royal Navy who bravely drew his sword on me. He should live, although I would advise he see a surgeon. Also present are several civilians, including a young family, the innkeeper and his family, a gentleman who claims acquaintance with your Prince Regent, and this lady at my side. I beg you will consider them when deciding whether to grant my request.”
Even over this distance, Captain Brandon’s scowl was dire. “Are you telling me you will use these people as hostages?”
“No,” Noir said in apparent surprise. “I am telling you they are here, and that if you shoot at us, you will put them in danger, too. I will also say, I have no desire to shoot at you.”
“Then throw down your weapons and come out. You will be treated with honor.”
Noir sighed. “That is my problem. I do not think I can walk willingly into a prison. Here is my proposal, sir. My men and I will come out with Lieutenant Steele and all the civilians.” He gestured above him. “Except for the family in their chamber. You will see they are safe and look after them. Then, my men, your one-time prisoners, and I, shall leave your shores and—er—never trouble you again.”
Captain Brandon was silent, perhaps flabbergasted by the effrontery. At last he said, “You must know I could never agree to that.”
“But consider the alternative, my friend. We fight. Some of us die or are injured, the inn is destroyed…and some of the casualties will inevitably be civilians. You do remember the lady and the friend of the Prince Regent?”
“Only too well!” the officer snapped. “I will promise to treat you and your men with all honor, but beyond that, I cannot go.”
Noir smiled. “Then find me someone who can. For I have grown fond of my prisoners here and have no wish to see them die. Shall we make a truce of one hour while you decide?”
Captain Brandon stared at him a little wildly, as though wondering how they had got to this point. “One hour,” he said at last. “Or less, after further discussion.”
“Agreed,” Noir said cheerfully and closed the window.
“You are utterly without conscience!” Isabelle burst out.
Noir sighed. “Perhaps. But I am trying to keep us all alive. You don’t imagine they will really let us live, do you? Soldiers with no uniform on enemy soil?”
Isabelle closed her mouth. It was something that had never occurred to her. Even if the officer outside meant what he said, the matter would soon be out of his hands.
Steele, who had limped through with Lily, exclaimed, “You know full well they can never agree to your terms!”
Noir shrugged. “I know they won’t want to. But what is the alternative? To storm the inn? If that happens, I can make you as secure as possible in the cellar, or in Mr. Villin’s secret room under the counter. But that will not necessarily save you all. People will die.”
“You could give yourself up,” Ashton drawled. “And save all our lives.”
“I need to get my men home. And the prisoners.”
“Offer yourself, for God’s sake! They might let your minions survive.”
“They might,” Noir said dubiously. “But no, while I shall bear your plan in mind, I prefer mine.”
“It won’t work,” Steele said flatly.
“We shall see. We have an hour to prepare. Mr. Villin, I regret we have to further disturb your inn for our defenses. Stout tables ac
ross the windows and doors and so on. You know your inn best. If they fire it, where is safest for you and these people?”
Villin, clearly dismayed, did not look at him but at his wife and daughter. In silence, Lily dragged her gaze free and glanced around at everyone, lingering on Isabelle and then Noir, who was already upending a table and clearly considering whether or not to chop off its legs with the axe.
“Dad,” she said. “They aren’t bad men. In France, somewhere, we probably have people doing much the same thing.”
Villin scowled. “But then what did I keep the damned prisoners for? We’ll be accused of abetting the enemy—and we’ll be guilty!”
Noir lowered his axe, frowning at the innkeeper. “If you have an alternative solution, my friend, please tell, because I won’t deny I don’t care for my own plan above half.”
Villin considered, glancing at his own regulars, Sir Maurice, Isabelle, and Lieutenant Steele, and fixed his gaze once more on his wife and daughter. He sighed and met Noir’s gaze. “The secret room is…well, it’s more than that.”
“Is it, by God?” Noir dropped his axe and walked toward the innkeeper. “How much more?”
“A lot. It’s a secret passage that leads down inside the cliff to the beach.”
One of the French prisoners swore. The others exchanged glances of frustration and fury. They had been within easy distance of escape and had never known it.
Noir grinned. “Monsieur, I could kiss you.”
“I beg you won’t!” Villin growled, but Noir was already scowling again.
“I see your problem,” he murmured. “You will be in trouble for helping us escape. Since obviously I did not know this route when I confronted the officer outside. Either way, I am responsible.”
Isabelle drew in a breath. “What if we keep the prisoners you came for? You take your men home. We keep them.”
“No,” Noir said flatly.
“Unacceptable!” Steele snapped.
“Compromise,” Isabelle retorted, swinging to face him. “Villin and his family are the heroes who risked themselves to recapture dangerous French prisoners, and if their rescue party got away, well that is unfortunate. We cannot be expected to fight both with no weapons. If the prisoners are still here, there can be no possibility of collusion between us and Captain le Noir. And the captain and his men live to fight another day.”
“It strikes me,” Steele said bitterly, “that our country would benefit more from clapping up Noir and his cohorts and letting the prisoners go free!”
To her surprise, Noir seemed to consider that, too. Then he strode over to the bewildered prisoners. A low, rapid discussion followed. It was too quiet for Isabelle to make out the words over the loud arguments of everyone else.
Then Noir yelled, “Quiet!” And as the noise cut off like a slamming door, he said fiercely, “It is decided.” His eyes were as furious as his voice. Clearly, he was not happy with the decision. “The prisoners stay—for now. We go by the secret passage, and we take hostages, Mr. Villin to open his blocked passage, and Madame de Renarde in case we are followed or meet resistance at the other end of the passage. The Prince Regent’s friend, here, will stay as protection to everyone else. Lieutenant Steele, I need your word of agreement.”
“Mine?” Steele exclaimed. “Why?”
“Because someone will need to make sure no one else gives the game away to the soldiers outside. And to ensure everyone lives.”
“Sir, you put me in an impossible position,” Steele objected. “I don’t want you to escape! And besides, I am injured.”
A smile flickered in Noir’s angry eyes. “Excuse,” he retorted. “You are more than capable. And you do know this is the only way to be sure no one dies.”
“How can we be sure?” Sir Maurice demanded. “You’re taking Madame de Renarde and Villin away from us. You could slit their throats, drown them—”
“Don’t be an idiot, sir,” Isabelle snapped. “Why would he be taking such care of our lives only to slit our throats?”
There was no reasonable answer to that. It was probably a better question to ask why he was taking such care in the first place. This reckless soldier, so careless of his own life…
“Go,” Steele said angrily.
Noir drew the naked sword from his belt—Steele’s sword—and presented it to him hilt first. “It has been an honor, Lieutenant.”
Steele blinked. A reluctant smile began to dawn. “You’ll forgive me if I say I hope we never meet again.”
Noir’s lips twisted. He bowed and turned away, exchanging a long look with the resigned prisoners. He sighed. “Forgive me. I regret this more than I can say.” He drew his own sword and seized Isabelle by the arm. “Behold, I drive the innkeeper and Madame Renarde before me at sword-point. Remember. Villin, lead the way.”
Chapter Seven
Impatiently, Noir reached up from the secret room floor, seized her by the waist, and swung her down. He barely looked at her as he urged her after Villin through another hidden door, which the innkeeper had just unblocked, and which revealed a passage.
By the poor light of the bobbing lanterns, Isabelle could make out Noir’s permanent scowl, but more than that, his very tension told her how much he hated this failure to bring the prisoners home. There was nothing she could say to make him feel better about that. In time, surely, he would appreciate more that he was saving the freedom, and even the lives of his men and preventing inevitable casualties among the civilians.
“Thank you,” she blurted, when she could stay silent no longer. The close, dank passage downward had turned into rough-hewn steps, and he turned, seizing her hand once more to prevent her tumbling down.
“For what?” he demanded bitterly. “Holding you at gunpoint for several hours and using you as a shield against my enemies?”
“For accepting a solution that goes against your…code.”
He made a sound very like a snort. But he still held her hand. His was rough in texture, its grip firm but not hard, certainly not violent.
“Will your superiors be angry with you?”
He shrugged. “Everyone fails sometimes. There is always more to do. What of you? What of your life?”
“I think I shall become a governess. I was a kind of unofficial one before to a family member. I rather enjoyed it, although admittedly, I was a somewhat privileged governess.”
“Can’t you be so again to the same child?”
“Alas, no. She no longer lives with my cousins. And besides, the cousins no longer speak to me.”
“Why not?”
“Because my husband was betraying their country.”
He said nothing for a moment. Then he said intensely, “Life is unbearable for you here.”
“Life can be unpleasant. But we both know very little is actually unbearable.”
He stopped, holding up Caron who was behind them. The rest of his men were ahead with Villin and seemed to have reached the end of the passage, for the sound of stone being pounded drifted up to her, along with a fine, unpleasant dust. Villin’s final blockage was being undone. She just hoped there were no soldiers waiting on the beach to seize them as they emerged.
She doubted Noir or his men would go with them quietly.
“Go on,” he said impatiently to Caron, and as the soldier squeezed past and vanished with his light, he added abruptly, “Life should not be like that. Simply borne. Endured.”
And suddenly, for no reason, there were tears in her throat. She couldn’t remember the last time she had wept. “Isn’t that what you do, too?” she fought back. “We just have different methods. What else are your distractions?”
He stared up at her from the step below. By the pale light that penetrated around the bend in the passage, she couldn’t make out his expression, just a faint glittering of the eyes. He moved up to her step, too close, too intimate.
“It shouldn’t be like that,” he whispered. “Not for either of us. With you…” He broke off and a breath o
f laughter brushed her cheek. “How maddening to meet you here, like this… You give me hope, Isabelle de Renarde.”
The emotion crowding in her throat broke free. She didn’t want to leave him with nothing, and yet even as the words came to her with wonder, she recognized they were truth. “As you give to me,” she gasped.
His head dipped, touching his warm forehead to hers. His free hand cupped her face, and she squeezed her eyes shut with shame because he’d found the dampness of her tears.
“Come with me, Isabelle,” he said urgently. “Come home.”
Her eyes snapped open, and she drew her head back against the wall, staring at him. “What?” she whispered.
His mouth came down on hers, sudden, tender, and so sweet, she didn’t even try to avoid it. Dormant desire surged within her, crashing into her helpless tangle of emotion, melting into it for one long, beautiful moment.
Come home. “I can’t.” she whispered against his lips. “You know I can’t.”
“Renarde did not betray my country. You would be a heroine there.”
Laughter caught in her throat. “No, I wouldn’t. This is the only country I’ve ever known.” It wasn’t quite true, but it was close enough. “Go, you madman. You will be grateful to me one day.”
“I’m grateful to you now.”
From below came the urgent call of one of his men. “Captain! We’re through.”
“I’m coming,” he said impatiently. “Check for any welcome party.” Even then, he released her very slowly.
“Take care of your life,” she said unsteadily.
A smile flickered across his lips. “Take care of your happiness.” And with that, he leapt down the rest of the steps, and she could hear his voice, speaking to his men.
Isabelle followed more slowly. She stood amongst the rubble in the cave, beside Villin, watching as the Frenchmen pulled a boat from the shadows and dragged it down the beach to the water. They clambered in without so much as a backward glance.
Well, they would hardly wave as if this was parting of good friends. It would ruin the hostage tale. Still, she would have liked him to look back at her, just once.
The Broken Heart Page 6
