by L Rollins
Staying just behind the tree line, Leila hurried toward town, following the empty road. She hugged her coat closer around herself as she veered left at a turn and trudged up the small hill toward the closed factory doors.
Two windows on the ground level shone with light. Leila paused just to the side of them. It occurred to her that if she were up in the middle of the night, doing something illegal, she wouldn’t exactly keep the windows uncovered and the lamps burning high. Her little excursion might be naught but a fool’s errand.
She peeked around the edge of the window. The glass was wavy and didn’t provide a clear view, but she could still make out an individual sitting, hunched over a large book.
Blast. It looked like Inez was right. It was only a bookkeeper. Leila leaned back against the cold factory wall.
Why did she ever think she could solve this problem so easily? Half of France—gads, half the world—had been keeping a close eye on Conques since the waltzing flu broke out nearly two years ago. And she, a wet-behind-the-ears spy thought she could sneak about for a couple of months and unearth the entire plot?
This was stupid.
She was stupid.
Leila stomped away from the window and down the center of the pathway, not caring to stay hidden among the trees as she walked toward the small town.
Madame Uppertick was a dead-end. More and more people were falling ill everyday. Victor alone seemed to be improving, but Leila knew Inez had claimed interest in the patients and was visiting them daily with a couple of her maids. No doubt, seeing his wife was the reason for Victor’s slow tip toward recovery.
But how long would it last? Leila had seen it before. Patients would look as though they were improving for days, even weeks, but in the end it never lasted. They always grew ill once more, and seemed worse off than they ever had been before.
Soft voices to Leila’s left made her pause mid-stride. Who else would be out this late at night? She picked up her skirt and hurried back toward the tree line. Hang these ridiculous outfits. She missed her breeches and outer corset, which had been her daily attire when learning to become a spy.
They should have trained her not only on how to fade into the shadows, but how to do so in a white, flat-skirt nursing uniform and a brilliant blue coat.
The voices continued, but Leila couldn’t make out what was being said, though it did sound like a man and a woman speaking. The thought that she may have stumbled upon a romantic rendezvous flickered through her mind. But the tones both individuals used sounded far too serious for a tryst.
Leila slipped between the trees and foliage, getting closer to the sound.
Monsieur Jus held a small lamp in one hand and a slip of parchment in the other.
“Tell him I have enough to throw him in prison for the next two years. He’s to keep his trap shut or I go straight to the authorities,” Monsieur Jus spat.
His companion was a tall, thin woman dressed in black breeches and black shirtsleeves. “I will convey your message, sir.” The lamplight emphasized her flat expression and firm jaw.
“And now for the other matter,” he said, his voice dropping lower.
Leila edged closer, sneaking around behind the tall woman. She couldn’t risk missing anything.
Monsieur Jus shook the parchment. “I want you to snoop around and find what you can on anyone who signed the shut-down order. The darker the dirt, the better. We’ll get my factory back up and running one way or the other.”
The tall woman gave a small, deferential bow of her head. “No doubt there is much to find.”
Monsieur chuckled darkly. “Isn’t there always?”
“Very well, then sir, if that is all.” The tall woman took a half-step back, moving her quite close to the tree that hid Leila from view.
Leila clamped her jaw shut and sealed her lips, keeping her breathing as silent as possible. But she wouldn’t back away, not now.
“All for now, Sidonie.” Monsieur Jus moved as though to head back to the road, but the tall woman spoke again.
“If that’s the case, then sir, perhaps I should bring something to your attention.”
He turned, brow creased. “What would that be?”
The tall woman spun around, clamped a thin hand around Leila’s arm and hauled her into the lamplight.
“Someone is eavesdropping on us, sir.”
Leila tugged and kicked. But, holy gears above, the woman was strong. She pulled Leila’s arm behind her back and pain shot through her shoulder.
“Who are you?” Monsieur Jus shouted.
Without letting her go, Sidonie forced Leila down to her knees.
“Who are you?” Monsieur Jus shouted again.
Leila pulled against the tall woman’s grasp. She’d never been held down so forcibly. She couldn’t move an inch without blinding pain forcing her to be still once more.
“Just a nurse, sir,” she said not bothering to hide the hiccup in her voice. The more frightened she appeared the more they’d believe she was who she said. “I work at the castle. Please, I’m just a nurse.”
“Who sent you? Why were you listening to us?”
Leila stopped struggling against the tall woman. “I was just needing a break. It’s hard being shut in with the madness all day and night. I was just out for a stroll.”
“I don’t believe her.” Sidonie’s voice was calm and even, no sign of strain, though she held the full of weight of Leila’s body with one hand. Gads, just how strong was she?
Monsieur Jus tucked the slip of parchment into his vest pocket and pulled a gentleman’s pistol from another pocket. Stylish and small though it was, it was still very much a weapon that could kill.
He marched up close to Leila and placed the lantern on the ground. He bent down on one knee and lightly rested the tip of the barrel against her forehead. The cold metal bit against her skin as he trailed it down the side of her face to her jaw.
Leila’s heart thudded against her chest. She closed her eyes briefly. There was no way out of this. She couldn’t fight the woman off, let alone get away from them both. Her only option was to convince them she wasn’t a threat.
Monsieur Jus pressed the pistol against the soft skin under her chin.
“Let me ask this again,” he said. “Who sent you and why were you listening in on us?”
She willed tears to slide down her cheek. It wasn’t hard to summon them up. There was a good chance someone would find her body tomorrow morning, perhaps here in the forest or maybe floating down the river.
“Please, sir,” she tried again. “I was only out for a bit of air. I heard you talking and thought you were someone else. A friend.”
“Who?” he pressed the gun harder against her, forcing her head back.
“The foreman,” she spat out the first person she could think of that might make sense. “He and I . . . we’ve been seeing one another,” she lied. “I hoped he had come out to meet me.”
Hopefully he wouldn’t check her story with Fowler. As far as she knew he was still rebuffing Natalie’s advances. He certainly hadn’t ever given her a second glance.
Then again, for all she knew, Fowler was working quite closely with Monsieur Jus to make sure no one found out his factory was behind the waltzing flu. It was a long shot, but it was all she had.
Monsieur Jus slowly lowered the pistol and Leila swallowed hard, then willed air into her lungs. How long had she been holding her breath?
“Pretty little nurses should not go snooping about where they don’t belong.”
Leila nodded her head. “I won’t again. I promise.”
“Very well,” Monsieur Jus flicked a hand at the tall woman and she released Leila.
Were they truly going to let her go? Her skin still pricked with fear, but there was a subtle pulse of hope as well.
“Stand up,” Monsieur Jus ordered.
Leila rose cautiously to her feet.
He smiled a sickly, confident smile, and Leila’s faint hope of escape slither
ed away in the darkness.
“I believe you when you say you won’t wander about again.” His gun came up, aimed at her forehead. “Because I plan to guarantee it.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LEILA KICKED THE lantern. It hurled forward, shattering against Monsieur Jus’s leg. Gas spilled down his breeches and instantly lit.
With a scream, Monsieur Jus dropped to the forest floor and began swatting at his burning leg.
Leila swooped past him and dove into the forest.
She flew between tree branches and around bushes with her skirt held high.
Monsieur Jus yelled for Sidonie to give chase. Leila veered hard to her left. A branch cut against her cheek, but she didn’t slow down. She crashed noisily through bushes.
Pulling to a hard stop, Leila made a sharp turn to her right and silently hurried off in a very different direction. After only a few strides, she picked up a large rock and hurled it the direction she’d come. With any luck, Sidonie would assume Leila had continued on her original course.
She pressed herself against the back side of the tree and waited. Sidonie, charging through the trees much faster than Leila could move, continued on the original path and disappeared among the shadows.
Leila gulped in large mouthfuls of air. Gads, she almost didn’t make it out of there.
True tears threatening to spill, but she blinked them back. She wasn’t fully safe yet. Leila carefully picked her way through the forest for several yards before once more breaking into a full-on run.
Shaking from exertion and trying hard not to stumble, Leila pushed past a squat tree. A house loomed up suddenly in the darkness and she pulled to a halt.
But wait, this was Samuel’s cottage. She hadn’t meant to run there, but she couldn’t deny the wave of relief at seeing it. Some subconscious urge had brought her here. She dashed up to the back door and tried the handle.
Locked. Blast.
Leila stilled and listened hard. She couldn’t hear anything out in the forest so she risked knocking softly.
No noise came from either inside the house or out among the trees. But she couldn’t risk calling out loudly and alerting Sidonie to where she was. The tall woman was no doubt still searching for her.
Perhaps there was another way in. Leila took a step back and looked over the house. There was a small window, on the second floor which was open a crack.
If she could make her way up the closest tree, and trust the branches not to give way under her, she might be able to make it in.
Leila ignored the many pricks against her arms and legs as she climbed up. A single branch reached nearly to the window, but it grew alarmingly thin at the end.
It bowed dangerously as she scooted out, but Leila had little choice but to press forward. There was still no sound of an approaching Sidonie, but she hadn’t struck Leila as the type of woman that would give up easily. If Leila could only get in the house, she would be safe.
Leila reached out as far as her arm would stretch. Her fingertips brushed against the window’s ledge. She only needed a few more inches.
Straddling the branch, Leila pushed herself out a bit further. There was a loud crack. Leila reached forward with both hands as she began to fall.
The window’s edge cut against her palms. The branch gave way under her and she dangled for a moment. She was high enough from the ground, if she dropped she would likely break something.
Her arms shook; after all her running, she didn’t have much strength left. But she wasn’t giving up. She wasn’t going to back down. She had to find safety, then make it back to the castle so she could tell Inez all she had heard.
Placing her feet against the house wall, she hauled herself up and slithered through the small window.
Leila hit the floor hard and rolled.
“Who’s there?” Samuel’s words were slurred and sleepy.
Leila pushed herself up and shut the window tightly. “It’s only me.”
“Leila?” He sounded far more awake now. A small light bloomed several feet away from her. “What are you doing here?”
Samuel sat, barefoot, on a simple bed, hair mussed and blankets kicked off. A simple table sat beside the bed and held a small lamplight, and an unadorned armoire sat on the opposite wall. The room was otherwise bare.
Samuel shut the glass door on the lamp and slowly turned up the flame.
“For heaven’s sake, turn that down,” Leila said. She ran her hands over the wall near the window. No curtain. Hang it all.
“Are you all right?”
Leila’s hands shook and her vision blurred with tears.
Something out in the dark forest moved between shadows. Leila pressed herself up against the wall. The crack of the branch breaking as she climbed in the window must have given her away.
“Blast you, Samuel. Turn down the light,” she hissed. Suppose she led Sidonie right to Samuel and his sister? Suppose she was putting them at risk? She shouldn’t have come here.
Samuel twisted a nob on the lantern and the light died instantly.
Leila twisted her neck and pulled away from the wall just enough to peek out the window. Hopefully Sidonie would see no way to get in to the house and pass on by.
Samuel moved up silently beside her. “Leila, what’s going on?”
She shook her head. Once she knew they were safe, then she could explain. Well, what she could explain, anyway. Which wouldn’t be much. Would Samuel be understanding, yet again, when she refused to tell him all?
Having a woman crawl through a window into his bedchamber in the middle of the night was not something most gentlemen shrugged off.
Samuel’s arm wrapped around her waist. “You’re shaking.”
“I ran for quite some distance.” With any luck that would be explanation enough. People shook after a long run, right? She didn’t need to add that she’d just had a gun pointed at her head, or that she’d truly believed she was about to die.
Leila searched the trees outside. She couldn’t see anything. But it was too dark to know for certain if the house was being watched or not.
“Are you bleeding?” Samuel cupped her chin in his hand and titled it toward him.
“It’s just a little cut.”
His hand slid down her arm until it held hers. “Come on, we should clean it nonetheless.”
They walked out the door, through a short hallway, and down a narrow flight of stairs. Leila couldn’t see much of the home; all was dark. But there was something about the home that felt warm and comforting, like Samuel and his sister had been raised with love and attention.
There were no pictures of ancestors above the fireplace where Samuel stoked the embers. There were no porcelain vases handed down from grandparents, nor any coat of arms to impress visitors with.
Leila’s childhood home was easily three times this size, and filled with all of those things. Yet it lacked the feel of home that permeated every corner of this small place.
Samuel placed a pot of water over the fire. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”
“Like I said. I was running through the woods, and I scrapped my cheek against a branch.” The panic that had ruled the past hour slowly ebbed out of her, leaving behind a deep exhaustion.
Samuel picked up a small rag and dunked it in the warming water. He rung it out and then stepped closer to her. “Running . . . as in running away from something?”
The rag stung as he pressed it gently against her cheek, but it was also warm. Just like the rest of the house.
“Yes.” She couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t say anything. But she wanted to. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, bury her face in his chest, and tell him how scared she’d been. Tell him how close she’d come to not seeing that morning’s sunrise.
“You know you can trust me, Leila.” He patted the rag against her cheek.
She didn’t dare open her mouth, but instead nodded. She hadn’t actually meant to run toward his house, but somehow, she had. Somewhere
, deep inside her, she truly trusted him.
Samuel re-wetted the rag, picked up one of her hands, and began washing it. Leila looked down. Her hand was covered in small cuts. Minute pieces of bark and dried leaves covered her palm. She hadn’t even noticed. If she was going to be permitted to continue her work as a spy after Conques, she needed to learn more about running and defending herself.
“None of the cuts are deep.” Samuel cleaned her other hand and then moved to a wooden chest in the corner. He opened the lid and pulled out a worn blanket.
As he moved toward her, an intangible urge to pull him close to her coursed through Leila.
Samuel reached around her and draped the blanket over her shoulders. He was so close and not nearly close enough.
Leila lifted a hand, her fingertips brushing against his waist. She felt the tremor that rushed through him and heard him suck in a breath.
Samuel’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against his chest. He smelled good—musky and a bit like the trees surrounding his land.
“Please tell me what’s going on.” His voice was low, the intense urgency evident in his tone.
She shook her head again.
“I can’t help if you don’t tell me.” He kissed the top of her head, then trailed kisses down the side of her face. “And I am begging you to let me help.”
If this was how he begged, she’d make sure he had reason to do so every day . . .
Until when? Until she left Conques? Until she’d finished her mission?
Reality was like a sharp needle in her stomach. Leila opened her eyes and pulled back slightly. It wouldn’t matter how she felt about Samuel in the end—she was destined to make a strategic match for England.
“I’m sorry,” she said low. “I can’t . . .”
In the low light of the small fire, the hurt across Samuel’s face cut deep, dark lines. “Can’t what? Can’t trust me?”
“No. Of course I trust you.” Her arms and legs felt heavy, all the efforts of the past several months piling up and weighing her down.
