Finch readjusted his bundle and slung it over his back again. ‘We’ll go upstream, along the embankment, and keep our eyes open for a boat. There must be one in use for all these market gardens.’
It was entirely unsatisfactory that they should have to go miles out of their way. Particularly in the dark when they didn’t know the terrain. On the other hand, they would be going in the opposite direction to Laroche and that could only be a good thing.
They walked west along the embankment, searching the water’s edge. They found nothing but squelchy mud, whispering reeds and once, a family of ducks. ‘Do you think we should continue?’ she asked after a while. ‘The river is getting wider.’
The grass underfoot had taken on a pungent boggy smell and the river had broadened into several different waterways that spilled across the landscape like fingers in a glove.
‘We must,’ Finch said, ‘and I think — wait. What’s that?’ He stood still, listening.
She couldn’t hear anything different but Finch’s hearing had always been better than her own.
‘That sound,’ Finch said again, his head tilted to one side. ‘I think, yes I think — ’
He disappeared under a willow tree that overhung the water. A moment later, he popped out from amongst the hanging fronds and beckoned. She and Eugene hurried over. Hidden under sweeping boughs that reached the surface, was a flat-bottomed marsh boat rocking in the current. It had a single long oar held in an oarlock on the stern.
‘Oh, well done,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have known it was here.’
‘It looks old,’ Eugene said doubtfully.
‘That can’t be helped,’ Finch said. ‘It’s the only boat we’ve found in the last hour.’
‘And we only have to get to the other side,’ she added, sizing up the current. Even if they rowed hard, they’d be taken downstream a bit but that shouldn’t prove a problem as the marsh on the other side looked clear of obstacles.
‘Get in and I’ll untie it,’ Finch said. He waited for them to gingerly climb aboard before he bent under a bough and undid the knotted rope. She brushed several leaves from the seat and tried not to notice the cobwebs at her feet.
Finch threw the rope into the boat and gingerly stepped in at the stern. He picked up the oar and hefted it in his hands like a sword.
A smile tugged at her mouth. ‘Do you know how to use it?’
‘It can’t be difficult.’
‘It isn’t. The oar moves backwards and forwards under the water.’
‘Like a fish’s tail?’ Eugene peered over the side, intrigued.
‘Exactly.’
Finch narrowed his eyes at her, his body still.
‘What?’ she said defensively, as if he’d accused her of something.
‘You know how to use this, don’t you?’
‘Well, I did use something similar in Fencarrow.’
He swore under his breath. ‘Why don’t you do this then?’
He was trying hard to hide his lack of confidence on the water and would hate to feel unequal to the task. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘These flat-bottomed boats are quite stable. Just find your balance and take it steady.’
He grunted as she leaned over the edge of the boat and pushed them off. His natural athleticism came to the fore and he stood easily, adjusting to the motion as the boat moved slowly out into the current. With forceful thrusts he began to scull. At first the boat swung widely but after a moment he got the hang of it and directed them across the river.
At another time the crossing might have been romantic. Finch moved his arms rhythmically, his jacket bunching across his shoulders as he dug the oar deep into the water. When he raised it to change the angle, the water sluiced off the oar and dropped back into the river, creating a bubbled line that rippled out from their wake. He looked ethereal … mystical. Once she’d feared him but now she found him intriguing and full of promise. When he turned to face the moonlight however, he looked neither mystical nor transported with delight. Instead he sculled with tortured desperation as the current snared them and dragged them lower down the river.
Her vision of him crumpled into cold reality. Foolish dreams had never served her well. She still had to find Skylark and win his release before she could think about the future and what Finch meant to her.
The boat bumped the opposite embankment and she reached out and grabbed a swathe of reeds to haul them closer. She jumped out and turned to help Eugene and Finch, who both seemed very pleased to be on land again.
‘Which way now?’ Eugene slung his bag across his shoulder and peered into the forest.
She gazed up at the star-flecked sky. ‘By my reckoning, Bourbourg is north-west of here.’
Finch studied the surrounding countryside, taking their bearings. ‘We’ll follow the forest as far as it goes then head inland.’
They hurried into the trees that hugged the edge of the marsh flats. Except for the flap of a water bird’s wings, they were the only creatures on the move.
For hour after hour they marched across wetlands. They dodged canals, reed beds and skirted fertile garden meadows. In the cold hours before dawn, when Eugene could not go on any longer and her feet were protesting in her boots, Finch halted at a particularly dense patch of scrub.
‘Let’s stop here for the night,’ he murmured.
‘Here?’ Eugene looked around at the dark nothingness. ‘This is in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Exactly,’ Finch said. ‘No-one will look for us here.’
‘You said that at the abbey,’ Eugene pointed out with a yawn, ‘and Laroche found us.’
‘This will be different,’ Finch said firmly. ‘He thinks we’ve gone to Dunkerque.’
The forest track wound away in front of them, barely discernible in the moonlight. Although there didn’t seem to be anyone within miles, she squinted into the gloom. What if Laroche tracked them here? There was nowhere to go, no easy escape route. ‘Do we need someone on watch?’
Finch considered then shook his head. ‘We’re all desperate for sleep. I think we’re safe enough here to forgo one tonight.’
She nodded and undid her bundle and cleared a space in the leaf litter. Despite being uneasy, she could hardly keep her eyes open.
Eugene fell asleep within minutes but the cold seeped into her bones, regardless of the blanket around her shoulders. She wriggled and tossed, aware of insects under her head.
‘Can’t sleep?’ Finch’s voice came low, out of the dark.
‘No. I’m too cold.’
A rustle sounded and she jumped when he moved closer and hugged her to his side. ‘I’ll warm you.’
She drew in a breath. The intimacy was shocking. His arms were warm and heavy across her body and she thrilled to the hardness of his chest pressed to her back. His knees matched the indent in her own and his quiet steady breath tickled the hair on the nape of her neck. Surely he could feel her heartbeat and if he could, he would know she was fully aware of him and his body. It was … excruciating and comforting and so incredibly right. She’d never felt safer but while part of her protested that his warmth made this position acceptable, that no-one could see them, she couldn’t ignore the indecency of the situation.
‘Um, Finch?’
‘Hmm?’
‘This isn’t necessary you know.’
‘It is if I’m to get any sleep.’
Oh. She hadn’t thought about keeping him awake. Feeling less cosseted and more than a little foolish, she tried to still the pounding of her heart. Once again she’d forgotten that he never did anything that didn’t further their mission.
‘Stop thinking, Adeline, and go to sleep.’
‘I’ll try.’ Heaven help her if he’d divined her thoughts. Only it would be hard to ignore his body curved around hers.
Gradually his warmth seeped into her back and her eyes grew heavy. Her limbs relaxed and her head drooped. Just before she fell asleep, she thought a tiny kiss landed on her shoulder.
Chapter Fourteen
She woke the next morning to find Finch sitting against a tree, gazing at her with slumberous eyes. Should she acknowledge their shared intimacy or not? Nothing had actually happened and maybe she was placing too much importance on something an experienced spy may have felt necessary. Still, her heart galloped whenever she thought of that feather-soft kiss on her shoulder. That must mean he liked her, mustn’t it? Or had that been an act as well? Not sure, she sat up, dug some food from her bundle and chewed, determined not to look at Finch’s lazy smile.
Eugene pulled the statue from his saddle bag and turned it over. ‘Why does Laroche want this?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, grateful for the distraction. ‘But it must be very important. Could I have a look?’ Eugene handed it over and she stared at the three coded lines with a sigh. ‘This is no more decipherable than the letter.’
Finch leaned closer, his eyes tracing over the script. ‘In that case we must get to Bourbourg as soon as possible. Only Skylark knows what it means.’
They traveled another few hours through the quiet forest. Bees hummed amongst the foliage, and birds called and squawked overhead, reminding her of the sparrows in the gorse at Fencarrow. If she hadn’t tried to get the keg, what might she be doing at home right now? Riding Violet across the headland? Cutting seaweed? Soon the cutting season would finish and her family would need to rely on what she’d managed to store for the coming winter. Daniel would also be waiting to marry her, a proposition that would have given her a comfortable life without any danger. Perhaps she’d been stupid to fight that but here in the forest, as she followed Finch’s muscular figure along the rough track, she knew she wouldn’t change a thing.
At lunchtime they walked across a stone-capped bridge into the fortified town of Bourbourg. Finch thought they should be peasants going to market and he’d collected a pile of timber from the forest floor. Their money from Peregrine was getting low and if they were to survive they’d need to sell the wood.
Eugene held her hand, shrinking into her side as they passed the townsfolk. Women were busy sweeping their front steps while children played with stones in the narrow streets. Older men carried produce over their shoulders and a few lingered in lane doorways, smoking and squinting with crinkled eyes that had seen too much. There was no sign of younger men. Most had been dragged into the army.
‘Where are you headed?’ a man called, recognizing them as newcomers.
Finch slowed his steps. ‘The market. Is it close by?’
‘Not far. Just keep on down this road until you come to the square.’
Finch thanked him and they followed the man’s directions, walking down the axial streets towards the middle of the town. The church stood in the center of the square and to one side the market was in full swing. Stallholders gathered behind their handcarts or squatted on the cobblestones, selling cheeses, spinach, apples and eggs. One woman had cabbages and lettuces, which they’d seen growing in the market gardens they’d glimpsed from the forest track.
Finch approached a stall holder and learned that the prison stood on the opposite side of the square. Three storeys high, with yellow brick walls and paned windows encased in gray stone, the building looked impregnable. Strong bars covered every window and heavy iron bolts studded the door. A guard stood outside wearing the uniform of the militia and holding a musket. Whether he was there to frighten people away or ensure prisoners didn’t escape, she couldn’t be sure, but he was certainly intimidating.
‘I think we should set up our wood pile where we can watch the prison,’ Finch murmured to her.
‘Do you think that guard will let us in?’ The man looked alert and none too friendly.
‘We’ll need a strong diplomatic reason. But in the meantime, let’s get these branches sold.’
Finch arranged the thick branches on the ground and started calling out, ‘Wood. Ready to use.’ Eugene hopped up and down on one foot and joined in, his little voice rising over the noise around them.
She grinned at Finch. ‘Are you sure people are going to approach you? You look more assassin than wood-cutter.’
‘Ye of little faith,’ he said with an answering smile. ‘Just you wait.’
Within half an hour all the timber had been sold. ‘See,’ Finch said smugly. ‘Wood’s in short supply in fortified towns as people don’t venture outside the walls for fear of reprisals.’
‘Lucky for us then that you’re doing an essential service.’
He grinned and she gave him an answering smile.
Eugene joined her in purchasing more food from several of the stalls. She also bought a reticule and a modest hat from one of the shops lining the square, to give authenticity to their diplomatic plan. They used half their funds but Finch deemed the items necessary.
‘What do you think?’ she asked him in an undertone, suddenly self-conscious as she tied the ribbons of the blue bonnet under her chin.
Finch’s gaze lingered. ‘It becomes you. Just what a lady should wear.’
‘I’m glad you think I’m respectable now.’ She batted her eyes at him and was rewarded with a laugh.
‘Hmm.’ Finch winked at Eugene. ‘Maybe a little too respectable for the likes of us, eh?’
Eugene giggled. His happiness made her smile and she twirled in a circle, the better to see the laughter in his eyes. Finch’s eyes also tracked her and when she came to a giddy standstill, he gave her a heart-stopping smile that sucked all the air from her chest. Oh, heavens. That penetrating, exciting look. It took charge of her body, made her groin pulse and lazily strummed her mind with possibilities that had absolutely no place here.
The door of the prison opened with a groan and four guards came out. They hurried away down the street that led to the bridge, their boots clattering on the cobblestones. A frisson of alarm crawled down her spine and squashed her heightened feelings. The men looked intent … purposeful.
‘What’s happened, do you think?’ she asked Finch in an undertone.
He shrugged. ‘Hard to know. Perhaps they’re doing a drill.’
Maybe but they’d gone at speed and the urgency didn’t sit well with her.
Eugene tugged on her skirt. ‘I’m hungry. When can we eat?’
‘As soon as we’ve found a place to rest.’ To Finch, she added, ‘We should get a room close by.’
Finch scanned the square. The market was still busy and people milled around, haggling and inspecting the cabbages and cheeses. ‘Stay here. I’ll be back soon.’
He didn’t take long. He’d found an inn just around the corner where they could wash, eat and rest for the day. When they were shown their room, Eugene landed on the bed’s mattress with delight. He stretched out and in no time fell asleep, the rigors of the night having taken their toll.
She smiled at his abandoned boyish figure. He’d come to trust them during the days in their care and already had put on a little weight. His legs looked less skinny and his cheeks had filled out, giving him the look of a cherub she’d seen on the church altar.
Finch leaned against the door frame watching her. ‘He’s done well for one so small.’ He moved quietly to gaze down at Eugene.
‘He has but I worry about him should we not succeed.’
‘At least this time he’s in a town where people might care for him.’
Her lip wobbled and quickly she looked out of the bedroom window. All she could see were the shuttered windows of the opposite house. She wanted to care for Eugene. To know his joys and be there to nurse his failures. He’d become dear to her and she would find it incredibly tough to let him go. ‘I know you’re right but how I wish that ...’
‘What do you wish?’ Finch asked softly, looking down at her.
It was ridiculous of course to contemplate the future. Hers was so uncertain and even if she made back to England, she was in no position to care for a small boy. But she wanted to care for Eugene like a mother would — like his mother would have — had she survived.
<
br /> ‘I want him to come with us to England,’ she said slowly. ‘He’d have a much better life there.’
Finch shook his head, his face gentle. ‘You know we can’t take him back to the Nest. He belongs in France.’
‘But he’s so small — and without anyone who really knows him.’
Finch took her hands, his face serious now. ‘Try not to worry. We’ll sort something out. You have done well with him up until now. Pray it will continue.’
Her hands were swallowed in his larger ones and his calloused palms rubbed against her softer skin, their hardness a reminder of his strength. She tilted her head to look at him, her lips trembling. ‘I will but … I am afraid.’
His charcoal eyes flared to black as his knuckles grazed a trail down her cheek.
‘Believe you will succeed,’ he said gruffly, ‘and half the job is done.’
His feather-light touch sparked a hot spiral inside her that started between her legs and quickly spread to her heart. Something of her longing for him must have shown in her eyes, for on a whispered groan he took her face in his strong hands and gently kissed her on the lips.
His firm mouth moved over hers with tenderness and complete mastery, his beard rasping her skin and dragging her desire into an all-consuming fire. Without conscious thought, her hands crept up his arms and around his neck as she pressed herself to him with a deep ache in her stomach. Her fingers ran through his hair, over and over again and she tugged his head closer, arching into him, breathing in his scent and reveling in the hardness of his chest.
‘Oh God, Adeline.’
His low moan hardly penetrated her mind as her heart soared. Oh, the sweetness of this man. Daniel’s kisses had never inflamed her like this.
With a groan Finch broke their contact and pulled back, his eyes flicking to the boy’s sleeping form.
‘He’s asleep,’ she said on a whisper, suddenly cold where his chest had pressed into her breasts. She leaned forward again, eager to kiss his eyes, his nose and the little spot at the base of his neck, but he stopped her, his hands on her shoulders.
An Unwilling Spy Page 15
