She shook her head, whether in denial or defeat, he couldn’t tell.When she turned back to face him, tears streaked her cheeks, and her blue eyes shimmered like the Bristol blue glass his mother was so fond of.
“I must go.My parents will start to worry.”Her voice broke on the last word.“They think I’m ...I’m visiting the poor in the village.”
“Lise, wait —”
But she was already moving, gathering her skirts and hurrying toward the horse that would take her out of his life forever.For a heartbeat, Jonathan watched her retreat.
Over her shoulder, she called back.“I hope you don’t think too badly of me.”
Instinct took over.He couldn’t let her go alone.Not like this.Not through a forest where French patrols might be lurking.He had a gun, given to him by Herr von Ostenfeld.The least he could do was protect the man’s daughter after ruining her so thoroughly.
Thus, moving as swiftly as he could, Jonathan easily kept up with them, since the horse could do little but walk or trot through the thickly grown forest.Cantering would be hazardous.Lise never seemed to realize he was there.
Under any other circumstances, he might have appreciated the beautiful vision of her blue cloak contrasting with the roan horse, as it moved in and out of the dappled light.Instead, all he could think about was losing the woman riding ahead of him, the taste of her still on his lips, the scent of her yet clinging to his skin.
He hated this.Hated skulking through the forest like a coward while she traveled alone.Hated that he couldn’t simply escort her properly back to her father’s house.Hated this slow, secretive war and Bonaparte’s cruel Continental System and every circumstance that conspired to keep him apart from Lise.
Most of all, Jonathan hated the helpless feeling that had settled in his chest.He was the heir to an earldom, a man of education and some accomplishment, a commissioned surveyor in His Majesty’s employ.Yet he could do nothing to protect the woman he loved from the consequences of loving him in return.
The forest began to thin as they approached the edge of it, near the lane.He could go no farther.Frustrated, he watched her continue, not even pausing at the tree line before she turned for home.
Lise didn’t look back, not once.Her honeyed hair caught the slanting sun one last time and then she disappeared from his sight.He wanted to howl.He wanted to race after her.But any impulsive action he took, such as approaching the von Ostenfeld’s estate, only put the family in more danger and negated everything her father had already done for him.
The walk back to his makeshift camp near the oak felt longer than it ought to.Every step through the richly scented forest, deeply quiet apart from bird calls and his own footsteps, took him farther from Lise.The increasing distance felt like a physical pain in his body.
And then, he nearly stumbled over a basket that Lise must have left, setting it down when she’d first dismounted.In it, he found an entire loaf of bread, a square of cheese, slices of meat, and beer.A ball of unmanly and unexpected emotion welled up, making him pinch his nose to try to stem the tide.
“What the hell,” he muttered aloud, letting a few tears fall, since he was alone in the Dodau Forest.Returning to the secret enclosure, he set the basket down on the blanket.It looked like a lovers’ picnic, when it was merely the provisions of a fugitive.
The plan was for Jonathan to remain there until someone came to transport him to the Elbe.As though he was an invalid, or much worse, like he was impotent or unable to help himself.It was not the way he usually related to the world, and he didn’t care for it, not at all.
Night fell slowly.When his stomach started to growl, he carried his makeshift supper back through the rock passage and sat leaning against the Great Oak’s ancient trunk.
Tearing off chunks of bread, eating them slowly, he watched darkness claim the forest around him.Somewhere out there, Lise was in her home.Was she crying?Regretting what they’d done?Or did her resolve remain as firm as ever, her sense of duty untouched by the possibility of a babe?
Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes momentarily, he groaned.A child.Sweet Christ.The thought terrified and exhilarated him in equal measure.He pictured a son or daughter with Lise’s light brown hair and quick mind and hopefully her blue eyes, not his ugly gray ones.
If a boy, his heir would grow up in a foreign land, never knowing his father, never claiming his rightful place.A daughter, too, would have been entirely loved by him if he ever was given the chance to know her.Somewhere in the back of his mind, or maybe in a corner of his heart, Jonathan knew he couldn’t let his child live in ignominy.He would write to Lise and ask for the truth, whether anything had come of their reckless act.
And if it had, then he would make demands.
Shaking his head, he realized she was correct.He was getting ahead of the moment.This afternoon might be all they’d ever have, resulting in nothing but a broken man and a bittersweet memory that would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Sleep, when it finally came, was fitful and filled with dreams of Lise.He woke to the sound of an owl’s screech and lay shivering in the pre-dawn cold until finally, mercifully, he heard footsteps.And then he heard his name from an unfamiliar voice, but not one with a French accent.
“Bowen, are you there?”
Not the blacksmith who’d dropped him off, a stranger met him when he slipped out of hiding, leaving the basket but taking the blanket.
“I’m Wilhelm, my lord.Come with me.”
Jonathan learned the man was a farmer, one of the von Ostenfelds’ tenants, a man whose family had worked this land for four generations and whose loyalty to his landlord was absolute.Wilhelm asked him no questions, as they walked out of the forest to where the wagon waited in the lane.
It looked smaller than Jonathan might’ve hoped for, considering he’d be in the back for at least three days.The farmer gestured with his head to where grain sacks were piled in neat stacks.
“You’ll have to go in the middle, down on the boards,” Wilhelm said in his soft-spoken low-German.“I’ll cover you over.I’ve got a few sacks that aren’t full of rye alone, but also some hay at the bottom.I don’t want to be the one to smother an English lord.”The farmer chuckled, amused at Jonathan’s expense.
Climbing into the wagon, he realized the space allotted to him would not accommodate the girth of his shoulders if he lay on his back.Tossing the blanket down first onto the rough-hewn wagon boards, Jonathan hoped he would catch Lise’s scent on it for the duration of this miserable journey.
