Hand on the latch, Vienne peered through the peephole and saw Liam and a red-faced Paulette, her mobcap crooked on her head. Both of them carried boxes from Vienne’s room at the pension. Stepping back, she swung wide the door.
Henri bounded into the room. “Mademoiselle!”
She knelt on the floor and embraced him. He threw his arms around her tender neck.
“Easy,” Liam murmured.
Henri relaxed his grip. “That bad man hurt you?”
“Not so very much.” She hoped he didn’t notice the waver in her voice. She pulled him in again, breathing in his scent. He smelled of the herbs he’d been grinding for Paulette: basil, sage, rosemary. Her heart cramped. She had prayed to love him with a mother’s love, a love she’d never felt herself and had never before bestowed. Maybe this ache, big enough to swallow her whole, was close.
When she caught a glimpse of Paulette’s worried face, she stood and hugged the maid.
“Vivienne!” Paulette cried. “I couldn’t believe it, even though I read it in your own hand. I could not let this man take Henri away without coming myself to see that it’s true.”
“Thank you for that. And it’s true.” She sighed. “Every word.”
Tara laid her hand on Vienne’s shoulder. “I’ll come check on you later. Do you need anything now?”
“No, thank you.”
After a few words with her brother, Tara left the room.
Liam locked the door behind her while remaining inside the room. Under any other circumstances, it would have been highly improper to have a man alone in a bedroom with two women and a child. But as Vienne was more comfortable with the door closed and locked than left open, she didn’t protest.
He nodded at the boxes he’d stacked along the wall. “Miss Dubois was good enough to pack your things.”
Vienne grasped what she’d been distracted from acknowledging until now: she would never stay at the Pension Sainte-Marie again. She’d known her days there were numbered, since she hoped to relocate to Asylum soon, but to leave like this—it felt too much like running away. Like escaping. And she’d had her fill of that in France. Vienne sat on the bed to relieve her throbbing ankle, and Henri nested beneath her arm.
“I’ll wait in the corridor to escort Miss Dubois home again.” Liam let himself outside.
Paulette blew out an exaggerated sigh, then sat on the bed opposite Vienne and whispered, “I don’t understand. Why did that man attack you? Why do you think he’d try it again?”
Vienne reached for the tea and drank it. Now that Henri was with her again, the warm brew felt far more soothing. “He was a Jacobin.”
The maid’s mouth screwed tight to one side as questions crimped her brow. “But why did he target you? Jacobins don’t go around choking women at random. There is a purpose to their actions. What kind of trouble are you mixed up in?”
Vienne shook her head and drank again. This, she could not reveal.
Frowning, Paulette moved to the fire frolicking in the hearth now, and held her open hands to the heat. When she faced Vivienne again, her countenance was drawn. “It’s one thing to work here, but something else altogether to take up residence. I’m uneasy leaving the two of you in a tavern, outside the French Quarter, at that.”
“We’ll be all right here.” But for how long, Vienne could not say. “Rest easy.”
“Well.” Paulette rubbed her hands together. “I’ll have a fine time explaining to Madame where you’ve disappeared to. I’ve half a mind to let her think you’ve gone to bed, and then you can tell her the state of things yourself tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Paulette. Please, if anyone comes calling, don’t say where Henri and I are staying now. Tell no one. Not even Monsieur Lemoine.”
The maid’s hazel eyes narrowed. “I thought he was sweet on you. I thought the two of you . . .” She bit her tongue. “You have my word. Your secret is safe with me.”
Vienne could only pray it was.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Liam’s dinner was stone cold by the time he found it waiting for him in his room, but that didn’t stop him from downing the potato cakes and turkey pie when he saw it. Paulette was back at the pension, Beau and Cherie were sleek and healthy in the stable, and Vivienne and Henri were safe in their room on the other side of Liam’s wall.
For now.
Swallowing the last bite of turkey, he went to the basin and washed his hands and face. He had to go back to Asylum. But how could he leave Vienne now? If someone had followed her away from the Four Winds Tavern, it was only a matter of time before that same someone came back here looking for her. Tara would be in jeopardy, too.
No. He couldn’t allow it. Leaning on the windowsill, he looked out into the night, alert for any movement between lampposts. He’d been powerless to prevent James’s death and absent when his mother died last summer. He’d done nothing at all to help Finn. With such a record, he did not seem qualified to protect anyone. And yet, if he didn’t look out for Vivienne and Henri and Tara, who would? Certainly not that young dandy, Sebastien Lemoine, who hadn’t even the decency to see Vivienne home. Lord, show me the way.
His conscience pricked him. Vienne was smart and strong, perhaps stronger than she knew. She would have something to say about the path she should take from here, if only he would ask.
The night watchman had yet to start his rounds, so the hour couldn’t be too late. Half past nine, perhaps. Liam stared at the wall separating him from Vienne. Then he rapped his knuckles on it. “Vivienne?” he called. “It’s Liam. I’d like to talk to you without this wall between us.”
Her soft voice called through. “Just a moment, please.”
“Certainly.”
After leaving enough time for her to make herself presentable, Liam smoothed a hand down his shirtfront, slipped into the hall, and tapped on her door.
She opened it, fully dressed, hair bound loosely at the nape of her neck. Fatigue smeared shadows beneath her eyes.
“Would it scandalize you if I were to come in?” He kept his voice low. “We need to talk without being overheard.”
One hand on her bruised throat, she stepped back to admit him before closing and locking the door again. “Henri’s sleeping,” she said, and Liam assured her he’d try not to wake him.
Already the room held the faint scent of Vienne’s rose water. She sat on the bed while he stoked the fire. Then he grabbed the back of the only chair in the room, turned it around to face her, and lowered himself into it. He kneaded his hands together, rubbing absently at the calluses he found.
Vienne grasped his hand, stilling it. “Thank you. Liam, you saved my life.”
His gaze went to the mottled skin of her neck. The desire to protect her unfolded within him, crowding everything else away. “I was almost too late.”
“But you weren’t.”
He covered her hand with his for a moment, then released it. It would be too easy to draw her closer. “We were fortunate this time. Do you know what you’ll do now? I’m sure you realize you won’t be safe here for long.”
She crossed her arms and grimaced as she swallowed. He should not keep her talking long, if he could help it. “I need asylum.”
“That you do,” he agreed.
“French Asylum. It’s an actual place,” she corrected. “You’ve heard of it?”
His eyebrows rose. “Lovely piece of earth. Are you considering moving there? It would be far safer than Philadelphia for you and Henri.”
Light sparked in her green eyes. “I’ve secured a home there for us.”
“You have?” Surprise jolted through him at this answer to his prayer.
Vienne adjusted her fichu, but the marks of her attacker remained visible beneath the lace. “I want to go soon, but Sebastien says I can’t until spring.”
So that was why she had met with him this evening. Liam held her gaze, weighing what he was about to suggest. “What if I said you can leave tomorrow? With me?”
He
r lips parted. “What?”
In the hallway, a floorboard creaked as someone passed by. Pulling his chair closer to Vienne, Liam leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His fingertips brushed the soft folds of her skirt before he clasped his hands together. “My farm is on the edge of Asylum. I’ve been gone far too long, and I have two horses in Tara’s stable that need to go back with me. If that’s not Providence I don’t know what is. You and Henri can have Cherie, and I’ll ride Beau.”
Vienne cast a glance at Henri’s sleeping form before facing him again. “If it’s safe to travel, why did Sebastien say otherwise?”
Wind howled outside the tavern, and the window quaked in its casing. Liam crossed the room to make sure it was closed tight, then quietly returned to his seat. “He’s talking about convoys of refugees. Groups of people travel by wagon to Harrisburg, then paddle upstream on the Susquehanna the rest of the way. It can take between ten days and two weeks that way, sometimes even longer. With the river and weather being so cold now, it’s too dangerous. He’s right that they’ll need to wait.”
She pinched at the ruffles on her sleeves. “Your route is better, then.”
“It’s more direct, and faster, but the way is rugged, especially the last sixty miles or so of the journey. It takes four days in ideal conditions to make the trip. Maybe six with the days being shorter, though. You’d be unchaperoned, but there’s no way around it. You have my word I’ll do nothing to dishonor you.”
“I trust you.” She leaned forward, a faint pink staining her cheeks. “I trust you completely.”
Vienne’s words were a seal upon his intent, stamped with the responsibility of conveying two souls to their refuge. It was a press and a burden he gladly bore. Liam vowed not to betray that trust.
Vivienne’s breath steamed and then froze on the inside of her muffler as she and Henri rode beside Liam. Icicles striped the rock face looming on one side, while dried grasses poked through the snow like blond stubble. The wind whipped about them, but by now, after five days of the same, the little boy had ceased to complain.
Clumps of snow rested on evergreen branches like clotted cream. With Henri’s body slouched against Vivienne’s back in sleep, she grasped his arms about her waist with one hand while keeping Cherie’s reins loosely in the other.
Henri stirred. The warmth of his body separated from hers as he straightened. “Mr. Delaney, won’t you tell us a story? One about Indians, with war ponies and tomahawks and all the rest.”
“Another time.” Liam’s voice was subdued behind his scarf.
So was his manner. He was working through something.
Vienne let another quarter mile go by before venturing, “Do you want to talk about what happened? Out west, I mean.” Henri leaned against her again, his arms about her middle.
Liam glanced at the boy before looking straight ahead. “No.” But he pushed his wool layers below his chin to speak, revealing the scars that brought a twinge to Vivienne’s gut, for he’d already explained how they came to be.
“Your mind is still there, I can tell. We have time, and I’m certain you won’t be overheard by gossips.” Hoofbeats plodded softly on a trail so lonesome, even the creak of leather saddles and the clinking of bits in the horses’ mouths could be heard. Snow-powdered hills gently rose and fell, like the folds of a discarded garment. Their crests were fringed with bare trees, their black branches a delicate embroidery on a gray wool sky.
Liam’s breath puffed in white clouds as he shifted Beau’s reins in his hands. “Finn was arrested. Did I tell you that? Did Tara?” He glanced at her, and she shook her head, heart sinking for this man, who took so seriously his role in his cousin’s life. “I saw him, beaten and bound, and he saw me, too, among the soldiers that ordered and carried out his arrest. I’ve always been on Finn’s side ere this.”
When he didn’t continue, Vivienne said, “You can’t think he blames you.”
“Who he blames is the least of my concerns right now. The journey he’s making over the mountains and across the state into Philadelphia is at least as rugged as this one we’re making. Except he’s walking it, and he doesn’t have the food or clothing we do.” He brought his muffler back up over his nose, holding it there for a moment, before letting it drop once more. “I don’t know if Finn will make it. But you will, Vivienne. You and Henri. The way is rough, but the weather may hold. God help me, I’ll not see harm come to you.”
Liam’s face, bared to the cold, showed faint furrows at the brow and starbursts at his eyes, the marks of a contemplative man who had both frowned and laughed much, and opened himself to the same sun which shone upon his fields. Vienne drew strength from his fierceness, and comfort from his tenderness, for he was both, and more, to her.
“Would that we did not require anyone’s protection. But since we do,” Vivienne conceded, “I would have no one but you, Liam, for the job.”
The nod he gave her was solemn. Pulling their scarves back over their faces, they slipped into a comfortable quiet as they put more miles behind them, step by horseshoed step.
Vivienne lost count of the distance they covered. Bare trees amassed on far-off slopes in a haze of bronze and silver filigree. At last, gaps through the trees yielded glimpses of the Susquehanna River, a silver-armored snake carving its own path through the wilderness. There was a desolation about this place that could frighten her, if she let it. For a refuge, it seemed inhospitable, even to the horses. At Liam’s word, they dismounted and led Beau and Cherie by their bridles, all of them picking their way over the narrow, ice-glazed trail. Roots crisscrossed the path, as thick as ropes and rigging, so that Vienne held back her skirts to see where she placed her feet.
When Henri faltered, Liam crouched down, bidding the boy climb up on his back.
“Oof!” Liam said as he rose, Henri’s thin limbs twining around him. “You’re big as a mule, you are!” Their laughter bounced and echoed against the wilderness. “Take heart, Vienne,” Liam added. “We won’t always need to so closely watch our steps.”
Catching his eye, she smiled at the unspoken meaning before crossing a stream of melting snow. “I trust you are right.” For however difficult it was to reach, Asylum was that much more hidden from those who would bring them harm.
Vivienne marveled at the distance they’d traveled from Philadelphia and at how far she’d come in her relationship with Liam from the first night he’d danced with her at the Binghams’. True to his word, he had not touched her on this journey. At night, they had slept in separate rooms in ordinaries and inns he was familiar with along the way. With each day that passed, her respect and affection deepened, until she could no longer think of him as a mere friend. She felt herself being drawn to him, as the sun turned a flower’s face, and as the moon pulled the tide.
Ahead of her on the trail, Henri laughed at something. Liam looked over his shoulder at her. “Just making sure you’re still there,” he said.
She smiled. “I’m here.”
With a grin and wink, he turned and continued up the trail with Henri clinging happily to his back.
Vienne would follow wherever he led.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Philadelphia
December 10, 1794
Secrets, Paulette Dubois knew how to keep.
So when she opened the pension’s front door to find Sebastien Lemoine, she remained unruffled. He was always so shiny and spotless, like a portrait on the canvas of milky sky behind him. She had half a mind to take her feather duster to his waistcoat and see if she couldn’t transfer a bit of dust. It wasn’t fitting for a man to be so clean all the time. A little dirt was good for the soul.
“Paulette,” he was saying, and she wondered if he’d had to say it more than once.
“Monsieur Lemoine, forgive me.” The bite in the chill air refocused her attention.
“I’ve come to call on Vivienne. May I?” He stepped forward, unwrapping the wool from his neck until it draped neatly over both shoulders.
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She crossed her arms, rubbing the goose bumps forming beneath her thin dress. “She’s not here.” She glanced at the fire in the parlor hearth, where the flames leaned away from the door.
He lifted his timepiece from his pocket, consulted it with a frown, then put it back. “What do you mean, she isn’t here? She’s always here in the afternoons. She doesn’t leave. She and Henri both stay home.” His nose was pink from the cold.
“Well, a little variation to the routine, then. Vivienne and Henri are gone.”
Sebastien clenched both ends of his scarf in his fists. “You don’t mean it.”
“I assure you I do.” At five feet tall, and slender as a weasel, Paulette did not cut an imposing figure, this she knew. But what she lacked in stature, she made up for with spirit and confidence.
Something flared in his face, a passion she hadn’t known such a clean man could possess. Without another word, he pushed past her into the pension and bounded up the stairs to Vivienne’s room.
Paulette threw the door closed against the swirl of winter wind. By the time she reached him, he was already in the empty room, which she’d just cleaned to ready it for the next pensioner.
“Gone? Gone where?” He rounded on her, and she took a step back in spite of herself. “Why did they leave? Without telling me? Tell me what you know. Tell me!” His face was close enough to hers that she could see the fine pores on his fine nose and smell the coffee on his breath.
“I don’t scare easy, you’ll find.” Paulette pressed her lips into a resolute line, backed against the wall though she was. Her hand reached around the corner, gripping the banister to steady herself.
“Forgive me.” He stepped back. “I am shocked, and perhaps scared myself. Wherever she is, she shouldn’t be alone with Henri. She can’t take care of him like I can.” He rubbed a narrow hand over his face and muttered, “I was going to marry her.”
So the monsieur was used to having what he wanted and had no idea what to do when things didn’t go his way. Oh, the lessons she could give him on that.
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