No Longer a Gentleman (30 page)

Knowing she was right, he said to the men, “Protect yourselves. We’re going to use a grenade to enter the farthest cell.”

“A grenade?” It was Viole’s voice from the next window. “So that is what we’ve been hearing! Come, Yvette, we will burrow into a corner like foxes.”

Another round of explosions was coming from the forecourt as Grey lit a reduced-powder, short-fused grenade Cassie had built for this purpose. Luckily, the flame in the lantern hadn’t gone out during their exertions.

As soon as the fuse was burning, he set the grenade by the fourth window, which led to an empty cell. Then he and Cassie withdrew behind a nearby stone buttress.

The grenade went off between the explosions of two others in the main yard. Though theirs was modest compared to the others, there was still an ear-numbing blast and debris rattled all over the yard.

“I should have used less gunpowder!” Cassie said with mad humor as they raced to the blown-out window. There was now a pile of rubble and a gap wide enough to admit Cassie, though without much room to spare.

Grey had another rope. He wrapped it around his waist several times, then dropped the other end through the hole. Cassie crawled backward through the shattered window. When she was inside with one hand on the rope, he handed her the lantern. “I’ll work on widening the hole.”

“Right.” She disappeared down into the dark, dank cell.

Grey pulled the short crowbar from his pack and went to work prying loosened stones from around the window opening. So far, everything was going according to plan.

It couldn’t last.

Cassie landed on loose rubble below the blown-out window, twisted her ankle, and almost fell. Grey’s strength on the rope kept her upright.

She tested her ankle, decided there was no real damage, and opened the lantern door to release some light into the Stygian darkness. She crossed the cell to the door and was glad to find it unlocked.

Breathing thanks that she wouldn’t have to pick the lock, she stepped into the corridor. Light came from the slit under the door to the guard’s office. She raced down and tried the door. Locked, no sound audible from the other side. Praying that the guard had gone outside to deal with the attackers, she pulled out her lock picks.

The lock was old and simple, and it took her less than a minute to open it. Nerves taut, she opened the door cautiously in case there was a guard waiting to shoot her. The room was empty. And blessed be, the key ring hung on the wall! She grabbed the keys, along with the larger lamp that had been left burning on a hook.

It took three attempts to find the right key to the men’s cell, but finally it swung open. “Madame Fox?” Romain said, startled. Beside him was his wide-eyed young son and Père Laurent, looking less frail than the last time she’d rescued him from this hellhole. Both the men needed a shave, but on the whole, they looked to be in good shape.

“None other,” Cassie said, realizing that her dark scarf had fallen down around her neck to reveal her features. “We’ll leave from the cell at the end where the window has been enlarged and there’s a rope. André, you’re the lightest. Your father can help you up and out. Then you and Sommers can pull out Père Laurent.”

Romain looked stubborn. “I won’t leave without my wife and daughter!”

“By the time André and Père Laurent are out, your womenfolk will be free, too. Now move!”

She handed Romain the larger lantern, then went to work on the door to the women’s cell. Again, it took excruciatingly long moments to find the right key. As soon as the door opened, Viole and Yvette tumbled out. Viole hugged Cassie. “Mon ange!”

“I’m no angel!” Cassie briefly hugged back, relieved that her friends seemed to have survived captivity well. “Come along now. The sooner we leave, the better.”

They moved to the escape cell and found that Père Laurent was being bodily lifted by Romain and dragged from above by Grey. It had to be painful and difficult, but the priest doggedly contributed what strength he had and didn’t complain.

As Père Laurent disappeared above ground, Romain grabbed his wife and daughter in a fierce embrace. “Yvette, you first,” he said huskily. “I’ll help you up. Then take the rope and let Sommers and André pull you through.”

“Oui, Papa.” The girl picked her way through the rubble, then reached up as high on the rope as she could. Romain boosted her so that her hands were almost to the opening. A moment of scrambling, and she was through.

“Viole, you next,” Cassie ordered.

She was heavier than her daughter so Cassie helped with the lifting. Viole’s pleasantly rounded hips barely made it through the expanded gap. “You now, milady fox,” Romain said. “It will take everyone’s strength to get me up.”

Knowing he was right, she let him lift her. The relief on getting outside and not seeing armed guards pounding down at them was enormous. She squeezed Grey’s arm with heartfelt relief. “Do you think Romain can make it through that space?”

“It will be tight, but he’ll fit.” Grey unwound the rope from his waist and held it out to the others. “Everyone who feels strong enough can help.”

Cassie and all the Boyers grabbed on to the rope. Père Laurent said ruefully, “All I’m fit for is praying.”

“Pray away, Father!” Cassie felt Romain’s weight on the rope. He had to be lifted from the bottom of the cell, and his broad frame and farmer’s muscles made him heavy.

Romain’s head appeared, then his shoulders. A very tight fit indeed, but as he worked his way through the ruined window, Cassie gave a sigh of relief. Almost here …

Relief was premature. Romain had just crawled onto solid ground when a booming voice echoed off the walls. “Wyndham! I knew you’d come!”

Cassie looked up to see Claude Durand swaggering toward them, his dark cloak flaring against the torches of the half-dozen armed guards he led.

Cassie and Grey had run out of time.

Grey hissed to Cassie, “Get everyone else out the postern while I distract him!”

She made an anguished sound but didn’t argue. “You be careful, damn you!”

“I’d much rather be a live coward than a dead hero,” he assured her. But as Grey turned to Durand, he realized that he might not have a choice. Fate had turned full circle and brought him back to this place and this enemy.

Grey guessed that the darkness behind him prevented Durand and his men from seeing the escapees. If he could keep their attention focused on him, they might not notice Cassie shepherding her charges to safety.

Time to provide that distraction. He pulled down his scarf, revealing his face. As retreating footsteps sounded behind him, he strolled toward Durand with the arrogant confidence of an aristocrat, guessing that would focus the man’s attention.

“Of course I’m here, Durand,” he drawled. “Very bad of you to imprison innocents to lure me back to France. You could have killed me anytime during the ten years I was here. Better that than play these childish cat-and-mouse games.”

“That’s a mistake I’m going to rectify!” Durand raised a pistol and cocked it, his hands trembling from rage.

What were the chances that the pistol would misfire or Durand would miss his shot? Didn’t really matter since Durand was backed up by half a dozen soldiers carrying rifles, and they were professionals, not crazed amateurs.

“Why do you hate me so much?” he asked in a conversational tone. “I could have understood if you’d shot me at the beginning. A crime of passion, very traditional. But why throw a foolish boy into a dungeon for ten years?”

“I wanted you to suffer!” Durand looked more than a little mad, and he was gripping his pistol as if savoring the moment, not wanting to shoot too soon. “Spoiled, selfish aristocrats like you brought France to ruin. I would have sent you to the guillotine, but that would have made death too easy, and everything in your life had been easy. You deserved to die a difficult death.”

“You’re right, I was spoiled and selfish, but at least part of that was simply being young, not my most noble blood.” Grey halted twenty paces from the other man. He was trying to think of a really good insult so he could go down like a fearless, insouciant Englishman. Strange that events had brought him back here to die. But he’d had the best weeks of his life since Cassie rescued him.

That gave him an idea. Instead of an insult, he said lazily, “It will horrify you to know that I’m not only a much better man for my imprisonment, but in the months since I was freed, I’ve had a lifetime’s worth of happiness.”

“You’ll have no more!” Durand stared down the barrel of his pistol with narrowed eyes. “Shall I shoot you in the knee so it will take you days to die in screaming agony? Or should I put a bullet in your heart and end this nonsense?”

“You’re giving me a choice? How gentlemanly of you.” Grey gave a brief, ironic bow. “I’ll have to think about this. Though I might survive being shot in the knee, if I don’t, it’s a nasty way to die. But being shot in the heart is so very final.”

“I’m not giving you a choice, you bloody Englishman!” Durand snarled.

He was steadying his aim when a dark figure walked past Grey. Dear heaven, Père Laurent! The old priest looked disreputable, but his head was high.

In a rich voice that could fill a church, he said, “Don’t kill another innocent man, Claude. You have enough sins on your soul.”

Durand’s pistol began wavering. “Get away from me, you vile old man! You are not my judge!”

“I was merely your confessor,” Père Laurent said calmly as he stepped between Durand and Grey. “God is your judge, but a merciful one. Redemption is possible even for the great sinners if there is true contrition. Repent before it is too late.”

“I am damned already!” Durand squeezed the trigger. At the same instant, a dagger flew out of the darkness behind Grey and sliced into Durand’s hand. Cassie.

Durand swore and his hand jerked as the pistol fired. The blast echoed between the walls as Père Laurent crumpled to the ground.

Père Laurent! Feeling as if the dagger had struck his own heart, Grey hurled himself past the priest and tackled Durand before the devil could reload his pistol. Grey and Père Laurent might be doomed, but Grey would damned well take Durand with them.

They flailed across the ground in a tangle of fists and thrashing limbs. As the sergeant yelled at his men not to fire because they might kill the wrong man, Durand hissed, “You stupid decadent goddam! Do you think you can escape alive?”

“Probably not.” Grey remembered the time they’d fought before when Grey had been weakened from his imprisonment. Durand was still surprisingly strong for a man his age, and a tough, dirty fighter, but now Grey was stronger and in a killing rage. “But I’m not going alone!”

He locked his hands around Durand’s throat, cutting off a stream of obscenity. From the corner of his eye, he saw the soldiers approaching to pull the fighters apart. It was time to end this. “In the name of justice, I execute you, Claude Durand!”

He twisted the older man’s neck. There was an audible snap, and the light of life vanished from Durand’s eyes.

A moment later rough hands seized him and dragged him to his feet. The sergeant flung up his rifle and aimed at Grey’s chest at point-blank range. Grey felt no fear, and only one regret. I should have told Cassie I love her.

The sergeant was cocking his rifle when a powerful woman’s voice called, “Halt! Do not shoot this man!”

Grey and Durand’s soldiers all snapped their gazes toward the voice. A tall, full-figured woman was rushing toward them, a cape billowing around her. A dark angel silhouetted against a burning shed.

She stopped ten feet from Grey, panting for breath. “No more shooting, no more violence! Not if you and your men wish to be paid for your work here. I’ll add a bonus for everyone if you obey now.”

The sergeant sputtered, “Madame, this pig murdered your husband! A government minister!”

“The man was acting in self-defense.” Camille stared at her husband’s body. Crossing herself, she added, “Durand shot a priest. He refused God’s mercy, and received God’s punishment.”

Grey was released, though he heard muttered cursing. But since these men were mercenaries, the promise of money was enough to buy their cooperation.

“Sergeant Dupuy, gather your men to fight the fire,” Camille ordered. “This castle has stood for five centuries. I don’t want to see it burn tonight.” She swallowed convulsively. “Tell the castle steward to take my husband’s body to the chapel and have the estate carpenter make a coffin.”

Scowling, Dupuy gathered his men with a glance and headed toward the fires. Grey bowed deeply to his savior. “My most profound thanks, Madame Durand.”

“Grey. It’s been a long time,” she said quietly. “I prefer you call me Camille.”

“You look well, Camille.” And she did. Fuller of figure, touches of silver in her dark hair, but still a handsome woman. “I’m sorry you had to see your husband killed.”

“I’m not.” Her face worked as she struggled to maintain her composure. “There was … much between us, but he was a monster.”

Grey caught a motion from the corner of his eyes and turned to see Cassie helping Père Laurent to his feet. “Père Laurent, you’re alive!”

“Indeed I am, and barely touched by the bullet.” He patted Cassie’s supportive hand. “Madame Renard’s knife ruined Durand’s shot, but because I am old, a grazed shoulder was enough to knock me down.”

“God be thanked!” Camille caught hold of the priest’s hands. “I swear I didn’t know what Durand did to you and Lord Wyndham. He never told me, and I never came to the castle because I dislike it.”

“This has not been a happy place,” Père Laurent agreed. She surveyed the bleak stone walls with a shudder. “I much prefer Paris. But Durand insisted I come this time because there was something here to amuse me.”

Durand had wanted her to see Grey and Père Laurent die. It sounded like the man was deeply twisted, and he compelled his wife to witness his mad whims.

“I never believed that you condoned his behavior,” the priest said soothingly.

Camille released the priest’s hands and turned to Grey. “I’m sorry, my golden boy. I never thought a bit of amusement would have such terrible repercussions.” Her mouth twisted. “Durand was aroused by my indiscretions. But I should have known not to take an Englishman to my bed. That he could not bear.”

It was altogether too French for Grey. He took her hand and bent to kiss it lightly. “There is no need for apologies. We both erred. That is the past. What matters is the present. Can Père Laurent’s niece and her family go home safely with no repercussions?”

“Of course. They never should have been imprisoned. You may borrow a carriage to get them home. Père Laurent, will you stay till morning? Your wound should be seen to, and I am in dire need of confession.” Camille’s gaze moved to Durand’s body again. “Also … there is a funeral to be arranged.”