The Price of Honor (Canadiana Series Book 1)

by Susanne Matthews

  “Murielle,” Isabelle reached for the woman’s hand. “Guy brought me a lot of money from New France. I’ve kept the larger coins, but I want you to take these.” She handed her a leather pouch. “After they discover I’m gone, I want you to wait only as long as you have to before leaving, not just Caen, but the country. As much as I wish you could come to New France, it may be too dangerous for all of us right now. Guy mentioned Guyenne in South America. Try to go there and then perhaps you can make your way up to us through the English colonies. I will miss you.” She hugged her tightly.

  “Don’t cry, ma belle. The stain isn’t dry yet.” She smiled, although her eyes were bright. “If God wishes it so, I’ll see you and Sophie soon. In the meantime, I have a sister in Marseille. I can go there until I can leave the country without attracting attention. Now, come with me. I’ll show you a secret way out of the castle.”

  Isabelle nodded. She was committed. Pray God was on her side.

  Chapter Nine

  The return trip to Le Havre seemed endless, and Isabelle was certain she’d be black and blue by the time they arrived. Eventually, the fishy, salty scent of the ocean filled her nostrils, and the wagon stopped. The wood creaked as Hector got down from the cart and spoke to someone.

  “Follow me, old man. Captain Étier is aboard. He’ll tell us what to do with this booty.”

  Isabelle slid to the edge of the wagon. As promised, the first box there was the one filled with apples. She shoved her satchel under the fruit, no doubt bruising some of it. Heart pounding, palms wet, she gingerly raised the tarp to make sure she could get out without being seen and slipped off the wagon into the nearby shadows. A few minutes later, Hector returned with three men.

  “Monsieur,” she called as she emerged from the edge of the buildings. She tried to deepen her voice. “I haven’t eaten in two days. Can I help you unload your wagon?”

  “Get away from here, you filthy dock rat,” one of the sailors yelled, unexpectedly giving her a hard push that sent her sprawling onto the ground, bruising her shoulder, and scraping her hands in the process.

  She hadn’t anticipated this. What would she do if she couldn’t get aboard the ship?

  “Enough, Jacques. There’s no need to hurt the lad.”

  Guy! He wasn’t supposed to be here. Her heart beat against her ribs intent on finding its way out of her chest. Everything could be for nothing now. He reached down and offered her his hand.

  “Come on, boy. I won’t bite.” He grabbed her by the sleeve.

  Isabelle fought her reaction to his nearness, grateful when he released her as soon as she was on her feet.

  “Here,” he reached into the wagon for the apple box and handed it to her.

  Although it was dusk and the wagon was in the shadows, she made sure to keep her eyes lowered.

  “Take this and follow that sailor. Tell the cook Seigneur Poirier said to give you some food as a reward for your help.”

  He turned away and lifted a cask of wine onto his shoulder.

  “Well?” He cocked his head when she hadn’t moved. “What are you waiting for?”

  Isabelle rushed away, laughter chasing her along the pier. She followed the sailor to the galley, mumbled her request for food to the cook who handed her a piece of bread and a chunk of cheese, and told her to take two apples from the box she carried.

  “Away with you,” he growled. “Put the rest in the store room. I’ll examine them later.”

  Isabelle allowed the sailors and Guy to walk ahead of her. As soon as they’d left the storeroom for another load, she rescued her satchel from the apple box, pleased to see it didn’t look too empty, and climbed to the upper deck. Instead of going up to the weather deck and off the ship, she turned and headed toward the forecastle.

  All her carefully laid plans came crashing down around her.

  Guy had mentioned the sailors were forbidden in the forecastle on this voyage, but he’d failed to mention that the passageway would be guarded. To ensure the ladies their safety and privacy, a soldier had been stationed at the entrance to their cabins. There was no way she could sneak past him dressed as she was. Could she make it back to the storeroom undetected and hide behind the barrels and crates?

  The sounds of boots approaching, probably Guy and the others with a new load, forced her to decide. She scrambled back along the gangway to the quarterdeck, barely escaping detection from someone walking ahead of her. He opened the door on his left and entered.

  She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Guy had said, there were eight cabins in this area, so that left seven. He’d mentioned a few would be empty. If she could find one of those, she could change into her dress, then walk pass the guard into the forecastle as if she belonged there. Satisfied with this altered plan, she continued down the hall. She reached for the first door, but found it locked. What would she do if they were all locked?

  Footsteps spurred her to action. The third knob she tried turned easily under her hand and she slipped into the room. She leaned on the door, waiting for the footsteps to pass, but they stopped there. Terrified, trapped like a rat, she searched for a place to hide. Another rap on the door propelled her into action, and she slithered under the large bed on the far side of the room. Thankfully, its bed skirt fell to the floor. Isabelle could see that the bed had been secured to the wall, so she pushed herself as far under as she could, and prayed she wouldn’t be discovered.

  Someone knocked at the door again, and this time, despite the fact that there had been no call to enter, the door opened, and a man entered the cabin. She knew it was a man from the weight of his footfalls. A woman or cabin boy would have a lighter step.

  The man moved around the room for several minutes opening and closing drawers, lifting the trunk lid, shuffling through papers he must have found on a desk or table as if he was searching the place, and finally left and closed the door. She waited a few more minutes, and when she thought it was safe, she moved towards the edge of the bed, only to pull back suddenly when the door opened without warning.

  The footsteps were lighter this time. Light flared in the dim room. The person approached the bed, leaned forward, turned down the covers, and moved to the right side of the cabin. A door creaked open. So, these cabins adjoined. Was that why the other door had been locked? While she knew very little about the workings aboard ship, whoever the owner of this cabin was had to be at his post. The danger was he could return at any time, but come sailing time, he would need to be on deck. The boy re-entered the room and left the way he’d entered.

  Isabelle lay on the hard floor letting her breathing and heartbeat settle. A constant stream of footfalls in the corridor convinced her to stay put. The safest thing would be to spend the night under here, and escape to Sophie’s room after the ship was underway. She reached up and touched the ropes holding the mattress in place, and prayed the owner wasn’t a heavy man.

  The cabin darkened, and her stomach grumbled loudly. Needing to quiet it lest it give her away, she reached for the bread and cheese, imagining herself a mouse in a trap. She was caught here now with no escape save the sea.

  Once she’d eaten, exhaustion and emotion claimed her, and she fell asleep. She was roused from her slumber when an officer stumbled into the cabin and crashed onto the bed above her. His gentle snores and the rocking ship lulled her back to sleep.

  Several hours later, Isabelle awoke in serious discomfort. Dread filled her as she realized she wasn’t in her bed in her room, but lying on the hard, plank floor of the ship, under an officer’s bed. Her body ached. Her left shoulder throbbed from her fall in the scuffle with the sailor, her mouth and throat were parched, but the strongest discomfort came from nature’s call. Slowly, she shifted closer to the outside edge of the bed and peeked under its skirt. The windows admitted the early dawn light. She listened for the soft snoring she’d heard last night, or the drone of voices in conversation. Nothing. There was no one in the bed above her, the cabin was empty, and no sounds came f
rom the corridor. It was time to make her escape.

  Isabelle rolled out from under the bed, stood, and stretched her sore back and cramped muscles. The cabin was larger than Sophie’s and much better furnished. In the far corner, she saw a privacy screen and hoped it hid what she desperately needed. After attending to her problem, she stepped across the room and looked out the window. The docks and the town of Le Havre stood just beyond the ship as they had yesterday.

  They were still in port! Terror clawed its way into her stomach. Why hadn’t they sailed? Guy had said the ship sailed at dawn, and the sun indicated it was well past that time. She needed to change, get out of here, and find Sophie’s cabin.

  Damnation! She’d left her satchel under the bed. Getting down on the floor, she raised the bed skirt, but the bag was out of her reach against the far wall. She was part way under the bed when the door opened. Too late. She’d been caught. What was she going to do now?

  * * *

  “What in God’s name?” Guy stared at the boots poking out from under his bed and gave a hard yank. He flipped the body over and straddled it. “What have we here? A stowaway? I hear Captain Étier feeds them to the leviathans at sea.” He eyed the boy he’d pulled out from under his bed.

  The clothes were familiar, and something about the lad tickled his memory. Ah yes! Now he had it, the street urchin who’d helped last night. Obviously, the boy had wanted more than food. The poor child probably had no family. After he gave the lad a good scare, he would persuade the captain to allow him to take the young man on as an engagé. It would be a treat for his mother to have a servant of her own, and the colony could always use another willing worker.

  Last night, he’d collected his mother earlier than he’d expected to. Upset about leaving the last of her family forever, she’d taken a sleeping draught and had gone straight to bed. He’d sent the cabin boy to check on her before sitting down with the captain and, for the first time in many years, he’d gotten well and truly drunk.

  When he’d stumbled into bed, he’d dreamed of Isabelle—her fiery red hair falling the way it had yesterday under that quirky feathered hat, her green cat’s eyes so warm and friendly, her gentle curves, and especially the way she’d felt in his arms. He’d remembered the touch of her lips, and the glory of their parting kiss. His imagination had added to his dream, and acute discomfort had awakened him just before dawn. He’d taken a walk on the stern deck to cool his ardor. The feeling came back in force sitting atop the boy as he was.

  What the hell’s wrong with me?

  He stared at the hair-covered face and hoped he didn’t talk in his sleep. Strangely even now, his mind played tricks on him; he could swear the scent of roses perfumed the air along with the aroma of horses and the sea.

  “What are you doing here, boy? You’re the lad from the dock last night, aren’t you? You’re the reason my ship’s been delayed. What have you done? I saw soldiers approaching the ship now. Are they searching for you? Answer me!”

  He grabbed the hair covering the boy’s face and roughly pulled it up, yanking forcefully on its roots.

  “Ow!” the scamp yelled, his voice much too high pitched for a boy.

  Guy let go of the hair as if it burned him.

  “Isabelle!” he gasped. There was no doubt it was her. He’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

  “Yes, you great oaf. Get off me! By the way, you snore.” She pushed on his chest.

  “Bloody hell! What are you doing here? Dressed like this, and your hair? Your face?” Surprise, frustration, elation, fear, confusion, and love all mixed together within him.

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m hiding under your bed, only I didn’t know it was yours. You didn’t show us this yesterday. Now, will you get off me?”

  He pushed his own hair back from his face and stood, refusing to think of what might’ve happened if another man had found her.

  “My apologies.”

  He picked her up off the floor and scrutinized the woman standing in front of him. Well, that explained his strange reaction to the boy. Whatever could have prompted her to disguise herself this way?

  Her skin was as dark as any Spaniard’s who worked the fields and her hair, that glorious red mane, had been cut to her shoulders and was deep brown. Now that he looked at her, really looked at her, it was obvious that she wasn’t a boy. She’d removed her coat and wore a shirt, a pair of skin-tight culottes that hugged her curves and sent the blood rushing to his loins, and riding boots. As with the pants, the wrinkled shirt was a little too tight and failed to disguise her breasts. With the brown hair and darkened skin, she could pass for a Navarrese or a Spanish peasant girl, or even one of the natives in New France. She looked different, but to someone who knew her, her eyes gave her away. With her darker complexion, they shone like fine emeralds. The de Caen Emeralds weren’t jewels; they were Isabelle’s eyes.

  “Why are you disguised this way?” He lifted the tresses that had fallen back onto her face.

  “If you must know, I’m committing treason and running away to the colony. I have to leave France. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  Before he could question her further, someone knocked at the door. “Although I think you’re being melodramatic, get back under the bed. I don’t think you want anyone else to see you in my cabin, especially not dressed like that.”

  Isabelle scooted under the bed skirt.

  Guy opened the door. A sailor stood before him.

  “What is it?” He scowled at the man.

  “Forgive me, my lord, the captain needs to see you.”

  “Why? What’s the problem? Why haven’t we sailed?” Guy heard the tension in his voice and tried to relax.

  “Soldiers have arrived from the garrison in Caen. They’re trying to find a young woman who stole jewels from the countess of Caen, and they won’t leave until they’ve searched the ship from one end to the other. The captain requests your assistance in the matter. They won’t listen to him, and Captain Étier is furious. He’s afraid he’ll lose the tide if we’re delayed any longer.”

  “Give me a minute. Tell your captain I’ll be there shortly.”

  Guy closed the door and looked up to see his mother standing in the connecting doorway. He smiled, walked over to her, and kissed her cheek. “Bonjour, Maman. We have a small problem.” He turned to the bed. “Come out, Isabelle.”

  Isabelle rolled out from under the bed, holding her coat and satchel.

  “Mon Dieu!” exclaimed Aline, making the sign of the cross. “Have you lost your senses? You can’t kidnap the Chevalier d’Angrignon’s fiancée.”

  Isabelle spat on the floor, the unladylike gesture surprising him.

  “He hasn’t kidnapped me, and I’m not that pig’s fiancée. I’d never have let him have me, no matter what the king dictates. I’ll throw myself into the sea and face hell’s fires first. I heard what the soldier said. Guy, I didn’t take anything from the countess. I left everything in my room. I’d hoped they’d assumed I’d drowned in the millpond. For Pierre’s sake, and if you feel the least bit of friendship for me, don’t let them take me back.”

  Guy’s heart leapt. He looked at his mother who shook her head. They could all spend the rest of their lives in the Bastille or worse for this.

  “Isabelle, I’ll protect you with my life, but we have to find a better place to hide you than under my bed. If they search the ship, that’s the first place they’ll look.”

  “Why hide her at all?” asked Aline. She walked across the room to stand beside Isabelle.

  “If Isabelle doesn’t want to marry d’Angrignon, I won’t turn her over to him. I can’t,” he insisted, imploring his mother to understand.

  “Of course, you can’t. I realize that, mon fils.” She turned and examined Isabelle, shaking her head as she did. “I know you well, Isabelle, but I wouldn’t have recognized you. You’ve chosen an excellent disguise. You’ll have to tell me how you did it. Do you have a nightgown in that bag?”

/>   “Yes, madame,” Isabelle answered, her voice shaky.

  His mother turned to him.

  “If they’re searching for Isabelle de Caen, they’re seeking a beautiful redhead, with the pale skin of the aristocracy, not a farmer’s daughter travelling to New France with her aunt. I didn’t see the captain when I boarded last night, and I doubt anyone even noticed us when we did. The sailors had more than enough to do with all the baggage and those vines that had to be handled so carefully. Go. Talk to the soldiers searching for her, but tell them my niece and I are still in bed. Come with them when they search the cabin.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Maman. It’s a daring idea. For Isabelle’s sake, it has to work. I’ll be back.”

  Guy stepped down onto the weather deck. Soldiers from the garrison at Caen—he recognized their uniforms—stood at attention while the sailors, eager to get the ship underway, leaned against the gunwale. The brides and Sophie, arrayed in a straight line, waited beside the steps leading to the forecastle. Clad only in their nightdresses, shawls across their shoulders to provide some semblance of modesty, they shivered in the early morning cold. Glancing at Sophie, he noted her red, puffy eyes, evidence of the hard night she’d passed.

  “Be brave, madame, I’ll take care of this,” he whispered as he walked by her.

  He stepped over to the lieutenant who commanded the search party, using his height and authority to dominate the soldier. The sight of the man’s Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat showed that Guy had succeeded in intimidating him.

  “Lieutenant, I’m Seigneur Guy Poirier; what’s the meaning of this travesty? How dare you embarrass the ladies in this fashion. Why are you delaying my ship?”

  The young officer gulped and shifted from one foot to the other.

  “I beg your pardon, my lord, but my men have been ordered to search the ship for Isabelle de Caen. The lady is missing, and the chevalier thought she might be here. Apparently, she’s stolen something from the castle.”

  Guy glanced up to see the Caen carriage parked at the end of the wharf as it had been yesterday. Coming along the pier was the Chevalier d’Angrignon in conversation with another man who looked vaguely familiar.