‘We thank you, Father.’ The first soldier said this, his smile wide and genuine. Each man bristled with weaponry which made a strange contrast to the homespun plainness of Shayborne’s priestly persona, yet he held them in the palm of his hand as he blessed them with charity, compassion and love. And then they passed, hailing a man further on, the street before them empty once again of threat.
‘Do you ever doubt yourself?’ Celeste’s voice shook because the fright was still there embedded in her skin, ice cold with fear. She seldom allowed herself to come so close to any soldiers.
He looked only perplexed. ‘This street has a cathedral and two small chapels, and when one operates within the boundaries of the expected there is seldom trouble.’
‘And further on? What happens then?’
‘We change into the next characters that make sense, allowing no chance of connection to the ones whom they see today.’
‘Because they might be able to remember us?’
‘No. Because they will. See that boy there, the one with the street urchins who lingers and watches us?’
She nodded.
‘His hands were softer than the rest and he did not reach for the bread with the same desperation as the others. He will report to his master tonight of our presence and that man will report to his handler at the very latest on the morrow. He will have seen which door we hailed from and after that it will be an easy leap from obscurity to recognition.’
‘They will find the gun?’
‘Aurelian will have taken that already and cleaned down the rooms. What will be spoken of is all the things that were not done. We did not pray at the cathedral. We did not take a bed in the house of the Lord for the night or attend a mass. What is expected is always more powerful than what isn’t and any digression will lead to questions.’
Celeste glanced at the sky. A little after eight in the morning. The sweat trickled between her breasts and soaked the lawn of her camisole beneath her armpits.
‘Which way should we go, then?’ Suddenly she felt afraid.
‘Which way would you go?’ The question surprised her.
‘Towards the south. They would not expect to find us heading there.’
‘Very well.’
He handed her the skin of water and she drank because the day was becoming hotter by the moment and because suddenly all she could think of was his large body against her own in the night, taut, muscled and warm.
‘We will be safe, Celeste. Don’t worry.’
She could not say to him that the reason for her frown was the memory of those hidden hours beside him, of those moments of being suspended into only feeling, the empty yawning holes of her life filled with something else. Joy, if she might name it, or delight. Usually sex simply provided a void of feeling and it had been so very long since she had known these other things.
So she said nothing and allowed him to think that she was frightened instead.
Twelve hours of daylight at least before they could lie together again in the safety of darkness. But would he want to? She had surprised him last night, she had seen it in his eyes and on his face and in the guardedness that had covered all his words today. Would he have other barriers up now, pre-warned as he was and watching? Would it be fair to go to him again after a difficult day of evading an enemy? Would she be one, too, for that matter? An enemy of a different sort, but broken and fragmented and impossible to make whole again?
She shook her head. She would not survive into the night if she was not focused and she needed all her wits around her if they were to reach safety in one piece.
She observed him as he walked and saw how he covered his limp with a gait that swung him from side to side. A birth defect? An injury long sustained and acknowledged? An impediment so noticeable none looked for the other hurt beneath. A further disguise.
This was how he had evaded capture in Portugal and Spain right under the noses of his enemy. By stealth and cunning and outright bravery. Even now he turned and smiled at her, the sun on his head showing up the small new bristles of blond and the depths in his eyes of velvet amber. The fear that had been a constant companion for so many years fell away under his competence, the chance of life shimmering through a curtain of disbelief.
They would head south on the road to Orléans and towards that wide and useful waterway of the Loire. There were barges they could board to keep them out of the public gaze until they arrived at Nantes, the island port of Brittany. The water was deep enough there for the American trade ships to anchor safely up the river and away from the British blockade. Celeste imagined Shayborne would easily be able to pretend to be an envoy of Madison or a citizen of the American states caught up in an unexpected war and seeking safety.
Perhaps they might even be stopped by a British man of war standing out to sea once they had passed out of the river mouth at St Nazaire? She had heard that they were there.
So many questions.
‘It will rain again later today and tomorrow as well by the looks of it.’ Summer was observing the sky and frowning.
‘A hot wet season,’ she answered, the talk of weather a neutral topic that at least allowed conversation.
They did not venture close to one another as they walked among the shadows of the buildings and through the archways that led to smaller streets, though every time they touched inadvertently she held her breath with hope.
