With caution Drake approached a carter hauling a load of hay behind an ancient mule. The old man had his hat pulled down over his brow to ward off the noon sun, and he munched on a piece of straw. He glanced at Drake without curiosity.
“Monsieur, if you would. . .” Drake forced his stallion to keep pace with the mule. The man flicked him a brief look. “I am looking for someone who may have passed this way. It is most important. She could be harmed traveling alone, and it is all my fault. She is petite, with hair the color of the setting sun. She does not speak. Have you seen her?”
“What is it to you?” the carter inquired laconically.
Drake did not dare allow hope to rise. “She is my wife. We quarreled, and she ran away. If you have seen her, you must know it is dangerous for her to be alone. I would give you anything you ask if you could but tell me where to find her.”
The carter snorted. “Seems to me it would be dangerous for her to travel with a brute who strikes women.” He whipped the mule’s reins but the idle beast did not increase its pace.
The leather of the harness cut into Drake’s hands as he clenched his fists. Avignon. The darkness had been too deep that night to see Eileen’s face with any clarity, but the piece fit. Eileen would never allow any man close enough to rape her, but she would not expect a man to strike her. He did not care to imagine her rage and fear when one did. De Lacy had done that once. She had learned to carry weapons since then.
Drake improvised hastily. “That was not my fist but her father’s. Since she cannot use words to tell me, she ran away. You have seen her.” He made it a statement, not a question.
The old man threw him a long, shrewd look and spit out his straw. “I’ve seen her.”
Drake breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving before speaking again. “She is well?”
“Except for the bruise.” The older man stared at Drake now with a lessening of suspicion at his concern.
“How far ahead is she?”
The carter glanced at the sky. “She passed me nigh on to half a morning ago.”
“Passed you?” Startled, Drake wondered if the man’s brains were addled.
“Fine mule she had. Young one.”
A mule. Drake didn’t know whether to curse from anger or frustration or at himself or Eileen. A mule. Of course. No one counted the dray animals in the field. No one would think to look for her on one. If it were not for his admiration for her cleverness, he would like to shake her until her teeth rattled.
“The mule is yours if I find her. Did she say where she headed?”
This unheard-of generosity brightened the carter’s interest. “Told her of some friends of mine in the village ahead. Looked like she could use a bite to eat.”
Drake did not allow his relief to show. Anything could happen between now and the village. If there were any forests between here and there, she might turn into a tree.
Ascertaining the direction of the village and the man’s friends, Drake spurred his mount into a gallop. He had made no use of the beast’s speed until now, thinking he would outdistance Eileen. Now haste made sense. He flew down the dirt road, leaving a trail of dust in the air.
He spied the mule tied to a rail outside the thatched cottage long before he arrived. She could not outrun him now. Drake made no attempt at caution as he galloped his stallion over the remaining distance. These days of searching had raised his temper to a flaring point, but his heart sung songs of rejoicing.
Flinging himself from the saddle, Drake shoved open the crude cottage door without a rap of warning. He would take no chances on giving her time to think of escape. The faces in the darkened room all turned to him in surprise, but his gaze sought only one.
The bruise had darkened into a dull gray and green, but the disfigurement to the delicate cheekbone made Drake’s stomach knot in fury. He strode in without a word and raised his hand to touch the blemish.
Instantly a woman screamed and chairs fell backward as the men leaped to their feet to protect the silent lady in their midst. The commotion died as Eileen rose and stepped toward the brash intruder instead of backing away.
“If I had known this, I would have killed him.” Drake’s fingers whispered along the bruise, searching for other damage.
Eileen stared at him wonderingly, but she shook her head, chasing away his protective hand.
She still remembered Avignon’s whore in his bed.
Aware of the stares they attracted, Drake closed his fingers around Eileen’s elbow and spoke to their audience. “I thank you for your care to my wife. She has nothing more to fear from her father, so I have come to take her home. Monsieur Belote will be arriving soon. I leave the mule as gratitude for his help.” He produced a coin from his capacious pocket and handed it to the woman who hovered closest behind Eileen. “Would I had more to give you, madame. I am most grateful to find her well.”
Eileen raised a dubious eyebrow at his charade, but she smiled her thanks to the woman who had offered her hospitality and did not attempt to shake off Drake’s hold.
Satisfied he had made what reparations he could, Drake dragged his silent companion from the dark hut into the brilliant light of a summer day. Without a word of explanation, he lifted her into the saddle and climbed up to join her.
“Hold tight. I’m tired of traveling at a mule’s pace.” With this curt admonition Drake gave the stallion its head.
Wrapping her arms around his unyielding waist, Eileen rested her head and furiously pounding heart against the strength of Drake’s muscular back and allowed the wind to whip the dizziness from her thoughts. She had no idea why he was here or where he was taking her. These past days of being alone with her thoughts had destroyed any desire to widen the distance between them. She could do it again if it became necessary, but not now.
Drake rode until their mount would go no farther. When he made it apparent he intended to camp beside the brook where he had tethered the horse, Eileen set about gathering the kindling for a fire. The trees along the stream’s edge provided an abundance of wood, and she soon had the fire bed arranged.
Drake brought out his pouch of stale bread, wine, and cheese and threw it down beside her.
“You did not have to come after me. The soldiers would never have found me,” Eileen stated flatly, seating herself on the cloak she had arranged on the ground.
“They are not even looking for you.” Drake tore off a hunk of bread and handed it to her.
She could not detect the emotion behind his voice. She tried to search his face for clues, but in the firelight she saw only weary shadows. She wished they could go back to the days when they had laughed together, but those days were long gone. They had both grown since then, and life could not be solved by simply producing an apple.
“I didn’t kill him?” she asked. The thought of a man’s death at her hands had preyed at her mind these past nights.
“Unfortunately not. I suspect it would have been better if you had.” Drake drank deeply of his wine.
Remembering Avignon’s threats, Eileen had to agree. If the comte knew de Lacy, then her uncle would soon know of her presence in France. It was not a comfortable thought.
“I was not wearing my knife. I’ll not be so incautious again,” she informed him.
Drake set the bottle aside and stared at her across the firelight. “You will not need the knife. I will see to your protection from now on.”
“You, and the whore you were with?” she demanded angrily.
“Avignon’s whore. Don’t be a fool. Eileen.” Drake answered, too exhausted to delve into this pointless argument.
“No, not any longer. I’ll not be any man’s fool again.” With bitterness she turned her head away. “You did not need to follow me. I can take care of myself.”
“You had me believing that for a while. I know better now.” Drake watched with sorrow as she stared into the fire, making no reply. Had her bout with Avignon scared her that much? Or was there something else she did not tell
him? He wondered if he would ever know the hidden paths of her mind, but he knew his own. She might hate him for what he did now, but he could do no less and count himself still a man. He waited.
“We are not returning to Versailles?” she finally asked.
“No.”
That seemed to be all she wanted to know. She rose from the fire, and Drake could hear her washing in the brook behind the bushes. When she returned, she wrapped herself in the cloak and, using her canvas bag as pillow, lay down beside the fire to sleep.
Drake watched as the last embers threw their glow on graceful lashes, accenting the porcelain loveliness of her pale cheeks. He wanted to take her in his arms but knew he could not. Not yet. Not until he had made wrong things right.
As he gathered up his own cloak and made his bed beside her, Drake voiced the one nagging question he could not resolve. “Why did you not take the gowns I gave you?”
“I did not know they were from you. I am sorry,” she whispered.
Drake crossed his hands behind his head and stared up at the stars, resisting the temptation to turn over and show her what rights he meant to keep.
“Know it now,” he commanded sharply. “And in the future. I will always look after you.”
With that enigmatic response he grew silent.
Drake was all too aware of her fragile body lying beside him as her breathing grew even with sleep. He might as well reach out and try to grasp the stars as think he could ever truly hold Eileen to himself, but these last days had taught him he must try. When first he had made his plans and written that letter, he had thought only to find a safe shelter to hide her. Now he knew he could not leave without grasping the stars and calling her his own. She might scorch his fingers or fade away, but a lifetime without her could no longer be imagined. And if he did not have a lifetime, he would die knowing he had done his best.
Chapter 18
France, July, 1746
On horseback, they moved more rapidly than they had by coach, covering long stretches of fields and woods in a day, choosing straighter paths than the wandering roads.
Not until they reached the foothills to the south did Eileen so much as suspect Drake did not make the Channel his goal. With growing incomprehension she watched as familiar landmarks flew by and they began to climb. Hope warred with disbelief as they reached the hills overlooking the hidden convent. Why in the name of all that was good and wise did he bring her here?
They rode into the valley a little before sunset, two travel-worn strangers on a single horse. Recognizing them despite their appearance, the nun at the entrance gave them admittance, and Drake rode the weary horse up to the convent steps. There he dismounted and lifted Eileen from her seat. “Why here, Drake?” she murmured.
“Because I do not think they will allow you to share my cell in the Tower.”
It was the first clue she had to his intentions, and he had timed it so that she could not object. The doors in front of them opened, and a silent nun bade them welcome.
Eileen quickly found herself separated from Drake. A gray-clad postulate led her down winding corridors to a bare cell containing cot and washstand. After Versailles, this seemed a virtual prison, but after the days on the road, she was grateful for its cleanliness.
She feared after she had washed and rested and changed into clean clothing that Drake would be gone. He was a man who did not hesitate when he knew where his path lay, and she had sensed that his every move had been a purposeful one since he had found her. If his path lay in the direction of London, he would set out immediately despite her or any protest she might make. She respected a man who stood up for his honor and beliefs, but she didn’t have to like his decision.
When she entered the reception hall to find Drake standing at the windows overlooking the cloister garden, she breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever his purpose, London was not his immediate goal.
He turned, and she saw that he had shaved the journey’s growth of beard. In clean linen and long coat and satin knee breeches, he had been restored to English marquess again. Only the unpowdered hair betrayed his rebellious nature. In her unfashionable gown Eileen suddenly felt dowdy in front of him, and she hesitated.
Drake did not. He captured her hand, blue eyes searching her face with anxiety.
“Was the ride too difficult, princess? The sisters have scolded me for your exhaustion. If my haste has made you ill. . .”
There was a hint of the Drake she knew, the one whose love and concern had led him to create fairy tales for an invalid sister and who had kidnapped his own cousins to save their foolish prides and lives. The cold stranger from Versailles had already vanished. Eileen managed a smile.
“I am not ill, just out of practice. These last months have been idle ones.”
Relief flooded his face. “Thank God. I fear I have developed the bad habit of believing my own tales and thinking you invincible. I had forgotten you were not well before we left.”
“Do not concern yourself over my health, but ease my mind. What did you mean when you spoke of the Tower?” Eileen anxiously held his hand, watching the expression in his eyes. They grew cloudy, and she despaired.
“Perhaps we had best eat before we have this discussion. I fear dinner may be awaiting our appearance,” he suggested.
Hiding her fears, Eileen took his arm.
A nun led them down the stone corridor to the open room lined with trestle tables and rows of orderly, black-gowned figures. A table at the head of the room contained the older nun Eileen recognized as the one who had greeted them before. Beside her stood a priest and his attendant. They all greeted their visitors with smiles, but the curiosity in their eyes was evident.
In the long rows of dark and gray habits Eileen could not distinguish her mother, but she felt certain her gaze followed her as she sat between Drake and the mother superior. Even when they bowed their heads for prayers, she felt as if someone were watching. Why had Drake brought her here? She did not know the silent woman who had once called herself mother, and she had no desire to disturb the woman’s peace.
During the meal, a priest and the older nun discussed the commonalities involved in running an order the size of this one, and Drake and Eileen remained respectfully silent. When the meal neared its end, a chorus of soft voices sang hymns from an upper loft, and Eileen glanced up in surprise. The silence until then had been oppressing.
The mother superior caught her glance and smiled. “We do have voices, child. It is just that we limit their uses except in worship of God.”
Eileen ventured a question that had bothered her since their first visit. “Why is it that you speak when the others do not?”
“I am happy to hear that your own speech is returned. I can see why ours concerns you. I am not of the order which has taken vows of silence. We must have some among us to communicate with the outside world. Many of our novitiates who believe they qualify to worship in silence learn that life is not for them, but there are still places for them here among us.” She hesitated, as if debating whether to say more. Apparently deciding to add to her lesson, she finished, “The novitiates are allowed an hour a day in which to speak. When they have overcome their need to use that time, they are ready for their vows.”
Eileen wondered if her mother had yet taken her vows or could use that hour to speak with her, but she banished the thought. The only thing they would have in common to speak about would be their hatred for de Lacy. That did not sound like a respectful topic for a house of worship.
In the mingling confusion after dinner, Eileen was separated from Drake again. She sensed the eagerness of the young novitiates crowding around her as she was urged to join them in the large, comfortable commons, but her gaze kept sweeping the room for some sign of Drake, or her mother.
A soft voice spoke shyly next to her, and Eileen realized she was to be given the chance to satisfy her curiosity. This must be the hour of freedom, and again she searched for her mother. The voice sighed with disappointmen
t, and Eileen hastened to turn back to her companion.
“I am sorry, were you speaking to me?”
The young face brightened. “I feared perhaps you still could not speak. Have you come to stay among us?”
At this moment, weary in heart and soul as well as body, Eileen wished this was so. This time of waiting that lay ahead would be well spent in peaceful healing and learning the patience she must endure alone. Once she had thought she had the strength to cross to England and disappear into the countryside to start a new life, but these last days with Drake had taught her the foolishness of that. Even if he no longer wanted her, she could not stop what she felt for him. So long as he would allow it, she would follow, just so she might reap the pleasure of his company a while longer. But that would not be safe for her or the child. Somehow she must gain the strength to give up her foolishness.
The young nuns asked after the outside world, their curiosity over the pleasures of Versailles nearly overwhelming Eileen’s ability to speak, until the hour flew by before she knew it. The pealing of bells for prayers produced silence, and the gray habits slipped from the room.
Uncertain what to do next, Eileen rose, only to find her way blocked by the priest she had met earlier.
“Miss de Lacy, spare me a moment, if you will?” he asked in slow English.
Eileen returned to her seat, though her brow lifted in curiosity. The priest smiled at her expression.
“You are your mother’s daughter, there is no doubt. I am sorry I was not present during your last visit.”
“My mother is well?” Eileen asked, uncertain where this conversation led. She judged this man to be much the same age as the mother superior, very near to ancient, or, at best, older than Sir John. But the lines on his face spoke of kindness, and she had nowhere else to be at this moment.
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