The Revolutionary and the Rogue

by Blake Ferre

  “Cruelty doesn’t suit you.” Perrin slumped on the edge of the bed. The audacity.

  Henri leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on Perrin’s mouth, nibbling his lower lip. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

  He waited until Henri left before slowly hobbling out of bed. He grumbled while pulling his breeches over his painful erection. The sensation left him both hating and wanting Henri at the same time. Perrin was in over his head.

  With a whir of tapping noises, the door swung open. Perrin barely had enough time to fluff a shirt over his problem before Quill and Philippe pranced into the room.

  “La, my dear Perrin, I must congratulate you on your operatic debut.” Quill sang a teasing note.

  “My lord, I can assure you that no one was listening to your climactic evening.” Philippe winked, placing a silver tray on the dresser. “I’m happy for you.”

  Perrin flung his arms toward the ceiling. “Can a man not have a smidgen of privacy in his own home?”

  “Of course he can’t.” Quill wiggled his brows. “Not when he’s having explosive sex while the rest of us are stuck in empty beds. You really must ask Henri if he has any friends. Mind you, it’s wholly unfair for you to enjoy yourself while I was forced to patrol your house on your behalf.”

  “Enough.” Perrin raked his hands through his hair in a desperate attempt to create order out of the mess. “We must pack our things and seek refuge at Crimson Rose.”

  “While you were…” Quill made a funny motion with his finger. “We received a note from the Scarlet Crest.”

  “Let me see that.” Perrin retrieved the parchment from Quill’s hand.

  Dearest friends,

  I’ve a plan to help our imprisoned comrades. There rests a box in a former church that stands across the river from Notre Dame. I think you’ll know the one. Aptly named.

  Use this key to access my next communication. Discretion is most critical.

  The Scarlet Crest

  Quill plucked a silver key from his pocket. “He left this with the note.”

  Philippe snatched the key from Quill’s grasp. “I don’t like this…”

  “If he can help us, it’s worth the risk.” Perrin was tired of waiting, tired of the games. “We go now.”

  Philippe crossed his arms over his chest, stepping between Perrin and the door. “My lord, I must insist you come with us to Crimson Rose.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I must take action.”

  Philippe exhaled and tipped his chin toward his chest. “I don’t like it.”

  “Please, friend. Go without me. I’ll meet you at Crimson Rose later tonight.”

  Philippe grimaced but nodded. “My lord, with the Committee nipping at your heels, you need to be careful.”

  “I’ll go with him.” Quill twirled his fingers in the air. “He’ll need a superior mind to help him get past the street urchins.”

  It took a bit longer than expected to cross the river, due to the overwhelming number of people in the streets. At the very least, the crowds meant it was easier for Perrin and Quill to sneak past Luc’s little spies. On one street corner, a line of desperate citizens awaited rations of food. At another junction, officers marched a newly captured traitor. From another corner, a gathering shouted slander against the Scarlet Crest’s treasonous actions. Apparently, word had spread about their operation.

  “We must overpower these conniving traitors. They act against our very freedoms,” some brawny man shouted above the others from atop a driver’s perch on a grand carriage.

  “Down with the Scarlet Crest!” angry voices chanted in reply.

  “It appears our league has grown more popular, and not in a good way.” Perrin strategically crossed the river from the Île Saint-Louis, hoping to avoid the bustling government buildings. Even within the quieter neighborhood, the structures were too tall, the streets too narrow.

  Following the river toward Notre Dame, Perrin’s legs grew unbearably stiff. But he cared little of the ache when he came to a halt at the small courtyard of an abandoned church. Of course. He should have known the Scarlet Crest would send him here. He dropped to his knees on the slick cobblestone street, facing Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre.

  “Julien.” Quill knelt beside Perrin and wrapped an arm around his waist. “Fitting, isn’t it? That he should join us in some way.”

  The church’s exposed stone facade was worn and cool to the touch. The slender, arched windows were too dark to peer through, and the structure appeared more like an abandoned graveyard than a house of worship. A gift from the Republic to their people, the upheaval of the churches. The destruction was symbolic of what their leaders were doing to the entire country. Tearing down what existed before and turning it into something deemed more useful. Like a warehouse.

  Quill pushed the front door open and waved Perrin inside. “No one’s here.”

  They wove around aisles of crates filled with military uniforms. Boots, coats, breeches of all sizes. Where the altar used to sit loomed a mountain of additional crates. Dull light flickered from the long-neglected windows that were coated by dust and covered in cobwebs.

  They searched for coffers or locked boxes of any sort, finding the task difficult amongst the great many supplies cluttering the floor. Perrin rubbed his cold hands together, the gloves doing little to combat the chill in the air. “Maybe it’s the wrong church.”

  “This has to be the one. Wait, look there.” Quill pointed beneath a dirt-covered window within a stone-built alcove. The beam of light barely grazed a metal box in the far corner. Perrin pulled the key out of his pocket, hand shaking.

  The moment the latch clicked out of position, he pushed the lid up and found a note and a scarlet scarf.

  He carefully held the items under the light.

  Dearest friends,

  Those who manage this facility are supporters of our cause. I assure you they can be trusted.

  If you choose to continue on this path, de Vesey and Chevalier must meet me here. Tomorrow. Just after twilight. If you come, place the red scarf upon the door handle. Should anyone else appear, I’ll abandon the mission. Discretion is of the utmost importance.

  The Scarlet Crest

  Quill stepped backward, bumping into a barrel. “I don’t like this at all. Why did he only ask for you and Chevalier? Alone? Why can’t we all come?”

  Perrin folded the letter. “I won’t be alone if Henri’s with me. And if we all showed up as a group, while Luc is seeking me out, it would arouse too much suspicion.”

  Quill grumbled. “Why do I not like this idea in the slightest?”

  “Because it doesn’t involve you wearing a gown?” Perrin winked.

  “You know me too well.” Quill sighed. “Just promise you’ll be careful.”

  …

  Henri hurried along the poorly lit corridors leading to his office. He’d once felt immeasurable pride walking these halls. Now there was a harsh emptiness to them, in spite of the bustling activity of the day.

  Dodging a group of officers who busily chattered about the recent breach of La Force, Henri adjusted his waistcoat, which felt too constricting after last night’s—and this morning’s—pleasantries. A chill slithered down his spine, a lingering fear that Luc had people watching him.

  He spotted a young boy racing through the hall. When the child met his gaze, Henri’s breath caught. A strange suspicion stopped him in his tracks.

  “Morning.” The child grinned. His little pink tongue poked between the gaping hole where two front teeth had fallen out. “Got any work for me?”

  Henri blinked at the lad before shaking his head. “N-no.” Was this child a spy?

  The child shrugged and hurried off without another word. Henri puffed out a breath. Perhaps reporting in for work had been the wrong idea. But what was he supposed to do? Drop everything an
d hide at Crimson Rose? Sweat pooled over his skin at the realization that it was exactly what he’d asked of Perrin.

  Making his way toward the gloomy door of his office with its thick wood, he felt several pairs of eyes watching his every movement. This had been a foolish idea. He’d thought last night he’d played his role to perfection, but Henri couldn’t fully trust Luc.

  Pushing the door open, he stepped into the room that had once roused pride and passion in him. Now, it looked unfamiliar…another man’s office. The intimate space, crowded by two desks—Henri’s and Luc’s—was dark and miserable in spite of the luxurious knickknacks stashed about it. Though Henri was eager to meet with Luc, he was relieved to be alone at that moment. It wouldn’t bode well for Luc to catch him in this melancholy mood.

  Sitting at his desk, he found himself surrounded by denouncements. The piles of papers too tall, they seemed to engulf the entire space around him. How could so many people turn against each other? What was the line between a true enemy of the people and someone—like Henri—who questioned the government? Was it truly so treacherous if a person spoke their mind for fear for their own well-being?

  Something crinkled in his pocket. When he dug it out, he found a letter with a crimson seal. His heart thudded in his chest. The child? The cunning fiend must have slipped it into his pocket.

  The cravat around his neck felt too tight, as fatal as the hug of wood that might embrace him at the base of the guillotine’s blade. After glancing over his shoulder, Henri slipped his finger beneath the seal. His hands shook as he unfolded the parchment.

  Chevalier,

  How far are you willing to go to fight for humanity? You’ve proven yourself an ally to our cause.

  I would like to extend an invitation into our league. If you accept, the road won’t be easy. Together, we can build a better future. One without the ancien régime or the current one.

  If you accept, go to Crimson Rose at twilight tonight.

  The Scarlet Crest

  Henri read the missive several times before hastily folding it and stuffing it in his waistcoat pocket. If Luc were to suspect anything—if he were to search Henri and find this note—it would be the end. And yet, a thrum of excitement bubbled in his chest. He wanted to believe in the Scarlet Crest’s leader, whoever they were. Henri wanted the future he and his family had once dreamed of. Not this fear-stricken nightmare where people were not actually free.

  Closing his eyes, Henri remembered Perrin sprawled out on that ridiculous ornamented bed. Perrin wasn’t the monster Henri had pegged him to be. He’d suffered every bit as much as Henri had. They’d both lost loved ones. But where Henri had once thought his father would be disgusted by Henri’s transgressions with an aristo, his heart warmed at the notion that his father might have understood his affection for Perrin. Possibly even embraced him as a son.

  The door burst open, and Luc strode inside with heavy steps. Henri’s pulse quickened as he turned to face his cohort. Luc’s eyes were darkened by deep shadows. His wiry blond locks draped over his forehead in thick clumps. “Chevalier.” He spoke Henri’s name with an edge of disdain, yet no accusations sprang forth.

  “I take it you didn’t find anything further on that bastard aristo?” Henri tried to add a roughened tone to the question.

  “Floch is displeased that I searched that aristo’s home without his approval.” He scrunched his lips together into a pruned expression. “As punishment, all of us involved in the search have been tasked to interview guards regarding bribes. That includes you, Chevalier. It appears neither of us will receive that promotion.”

  Henri’s jaw gaped. “But the aristo?”

  Luc shook his head. “The capitaine has tasked that investigation to Lemaire, of all people. Can you believe it? The junior officer has a poor record with convictions. I was furious, of course, but the capitaine said my evidence is sparse and he doesn’t want a conviction out of this. Given de Vesey is a British nobleman, there are foreign relations issues to keep in mind…and other such nonsense about lack of evidence. But I promise you, I’ll not allow that bastard de Vesey to slip through my grasp.”

  The deepened fury in Luc’s tone drove jagged blades over Henri’s skin, but he pressed his lips together and nodded.

  “To hell with the aristo.” Hardly able to believe this stroke of luck, Henri pushed out of his chair, the legs of the furnishing scraping along the parquet floor with a groan.

  “To hell with him.” Luc rubbed his long, pointy chin. “I trust you’ll not speak of last night with anyone? My brother…”

  With a slight inhale, a mixture of relief and sadness settled over Henri. “I wouldn’t.” Indeed, he’d not use such things against another person. Not even an enemy. And Luc was indeed his adversary. “Let’s see to these guards. I’m sure you’ll impress the capitaine in good time.” His stomach twisted at the mere thought of Luc succeeding.

  After spending the greater part of the afternoon with Luc, Henri was even more certain his days at the Committee were numbered. In between interviewing crooked prison guards and questioning idiotic scoundrels who clearly accepted money from anyone who had the funds to visit their doomed friends or relatives, Luc snuck in comments about how he’d like to destroy de Vesey.

  Though remaining at his post offered a tempting advantage—that Henri would be able to keep an eye on his colleagues—Henri didn’t think he could hold his silence much longer. Not only did he refuse to harm Perrin, officially joining with the Scarlet Crest was an act of treason. One Henri couldn’t walk away from.

  When twilight finally arrived, Henri paced the back entrance to Crimson Rose, eager to see Perrin. He’d already come to the same conclusion several times over. He chose Perrin, and his skin warmed simply at the thought. With a deep breath, he rapped on the door.

  The scarlet-clad club owner smiled and greeted Henri. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m Guillaume Renard.”

  “Henri Chevalier.”

  “Mmmm, I know all about you. Come with me.”

  Uncertain if the club owner’s words boded well or poorly for him, Henri followed the fop into the warm embrace of the club. So very different from the chill of the Committee offices. Here, in this place he’d once thought to be the enemy’s fortress, he felt at home. Friendship, acceptance, and perhaps even love awaited him.

  “I believe you’re already familiar with our secret meeting room.” Guillaume snickered, ushering him to the wooden door underneath the back staircase.

  “Right. Sorry about that night.” He lowered his head as he crept into the low-lit room that housed a round table illuminated by a glowing hearth.

  Seated on the opposite side of the table, Perrin offered Henri a knowing grin. The man’s smile nearly undid him. Henri licked his lower lip, the others in the room fading from view.

  Beside Perrin was yet another familiar face. The former Comtesse de Lévesque winked at him. “You seem surprised to see me, Chevalier.”

  “Y-yes. I thought…” He glanced around the room and then spotted the butcher woman he’d encountered at Giraud’s under the Scarlet Crest’s ploy.

  “The last time we saw each other, you thought me the enemy.” The comtesse chuckled. “And I dare say you truly believed I fancied de Vesey.” She shared a glance with the young dark-haired woman seated next to her. A silent moment passed between the two, and Henri suddenly realized the former comtesse had never been after de Vesey or his money. It appeared her affections were reserved for another.

  The snap of a latch jolted his nerves, and Henri stumbled over the leg of the blond feathery fellow’s chair. He cleared his throat and shuffled past with a muffled apology. His cheeks flushed as his gaze swept across the room, expecting everyone to mock him. But he only found sympathetic smiles and acceptance.

  Guillaume gestured to the empty chair beside Perrin. “Please, have a seat.”

  When Henr
i settled into it, the uneven legs wobbled. Perrin placed a hand on Henri’s arm, steadying him. “Don’t be nervous.”

  Guillaume tapped a knife on a glass, hushing the room’s occupants. “Henri Chevalier. You’re aware of our league, the Scarlet Crest?”

  Henri cleared his throat. “I am. Are you their leader?”

  “No. I’m a close friend. This is our core group who will aid in the rescue of our friends Ashford and Duclos.” Guillaume rubbed the golden embroidery on his sleeve in a nervous twitch. “And given that you’re here, that includes you, Chevalier. You understand our mission? That your involvement with our cause—helping innocents flee the city—makes you a traitor in the eyes of the current laws?”

  Henri glanced at Perrin, his entire body thrumming with the need for acceptance. “Yes.”

  The scarlet-clad club owner nodded his approval. “You’ll swear to protect us, even if it requires betraying your Committee? Your country? Risking your life?”

  Henri bowed his head. “I’ve already committed treason. And I’d do it again.”

  “I’m so very proud of you, Chevalier.” The former comtesse reached a hand out to his and squeezed it gently.

  Perrin must have given her a jealous look, because she quickly withdrew her hand to her lap. To think, Henri had thought her to be a scheming, selfish aristo. Here she was, risking her life to help others. Alongside a butcher, no less. Here in this room, Henri saw the equality and respect that he and his father had dreamed of.

  “My friends, it’s an honor to officially welcome our newest member into the Scarlet Crest’s league. Each of us has a skill or resource that aids the others, making us stronger. Each essential to our cause.”

  The small gathering of friends applauded. Beside Henri, Perrin’s emerald gaze flickered with a glimmer of pride.

  “To Stand and Shield. That’s the motto we live by.” Guillaume leaned forward and pressed his lips close to Henri’s ear. “If you betray us or harm Perrin, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

  Henri coughed, then slowly nodded.

  “Good.” Guillaume filled a glass with brandy and handed it to him.