by Galen, Shana
“Go!” he told Angelette.
She didn’t hesitate. She lifted her skirts and ran for the stables. The doors were standing open, and she rushed inside. The lantern hanging nearby was lit, and she glanced about for some sort of weapon. She spotted several tools for mucking out the stalls, but they were too heavy and cumbersome for her to wield. Instead, she grasped the hoof knife the farrier used and slid it into the hidden pocket under her skirts. She lifted the lantern from its nail and held it up, searching for her boots when footsteps behind her caused her to swing around.
The light from the lantern illuminated Daventry. His look was dark and serious and a red stain bloomed on his white shirt. She gasped, but he waved a hand. “It’s not mine.”
She closed her eyes, not wanting to think of the footman and his fate. What was happening? In the space of a half hour, the entire world had turned on its side. She felt dizzy and confused, sure of only one thing: she must reach Versailles and the king.
Daventry cocked his head, his brows lowering. Angelette started to ask what the matter was, and then she noticed it too. The stables were too quiet. She should have heard the snorting of the horses, the sound of their hooves pawing the ground, the creak of the floorboards as they moved in their stalls. She heard nothing.
“No!” Surely the peasants would not have harmed the horses. She rushed down the length of the stable. Stall after stall she passed was empty. She ran the entire length, then spun around. “I don’t understand.”
“They didn’t want anyone escaping and turned the horses loose.”
Angelette straightened her shoulders. “Then we walk to Versailles. It’s not far.”
He gave her a dubious look. “We’ll have to stay off the roads. How do you intend to walk through brush and woods in your slippers and silk gown?”
“You don’t know me very well, my lord, if you think that will stop me.” She ran back to the stable door. “Keep watch while I find boots and do something about my dress.”
He moved to the stable door and peered into the night. All was quiet for the moment, but she knew it wouldn’t last. She found her boots and sat to remove her slippers before slipping the boots on. Next she stood and looked down at her dress. She had limited movement in the wide panniers. Without them, the skirt would drag on the ground. She would have to remove the skirt and panniers and go in her petticoats and shift. As the bodice was a separate piece, she could keep it on. She reached back to untie her skirts and could not seem to loosen the knot. She began to unpin the skirt so she could slide it around and see what she was doing when Daventry moved closer.
“Would you like my help?”
She did not want his help, but she was also smart enough to realize that if it hadn’t been for him, she would probably be dead by now. She was fortunate he had taken her with him when he’d escaped the ballroom. Her hesitation then might have been the cause of their deaths. And she would not be the one to hamper their escape now.
“Thank you.” She gave him her back and felt his hands on her waist. She struggled to stop her thoughts from returning to their earlier path. Struggled not to imagine his hands on her bare skin. Instead, she took a deep breath and tried to pretend it was her lady’s maid loosening her ties and sliding the heavy skirts over her panniers and down her legs. “Now the panniers, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.”
Was it her imagination or was his voice huskier than usual?
It seemed to take an eternity before he finally undid the knot and freed her from the panniers. He slid them down, brushing his hand along the small of her back.
“Forgive me,” he said hastily, jerking his hand back.
Angelette swallowed. “It’s nothing.”
But it hadn’t been nothing. His touch seemed to burn through the thin layers of muslin that comprised her undergarments. Even though she could not feel his skin on hers, heat flashed through her, traveling straight to her lower abdomen where it settled and pulsed. The sensation made her legs weak, but she managed to step away from him and finish removing the panniers herself.
She gathered the garments from the floor, looking about for a hook to hang them so the material would not be soiled.
“Leave it,” Daventry said.
But she needed something to do, something to take her mind off the heat pulsing through her. “This gown is new, and I’d rather—”
“Leave it!”
His voice erased any warmth remaining. She swung around to stare at him, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring out of the stable at the twinkling stars that had appeared.
“What is it?” But he didn’t need to answer because she saw. The twinkling lights she’d thought were stars weren’t stars at all but...torches. And the people carrying those torches were nearing, coming closer.
“Mon Dieu,” she whispered.
“Yes.” He turned to her. “I was afraid of this.”
“What is that?”
“More peasants are coming to burn the château.”
“No.” She shook her head. She couldn’t believe they would burn her home. “I don’t understand. The villagers here have always been treated well. Most serve at the palace or in the households of the courtiers—”
“I don’t think those are the villagers from Versailles. I think those are men and women from Paris. They must have come and turned your servants against you. Now they’re here to burn the symbols of the upper classes to the ground.”
“But we can’t let them. This château has stood for hundreds of years. The art inside is priceless. We have to stop them!”
“We have to run or we’ll both be murdered.”
She wanted to argue. She’d never felt so completely impotent in her life. This was her home. This had been her husband’s home. Almost all of her worldly possessions were inside—keepsakes and mementos she cherished. She could never replace the lock of hair Georges had given her or the drawing her sister had made of their baby brother who had died in infancy. But all of these items were merely things. They weren’t worth her life.
“We go out the back,” he said.
She didn’t argue. She followed him through the empty stable and out the back door. As he stepped out, she noted he’d donned a spare pair of riding boots, leaving his dancing shoes in their place. Behind the stable lay the paddocks and a wooded area where she often rode.
“We’ll head for the safety of the woods and the cover of the trees,” he said.
“But the palace is that way.”
“And so are the peasants with their torches. We’ll have to make a wide flank around them and proceed with caution, as we can’t be certain they haven’t also attacked the palace.”
The words don’t be ridiculous were on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t speak them. Nothing was too outrageous to be believed. Not after what she’d seen tonight.
“I suppose there’s but one way to find out.”
He nodded. “Stay close.”
She glanced at the dark woods and needed no further encouragement. She threaded her fingers through his and followed him into the unknown.
Four
Her hand trembled in his. Hugh could hardly blame her. He’d known immediately what was happening. His first inclination had been similar to that of many of the other men—fight. The peasants were thin and armed with household tools. He could have overpowered them.
But his thoughts had turned to the Comtesse d’Avignon and his commitment to her sister. He couldn’t fight the peasants and protect her. The other women were married and had husbands to defend them, but she had no one. She’d worn a stunning red gown tonight, and it was simple to spot her in the ballroom. If his eyes were drawn to her, then the assailants’ eyes would be as well. She was very much like the center of the target they’d hit in their game of archery that morning.
He’d taken three long strides and grasped her hand, pulling her out of harm’s way. Now it seemed he was in a similar position, leading her once again away from
the danger. She trudged along beside him without complaint, keeping up, though it must have been hard for her at the punishing pace he set. Once they were under the cover of the trees, he turned and looked back at the château. The men and women with torches had reached it, and the flickering firelight seemed to dance around it. Hugh did not want to stay to see it burn. He prayed to God some of the others had escaped. He had not particularly liked any of them, but they didn’t deserve to be bludgeoned or burned to death.
“You needn’t stop because of me. I’m fine,” she said, though she was panting. No doubt her corset was tightly laced and prevented her from taking a deep breath. He made the mistake of glancing at her bodice and his gaze focused on the plump half-moons of her breasts rising and falling from the scarlet material. He immediately looked down and then frowned.
“Your petticoats are too bright. They’ll be a beacon for anyone searching for us.”
She looked down as well, then back up. “Your coat is no better. The silver reflects.”
She was right. “I’ll turn it inside out.” He pulled it off, while she bent and scooped up earth. “What are you doing?”
“Making certain my petticoats aren’t so white.”
She was a smart girl and not so missish she objected to a little dirt. He’d known women who would rather die than suffer a stain on their dresses. He would have still helped her if she’d been such a woman, but she would not have endeared herself to him. He didn’t particularly want to feel warmly toward Angelette, but he’d been drawn to her from the first and it seemed fate—with a little help from Hugh—had thrown them together.
When Hugh had turned both coat and waistcoat inside out so their silver embroidery was muted, he glanced at Angelette. She had mud smeared over her petticoats and was using them, without much success, to try and clean her hands. She looked up at him, and he had to suppress a smile. She had a smear of mud across her cheek, which made her look like a wayward child who had been playing where she oughtn’t.
“That’s much better,” she said, nodding her approval of him. “How do I look?”
“Very well. It’s just—” He gestured to her face.
“I have mud on my face?”
“Your cheek.”
She swiped at the wrong cheek, smudging it with mud.
“No. Now you’ve made it worse.”
She rubbed at the mud she’d added, smearing it further.
He grasped her hand. “Allow me.” Withdrawing his handkerchief, he gently cleaned the mud from one cheek and then the other. She stood very still, her gaze focused on the vicinity of his ear. When he withdrew his hand, her gaze met his.
“Better?”
It was difficult to see, and without thinking, he took her chin between two fingers and angled her head. Her quickly indrawn breath was a stark reminder that he shouldn’t have touched her so intimately. To do so with a handkerchief out of necessity was one thing, but with his bare hand was another.
And yet, he didn’t pull his hand away. Her skin was soft and warm, her chin sharp and pointed—the perfect tip to her heart-shaped face. He had the mad urge to slide his fingers up and over the newly cleaned skin of her cheek and test its softness.
She stiffened and he wondered if she’d read his thoughts, but one look at her eyes told him that was not the reason. Releasing her, he followed her gaze. The château had begun to burn, the flames spiking high into the black night. Screams echoed, but from this distance it was impossible to tell whether they were screams of delight or pain.
He tried to think of something comforting to say, but there was nothing. It was hard not to see the peasants’ point of view. For so long they had suffered unfairly under a rule that favored the wealthy and powerful. Was it not right that they fought for some measure of equality? And yet, as a member of the nobility himself, he could not imagine seeing his ancestral home burned to the ground. He might have been given his title, but with it came great responsibility and the care of land and tenants and everything else that came with running a great estate. He had spent years learning how to manage Daventry Hall and years ensuring that its lands were profitable and his tenants and servants well taken care of. Not every landowner was so responsible, but did one throw out an entire harvest because of a few rotten apples?
Tears glittered on the comtesse’s cheeks, and he took her hand, squeezing it. “Let’s go. I don’t know what other mischief is planned for the night, but the sooner we reach the palace, the better.”
She nodded, turning her face away from the fiery inferno of her home with a resolute look. “Only the king can help us now, and I don’t hold out much hope he will be of any use.”
Hugh took her hand, surprised at how icy cold it was even in the warm night. Since they could not take the most direct path to Versailles lest they encounter a mob of peasants, they would have to travel farther into the woods before cutting back. He started toward the deeper section of woods, where the trees grew thick, keeping her at his side.
“I have not ever met the French king,” he said, “but I understand the mantle of power does not fit him.”
“He would much rather hunt or repair clocks than deal with matters of state. It’s not that he is unintelligent.”
“Watch your step here.”
“I see it. Thank you.” She had to lift her petticoat to climb over a fallen log. “But he is perhaps too introspective. It is not easy for him to make decisions, and these times call for decisive action.”
“And the queen?”
“She is the stronger of the two. Wait.” She bent and yanked at her skirts. “I’m caught.” She struggled further until finally managing to free herself, but not until he heard the rip of muslin. “There.” She took his hand again, and he was pleased at the gesture. He could at least provide her some compassion, some comfort through his touch.
“What was I saying?”
“You were telling me about the queen.” He led her deeper into the woods, beginning now to look for a place to cut over. If only he had some light, he could move more quickly. As it was, they had to go slowly for fear of stumbling or tripping.
“She is clever and decisive. If she were in charge, I have no doubt these uprisings would have been put down long ago. But she is hampered by the people’s dislike of her and her birth. Even after all these years, she’s still considered Austrian. If the populace thought she influenced the king’s decisions, he would lose what little popularity he has.”
Which meant all their efforts to reach Versailles might be for naught. But he would not say so aloud. She had already lost everything. He could not take away her one last glimmer of hope.
They walked in silence for a long time, stopping occasionally so she might disentangle herself or he might help her over a piece of difficult ground.
“Should we not start toward Versailles now? I think we’ve gone far enough into the woods.”
“I’ve already started that way. I’m looking for the road now. If it’s clear, we can take it to the palace.”
She stopped. “We’re still walking away from the road. We have to turn that way to reach the palace.” She pointed back the way they’d come.
“No, we’ve already been that way.”
She withdrew her hand from his. “I know these woods, and I say we must go that way.”
“You might know the woods near your château in the daylight, but it’s dark and you’re miles from home. Look at the stars.” With all the branches above them, the stars were difficult to see. She moved to study them.
“I followed that one there and then turned east to follow that one.” He frowned. Or had he been following that other one?
“Look how light the sky has become. It will be morning in a few hours.”
He heard the weariness and frustration in her voice. Hugh did not think he was lost, but he could not be certain. His own instinct was to push on and make every attempt to reach the palace. But if he was walking in circles, he could hardly drag her along with him. She needed
rest and surely they would make better progress in the daylight. It would be dangerous traveling in the light of day, but it was dangerous tromping through the woods in the dark when a misstep could cause a broken neck or leg.
“We should stop for a few hours.” He explained his reasoning, and she agreed without protest. Before he could suggest finding a place to rest, she sank down onto the carpet of soil and leaves.
“I don’t want to take another step,” she said, lying on her back. “I would crawl for some water, but otherwise I simply want to lie here and not move.”
Hugh might have preferred to find a more comfortable spot, perhaps one with a fallen log to sit on or somewhere near a small creek, but he too was weary. He lay down beside her and looked up at the sky. It was more gray than black now. Propping his hands behind his head, he studied it for a long time.
“Why did you help me?” she asked. She’d been silent for so long, he thought she’d fallen asleep.
“You were standing near me. It seemed natural.”
She turned to look at him, and he could see her pale face in the dim light. “You were dancing with the duchesse. It would have been more natural to help her. She was much closer.”
“She also had the duc, her husband, to protect her. You had no one.”
“Ah.” That was all she said, and Hugh sensed there was a world of meaning in that one drawn-out syllable.
“What does ah mean?”
“Nothing.”
“It means something.”
She stared up at the sky. “It means I understand. You have an obligation to my sister, and you felt sorry for me.”
Hugh bristled. He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her. “I didn’t feel sorry for you.”
“It’s understandable. Everyone feels sorry for me. I’m a young widow. I’m the object of much pity.”
“I don’t pity you or feel sorry for you. In fact, until a few hours ago, I didn’t much like you.”