Return of the Runaway

by Sarah Mallory

  * * *

  Raoul threw Cassandra up into the saddle before scrambling on to his own horse. He had never been more thankful to be moving. He had no wish to explain himself to this infuriating woman. How dare she ask it of him? He owed her nothing. She was no more than an arrogant, self-seeking aristocrat. How did he know she was a widow, how could he be sure she was not merely saying that to placate him, now he had told her he disapproved of adultery?

  Even as the angry thoughts drove through his brain he remembered the night they had met, the black lace shawl fluttering in his face. He had discarded it then without a second thought. Perhaps it was true, she was a widow, but why should she not admit it from the start? Did she think a man would be deterred from seducing her by the thought of an outraged husband seeking vengeance? That might be so, but it did not alter the fact that she was by birth a detested aristocrat, a proud, selfish creature.

  No. Raoul could not pretend he truly believed that. Cassie had made no complaint during their long journey although the hardships had been great for a gently bred lady. And he could not forget how she had wanted to help when they came upon the collapsed barn. She could have taken a room at the auberge and remained there safe and comfortable, instead she had worked tirelessly.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the upright little figure riding behind him. When he had told her his reasons for going to Dieppe she had not hesitated. They could have parted at Rouen, she might well have been on her way to England by now, instead she chose to ride with him. Why should she do that? His mind shied away from the answer that presented itself.

  * * *

  A grey dawn was lightening the eastern sky when Raoul next looked back at Cassie. Through the gloom he could see unhappiness clouding her face. He had done that, he had turned on her, accused her of prurient curiosity when all she wanted was to understand.

  He slowed his horse and waited for her to come alongside.

  ‘I told you my father was a doctor,’ he began, not wasting time with preliminaries. ‘He was well respected in Brussels and amongst his patients were several grand English families. They had titles and money, even though most had fled from England to escape their creditors. They were also arrogant and demanding, none more so than a certain English countess. It was “Oh, Doctor, I have the headache...” and “Doctor, I am in pain...” This countess would think nothing of sending a servant to fetch my father in the middle of the night for the mildest of ailments. He was at her beck and call at all hours. He never complained, never delayed a visit or refused to go. She dazzled him, I think, even more so than the other English nobles. He was in awe of her title and her grand ways. So much so that he neglected his other patients and his family.’ Raoul’s jaw clenched as the memories flooded back. ‘He did not even notice that his own wife was in failing health. In fact, I believe he deliberately avoided it, since to tend his wife would have given him less time to spend with the English milords. Maman sickened and died. I was just thirteen at the time, my sister was even younger. We did what we could to nurse her, but we could not save her. From what I have learned since I believe that if the growth had been diagnosed, if an operation had been carried out early enough, she might have lived, but my father would not even acknowledge that she was ill.

  ‘Is it any wonder that I grew up with a burning resentment against the aristos with their money and selfish demands? And especially I hated the English. France was in the grip of its revolution then and I understood why the old regime had to go. I thought then that change was good, whatever the cost. I was young and idealistic, I thought Europe would be a better place under this new, fairer French government. I also believed that it would be a good thing to bring England under French rule, to destroy the aristocracy that bled its people dry. Older, wiser friends in Brussels tried to counsel caution, but I would not listen and my father showed no interest at all in my views. I did not understand then that he was crippled with guilt and regret. After Maman’s death he threw himself even more into his work. His patients and his duty always came before any consideration for his family. We were left to fend for ourselves.’

  ‘And yet you, too, wanted to study medicine?’

  ‘Being a surgeon is not a choice for me, milady. It is what I am.’

  ‘I know that,’ she said quietly. ‘I have seen you at work.’

  Having started to explain, he could not stop now. ‘Only when he was dying did my father admit that he had failed us, especially he had failed my mother. He blamed his calling, he had never wanted to be anything other than a doctor, it was his life, an all-consuming passion.’

  She interrupted him. ‘Forgive me, but your father believed his calling prevented him from seeing that your mother was ill? How can that be?’

  ‘It was only a part of it. He confessed that being physician to the rich and privileged in Brussels had turned his head, especially the attentions of the English countess.’ He added bitterly, ‘He was so busy pandering to her imagined illnesses that he ignored the symptoms of illness that Maman displayed. He was always more interested in his patients than his family and that was his final piece of advice to me. He would have preferred me to be a doctor, but if I was determined to be a surgeon, then so be it, but he told me that medical men—physicians, doctors—should never marry. They live for their work, to the exclusion of all else. There can be no compromise.’

  ‘What if they should fall in love?’

  He had asked himself this question many times and the answer came easily.

  ‘They must not. They may take lovers, yes, but there should never be any serious attachment.’ He glanced towards her. ‘You should appreciate such sentiments, milady, since you believe love to be overprized in your society.’

  ‘I do,’ she agreed, putting up her chin. ‘There is much to be said for your view. I fell head over heels in love with Gerald and eloped with him, thinking the world well lost, but it did not last. Such a heady passion never could. Although my affection lasted considerably longer than my husband’s,’ she ended bitterly.

  ‘How did he die?’ asked Raoul.

  ‘A duel.’ She paused, her brows drawing together slightly as she frowned. ‘A duel over another man’s wife. I told you my husband would never take me to a ball. I would not play his games, you see. I did not wish to flirt with other men and I objected to his attentions to other women. So, I was left at home. He told me he was meeting friends, going to gambling hells, and I chose to believe that. In fact, he was escorting other ladies to balls and assemblies. Any number of them. One husband took exception and called him out.’

  ‘I am very sorry.’

  ‘Do not be. He had spent all our money on gambling and women. If he had lived he would have continued until we were deep in debt. His morals, too, were not what I first thought them. He was sinking into depravity and...’ she swallowed ‘...and he was close to taking me with him.’

  ‘Those dreams,’ said Raoul. ‘I heard you call out for him to stop. Did—was he—?’

  He saw her shudder.

  ‘A husband is entitled to his rights,’ she said.

  Raoul was silent. So he was wrong, she had not abandoned her husband. Or at least so she said. Could he believe her? The answer was already in his heart. He knew this woman now as if she was a part of him.

  ‘Raoul.’ Her voice broke into his thoughts. She was sitting straighter in the saddle, staring at the road ahead. ‘There are some men on the road in front of us.’

  Raoul heard the urgency in her voice, but he had already spotted the men and unease was prickling his skin. There were four of them approaching and at a point where the terrain would make it difficult to evade them.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ he muttered. ‘If there is trouble you must turn and ride away, do you understand?’

  It was light enough now for Raoul to see that the men were in ragged uniforms and two of them held short, h
eavy sticks in their hands. Deserters, perhaps, rogues certainly. They were in a line across the road, blocking the way.

  ‘Good day to you,’ he hailed them cheerfully. ‘I hope you mean to move aside and allow two weary travellers to pass.’

  One of the men, presumably the leader, stepped forward to answer him.

  ‘With pleasure, my friend, once you have given us your purse and your horses.’

  ‘I think not.’

  The fellow slapped the club menacingly against his empty palm. ‘Hand them over freely, monsieur, and you and your woman may walk on unharmed. Resist and I will smash your horse’s knees and then we will kill you. And the woman, too, after we have taken our pleasure.’

  Raoul pulled out the pistol. He would have to make good use of his one shot and pray he could give Cassie time to escape. He decided he would rather face them on foot, so he quickly slipped out of the saddle and took a few steps towards the leader, who bared his teeth in an ugly grin.

  ‘One bullet against four men? The odds are not in your favour, monsieur.’

  It was the truth and Raoul knew it, but he must give Cassie a chance to get clear. He was bracing himself for a tough fight when a voice spoke behind him.

  ‘Then let us make the odds a little fairer, shall we?’

  A tall black-bearded figure in riding dress emerged from the bushes at the roadside, a pistol in each hand and a serviceable-looking sword at his side.

  ‘You see there are three pistols now,’ the stranger continued. ‘And I warn you that I am an excellent shot.’

  He stepped up beside Raoul, but even as he did so the four ragged assailants were backing away and a moment later they were crashing away through the bushes.

  * * *

  Cassie had watched the whole from a distance, her chest constricted with fear, but now the immediate danger had passed she jumped down, collecting up the reins of the loose horse and walking towards Raoul and the tall stranger.

  ‘We are very grateful for your assistance, monsieur,’ she said, smiling up at the man and holding out her hand. ‘Your arrival was most opportune.’

  He bowed over her fingers. ‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing Lady Cassandra Witney?’

  Cassie stared up at him, surprised.

  ‘Why, yes,’ she said. ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘I am your cousin, Wolfgang Arrandale.’

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Wolfgang!’ Cassie exclaimed. ‘But how—? What—?’

  Raoul cut short her stammering questions with a wave of one hand.

  ‘I suggest we move away from here. Those rogues might well return.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Wolfgang. ‘My horse is hidden in the trees. I will collect him and we will ride on. There is an inn about half a mile ahead, we can talk there.’

  He walked off, leaving Cassie to stare after him.

  ‘Let me help you to mount.’

  Raoul’s words took a few moments to penetrate her bemused state, but at last she allowed him to throw her up into the saddle.

  ‘So he claims to be your cousin,’ said Raoul. ‘Do you recognise him?’

  ‘No, of course not. He fled England nearly ten years ago.’

  ‘Fled?’

  ‘Yes. He was accused of killing his wife and stealing her jewels.’

  ‘And did he?’

  A tiny crease furrowed Cassie’s brow.

  ‘I do not know,’ she said slowly. ‘Why would he run away, if he is innocent?’

  Raoul was tempted to remind her that he was doing just that, but at that moment the man calling himself Wolfgang Arrandale trotted up on a glossy black hunter and instead Raoul turned to appraise horse and rider.

  ‘I’d wager that beast is no hired hack.’

  ‘No.’ The man leaned forward to pat the glossy neck. ‘Satan is my own. We have been through many adventures together.’

  Cassie brought her mare alongside the black.

  ‘Is that how you live, Cousin, as a soldier of fortune?’

  Cousin. Raoul’s brows rose a little. So she had decided to accept that he was who he claimed to be.

  Arrandale gave a little shrug and said indifferently, ‘Something like that. Shall we go?’

  Raoul scrambled up into his saddle and trotted after the others. There was no doubt that Arrandale’s intervention was timely, for the situation had been looking decidedly ugly, but Raoul could not help wishing it had been a chance stranger who had come to their aid. He might then have accepted their thanks and gone on his way. The fact that the fellow was Cassie’s cousin could not be coincidence. If he was Wolfgang Arrandale. After all they only had his word for it.

  He watched Cassie turn her head to look up at her companion and felt something twist in his gut. Something suspiciously like jealousy. He dragged his eyes away and glowered at his horse’s ears.

  ‘Do not be ridiculous,’ he muttered savagely to the hapless animal. ‘If the fellow is her cousin and he has come looking for her, then your job is done. He can take care of her’.

  But as they clattered into the cobbled yard of the inn Raoul realised with a jolt that he did not wish to consign Lady Cassandra to anyone’s care.

  * * *

  ‘So, Cousin, what are you doing here?’

  Cassandra could hardly wait until the landlord had left them at their table before she put the question.

  ‘I have been following you.’

  ‘So I was not imagining it.’ She threw a triumphant glance at Raoul. ‘I thought I saw something in the woods last night.’

  ‘Yes, it was careless of me to get so close.’

  ‘But why was it necessary for you to hide?’ demanded Raoul. ‘Why did you not declare yourself and ride with us?’

  Wolfgang spread his hands. ‘I could have been wrong. It wasn’t until I looked my cousin in the eye just now that I was sure.’

  Raoul nodded. Despite Arrandale’s full beard it was possible to see a strong similarity between him and Lady Cassandra. Both had an abundance of curling dark hair and thick, dark lashes fringing those unusually coloured eyes. In Wolfgang’s case his eyes were more blue than violet, but the likeness was sufficient to convince Raoul that they were related.

  ‘Well I am very glad you decided to follow us,’ said Cassie, smiling at her cousin in a way that made Raoul grit his teeth. ‘You saved us from those horrid men.’

  ‘I also saved your skin at the farm.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Raoul, remembering the musket shots that had sounded so opportunely. ‘Was it you who drew off the soldiers?’

  Those eyes, so like Cassie’s, turned to look at him.

  ‘It was the least I could do, for a fellow fugitive.’

  ‘But how did you find us?’ Cassie demanded. ‘And why were you even looking for me?’

  ‘Lady Hune.’

  ‘Grandmama’s letters reached you? I did not think they would. No one has had any word from you for years. To be truthful I thought you were dead.’

  ‘My great-aunt—your grandmother—is very persistent. I believe she wrote many letters in the hope that at least one of them would reach me. She numbers amongst her acquaintances several members of the French aristocracy who survived the Terror and now live...er...outside the law. When I first came to France Lady Hune asked them to look out for me. Let us say I am returning the favour.’

  Cassie frowned. ‘But that does not explain how you found us, or what Grandmama expects you to do.’

  ‘She wants me to spirit you back to England, of course.’

  ‘Could you do that?’ asked Raoul.

  ‘Quite possibly. I went to Verdun with the intention of getting my cousin and her husband out of France, but I learned there that Witney was dead and his widow had left for England.’
He looked at Cassie. ‘I had only missed you by a matter of days and thought there might be a chance to catch up with you, so I went to Rouen. There was no trace of a Lady Cassandra Witney ever having arrived there. However, I did learn of an English milady and her husband staying in the town, so I thought I might take a look, in case you had got yourself into some sort of scrape.’

  Cassie straightened in her chair and said indignantly, ‘Why should you think I was in a scrape?’

  ‘Because you are an Arrandale, Cousin. We have a talent for getting into trouble.’

  Raoul laughed at that.

  ‘Very true!’ He saw the angry fire sparkling in Cassie’s eyes and continued, before she could retort, ‘But never mind that, now. You followed us from Rouen?’

  ‘Yes. I arrived at the inn soon after the law officers. The tapster told me some government man from Paris was there to arrest a deserter and his English lover. The serving maid’s description was enough to convince me the lady might well be my cousin. With so many gendarmes milling around the inn I thought it would be safer if I did not tarry so I retired to the street corner, keeping an eye on the place and trying to decide what to do. Then a commotion broke out. From my vantage point I think I was the only one to see a couple running away through the alley at the back of the inn. I followed you from there.’

  Cassie remembered her unease as they had walked through the narrow streets.

  ‘But I do not understand. Why did we not see you?’

  ‘I had...acquired the clothes of a common seaman. It seemed more fitting, since we were so close to the quay.’

  ‘The snoring sailor,’ remarked Raoul, grinning.

  ‘The very same.’ Arrandale straightened in his chair and fixed Raoul with a piercing gaze. He said with a touch of hauteur that reminded Raoul strongly of Lady Cassandra, ‘But I have not yet discovered why you are escorting my cousin, monsieur.’

  ‘Oh, it is all quite simple,’ Cassie rushed in to explain. ‘The courier I hired to take me to Rouen was a villain and Raoul rescued me.’