Return of the Runaway (14 page)

‘Perhaps I imagined it,' she muttered.

‘Perhaps, or it could have been an animal,' said Raoul. ‘If there was anyone there they have gone now.' More thunder rumbled, accompanied by bright, searing flashes. ‘Come along. I think we would do well to find shelter.'

The storm clouds were gathering rapidly, there was very little moonlight left and when Raoul spotted the black mouth of a cave just ahead he turned his horse from the path and made his way towards it.

They were just in time. Even as they approached the cave the first, fat drops of rain began to fall. They dismounted and led the horses towards the shadowy aperture. The cave turned out to be little more than a rocky overhang, but it was deep enough to provide shelter for them and the horses. They had barely reached it when the rain turned to a heavy, drenching downpour. The animals snorted nervously as a clap of thunder rent the air and rumbled around the skies. Apart from the occasional flicker of lightning it was very dark and everything was reduced to shades of black.

Cassie peered out into the gloom. ‘Do you think there is anyone out there?'

‘I doubt it. Valerin would not hesitate to move in if he had us in his sights.'

Cassie nodded. She tried to remember just what she had seen, but it had been so fleeting, a mere shadow moving quickly between the trees. It was nerves, she told herself. She was growing fanciful. She found a small ledge at the back of the shallow cave to rest upon while Raoul paced restlessly up and down, little more than a black shadow moving against the darkness.

‘Will you not sit down?' she asked him. ‘There is enough space here for two.'

‘Thank you, no. I am glad to stretch my legs.'

‘You would rather not be near me.' She stated it baldly, trying not to sound wistful.

‘That is true.'

She clasped her hands tightly and screwed up her courage. It was time to speak.

‘Raoul, I have to tell you, I...I lied to you. When we first met. I
was
married, yes, but I am a widow now. My husband died at Verdun and it was only then that I decided to return to England.'

He had stopped pacing, but she could not see his face. She fancied he had his back to her, looking out into the night. She would have to listen carefully to his reply and judge his reaction by his tone.

‘Ah.'

There was nothing to be learned from that brief response. She felt rather than saw him turn.

‘Why do you tell me this now?'

‘Because I do not want you to think badly of me. Or to blame yourself for...for what nearly happened in the barn.'

He said politely, ‘I am grateful, milady.'

A flicker of lightning showed him standing before her, his face impassive. As the darkness returned he was moving again, muttering that he would just check the horses were securely tethered. Moments later he was back, a black presence, almost invisible in the darkness.

‘These storms rarely last too long,' he said. ‘We shall be able to resume our journey again soon.'

She frowned. Was that all? He had no other comment to make about her confession? She strained her eyes against the blackness.

‘It is not just that you thought me a married woman, is it? There is something more. Is it my birth that makes you dislike me?'

‘I do not...dislike you.'

‘No.' She sighed. ‘At times I have thought we might even be friends, but at others...'

‘You are English. You are my enemy.'

‘But you told me yourself you are from Brussels, that is not part of France.'

‘True, but I wanted it to be, at one time. I was full of revolutionary zeal when I joined the French Navy to fight the English.'

‘And you left it because you have no faith in the Consulate or in Bonaparte.'

‘That does not mean I no longer hate the English.'

‘Hate is a strong word, Raoul. What happened to make you so bitter?'

He cursed angrily.

‘Damn your arrogance! You are paying me to escort you to Dieppe, nothing more. It does not give you the right to pry into my life.'

She reeled in dismay at his outburst and quickly begged pardon.

‘I did not mean to pry, I...' She hesitated. What should she say; that she cared about him? She knew he did not want that. She murmured again, ‘I beg your pardon.'

Silence. When Raoul did speak it was to say merely, ‘The rain has stopped. We may continue our journey.'

The conversation was at an end and Cassie almost screamed with frustration. Raoul said he did not dislike her, yet he hated her race. She wanted to know why, but the moment was lost and he would not tell her now. She stood up and looked about her. She had been so intent on their conversation she had not noticed that the thunder had moved away and the downpour had ceased. The clouds were breaking up, too, and the crescent moon had once more made an appearance.

* * *

Raoul threw Cassandra up into the saddle before scrambling on to his own horse. He had never been more thankful to be moving. He had no wish to explain himself to this infuriating woman. How dare she ask it of him? He owed her nothing. She was no more than an arrogant, self-seeking aristocrat. How did he know she was a widow, how could he be sure she was not merely saying that to placate him, now he had told her he disapproved of adultery?

Even as the angry thoughts drove through his brain he remembered the night they had met, the black lace shawl fluttering in his face. He had discarded it then without a second thought. Perhaps it was true, she was a widow, but why should she not admit it from the start? Did she think a man would be deterred from seducing her by the thought of an outraged husband seeking vengeance? That might be so, but it did not alter the fact that she was by birth a detested aristocrat, a proud, selfish creature.

No. Raoul could not pretend he truly believed that. Cassie had made no complaint during their long journey although the hardships had been great for a gently bred lady. And he could not forget how she had wanted to help when they came upon the collapsed barn. She could have taken a room at the
auberge
and remained there safe and comfortable, instead she had worked tirelessly.

He glanced over his shoulder at the upright little figure riding behind him. When he had told her his reasons for going to Dieppe she had not hesitated. They could have parted at Rouen, she might well have been on her way to England by now, instead she chose to ride with him. Why should she do that? His mind shied away from the answer that presented itself.

* * *

A grey dawn was lightening the eastern sky when Raoul next looked back at Cassie. Through the gloom he could see unhappiness clouding her face.
He
had done that, he had turned on her, accused her of prurient curiosity when all she wanted was to understand.

He slowed his horse and waited for her to come alongside.

‘I told you my father was a doctor,' he began, not wasting time with preliminaries. ‘He was well respected in Brussels and amongst his patients were several grand English families. They had titles and money, even though most had fled from England to escape their creditors. They were also arrogant and demanding, none more so than a certain English countess. It was “Oh, Doctor, I have the headache...” and “Doctor, I am in pain...” This countess would think nothing of sending a servant to fetch my father in the middle of the night for the mildest of ailments. He was at her beck and call at all hours. He never complained, never delayed a visit or refused to go. She dazzled him, I think, even more so than the other English nobles. He was in awe of her title and her grand ways. So much so that he neglected his other patients and his family.' Raoul's jaw clenched as the memories flooded back. ‘He did not even notice that his own wife was in failing health. In fact, I believe he deliberately avoided it, since to tend his wife would have given him less time to spend with the English milords.
Maman
sickened and died. I was just thirteen at the time, my sister was even younger. We did what we could to nurse her, but we could not save her. From what I have learned since I believe that if the growth had been diagnosed, if an operation had been carried out early enough, she might have lived, but my father would not even acknowledge that she was ill.

‘Is it any wonder that I grew up with a burning resentment against the aristos with their money and selfish demands? And especially I hated the English. France was in the grip of its revolution then and I understood why the old regime had to go. I thought then that change was good, whatever the cost. I was young and idealistic, I thought Europe would be a better place under this new, fairer French government. I also believed that it would be a good thing to bring England under French rule, to destroy the aristocracy that bled its people dry. Older, wiser friends in Brussels tried to counsel caution, but I would not listen and my father showed no interest at all in my views. I did not understand then that he was crippled with guilt and regret. After
Maman's
death he threw himself even more into his work. His patients and his duty always came before any consideration for his family. We were left to fend for ourselves.'

‘And yet you, too, wanted to study medicine?'

‘Being a surgeon is not a choice for me, milady. It is what I am.'

‘I know that,' she said quietly. ‘I have seen you at work.'

Having started to explain, he could not stop now. ‘Only when he was dying did my father admit that he had failed us, especially he had failed my mother. He blamed his calling, he had never wanted to be anything other than a doctor, it was his life, an all-consuming passion.'

She interrupted him. ‘Forgive me, but your father believed his
calling
prevented him from seeing that your mother was ill? How can that be?'

‘It was only a part of it. He confessed that being physician to the rich and privileged in Brussels had turned his head, especially the attentions of the English countess.' He added bitterly, ‘He was so busy pandering to her imagined illnesses that he ignored the symptoms of illness that
Maman
displayed. He was always more interested in his patients than his family and that was his final piece of advice to me. He would have preferred me to be a doctor, but if I was determined to be a surgeon, then so be it, but he told me that medical men—physicians, doctors—should never marry. They live for their work, to the exclusion of all else. There can be no compromise.'

‘What if they should fall in love?'

He had asked himself this question many times and the answer came easily.

‘They must not. They may take lovers, yes, but there should never be any serious attachment.' He glanced towards her. ‘You should appreciate such sentiments, milady, since you believe love to be overprized in your society.'

‘I do,' she agreed, putting up her chin. ‘There is much to be said for your view. I fell head over heels in love with Gerald and eloped with him, thinking the world well lost, but it did not last. Such a heady passion never could. Although
my
affection lasted considerably longer than my husband's,' she ended bitterly.

‘How did he die?' asked Raoul.

‘A duel.' She paused, her brows drawing together slightly as she frowned. ‘A duel over another man's wife. I told you my husband would never take me to a ball. I would not play his games, you see. I did not wish to flirt with other men and I objected to his attentions to other women. So, I was left at home. He told me he was meeting friends, going to gambling hells, and I chose to believe that. In fact, he was escorting other ladies to balls and assemblies. Any number of them. One husband took exception and called him out.'

‘I am very sorry.'

‘Do not be. He had spent all our money on gambling and women. If he had lived he would have continued until we were deep in debt. His morals, too, were not what I first thought them. He was sinking into depravity and...' she swallowed ‘...and he was close to taking me with him.'

‘Those dreams,' said Raoul. ‘I heard you call out for him to stop. Did—was he—?'

He saw her shudder.

‘A husband is entitled to his rights,' she said.

Raoul was silent. So he was wrong, she had not abandoned her husband. Or at least so she said. Could he believe her? The answer was already in his heart. He knew this woman now as if she was a part of him.

‘Raoul.' Her voice broke into his thoughts. She was sitting straighter in the saddle, staring at the road ahead. ‘There are some men on the road in front of us.'

Raoul heard the urgency in her voice, but he had already spotted the men and unease was prickling his skin. There were four of them approaching and at a point where the terrain would make it difficult to evade them.

‘Stay behind me,' he muttered. ‘If there is trouble you must turn and ride away, do you understand?'

It was light enough now for Raoul to see that the men were in ragged uniforms and two of them held short, heavy sticks in their hands. Deserters, perhaps, rogues certainly. They were in a line across the road, blocking the way.

‘Good day to you,' he hailed them cheerfully. ‘I hope you mean to move aside and allow two weary travellers to pass.'

One of the men, presumably the leader, stepped forward to answer him.

‘With pleasure, my friend, once you have given us your purse and your horses.'

‘I think not.'

The fellow slapped the club menacingly against his empty palm. ‘Hand them over freely,
monsieur
, and you and your woman may walk on unharmed. Resist and I will smash your horse's knees and then we will kill you. And the woman, too, after we have taken our pleasure.'

Raoul pulled out the pistol. He would have to make good use of his one shot and pray he could give Cassie time to escape. He decided he would rather face them on foot, so he quickly slipped out of the saddle and took a few steps towards the leader, who bared his teeth in an ugly grin.