Vidal's Honor

by Sherry Gloag

  “Was it darker?” she asked Vidal. Then before he had time to answer Honor addressed the man now standing directly in front of her. “I cannot say for sure, for he was just someone asking the way.” Beneath her lashes she watched the gendarme weigh up their responses.

  Frustration lit a fuse under the Frenchman’s anger which threatened to break free. “And what did you tell him?”

  “What could I tell him?” She waited for his challenge and when it didn’t come looked up at Vidal. “You gave him directions, did you not?” She let the memory of his kiss heat up her face again. “I’m afraid I only had eyes for my husband.” She reached up and kissed him on the lips.

  “You wanton baggage, have you no shame? We are in company.”

  Behind the amusement in his eyes lurked another, darker emotion, Honor didn’t care to name. She stepped back and hung her head.

  “You are right. I am sorry.”

  He pulled her up against him again. “Do not be sorry, for I am as eager as you…”

  A loud cough at her shoulder broke into the fantasy.

  With a stiff bow the official backed towards the door. “I am sorry to have troubled you.”

  One glance in his direction convinced Honor the man’s words did not match his emotions. Chagrin and fury warred for supremacy and she wondered whether their blatant display had worked or not.

  “Come, we cannot drop our act yet,” Vidal added when she hesitated. “They may come back.”

  She allowed him to lead her to the chair by the fire, and when he encouraged her to sit on his knee, gave in to temptation.

  * * * *

  “That was a most convincing display you put on there.”

  Honor leapt to her feet at the sound of Juan’s amused tone.

  “Then if you want it to remain so, I suggest you keep your voice down,” Vidal snapped. “We have to come up with an alternative plan. I imagine you realise they are searching for someone. Someone who just managed to depart in the nick of time, along with his ‘assistant’.”

  “Assistant?”

  “Our friend received word he would have to leave us almost immediately and had just introduced us to—“ Vidal hesitated. “Let us remain with the title ‘assistant’ for now. And where is Consuela?”

  “She came down to join you and almost ran into the men standing at the door. She heard one of them questioning you and came back to warn me.”

  Juan crossed to the side board and poured himself a glass of burgundy and, lifting the bottle, offered Vidal a refill.

  “Have you left her in our room?” Honor waited for Juan to sit down.

  He shook his head. “Indeed not. She managed to hear enough of what you were implying to warn me, so I suggested she move in with me. We moved her things into my room so if anyone came in they would assume we were sharing the room. We also moved your brushes and put them on the table beside my lady’s things.”

  “A good precaution,” Vidal agreed, with a grin. It slid off his face almost immediately. “In fact, I wouldn’t put it past those fellows to try and snoop on us later tonight. I think I should share with Honor and Consuela should remain with you. That way we guard both women from any possibility of molestation, and maintain the image we have been at pains to create.”

  Juan turned serious. “And if we are discovered?”

  “Who is to find out?”

  “Don’t be absurd, my lord. You, as well as I, know what would happen if word of such a scandal reached London ahead of us. Lady Beaumont would be doubly ruined, and any chance of your peers believing in her integrity would disappear completely.” Rising from his chair, Juan strode to the window, peeked round the edge of the drawn curtain, and stepped back. “There are at least twenty men out there. I better make haste and rejoin Consuela.”

  Once at the door he paused. “If you persist in this subterfuge and you are discovered, only marriage will save you. You are aware of that aren’t you? Think well before you condemn each other to a loveless union.”

  “It would not be loveless on my part,” Vidal admitted, the words hanging in the sudden stillness that filled the room.

  Honor stared at Vidal. He loved her? How long?

  “Since the moment I saw you,” he said, and she realised she’d spoken aloud.

  She clutched the front of her gown in a futile attempt to still her pounding heart.

  Juan forgotten, Vidal faced her now. “I appreciate you only had eyes for Devlin, but that didn’t stop me loving you. I cannot think of a single thing that would kill my feelings.”

  Her heart skipped with joy, then stilled. Once, many years ago she would have believed him. And she wanted to now, but the memory of his coldness towards her after their shared evening beside the camp fire troubled her.

  If only he’d take her in his arms and convince her. How could he be speaking the truth when he’d already implied he thought her responsible, whether directly or not, for Devlin’s death? The fact he had doubted her then, would he doubt her in the future?

  Her heart wanted to fly free and urged her to go to him and admit her feelings for him. But how could she when he wasn’t sure he could trust her, and she found it hard to understand how her own feelings for Vidal were still so strong when she’d loved the man she’d married three years ago? Her own sense of betrayal weighed heavily on her heart.

  “I love you,” he said again. “Have you nothing to say?”

  “I didn’t know.” Guilt, like a shroud, clung to her. She’d loved both men and chosen Devlin simply because when Vidal had walked away she’d assumed he hadn’t shared the same feelings.

  “Of course you did not. And now you do. You must not let it influence you. Our task is to get you back to England before you are discovered.”

  Confused by Vidal’s sudden abruptness, Honor nodded and crossed the room to the fire. Tears clogged her throat. Was it wrong to wish for Vidal to take her in his arms? She stiffened her spine pushed her shoulders back and instructed herself to concentrate on the business of escaping from France without detection.

  “Juan, you are still here. Good… but do not tarry. If I can, I will join you in a few hours to discuss what to do and how we can contrive to reach the coast without a guide.”

  Honor crossed the room before Juan opened the door. “What about you and Consuela? How will the two of you go on after this night?”

  Genuine anxiety propelled her to ask, and the gleam in his eye reassured her. The two of them would make a good marriage and hopefully, one day return to their beloved Spain.

  * * * *

  Honor stared into the surrounding darkness and wondered what had woken her. When a sharp, hard rap came on her door, she rose and padded across the room. “Vidal?”

  “No, my lady, it is Jacques.”

  The sound of his voice brought the evening’s events to mind: the swarm of officials pestering them with questions, their host’s immediate departure, and Jacques, his replacement.

  She could hardly allow him access to her room, nor did she intend to open the door to him when she couldn’t be sure of his intentions. “What is it?”

  “You must ready yourself for departure within the hour.” While he did not whisper, something in his tone chased away her weariness.

  “What has happened?”

  “The gendarme have sent for backup and it is my belief they intend to arrest you and my lord. You have to get away before the extra men arrive. Please, do not waste time.”

  About to ask Vidal’s whereabouts, she bit back the words, remembering in time that they were supposed to be newlyweds. And what groom would desert his bride on their honeymoon?

  “Where do we meet you?”

  “Wait in your room until my lord comes to collect you.”

  So much for trying to create the impression Vidal was sharing her bed. “Very well.”

  While they’d all acknowledged their shared goals and mutual enmity in a most unusual accord, was it safe to put their trust in this stranger? Would Jacques’
allegiance to le duc hold in his master’s absence? She put her ear to the door and listened to Jacques’ footsteps fade away.

  Since Dumas had provided them with new gowns, she and Consuela always helped each other with their fastenings. Now she found herself unable to reach the buttons at the back, and wished she’d thought to ask for the Spanish woman’s help before she left to go to Juan’s room.

  “Let me.” She jumped at the sound of his voice and the warmth of Vidal’s breath on her neck. His fingers left a trail like molten fire down her spine. How could his touch create such a storm of emotions chasing through her, and so soon after—?

  “Thank you.” In an effort to relax she kept her hands at her sides, while her gaze met his in the mirror. “I didn’t hear you enter.” His fingers retraced a line up the still exposed part of her spine, increasing the tremors already shaking her body before he stepped away, his voice cool and steady.

  “There you are, my lady. If you tell me where to find your cloak we will be on our way.”

  Desperate to create space between them, she ignored his request and picked it up from the back of the chair where she’d thrown it earlier, then remained where she stood and faced Vidal. He’d moved to the door and his hand rested on the door knob.

  “Briefly, tell me what is going on? Where are Juan and Consuela?”

  “They’re in the coach waiting for us. Come take my hand. There is no time to explain further, for we must not delay any longer.”

  Without hesitation she placed her fingers in his and followed him down the narrow and twisting stairs, along a dark passage, and out into the cool night air.

  Even in the dim light of a single — well, partly — shuttered lantern, Honor noticed the carriage before her was not the one they’d used since entering France. “We have new transport.”

  “In the hope to divert the authorities, it was deemed more prudent for Dumas to take his own coach and for Jacques to seek a replacement. Up you get.” Vidal did not wait for her to step into the carriage but placed his hands round her waist and lifted her in before following.

  “You do not ride?”

  “We endeavour to throw off suspicion by changing our normal pattern to date when we leave this place behind," said Vidal. "Inevitably our hasty departure in the night will attract attention, but we hope to be well on our way before our flight is discovered.”

  “All our beautiful new clothes,” Consuela moaned. “We are forever having to leave our possessions behind.”

  “No, this time you are not.” Juan’s amusement carried in the dark. “While Monsieur has taken many of our boxes with him, we bundled as much as possible into several small trunks Jacques acquired. I fear what we transferred will be sadly crushed, for we had no time to do more than stuff them into the boxes.”

  “Do you think le duc will evade his pursuers?” Knowing the Spaniards’ natural antipathy for the Frenchman, Honor strove to keep her voice neutral.

  “I cannot explain how it happened, for I should hate what he has done to my people, and what he intends for you, my lady, but I find myself hoping Dumas escapes.” Consuela leaned forward to look into Juan’s eyes. “Can you understand what I am saying?” Her plea reached them all and they waited in a lengthening silence for his response.

  “I did not expect to find myself liking the man,” Juan admitted.

  “And you, my lord?” Beneath the cover of darkness, Consuela reached for Honor’s hand. “From something you both said, I gather you considered him a friend.”

  “I did indeed,” Vidal agreed. “And after a week in his company I am sure you can understand why he is a hard man to dislike. And,” Vidal added in a colder tone, “why he is so successful at what he does.”

  “But surely he will not be able to spy for his country anymore?”

  “Never underestimate your enemy, Consuela.” Juan’s harsh tone cut across Vidal’s dry one. “How many times do I have to remind you of that?”

  “And how many times do I have to remind you how wrong you were about Lady Beaumont?” she snapped back. Her grip on Honor’s fingers tightened. “I know Juan has apologised for not trusting you from the start, but I told him many times he was wrong about you.”

  “Really?”

  The Spanish woman’s apparent faith in her was hard to understand given her constant abruptness during their trek across Spain. “Forgive me for finding it difficult to accept. But I am grateful for your faith in me. And—” she added, “curious to know why you contradicted your colleague’s opinion?”

  “To begin with I agreed to follow Juan’s lead, although even from the start I found it harder and harder...”

  “Why?” Honor interrupted.

  “Because of your compassion when we first met, and of course, Juan was not there to witness it.”

  “I gather the meeting was contrived?” This time it was Vidal who cut in.

  “Not exactly.” Consuela paused, shuffled back in her seat, and pulled on Honor’s hand until it rested in her lap.

  “It is true I was to meet with Juan and become a member of your party, as a guide and chaperone, you understand. We did not anticipate the horrors that befell my home town.” Her voice faltered, and Honor found herself returning Consuela’s grip.

  “Those men travelling with me were members of my husband’s family. I’d gone for a walk, and they were returning from the tavern in the next village. We arrived back together and saw what was happening from the top of the hill. They did not like me any more than I liked them, or my husband for that matter, but they stopped me, when in my shock I began running for home. He was…” she searched for the word, “a lout, is that the right description? While he didn’t beat me, he never missed a chance to put me in the wrong.

  “His family always took his side, and I suppose they felt obligated to insist I join them on their journey to Madrid. They dreamed of riches and fame in the big city. But it rained and rained, and I became ill. Juan told me later it was from the shock of what I witnessed. The rest you know. Until I fell off the mule the men let me go with them. Apparently they intended to leave me at the next village, but changed their minds, when they thought it too might be torched.”

  “Not precisely,” Vidal contradicted. “You haven’t explained how you became involved with Juan, or how you intended to meet up with him.”

  “My instructions were to walk a certain path every day, at a certain time, and one day I would meet up with a small party of travellers.”

  “I’m sure there were many similar parties. How were you to know which was the right one?” Casting her mind back, Honor remembered the numerous people Juan had avoided at the start of their journey.

  “I was told I would recognise him from his bandana,” Consuela explained with a simplicity that carried in the confined space of the coach.

  She remembered the eye-catching brightness of the bandana tied round his head when he had arrived with Vidal. She’d thought nothing of it at the time, nor, looking back had he worn it since offering his services as their guide across Spain.

  It seemed she, and not Consuela, had underestimated her enemy. After all hadn’t Juan admitted his intention to hand her over to the French at the border?

  “Why wait to turn me in until we reached Irun? You had plenty of opportunities at any time on the journey.”

  “I did,” he agreed with a quiet affability that jangled her nerves, “but not without added risk to myself and Consuela. We intended to ‘melt away’ once we reached the border, and without valid papers or passports the French would not need our help to detain you.”

  “It did not stop you from continuing towards Irun after you admitted to your change of heart. How were you going to get us into France without detection?”

  “Since it did not come about, there is no need for me to speak of those who would have helped to take you over the border.”

  “I presume, not at Irun, then?”

  “No, not at Irun.”

  In the ensuing silence Honor bec
ame aware of the changed sound of their carriage wheels on the road.

  “To be sure, I am surprised that this vehicle is so much quieter than le duc’s.”

  “We have muffled the wheels to give us a better chance of leaving without detection.” Vidal let the shutter down and looked behind them. “These wretched shutters are excellent for concealing your passenger’s identity, but I do wish the French would catch up with English designs and replace this leather with glass windows. So far we seem to be on our own. Let us hope it may continue.”

  “Did Dumas indicate how long it would take for us to reach the coast from here?” Consuela voiced the question before Honor managed to frame the words.

  “He estimated about seventeen days from Irun to the coast, but with the stop in Bordeaux we have lost a full day. I estimate ten days to two weeks if we continue at the same pace as before.” Vidal wrestled with the leather shutter and leaned back against the squabs.

  “Do I gather we are not?” This time Honor spoke before Consuela.

  “Indeed, Jacques is almost as great a magician as his master, and swears he has sent ahead to have a change of horses available every six hours. We shall travel each day from dawn to dusk, and probably sometimes a bit longer.” Juan, not Vidal, answered this time.

  “I see,” Honor said and fell silent for a few moments. “I take it those gendarmes were aware le duc was not alone. Am I right in guessing they will be on the watch for us, and we are attempting to outwit them?”

  Juan’s oath from the opposite side of the coach confirmed her suspicions.

  “Do we stop for food today, or has that been arranged?”

  “We do not stop,” Juan agreed with a snap.

  “Tell me Juan,” Honor said, her voice icy cold. She leaned forward in her seat. “Do you take on stupid women to work with you to save your country?”

  “Do not ask such stupid questions, or I will revert to my original opinion of you.”

  “Then why are you so surprised when I, a mere female, manage to work out the details and reasons for our hasty departure?”