Part 7 (2/2)
It would be hard to leave his friend after developing such closeness over the years. But even more than that closeness, Grey wanted to go home.
Chapter 16.
Firmly back in her role as a st.u.r.dy countrywoman who rode astride and brooked no nonsense, Ca.s.sie waited patiently for Grey to make his farewells to Pere Laurent and the Boyers. He'd endeared himself to the whole family in the days they'd stayed at the farm and waited for the snow to clear enough for travel.
She had made her appearance drab for so long that it was second nature. Grey was more difficult to tone down. Even with his worn country clothing, the rinse she'd given him to dull his hair, and the ragged cut she'd given his beard, he looked like Somebody. Ten years in prison couldn't extinguish his aristocratic bearing. She'd have to remind him to slouch wearily when they were around people.
Grey hugged Pere Laurent, saying huskily, ”Au revoir, mon pere,” as if the priest truly was his father. ”If I ever have a son, I shall name him Laurent.”
This was the hardest farewell, for both men knew they were unlikely to ever meet again. The priest was old and frail and Grey's own return to England was far from safe. Though the war must end someday, it was impossible to predict when Englishmen could openly visit France again.
His voice thick with emotion, Pere Laurent said, ”Make it Lawrence, for he will be an English gentleman, like you.” Ending the embrace, he said, ”Go with G.o.d, my son. You are in good hands with the lady fox.”
”I know.” Grey swung rather warily onto his mount, a placid old gelding called Achille. The horse didn't live up to its warrior name, so it was a good choice for him now. Ca.s.sie was unsurprised to see that even after ten years away from horses, he settled into the saddle like a skilled rider.
Viole Boyer approached him. ”G.o.dspeed, Monsieur Sommers. I have your English addresses as you have ours here. When this d.a.m.nable war is over, perhaps you can call again, or at least let us know how you do.”
”I shall.” When she offered her hand, he bent from the saddle and kissed it. ”You have my eternal grat.i.tude, madame.”
”Then the scales are balanced,” she said, blus.h.i.+ng like a young girl. The fabled Wyndham charm was recovering fast, Ca.s.sie thought with amus.e.m.e.nt.
As awkward, yearning silence fell, Ca.s.sie said briskly, ”Time to get moving. We have a steep ride ahead of us.”
She gave a last wave and set off on a narrow path that led into the woods behind the farm, Grey following. When they reached the woodsmen's track Romain Boyer had showed her the day before, it was wide enough for them to ride side by side through the bare trees. Patches of snow lay on the ground, but there was a hint of spring in the air.
”How long will it take us to cross over the hills?” Grey asked.
”Romain told me of a hut near the summit where we can spend the night,” Ca.s.sie replied. ”We should reach our road on the other side of the hills by afternoon tomorrow, barring bad weather.”
He studied the sky and inhaled the air. ”There are no storms coming.”
”You sound very sure.”
”I've been studying the weather in this region for ten years. Granted, it was through a rather small window, but I had ample time to observe the local weather patterns.” His mouth twisted. ”Another one of those unlooked-for blessings of captivity.”
”One of the more useful ones.” She patted the saddlebag behind her. ”Even if a late storm sweeps in unexpectedly, Madame Boyer sent us off with enough food to take us from here to the English Channel.”
”She is a woman in a thousand,” he said with conviction. ”Unfortunate that she's already married.”
”We were very lucky to have the Boyers take us in,” Ca.s.sie agreed. They'd been speaking in English, but she switched to French. ”We shouldn't speak English anywhere we might be heard.”
In French, he replied, ”That would land us in serious trouble, but I do want to continue practicing my English when we're in private. I'm still thinking in French.”
”You'll find yourself thinking in English after we reach England. I find that my mind makes the switch easily when the language is all around me.”
”I hope you're right. It would be embarra.s.sing to return home speaking my native tongue like a foreigner.” He frowned at the rugged hills ahead. ”What will Durand do in his pursuit?”
”He'll use the fast government courier system to send word to all the gendarme posts on the roads in every direction,” Ca.s.sie said. ”He has very little information to go on, so odds of our being caught are slim. But not impossible.”
The thought was sobering. ”Then we shall have to be fast and easily overlooked.”
She gave him a quick smile. ”Exactly.”
They fell silent for a long stretch of trail, the only sounds the horses' hooves and the occasional cry of a bird. Halfway up the sizable hill, Grey said abruptly, ”I've been thinking about what you said the other day about anger. I hadn't realized how angry I was until you said that. Now I'm afraid of what I might do if I lose control. So if I'm about to do something murderous, hit me with a rock. Break my arm. Block the blood to my brain. Do whatever you must to keep me from hurting someone.”
”Very well, I will,” she agreed after she got over her surprise. ”Unless you're damaging someone who deserves it. Even Pere Laurent thought that your Sergeant Gaspard deserved his fate.”
”He did. But if you hadn't asked me not to kill the guard, I would have broken his neck as well, and I don't know if he deserved killing,” Grey said flatly.
No wonder he was concerned for his sanity, but he underestimated himself. ”The fact that you care whether he deserved execution bodes well for your character.”
”Now I care a little,” he said gravely. ”But when I was in full fury, I would have killed him whether it was just or not. Ten years in h.e.l.l have ruined my character.”
Choosing her words, she said, ”Of course ten years in prison changed you, but you had twenty years before then, and the most important were the earliest. That is when your character was formed. The Jesuits say that if you give them a boy for his first seven years, he is theirs for life. Did your parents see that you were raised well? Were you taught honesty and responsibility?”
”Yes, and kindness as well,” he said slowly. ”I hope you're right that my character was formed then, because I don't know whether I still have those qualities. That's why I asked you to stop me if I lose control.”
”I'd rather you worked on your anger yourself,” she said frankly. ”With your Hindu fighting skills and strength, I would surely lose any fight unless I took you by surprise.”
His brows arched. ”I suspect that you've had more practical experience fighting than I, and that you know lots of wicked tricks.”
She had to laugh. ”You're right, I do know a number of wicked tricks. It helps that most men don't expect a woman to fight, much less fight well.”
”You sound like a woman who has done a great deal of fighting.”
”I've been fighting my whole life,” she said, her voice flat.
Several minutes of riding later, he asked, ”What will you do when peace comes?”
She shrugged. ”I haven't thought much about it since I never believed I'd survive that long. Perhaps I'll find a quiet cottage by the sea and raise flowers and cats.”
”In England or in France?”
”England,” she said immediately, surprised by her certainty on a subject she'd never much considered. ”France has too many dark memories.”
He nodded agreement. Once they were back in England, he'd never have to return to France unless he chose to.
Ca.s.sie had no choice, for without her private war with Napoleon, her life had no meaning. She'd return again and again until the war ended.
Or until she died.
By the time they reached the tiny hut near the summit of the highest hill, Grey had learned two things. The first was that he hadn't forgotten how to ride despite ten years of never going near a horse. His body remembered how to sit, how to control his mount.
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