by Shana Galen
"How can we get a look?"
Gilbert frowned. "Short of scaling the wall, I do not think we can, monsieur."
"Then how is it that you saw my brother?" Julien asked, careful not to say Armand's name. He climbed back into the cart, conscious that they would have to move on soon, or even the apathetic guard would
take notice.
"There is but one entrance and one exit to the prison as well as the yard. You see it there. The prisoners exit through that gate and cross into the second gate. They are visible for a few moments but escorted and heavily shackled."
"How many prisoners go at one time?"
"Your brother went alone, but I have seen up to five men on other occasions."
Julien glanced at his pocket watch. It was almost eleven, the time Gilbert had said prisoners were led out for an hour of exercise. Unfortunately, there was no guarantee any prisoners would be allowed outside today. Gilbert had said there were days when he saw no one, even after hours of waiting.
Though he had already asked the question, Julien asked it again. "How many times have you seen my brother?"
"Twice, monsieur," Gilbert answered dutifully.
Twice. Only twice, and Julien knew his former servant had sat and kept watch dozens of times. It was highly unlikely he would see Armand. And as the minutes ticked by, highly unlikely he would see any prisoners. Why did they not appear?
"Monsieur…" Gilbert's voice was gentle, but the underlying tone was chiding.
They had waited too long. Julien knew he should drive away. He lifted the reins, but his hands felt numb and heavy. Armand was inside, and once more, Julien was leaving him.
Images from the night the chateau burned flashed in his mind, and the ghost of pain from his foot injury
shot through his flesh.
He had left Armand once and had not seen him again for twelve years. How could he leave him again?
"Monsieur." Gilbert's voice was gentle and soothing. "Let me take the reins, monsieur. I will drive us back."
Julien glanced at the man with a look of relief. He would have rather sat there all day than explain the paralysis that infected him. Gilbert took the reins, and they started away from the prison.
Julien did not look back.
He was going to Sarah now. Beautiful Sarah. He needed her, needed to see her, to remember who he was. He was no terrified child being chased by a white-haired witch wielding a pitchfork. He was a man, a powerful man. He was the duc de Valère, and no one, whether they wielded a pitchfork or a bayonet, would stop him now.
***
"Are you mad?" Sarah said shortly after they returned. She looked pretty with her long dark hair pulled into a simple ribbon at the nape of her neck and her cheeks flushed with indignation. "You'll end up at Le Grenier yourself. Or worse."
"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Julien said, glancing across the room to gauge Gilbert's reaction. The three of them were sitting in the old servant's parlor. Though it was bright and sunny outside, the drapes were shut, and the room was shrouded in gloom. Sarah sat in an armchair, Gilbert in the other, and Julien—too anxious to sit—stood at the fireplace.
He had just explained his plan to break into the prison and free Armand, and Sarah's reaction had not been completely unexpected.
"It's a bit vague in parts," he conceded.
"A bit?" Sarah said, rising. In the short time he had known her, she had gone from a woman who looked as though she would faint if he glanced at her askance to a woman unafraid to stand and debate him.
He would not have thought such a dramatic change possible.
"You don't know where your brother is being kept. You don't know how you will fetch the keys. You don't even know what your brother looks like. What if you free the wrong man?"
She had a valid point. Julien had not been inside the prison, and he did not know where Armand was kept. But dressed as one of the guards, he would have the opportunity to search the prison, find Armand, and get him out. Outside, Gilbert and Sarah would be waiting with the cart.
They would hide Armand under a blanket in the back, cover him with luggage and loaves of bread, and together they would escape the prison, drive to the rendezvous with Captain Stalwart, and flee Paris. They would tell the guards at the Paris gate, if they were even quizzed, that they were going to visit Sarah's mother in the country.
They would act tomorrow night.
Julien would have preferred to act tonight, but they needed time to gather the supplies that would hide Armand in the cart. Plus, Stalwart would not meet them until tomorrow night. Once Julien had his brother, he could not afford to stay in Paris. The whole of the city would be searching for him.
"Julien," Sarah was saying, "there must be another way. You said yourself that the turret could create a problem. There is but one way in and out of the prison, and that small entrance would be easy to cut off."
"It does create a bottleneck," Julien admitted. "But that would be more of a problem if we intended to storm the prison with a large group. It should be easy enough for two of us to slip out unobtrusively."
"Then you are set on this plan?" she asked, anger and something like disbelief in her tone.
"I cannot think of a better. Can you?"
"No." She shook her head. "It's madness, but I suppose if you won't listen to reason, I had better help you." But before Julien could ask what she meant, she had disappeared into Gilbert's room and returned with her knapsack. She reached inside and pulled out the sheaf of papers he had seen on Stalwart's ship.
"Your false identity papers won't be necessary."
She glanced up at him then back down at the papers. "That is not all Thompson provided me. The man is really rather resourceful, if you pay him enough." She pulled the documents she wanted from the stack and held them out. "You owe him three hundred pounds for this."
Frowning at her, he took the papers and stared at them uncomprehendingly. Then slowly, he stood, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. "How did you get these?"
"I told you, Thompson did. After I saw that list of prisons and put the few facts I had together, I asked Thompson to acquire these blueprints for me. I don't know how he got them, but I thought they might be useful if you decided to do something rash. Which, of course, you have."
The map to Le Grenier—that's what she had handed him. He had no idea how accurate it was, but the design of the prison was now laid out before him.
"You still don't know where your brother is housed," she said as he studied the layout intently. "But I did notice this area." She pointed to a small room depicted by a box. "It's called The Garrett here."
He glanced up at her.
"Garrett, attic. The words are not so different. If I were you, I would begin my search for Armand there."
She was right. If Sir Northrop's words to her had been true, and if Gilbert was correct in saying that Armand was forgotten, this small cell away from the others would be the likely place to house Armand.
Gilbert stood beside him and studied the blueprints as well. He had not yet commented. "Monsieur Pierpont, what is your opinion?"
Gilbert pursed his lips. "It is a good plan, monsieur," the old butler agreed. "And this map will make your task easier."
Julien nodded and returned to studying the map.
"But I think there is one variable you have not considered, monsieur."
Julien frowned. "What is that? The keys? I'll snatch them from one of the guards or find where they are kept."
"No monsieur, that is not it. I think you have failed to consider your brother. As I said before, prison changes a man."
Julien folded his arms. "How? How has my brother changed? Has he changed so much he will want to stay in prison? Has he changed so much he would alert the guards to my presence?"
"I do not know, monsieur. I know only what I saw."
Julien leaned down, looked Gilbert directly in the eyes. "And what did you see? I think it's time you told me, Gilbert." He hoped he was ready to hear it.
&
nbsp; Gilbert opened his mouth then closed it again. "I can say only that your brother has changed. I do not know how to describe it."
"Try." Julien was angry now, and even knowing his anger masked his fear, he could not suppress it. "Tell me what you're hiding."
"The light," Gilbert said, his voice raspy and low. Julien had to lean closer to hear. "I know only that the light had gone out of his eyes, and with it, life. He has no life in him, monsieur."
Julien sighed and leaned back again. Time in prison could indeed dull hope and faith, but that hope could be restored. He would restore it for Armand.
"Then tomorrow we bring back that life," he said, glancing about the room. Gilbert nodded, but Sarah only watched Julien, her eyes filled with worry.
Twenty-four
The house was dark and still, the only sound that of Julien's breathing and what might have been a mouse scurrying hither and yon, searching for food.
Sarah lay in the small bed Gilbert had once again offered them and stared at the shadows on the ceiling. Over time, the shapes shifted and changed, turning into open mouths with jagged teeth or the leering faces of prison guards.
Sarah looked away, turning to study her husband. His back was to her, his breathing regular, but she doubted he slept. This might be the last night she lay beside Julien. Tomorrow night they could both be dead.
She prayed they would succeed, but there were so many variables that could go wrong.
She heard Julien sigh, and he turned toward her. "I can hear you worrying," he murmured. "Come here." He opened his arms to her, and she went gratefully into his embrace. His warmth, his scent, his presence alone eased her anxiety. It did not remove it. She would not be able to take a deep breath until they were back in England, but being with Julien made her feel safe.
Julien rubbed her back in gradually expanding circles. "You should try and sleep."
"I know, but every time I close my eyes, I begin to imagine the worst."
"Sarah—"
"And don't tell me everything will be fine," she interrupted before he could repeat the platitude. "You can't know that."
"You're right," he said finally. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "You're right, and if anything should happen, I want you and Gilbert to leave without me."
"No!" She pulled out of his arms and sat. "I'm not going to leave you. You would never leave me."
"And you wouldn't be here if not for me. Sarah, I could never live with myself if I knew you were hurt or imprisoned because of my quest." He pulled her back down into the comfort of his arms. "Promise me that no matter what happens, you'll meet Stalwart at La Petit Coeur. I'll leave you some francs just in case we're separated. Gilbert will see you safely to Stalwart and home to England. Once there, my mother will find a place for him. As for the Foreign Office, let them believe what they will. Let them implicate me in any crime they want."
Sarah clutched Julien's bare shoulders. "Don't talk like this. Don't act as though our separation is a foregone conclusion. Julien, I—"
She paused and swallowed. She had been about to tell him she loved him. Was now the right time? What if he could not say the same back? What if he said nothing at all?
And what if she lost him tomorrow and never had the chance to tell him?
She looked into his eyes. The room was dark, but she could see the shape of his face, make out his glittering eyes. "Julien, if anything does happen, I want you to know that I love you." She felt his body stiffen beside hers, and she hurriedly covered his mouth. "Don't say anything back. You don't have to. I just wanted you to know in case…" She trailed off, not wanting to tempt fate any more than they already had.
Julien reached up and took her hand, pulling it away from his mouth, and kissing her palm lightly. "I wish I could make love to you right now," he whispered.
She felt the same way and knew they were alone. The walls in the house were thin, and she had heard Gilbert go out earlier to fetch supplies.
"I wish I could show you how much I need you." He stroked her hair and pulled her close.
"Then show me," Sarah said, touching her lips to his neck. "Show me."
His arms around her tightened possessively, and she was drawn against the hardness of his chest and the solidity of his arms. She tilted up her face, and his mouth met hers, greedy and searching. She was greedy as well. She needed this, needed as much of him as he could give.
She rose above him, straddling him, and ran her hands down the flat planes of his bare chest. She liked the feel of his cool flesh against her own. Slowly, she lifted the hem of her chemise and dragged it over her body then tossed it aside.
Even in the dim light, she could see Julien's eyes go dark with desire. And when she leaned down to kiss him, his mouth took hers feverishly. She could feel the blood rushing through her body, and she was already moving against him, sliding his hard length inside her.
He groaned, and she arched up to take more of him. His hands were on her breasts, on her hips, on that sensitive spot at the juncture of her thighs. She could feel the pressure building, the pleasure taking over… and then he rolled her beneath him.
"What are you doing?" She had been so close.
"In a hurry, chérie?" She could hear the laughter in his voice. "I told you, the French way of lovemaking is not like the English. We move very—" He dipped his mouth and took one nipple inside, suckled until she bucked her hips with need. She could feel him inside her, feel him pressing against her. She needed him to move, just a little pressure…"Very—" He released her nipple and rose above her. "Slowly."
He drew out of her, then with a measured, unhurried movement, slid back inside. Her breath hitched, and her hips bucked to meet him. "Julien, please," she begged. She was at the edge of pleasure. One hard thrust…
He slid in and out again, but as she watched his face, she noted he was no longer smiling. His jaw was tight, his teeth gritted to exert control. She wanted that control to break, and she lifted her hips to take more of him, moved against him.
"Sarah." His voice was husky with need.
She pulled him close, kissed him then whispered, "Let go."
She arched one more time, and they both let go.
Afterward in his arms, Sarah tried to memorize everything about him—the way the scent of citrus and wood clung to him, the solid feel of his arms about her, the rhythm of his breathing. She tried to pretend this moment would last forever, that morning would never come, that they would never have to return to England. She wished there was only now.
But gradually the moment ended. Julien's breathing slowed and deepened, and her own eyes refused to stay open. She would sleep, the morning would come, and with it their fates.
***
Julien crouched in the shadows of Le Grenier and waited for the moment to feel right. Gilbert had told him the guards changed at eleven. Julien hoped the guards on duty would be tired and inattentive an hour before they were relieved. He also hoped the changing of the guards would provide enough of a distraction to allow him and Armand to escape.
He had checked his watch when he left Gilbert and Sarah in the cart just down the street. That had been perhaps twenty minutes ago, at three-quarters past nine. It was surely after ten now. He had less than an hour and had to move.
He shuffled closer to the prison, moving as silently as possible, pausing when he reached the edge of the shadows and the last of his cover. As was the case yesterday, a guard stood at the entrance, his bayonet beside him. He did not look particularly alert, but Julien was taking no chances.
He fingered the small stone in his hand. It was warm and familiar. Taking a deep breath, he hurled the stone past the guard and into the shadows beyond.
"Who's that?" the guard barked, straightening immediately and staring in the direction of the clatter the stone had made. "Show yourself."
Julien waited, counting to ten before the guard hefted his bayonet and moved cautiously in the direction of the noise.
With the guard's back to h
im, Julien leaped. He tackled the guard, pushing him to the ground and kicking the bayonet out of reach. The guard tried to call out, but Julien kicked him in the gut, rendering him breathless. Then he wrapped an arm about the man's neck and dragged him into the shadows.
Five minutes later, Julien stepped out, adjusting the too-small coat and leaning down to retrieve the forgotten bayonet. He prayed he had hit the guard hard enough to keep him unconscious for the rest of the night.
Straightening his coat again, he stepped through the prison gate.
***
"What are you doing here?"
Sarah jumped as the man's voice shattered the silence of the night. She glanced behind her and saw a constable approaching. Gilbert gave her a worried look, and Sarah knew this was not good. How were they going to explain why they were sitting in a cart on a residential street in the middle of the night?