Traitor in Her Arms

by Shana Galen

  She knew they were closer to the Place de la Révolution when the crowds grew thicker and more vehement. She was in the last cart, which meant most of the peasants had exhausted their ire and their supply of rotten produce by the time she passed. At least she would not go to her death with rotten cabbage in her shorn hair.

  “Is that it?” the man beside her asked. Gabrielle had hardly taken note of him. He stood like she, with head held high, but his knuckles were white where he gripped the side of the cart to keep his balance.

  Gabrielle looked at the tumbrel in front of them. Just beyond it, the street opened into a wider avenue, which would lead into the Place de la Révolution.

  “Soon,” she murmured, placing her hand over his. It was little comfort to either of them, but it was all the consolation she could give. There would be no comfort when the bloody blade of Madame Guillotine, glinting red in the early morning sun, came into view.

  The tumbrel jolted as a wheel bumped over a rock in the street, and Gabrielle swayed and almost fell. Releasing her fellow prisoner’s hand, she grabbed the sides of the cart with both hands, just in time to brace herself when the horse unexpectedly reared and the cart pitched backward. Those prisoners who had not grabbed on fell over others, and one man pitched over the back of the cart, only to be trodden upon by the horse of the guard at the rear of the procession.

  Gabrielle turned away from the gruesome sight in time to watch as a large market cart rolled between the tumbrel and the exit to the wider avenue, cutting them off from the rest of the convoy. The tumbrel’s driver yelled for the farmer to move the cart, but the large conveyance didn’t budge, effectively sealing them into the tight street. The passageway was so narrow the tumbrel did not even have room to turn around.

  Her heart pounding, Gabrielle eyed the jeering peasants they’d passed. Even more than the guillotine, she feared an angry mob that took justice into their own hands.

  The guard behind the tumbrel squeezed his mount past the stalled cart just as a commotion erupted behind them. With a gasp, Gabrielle swung around, expecting to see the angry mob coming for them. Instead, the crowds lining the blocked alleyway parted. A horse and rider galloped recklessly through the clogged passage.

  Gabrielle released the wooden sides of the tumbrel and all but fell backward. She recognized him.

  On top of the sun-dappled chestnut horse, racing toward her as men and women scrambled out of his path, was Ramsey.

  The crowd was too stunned and disorganized to do much more than watch his progress with interest and keep out of his way. He reached the tumbrel quickly. The guard who was now stationed inconveniently between the tumbrel and the cart blocking its path tried to turn his mount. “Halt, in the name of the republic.”

  Ramsey ignored him, reaching the back of the tumbrel and holding out his hand. Four or five men and women stood between them, but Ramsey’s gaze locked firmly on hers, and they all moved aside and turned to look at her.

  She wanted to take his hand. She wanted more than anything to grasp that hand and escape from the death surely waiting for her. Her feet did not move. “How do I know this isn’t another trick?”

  His gaze never wavered. “You don’t. But either you trust me now, or we both die.” He nodded in the direction of the guard, who she imagined had turned his horse and was coming for them. “If we are to die,” Ramsey said calmly, “I prefer to do it fighting.”

  He stretched his hand out again, and this time she stumbled forward and took it. The others in the cart pushed her forward, lifting her until she could climb behind Ramsey’s saddle. Gabrielle clutched his waist tightly as he spurred the horse forward.

  But the crowds had closed in now, and they would not allow even one aristocrat to escape the blade of their National Razor. They began to close in, and Ramsey had to kick out to shove them away.

  Too many hands, Gabrielle thought as the grasping fingers pulled at her skirts. She kicked as well, but when one fell back, another took his place. She was almost unseated, but she screamed and clawed at Ramsey’s coat. He kicked the man pulling her. “Hold on!”

  “I am!”

  And then he swiveled and she almost lost her grip. “Citoyens!” he called. “This is your chance. Fight. Run. Do not go meekly to slaughter!”

  Gabrielle glanced over her shoulder at the other prisoners. For a moment their gaunt faces stared uncomprehendingly at Ramsey, and then in a swarm they jumped from the tumbrel. The guard who had been coming for her was yanked from his horse by two men. The horse screamed and went down, but Gabrielle knew the animal would be back on its feet in a moment, the condemned riding it to freedom.

  The others rushed the crowd. Not used to nobility who fought back, some of the crowd ran away. Others crashed into the prisoners with barely concealed glee. No one could hold Ramsey’s mount any longer, and he spurred the animal forward, following the route the tumbrels had taken just a few minutes before.

  Most of the onlookers had dispersed, but the few remaining watched them ride by with open-mouthed shock. Gabrielle could not see where Ramsey led them, but even if she had, she would have been lost as he turned down narrow alleys, retraced his path, then darted down another street in a dizzying attempt to conceal the route to their ultimate destination.

  Finally, Ramsey reined in the horse and lowered Gabrielle to the ground before jumping off himself. A boy in ragged clothing ran out from a dark doorway and led the horse away.

  “Where is he taking the horse?” she cried.

  “No time for explanations.” Ramsey took her hand and pulled her into the cool shadows of a shop. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before she realized she was not in a shop but a museum. A wax museum.

  All around her masks and figures so lifelike they looked as though they might speak at any moment stood in gloomy silence. With dawning horror, she flicked her gaze from one face to the next.

  They were all dead.

  Every one of these wax replicas was a death mask.

  She took a step back, bumping into the door. “I can’t stay here.” All those dead mouths gaping at her, those lifeless eyes. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Gabrielle.” He caught her before she could bolt, and held her arm firmly. “You must do exactly as I say. We’re not out of danger yet.”

  And well she knew it. All of Paris would be searching for them. There was nowhere to hide. The Pimpernel had returned to England with his men. There was no escape.

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “I took you this far.”

  She looked about the room of death masks again. “And this is an improvement?”

  “I’ll explain everything later. Right now we have to go.” He gestured toward a door at the back of the shop and tried to tug her toward it.

  “I won’t go anywhere with you!”

  “You will, or you’ll die.” He grabbed her by both shoulders. “I won’t let you die, Gabrielle. Either you walk through that door and go down into the sewers or I carry you.”

  “No. There has to be another way. I won’t go into the sewers.” Rats lived in the sewers. Hundreds and hundreds of rats with their small eyes and their long pink tails. Her body began to shake. “I can’t go there.”

  “Then I’ll carry you.” He bent to lift her, but she skittered out of his reach.

  “No. Just leave me.”

  “Never.” His green eyes held hers steadily.

  “Why not? You already signed my arrest warrant. Did you save me only to allow the rats to eat me?”

  “No rats will touch you. I swear it. Gabrielle, there’s no time—“He reached for her.

  “Then why? Why are you doing this?”

  “Because…” He push his palm against his forehead. “Because I love you.”

  She was so stunned at the words she didn’t move when he grasped her arm, didn’t protest when he pulled her into his embrace and kissed her. His hands cupped her cheeks and he pressed his forehead to hers. “I thought I lost you. I won
’t lose you again.”

  He loved her. And yet he’d tried to have her killed. None of it made any sense.

  “Please,” he said, his breath warm where it fluttered against her temple. “Come with me. Trust me. This one time.”

  He pulled at her arm, but she resisted, thoughts of rats still swirling about in her mind.

  “You’ll be safe, Gabrielle. I swear it.”

  And she believed him. Finally, she allowed him to lead her past the wax figures, through the back door, into a small room where he pushed a rug aside and lifted a door set into the floor. Gabrielle’s heart pounded painfully in her chest, but she followed him down into a cellar dimly lit by a lamp that had been left hanging on a nail. Ramsey lifted the lamp and opened another door in the floor. The smell of rot and decay caused Gabrielle to step back. She gagged and covered her mouth.

  “Try not to breathe through your nose,” Ramsey instructed. “I’ll go first.”

  He stepped down, his head, then his body slowly disappearing. Now was the time to run if she wanted to escape. Now was her chance to flee.

  But where would she go? Outside, the insatiable Madame Guillotine waited. Down below, rats and God knew what else waited.

  If she ran now, she would surely die. If she followed Ramsey, she might live. She might be attacked and eaten by rats, but that was slightly preferable to the Parisian mobs.

  She had no other choice.

  She stepped into the doorway.

  —

  “What took you so long?”

  Gabrielle stepped off the last slimy ladder rung and spun around at the sound of the familiar voice. “Alex!” she gasped, trying not to gag at the overwhelming smell of shit.

  Alex handed her a handkerchief, similar to the one she held over her nose. “Use this.”

  Gabrielle put it to her nose, inhaling the faint fragrance of roses. Now the sewer smelled like shit and roses.

  “We had a slight disagreement about our escape route,” Ramsey said, his voice muffled by the handkerchief over his own nose.

  “No time for disagreements. Follow me. Hastings is waiting for us.” She began to move at a brisk walk, holding the lantern in front of her. Ramsey gestured for Gabrielle to go next, and he brought up the rear.

  “Who is Hastings?”

  Alex ignored the question, which Gabrielle should have expected. Hastings was most likely another member of the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel. Alex would be unlikely to reveal anything but his name, and only because that information had been necessary at the moment.

  Her question might not have been answered, but Gabrielle couldn’t stop herself from asking another. Anything to keep her mind off the scurrying sounds around her and the dark shapes darting away from the thin beam of light.

  “Where are you leading us?”

  “Out,” Alex said succinctly. They rounded a corner and Alex halted. Gabrielle almost bumped into her, and because she was taller than Alex she saw what the beam of light illuminated.

  Rats. Hundreds of rats. Probably thousands of rats crawling over each other in the narrow tunnel, feeding on what had probably once been several bodies.

  With a squeal, Gabrielle stumbled back. Ramsey caught her about the waist, his hand coming up to capture her scream. She knew he could feel her shaking. Her body trembled violently at the sound of thousands of sharp claws on stone.

  “Is there another way?” Ramsey asked.

  “This is the fastest,” Alex answered, keeping her focus on the rats. “I’ve been through passages like this before. The rats are more afraid of us than we are of them. They have their meal. They’ll scurry out of—“

  “What is it?” Gabrielle asked, her voice wavering. Alex had turned toward them, her eyes wide.

  “They’re coming.”

  “The rats?”

  “No. The national guard. They’ve already found us.”

  “What do we do?” Ramsey asked, his voice surprisingly calm considering there were soldiers behind them and an army of rats in front.

  “We run,” Alex said, and pushed forward.

  Gabrielle tried to follow. She really did, but her legs would not move. Without a word, Ramsey scooped her up and carried her. Eyes closed, she buried her face against his chest, wishing she could somehow curl up inside him until they’d passed the rats.

  Squeals and hisses punctuated every footfall as Ramsey made his way through the river of rodents. Once he stumbled, but he caught himself before he went down.

  “I should walk,” she whispered. “You can’t carry me all the way.”

  “Stubble it,” he ordered. “I told you no rat would touch you.”

  He sounded more angry than gallant, but she didn’t argue. With her eyes closed, it felt like the passageway of rats went on for miles and miles. It had probably taken no more than three or four minutes to cross, and then Ramsey set her down.

  “Run,” he ordered.

  She ran.

  The sound of booted feet echoed, and Gabrielle followed Alex through a winding maze of sewer tunnels. She had no idea how Alex knew whether to go right or left or straight ahead, but the markings on the walls probably helped. It buoyed Gabrielle to know they weren’t the only ones who’d gone into the sewers and survived.

  The sounds of pursuit grew closer, and Alex glanced over her shoulder. “Not far now. When we reach the exit, you two go up. I’ll lead the guards away and meet you in a quarter of an hour.”

  “Alex! No!” Gabrielle pushed her legs until she was running beside Alex, the walls of the narrow sewer brushing her shoulders.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Alex said. “I know these sewers better than the streets. Get out and meet Hastings. I’ll be there shortly.”

  She stopped, and when Gabrielle slowed as well, Alex gave her a shove. “Go! Turn right at the next fork,” Alex told Ramsey. “Go up the ladder there. Lord Hastings will be waiting.”

  “Alex, no!” Gabrielle tried to grab Alex’s arm.

  “I must go back to say bonjour to our friends!” And with a jaunty wave, she was gone.

  Gabrielle stared at Ramsey for a long moment. “We can’t—“

  “Yes, we can. If she doesn’t make it, we don’t honor her sacrifice by dying. Come on!”

  They ran straight through a gray darkness. Alex had taken the lamp with her, but Gabrielle’s eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Light from the outside must have seeped in from somewhere because she could make out the uneven ground beneath her feet. Rats scurried out of her path, and she bit hard on her lip to keep from screaming.

  “There!” Ramsey pointed at the fork ahead.

  Gabrielle changed direction to follow him, and her foot caught. She went down, catching herself with her hands. She drew in a quick breath as the reason for her tumble became evident. She’d tripped over part of a skeleton, and now she hovered over its skull. From one dark eye socket, a small furry head poked out.

  Gabrielle would have screamed if Ramsey hadn’t pulled her up and covered her mouth.

  “I have you,” he said, pulling her tightly against him and speaking softly into her ear. “We’re almost safe.”

  Safe. Gabrielle wanted to sob the word out. There was no safety in France anymore. Her life had become a race from one nightmare to the next.

  “Don’t give up on me, Gabrielle.” Ramsey caught her face in his hands, looked into her eyes. “Don’t ever give up on me!”

  She nodded, weary but filled with renewed determination. She hadn’t come to Paris to die, and now Ramsey had pulled her from the grave. She had a second chance at life. She squeezed his hand and nodded.

  Hands clasped, they ran the last few yards until they reached the fork. Ramsey turned left pulling her with him into a small alcove that had no outlet. Ramsey looked up, and Gabrielle followed his gaze. It was dark above them, but she thought there might be a sewer opening. There was definitely no ladder.

  “There’s no ladder,” she said through gulps of fetid air. “What if this isn’t it?”
r />   “This is it,” he said. “I’ll boost you up. Get out and find this Hastings.”

  “But how will you get out?”

  “Gabrielle, for once, do not argue.” He cupped a hand and lowered it beside her foot. Blowing out a breath, she moved into the makeshift step reaching up to touch the ceiling.

  “There is an opening here.”

  His arms came around her legs, raising her higher. She pushed with all her strength and the grate covering the sewer opening moved. Water rained down on her, and she recoiled in disgust. And then she realized it was only rainwater. While they’d been underground, a light rain had begun, the wet sheen of it giving the still sunny skies an eerie quality.

  “Can you move it?” Ramsey asked, his voice sounding strained.

  “Yes!” She pushed again, expecting the grate to inch farther to the side, but it slid away easily. A strong hand reached down and grasped her arm, yanking her up and out.

  “Gabrielle!” Ramsey yelled as she was drawn out of his arms and into the wet street above. She had one last moment to look down at him before she was hauled away.

  Chapter 20

  Ramsey watched helplessly as Gabrielle was pulled out of his grasp. One moment she was in his arms and the next she was gone. Not again. He couldn’t lose her again. With a yell of anguish and rage, he jumped for the exit, his hand catching the lip of the opening.

  He might be the biggest fool who ever walked the earth, risking his hide like this for a woman, but he couldn’t stop himself. He was worse off than he’d thought if he was willing to stick his neck out for Gabrielle. He’d told her he loved her, but it was more than that. He needed her. If she died, he didn’t want to go on. He would have followed her to the guillotine rather than watch her mount the scaffold alone. Alex had told him only an idiot would ride through a bloodthirsty mob and steal a prisoner from a tumbrel, and he’d told her he’d do much more than that.

  She’d bribed the cart driver to block the tumbrel’s passageway and paid one of the prison guards to put Gabrielle on the last cart. And though Ramsey had considered it suicide, he’d ridden through the alley and straight for the stalled conveyance. When he’d seen Gabrielle, her beautiful hair shorn, her eyes dark with exhaustion and fear, he knew he’d save her or die trying. Nothing mattered but Gabrielle.