Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3)

by Ferrarella, Marie

  A chill ran over her heart. She remembered what Marcus had said: that the National Guard was coming to Paris. “You will be there to watch?”

  He had no stomach for the guillotine. “No, there’s need of my men at Orleans instead. Farewell, Mademoiselle. And Godspeed to us both.”

  “Godspeed,” she echoed.

  Duncan took her arm and they hurried out.

  Their horses were just as they had left them, tethered before the tent. Though the guards looked upon them as a curiosity, obviously falling into the realm of their commander’s favor, the lieutenant stood back and made no effort to hide his dislike.

  “I’m glad we’re leaving that one behind,” Jacob said in a whisper as they rode from the camp.

  “You’re not the only one,” Duncan agreed.

  They were within three miles of Paris when the incident happened.

  One moment they were on the road, the next, they were beset on two sides by marauders. Though it was reported that roving bands roamed the countryside, using the revolution as an excuse to plunder and steal, it all happened so quickly, Beth and the men were completely unprepared.

  It was suddenly raining men from the very trees and the bushes. There were four, perhaps five. Duncan could not count them, they moved so swiftly.

  “Ambush, Beth. Run!” He leaned to slap the rump of her horse, but it was too late.

  There were hands grabbing at her reins and more grabbing for her legs. Someone pulled her from her horse and Beth hit the ground with a thud that stunned her almost senseless.

  Something warm seemed to be oozing just over her eye. The next moment Beth screamed as she felt hot, rancid breath on her face and a man’s filthy hands groping hungrily over her body.

  “Hey!” the man crowed. In a lumbering movement, he straddled her body in glee. “This one’s soft. It’s a female!”

  He laughed, and the very sound drove bits of glass through her body.

  “I’ll be well rewarded for my trouble.” A mouth with rotting teeth grinned macabrely over her. “Don’t worry, your death’ll be quick, but first my pleasure.”

  He began to rip her clothing as another man held her hands above her head. Beth bucked and cursed, but it was to no avail. She couldn’t move him off her.

  Suddenly, she heard Duncan’s outraged cry. It sounded only half human. The next moment, the man fell over to the side, his blood spurting from the wound in his back. Duncan had buried his sword into the would-be rapist up to the hilt.

  Duncan pulled his sword out again and turned on the other man above Beth. The latter scrambled back, yelling in fear. But Jacob caught him with the point of his sword and ran him through.

  A third man flew at them, a broken sword raised. Beth pulled her pistol and fired at him. He fell where he had run. Duncan turned to deflect a sword from yet another marauder and quickly did away with him. Two more fled, knowing when all was lost.

  It was over as quickly as it had begun. Four lay dead upon the ground beside the very people they wished to rob and kill.

  Duncan scanned the area swiftly to make certain that there were no others left who would attack them. But there were none.

  Satisfied, he turned to Beth just in time to catch her as she sagged.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Of course she wasn’t all right, he thought, impotent anger and helplessness knitting together. She’d almost been senselessly violated. What woman would be all right under those circumstances?

  Beth ran a shaky hand over her body. She pulled closed her rented shirt and made an attempt to tuck it back into her britches. She looked up at Duncan. If it hadn’t been for him ...

  She couldn’t even bear to think on it. “Yes. Thanks to you,” she said softly.

  For a moment, all he wanted to do was just hold her against him. To feel her warm and safe. “God, Beth, when I saw his hands on you—“

  She could feel his heart pounding wildly against his ribs. She blinked the moisture from her eyes.

  “But you saved me,” she whispered. “And that is all that matters.”

  Leaving them alone, Jacob silently examined each man on the ground to assure himself that they were truly dead. He held a dagger ready in his hands, just in case. There wasn’t a breath of life left within the lot of them.

  Duncan looked down and saw a fresh red stain on his chest where Beth’s head had been only a moment ago. Cupping her chin in his hand, he examined her face closely. It was just as he’d feared.

  “That’s a nasty gash you have on your head.” Duncan felt around it gingerly. The area would swell and bruise soon, he thought. Right now, he wanted to stop the bleeding.

  Beth pulled away. “We’ve no time to waste now. We have to ride into Paris. Lafayette said the executions begin tomorrow at dawn. There isn’t much time left, if that is true. We have to free my father before then.”

  But as she took a step away from Duncan, she tottered and nearly sank to her knees.

  Duncan grabbed her arm to steady her. “For God sakes, Beth, you are only human.” Holding her firmly by the arm, he looked at Jacob. “Jacob, fetch me your water pouch.”

  Jacob was quick to obey.

  Carefully, Duncan poured a little water upon his handkerchief and used it to clean her wound.

  Beth shifted where she stood. “There’s no time to fuss,” she implored.

  “Correction, there’s no time to watch you bleed to death. God, you make an awful patient.” He tied the handkerchief about her head as best he could, hoping that the bleeding would cease soon.

  “I’m fine, fine.” She pushed away his hand and rose. This time, she gained her legs more steadily. “I don’t need to be treated like a child.”

  His eyes narrowed. Though she didn’t wish it, he took her arm again, lest she fall. He’d rather have her pride hurt than her body.

  “If that were the case, you’d have been over my knee a long time ago.”

  It would have been easy to take offense and rail at him, but she knew that she owed Duncan a debt she could not hope to repay.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled at her and touched her cheek with the back of his hand. “Apology accepted.”

  Beth looked around. Panic began to mount within her. “Where’s my horse?”

  They all turned to look now, but there were only the two horses. Beth’s was gone.

  “Duncan.” She clutched at his arm. “That man, he took my horse.”

  It was a loss, he admitted, but not a fatal one. They still had two left, thank the gods. He gave her an encouraging look.

  “We’ll ride double.” And perhaps they could find someone to sell them a third. They would have need of the horse once Beth’s father was freed.

  He didn’t understand, she thought, almost beside herself. It was difficult keeping the hysteria out of her voice.

  “The letter, Duncan.” He looked at her as the reason for her distress became apparent. “Lafayette’s letter was in the saddlebag, as was half the gold we brought to ransom my father!”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  It seemed to Beth that no sooner had she realized that her horse had been stolen, and with it, Lafayette’s precious letter, than more trouble was suddenly looming on the horizon.

  Jacob tugged urgently on Duncan’s arm.

  “Duncan, look. To the east.” Agitated by the battle that had just passed, Jacob drew his sword out quickly, ready to defend Beth to the death, if need be. “More men coming.”

  One hand protectively thrown out before Beth, Duncan swung around to look up. Approaching them swiftly were four men on horseback.

  “Damn this countryside, it’s crawling with cutthroats and murderers, and I can’t understand a word any of them says.” He looked quickly over his shoulder to Jacob. “Quick, take her to the horses. You stand a chance of outriding them.”

  But Jacob stood fast for a moment, puzzled. “With two on a horse?”

  Duncan shook his head. “No, you take Beth. I’l
l stand here and hold them off as long as I can. Hurry, there’s not much time before—“

  Jacob had his hand on Beth’s arm, about to obey Duncan’s order. But Beth pulled free, her eyes on Duncan.

  “The devil you will,” Beth shouted at him. “We all go, or we all stay. I am not leaving you behind.”

  Biting off an oath, Duncan looked up again to see how far away the riders were now.

  “Woman, you are—“ His voice abruptly trailed off as he tried to make out the face of the leader. “Jacob.” He beckoned to the other man. “Look at those men again. The tall one in front, the one with the long, flowing brown hair.” He looked at Jacob to see if there was any recognition. “Christian?”

  Jacob squinted. He leaned forward, like a bird regarding his reflection on a pond. A grin spread over his lips. “Aye.”

  Beth fisted her hands at her waist. Had they gone mad? “What does it matter what religion they are?”

  Duncan laughed at her question, realizing what she must have thought. He took another look at the leader, who was now only a few yards away, and confirmed his original supposition.

  “No, not his religion, Beth, his name: Christian. Jacques Christian.”

  “What ho, pilgrims. Are you in any sort of trouble?” the man Duncan knew as Jacques Christian called to them in French.

  Duncan had no idea what Jacques asked, but he cupped his hands and shouted back. “We certainly don’t need any help from any black-hearted, seafaring pirates like you, Christian.”

  Surprised to be addressed by name, the tall, proud-looking man pulled up his horse for a moment in order to focus better. Recognition followed instantly as he took a good look at the man who had shouted out his name. Jacques urged his horse forward until he reached the three people standing in the midst of a circle of dead men.

  Jacques swung his leg over the pommel and slid off his horse with the grace and agility that was the demarcation of everything he did and touched. His sensual mouth curved over two rows of perfectly formed white teeth as he grinned his obvious delight.

  “Duncan! Duncan Fitzhugh! I thought the devil had long ago called you home.”

  “Not yet,” Duncan testified, relieved finally to see a familiar face.

  The man clasped Duncan to his chest. Duncan returned the fierce hug. Of the two, Duncan knew that he was the happier to see an old friend.

  Jacques held Duncan at arm’s length, as if unable to believe that he was actually here on this side of the Channel. “What matter of booty brings you to France? I’ve heard no talk of secret treasures.”

  Jacques was not so taken with Duncan’s unexpected appearance that he missed the fact that Duncan had a woman with him, as well as one of his companions from their seafaring days.

  His smile broadened. “But then, I see you have brought your own treasure with you. You always did have excellent taste.”

  With a hearty laugh, he shook Jacob’s hand in greeting, but his eyes were still on Beth.

  Behind Jacques, his men had ridden up and remained on their horses, looking at the reunion with mild interest. Duncan recognized none of their faces.

  Jacques released Jacob’s hand and took a step back as he looked at the two men. “It has been what, five years, since our paths have crossed?”

  “Seven,” Duncan corrected. It had been that long since he had left the sea behind and last seen Jacques Christian.

  Jacques took a long look at the bodies strewn around them on the ground. Humor touched his mouth.

  “I see you have not lost your touch, my friend.” Thinking he knew one man, Jacques turned him over with the toe of his boot. But he didn’t recognize the man’s face. “From the looks of them, France will not be the worse off for their demise. I would even say that you have done her a service.”

  Beth looked uncertainly from Jacques to Duncan. She was relieved that they were not about to be beset again by thieves, but she was anxious to attempt to recover her stolen mount.

  “Duncan, shouldn’t we try to find the man who stole my horse?”

  Jacques dark eyes shifted to Beth’s face. He took quick appraisal of her and found that what he saw pleased him.

  “Well, are you going to introduce me to the lovely lady, or do you wish to keep her to yourself?” A knowing look slid over his face. “You always were a greedy bast—scoundrel,” he amended at the last moment, for Beth’s benefit.

  Though he counted Jacques as a friend, Duncan still knew the limits of that friendship. He placed a proprietary hand on Beth’s shoulder as he made the introductions. “Elizabeth Beaulieu, I’d like you to meet Jacques Christian.”

  There was a familiar, cocky manner to the way the man stood before her. It mirrored Duncan’s as easily as if one had been the shadow of the other. “Another privateer?” Beth asked.

  Jacques laughed, delighted at her question. There was neither contempt nor fear in her eyes. He slanted a look toward Duncan.

  “Ah, so she knows about you, does she?” Taking her hand in his, he bowed low and kissed it. “I am your humble servant, mademoiselle.” He raised his eyes to her face. A woman of substance, he thought in open admiration. “Beaulieu,” he repeated, rolling the name about his tongue. “You are French?”

  “American,” she corrected. “But my father was born here, as were his people.” As she spoke, she felt herself relaxing. There was something about the man, despite the devil in his eyes, that she trusted.

  Jacques considered her words. Surely she wasn’t traveling through just now. He regarded her clothing. An odd choice of apparel for a visitor.

  “It is not an advisable time to be traveling aboard.” He looked questioningly at Duncan, waiting for an explanation to be tendered.

  When they looked back at it later, both Duncan and Beth thought of Jacques’s appearance that day as a godsend.

  “Jacques,” Duncan began, as he placed his arm about the man’s broad shoulders, “I think I’m about to say something to you that I never thought I would.”

  The dark crescents rose in an arch above expressive, dark eyes. “And that is—?”

  Duncan exchanged looks with Beth. She nodded. It was another time to trust blindly, as she had with Lafayette. “We need your help.”

  Jacques laughed, though his eyes had grown serious. He motioned his men from their horses, then turned to look at his friend. “As it so happens, my friend, I have the afternoon free.”

  He quickly introduced his men, Henri, Sebastian, and Pierre. As the latter two stood guard, Christian took a seat on a fallen log. He waited until Beth and Duncan joined him. Jacob stood not far away, tending to their horses and keeping a watchful eye out of his own.

  “Tell me what you wish of me, my friend,” Jacques encouraged. “My right arm is yours.”

  He looked at Duncan significantly, wondering if Duncan remembered the incident on the Black Death when Duncan saved him from having his arm severed by pirates that had boarded.

  The smile on Duncan’s face told Jacques he did.

  As succinctly as possible, Duncan and Beth explained the circumstances of what had brought them to Paris.

  Jacques listened in silence, interjecting not one word. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. The look in his eyes told them, as if they did not already know, that what they were about was dangerous.

  When Duncan finished, Jacques smiled.

  “The Bastille,” he repeated slowly. There was no reverence in his voice, but no intimidation, either. “This is clearly a challenge. And as you know, my friend, I dearly love challenges.” He thought of the uprising he had witnessed yesterday. And the needless bloodshed that had followed shortly thereafter. “I do not, however, dearly love Robespierre. He is a madman.”

  Beth studied Jacques’s face. There was no way to gauge his loyalties. “Are you a royalist?”

  “Perish the thought.” He placed his hands on his knees and rose. Beth and Duncan followed suit. “I am Jacques Christian, and that is enough for me and my men.” He turned and looked to
ward the city that lay not far beyond. Plans began to form.

  “I might know of someone who could help us.” In fact, he was certain of it, but it would not do to say too much too soon. Easily, he laid a hand on Beth’s arm and ushered her toward Jacob and the horses. “Come with me, my friends. I have a place where you can remain safe while I make inquiries.”

  Paris was as crowded today as it had been the day before. They drew no undue attention as they passed through the streets. There were too many people about for anyone to be singled out. People were sitting, huddled or sleeping, in doorways and alleys, awaiting the continuation of the celebration.

  And waiting for the executions to begin.

  Beth saw men, women, and children all eagerly gathered for the bloodletting that was to come.

  She understood her grandmother’s despair. That such a beautiful land could be brought so low was unthinkable. She couldn’t wait to be gone from this wretched place.

  Jacques brought them to an inn with no name. Years before, the sign had been struck down by lightning. The innkeeper, a superstitious man, took it to be an omen. The sign was never put up again and the name never repeated. It was merely known as “the inn.”

  The innkeeper, a heavyset man who sampled his own wares with relish, was a friend, Jacques assured them. And one who could be trusted to hold his tongue. Securing a room for Duncan, Beth, and Jacob, Jacques left them, promising to return as soon as there was news.

  * * *

  That had been several hours ago.

  Duncan paced the length of the room as he had been doing for the last hour. His restlessness grew rather than diminished.

  “I don’t like small places,” Duncan explained, when Beth looked at him quizzically. “They make me feel as if I was in a coffin.”

  She felt as restless as he did, but for far different reasons. And she didn’t understand his reaction. “You were at sea. There were long months when you had but a small cabin to retreat to.”

  Duncan shook his head as he crossed the room once more. “The sea is vast, as are the stars overhead. And I had the entire ship at my disposal, not a tiny room.”