“You killed Marthe?”
“A traitor to her class.” Malviver dismissed her. “I’d just about given up hope when I remembered your little brother. He was easier to find. And then setting this little trap was surprisingly simple. It took you longer than I expected to show up, but I have learned to be patient.”
“Are you going to kill me?” To Ellen’s listening ears Ghislaine sounded no more than distantly interested in her fate.
“Certainly not. I am taking you back to Paris.”
“You will have to kill me,” she said flatly.
“Oh, it may come to that. Or I could see to it that you stand trial for various crimes against the republic. You and that saintly brother of yours. Madame La Guillotine has been far too lazy of late. I could always see her put to good use again.”
“You will leave him alone!” Ghislaine said, her voice cold and fierce.
“Still trying to protect him? It’s a simple enough matter. My carriage awaits at the bottom of the hill. Raise no fuss, and I will see to it that your brother will live out his days in blissful peace. I have no interest in him—I’ve left him alone for the past decade.”
“And me?”
“As for you,” Malviver said in his harsh voice. “I intend to make certain you regret ever having crossed me.”
She had no choice. It was all Ellen could do to keep from leaping up from her spot in the undergrowth. But Old Bones had warned her. There was nothing she could do, for now at least. If she revealed herself, she’d simply wipe out their only advantage.
She could just manage to see Ghislaine’s small, determined figure. She bowed, graceful and aristocratic in her agreement. “May I take my valise with me?” she inquired in a diffident tone of voice.
“If it holds more clothes like the rags you are wearing, then you’ll have no need of it,” he replied, sounding smug. “The mistress of Malviver will have to dress the part. At least in public. I have a certain quiet reputation.”
“It holds very little of value,” Ghislaine said with deceptive sweetness. “Merely a few pieces of clothing and some of my cooking herbs.”
“I should have come for you when I heard you were at the Red Hen,” he mused. “I was too busy for you then, making my way. Your cooking talents will be a side benefit. I haven’t had a decent meal since I came to this god-forsaken place.”
Ghislaine’s smile was cool and ghastly in the moonlight. “I can prepare you the very thing,” she murmured.
And Ellen felt the chill all the way to her bones.
Ellen lay in the bushes, unable to move, her body frozen with horror and despair. She lost track of time—the night grew dark, the moon scudded by overhead, and the wind picked up, tossing last year’s leaves around her body. Still she remained, motionless, rigid in shock. Until she heard a strange, choking noise.
“You… still there… girl…?”
She flew from her hiding spot, racing to the huddled body, kneeling beside him and taking his skeletal arm in hers. “You’re alive,” she sobbed. “I thought he’d killed you…”
“Just barely,” he said. His voice was only a thread of sound, and his eyes were milky and glazed over. “You have to get help.”
“I’ll get bandages.”
“Not for me, you stupid twit. I’m done for, and past time.” He coughed, and dark blood came from his mouth. “You need to get help for Ghislaine. I thought I had time to warn her he still lived. I should have known Malviver would be behind this. He never forgets. He came after me to find where she was, years ago, and I told him she was dead. I thought I’d convinced him. Never underestimate your enemy—that’s a good lesson to learn.”
“Yes, sir,” Ellen sobbed, stroking his arm.
“Come now. You don’t call a dying rag-picker sir, especially if he’s a Hebrew.” Old Bones wheezed. “Go for help. Not at the inn—they’re a bunch of thieves and scoundrels. There’s nothing you can do for me—the wound’s mortal, and it won’t take long. I don’t even feel it now. It’s just so damned cold. Go on with you.”
“No,” Ellen said, stripping off the ragged shawl she’d tied around her shoulders and draping it over his pitiful frame.
“Don’t be a fool,” he gasped. “There’s nothing you can do for me. I’ll be dead in no time. Your duty is to Ghislaine.”
Ellen didn’t hesitate. She took his clawlike hand in hers, and indeed, it was icy cold. She held it firmly in her lap, sitting back on her heels. “No one deserves to die alone,” she said. “Ghislaine would want me to stay.”
“You’re as stubborn as she is. God protect me from stupid Christian women and their sense of duty.” He choked again, and his limp body shuddered in the darkness. “Stay then, damn you,” he whispered finally. “In all, I’d be glad of it.”
They found her there, kneeling by the old man, his lifeless hand clasped in hers, as she wept for him. She heard their approach, but it was too late to run and hide. And indeed, she hadn’t the strength.
“Ellen!” It was Tony, strong, wonderful Tony, leaping off his horse, sweeping her into his arms, tight against him. “I could strangle you!” he said, covering her tear-streaked face with kisses, holding her so tightly she thought he might break her ribs. “If you ever pull such a trick again I’ll beat you, I swear that I will. We’ve had the devil’s own time finding you. Damn it, Ellen…” He silenced his own tirade by kissing her, hard on her mouth.
“This is all very touching,” a familiar, cynical voice said, but there was no missing the edge beneath the icy tone. “But whose body were you mourning over so affectingly? And where is Ghislaine?”
“Oh, my God, Tony, he’s taken her,” she cried, breaking free from the comfort of his embrace.
“Who’s taken her?” Nicholas demanded harshly.
“Some man… he killed Old Bones…” she babbled, glancing back at the old man lying in the dirt.
“Make sense, woman!” Nicholas said furiously. “What man? When did he take her?”
“His name was Malviver. I don’t know how long ago they left, maybe a couple of hours ago, I’m not sure. He had a coach, he said. I hid in the woods, and I couldn’t hear everything…”
“Malviver,” Nicholas said, his soft voice truly terrifying. “She thought he was dead.”
“Obviously he was not,” Tony said, still clasping Ellen tightly against him.
“No,” Nicholas said, and his smile was white and savage in the moonlight. “That pleasure has been reserved for me. And who says there isn’t a just God? Where were they headed? For Paris?”
“I don’t know. I assume so. We have to do something about Old Bones,” Ellen said with a shudder. “We can’t just leave him here.”
Nicholas turned his horse without a word, thundering back down the narrow footpath with a complete disregard for safety. “Blackthorne, wait!” Tony called after him, but Nicholas had already disappeared, riding like the very devil.
Tony turned back to his wife. “We’ll have to leave his body to the good brothers,” he said. “They’ll find him in the morning and do what’s proper. Come along, darling. We have to make sure that fool doesn’t let his fury override his talent with a sword. If he dies rescuing Ghislaine, I doubt she’ll care whether she lives or not.”
There was no way they could catch the carriage, Nicholas thought in fury. Their horses were winded from the breakneck pace they’d been keeping, and Tony’s large roan had the added disadvantage of Ellen’s weight. Nicholas made no gentlemanly offer to take her, or to slow the pace. In fact, he barely noticed their presence behind him as he pushed onward, determined to catch up with Malviver’s coach.
The Frenchman showed no inclination to stop for the night, an act which would have sealed his fate. They continued on after him through the darkness, the horses winded and blown, kept going until Nicholas’s driven mount collapsed underneath him, sending his rider tumbling into the roadway.
“Have some sense, man,” Tony said. “You won’t help anyone if you break your neck.”
“Give me your horse,” Nicholas said, his voice dangerous.
“And leave us stranded? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Give me your horse, damn it, or I’ll run you through,” he cried.
“Listen to me, Blackthorne, my horse isn’t in any more fit state than yours. We need to get to the nearest town where we can secure fresh mounts. My horse won’t be able to go much further, no matter how determined you are. As long as they’re in the carriage she’s safe from him…”
Nicholas’s laugh was mirthless. “You should know better than that.”
“Then you’ll simply have to kill him. You’re good at that, aren’t you,” Tony said coolly. “Stop having a tantrum and be reasonable. We’ll walk our mounts to the next town. The longer we stand about arguing, the longer it will be till we catch up with them.”
“Damn you,” Nicholas said, yanking his horse’s reins and hauling it down the road toward the dimly lit village. His rage was blinding, mixed with panic. The thought of Ghislaine, his fierce, magnificent Ghislaine, at the mercy of the monster who’d sold her into prostitution, made him shake with impotent fury. He wanted, needed to kill him. But first he needed to make sure she was safe. And then he’d beat her within an inch of her life for running away from him.
Just one tiny piece of luck, it was all he needed. Not a lame horse, not two people holding him back. Not a villain driving breakneck with no stops, not a rage so all-encompassing that he made a fatal mistake. For the first time his life had started to mean something. He wanted to live; he wanted to live with Ghislaine. He wanted to marry her, make her pregnant, watch her grow old and wrinkled. He wanted the dubious peace that life with her would bring. If he couldn’t have that, he wanted nothing at all.
The next village was larger, boasting two inns. When they arrived at the nearer of them, sometime after midnight, Nicholas didn’t even notice the discreet black carriage parked in the yard until Ellen’s soft voice arrested him, just as he was about to demand a fresh horse.
“I think that’s the carriage.”
Nicholas paused, the fiery rage in his veins turning to ice. “Why?”
“I saw one very like it in Lantes. I might be mistaken…”
“I doubt it,” he said. “This will be the one. I’ll need your help, Tony.”
“You have it.”
“It’s simple enough. Make sure Malviver’s men don’t interfere. I have no idea whether he comes with an armed guard or something as simple as a coachman. I don’t want them anywhere near me.”
“You’re going to rescue Gilly?” Ellen breathed, sliding down from Tony’s mount into his waiting arms.
“I’m going to rescue her, cousin. And then I’m going to skewer Malviver.”
“Good. I hope you make him suffer,” Ellen said flatly.
A last, desperate trace of humor flashed over his face, “It must be proximity to Ghislaine,” he remarked. “She seems to make everyone bloodthirsty. Don’t worry, cousin. He shall suffer exceedingly.”
It was simple enough to find them. The inn boasted only one private parlor, and that was already bespoke by a high government official and his cloaked companion, the innkeeper informed them, wringing his hands. “If monsieur would care to enter the taproom…”
Monsieur had no intention of doing any such thing. He simply shoved the innkeeper into Tony’s waiting arms and took the steps two at a time, sword drawn.
The two occupants of the room looked up when he flung the door open, and for a moment rage blinded him. She looked cozy enough, a half-drunk glass of claret in her hand, sitting across from the man who’d taken her, and for a moment he wondered if he’d been mistaken in her. And then she turned to him, and there was such despair and joy in her eyes that he felt his heart twist inside.
Malviver rose, shoving the table away from him, and Nicholas took the time to school his runaway emotions. If he let himself hate too much, it would weaken his defense. The man standing too near Ghislaine was a dangerous one—only a fool would miss that. He was almost as tall as Nicholas, and more broadly built, with large, ham-like hands that might be clumsy with a rapier. Then again, they might not.
“I wouldn’t drink that wine if I were you,” Nicholas drawled, lounging against the doorway. “She’s adept at poison, and she’s already had a fair amount of practice on me. I assure you, it’s not a pleasant way to die. You’d prefer my sword.”
Malviver looked down at his glass of wine, then at Ghislaine’s still expression. He threw the glass away, smashing it against the fireplace. “I’m not going to fight you,” he sneered. “I’m not one of your fancy gentlemen, with time to play with swords. If you want her, you’ll have to fight like a man.”
The blood sang through Nicholas’s veins, and he smiled. “How would you define fighting like a man, monsieur?”
“With knives,” Malviver said flatly.
“No!” Ghislaine gasped.
“Your lady doesn’t seem to have much faith in you,” Malviver sneered. “I can be generous. Go away, leave us, and I won’t have you arrested.”
Nicholas sheathed his sword. “You can provide the knives, I presume?” *
“Nicholas, don’t,” Ghislaine whispered. “He’ll kill you.”
“Not likely.” He caught the wicked-looking knife Malviver tossed at him. “Tony?”
“I’m here,” Tony replied from the doorway.
“Make sure no one interferes.”
“Afraid you might lose, monsieur?” Malviver mocked him.
“Afraid you might cheat, Malviver.” He stripped off his jacket, watching his opponent with great care. The bastard had chosen wisely. No ordinary English gentleman was adept at fighting with knives. But then, Nicholas was no ordinary English gentleman.
It was an ugly fight, with none of the grace of a swordfight, none of the skill of pistols. Not even the dubious elegance of fisticuffs. It was a bloody, dirty, sweaty affair, shocking in its savagery, and when Nicholas finally had Malviver pinned, his knife at Malviver’s throat, blood was dripping from a gash on Nicholas’s cheek, his breath was gone, and his arm was numb.
“Give me one good reason to spare your life, you bastard,” he said in a hoarse voice. ‘Just one.”
Malviver’s eyes were narrow slits of rage. “Because if you don’t, you’ll be hounded, you’ll be hunted down like dogs, and you’ll end on the guillotine, where all your kind should be. If you let me live I can guarantee you safe passage. You know as well as I do the peace is collapsing. It was nothing but a farce from the beginning, as anyone but the stupid English would have realized. You’ll never make it out of France without my help.”