“Fabron . . . won’t be going anywhere.” She wiped her mouth again as she turned to go around the guardhouse.
Ruthlessly suppressing his concern for her, he set the rifle down and hauled one end of the barricade out of the roadway so travelers could pass if they came by. Most people would be so glad to avoid paying the toll that they wouldn’t look around for toll keepers or soldiers.
Next he dragged Berger into the guardhouse and dropped him to one side before he turned to the cot to examine the sergeant’s body. Simon’s gut clenched and he understood why Suzanne had been so sick. The man’s breeches were unfastened, revealing a mass of bloody tissue. There were a dozen other stab wounds in the massive body, one a slash across his throat. So much blood . . .
He drew a long, shaken breath, forcing himself not to look away. He guessed that Suzanne had gone temporarily berserk after Fabron had “handled” her. That had driven her to this frenzied retaliation for all she had endured at the hands of men.
He ached at the knowledge that his wife had been forced to such violence.
Face grim, he retrieved the two French rifles from outside and set them behind the guardhouse before dragging the still unconscious Lamont inside to join his fellows. As he’d hoped, Suzanne was in the paddock talking to the dapple gray, which required her to calm down and speak softly so as not to alarm the beast.
A quick, efficient search of the French soldiers indicated that Lamont and Berger would survive, though their injuries would keep them off the battlefield for a while. He collected all their weapons, along with a canvas bag containing bread, cheese, sausages, and a jug of wine.
He also took all the blankets except the blood-saturated one under Fabron and carried them outside with the weapons and food. Suzanne had coaxed the gelding close enough to get hold of its bridle. Hearing Simon, she turned, her green eyes huge and stark as she waited for her husband to recoil with loathing or rage.
Simon said only, “He deserved it.” Then he entered the shed. Inside he found the gray’s saddle and a set of sizable saddlebags. Military equipment. As he emerged with both, he said, “You can ride this fellow and I’ll ride the piebald carriage horse. It will be awkward since he’s not trained for riding, but he’s a docile beast and I can manage him. We can lead the other horse. I don’t want to leave any horses here in case one of the soldiers wakes up soon and wants to pursue us.”
“We can use the other carriage horse as a pack animal,” she said, leaning her forehead into the gray’s neck. She looked numb and achingly fragile.
“Good idea. While I pack everything we need, you should sit down and rest,” he said gently. “We have some hard riding ahead of us.”
She nodded and settled on a crude bench set against the back wall of the guardhouse. She barely had time to lean back before they heard the sound of a heavy wagon approaching along the road. They both stiffened.
A hoarse voice said cheerfully, “A bit o’ luck here! No one on duty at this tollbooth. Let’s get on by before the keeper returns.”
Simon and Suzanne held still, barely breathing, until the crunch of wagon wheels had faded from hearing. Suzanne drew a deep breath and got to her feet. “I assume we’ll travel cross country until we’re back in Belgium. Do you know the way?”
“I’ve been studying maps since I arrived in Brussels and I have a compass if necessary, but all we need to do is head north and avoid French troops and barricades,” he replied as he started saddling the gray. “Belgium isn’t far. We’ll probably have to spend tonight in a French barn, but tomorrow we’ll be back in Brussels.”
She nodded mutely and began hauling their bags from the small carriage.
Working together, they were soon ready to leave. They hadn’t taken much luggage to Paris, but enough that it was convenient to have a pack animal. Simon folded one of the blankets to make a riding pad for the bay. The other blankets he wrapped around the rifles to disguise what they were.
When everything was packed, he helped Suzanne into the gray’s saddle. Since she was riding astride, her bloodstained scarlet skirts fell untidily over her knees and revealed her ankles. She seemed barely aware of that. She could change into clean clothing later, but now it was more important to leave this place of blood and violence.
They set off north, leaving the carnage behind them. But Simon knew that neither of them would ever forget.
Chapter 32
Suzanne rode north through lanes and fields, following Simon blindly and barely aware of her surroundings. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of terror and blood.
Efficient as always, Simon found them an isolated barn with enough hay for the horses and a rain-filled livestock watering trough where she could wash up. As she did, images of Lady Macbeth trying to wash the blood off her hands filled her mind.
Simon helped her as if she was a child unable to manage, including giving her a shirt and his spare pair of trousers to wear because she’d be riding astride again the next day. The clothing was enormous on her, but it was comforting to wear his things. She was also glad that she didn’t look at all like a woman.
After she had washed and changed, she found that he’d groomed the horses, then made a comfortable nest for them with a blanket spread over a deep pile of straw. “Sit down and have something to eat before sleeping. Do you want to start with some wine?”
He offered her a jug but she shook her head. Fabron had smelled of sour wine . . .
Not questioning her reaction, he passed her a piece of slightly stale bread with a slab of good cheese on top. She realized that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast at the inn, and the food helped steady her.
Dead men’s food . . .
Suppressing the thought, she followed the bread and cheese with a swallow of the wine. A merciful white, not blood red. She wondered if she’d ever be able to drink red wine again.
They ate and drank without speaking and watched the sun slide below the horizon. The sunset was beautiful. And blood red . . .
She decided she’d had enough to eat.
