"Never fear, she will be." Varenne reached into his desk and brought out a mahogany box containing two dueling pistols. He loaded both and offered one to Northwood. "I trust that you know how to use this?"
The Englishman glowered. "Don't worry, I'm a crack shot."
As they went downstairs, the distant boom of a shotgun blast was heard from somewhere below. The count gave a nod of satisfaction. "Perhaps our vigil in the stables will be unnecessary. Nonetheless, we cannot afford to take a chance."
Before they went outside, he gave orders for his small troop of soldiers to surround the stables and conceal themselves. Even if the three Britons got that far, they would go no farther.
Varenne took a footpath down to the stables, which were built on the lower slope of the hill. Inside the stone building, the main room stretched back with box stalls on each side of a wide central area. Most of the stalls were occupied, and the earthy scents of animals and sweet hay were heavy in the air.
A couple of horses whickered greetings, but Varenne ignored them, turning to the right to enter a long, narrow harness room. As Northwood followed, he asked, "Why are we going to wait in here?"
"Because I still hope to capture them alive, imbecile," the count said with exasperation. He walked to the window at the far end of the room and stared out. "Come look at this."
The Englishman joined him at the window, but saw nothing. "What do you want me to see?"
"This." Behind Northwood came the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked. Startled, Northwood spun around and found himself facing the barrel of Varenne's pistol.
"You have ceased to be an asset, mon petit Anglais," the count said coldly. "You are too stupid to know your place, and I greatly disliked your attempts to coerce me. As a last gesture for services rendered, I was willing to grant you a fling with the countess, but you have bungled even that. I cannot waste any more time on you."
"You bloody French bastard!" Desperately Northwood reached for his own pistol, but he never had a chance. Calmly Varenne squeezed his trigger. The gun bucked in his hand, the report shatteringly loud in the enclosed space.
The impact of the bullet knocked Northwood back against the wall. He made a breathy sound like a sudden exhalation and clapped a hand to his chest. Then,an expression of disbelief on his face, he slowly slid down the wall and fell forward in an ungainly sprawl, his pistol beneath him.
Varenne walked over to his victim and prodded Northwood's ribs with the toe of his boot. The only response was the slow spread of blood from under the body.
In general the count was not involved with death directly; it was such a messy business. With a grimace of distaste, he turned away. The servants could retrieve the gun later. He disliked the necessity of sharing the tackroom with a corpse. However, shooting the imbecile here had saved the library carpet from being ruined by blood, which had been Varenne's objective.
He reloaded his own weapon with meticulous care. One pistol and the element of surprise were all that would be necessary to capture the escaped prisoners. All he need do was threaten the fraudulent countess, and her lovers would fall into line immediately. The fools.
Maggie kept a watchful eye on Robin as they made their way swiftly through the shadowy passages. Though he was keeping up with the others, his drawn face showed the amount of effort it was taking. She had great faith in his formidable willpower; nonetheless, she uttered a silent prayer that his strength would last long enough for them to escape Chanteuil.
Worrying about Robin's condition had the advantage of preventing her from brooding about Rafe. Her first reaction to seeing him had been pure, uncomplicated joy in spite of their dangerous circumstances. However, his cool detachment had quickly put her in her place. He obviously couldn't wait until this mission was over, so he wouldn't ever have to see her again.
But this was not the time or place to think about her personal problems. Sharply tamping down her grief,she turned her attention to the present. To escape the castle, they would have to go up at least two levels, then find a side exit.
In the flagstoned passageways, their footsteps made little sound. The castle seemed almost deserted, and they went up one flight of stairs and turned right into another passage without seeing anyone.
Then their luck ran out. They had almost reached the end of the corridor when two hulking men with shotguns appeared around the corner just ahead of them.
"You two run for it!" Rafe barked as he threw himself forward in a flat dive, barreling into the man in the lead.
Maggie froze, terrified to leave Rafe behind. Robin snapped, "Come on, Maggie!" and grabbed her arm, pulling her back the way they had come.
She resisted for an agonized moment, but the pressure on her arm left her no choice. With Rex draped over her shoulder, she raced along beside Robin as the hideous blast of a shotgun echoed through the stone halls.
Because the Prussian barracks lay off the main St. Cloud road, Colonel von Fehrenbach's Hussars didn't intersect the French party until they were a bare half mile from Chanteuil. The Prussians entered the main road at a right angle from a lane they had taken as a shortcut.
With a squealing of horses, both groups pulled to a chaotic halt to prevent a collision. As the uniformed Prussian cavalrymen faced the armed French officers, mutual suspicion and hostility throbbed between them. A single spark would set off a full-scale conflagration. A Frenchman uttered an angry oath, and a nervous young Hussar started to raise his musket.
Before catastrophe could strike, von Fehrenbach threw his hand up imperiously. "No!"
Helene was beside the colonel on a mount supplied by the Prussian barracks. Recognizing Michel Roussaye, she urged her horse into the open ground, crying, "Don't shoot, we're friends!"
Having an attractive woman intervene released the tension, particularly since lack of a proper riding habit allowed an indecent amount of leg to show. Von Fehrenbach cantered after her, meeting Roussaye in the space between the groups.
After a terse discussion of where each group was going, and why, the colonel frowned for a moment. Then he suggested, "Perhaps we should join forces, General Roussaye."
Roussaye raised his brows, his dark face skeptical. "Frenchmen and Prussians riding together?"
The colonel's gaze touched Helene, who was tensely waiting at the third corner of their triangle. "Such a thing should not be impossible when men share the same goal." He offered his hand. "Shall we try to go forward together?"
Roussaye gave a slow smile and took the Prussian's hand. "Very well, Colonel. Instead of looking back, we shall go forward-together."
Chapter 24
Though Rafe's charge took the two searchers by surprise, the taller one whipped up his shotgun and fired both barrels. Rafe managed to knock the weapon upward so that the shot discharged into the ceiling, but the blast was deafening and a ricocheting pellet grazed his wrist.
Undaunted, the tall man swung the empty shotgun above his head to use it as a club. Before he could bring it down, Rafe kicked him viciously in the groin. The gunman shrieked and doubled over.
Glad to see that he hadn't forgotten the lessons of distant college tavern brawls, Rafe turned his attention to his other foe, a broad, balding fellow who was clumsily trying to aim his weapon. Before he succeeded, Rafe hit him in the jaw with a right jab that could have felled a small ox.
The tall man lurched toward Rafe in a feeble attempt to rejoin the fight. Rafe stepped aside, then chopped the edge of his hand down on the back of the man's neck. The servant promptly joined his companion on the floor.
Rafe snatched up the two shotguns and the ammunition pouches. Not stopping to reload the gun that had been discharged, he raced down the hall after Margot and Robin. The whole encounter had taken less than a minute, and he caught up with the others around the next corner.
Rafe looked so rakishly handsome that Maggie would have stopped to admire him if there had been time, which there wasn't. With a glance at the two shotguns, she panted, "I'm impressed,
your grace. I didn't know that rough and tumble fighting was taught at Jackson's salon."
"It isn't, but I did have a liberal university education," Rafe retorted, laughter in his voice.
The passage ended with a door. Robin swung it open, revealing another pair of searchers literally face-to-face with them. Since Maggie was already halfway through the doorway, she collided full force with one of Varenne's men.
The impact knocked her breathless, but it bore much harder on Rex, who had been letting himself be carried with amazing passivity. The cat erupted straight up in the air with a blood-curdling shriek of feline fury.
He came down on the man who had collided with Maggie, and his flailing claws and powerful hindquarters ripped and slashed with gory effect. Using the man's face as a launching ramp to safety, Rex left the gunman screaming as blood poured from his face. The cat vanished down the passage behind the servants, his black tail a feathery plume of rage.
Rafe dragged Maggie back, then slammed the door on the demoralized searchers. As they ran back the way they had come, he said, "You are not going after that damned cat!"
Maggie was too out of breath to say anything other than a sarcastic, "Yes, your grace."
"Amazing," Rafe said as they swung into another passage. "That's the first docile remark I've ever heard from you, Countess."
"Savor it," she said tartly. "It's the first and the last."
The fleeting humor disappeared when they reached an intersection where two corridors crossed. Another pair of armed men appeared in front of them, drawn by the sound of the earlier shotgun blast. Maggie glanced back, and saw that the cat-struck duo had recovered and were coming after them.
"Go to the right!" Rafe ordered. "And take this." He handed her one of the shotguns and an ammunition pouch.
While she and Robin dashed down the right-hand cross passage, Rafe raised the other gun and cocked both hammers. After discharging one barrel ahead of them, he spun around and blasted the other one behind. He didn't bother to aim, relying on the scattering effect of the shot to discourage the searchers. Then he followed his companions.
Seeing that Robin was near collapse, Maggie halted by a door in the middle of the corridor. It was locked. With a silent prayer, she fumbled for the key to her bedchamber, which she had kept after locking Northwood in. To her acute relief, the key worked and the door opened to reveal an ascending staircase.
When Rafe pelted up, she said, "Thank God that the locks in this place are so old and crude. The same key probably works on all of them. Come on!"
Instead of following, Robin slumped against the wall, his face white. "I can't… keep up. You'll never escape with me slowing you down," he gasped. "Leave me with a loaded shotgun-maybe I can buy you some time."
Before Maggie could speak, Rafe snapped, "Don't be a damned fool." He looped his free arm around Robin, then started up the steps.
Maggie relocked the door, then followed the men upward. With luck, the hunters wouldn't be able to guess that their quarry had gone this way.
They climbed for what she estimated was two floors before reaching another door. It opened into a hall that was wider and better kept than the service passages below; they had reached the section of the castle where the masters lived. After the hubbub below, it was eerily silent.
Rafe eased Robin into a sitting position against the wall, then reloaded the shotguns. "From the direction of the light, I think that the river face is to the left, so we have to go right to get out of the castle."
Worriedly Maggie said to Robin, "Can you keep going for a little longer?"
Robin was chalk-pale and perspiration beaded his face, but he struggled to his feet again. "Now that I've caught my breath, I'm fine. Don't worry, I've ridden a hundred miles with worse."
"Liar." Tenderly she brushed sweaty hair from his forehead. "Luckily, we don't have to go a hundred miles."
Observing the intimacy befween his companions, Rafe felt very much the outsider. Mentally he vowed that if they survived this, he would go away as silently as possible; they would never even notice he was gone. "Time to go," he said, his voice clipped. "Varenne claimed to have a small army, and they're probably all outside between here and the stable. Margot, be prepared to use that shotgun."
She nodded soberly, and he gave thanks for the unladylike skills her father had taught her. He was also grateful for the fact that Robin had a coolheaded recognition of his own limitations. With luck, they might actually make it out alive.
A few minutes of exploration brought them to a stairway to the ground floor. In a low voice, Rafe said, "Since the doors are probably guarded, let's find a room on the east side and go out through a window."
Stealthily they went downstairs and soon located a shabby morning room with windows only about five feet about the ground. Rafe opened the casements and helped Margot and Robin out, then dropped lightly beside them. "Shall we see if the stables are being guarded by Varenne's army?"
"They had better not be." Margot hoisted her shotgun again. "We're running out of time."
It was a sobering remark. While saving their own lives had high priority, it was far from their only concern.
When the combined French and Prussian forces reached the gates of Chanteuil, there was no one in sight and the gate was locked. Helene watched tensely as von Fehrenbach dismounted and rattled the gate. Eventually an ancient gatekeeper emerged.
Sharply the colonel said, "Open this gate in the name of Marshal Blucher and the Allied Army of Occupation."
Since the gatekeeper seemed rooted to the ground, Roussaye called out, "You will not be harmed as long as you obey orders."
The Frenchman's reassurance succeeded where the Prussian order hadn't, and after a minute of fumbling the gate was opened. Riders began streaming through. As the Hussars entered the grounds, the flat, deadly rattle of gunfire came from the castle that crowned the hill. Von Fehrenbach wheeled his mount to face Helene. "Wait here, Madame Sorel, until we have dealt with whatever rabble Varenne has."
She nodded, her tired hands clutching her horse's reins. "Just… please be careful."
He nodded and touched one hand to his forehead. Then he spurred his mount toward the sounds of firing.
As Helene watched the men gallop up the driveway, she prayed that they were in time.
Maggie and company saw no one on the shrubbed path between castle and stable. The open yard felt horribly exposed, and it was a relief to reach the stabledoor. Rafe unfastened the latch, then stood to one side as he kicked the door open, his shotgun ready for any danger within.
His precautions were unnecessary; the stables appeared to be empty of everything but horses. Probably the grooms had been pressed into the search at the castle.
After scanning the interior, Rafe said,"Robin, pick the best horses. Margot, find some harness. I'll stand guard."
The other two nodded and moved off, meshing together into a smoothly working team. As she turned right to look for the harness room, Maggie thought it was remarkable how well they were getting on considering that all three people were by nature leaders, more accustomed to giving orders than receiving them.
Her thoughts were abruptly cut off when she entered the tack room and was seized in an iron grip. Before she could scream a warning to her companions, an iron hand clamped over her mouth. She fought fiercely to free herself, but she was no match for her assailant's strength. Viciously he twisted her arm until she was forced to drop the shotgun. Then he pulled her head around so that she could see him.
She found herself looking into the black eyes of the Count de Varenne. He smiled, his usual congenial social smile, and jammed a cocked dueling pistol against her temple. There would be bruises, if she lived long enotigh.
"Congratulations on escaping my men in the castle," he said, a little breathless from the exertion of subduing her. "I am not entirely surprised-you and your lovers are formidable adversaries. Have the three of you ever shared a bed? I would think that would account for the harmony amon
g you."
Not bothering to wait for an answer, he forced her ahead of him into the main stable block. Once there, he slipped his left hand from her mouth and locked his arm around her midriff, pinning her arms to her sides. "Now you may scream all you like, Countess."
Hearing Varenne's voice, Robin swung around. His furious oath caused Rafe to turn, then stop dead, frozen with horror.
"I'm sure that neither of you gentlemen wishes any harm to come to your lovely fraudulent countess," Varenne snapped. "Drop the gun, Candover. Then both of you raise your hands above your heads and move into the center of the room."
Instantly Rafe tossed the shotgun aside and went to stand by Robin.
Margot's face was white, and there was fear in her eyes, but she said evenly, "Don't let him stop you. It's only a single-shot dueling pistol, so he can't get all three of us."
"While the countess shows an admirable willingness for martyrdom, I wouldn't advise you to try anything, gentlemen." Varenne began backing toward the door, still holding Maggie firmly against him. "My men are concealed outside, and you would never escape. I have gone to this effort because I prefer to capture you alive, but I warn you, at the least move from either of you, I will blow the lady's head off."
When Oliver Northwood swam dimly back to consciousness, he knew that he was dying. There was too much blood puddling below him, and the final chill was reaching into his bones. At first he thought the voices were in his head. Then he realized that the people he hated most were talking only a few feet away, in the main stable.
Knowledge that his enemies were near galvanized him. Though the smallest effort exhausted him, he still had a little strength left, and by God, he would use it well.
An eternity was required to struggle to his knees, another to gain his feet. Northwood was gratified to discover that he still had Varenne's pistol. He cocked it, a time-consuming act since his fingers had no sensation.
The wound in his chest wasn't bleeding much-he must be running out of blood-but he was very clear about what must be done. Blinking to clear his eyes, he lurched the length of the harness room, one hand on the wall to steady his faltering step. He didn't have much time left, but he vowed that it would be enough to kill the one he hated the most.
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