by Shana Galen
Both men blanched, the young soldier more than Corporal Moreau. The corporal was still nervous, reluctant to agree. But Julien was out of time. The next set of guards would arrive any moment, and his chance would be lost.
"Open the gate," Julien demanded.
The soldier looked at the corporal, and Moreau finally nodded. Trying not to show his relief, Julien pushed Armand in front of him and started for the gate.
The soldier inserted the key and turned the lock.
Almost there. Almost there.
The gate swung open, and the soldier stepped out of the way just as another soldier rushed into the turret. "I found Christophe in the bushes. He's naked and unconscious."
Julien paused inside the gate as all eyes turned on him. "Oh, hell."
***
It was the constable again, Sarah realized, and he was holding up a hand, indicating they should stop.
"What should we do?" she hissed, but Gilbert was already slowing.
"Good evening, monsieur," he called cheerfully. Sarah wanted to close her eyes and disappear. The constable looked anything but cheerful.
The man stepped up and grabbed the horse's reins. "I thought I told you I didn't want to see you again."
"We are on our way home right now, monsieur."
"No, you're not," the constable said. "You're coming with me."
Sarah's breath caught in her throat, and she clenched Gilbert's arm. His arm was thin and bony, and she felt as though she should protect him.
"Get down, madame," the constable ordered. "And don't get too close. I just cleaned up."
Sarah looked at Gilbert again, and he nodded. But his eyes flicked down briefly toward the blanket on the seat between them. Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat, released his arm, and inched over on the seat.
"Hurry up! You too, old man," the constable ordered.
Sarah stepped down, and the constable motioned her closer. "What's your name?"
She smiled and moved slowly, trying to give Gilbert more time.
"What's your name?" he demanded.
The sound of a pistol being cocked rang out in the night air. The constable whirled to face Gilbert, who held the old blunderbuss level. "Get back into the cart, madame," Gilbert ordered.
Sarah nodded and stepped toward the cart, but the constable lunged and grabbed her by the hair. He wrapped a solid arm about her neck and pulled her in front of him.
"She's not going anywhere," the constable yelled, "and neither are you. Put the pistol away!"
Gilbert's arm wavered, and Sarah closed her eyes, all too aware of what would come next.
Questioning. Imprisonment. Death.
And then suddenly the quiet night was shattered by
the sound of gunfire. Sarah opened her eyes and stared at Gilbert, but he was looking at the prison.
Shots echoed from Le Grenier.
***
Julien lowered the musket he had taken from the guard—apparently the man's name was Christophe— and pointed the bayonet at the man who had just delivered the news that poor Christophe was incapacitated.
He had the man's full attention.
"Step aside, and let us pass." That was if Armand would still walk. He was crouched and looking from side to side as if searching for an escape from the sound of the gunfire.
Julien hauled him up and moved into the turret. Fifty steps to the exit. Forty-nine.
He waved the bayonet at the guard, who was now holding his own weapon. "Move!" The man jumped aside, and Julien ran for freedom, pulling Armand with him.
About thirty steps to the exit, another guard jumped into his path, and this one had his musket. Julien leveled the point of the bayonet and caught the man's shoulder as he passed. With a cry of pain, the guard skittered aside, and Julien kept on going.
Twenty-five steps. Twenty-three.
Behind him, he heard the corporal yelling orders. Heard the men coming after him.
Twenty steps. Nineteen.
"Ready!" the corporal yelled.
"Devil take it!" Julien glanced over his shoulder and
too late remembered Lot's wife.
Three prison guards were lined up inside the gate, their muskets primed.
"Aim!"
The weapons lowered in unison.
Julien glanced ahead. Eleven steps. Ten. Too many!
"Fire!"
Julien pushed Armand down and dove after him as the hot rain of bullets flew over them. He could hear the whine as they arced above him, knew they had barely missed him. Knew he had mere seconds before the guards reloaded and fired again.
He dragged Armand to his feet and hauled him the last few inches and out into the night air.
"Gilbert!" he yelled, still moving. "Sarah!"
But they were gone.
***
The sounds of melee in the prison rose, and when the constable's grip on Sarah's throat relaxed slightly as he craned his neck to see what was afoot, Sarah jabbed him hard in the abdomen with her elbow.
His breath whooshed out, and she leaped forward. Before he could right himself, she kicked him between the legs. He stumbled, fell, but his hand snaked out to grasp her ankle.
"Sarah!"
Her head went up at the sound of her name. Julien was calling for her.
"Julien!" she cried and tried to move toward his voice, but the constable held fast. She tried to shake him off, but he was already rising to his knees, his eyes
fierce and lethal.
"Release her!" Gilbert ordered. "Or I'll shoot."
Sarah gave him a panicked look. She could see the blunderbuss he held shaking from side to side. She did not want to be anywhere near its target when it went off.
But the constable did not release her, and when she glanced at the prison to try and make out Julien, she saw several figures rushing toward them. She had to free herself and rescue Julien.
The horse reared, and Sarah ducked to avoid his hooves. Just as she did, Gilbert fired, the noise deafening her.
The constable cried out in pain, and his fingers opened. Sarah, not completely certain she was not injured as well—her head was throbbing—picked up her skirts and rushed for the cart. She climbed in just as Gilbert urged the horse on.
They were driving in the wrong direction, but Gilbert quickly turned the animal about, narrowly missing the fallen constable, who was clutching his knee.
"Julien!" Sarah cried when she saw him dressed as a guard and practically carrying a prisoner on his back. Not far behind was a group of soldiers. "Julien, hurry!"
Gilbert slowed the cart, and Julien ran to the back, hoisting the prisoner, who must be his brother, into the back. But Armand moved slowly, and the guards were catching up.
"Go! Go!" Julien yelled to Gilbert, who followed orders. The cart horse, ears back and dancing with nervousness, shot off as soon as the whip was applied.
Sarah screamed when she saw Julien was being left behind. He ran after them, reaching for the edge of the cart. His hands stretched out, slipped, and he fell back.
"Julien!" Sarah cried as he reached again. His hands were so close. She stretched, reached, and grasped one of them. She would not let go. She would not leave him behind.
"Sarah, let go!" he ordered. "Save yourself."
"No." She tightened her grip and pulled with all of her strength. Seeming to sense her determination, Julien flung himself toward the cart. His chest was on the edge, but he was slipping back. She grasped him with both hands now and pulled until her arms burned as though set on fire. But she ignored the pain and focused on Julien's face. He looked into her eyes, and with a cry of anguish, she dragged him onto the cart.
He hoisted his legs beneath him and almost fell again. Sarah cried out, her strength gone, but then the ragged man beside her reached out and took Julien's other arm. Together, Sarah and Armand pulled Julien to safety.
The soldiers stopped, aimed, and fired, but the cart turned a corner and hurdled across the dark Paris night.
Twenty-six
From the sunny deck of the Racer, Julien watched Armand. After all the years of searching, he could hardly believe he had found his brother. And yet this was not his brother at all. It had been almost two days since the rescue, and still Armand had not spoken. Julien was beginning to wonder if the man could speak. Clearly he understood some of what they said, because he would respond with a nod or a hand gesture. But, more often than not, Armand ignored them and stared at the open sea.
That was another thing. Armand refused to go below deck. He insisted upon staying in the open, no matter how inclement the weather. Obviously, he did not want to be figuratively imprisoned again, even if it meant a few hours' sleep in one of the cabins.
"When you told me you were going to France to find your brother," Stalwart said from behind Julien, "I didn't think that meant breaking into a prison and sending all of Paris into a frenzy."
Julien looked at the man, shrugged. "You'll be compensated."
Stalwart raised his dark eyebrows. "We almost didn't get away." His gaze drifted to Armand, who stood alone at the ship's rail, staring at the churning waves. "Is he going to be alright?"
It was a question Julien had asked himself many times. "Yes," he said with conviction. "He's going to be fine once we get back to London."
"If we get back to London." Stalwart pulled out a cheroot, lit it, and took a long drag. "I heard rumors that Captain Cutlass has been seen in these waters."
Something about the name sent a chill up Julien's spine. He turned sharply to Stalwart. "Who?"
"Captain Cutlass. You've heard of him?"
"No." But that was a lie. Julien had heard the name before. Like an object seen through the murky water of a pond, Julien could vaguely remember a game he and Bastien used to play. They were pirates, and Bastien had always been Captain Cutlass. What had his own name been? Julien could not even remember, perhaps because his younger brother had always been better at the game than he.
"I'm not surprised," Stalwart was saying. "He's a sneaky devil. Some say his ship's a ghost ship. One minute he's there, and the next he's gone. The Navy can't catch him."
Julien was almost afraid to ask. "Is he a… pirate?"
Stalwart nodded. "So you have heard of him." He shook his head. "Pirates in the Channel. As if we don't have enough to worry about." He stalked off, and Julien turned back to watching Armand. Could this Captain Cutlass be…
Armand looked over his shoulder, almost as though he knew he was being watched. His eyes were hollow, his face drawn and pale. Julien went to stand beside him and offer what support he could, knowing Captain Cutlass would have to wait.
For now.
***
Sarah did not want to be in London. As the hackney Julien flagged down drew the four of them closer and closer to Berkeley Square, her sense of dread grew. She knew she was the only one who felt this way. One look at Julien, and she could see he wanted nothing more than to reunite his mother and brother. The old butler, Gilbert, had not stopped smiling since they'd disembarked from the Racer. Of course, he had been ill the entire voyage, so it might have just been relief that his seasickness was over.
And Armand… Sarah could not tell what Armand felt. His emotions were hidden behind an impenetrable wall. He sat across from her, radiating danger. It had been a struggle to force him into the closed carriage, and he bore the confinement with locked jaw, clenched fists, and narrowed eyes. She was not afraid of him, but she sensed her husband's brother could be just as formidable, just as strong and powerful as Julien.
She glanced at Julien again and wished they could have stayed on the ship forever—not that she was overly fond of Captain Stalwart or sea travel, but the ship was safer than London. Sir Northrop could not reach her on the Racer. And for the most part, she'd had Julien all to herself. It seemed they could not be alone together for five minutes without him stripping her bare and finding some new, inventive way to bring her pleasure.
She blushed when she thought of all the ways he had made love to her, all the skillful ways his hands and mouth found to please her. And she knew she pleased him as well. Even now when he looked at her, she could see his desire for her smoldering behind those dark lashes.
But desire was not the same as love. He had still not said he loved her.
Did he? Would he ever?
It seemed inconceivable that a wealthy, handsome duc could love her—a plain governess. She was an outsider in his world and always would be. As if to punctuate her thoughts, the hackney slowed in front of the Valère home. It was as magnificent as ever and not at all like coming home. Even though Julien took her hand and led her to the door, she did not feel as though she belonged.
They had just reached the front door when Grimsby pulled it open. Sarah barely had a moment to nod to the servant when the duchesse sprang forward to pull them inside. "Julien! Serafina! You're home! You're safe. You don't know how worried we were. And—" She stared at Gilbert as though trying to place him, and then her arms went about him as well. "Gilbert!"
"Duchesse, merci." Gilbert said.
She broke into a stream of rapid French, welcoming Gilbert and offering him shelter, and the old servant nodded and wiped his eyes.
And then Sarah saw the duchesse's gaze fall on Armand. They had cleaned him up as best they could. His clothes had been paper-thin rags and his hair an unkempt mat, so Gilbert had found him new garments, washed him, and trimmed his brown hair so it swept back from his aristocratic forehead and fell in waves over his neck and shoulders. Armand had reluctantly consented to being shaved, and looking at him now, there was no doubt this man was related to Julien. The nose was the same; the eyes, while not the same color, had the same slant. And though Armand was taller, he held himself in the same regal way.
The duchesse took a tentative step toward Armand and held out her arms. Armand did not respond. He stared fixedly at his mother, his cobalt blue eyes focused and sharp. Sarah could tell he wanted to go to her, but after years without kindness, without touch, he could not or would not embrace her. Finally, she went to him, taking him in her arms in a fierce hug. Sarah watched as he raised his arms and awkwardly patted her shoulders. It would take something or someone very special to thaw the ice around Armand's heart, to heal his tortured soul.
The duchesse held her lost son and looked at Julien. "You found him," she sobbed. "I didn't believe in you, didn't believe he was still alive. But you found him." She opened her arms to him, and Julien embraced her. Sarah watched as the duchesse held both sons, her family all but reunited once again.
But how long would that last? How long would Julien be safe and free while Sir Northrop and the Foreign Office were determined to charge him with treason?
Not long. And it was up to her to ensure that this
family was never separated again. She might never truly belong to this family, but she could at least be certain she did all in her power to protect them.
Julien reached out for her, took her hand, and pulled her close. "Ma mère, we have other news as well. Sarah and I are married. We married on the ship."
The duchesse looked surprised, and Sarah tried to smile.
"Oh, but this is good news!" the duchesse exclaimed. "Serafina, not only have I found a son, I've gained a daughter."
Sarah but her lip. "Actually, there's a little more to the story. My name isn't Serafina…"
A few hours later, Sarah lay in Julien's arms as he stroked her bare shoulder. They had made love in his bed, and even though she was his wife, she felt as though she would be caught any moment.
"Relax," he whispered.
She tried, but she had too much on her mind. How long would it take Sir Northrop to realize she was back? Would he come looking for her?
"Are you worried about my mother? She doesn't care who you are. If I'm happy, she's happy."
Sarah raised a brow at him. "Julien, she's in denial. When you told her I was a governess, she laughed."
"Well, look at you. It is difficult to
believe."
Sarah didn't think it was difficult to believe at all. But the duchesse had done more than just laugh. Sarah had expected the duchesse to express shock or disbelief at their story, but she only shook her head. "Do you think I'm a fool? That I don't know what goes on in my own home? I know who she is."