A Sister's Quest

by Ferguson, Jo Ann

  “No,” Michelle said, “for I have no idea when he will be back. He may have to chase Napoleon’s army north through the Low Countries to find LaTulippe.” She looked at the table where the luncheon was being set out. “Where are Abigail and Evan?”

  “Evan took Lucile for a walk in the park,” Brienne said. “The Teatro Caparelli is playing there, and they are friends.”

  “A traveling theater troupe?”

  “Evan has friends everywhere.” Brienne sat at the table and poured lemonade for each of them. “Where is Abigail, Dominic?”

  “She was not feeling well this morning.” He sat and picked up a glass, his eyes twinkling.

  “Again?” Brienne laughed. “Is she pregnant?”

  “It is possible.”

  Michelle laughed as Brienne slapped his arm and said, “I have no doubts it is possible.”

  “We shall know soon.” He took a sip. “Or so she tells me.”

  Taking the glass Brienne held out to her, Michelle leaned back in her chair. She never had guessed how much she wanted a family. She had relished the days she and Maman had together.

  She looked over her shoulder as she heard footsteps in the house. “Who …?”

  Half a dozen men swept through the door to surround them. Dominic started to stand, but sat again at the click of a hammer being drawn back on a pistol.

  When another man pushed forward, Michelle said with a gasp, “LaTulippe!”

  He held her gaze as he walked along the table to approach her. She fought to hide her fear.

  “What a charming familial scene!” He bowed toward Dominic. “Forgive the intrusion, Your Grace.” The venom returned to his voice as he looked at Michelle. “Where is Vernier?”

  “He is out,” Michelle said coolly.

  “Is that so? Where?”

  “I don’t know. He left before I rose this morning.”

  He leaned on the table and held his gun directly in her face. Ignoring Brienne’s horrified gasp and Dominic’s curse, he smiled. “Does this help you remember?”

  “It would if I had forgotten, but I truly do not know where Alexandre went.”

  “You have seen that he is not here,” said Dominic smoothly, in spite of the rage lining his face. “Why don’t you leave? Or is it the way of Napoleon’s lapdogs to threaten innocent women?”

  “Threaten innocent women?” LaTulippe put his hand over his heart. “You wound me. I would not suggest harm to your innocent sister.”

  “My brother has been a genial host,” Michelle said. “If you expect to stay here until Alexandre returns …”

  He shook his head in fake sorrow. “What a shame he corrupted you! You are as magnificent as your mother in her heyday. However, you shall have to do as I say now, Mademoiselle Levesque, or you will force me to do something painful.”

  “I will not help you betray Alexandre. Nothing you can do—”

  He pointed his gun at Brienne. With a cry, Michelle jumped to her feet and reached for his arm. He caught her hand and twirled her into his grip.

  “Such fire,” he mused in the same irreverent voice. “To think of it wasted on Vernier brings me great sorrow.” Again he bowed. “I bid you adieu. Or, I should say, we bid you adieu. If you make an effort to follow us, it will be your sweet sister who will die.”

  Dominic stood slowly. “I assume you have a message for Alexandre.”

  LaTulippe laughed and tightened his grip on Michelle’s wrist. When she gasped with the pain that raced along her arm, he said, “Of course, for he is sure to stop here first to kiss his mistress good-bye. Tell Vernier to go to Madame Nicollet. He will know what I mean.” He chuckled. “You may also tell him that I look forward to seeing him die. When I am done with him and your lovely sister, I will return her to you … mayhap.”

  “Please leave Michelle here,” begged Brienne. “You do not need—”

  “But I do. Simply to even the stakes.” He shoved Michelle into the arms of one of his men. As the man bound her hands, LaTulippe added, “Tell Vernier I want the key to the code. Before midnight tomorrow at the location he will be told by Madame Nicollet. Otherwise I can promise you that none of you will ever see Mademoiselle Levesque alive again.”

  Michelle wanted to say something to ease her sister’s terror and her brother’s fury, but she whispered, “Tell Alexandre not to do anything ill-advised. Tell him I love him.”

  LaTulippe laughed. “And I hope he loves you in return, because then he will not hesitate to do as ordered.” He tweaked her cheek.

  She spat in his face. She heard her sister’s scream in the moment before LaTulippe’s fist struck her, sending her into a blackness as thick as his soul.

  “Wake up!”

  Michelle started to roll over, but moaned as her bound arms ached. When a lantern flashed close to her face, she wanted to recoil, but it was impossible. The rest of her body hurt as deeply as her arms.

  She cowered as she saw a raised hand. In the past two days, she had suffered LaTulippe’s beatings. He used any excuse, although he had not hit her again as hard as he had when he abducted her from the house on Îsle Saint-Louis. He wanted to be sure she missed none of the torment he had in store for her.

  “Where is he?” LaTulippe’s shout rang through her head. Only exhaustion had granted her a few moments of sleep, almost her first since the night before she went to Mauriac’s jewelry shop.

  She forced her eyes to focus on his furious face. It was a sight she had become familiar with since she had been bound and thrown in the corner of what she guessed was a barn. She had become more accustomed to the odor of animal droppings and the damp than to LaTulippe’s tantrums.

  “If you mean Alexandre,” she replied, “how do you expect me to know?” She cringed as he struck her hard enough to start her ears ringing again.

  “Harlot! To think I wasted my time with you.”

  “I did not ask you to kidnap me!” When he lifted his hand, she glared at him, agony fueling her bravado. “You cannot blame me for your mistakes.”

  “My mistake and yours. We both believed your lover would come here before the deadline passed this morning.” Standing, he looked at the men leaning against the opposite wall. “We shall go to where the army is encamped,” he announced. “The book is already there. I will have to explain to Marshal Ney that it may take a bit longer to have the code broken.”

  Michelle swallowed her gasp. If LaTulippe had access to one of Napoleon’s most trusted men, the information could be in the emperor’s hands as soon as it was decoded.

  Jerking on her arm, he dragged her up to a sitting position. “Do you want to go for a ride?”

  “I would be delighted to go back to Paris.”

  “Paris is not your destination.” He laughed as he motioned to his men. All but one left the barn. “You can bring him now. Mademoiselle Levesque is ready to leave us.”

  Michelle bit her lip as the man ran out. Who was LaTulippe sending for?

  “What? No questions?” he taunted as he pushed her to sit on the filthy pallet again. “That is unlike you, Michelle.”

  “I see no reason to give you pleasure by asking what you plan to do with me.” She wondered how long she could maintain this haughty dignity. Fear was nibbling away at it like a rat eating a cracker. “You would not tell me if I asked.”

  He squatted in front of her. His loosened waistcoat flared over the knees of his breeches. Twisting his fingers through her tangled hair, he murmured, “It is really a shame to send you away. You are a pretty little thing, although you have the disgusting habit of talking too much.” His eyes slitted into an icy glare. “It might not be such a loss at that. Vernier did not consider you worth saving.”

  She tried not to react to his cruel words, but it was impossible. She was sure Alexandre would have come if he could. That left only one alternative. He was unable to save her. When LaTulippe laughed, she knew her fear had flashed across her face.

  “I will be right back. I want to speak with your new
friend before he comes in.” He patted her head. “Believe it or not, there is someone willing to take Vernier’s mistress and save me the problem of disposing of your corpse. Relax. I doubt if he will grant you much time for sleep tonight.”

  “Go to hell, you whoremonger!”

  “If I get there before you, I will be sure to pay you a call when you arrive.” His horrible laugh rang through the barn. The door crashed closed behind him, and a bar dropped into place.

  Michelle sagged against the wall behind her. The stones cut into her back, but the pain in her heart was sharper. When hot tears trickled along her face, she drew up her knees and leaned her cheek on her filthy dress. She moaned as the motion strained her arms.

  “Alexandre,” she whispered, “be safe.”

  She shuddered. When she was sent away with LaTulippe’s ally, she might never know what happened to Alexandre. She could not imagine a worse torment.

  Voices beyond the door cut through Michelle’s misery. Sunlight burst around the opening door, blinding her. Dampening her chapped lips, she vowed to let neither LaTulippe nor his crony learn how terrified and heartsick she was.

  Her resolution vanished as the sunshine glowed off a familiar face. “Bartholomew!” Hope made her sit straighter. How had he heard of her predicament and sought out LaTulippe to save her?

  He flashed her a smile, but spoke to LaTulippe. “As you said, she is unharmed. Name your price.”

  “Nothing has changed.” He leaned with false nonchalance against the wall. “Exactly what we discussed before. I am understandably in a hurry, Your Highness. Pay me, and you can take your tattered princess back to Coxe-Saxony-Colburg with you.”

  Bartholomew held out a leather bag with obvious distaste. “There is what I agreed to pay you for Michelle. Count it, so we can be done with this. I wish to be on my way before dark. If Napoleon is to move his men at dawn—”

  “Be silent,” said LaTulippe in a growl as he stuffed the bag beneath his coat. He reached down and jerked her to her feet. A shove sent her reeling into Bartholomew’s arms. “Untie her if you wish, Your Highness, but you may find she will be more cooperative if you let her stay as she is for a few more hours.”

  “Yes,” he answered slowly. “I understand very well.”

  When Bartholomew pulled on Michelle’s arm, she hurried out with him. She blinked in the bright sunshine. In horror she stared at the fields before them. In what must be the French army camp, thousands of men were waiting for the signal from Napoleon. Then they would attack the allied forces for one final grasp at glory.

  “By the morrow, my dear, you will be very happy I have taken you away from here,” Bartholomew said.

  “Can we get to Paris tonight? My brother—”

  He laughed. “Paris? Why would I want to take you to Paris?” Pulling her tightly to him, he ran his fingers up to her breast.

  She tried to pull away. His mouth clamped over hers. Du lieber Gott! She had not believed that Bartholomew was truly LaTulippe’s ally. Raising her foot, she stamped on his foot. He screeched, his grip loosening.

  She ran as fast as her weak legs could go down the hillside. She saw Bartholomew’s carriage on the road below and tried to stop. As her feet slipped out from beneath her, she screamed. Dirt sprayed over her as she fell. She drew her feet under her to stand.

  “Think twice, Michelle,” came a cold voice.

  Michelle capsized against the torn earth as the barrel of Bartholomew’s pistol pricked her ear. To think she could run away had been absurd, but she had to try.

  He grabbed her bound arms and pulled her to her feet. When she shrieked in pain, something cold brushed her hands. Abruptly they were free. Bartholomew checked first one arm, then the other. She gasped as he touched her left shoulder.

  “It is not broken,” he stated tightly. “Get in the carriage.”

  “No!” Her voice was faint with pain. If her shoulder was not broken, it ached as if it were.

  A footman came at Bartholomew’s command and picked her up. He pushed her onto the carriage seat. Bartholomew sat beside her, grabbing her arm before she could flee. She moaned as another sliver of pain sliced across her shoulder.

  He glared at her as the carriage lurched into motion. His once kind blue eyes were filled with fury. He took her hand and stroked the ring her mother had worn. “You will obey me. I did not pay so highly for you so you could flee back to Vatutin’s arms.”

  She stiffened as Bartholomew used Alexandre’s alias. Didn’t Bartholomew know the truth? If he was LaTulippe’s ally, he should know. Mayhap he did not realize why LaTulippe had abducted her. She had to know, for that might help her devise a way to escape. “What did you give LaTulippe for me?”

  “Just a few gold coins and the promise to bring Coxe-Saxony-Colburg into the new alliance.”

  “New alliance?” She frowned. “You know what has happened to Napoleon’s so-called allies in the past. He swallowed them whole. There will be no more Coxe-Saxony-Colburg.”

  “That is not your worry, my dear. You need think only of the pleasure you can give me.”

  Michelle tried to evade his hands. In the carriage, there was no place to escape as he lowered the leather shades. She moaned in horror when he caught her shoulders and pinned her to the seat.

  “Bartholomew, you are hurting me,” she cried as he touched her wrenched arm.

  “Why should I wait?” He laughed coldly as he ran his fingers along the rips in the shoulder of her gown. He tore them more to leave her sleeve hanging on her arm. “It is not as if I would marry you after you have embarrassed me so publicly with your lover.”

  “Then why—” She screamed when he tore a hole in the sleeve on her other shoulder.

  He pushed her hands away as he bent to press his mouth against the skin above her modest gown. When she moaned with horror, he slipped his finger into the tatters and ripped her other sleeve away. “Think how the gossip will stop when the delegates learn that you have crawled back to me on the eve of the announcement of my betrothal to another woman.” He gripped her face painfully. “You shamed me, Michelle. For that, you are going to pay.”

  “Bartholomew—”

  “I think you should call me ‘Your Highness.’”

  “If you do not want me to call you Bartholomew, I shall call you Prince Char—” She cringed as he raised his hand.

  “Do not become tiresome.” He gave her the smile that she once had thought was kind. “Mayhap, if you beg, I will spare you such a life, Michelle. Beg me as I begged you to be my wife.”

  “And you will give me the same answer.”

  “You are right.” He laughed and forced her mouth beneath his. She tried to keep his hands away, but his strength was too much for her.

  The carriage stopped, nearly rocking them to the floor. Michelle clutched the seat. At the sound of gunfire, she screamed and waited for the pain that she recalled all too well.

  A man shouted her name.

  “Alexandre!” she cried when he called her name again.

  “Shut up!” said Bartholomew with a snarl. Pulling a handkerchief from an inner pocket, he stuffed it into her mouth. He drew his gun and pressed it against the cloth. “Make a sound, and it will be your last one.”

  She tried not to moan with despair as he dropped a cloak on her. Through it, the weight of his gun centered in the middle of her stomach. If she moved, he would fire it.

  Straining, she sought to hear what she could not see. The coach rocked as the driver and footman alighted, but the door remained closed. Beyond it, she could hear the hoofbeats from more than one horse. She hoped Alexandre had brought many allies with him.

  Bartholomew growled a curse just before she heard Alexandre say coolly, “What a pleasant surprise, Your Highness! As you are heading south, I should offer you a welcome to France, but I admit little pleasure at having you in my homeland. Now, before you continue on your way, I think you have in your possession something that belongs with me.”

  “I hav
e nothing of yours, Vatutin. Why don’t you go after LaTulippe? He is northbound toward where the armies are amassing in—”

  She could hear Alexandre’s grim smile in his taut voice. “I know exactly where they are, but that you are familiar with his location suggests many different things, Your Highness. Such as bargains your father would not sanction. That, however, is none of my business. What is my business is that I also know you are holding Mademoiselle Levesque against her will. If you would be so good as to return her to me, I shall let you continue on your way.”

  The gun poked painfully into her ribs, and she fought not to gasp in pain.

  Bartholomew laughed tersely. “You are chasing shadows, Vatutin.”

  “Actually, the name is Vernier. Alexandre Vernier.”

  “I do not give a damn what your name is. Get out of here. I have dinner waiting for me at an inn in Namur. Why don’t you let me get to it?”

  Alexandra’s voice lost its easy negligence. “Dinner for two? I have given you enough opportunities, Prince Charming.” He ignored Bartholomew’s curse as he went on, “If you do not want to listen to me, mayhap you will listen to my Pauly.”

  Recognizing the name as a type of pistol, Michelle slipped her fingers under the cloak and pulled the material out of her mouth. Carefully she waited for Bartholomew to answer Alexandre. At that second, the prince’s attention would be centered on his foe.

  “Vatu—What the—”

  Michelle kicked at him at the same time she shoved the heavy cloak upward to knock his arm away. She scrambled past him for the door. An arm jerked her back.

  “Let me go!” she screeched in frustration. The tip of a pistol in her cheek silenced her.

  Bartholomew’s voice was as agitated as his heartbeat beneath her ear as he said, “Leave us, Vernier, if you do not want to see her with a ball in her skull.”

  Alexandre smiled. “How are you faring, Liebchen? Forgive me for being so slow to come for you, but I shall explain later.”

  “You will do nothing but …” Bartholomew tensed.