“When last she knew me, I was a prince,” he said. “Now—now I don’t even know how to help a woman onto a horse.”
“Oh, yes, well...” Ryan was beginning to understand. “Please be advised, I’ve never been helped onto a horse by a gentleman before. I’m accustomed to grooms.”
He didn’t answer, and they fell quiet. Only the plod of hooves and birdcall filled the void. All around them, the forest was a lush tunnel of green. It dripped with vines and swayed with feathery groundcover that bent easily under the horses. Ryan saw the wildness, she registered the beauty, but she didn’t care. She repeated his words in her head.I’m not prepared for her to see what I’ve become.
In her view, Gabriel had not transformed in such a way that his own sister would not welcome him. He was hardly a London dandy or a country squire, but she’d found no objection with him. Obviously. Quite the contrary; if pressed, she would say he was magnificent. Was Princess Elise, whomever she was, so judgmental that she’d rathernotsee her brother than see his evolution?
They came to a brook and Gabriel allowed his stallion to drink. Ryan’s mare dipped her head but clomped into the water to take the clearest depths.
After a moment, Gabriel said, “I was not meant to exile with Samuel Rein.”
“No?”
“No. When I fled France, the arrangement was to exile in Marlborough. I’ll—” A deep breath. “I’ll tell you what happened.Thenyou may form your opinion. About me.”
“I’m no judge of circumstances, Gabriel,” she said. “What I value is honesty. When someone reveals his true self, I’m rather at their mercy.”
“Do not place yourself at my mercy, Lady Ryan.”
Too late for that, Ryan thought miserably.Too late.
Chapter Fourteen
He would say it very quickly. An overview. The bits that provided an overview.
They were ten minutes from the edge of the wood. He could devote five to his history and use the remaining five to tell her again about the money and his letter for Elise. Five minutes to say it would be sufficient. He owed her nothing more than general motivations for his life’s choices. After that, they’d part ways. She could form her opinion and remember him accordingly. She could report to his sister that he was a man living life on his own terms. Or not. Whatever she wanted. It wouldn’t matter. She would be gone.
She glanced to him, eyebrows raised, waiting. He’d seen that expression before. Expectant; almost hopeful. A stab of something sharp and uncomfortable pierced his heart. He fixed his eyes on the trail ahead. He lifted his hat and then reseated it. He gripped the reins.
“My life and the challenges I face are...” he began “...they’re no greater than what you face.”
“Well, let us not make it a contest.”
He closed his eyes and snorted. She was clever. She was clever and generous and she had a serene,steady quality. She was like cool shade on a hot day. He wanted to nudge his horse closer and bask in it. He wanted to unseat her and settle her in his lap. He wanted to turn their horses around and take her back to his camp and keep her.
And now he was thinking like the reclusive, forest dweller. Which he was, honestly, so what did it matter? He cleared his throat.
“I was ten years old when my sisters and I were taken into hiding in England,” he said. “Elise was taken by a nun. I was taken by a soldier. I cannot say what happened to our baby sister, Danielle. According to Elise’s letters, no one will tell her where Dani was taken or by whom. This is another example of the control exerted over anyone with royal blood. The location of an exiled baby has been concealed. And for what? Sometimes, we’re controlled by what is said; other times, we’re controlled by what is not said.”
“Control exerted by whom?” she asked gently.
“Family. Loyalists. Advisors. Counselors. Tradition. History. Allies. Enemies. Anyone with a stake in power.”
“Your bitterness and frustration are justified,” she said, “but your change of heart is fascinating to me. When we were children, you seemed so very proud of your title. You seemed in awe of your father.”
“Forest life afforded me ample time to read, and I became a student of history and government and philosophy. And I witnessed the brutal execution of that father. Even at my young age, I knew his only crime was being a prince. Our family was torn apart—never to be restored. Danielle was not three years old when she entered exile. She’s been lost to us since then.”
“Your sister was very young, indeed,” said Ryan, “but you were hardly grown. To be taken from your family at the age of ten? You were a child.”
He shrugged his shoulders. Must he say what happened, and how it shaped his views, and also how it made him feel?
“This had to be the same year your family visited us at Winscombe,” she said. “You were ten and I was nine when we—when I last saw you. My memory of it is patchy, but I remember.”
“Aye,” he said. “We visited Guernsey in the summer. The Revolution would not rage out of control until late autumn.”
“I know you were old enough to remember meeting me and to write letters. We’d already begun to correspond, hadn’t we? You were old enough to forge our friendship, to know royal protocol, but not old enough to survive in the larger world alone.”
“Well, here I am,” he said. “Some version of me has survived.”
