“What? What is it?” Merrick demanded.
“Something the men who captured me said. I didn’t pay it any attention, but now…”
“What?” he asked again, frustration edging his voice.
“They were talking amongst themselves, saying how important it was they get the map into the right hands before ‘he’ made his escape. That once he was ‘back’, France would return to its former glory.”
She turned and stared at Merrick in horror. “Do you suppose ‘he’ could be Bonaparte?”
Chapter Thirteen
Simon stared at her, unable to voice the flood of questions that ripped through him. No. It was too fantastical to even contemplate. Napoleon had been banished to Elba, and he remained there under British guard.
A secret alliance was to be forged between France and England at the Congress of Vienna, so it just didn’t make sense that France would be behind the incident in Leaudor. Unless they had no intention of honoring the treaty.
If there was a plot for Napoleon’s escape, then the whole dynamic changed. If a group of loyalists was behind the upheaval in Leaudor, it would explain a lot. Including the desire for England to be implicated in the assassinations.
But it still didn’t make sense. What could control of Leaudor possibly gain them? Unless it was to unravel any tenuous trust forged between England and France and pave the way for Napoleon’s return. A dark sense of foreboding seized him, and a chill trickled down his spine.
Could Isabella have stumbled upon something? Dare he send word to the crown of their suspicions? He would likely be dismissed as a bedlamite, but his duty was to report any suspicions, any threat to the crown, no matter how minute.
He would at least get word to Kirk, then he would continue on to Leaudor with Isabella where he hoped to learn exactly what the motivation was for any French involvement. And by returning her to the throne, he would bring much needed stability to the country.
“I don’t know,” he said, finally responding to Isabella’s horrified question. “There are a lot of unanswered questions. It is more imperative than ever that we return you to Leaudor immediately so we can undermine whatever plot is afoot.”
“I can have my ship ready in a day,” the captain interjected. “You and Her Highness could stay here and board in the dead of night. I could start a few rumors of my own in town that you came to me and I refused you transport because I planned to sail down the southern coast. Sent you to another port town further north.”
“That is a very sound idea,” Simon said, looking gratefully at the older man.
“You will be very well compensated,” Isabella said to the captain.
“I wouldn’t dream of accepting money from you, Your Highness,” he said solemnly. “Returning Leaudor to its former glory would be payment enough for me. The trade ports have pretty much been shut down since Montagne took over. I assumed it was to protect Leaudor from possible invasion, but I suppose it was to capture you if you tried to return.” He looked regretfully at Isabella as he finished his statement.
“I won’t forget your kindness,” she said softly. “Or your service to Leaudor.”
“If I am going to rig my ship for sail, I’ll have to venture into town and round up a small crew of men I trust. And I’ll have to do it as discreetly as possible if we don’t want it to get out that I’m sailing to Leaudor. I’ll return when all is ready. In the meantime, put your horse in the stable behind the house and lay low.”
Simon shook the captain’s hand. “Thank you. England will not forget your service either.”
Captain Martin chuckled and shoved his hat back onto his head. “Who knew an old captain such as me would end up doing something so important?”
He shuffled out of the cottage and closed the door firmly behind him.
Simon turned to Isabella. “Come here and let me look at your injuries.”
She colored slightly as if uncomfortable with his attention. “They are not severe.”
“Still, they need attention.”
He sat her down in front of the fire, selected a cloth from the small kitchen and dampened it with water from the nearby pitcher. Returning to where she sat, he gently rubbed the dried blood from her neck.
The bruise on her cheek, just under her right eye, had darkened to purple. He brushed a feathery kiss across the spot, delighting in the feel of her skin beneath his lips.
“This is more complicated than I dreamed,” she mumbled. She bit her bottom lip in consternation, and her face was rife with conflict.
“We’ll set it to rights,” he vowed, wishing to wipe the anguish from her voice.
“Thank you,” she said raggedly, smiling up at him. She placed her slim hand on his face, and he resisted the urge to nuzzle farther into her palm.
