“Before you ran, I asked who you traveled with.” He spoke slowly in French, so she wouldn’t mistake a single word of his statement
Her nose came up and her jaw hardened, yet she met his gaze with her icy, sky-blue eyes. Once again, she resembled the ancient woman warrior who had defied the English even when facing death.
“Answer me. Who else is with you?”
Silence permeated the forest, the faint trickle of the creek and the occasional tapping of tree branches in the breeze the only sounds surrounding them.
“Perhaps she travels alone, sir.” Farnsworth shifted his weight beside the woman. “Or perhaps she doesn’t understand your question.”
Oh, she knew what he asked, all right. Knew more than she was willing to admit.
“Hold the knife to her throat,” Kessler commanded. “She’ll talk then.”
Gregory ground his teeth together. The man had shot him in the leg, fled the country and then found himself in a French prison for sixteen months...and still failed to learn that violence seldom solved one’s problems. “I promised not to harm her.”
Though that had been before she’d fled into the woods, rolled around in the mud with him and scratched his cheek.
Kessler arched an eyebrow. “How else do you plan to force answers? She’s not volunteering any.”
He glanced at the woman’s throat, slim and creamy beneath the mud that splattered it. Unfortunately, Kessler had a point.
And what kind of barbarian had this journey turned him into that he considered holding a knife on a woman?
“No. There’s another way.” He gestured in her direction, though she’d remained curiously still ever since Kessler had threatened to use the knife on her. “This is no fool lass. When she reached the creek, she headed upstream, which means her traveling party must be downstream. We only need to find them.”
The woman jerked against Kessler’s and Farnsworth’s holds, forcing the two men to grapple for a better grip on her shoulders. Slight though she was, restraining a woman wasn’t exactly an everyday task valets and future earls performed in England.
France, on the other hand, was proving to be quite different.
A torrent of French words poured from her mouth. Most of them came too fast for him to understand, though he caught something about how she’d sit down and talk with them now.
Finally.
“Do you remember those napoleons I showed you earlier?” He spoke haltingly as he approached her. “I have more, but you need to be silent first.”
Her body grew still though her chest heaved from spent exertion. She tossed her head backward, likely trying to dislodge the mess of hair that had fallen over her face to hide her eyes.
Kessler and Farnsworth hardened their holds on her shoulders, but Gregory stepped forward and reached out a hand, smoothing the tangled hair away from her cheek and back over her shoulder. Frightened blue eyes came up to meet his, and he paused, his hand resting on her shoulder. He’d thought her beautiful before, but he’d underestimated. Her skin wasn’t just creamy, but as soft as a daffodil’s petals during spring. Her hair not merely long and wavy, but as rich as velvet. And those eyes...they appeared a light, icy-blue at first, but when standing this close, darker streaks flared through the lighter blue like little starbursts before they rimmed her irises. Irises that still held a muted look of fear.
Fear he’d put there.
“A comely thing, isn’t she?” Kessler smirked.
Gregory dropped his hand, took an abrupt step back and blew out a breath. What was he thinking touching a woman’s hair in such an intimate manner, letting his hand linger on her shoulder? He’d never behaved so forwardly in his life. Then again, save for his mother and sister, he’d never seen a grown woman’s hair down, either.
“You’re not to touch her, Kessler.”
The man stared pointedly at where his hands gripped her shoulder and upper arm. “No?”
A sudden bout of memories flashed through his mind. Suzanna’s hunched shoulders and tearstained face on that dark night. The quiet field outside their country estate at dawn. The searing pain in his leg as a bullet lodged itself beside the bone. As a simple serving girl on his family’s estate, Suzanna had never shown this woman’s fiery determination, nor was she as beautiful, but the situation was far too similar. He cleared his throat. “You know to what I refer.”
All color had fled the lord’s face, leaving it pale and drawn. Kessler’s memories must have traveled to the same place as his own.
Good. Perchance those memories would help Kessler behave around the Frenchwoman.
“Then what do you propose we do with the wench? We certainly can’t free her.”
“The first thing we’re going to do is check on Westerfield.” Who’d been left untended for far too long. “Then we’re going to find her traveling party.”
Which would hopefully provide him with some answers. Because night was falling, and he still hadn’t a clue what to do with her.
* * *
Danielle stumbled down onto the makeshift pallet where Farnsworth and Kessler thrust her. As if the English capturing the frigate where Laurent served and killing him hadn’t been enough, now some English had captured her and were about to take Serge, as well.
Kessler knelt down to hold her in place then growled something unintelligible at Farnsworth. The servant walked stiffly away, back straight and posture perfect as he found a sack and rummaged through it. He started back for them, a length of thick rope in his hands.
“Non!” She attempted to pull away from Kessler, but the arrogant blond only clenched her arms harder.
“Quickly,” he boomed at the servant.
“Please don’t tie me. I promise I won’t run.” And she wouldn’t, not when the men were planning to find Serge and bring him here. It would be easier to meet him in the English camp and then plan their escape. If she managed to free herself now, she’d not have time to find her brother and pack before the Englishmen were upon them. Better to wait and then run while everyone else slept.
But she wouldn’t be able to escape if they tied her.
The servant knelt beside her and held the rope out to Kessler.
“You should have considered how we might deal with you before you held a knife to Farnsworth’s neck.” Kessler’s cruel words bored into the back of her head.
“Non. Please...” She swallowed against the panic creeping into her voice, but that didn’t stop the hot burn of tears from rising in her eyes.
“Stop.” Halston’s stern voice carried from the other side of the fire, where he sat watching her from beside the sick man’s pallet. “Don’t tie her.”
“We haven’t a choice.” Kessler took the rope from Farnsworth, his grip leaving her for the barest of moments.
She used that instant to roll away. “I won’t run. You have to believe me.”
She sought Halston’s eyes over the orange flicker of flames. He might be the one who had thwarted her escape, but he also seemed the most inclined to be merciful.
“You held a knife to my valet’s throat, then ran through the woods like a madwoman.” His gray-blue eyes locked with hers. “Why should I trust you?”
She bowed her head, letting the fight drain from her body. Why indeed? “I promise.”
Halston stood and came around the fire, the small muscle