If her nerves were slightly frayed, she thought, hearing the shrill note in her mind, it was certainly no wonder.
"They'll leave it to the soldiers to make sure we don't get away. By now half the French army is probably looking for us. They're after James and me as spies, and you, my dove, because they think you have something they badly want. As far as they're concerned, you're Sophy Towbridge, remember, and Sophy Towbridge has information on the entire network of British intelligence operatives in France. That's what's in the letters."
"Oh, dear Lord." If that was supposed to make her feel better, it didn't. Instead it scared her to death. If they were hunting spies, the soldiers would never give up. Then it occurred to her that if Sophy Towbridge had information on British intelligence operatives in France, and Hugh, whom the
Nadine
's captain had addressed as "colonel," had kidnapped the supposed Sophy Towbridge to somehow retrieve the information before it could reach those in France who were interested in it and was now being hunted as a spy, then he very likely was one of the British intelligence operatives in question or something very similar.
"Master Hugh! Over there!" James came up beside them before she could ask any questions, his face pale in the darkness, the dark bulk of his body awkward as he leaned over his horse's neck to point toward the west. Claire looked and gasped. There was just enough moonlight filtering through the blowing clouds to permit her to see what appeared to be an entire regiment of mounted soldiers cantering along a road that ran parallel to their own course. The soldiers were some distance away, perhaps a quarter mile or more, visible only because of the flatness of the farmland through which they rode. Obviously having seen them too, Hugh reined sharply left into the creekbed beside which they rode, and the plunging descent took them down below the level of the surrounding ground. At a word from Hugh they dismounted, and Hugh and James held their animals' muzzles so that they would not call to the soldiers' horses as they passed. Claire felt her heart drumming in rhythm to the beat of the flashing hooves, and then the soldiers turned north and rode over the horizon and out of sight.
"Were they looking for us?" Claire asked in a low, shaken voice when they were gone.
"Aye, I'd say so." James's response was grim as he clambered back into the saddle with more determination than grace.
"Don't worry, puss, they won't find us tonight. I guarantee it."
Having mounted at the same time as James, though with considerably more ease, Hugh reached down to her as he spoke. She saw the brief gleam of his teeth through the darkness, and realized that he was smiling. Lunatic! she thought, recognizing that in some strange way he was enjoying himself. He found the danger exhilarating. While as for herself— her bottom was sore, her legs were wobbly, and her knees ached from the miles she had already ridden in such an unaccustomed position; she was scared to death, and the only thing she had enjoyed in this whole hideous saga was, if she was honest with herself, kissing Hugh. She would describe herself, if pressed, as the very opposite of exhilarated. But still as she took his hand, put her foot in the stirrup, and allowed him to pull her up behind him, she managed a smile for him in return.
Because— always providing she managed to survive it— she was beginning to feel that meeting him was probably going to be the best thing that ever happened to her in her life.
Then they were off again, and within minutes the smile had been wiped from her face. The horses were traveling like bullets, straight across the countryside as fast as they could go. Riding on the rump of a galloping horse had to be one of the most excruciating experiences of her life, she decided in very short order. Every time the animal bounded forward— that is, just about every other second— her backside was smacked sharply by a mass of bunched muscles as hard as any schoolmaster's paddle. In addition, the insides of her thighs ached like a sore tooth from gripping so tightly, and her knees felt like they were being rubbed raw by the animal's rough hide. By the time another hour had passed, Claire was in a state of real misery. She locked her arms around Hugh's waist, buried her head in his back, and set herself to endure.
Finally they came to what looked like a fishing village, spread out like a horseshoe around a glistening black bay, sleeping in the dead of night. Drooping now with fatigue, leaning heavily against Hugh's back as the only secure thing in a bouncing world, Claire glanced up bleary-eyed to see the cluster of darkened buildings on the edge of the sea, and for a moment she feared that they had somehow come full circle, ending up right where they had started. But there was no fire burning on the beach, no schooner tied up at the dock, no smell of burning. A glance up at the moon, the merest sliver of silver high overhead occasionally daring to peek through the racing clouds, told her that it was now close on midnight. She did not know where they were, but they had clearly come a long way.
A dog barked nearby, startling her into full wakefulness. They were slowing now, trotting down a muddy track close to what looked like a two-story farmhouse set a little distance from the village proper.
"Where are we?" Claire asked in a hushed voice.
"Somewhere safe. The man who lives here is a friend. He's expecting us— well, James and me."
There was a barn behind the house, more of a tumbledown shed really, and Hugh headed inside it with James close behind. A musty smell as of hay allowed to rot greeted them, and overhead a soft fluttering spoke of chickens or pigeons or some other birds roosting in the beams.
"Slide off," Hugh said, pulling the horse to a halt, and she did, then as she hit the soft turf discovered that her legs would barely support her. Leaning heavily against the horse's heaving side, hood thrown back and hair tumbling down her back, her hairpins lost somewhere on that wild ride, she watched Hugh dismount, and James.
"I'll see to the horses," James said, taking the reins of Hugh's mount as well as his own. Claire straightened away from the animal as James led it off into the depths of the barn, but as she tried to take a step back she staggered and would have fallen if Hugh had not caught her with both hands on her waist.
"Are you ill?" He was frowning as he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. Leaning heavily against him, grateful for his solid strength, comforted by the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, she shook her head.
"Not ill," she said. "It is just— I am not accustomed to riding astride."
He gave a grunt of what sounded suspiciously like laughter. "Saddle sore! Egad, I never thought of that."
"Do you find the idea amusing?" Faint stirrings of indignation chilled her voice.
"No, puss, no, of course not." He said it hastily, but Claire still thought she detected the faintest hint of amusement underlying the words. "Poor little girl, you've had a bad time of it, haven't you?"
"I am not," Claire said with indignation, "a poor little girl."
Pushing away from him, she again took a step, and nearly fell as excruciating pain shot up her legs.
"Oh!" She couldn't help the little sound she made any more than she could resist the urge to rub her abused posterior.
He grunted— the sound could have been disguised laughter, she thought darkly, then realized, with a swift glance at his face, that it probably was— and steadied her, then scooped her up in his arms before she could push away again. Claire stiffened, but didn't struggle. She was so tired, so sore, so frightened, and it felt so good to let him take care of her that she hadn't the will to fight any longer. She abandoned her irritation at him to curl close against his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck as if right where she was was the one place on earth she most wanted to be.
Which, indeed, it was.
Chapter 19
"I'm sorry." Hugh sounded genuinely remorseful as he walked out of the barn with her and headed across the muddy lot toward the farmhouse. The moonlight struck his eyes, turning them to silver as he looked at her. With her head nestled on his shoulder, their eyes were just inches apart. "Sorry for everything. Sorry you had to get caught up in this."
"I'm not," Claire said, inhaling the musky aroma of him with every breath and feeling the warm strength of the muscles that cradled her clear down to her toes. "At least, not altogether. If I hadn't gotten caught up in this, I never would have met you."
He looked down at her sharply, and his lips parted as if he would reply. Then squelching footsteps behind them heralded James's arrival.
"I rubbed 'em down and fed 'em." His gaze swept over the two of them and he frowned, but if he had aught to say about her being carried so carefully in his master's arms he kept it to himself.
"What other animals are in there?"
"A plow horse. Some chickens, a cow, and a couple of nanny goats."
"Hildebrand's not arrived, then."
"I'd say not." James turned a frowning glance on Claire, then cleared his throat. "Master Hugh, have you given any thought as to what the general's liable to say about
her
?"
Hugh grimaced. "He can say what he likes. I intercepted the wrong woman, and there's an end to it. The only thing to do is send her home safely, and get everyone we have searching for the real Sophy Towbridge."
James coughed delicately. "Are you sure…?"
"I'm sure."
They reached the back stoop then, which was no more than a couple of planks laid over a base of rocks set into the ground. Before they could knock, the door opened. A man, a farmer by the looks of him, with ill-kempt chestnut hair and a straggly beard of the same color, dressed in a loose shirt, breeches, and brogues, stood in the aperture looking at them suspiciously, a lantern in his hand.
"Well met, Tinsley."
"Colonel! Thank God! I was that afeard something had gone wrong— you're late. And General Hildebrand's not here yet." His voice with its hint of cockney revealed that Tinsley was no more French than Claire was. Was he an intelligence agent too? Her eyes widened at the thought.
"Something did go wrong," Hugh said, carefully maneuvering Claire through the narrow doorway as Tinsley, after a nod at James, stepped back for him to enter. Claire clung to Hugh's neck. If he put her down, she wasn't sure she could even stand, much less walk. "I'll tell you all about it, but first I must see the lady here taken care of. Have you a bedchamber where she can rest?"
"Aye, upstairs." Tinsley evinced no surprise at the presence of an unexpected female guest. In the spy game, Claire supposed, one learned to expect the unexpected.
"Lead the way."
James closed the door behind them, and, with Tinsley's lantern lighting the way, Hugh carried Claire up the narrow stairs and into a bedroom. It was small and very simple, its furnishings consisting of no more than a lumpy-looking bed piled high with colorful quilts, a wardrobe, a washstand, and a straight-backed chair. The walls were rough whitewashed plaster. The floor was dark scuffed wood. As Tinsley lit a candle by the bed, Hugh set Claire on her feet. Pain shot up her legs, and she immediately tottered a step and sank down in the chair, then winced as her backside made it clear that it was not in any state to welcome contact with a wooden seat.
She must have made some small sound of discomfort, because Hugh looked at her with a questioning frown. Under that weighing gaze, she managed, heroically, not to rub any afflicted parts.
"Are you all right?" Clearly he divined her trouble because, his verbal expression of concern to the contrary, his eyes twinkled. Claire eyed him narrowly.
"Just fine, thanks." She said it with a hint of a snap. The twinkle grew more pronounced.
"I would be glad to take a look…."
She glared at him, and he grinned.
Tinsley, having lit the candle, left the room.
"Master Hugh…" As Tinsley exited, James stuck his head through the open doorway. Hugh looked around at him. "The general's here."
"I'm coming." He glanced back at Claire, the twinkle now entirely gone from his eyes. "Stay here until I come for you."
His tone was abrupt, and there was no doubt that the words were an order.
Claire nodded. Without another word Hugh turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
For a moment Claire simply sat, the pain in her backside engendered by sitting being less, she calculated, than the pain it would cost her to move. She could hear nothing beyond the four walls of the bedchamber. If, as she guessed, the men were conferring below, not even the faintest echo of their voices reached her ears.
She realized she was holding her breath, and slowly let it out. Hugh's sudden change of demeanor had reminded her that she was caught up in a life-and-death situation, and the thought made her shiver. It was more than certain that she was one of the chief topics under discussion downstairs, and she wondered briefly what she would do if the newly arrived general sided with James rather than Hugh about her identity. The possibility was frightening, but then she thought of Hugh and felt the worst of her tension ease. Hugh would not let any harm come to her. She was as certain of that as she was of her own name. As for the rest, there was no point in worrying about it. The only thing to do was to stay in this room and wait on events, she realized, and so set about making herself as comfortable as she could.
In this she was aided by James, who appeared not very many minutes later with a tray bearing food.
"Master Hugh thought you might be hungry," he said in answer to Claire's questioning look as she answered the door. Claire discovered that she was, in fact, very hungry indeed. Thinking back, she remembered that her last meal had been the tea and bread and butter she had eaten in the inn just before she had been snatched from her coach. Since then her stomach had emptied itself so thoroughly that, now, the sides felt like they were touching. Eagerly she tucked into cold beef and bread and cheese, and drank the hot sweet tea.
She was just polishing off the apple that served as her final course, and feeling very much better for the meal, when another knock sounded at the door.