No Longer a Gentleman (28 page)

“I hope you’re right. We’re making a lot of assumptions.”

She smiled wryly. “Call them deductions. It sounds better.”

He began stroking her under the blanket. Discussions in bed had much to commend them. He stroked her nipple with his thumb and she caught her breath. “We need an army,” he muttered. “One with artillery.”

“I was thinking along those lines myself.” Cassie’s hand moved to his thigh.

“What?” He pushed himself up on one elbow and stared down at her. “I’m the one who is supposed to be mad here!”

“Whatever gave you a foolish notion like that?” She laughed with wicked amusement. “We’re both mad to attempt this, so let’s not waste a moment of madness.” She looped her hands around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

In mere moments, sanity was forgotten.

Against the night sky, Castle Durand loomed stark and impregnable, looking much as it must have in the fifteenth century. Cassie and Grey, dressed in black and with faces mostly covered with dark scarves, had come to scout.

The journey to France had gone so smoothly that Cassie found herself superstitiously expecting disaster to strike. Grey had made it across the channel in rough seas without getting ill, though he was a little green when they disembarked. Their guise as a drab, humorless couple had been very effective. They were never challenged, and few people wanted to talk to Monsieur and Madame Harel.

But the easy part of the journey was over. The previous night they’d stopped in a sizable town a dozen miles from St. Just du Sarthe, the village below Castle Durand. Grey bought sturdy riding horses while Cassie played the role of submissive wife.

After riding toward the village as the conventional Harels, they’d found an abandoned barn nearby and well off the road. Silently they’d settled the horses and changed into the dark clothing of thieves and burglars. It was a sign of Grey’s tension that he hadn’t made a single suggestive remark about Cassie’s trousers.

From the barn, it was only half an hour’s hike through the woods up to the castle. The night was raw and windy, with clouds scudding across a waning moon. She sensed that Grey was winding tighter and tighter, like a violin string. She couldn’t even imagine what it felt like to return to the place where he’d endured ten years of imprisonment.

When the castle came into sight, they lingered in the shadowed woods to study it. Unlike during Cassie’s first visit, the gates were closed and there was a guard in the small gatehouse. The crenellated walls must have been at least twenty feet tall. They surrounded the square castle grounds, with a cleared strip perhaps thirty feet wide at the base.

On top of each corner was a guard turret. Dim glows from braziers showed they were occupied. The guards were probably bored, but they had clear views of the walls, should anyone attempt to climb into the castle.

On the shadowed back wall opposite the main gates, they found a small postern gate. Cassie investigated, using a couple of thin metal picks on the lock. It seemed to be rusted shut. Opening the door would be neither easy nor quiet.

To her left, Grey was studying the stone wall itself, running his hands over the surface to check the condition. He found a toehold and began to climb the wall by touch. He was halfway up when Cassie gave a small, foxlike yip to catch his attention.

He halted. After a half-dozen heartbeats, he quietly dropped to the soft ground. Cassie touched his arm and gestured for them to withdraw to the woods on the other side of the cleared zone.

When they were safely back in the shadows, she asked quietly, “Are you all right?”

“I wanted to keep climbing.” He stared at the massive bulk of the wall. Voice thick with emotion, he said, “I wanted to get inside and kill Durand with my bare hands and then blow the whole place to bloody hell.”

She locked a hand around his wrist, her grip hard. “Understandable. But you must control yourself when the time comes to go in! If you run berserk, you risk everything. Everyone.”

He drew a shuddering breath. “I know you’re right. I swear I’ll not do anything that will endanger you, Père Laurent, or his family.”

She released his wrist, hoping he’d be able to keep his vow. He was far more stable than when he first escaped the dungeon, but an extreme situation could kick him over the edge again. Focusing on the business at hand, she said, “Tell me about the wall. It looked like you were climbing easily.”

“The mortar between the stones is crumbling in many places. It wasn’t hard to climb even in the dark. What about the postern?”

“The door is heavy and hard to move and the lock is rusted shut. The wall might be a better way to get in without being noticed. But we’ll need to blast the postern open to get our people out.”

He nodded. “We should go around the castle once more.”

Agreeing, Cassie set out and he followed her. Tonight, scouting. Tomorrow they would seek assistance.

After a good night’s sleep in the old barn, they dressed as the conservative Harels and set off for the Boyer farm. The trip by horseback was faster than driving a cart through a blizzard, and the road up to the farm was much prettier now that it wasn’t scoured by blizzard winds and snow.

Cassie prayed silently they’d find the Boyers’ married daughter at the farm. She could be a valuable resource. Without her, their odds would become even worse.

No one was visible in the farmyard, but smoke trickled from the kitchen chimney. The house was not empty.

As aware of the stakes as Cassie, Grey swung from his horse, tossing her the reins. As the traditional Harels, Grey took the lead in everything, while Cassie rode sidesaddle and kept her eyes cast demurely down.

Grey knocked on the door. Several dogs began barking crazily inside. They sounded as if they were slavering to get out and rip the stranger to shreds. The horses twitched nervously but Grey stood his ground.

A few moments passed quietly except for the barking dogs. Then a small window at head height opened and a woman asked suspiciously, “What do you want?”

Cassie couldn’t see the speaker, but the voice was young. Grey said peaceably, “I’m an old friend of Monsieur and Madame Boyer and was near. Are they home?”

“No,” was the snapped response. “Go away!”

Grey held the window open when she tried to close it. “What about Père Laurent? Is he still here?”

“Who are you?” This time, the voice sounded frightened.

Judging it was time to be honest, Grey replied, “I am Monsieur Sommers. I was your great-uncle’s companion in adversity.”

The young woman sucked in her breath. “The Englishman?”

“The same. Are you the Boyers’ married daughter?”

“Yes, I’m Jeanne Duval.” The voice was uncertain. “Why are you here?”

“To free your family,” Grey said softly. “Can you help?” Another long pause. Then a key scraped in the lock and the door swung inward. Jeanne Duval couldn’t be more than twenty, and her bright brown hair and hazel eyes would be pretty if not for her worried expression. She had gathered the dogs around her as if they were a weapon ready to strike.

Grey bowed with aristocratic elegance. “It’s my pleasure to meet you, Madame Duval. I spent only a few days here with your great-uncle, but it was long enough to develop the highest esteem for your parents.”

Tears sprang into her eyes. “Do you really think you can free them?”

“I don’t know, but I will certainly do my best.” He gestured toward Cassie. “Allow me to introduce Madame Renard. It was she who freed Père Laurent and me. May we come in?”

Jeanne fidgeted with the edge of her apron. “Why do you want to talk?”

“If we are to have any chance of freeing your family, we need as much information about their captivity as possible,” Grey said patiently.

Jeanne gave a jerky nod. “Madame Renard can come in while you take the horses to the barn. I’ll call my husband to join us.”

Grey offered Cassie his hand to dismount from her horse, then led their mounts off to the stable. Jeanne rang a sizable bell that hung by the door, using three sets of three rings each. Cassie was quite sure the bell hadn’t been there on their earlier visit. Another sign of how stressed the household was.

They moved into the kitchen. The furnishings and broad fireplace were familiar, but the house was too quiet, no longer bustling with a whole family. As Jeanne shooed the now well-behaved dogs into the backyard, Cassie noticed that the young woman’s crisp white apron covered the gentle curve of midpregnancy.

“You are with child?” she said sympathetically. “How exhausting on top of the worry for your family!”

Jeanne promptly burst into tears. Alarmed, Cassie guided her to a chair by the fire. A blanket was folded on a bench, so she shook it out and tucked it around the girl. “Would you like something? A glass of water?”

Jeanne said in a barely audible whisper, “I want my mother.”

Collecting herself, she produced a handkerchief, blotted her eyes, and blew her nose. “I’m sorry, everything makes me cry now. It was Père Laurent who first told me I was with child. I wasn’t sure myself, but when I came to visit my parents and found him here, he took one look at my face, smiled, and said that soon he would become a great-great-uncle.” More tears appeared.

“He can see that?” Cassie said with surprise.

“Oh, yes, he was famous for it. When he had a parish, young wives would come from miles around to see if he could confirm their hopes. I never heard him to be wrong, either.” She put a protective hand over the modest curve of her belly. “He thinks I shall bear a son, though he isn’t so accurate predicting whether it will be a boy or a girl.”

Cassie had heard of midwives who were very good at identifying pregnancies. She supposed that a wise and observant old priest could have similar talents.

A tall, broad young man with dark hair and a missing left hand swung into the kitchen, his expression ready for trouble. “Jeanne!”

He moved behind her and put his right hand on her shoulder. “Is this female upsetting you?” Jeanne’s husband wasn’t much older than she, but he looked capable as well as protective. The missing hand explained why he wasn’t in the army.

Jeanne laid a hand over his on her shoulder, but before she could reply, Grey arrived. Cassie studied him, thinking how very good he looked, even with the narrow moustache. He was still lean but he no longer looked bony, and he had an air of authority that was real, not the officiousness of Monsieur Harel.

“It’s all right, Pierre,” Jeanne assured him. “This fellow says he’s the Englishman who was imprisoned beside Père Laurent, and that he’s come to free my family.”

“Madame Boyer said the Englishman had golden hair,” Pierre said suspiciously.

“I dyed my hair brown to be less conspicuous.” Grey smiled a little. “There are parts of my body where the natural hair color is visible, but we’ll have to withdraw to another room so I can show you without offending the ladies.”

Pierre flushed. “Say something in English,” he ordered.

Not missing a beat, Grey switched to English and said, “Père Laurent is the wisest, kindest man I have ever known. I would not have survived ten years in a dungeon if not for him. I needed him far more than he needed me.”

Pierre recognized the sound of English even if he didn’t speak it, so he gave a short nod. “What makes you think you can free Jeanne’s family from Castle Durand? The castle alone is difficult, and Durand has brought in guards for protection.”

Speaking for the first time, Cassie said, “We saw the guards last night when we scouted the castle. It would be useful to know how many there are.”

Pierre’s wary gaze moved to her. “Who are you?”

“I am called Madame Renard.”

Jeanne nodded recognition, but remarked, “My mother said you were older.”

“I have some skill in changing my appearance,” Cassie explained. “Have we convinced you we are who we say? I don’t blame you for being cautious.”

Jeanne glanced up at her husband, their gazes meeting. After a moment of silent communication, Pierre said, “You seem genuine. But what do you think you can do to rescue five people from a well-guarded castle? It would take an army to break in!”

“We do have a plan,” Grey said. “But we need more information. First, are you sure they’re being held there? And if so, are they in the dungeons?”

Jeanne got to her feet, looking strong, hopeful, and quite like her mother. “If we are to discuss such matters, it should be over food. Your dinner waits, Pierre. I have soup, so there will be enough for us all.”

Grey’s stomach noisily agreed with the suggestion, which broke the tension. Though Cassie’s stomach was more discreet, she was also hungry. Their breakfast that morning at the barn had been bread, cheese, and water.

Jeanne proved herself her mother’s daughter by producing thick bean soup, fresh bread, cheese, and a pork pâté. Cassie tried not to gobble greedily.

Even if the Duvals ended up telling their visitors to go away, at least Cassie and Grey would be well fed when they left.