Hostage to Love

by Maggi Andersen

  “I don’t know,” Verity said in an urgent undertone. “Leave me.”

  “Listen.” Marching feet sounded in the distance, the National Guard on their way to arrest them.

  “Go quickly! I refuse to go with you.”

  Anthony was done arguing. He’d never hit a woman. He tapped Verity on the chin, then bit down on a groan when the woman he loved slumped in his arms. He threw her limp form over his shoulder and sprinted down the lane.

  He gripped her around the thighs. “Sorry, my love,” he muttered into the silence. Behind him, came the bang of the cottage door. “Come quickly, they’ve escaped!” François yelled.

  Anthony increased his speed.

  “You there! Halt!” The guard were only minutes behind him and had spied him. A volley of musket shot whizzed past him. He ran into the woods to lure them away from the river. He dodged trees, cradling Verity against him, relying on his inbuilt sense of direction to guide him. Then he changed direction. The Guard’s torches flickered through the trees as they crashed about in the dark. Anthony doubled back to the boat, concerned for Verity. She was still unconscious. Had he hit her too hard?

  Shouts behind him followed by gun shots made him wonder who their quarry now was. Had the guard discovered brigands, or Chouans hiding in the woods? Some might break off the main party to search for him. Time to go. He left the cover of the trees, emerging onto the road.

  He’d judged the distance perfectly. With Verity held tight within his arm, he ran down the road toward the ghostly hull rocking in the water.

  * * *

  “Something’s gone wrong.” Henrietta hung over the side of the boat. She could hear nothing but the churn of the river and the slap of waves against the boat. Somewhere, an owl hooted.

  Suddenly, musket fire echoed over the water. “Oh, Christian.” Henrietta clutched his coat. “What will we do?”

  Christian’s sharp gaze raked the shore, his voice calm. “We continue to wait.”

  Somewhere out in the darkness excited voices rent the air, along with sporadic gunfire. Were they shooting at her father? Her heart threatened to thump its way out of her chest.

  A shape moved fast along the shore. “Is that Papa?” Henrietta stared into the black night. Nothing. And then, there he was.

  Henrietta clapped her hands over her mouth. He waded toward them carrying Verity. She sagged in his arms. “Has she been shot?”

  “No.”

  Christian helped him lift the unconscious woman onto the boat. They laid her down on the deck.

  Fighting tears, Henrietta fell to her knees beside her. Stared into her pale face and gasped with relief when her eyelids fluttered. “Verity!” Henrietta rubbed her hands. “What has happened to her?”

  Her father leaned over Verity. Gently touched her chin. “She refused to come. I had to… persuade her. God forgive me.”

  “Oh, Papa!” Henrietta looked at him with horror.

  “Verity may not forgive you,” Christian said in a wry tone, as he leapt up to cast off and get them underway.

  Her father pulled up the anchor. “The National Guard have arrived. I think they’ve run up against brigands in the forest. It gives us time. We must get past the soldiers on the village bridge before news of our escape reaches them.”

  Under sail, the boat swept them away from Argenteuil.

  As they sailed downriver, her father left Christian at the till. He examined Verity. Apparently satisfied with her condition, he pulled up her gown and removed her garters.

  “Papa!” Henrietta was shocked at such familiarity.

  “Sorry, no time for proprieties.” He used the garters to tie Verity’s wrist together. Then he made her comfortable on the pile of sacks, dropped a kiss on her cheek and rose. “Watch her Henrietta.”

  Verity moaned and half-opened her eyes.

  “She’s awake,” Henrietta said with relief.

  Verity pulled at her wrists, then studied them woozily. Her fiery blue gaze settled accusingly on Henrietta’s father. “I hate you. Let me go!”

  Unruffled by her anger, he bent and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Sorry, my love. I am abducting you. When we reach England, you will be free to return to France should you choose to.”

  “You have no right, Anthony!” Verity twisted against her bonds.

  “I’ll give you time to consider the folly of remaining here.” He stroked her hair. “I’m hopeful that you’ll change your mind.”

  His voice was a plea and must have been hard for Verity to resist because she loved him.

  Verity turned her head away. He picked her up and carried her into the cabin.

  Henrietta followed him into the small space. “She wouldn’t betray us.”

  “I’m aware of that, Hetta,” he said as he settled Verity down beside Philippe, and arranged her dress decorously over her legs. “I just don’t fancy jumping into the freezing water after you, my sweet.”

  She squirmed and glared up at him.

  Phillippe looked on with amusement, despite his own discomfort. Moving him had stirred up his wound.

  Her father looked up. “Go and talk to Christian, Hetta. Smile and wave to the guard as we pass under the bridge.”

  Henrietta stood with Christian at the tiller. Tense and silent they faced their first test. The wind caught the sail, and the boat slid toward the bridge the home guard patrolled.

  Henrietta watched the soldiers staring down at them, their muskets aimed in their direction. Christian hailed them, and she forced herself to smile and wave.

  The boat sailed under the bridge, and when it emerged the guard had moved across to the other side, but made no attempt to stop them. The red caps and sashes had worked. Few messed with the sans culottes.

  They’d been on the water for over an hour, Argenteuil well behind them when her father released Verity from her bonds. He kissed her skin. “Such pretty wrists, I’d hate to have bruised them.”

  “Brute!” Verity pushed him away. “Why do men always think they know best?”

  He stroked Verity’s skin. “Not always. But I am confident I’m right this time.”

  Henrietta watched touched by their intimacy.

  “Are you all right, my love?” he asked.

  “I am not!”

  “Shall I kiss you and make it better?”

  She pushed at him, but he kissed her anyway. First her wrist, then her chin and then her lips. Verity didn’t push him away again.

  They were on their way! The tightness in Henrietta’s chest eased she laughed at this scuffle between two people who were obviously mad about each other.

  “It’s a very long way to Le Havre. I suggest you all get some rest.” Her father left to relieve Christian at the helm.

  “I thought I heard shouting and gunfire,” Verity said in a dazed voice.

  “Your uncle called the Guard. They were fighting the brigands.”

  Verity’s eyes widened, and she put a hand to her mouth. “He betrayed you?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Moonlight brightened to cabin. Henrietta leaned forward. “You’ll have a bruise on your chin.”

  Verity gingerly touched it. “Your father should have left me.”

  “Do you really want to stay here? You would be blamed for our escape, and you know what that would mean.”

  “Uncle François might give you up, but he wouldn’t betray me.”

  “You believe that? You doubted him too,” Henrietta said.

  She folded her arms and said nothing.

  “Those red caps of liberty and sashes were not in the trunk we brought from England,” Henrietta said.

  “I took them from the Gaite theatre.”

  “So, if you’d trusted François you would have told him about them. You didn’t. And you let us leave without his knowledge.”

  Verity frowned. “It was what your father wanted.” She sat up looking pleased. “I couldn’t find breeches, but from a distance, the caps and sashes work well.”

&n
bsp; Christian bowed his head and entered the cabin. “Anthony and I searched François’ library after he went to bed. I’m sorry to tell you this, Verity, because it will hurt you. But you need to know the truth.”

  “I doubt there’s much that can hurt me now. What is it?”

  “We prized open a locked drawer and found some interesting correspondence. One letter from the Comité de Surveillance praised François for alerting them to your father’s activities. It was he who had your father thrown in prison.”

  Verity moaned. She leaped to her feet and ran out to Anthony. He placed an arm around her, a hand on the tiller. “Why would my uncle do such a thing?” She stared out at the dark river. “He was always jealous of my papa,” she said after a moment. “But to hate him so much! I must go back. He should not get away with this!”

  “Well, you cannot. You’ll have to live with it, sweetheart,” Anthony said. “It’s too dangerous for you now. It has been since your father was imprisoned. Isn’t that true?”

  “Oui.”

  “François wanted to gain a level of power in the new regime, I suspect,” Christian said. “There was a new letter from the National Convention, instructing him to keep us there until the guard came to arrest us.”

  “That came yesterday.” Verity gasped. “He is wicked.”

  Christian nodded. “The lust for power and recognition can turn men into scoundrels. He would have seen it as a means to prove his loyalty to the regime.”

  “Once François awakened, I had to get you away, fast.” His grinned. “You put up quite a fight.”

  “You knew I would demand to confront him.”

  “I suspected you might, sweetheart.” He tightened his arm around her. “I couldn’t take that chance.”

  Verity’s fingers gently probed her sore chin. She winced. “Did you have to hit me so hard?”

  “I tried not to. Can you forgive me?”

  She rubbed her wrist, but remained within the circle of his arm. “Perhaps you did save my life, so I suppose I must.” She frowned and looked out into the night. Henrietta saw despair in her eyes. Why was she so against returning to England?

  Henrietta leaned back against a coil of rope. “I am so glad you are coming. You’ll be safe there.”

  “I shall return to the theatre.”

  “I’d love to be an actress,” Henrietta said. “Perhaps you could help me.”

  Verity looked amused. “Perhaps.”

  Henrietta caught the glance between her father and Christian. “You think I couldn’t?” she challenged them.

  “Daughters of viscounts do not go on the stage,” Anthony said, his hand on the tiller, staring ahead as the boat churned through the waves.

  “The Drury Lane actress, Lady Atkyns, is married to a peer.” Henrietta rose and lurched against the roll of the swell. “Papa, you’ve always told me to live the way I wanted. If I didn’t want to marry, I didn’t have to. I could live like Aunt Gabrielle.”

  “I don’t believe I mentioned the stage,” he said wearily. He grinned at Christian. “This will soon become your husband’s concern, Hetta.”

  He narrowed his eyes and stared into the hazy distance. “But first we must get to England.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  During the long night, the boat sailed past the dim shapes of slumbering townships along the river. After a few hours of broken sleep, Christian took over from Anthony who was almost asleep on his feet. He scrubbed his hands over his face. The delay getting away had cost them. It was close to dawn.

  The sky lightened to rose pink and gray as they reached the bend in the river where the fort sat like a spider in the middle of its web, its battlements rising above the trees. They were soon to lose their cover.

  Christian reached over, and nudged Anthony awake.

  Anthony rubbed his eyes and came to his feet alert. “Let’s hope the brigands kept the guard busy fighting in the woods and failed to send a rider ahead to alert the fort.” In broad daylight they were as easy to pick off as a deer in Richmond Park.

  Verity and Henrietta hid with Philippe in the cabin as the boat rounded the bend in the river.

  “At least there’s a stiff breeze in our favor,” Anthony said.

  They sailed in view of the fort, and into a mayhem. A flash of glass from a telescope was followed by blue and white uniformed guards running along the battlements. A warning shot soared over their heads. Either news had reached them, or the guard considered them target practice.

  “Here we go!” Christian yelled. “Everybody keep down.”

  Anthony added a sail to the mizzen mast. The wind caught it, and the boat surged forward. A volley of musket fire exploded like fireworks at Vauxhall. Shot peppered the water.

  Another round followed. Shot bit into the mast and struck the stern near where Christian crouched at the tiller.

  Henrietta yelled. Christian’s heart leaped into his throat. Had she been hit? The stone fortification was lit up with fire as the Guard reloaded and fired. Cannon shot landed with a giant whoosh so close the wash rocked the boat, and water splashed over onto the deck.

  Another followed some minutes later.

  “That one’s behind us. We’re moving out of range!” Christian shouted. He saw Henrietta at the door and the tight panic in his chest eased. “Everyone all right? Too close for comfort, Anthony.”

  “Indeed.” Anthony rubbed his head. “A musket ball almost parted my hair.”

  Christian grinned suddenly light-hearted. Reaching a bend in the river, they sailed around it out of sight, sheltered from view by forest. Henrietta and Verity came out smiling with relief. It was short lived. The Guard were sure to follow on horseback.

  “They’ll come after us?” Verity asked.

  “Maybe.” This was new ground for Christian. He had never used the river as a means of escape. He didn’t feel as in control as he might. Spying was a game of percentages, carefully planned. He’d been trained to use proven techniques, a secure passage, not to hazard his luck, unless something went wrong. But he guessed that was where he was now, hazarding his luck. Although risk takers, spies preferred to remain in the shadows, and blend in with the crowd. He’d never felt less in control than he did now, and the outcome had never meant more to him. He lightened his voice. “Once we’ve passed Rouen, with the tides in our favor, we’ll be all right.”

  They sailed through the night taking turns at watch. In the early morning, Christian noticed a little water had seeped up through the boards. The boat was leaking. How long before it became serious was anyone’s guess. “A cannonball had obviously damaged the hull. When the need arises, we’ll take turns bailing,” Christian said.

  Anthony acknowledged Christian’s worry with a nod. No hope of sailing this small leaky vessel across the channel. But one couldn’t look that far ahead. They’d have to stop somewhere and attend to the leak soon, as well as forage for food. “I think we can make it to Vernon,” he said to Anthony. But even in a small town they could be approached for their papers.

  They sailed on under bridges, past mills, orchards, small villages, and churches clustered along the river, and acres of farmland ringed by woodland. They tried to ease the tension. Verity entertained them with a song in her sweet voice. Philippe even ventured out to listen. It seemed peaceful. Birds flew overhead in the calm blue, villagers went about their work. But they couldn’t ignore the changes that were occurring in France. The horror that had begun in Paris had spread its evil fingers over the land. Sailors on a passing barge stared at them with fear in their eyes. Nowhere was safe.

  They dropped anchor in a narrow inlet. Christian left the boat in search of food. He found a small farm nearby, the farmer’s wife only too pleased to sell him what she could spare. He returned with buttermilk, pears, cheese, and a fresh baked loaf.

  They ate then sailed on. Another sunset painted the clouds and the river in shades of gold, violet, and pink, so beautiful that Henrietta commented on it. He smiled down at her, struck by h
er irrepressible nature.

  During the second night, the wind dropped. Becalmed, they drifted, pulled along by the tide. Christian remained at the tiller while everyone slept. He was almost nodding off when a scraping noise came from the leeward side. In the moonlight a head appeared. A big man in ragged clothes leaped over the rail onto the deck. He held a knife in his teeth.

  Christian, annoyed with himself for lowering his guard, abandoned the tiller, and rushed at him yelling for Anthony. He kicked out at the ruffian, striking his knee hard. Dropping the knife, the man collapsed. Christian leaped on top of him. They struggled, cursing, and punching wildly.

  Anthony appeared as the man rolled away and snatched up the knife. Moving fast for his size, he snarled at them, swapping the knife from hand to hand, slashing it menacingly through the air, while driving them back.

  The boat ran aground with a loud scrape and rocked violently. Anthony was knocked back over the coil of rope.

  Christian fell to his knees but quickly regained his feet. The ruffian steadied himself and rushed at him.

  A shot rang out. The ruffian looked surprised, dropped the knife, then fell face down on the deck.

  Christian pivoted. Philippe rested his hand on Henrietta’s shoulder. His other hand held a smoking pistol.

  “Where did you get that,” Christian asked.

  “I gave it to him,” Verity said at the cabin door.

  Anthony bent to examine the man. “He’s dead.” He straightened. “Good on you both. I wasn’t aware we had a pistol, mine’s long gone.”

  “I brought it from London,” Verity said.

  Christian took the gun from Phillippe and tucked it into his sash. “I don’t carry one. Causes more trouble than it’s worth if you’re searched.” He squatted and searched the man’s pockets. “Nothing. Just a beggar. Help me get him over the side.”

  Henrietta turned her back as they hauled the man up over the rail. There was a big splash as he hit the water.

  “We’d better get out of here soon, before he’s found,” Christian said. “As soon as it’s light I’ll go down and check what damage we’ve sustained to the hull.”