“Let’s go,” he said and moved toward the door. Virginie snuck the necklace out of the pocket of her dress. She wanted to take the dress, but it wouldn’t fit in her satchel, so she had to leave it in Tomas’ abode. She held the necklace firmly in her hand as she put the dress gently down on the table. She felt the cold of the air as soon as she stepped outside. She had no choice but to pull the wool shawl tighter around her. She didn’t want to think what she looked like, she had never had occasion to wear such a common dress. Compared to her usual attire, it put little restraint on her breathing and she almost felt a bit naked being in public without the stiff stays that kept her immobile and constantly breathless even when not wearing a corset. She found a broken stitch in the hem of the dress and slipped her necklace into it. She wanted to hold something back in case things went wrong. If she was deceived, she would at least have the necklace to fall back on.
She followed him down the stairs and onto the street. The moon was rising and it was getting later in the evening. There were less people on the streets.
“What’s in the satchel?” he asked after they’d walked for a while.
“Silver,” she responded.
“Good,” he said and continued walking. They walked toward the far side of town, past the quiet and dark market place at the centre.
“I’m cold,” she said. The damp air was seeping through the dress and sticking to her skin.
“Then walk faster,” he stated without turning around.
Chapter 3
Tomas walked without slowing down. He wanted them to be on their way before they were noticed. He also wanted to be on his way before he had time to think of the consequence of what he was doing. His absence would be observed. His link with the Aubesvines family was known and he was being watched by those unsure of his allegiances.
Not that he approved of the violent and grotesque way the revolution was turning; hunger pushed people too far and the revolution had turned into a mad dog chewing on its own leg. He’d been a great supporter in the beginning, equality and liberty were commendable ideals, but along the way it had been twisted by unknown agendas, or perhaps more that few had little idea how to go from where they were to the paradise they sought. Thoughts of what was required ranged, some to the extremes, and it seems the extremists had the reins now.
He was leaving behind all he knew, and there would be no going back for a long time, if ever. He wasn’t sure what he was heading toward, he would deliver the girl, then think about the future. Neither of them might have one; it was a dangerous road to the coast. It was dangerous to be on the road for anyone, let alone an aristocratic girl who couldn’t look anything but, no matter what he dressed her in.
She was clearly uncomfortable in the dress, but she still looked clean and fresh, completely without the weight of a life of harsh inescapable reality. Her hair looked like spun gold and reflected every source of light they passed. Maybe it was just her irrepressible innocence that shone through. His half-brother had done a good job keeping the girl protected, he know that some women and girls of her class were more jaded than old alley whores.
This girl’s voice, her movement and her beauty all pointed out clearly that she was not an ordinary village girl, she was one of them. He vaguely remembered her, but he knew nothing of her other than she was the daughter of the Marquis of Durmont, Etienne’s close friend from the time they were young men.
“What have we got here?” he heard behind him. He whipped around and saw that the girl’s path had been blocked by three men. He cursed, he hadn’t even seen them coming, too caught up in his own thought.
“Let me pass,” she stated.
“Oh, very hoity, toity,” one of the men laughed.
“Wife,” Tomas stated loudly and sharply, “you are not to fall behind.”
The men turned toward him. They weren’t people he knew. The girl went to push past, but one of the men grabbed her by the arm.
“Unhand my wife,” Tomas warned.
“Such a pretty little thing,” the man said keeping a steely eye on Tomas while he picked up her plait of hair from her shoulder, “and who might you be?”
“He’s from here,” one of the other men said, “I’ve seen him.”
“And this is your wife?” the suspicious man continued.
“Yes,” Tomas said and stepped closer. If there were to be a fight, he was out-numbered. He hoped the girl had enough sense to run.
The man pushed her toward him with a snort. “Shame,” he said, “such a pretty neck.” The threat was obvious. She rushed toward him and he put his arm around her. He wanted to knock this man to the ground, but it would cost him much, it was not the time to let his temper flare, their lives depended on it. Instead he turned down the street with his arm around her.
“We have to cut your hair,” he said quietly when they were away from the men. The girl was scared, he could feel her shuddering, but she kept her composure and he was grateful she had some strength in her. He was also grateful that she didn’t argue because her hair had to go, it was too well kept and too well nourished.
Virginie felt Tomas turn his head and survey the street behind him. She was absolutely petrified at the moment and she clung to him. He felt like a point of safety in a deep black sea. She had his shirt tightly knotted in her fist and she wasn’t letting go. He was taller than her; she hadn’t realized how much until she was flush up next to him.
Her proximity also enveloped her in his scent, it surrounded her. Not completely repugnant, he smelled of wood and smoke, and something that smelled like a herb, maybe thyme. It wasn’t completely unpleasant, maybe her nose was just getting accustomed to the bad smells, else it meant she smelled worse of the pair of them.
He said she had to cut her hair. She had spent a great deal of time investing in its beauty, but if it avoided any more dealing with the awful men with black teeth, she would cut it. While she might not like Tomas, when it came down to it, she trusted him implicitly. She hadn’t expected that. Perhaps due to the sheer fact that she had no choice.
They walked hurriedly for a while, but he guided her toward a barn at the edge of town. It was dark inside, but he found a small lamp somewhere. Virginie wondered if he knew this barn, not that it mattered.
“Come”, he said. He picked up a pair of shears that were sitting on top of a hay bale. “We have to cut your hair.”
“Do we have to?”
“Is it worth dying for?”
“No,” she admitted. The idea of cutting her hair was so foreign, she had trouble getting her mind around it, but he was right, it wasn’t worth dying for. It would re-grow eventually and it was only hair, she told herself. She felt Tomas tug on her braid as the shears made their rough cut. Her hair flowed out of sparse remains of the braid and she could feel it tickling on her neck and cheek. Her head felt light as the weight of the braid left. It must be very short, she realized.
“It is still too ridiculously healthy,” he said. “It shines like spun gold. It won’t do.” He moved away for a while and returned threading something through her hair with his fingers. It smelled strange.
“What is that?”
“Saddle oil. It will dull your hair. There, that’s better.”
The smelly oil made her hair greasy and clump together. “This smell is going to give me a headache.”
“As long as you have a head to worry about, it’s a good outcome,” he said with annoyance. She was annoying him and he didn’t bother to hide it. It wasn’t something she was used to, but these were extraordinary circumstances and if she had to put up with Tomas and his sullenness, she would. He was taking her to the coast after all and she was grateful. She would just have to put up with how he was.
She surveyed the damage to her hair while he moved further away into the barn. “Are we staying here tonight?” she asked when he returned. He ignored her question and walked straight past her into a small room. He came out with a saddle. Virginie guessed that answered her question.
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“Do you have a horse?”
“No,” he said as he walked down the darker part of the barn. She followed him into the darker part of the stable. The smell of animals was pervasive.
“Are you stealing a horse?” she said with shock. He stopped and she almost walked straight into his back.
“No, we are stealing a horse.”
Virginie didn’t quite know how to respond. As wrong as it was to steal, it was also wrong that she was being chased by people she didn’t know. This was the second time that night that she been party to theft and it sat very badly with her.
“If it makes you feel better, I promise to return it later,” he said with obvious sarcasm.
“Don’t mock me.”
“Why? You make it so easy.”
“Just because I balk somewhat at stealing? It might be second nature to you, but I am not used to stealing,” she said with indignity. “This horse belongs to someone, someone who might depend on it and suffer greatly with it gone.”
“Someone who wants you dead, may I add, and don’t you talk about suffering, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said sharply.
“And you do? It isn’t suffering if you seek it out.”
“Seek it out? I am a bastard, do you entertain for a second that was something I sought out?”
“You had acceptance and support, yet you throw it back in Etienne’s face at every opportunity. You were never around to see how hurt he was every time you spurned him.”
“Etienne had his life to live and I have mine. They do not mix. Why am I discussing this with you? I should just send you on your way and get back to my ale before anyone realizes I am missing.”
“Fine,” Virginie huffed. “Just point me in the right direction and I can do it myself.”
“Can you even ride?”
“Of course I can ride. They walk on their own mostly.”
“You can’t ride,” he said blatantly and closed his eyes in disbelief. “Are you not even capable of the simplest things?”
“I will manage,” she said through gritted teeth.
He pursed his lips in obvious vexation. “See, this is what Etienne’s company gets me, nothing that is in my best interest. You charge into the world, having no understanding of what you’re doing, dragging everyone else with you.”
“Well, what do you expect me to do? I couldn’t stay where I was.”
He growled and then he pulled himself up on the horse. “Let’s go before we get spotted. If you insist on staying here and arguing, it will only be a matter of time.”
“I wasn’t arguing.”
He offered her his arm and then he pulled her up on the back of the horse. She ended up sitting on the rump of a horse for the second time in a day. Her backside was already incredibly sore because of it. They had to duck through the door of the barn as they rode out into the cold night. Virginie had to grab onto Tomas’ waist to stop herself from falling off the side of the moving animal.
They rode in silence for a while.
“Why don’t you know how to ride?”
“It wasn’t something my father felt was suitable for someone of my breeding.”
“So he liked keeping you helpless and dependent?”
Virginie didn’t answer, because there was a grain of truth to Tomas’ statement. Her father had felt that the ideal aristocratic woman were only capable of the very fine arts, or in the ways of beauty. Anything that was distinctly seen as male territory had been sternly discouraged as she was growing up.
“That’s what’s wrong with your class; you have no sense of practicality.”
Virginie bristled as the accusation. “Well, I apologize profusely for not being trained to deal with a peasant revolt.”
“Well, maybe you should have been. It is not like this wasn’t brewing. Anyone who had a pair of eyes in their head would have seen this coming.” Virginie didn’t respond. She hadn’t seen it coming at all. Sure, the peasants were surly and unfriendly, but she had just thought that was normal. She had not foreseen her world being ripped apart.
“When did you know?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.
“I warned Etienne two years ago, but he didn’t listen.”
“What exactly was he supposed to do?”
Tomas didn’t answer for a long time. “Get out.”
“Well, he did. He is on his way to Italy right now, maybe even there by now.”
“But he left me to clean up the mess he left behind,” Tomas said. Virginie didn’t like being referred to as a mess, but she guessed from Tomas’ perspective she was.
“He didn’t have a choice,” Virginie defended her guardian.
“He should have done better planning for you. You are his responsibility, not mine.” Again he was harping on about what big an imposition this was on him. She had received the message clearly already and if there was any alternative she would be more than happy to take it. She would go alone if she had to, but she also knew that she would be much worse off. The incident with the awful men a little while back had more than proved that. And she didn’t even know the way.
Tomas cursed himself for yet another time that evening. They rode slowly in the darkness. If they went any faster the horse would stumble and they would both break their necks. It would take them a long time, but he felt that they needed to get away from the village, from people in general. He didn’t know if her absence would be noted, but there was always the possibility that they would assume she had gone to find Etienne’s illegitimate brother.
She sat behind him with her arms tightly wrapped around his waist, much closer than he would ever be allowed to be to someone like her. She was everything he despised, and everything that was forbidden. He had been informed in no uncertain terms that women of her standing were not for him. She was treated like precious treasure and he would never be accepted for someone like her in any meaningful capacity.
Girls like her had been the focus of his youth, but it soon became clear that his future with that regard would always be one of endless denial and frustration. There was one girl he had a particular attraction to. She had been just like Virginie, arrogant, protected and ignorant of the world outside her cosseted life. He’d watched her every time she was near, but she had always dismissed him as inconsequential, and it had been true. He had nothing to offer and never would. That fact hadn’t stopped him from wanting her.
Eventually he had watched her marry, then watched Etienne marry, knowing that the same fate didn’t await him. There would never truly be any acceptance of him in the aristocratic society, and the bitterness in him had only grown.
The girl behind him was getting tired; he could feel her grip loosening. “We should rest,” he said.
“Here? There is nothing here,” she asked looking around the meadow they were passing through. “We can’t sleep here, it’s freezing. We’ll freeze to death.”
“It is safer to rest here. You won’t die, I promise,” he said and he whipped his leg over the neck of the horse and dismounted.
“There is nothing. We have nothing to sleep on.”
“The ground will have to do and the saddle blanket will serve.”
“A saddle blanket?” she said incredulously. “A saddle blanket, you mean one blanket.”
“We will have to sleep together, otherwise you truly will freeze.” He held his hands up to her, waiting for her to dismount. His hands came around her waist as she slid off the horse. He arrested her descent and lowered her to the ground slowly.
“This is not acceptable.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that, you are perfectly welcome to seek out some other person to take you to the coast, if my service proves inadequate.”
Virginie tapped her foot as Tomas unsaddled the horse.
“Surely we can find someone who will take us in.”
“Well, if you know anyone around here who would for certain not arrest us, please inform me.” The girl huffed, but she had no further suggest
ions. He broke off some pine branches and then walked around and found a dry spot absent of wet grass that would soak through their clothes. They truly would be miserable if it started raining, but so far, the weather held. He placed the pine branches on the ground then lay down and fanned the horse blanket out. It was thin, but with their combined body heat, they should be sufficiently warm. “Come,” he said indicating for her to join him on the ground. She hesitated. “Oh believe me; you have absolutely nothing to worry about other than freezing to death.”
She relented and came over and lay down next to him. “The ground is hard.”
“It usually is.” She some distance from him, the blanket was still warm from the horse and it smelled terribly, but they had no choice. As the minutes passed, she slowly moved closer to him. He could feel her soft curves. He would not touch her. He had learned that soft curves could be found elsewhere, and in places that were much more welcoming. His desire for the fresh, protected aristocratic girls had eventually given way to the girls who happily joined him for a tumble in the next available haystack. Real girls, who knew exactly what they wanted.
“Have you never slept under the stars before?” he asked. He noted that she battled with her need for his heat and her need to keep some semblance of distance. They would both be more comfortable if she just drape herself over him like a drunken whore, but he doubted she would listen to him. He knew she would move closer over the course of the night, it was just too cold for propriety.
“No,” she said. He didn’t doubt her answer, she had probably never slept anywhere other than a nice warm bed. He and Etienne used to sleep rough sometimes when they were children, run away somewhere for whatever reason entered their heads and slept under the stars. Things were different for girls; they were different back then in general. Young masters would not be safe sleeping rough now, not as they had back then when the world had been more innocent. Maybe it was just them that had been innocent and they hadn’t seen any of the injustice, cruelty and hypocrisy that scarred the world.
An Unlikely Savior Page 3