Jarred from his bemusement, Lucas said, “Yes, the Magdalene has carried me for many miles.”
The Magdalene? An interesting name for a mule. When Lucas still looked wary, Simon said, “Do sit down so we can break bread together, Lucas. There are many years to catch up on. I’m not going to abduct you and take you back to England against your will, you know.”
Still looking uncertain, Lucas dismounted, tethered the Magdalene, and seated himself on a stump opposite Suzanne’s log. Gracious as a duchess in her own drawing room, she sliced several pieces of cheese and a couple of rounds of bread from a baguette, then wrapped the food in one of the two cloth napkins Madame Moreau had packed.
She handed Lucas the bundle, then poured wine into one of the pewter drinking vessels. That also was given to Lucas. “Breaking bread together is a primal form of connecting with others, isn’t it? Plus, it tastes good.”
Lucas actually smiled. “Very true, Madame Duval.”
“Please, call me Suzanne. We are family, after all.”
Lucas politely waited for her to lay out bread and cheese for two on the other linen napkin. After she poured wine into the other vessel, he bit hungrily into his food.
Simon had taken a seat a couple of feet down the log from her, leaving space for her to set the napkin of food between them. After sipping the wine, she offered it to Simon. The sharing was quietly intimate.
He was glad they had enough food and wine for Lucas. Simon was wondering how to start a conversation about why his cousin had vanished when Lucas said, “Belated congratulations on your marriage, Simon. How long have you two been wed?”
Simon and Suzanne looked at each other. “It’s only been a few weeks,” he said, mildly surprised. “It feels much longer.” She had been a part of him since they’d first met, he realized.
Suzanne grinned at him. “I hope you mean that in a good way, mon chéri.”
“That very way,” he said with a smile. Turning to Lucas, he explained, “We first met many years ago. You had gone into the Royal Navy by then, but I’m sure I wrote you about attending the wedding of my cousin, the Comte de Chambron, and how I’d become friends with his young bride.”
Interest engaged, Lucas said, “You’re that Suzanne? Simon went on about your beauty and charm at great length.”
“Really?” Suzanne gave Simon a sideways smile. “I thought you were mostly impressed with my riding. Other than that, all my focus was on my wedding.”
Looking as if he was enjoying himself, Lucas said, “As I recall, Simon, you said you hoped you’d meet a girl like her when you were ready to settle down.”
Simon drew in a steadying breath as he thought of the intervening years. “That’s what I did. Exactly like her. But it was a long and complicated journey from then to now.” His sober gaze held Suzanne’s before he turned back to Lucas. “A long, complicated journey for all of us, I think. What happened to you, Luke? We were informed that the French had sunk your ship and you were missing and presumed dead. And then . . . nothing.”
Lucas started crumbling his bread into small pieces. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not fit to be speaking to either of you after what I did.”
“A year ago, at the time of the emperor’s abdication, a friend of the family, Mr. Carter, thought he saw you in Brussels dressed as a monk, and he told your great-aunt and uncle about it.”
Lucas looked up swiftly. “My aunt and uncle. They are well?”
“Yes, but they miss you deeply. They still grieve.” As Simon did. “Even though it was the faintest of hopes, they asked if I could investigate. Since I spent the last years as an army intelligence officer, they hoped I might be able to come up with more information, even though I was mostly on the Peninsula.”
Lucas swallowed hard, his throat working. “I wish you had just accepted that I was dead.”
“Well, I didn’t. I asked a friend who is also in the intelligence business if he could learn something from his connections in France. He inquired and found that you’d survived the sinking of your ship and that you’d been captured and interned in France.”
Lucas had finished his bread and cheese and now his fingers were knotting together in his lap. “Don’t say more,” he whispered. “Please!”
Simon continued inexorably, “He said that you’d broken your parole and escaped, and had likely died trying to get out of France. And that was all that was known until Mr. Carter saw you in Brussels.”
“Yes, I broke my parole!” Lucas snapped. “Being interned at Verdun was bad enough, but then I was sent to the depot at Bitche, which is one of the circles of hell. The commander was known for his viciousness and he took a special hatred for me. He said I’d never be exchanged because he intended to see me in hell first.”
His voice dropped to a raw whisper. “So when I could bear no more, I broke my parole and escaped and I’ve been in hell ever since.”
“I’m sorry, Lucas,” Simon said softly. “I can only guess at your pain. But I can’t be sorry you’re alive.”
There was a long silence. Then Suzanne said briskly, “I know that honor is a gentleman’s lifeblood, as vital as the air he breathes. But honor is not always rigid and immutable. It can take new shapes in new circumstances.”
She stood and refilled their wine before sitting again in a flurry of skirts. “Simon spent years as an intelligence officer. A spy. There are those who consider such work dishonorable, but it is vital. Wellington himself said that he could not have succeeded in Spain without the work of his intelligence officers, and Simon is one of the chief among those. He’s also the most honorable man I know.”
Lucas raised his head. “What Simon did was different. He served his country. I broke my word and disgraced myself forever.”
“Oh? I’m a mere female, but as I understand it, the system of parole requires honor on both sides. The captive gives his word that he won’t escape, and the captor promises to treat him as a gentleman and exchange him for an officer of equal rank. It seems to me that the commander at the Bitche depot was not upholding his side of the bargain and you were justified in escaping before he could drive you to your death.”
Lucas frowned as if he’d never thought of the matter like that. “Yes, he behaved dishonorably, but I still broke my word.”
Exasperated, Suzanne stood and stared down at Lucas. “The world is a complicated place, and following the narrowest social rules is sometimes folly. Simon was a spy, and he served his country and saved lives. You were a naval officer who served your country, was captured, and escaped. You damaged no one by doing that.”
She caught his gaze, steel in her eyes. “And I was captured by corsairs and enslaved and became a whore to one of the cruelest men in the Ottoman Empire. There are women who have recoiled upon hearing my story. They considered me filthy, disgraced, dishonored beyond redemption.”
She drew a deep breath. “If I accepted their judgment, I would have no choice but to take my own life. But I do not choose to accept that! I choose to live. That is a choice you can also make, if you dare.”
Simon was stunned by what she had just revealed to a virtual stranger. He stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her tight against his side. “I have never been prouder of you, ma chérie,” he said quietly.
Lucas was staring at her, shocked to his core. If he chose to condemn Suzanne, Simon might have to break his neck. But he said quietly, “You’re a very brave woman, Madame Suzanne. I don’t have your kind of courage.”
“Think about it and maybe you’ll find out otherwise,” Suzanne said tartly as she let Simon draw her down to the log, his arm still around her. “But don’t wallow.”
Lucas blinked. “Wallow?”
She gave him a humorless smile. “After catastrophe wrecks one’s life, one is entitled to wallow in misery. To howl and pound the earth and cry out to the heavens. But at some point, enough! You have chosen to redeem your sins in service to those in need, and that is admirable. But continuing to
berate yourself for your shortcomings after all these years is self-indulgence. Wallowing.”
He swallowed hard. “Wallowing.”
“Unless you enjoy hating yourself, of course,” she said cordially. “That’s quite a different matter.”
Amazingly, Lucas began to laugh. “Simon, you’ve found yourself a spitfire.”
Simon laughed, too, deeply relieved to see the old Lucas. “My lady has many facets, and one of them is fire.” He raised their joined hands and kissed her fingers. “She’s right, you know. I’ve done my full share of wallowing, too.”
“Perhaps it becomes a habit,” Lucas said in a low voice.
“Habits can be changed,” Suzanne said, her voice compassionate. “Though it takes time.”
Thinking it was time to change the subject, Simon said, “I’ve been perishing of curiosity about how you have become a friar and bonesetter. How did that happen?”
“You talk about life being complicated, which it is, but this was simple. I was injured when escaping from the depot at Bitche. By the time I stumbled into Belgium, I was half dead. A farm family found me in their barn, and because I had obvious broken bones, they called the local bonesetter, Frère Emmanuel.” Lucas smiled a little. “Emmanuel means ‘God is with us,’ and if ever God was with a man, it was Frère Emmanuel.”
“You learned the skills from him?” Suzanne asked.
“Yes. Frère Emmanuel came from a family that had been bonesetters for generations. He was getting old and frail and had no son, so I became a kind of apprentice. I traveled with him and cared for him and learned his skills. I found the work interesting and it was deeply rewarding to help those in need. So I stayed with him. It was impossible to imagine going back to my old life in England, where every man would scorn me for behaving dishonorably.” He glanced at Suzanne. “Perhaps I was wallowing.”
She smiled at him. “I didn’t say a word.”
“Have you never wished to return to England if only for a visit?” Simon asked. “The Foxtons would be overjoyed to see you. Not to mention that there’s a title and inheritance waiting for you. Your uncle will gladly return both of those to you.”
Lucas hesitated. “That is the life I didn’t think I could return to.”
“That was then, this is now,” Simon said. “Years have passed. Have your feelings changed?”
When Lucas didn’t reply, Suzanne said, “Of course you’ve taken vows, but even with a true vocation, perhaps you could visit your aunt and uncle?”
“Actually, I haven’t taken vows.” Lucas frowned. “Since I traveled with Frère Emmanuel and lived the life of a Franciscan friar, people assumed that is what I am. But I have never felt that I had a true vocation. Frère Emmanuel always said that if I did have a vocation, I would be sure of it, as he was.”
“Perhaps your vocation is for healing,” Simon said. “You have the bonesetter skills and Frère Pascal in Namur said you had healing hands. Those skills can be exercised anywhere without following the Rule of Benedict.”
Lucas smiled humorlessly. “Can you imagine an English lord who practices as a bonesetter?”
“Actually, yes,” Simon replied. “The English aristocracy has more than its share of eccentrics. Why not a lord whose eccentricities are actually useful?”
Lucas’s eyes lit with laughter. “You make a compelling case, Simon, but my life is here.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Suzanne murmured.
Lucas gazed at her, something in his eyes that looked like longing. Simon remembered how his cousin had always enjoyed the company of females for friendship as well as flirting. A life of celibacy had never seemed possible for him, much less likely.
Lucas rose from his tree stump, tall and too thin but undeniably Lucas. “You have given me much to think of, but my work is here. Simon, it has been a blessing to see you again. Thank you for caring enough to hunt me down.”
Simon hid his disappointment. “Is it all right to tell your aunt and uncle that you are alive and have been living the religious life here in Belgium?”
“Yes, but I’d prefer you not tell them of my disgrace.” He offered his hand. “Bless you, Simon. And Suzanne.” He turned and gave a bow that was more courtier than cleric. “I am so glad that you and Simon have found each other.”
Suzanne gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. “So are we. You know that our door will always be open to you.”
He smiled down at her. “You are gracious.”
Simon said, “We’re staying in Brussels for now, perhaps for a month or two, perhaps longer. Here is the address.” He pulled out a pencil and a small piece of paper and jotted down where to find them. “And if you choose to travel to England, you know where to find us there.”
“Perhaps someday I shall.” But the words seemed mere courtesy. Lucas turned, swung onto the Magdalene, and set off on his road again.
There was no more to be said. Simon helped Suzanne onto her chestnut, he mounted the bay, and they turned back to the road west.
Their search had been successful beyond Simon’s hopes. But he wished he had his brother back again.
Chapter 25
Simon was silent as they rode west after meeting Lucas. His expression was remote and Suzanne thought it best to leave him to his silence. After an hour of travel, she saw a small inn ahead. “The horses are tired and so are we,” she said. “Shall we stop for the night here? It looks pleasant.”
He agreed, saying only the bare minimum as they booked a room and dinner for the night. They groomed their horses together since the landlord was busy. Suzanne had always liked tending to her own horse. It was soothing and the horses seemed to like it.
As Simon brushed out his horse’s mane, he said, “Lucas’s mule was very well kept. He always loved horses.”
“A trait that must run in your family,” Suzanne observed. “The Magdalene is his most constant companion and surely his friend as well.”
Simon gave a muffled grunt that sounded like agreement. They dined on thick bean soup flavored by a ham hock and bolstered by good bread and a decent white table wine. Then it was dark and time for bed.
Simon stripped off his outer clothes and lay on the bed with a sigh. Suzanne slid over to him and rolled onto her side, resting her open hand in the center of his chest, where she could feel the strong beat of his heart against her palm.
He laid his hand over hers. “Thank you for your patience with my grouchiness.”
“You’re not grouchy. You just have much to think about,” she said. “Are you disappointed about today?”
“That’s the right word,” he said slowly. “Disappointed. It was an unexpected miracle to find Lucas alive and well. But I suppose on some level I thought that if I did find him, we’d immediately regain the kind of friendship we had as boys. As close as brothers. Now I realize that was foolish.”
“The caring is still there between you. The longer you talked together, the more I saw signs of the young man you grew up with. But you’ve been living very different lives for many years, and he has deliberately turned away from his youth. He never expected to see you again and I don’t think he knew what to do. He was glad to see you, though. I’m sure of that.”
In a voice of bleak acceptance, Simon said, “I believe he was, but I don’t fit in to his life anymore.”
“Not his life as it is now. But meeting you has surely stirred Lucas’s thinking. What the results might be, I can’t even guess.” She shook her head in the darkness. “I did sense that he envies what you have. What we have.”
“What do you mean?”
“We have warmth and companionship together,” she explained. “His life is very solitary. He moves from place to place rather than living in a community as the monks do, and he doesn’t have a true religious vocation to balance what he’s missing. Unless he always preferred solitude?”
“No, Lucas was more outgoing than I. He liked people of all sorts. Men, women, children, young and old, rich and poor. People who know F
rère Jude like him, but it’s still a lonely life.”
“Perhaps cutting himself off from normal human interactions is part of his self-punishment,” she suggested.
“You may be right, but nonetheless, he seems content with his life. One can do much worse.” Simon sighed. “I hope he’ll visit England before it’s too late to see his great-aunt and uncle. It would mean so much to them.”
“Perhaps he will. As you said, he knows where to find you.” She exhaled warm breath against Simon’s shirt-sleeved arm. She ached for his sadness at losing his cousin in a new way, but at least he was not alone.
Simon shifted to his side so she rolled onto her back. When he bent into a kiss, she gave a purr of pleasure because it was so warm and lovely and unexpected. She guessed he might be wordlessly expressing his gratitude that he was not alone.
His hand slid down her torso, rounding over her hip and down her thigh. She tensed for an instant when he pulled the hem of her shift up to her shoulders, exposing her bare skin to his caresses. Tension swiftly melted into pleasure at the intimacy of his bare skin on hers.
She wanted to protest when he ended the kiss, until he moved his lips to her breast. Arousal shot through her, pooling deep inside. She began moving her hips restlessly, wanting him to touch her there, between her legs.
He took his time. After honoring both breasts, his mouth trailed down her torso, tongue licking and breath warm against her skin. Lower, lower . . .
She gave a choked cry when he reached her most secret, yearning places. His lips and tongue, knowing and teasing, raised her desire to fever pitch until she could bear no more. She cried out, her fingers locking into his hair as her body convulsed.
As she melted bonelessly into the mattress, he gave a sign of satisfaction and rested his head on her soft abdomen. The whiskers on his cheek prickled pleasantly against her. Her clutching fingers relaxed into petting as she whispered, “Oh, my . . .”
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