Love Inspired Historical April 2014 Bundle: The Husband Campaign\The Preacher's Bride Claim\The Soldier's Secrets\Wyoming Promises (67 page)

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
hey came in the darkest hours of the night. Meaty hands that wrenched her out of the bed where she slept with Serge and Victor, strong bodies that dragged her down two sets of stairs and across a great hall before propelling her back into the cold stone cell. Her head slammed against the floor as they tossed her inside. She righted herself and scrambled to the door, giving it a hard yank. It didn't budge.

“Let me go, Alphonse!” She pounded on the door. “You promised Julien.”

She wasn't the sick, weak woman from a few hours ago. She was clean and fed and somewhat rested. She'd not cower in the corner and wait for Alphonse to appear while she huddled at his feet.

She raised her fist to pound again, but the massive door swung open.

Alphonse stepped inside, a solitary lantern hanging from his hand. His presence crackled in the room despite the dark shadows that shrouded his gray form.

“Julien said I'm to stay above stairs.”

“Julien has been called away on an unexpected mission.” His voice was flat and unamused, as though he spoke of the weather rather than illegal deeds. “Quite sudden, that. But needful.”

A mission that Alphonse had no doubt contrived the second he'd brought her above stairs that afternoon. She only prayed the task hardened Julien to the smuggling business rather than lured him.

“And now we have time to talk uninterrupted.”

“I'd hardly call being interrogated in a prison cell ‘talking.'”

He crossed thin arms over his chest, the lantern swaying subtly with his movements. “I understand you have information regarding Citizen Belanger.”

Please God, not this. Anything but this.
“He's a good man, one you ought not bother.”

She glanced toward the door. Why couldn't Julien barge through the thick wood, interrupting their conversation and saving her from the mess she'd created when she'd first agreed to spy for Alphonse? But the door stayed solidly closed, the small cell eerily silent as Alphonse waited for more information. “He feeds the hungry and protects the innocent. The entire town reveres and loves him, and with good reason.”

“He killed Henri.”

'Twas a statement, not a question. Alphonse already knew. The moisture leached from her mouth and she took a step backward. She couldn't do this. Not again. Jean Paul may have sent her away, may want naught to do with her, but she'd never again betray him. “He's changed.”

Alphonse laughed, a cruel, taunting sound that echoed off the bare stone walls. “Men like me and him don't change.”

“You're wrong.” She raised her chin and glared, and if she looked a bit like Danielle in one of her defiant moods, then good. “You can change, just as he did. You don't have to hurt people anymore.”

“Poor Brigitte. Has time spent in the presence of a murderer softened your heart?” His mocking tone held an icy cruelness behind the words. “Do you no longer want justice for Henri?”

“You never sought justice. You sought revenge. There's a difference between the two. Perhaps Citizen Belanger killed Henri, but Henri deserved death for his smuggling. As do you. What you're doing is illegal, Alphonse, and dangerous. Henri is hardly the first of your men to die.”

The slap came so quickly she didn't see it. A hard strike against her cheek, setting her skin afire.

She gasped and shrank back.

“If one strike to your face causes such pain, you'll not want to spend time with my guards. I assure you.” Alphonse leaned in close, his rancid breath feathering over her face.

She straightened, though her stance put her within mere centimeters of Alphonse's loathsome form. “I fulfilled your task and gathered information on Jean Paul Belanger. Now I demand you let me and my children go. 'Twas our bargain. You had no right to come into Abbeville and take me, or to take Julien from Le Havre. You owe me money and a journey to Reims.”

“You foolish twit. Did you truly think I'd let you take my grandchildren to parts unknown when they can be of such use to me here?”

“But you said—”

He slapped her across the face again, the strike so harsh it would surely mar her skin. But she didn't flinch away this time, no. She kept her eyes riveted on his instead.

“I lied.” His eyes turned hard in the dim light. “You'll not leave here, unless it's in a shroud. Understand that now.”

“I'll never let you control me or my children,” she snarled into his face.

“Ah, yes, the familiar pronouncement of every impassioned mother. But you forget how much power I have.” He took a step back from her. “I will indeed take your children and mold them, teach them. I'll have jobs for you, as well, of course, and if you behave, I shall allow you to see them every so often. This next assignment, for example, is in England, and I'm afraid you shan't be able to take your children. They'll have to remain here. With me.”

“No!”

The side of his mouth curved halfway into a sneer, as though he hadn't the inclination to expend even a full smile upon her. “Very well, I shall kill you and offer the work to someone else.” He turned toward the door. “Gerard.”

The guard she'd met at the warehouse on that fateful night so long ago stepped through the door. His muscles shone big and thick beneath the lantern he carried in one hand, while his other hand gripped a large club.

She licked her parched lips and shifted her gaze back to Alphonse. “Think of what Julien will do when he discovers you've killed me. He'll never work for you then.”

“Julien is away for several days.” He walked backward toward the doorway. “He'll be told you had an accident and will never know the difference.”

“He'll suspect.”

“
Oui.
But he won't
know.
And that shall make all the difference. You see, Julien thinks I'm rather ill. It's not hard to fake an illness. A cough here, a shiver there, a feigned shortness of breath. Your son's actions are obvious. He intends to play along with me, biding his time until I die and relinquish control of my business. But I shall live longer than he expects, molding Julien to my wishes. And when I die, he will make a masterful smuggler, even better than Henri would have made. 'Twas the reason I brought Julien here rather than Laurent.”

He stopped in the doorway, one mere step from leaving her alone with the guard. “Now then, if your questions are done, I'll let Gerard here get on with matters.”

A twisted smile curved the guard's lips.

“Make it last two hours. At least.”

“Wait,” she croaked, her voice barely recognizable for its strangled sound. “I'll do as you say.” She couldn't die, not here at Alphonse's hands, not with her daughter missing and her precious sons in his clutches. She had to at least live long enough to see them freed and safe—or Alphonse dead. Whichever came first.

Alphonse raised an eyebrow. “Are you certain? I tire of your wavering, Brigitte. Next time, I shall abide by your first answer.”

She closed her eyes and nodded, unable to force a yes past her defiant tongue.

“Very well. You shall leave at dusk on the morrow. If you cooperate between now and then, I'll allow you to see Victor before you depart.”

“And Serge. I must see him, too, and explain my absence.”

Alphonse pressed his lips together into a thin white line. “Your time with Victor just got shortened by half. If you question me again, I'll take it away entirely.”

Alphonse's footsteps echoed against the ancient floor, followed by the guard's heavier gait. Then the door swung shut, complete with the unmistakable sound of a lock clicking into place. Darkness surrounded her, stealing across the dank chamber until not even a flicker of light shone through the slot in the door. And with it descended the silence, so thick and eerie she nearly screamed just to fill the room with sound.

She wrapped her arms about herself and leaned against the wall. What had she just agreed to? How, oh, how, had she gone from the free woman who had met Alphonse in the warehouse two months ago to the person locked inside this room? How had she gone from a hopeful woman in love with a good man to a vile, deceitful being willing to break the law?

Alphonse's bargain in the warehouse had seemed like such a simple solution. Spy on the man who might have killed her husband, and everything would be done.

But Alphonse hadn't intended to ever let her return to Reims, and her mission hadn't stayed simple.

Be sure your sin will find you out.

Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.

Deceit was sin, and wickedness had its consequences. One couldn't hold hands with evil and remain untouched. She'd known as much from the beginning, but her choices weren't supposed to cost her so dearly. She'd been trying to fight for her family, but instead of gaining their freedom, she was about to lose all she held dear.

A desperate loneliness enveloped her, the dampness cloaking the corners of the room crept up beneath her clothing until she trembled. She sank down against the wall and choked back the sob that welled in her chest.

Alphonse had said little of Jean Paul. Did Alphonse still plan to kill him?

Of course. Alphonse killed everyone who didn't behave as he wished.

And her daughter was missing, as well. Perhaps she lay dead or injured in a field somewhere, a cruel toy for a band of army deserters. Or maybe Alphonse's men had found her and she was inside his stone monstrosity at this very moment.

“I'm sorry, Father,” she cried, clutching her knees to her chest. “I was wrong, so terribly wrong.”

Why hadn't she trusted God to set her and the children free in His time? Why had she taken matters into her own hands and forged her own path?

“I know I'm doomed.” Her raspy prayer echoed against the hard stone walls. “That I deserve no mercy or justice. But I beg of You, Father, even if You spare me not, save my children. Protect Danielle, wherever she may be, and help Serge and Victor. Give Julien clarity to see through Alphonse's lies and the strength to stand against them, and keep Laurent safe, wherever he is on the sea.

“And be with...be with...”

She could hardly push Jean Paul's name over her tongue. She'd done so much to harm him, so much to strip away the life he'd labored endlessly to change. She had no business ever forming his name on her lips again. But she would, if for no other reason than to pray God's protection on him.

She cleared her throat. “Be with Jean Paul. Give him another chance at marriage, allow him to forge a new life for himself. Reward him...”

Her words fell away as the tears came harder and stronger. She didn't fight them or pretend to be strong, didn't force herself to think on something else. Instead, she gave in. For her children. For Jean Paul. And for the life all of them might have shared had she been upright from the beginning.

* * *

“We should...”

The whisper of wind through the tall grass carried away Captain Archambault's next words. From his hunched position in the patch of amber marsh, Jean Paul leaned closer to the burly man. “What say you?”

The captain crouched closer to the ground. The slightest unnatural movement and they might well give their position away. “We should return after dark. It's too dangerous to attack in daylight. I had expected a well-guarded house, but this place is a fortress.”

Jean Paul ran his eyes over the towering stone structure. Fortress was about right. Danielle had called it an old castle, and by the look of the crumbling stone, the edifice had long been abandoned to ruin and decay. But the tall walls, crumbling or not, still served as an insurmountable barrier between him and Brigitte.

“We can't wait until dark. Dubois has a woman and two children captive. There's no telling what he might do in the hours between now and then.”

“Danielle,” Captain Archambault whispered.

The girl scrambled back toward them from...well, who could guess why she'd been crawling through the grass?

“You're sure this is the place?”

Jean Paul could hardly blame the captain for asking. Dubois's perfectly hidden, undetectable headquarters was a fortified castle? 'Twas unfathomable. The man hid his illegal empire right under the noses of the French soldiers stationed in the forts outside the city walls, and he had never yet been caught.

Or maybe the smugglers didn't operate hidden. Maybe the soldiers knew of the illegal activities, but traded their silence in exchange for
livres—
or their lives.

“Oui.”
Danielle whispered to Archambault, her eyes wide and solemn. “
Papa
used to take me here, though
Maman
never knew. And I've worked for
Grand-père
before, delivering messages before
Papa
died.”

The girl had yet to reach her maturity, and she'd already performed illegal tasks for the region's most powerful smuggler. 'Twas likely why Brigitte had grasped at any opportunity to get her children out of Calais.

“I still say we wait for dark,” Archambault growled. “'Tis an unnecessary risk to approach in daylight. I want to ruin Dubois, not kill my men.”

Dark would give them a better chance at surprise, but dark also meant leaving Brigitte, Serge and Victor at Dubois's mercy for nine more hours. Either way, he put people at risk.

“That's the best way in.” Danielle pointed to a dark patch in the wavy grass. “It leads straight up to
Grand-père'
s chambers, and the guards will never see us coming.”

Jean Paul rubbed the back of his neck. “How exactly do you expect grass to get us inside that castle?”

She rolled her eyes. “It's not grass. It's the entrance to a tunnel. That's why it's dark.”