Yes. Yes he would. He was walking away.
Ryan tested the ground in front of the rock—one foot, then the next foot, then the next. The forest floor was slick and uneven, but she been raised on the windswept cliffs of Guernsey. The island was steep and rocky, constantly doused by ocean squalls. She knew challenging trails. She knew storms. She knew survival.
“Right...” she began, speaking to herself, picking her way behind him. She stepped on a fallen branch and it snapped in two with apop. Ryan jumped, fell sideways, righted herself on a tree.
The man glanced back but said nothing. He turned and walked on. Ryan narrowed her eyes. What choice did she have but to follow? Gathering her skirts, she trudged after him.
After a long moment, he asked, “Why are you alone in the forest after dark?”
“Foolish mistake, I’m afraid,” she called. “I was out riding and lost my way. My maid and I have taken a room at the inn in Pewsey, and I borrowed a horse to have a closer look at the forest. I became disoriented in a clearing and couldn’t find the path. Eventually I came upon the road, but the sun set before I’d reached the end of it. I was navigating by moonlight.”
“With a storm coming.”
“Yes. The storm, the nightfall, the forest—which has been described to me ashauntedby more than one person. It was all very reckless.” She glanced at the sky. “But I’ve actually traveled from London to Savernake Forest on urgent business. I cannot be deterred by weather or ghosts.”
If she thought he would ask her the nature of this business, she was mistaken. If she thought he would congratulate her courage, he did not. He walked on in silence.
Naturally, the silence compelled her to explain. “London is actually only half the distance I’ve traveled. If I’m being honest. I hail from the Channel Islands. I set out from Guernsey nearly a fortnight ago.”
Finally, he asked, “What’s your business in Savernake Forest?”
“I’m in search of a man.” Why not tell him the truth? Her intention was to leave no stone unturned.
He made no response and she pressed on, “I’ve been told he makes his home in the wood. Honestly, I’m desperate enough to askyouabout him. You are local to the area, I presume, considering your... er, camp. Perhaps you know him. He’s called Gabriel d’Orleans? He’s a Frenchman—that is, he left France when he was a boy, and he’s come of age in Britain. His last known location was...” and now she looked out at the misty, moon-bathed forest, crinkling her nose “...here. In this forest. Generally speaking. Regretfully, I’ve no specific direction.”
The man stopped walking. His stillness was so sudden and so unexpected, Ryan almost collided with his back. She made a little yelp and jumped out of the way. Had he seen a snake, she wondered. Or a boghole? The highwaymen?
“Sir?” she asked carefully.
He stood motionless before her, shoulders raised, gloved hands balled into fists at his sides. When, finally, he began to walk again, he did not look back.
“I was mistaken to think my camp would be suitable for a woman,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to the corner of the village instead. You can make your way to the inn from there.”
“Oh,” said Ryan, surprised by this sudden accommodation. “Very well. If that is what you prefer. I’m in your debt—truly.”
He made no reply. Ryan trudged silently behindhim, watching him open and close his hands. Lightning pulsed in the sky but he didn’t look up; his gaze was fixed on the horizon. His stride lengthened. Ryan scrambled to follow, swatting at limbs and yanking at her cloak. If she didn’t keep up, he would leave her—of this, she had no doubt. He’d hardly been pleasant, but now he appeared agitated, almost angry. Unless she was mistaken, he was running away from her.
Ryan cleared her throat. “Forgive me, but I would be remiss if I didn’t ask again. This man, Gabriel d’Orleans, but doyouknow him? If not, have you heard tell of him? And if you have heard of him, do you know where he can be found?”
“No,” he said.
“No you don’t know him, or no you don’t know where he is?”
“Gabriel d’Orleans,” the man said, “is dead.”
Chapter Five
The words were out of Gabriel’s mouth before he could stop them, stones he couldn’t unthrow.
“Dead?” repeated the woman behind him. “But are you certain? Youknew him?YouknewGabriel d’Orleans?”
They were coming to the ridge above the River Kennet. Gabriel considered lowering himself over the edge—simply swinging down and climbing to the water. The fog would swallow him up, and he would swim to his camp. This woman and her questions and her screams would live on without him. She would be frightened and confused, but eventually someone would find her. He’d saved her from Meade, it was enough.
“Butwhendid he die?” she asked, her tone suddenly razor-sharp.
He ignored this question and weighed the odds. Was it possible she wasn’t the only person looking for Gabriel d’Orleans? She could be one woman alone, or there could be a bloody manhunt. For years, Gabriel had evaded government trackers and palace spies and even his own sister. He’d not hidden for years to be discovered now.
“How did he die? And when?” she pressed.
