Le Chevalier

by Mary Jean Adams

“And now that we know, she will never have access to that kind of information again. Justice, however, will have to wait for another day,” Mont Trignon said. “Come, we must go.”

  He strode behind the bar, pulled Alex’s cloak from its peg, and tossed it to her.

  Alex threw it over her shoulders and followed him through the back door to a pair of horses tied behind the tavern. As he unknotted the reins from the hitch, she took a long look at the rough, wooden building that had been like a second home.

  She had worked hard to keep the tavern prosperous, as it had been before her father’s death. She had made a few changes, like the stew, but she had been careful to preserve its essential character. In a way, the old building, with his weathered outer appearance and warm inner glow, reminded her of the man she had loved so much.

  When she turned, Reid had already mounted with Angelina behind him. Mont Trignon laid a hand on her shoulder, and she allowed him to help her onto his horse before he swung himself up behind her.

  As she settled her skirts over her legs, Nathanial stepped out from the tavern. He stood outlined against the light streaming through the door, watching them.

  She lay a hand on Mont Trignon’s chest. “Wait a moment, please?” She looked up at him.

  As though he read her thoughts, he lifted her from his horse and set her on her feet.

  “Nathanial, what will you do now?” she asked, stopping a few feet in front of him.

  “I don’t really know,” he replied, scratching his blond head. The uncertainty in his eyes made Alex want to put her arms around him to comfort him, not that she ever could. “Life will go on as it always has for me, I suppose. My father still has his farm. Someday I will inherit and be a farmer just as he was.”

  “Have you ever wanted more?” she asked. She had known him for so long and yet, she did not know the answer.

  “It is who I am.” He shrugged, but she could see the regret in his eyes. Nathanial had dreams too.

  “Here, catch!” she said, tossing him the key to her tavern.

  “What is this for?” he asked, staring at the key in his hand.

  “I don’t know when I’ll be back. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back. But the tavern is yours until I do return. Take the profits, and make your life your own.”

  She turned to allow Mont Trignon to lift her back onto his horse.

  “But why me?” he asked, looking up at her, mouth agape.

  “Because you may very well have saved my life tonight.” She paused. “But, also, because you are my friend. I know we weren’t right for each other, but I will always think of you as one of my dearest friends. Besides, I’d rather you have my tavern than the British,” she added, with a grin.

  She gave Mont Trignon a small nod, and he led his horse away before Nathanial could protest. Alex leaned forward to peer around him and took a last look at Nathanial standing in the glow from the tavern, staring at the keys in his hand. She wondered if she’d ever see him or the tavern again.

  Darkness swallowed the four of them as they followed the main road out of town. Alex leaned back against Mont Trignon’s chest. The immediate danger past, a numbness settled in her limbs, and she scarcely registered his words as he explained they would stay on the main road for only a short while before taking a less-traveled trail across the countryside, one not as likely to lead them into the path of advancing British troops.

  Alex blew out a breath and then sniffled. Before she knew it, tears flowed down her cheeks.

  “What is the matter, chérie?” he asked, his voice soft in her ear.

  “It was my father’s legacy,” she said, with a hiccup, hoping he wouldn’t require more of an explanation.

  He slowed his horse and nodded to let Reid and Angelina know they should ride ahead. Then, with his finger, he tilted her face toward him.

  “It is but a building, Alexandra. You are your father’s true legacy.”

  His lips were soft and gentle as he kissed her. He lingered for just a moment then grasped the reins with both hands and, with a nudge to the mare’s flanks, spurred her to a gallop.

  The cold night air against Alex’s face revived her. The breath from the horses came in misty snorts, but her woolen cloak and Mont Trignon’s heat against her back kept her warm.

  Alex looked up at the star-filled sky. She didn’t know where they were headed, but from the position of the North Star, she guessed the general direction to be north by west.

  When they paused at a rise, Mont Trignon and Reid discussed which direction to take. Muffled shouts sounded in the distance, but Alex couldn’t tell if they were approaching troops or fleeing Philadelphians. She snuggled her back against Mont Trignon’s chest, relishing the strength of his arms surrounding her. He hadn’t abandoned her. For the first time in two days, she let herself relax.

  They climbed a crest overlooking a meandering river that sparkled in the moonlight. The distant sounds of humanity died away, as though the four of them had discovered a new land—a land of peace. She marveled at the beauty that could be found even in the middle of a war and was about to comment on it when Mont Trignon pulled his horse up short.

  “Who goes there?” demanded a voice.

  Alex couldn’t see the man’s face, but there could be no mistaking the point of a bayonet glinting in the moonlight.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mont Trignon’s bay reared and danced backward on her hind legs as two soldiers emerged from a thicket. With Alex in his lap, Mont Trignon had to fight to maintain his grip on the reins and bring the horse under control.

  “What do you mean—” Reid started.

  “We are your friends,” Mont Trignon interrupted. Under his breath, he said to Reid, “I would prefer to at least make an attempt at diplomacy.”

  Reid waved his hand as though to say he would leave it up to Mont Trignon, but his sneer showed a lack of faith in the subtle approach.

  “What is the password, friend?” the man demanded. His tone suggested he would be the judge of who was friend and who was foe.

  Mont Trignon cleared his throat. “Domine Salvum Fac Regem,” he said.

  Damn Lafayette and his sense of humor.

  The man who had demanded the password pursed his lips but remained silent.

  The other man, a short, stocky soldier with streaks of something dark smeared across the front of his uniform, nudged him with his elbow.

  “Them’s the words, mate. I know they are. He had us practicin’ till we could say ‘em perfectly.”

  “I know those are the words!” the leader shot back. “I don’t need you tellin’ me those are the words. I speak more French than you do.”

  “Yeah, like what?” the grimy soldier said, rolling his eyes beneath droopy lids.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Mont Trignon interrupted. “I am honored you both speak my language so well. But now that we have given the password, may I ask that we be allowed to pass?”

  “Oh yeah. Right you are. Off you go, then.” The lead man waved them through with the tip of his bayonet.

  “Do you think he knows the marquis?” his cohort whispered as they passed.

  When they were out of earshot, Alex twisted to look into Mont Trignon’s face. “What was the password you gave?”

  “It was ‘God Save the King’ in Latin, of course. The marquis amused himself during our voyage from France by considering suitable password phrases. I would not have translated some of those he suggested,” he said, with a grin.

  “Speaking of your friend’s dubious sense of humor, did Marie come along?” Alex asked.

  “No,” he responded. “I had no room for her, so I had to leave her behind, safely nestled in the wardrobe in Madame Montgomery’s upper rooms. However, I left a note to Nell, asking her to take good care of her.”

  “Hmmm. That was nice of you.”

  “Oui, but we may have seen the last of Marie,” he said, with mock sadness.

  Marie had served him well, even introduced him to Alexandra,
but he hoped never to see her again when he looked in the mirror.

  “That is too bad. I shall miss her.”

  “Will you, chérie?”

  Alex laughed, and he kissed her temple.

  As the faint light of dawn outlined the dark forests in the distance, Mont Trignon stopped their party at the edge of a small farm. He dismounted and turned to help Alex to her feet.

  “What is this place?” she whispered.

  His eyes scanned the outbuildings and the darkened farmhouse.

  “It used to be a farm owned by a Patriot, but I do not know if that is still the case.” The soft shooshing of hooves through straw came from within the barn. “It appears someone still lives here.”

  Mont Trignon motioned for the others to wait with the horses. Then he scaled the weathered fence surrounding the barnyard and picked his way through the muck, frowning at the flecks of manure and mud spattering his silk stockings. The price one had to pay sometimes…

  The building had a definite lean to it, and its planks looked as though giant moths had gnawed them. He gave a shove against one wall with his shoulder, listening for the sound of creaking boards. Only silence and a snort from the barn’s inhabitant greeted his ears.

  Mont Trignon peeked through the slats. In the dim interior, a cow stood in a bed of straw, chewing its cud. Behind its bony black and white rump, a ladder led to a loft. The scent of fresh hay reached him through the weathered boards, but the inside structure, with its sagging stalls and peeling paint, looked no better maintained than the barn’s exterior.

  He made his way back to where Alex, Reid, and Angelina waited.

  “Someone still uses this barn.” He looked around. “But given the state of disrepair and that of the farmhouse, I should think there are no young men at home. Perhaps a lone woman, or an older couple.”

  “Patriots?” Reid asked.

  “The cow would not say,” Mont Trignon responded.

  Alexandra and Angelina stifled giggles, but Reid pierced him with an icy glare.

  “It is too dangerous to light a fire,” Mont Trignon said, scanning the horizon for signs of movement. “Until we know who holds this area, we are better off not attracting attention to ourselves. I suggest we tie the horses behind the barn and then get a few hours of sleep in the loft.”

  The women lifted their skirts and picked their way through the muck to the safety of the dilapidated old building while he and Reid led the horses around the side of the barn. After securing them, they entered the barn and climbed the ladder to join the women in the loft.

  As Mont Trignon reached the top of the ladder, the smell of dank and musty hay greeted him. Numerous farm implements rusted where they lay, and a hole in the roof framed the hazy morning sky in a ragged circle.

  He guessed no one had been in the loft for some time. With any luck, the barn’s owner would not take a renewed interest in his property for the next few hours, and they could sleep undisturbed.

  However, if the cow in the stall below were someone’s source of milk, it would only be a couple of hours before they would need to ride out again to avoid detection. He would allow the others to get their rest while he stood watch. His military training had prepared him to go for days with little to no sleep.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Angelina stifling a yawn. When it was time to go, he would wake them, but for now, he saw little point in telling them they would get no more than a petit somme.

  “We’ll take this side,” Reid said. “You two can have that side.” He took Angelina by the hand and led her to a corner of the loft shielded by an old wooden crate.

  Mont Trignon ignored the two lovers and focused his attention on the straw, kicking it with his foot to search for the least moldy bits to pile together into a comfortable bed. As he arranged them into a pile, Alexandra spread them out with her hands, tossing aside any suspicious looking clumps.

  When finished, she sat down with a sigh, her feet to one side, and tucked her skirts under her bent knees. He unbuckled his scabbard from his belt and tossed it to the straw before crossing his legs at the ankles and sitting down beside her.

  “This has to be a new low for you,” Alexandra said, searching his face.

  “Actually, I have slept in worse places,” he said, with a shrug.

  Someday, he would tell her about the real life of a chevalier, but for now, he did not want to discourage her.

  “Will you…” she started to say, but then bit her lip as though uncertain how to finish.

  Of course, he should have realized what would be top of mind for her given their situation.

  “No, I will not sleep just yet. You may have the bed, such as it is,” he said, patting the straw, “to yourself.”

  Angelina giggled from behind the crate, drawing Alexandra’s attention. When she turned back to him, a hint of color stained her cheeks.

  “I guess I’m not sleepy,” Alex said.

  “You should still try to get some rest. We may have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “Can you tell me where we are going?”

  Skirts rustled from the other side of the loft, and Angelina giggled again. This one sounded muffled.

  Only the deepening color of Alexandra’s cheeks indicated she heard the commotion behind the crate.

  “I would if I knew myself,” Mont Trignon responded, wishing he could be more reassuring. “Tomorrow morning we will ride to someplace where you and Angelina can rest safely. I will leave Reid to guard you while I scout the area and determine our direction.”

  He caught the small shudder that ran through her before she managed to quell it.

  “Does it frighten you?”

  “No, I am just a little cold,” she reassured him, crossing her arms in front of her and hugging herself beneath her cloak.

  “Here,” he said, pulling off his coat.

  She stopped him with a hand. “No, please, I couldn’t take your coat. I already have my cloak to keep me warm, and if I took your coat, you would have nothing.”

  The warmth from her hand seeped through the thin linen of his shirt. Not nothing, he thought.

  “Very well. However, we should remain close to preserve our heat. The night will be cold.”

  He settled himself back against the hay bale, and Alexandra nestled against him. After a moment, he pulled his arm out from between them and put it around her shoulders. She snuggled closer.

  “Will you tell me something about yourself?” she asked.

  He smiled. He had chastised her for not asking the night she had broken into his rooms. Now that she asked, he owed her some answers. She had every right to know the man who had taken her away from her home and who intended to become her husband, but he had no idea where to begin.

  “What would you like to know?” he asked, looking down at the top of her head lying against his shoulder. He liked the way she fit so well against him.

  “Well…you were married before?”

  Mont Trignon laughed. He should have known that would be her first question.

  “Oui. Her name was Nicole.”

  “What was she like?”

  He could not see her face, but he could hear the smile in her voice, and it gave him strength. He had not spoken of Nicole, not even to his family, since her death.

  “She and I were betrothed almost since birth. Her father and mine grew up together and were the best of friends. It was not, is not,” he amended, “unusual for marriages to be arranged in France, especially among the old and distinguished families.”

  Alex listened in silence, but he could sense her attention to his every word. She held her hand steady against his chest, his heart beating against her small palm.

  “Unfortunately, Nicole was a sickly child, and her condition did not improve as she grew older as the doctors hoped it would. She could not play like other children, and she was seldom well enough to venture out of doors. I spent many afternoons with her, after my training was over, reading to her and showing h
er things I had collected from the fields around our home.

  He rubbed the palm of his hand against the knee of his breeches as he thought about the past. This was the first time he had ever recounted the details to someone who had not been acquainted with his wife. He had expected it to be painful, but instead, the tight bands around his heart loosened.

  “As we grew old enough to formally announce our betrothal, Nicole’s father suggested I need not honor the marriage agreement.”

  “But you did anyway,” Alexandra stated, looking up at him.

  “Oui. She and I were promised to each other, and we had been friends since before I could remember. I could not know what little time she had left, but I wanted to spend whatever she had with her.” His voice broke. “I suppose there was a time when I thought my love could cure her.”

  Alex sniffled.

  “What is it, chérie?”

  “I was thinking how hard it is to lose someone you love.” She wiped at her face with her fingertips. “Do you have anything to remember her by?”

  “I do,” he said, picking up the scabbard by his side and holding it up for her.

  Near the hilt, an orange satin ribbon had been tied in an intricate braided pattern. The small, delicate trim had browned with age, until it blended into the sheath itself. Alexandra reached out a hand and ran her fingertips along the soft fabric.

  “Do you think it odd that I keep such a thing with me?” he asked.

  “Not at all,” she said, sitting up and regarding him with eyes filled with tears. “She is part of you and always will be. I think it’s nice to have something to remind us of those we love.”

  A fat tear rolled down her cheek, and he caught it with his finger.

  “But something still saddens you? Is it the tavern?”

  “Yes…No, not really. Yes, I am sad about the tavern, but even more than that, I am saddened I had to leave my father’s books behind. Perhaps more than anything, they made me feel closest to him, even after he died.”

  “Those damn books almost got you killed,” he muttered, before he could stop himself.

  She pulled back and gazed at him with questioning eyes. “What do you mean?”