“I don’t want to separate,” Dani declared, “but I’ll go if it means you have a better chance.”
Luke was nodding. “A second benefit of Fernsby attacking Surcouf is the remarkable distraction of it. Dead or alive, they’ll spend a half hour trying to revive him. After that, the chain of command will be in question. We must vanish. When they sort it all out, men will be dispatched to the forest and a manhunt will ensue. Then all of us will be hunted like dogs. We must get out of this castle and after that, we must be gone from the countryside by morning. Tomorrow, on a boat to Dover. There’s not a moment to spare.”
He took her by the shoulders. “Promise—”
“I promise, I promise,” Dani cut in, grabbing his wrists. “I’m going. And you, too. Find us by the fork in the stream, like I said. We’ll ride tonight. As soon as you come, we’ll ride.”
“I love you, Princess,” he said, pressing a hard kiss on her lips.
Dani closed her eyes, absorbing the kiss. When she opened them, he was gone. The potted plant trembled where he’d stood.
“Ready, Highness?” Marie asked.
“Yes, Marie. Let’s go home.”
Chapter 30
“Will you sleep?” Luke asked Linus Welty, dimming the lantern in the small cabin. His surrogate father was propped in the bunk, tracing the planks of wood with a bony finger. The old man looked, to Luke’s worried eyes, like a half-starved string of bones. One swift wind would snap him in two. How he’d managed to stay alive in Surcouf’s dungeon, Luke had no idea.
Luke had hired a wagon to transport Linus to Calais after he recovered him; but the old man was so very slight, Luke had ridden with him slumped on the same horse. They were in a race to the coast, and they made far better time with no vehicle.
Fernsby, God love him, had flanked him, and the three of them had torn through the forest, keeping clear of the roads, praying that Dani and her party were making the same progress. After Luke had fled the castle, he’d made his way to his team of hired men. Poor Linus hadn’t been moved from the trunk in which they’d smuggled him out. Luke dispatched the mercenaries to serve as decoys. He bade the men move slowly, clumsily, through the forest in the opposite direction, drawing the French patrols away. When Linus was stable in Luke’s saddle, they’d made their way to Dani at Killian’s rendezvous point.
The relief he’d felt when he’d seen her was like the first breath of air after a near drowning. It had been life-giving, and dizzying, and unaccustomed tears had filled his eyes. He’d nearly fallen from his horse and taken Linus down with him. She’d run to him, spooking the animal, and he’d leaned down to catch her against his knee while the horse danced and spun.
With Surcouf’s castle in an uproar and a manhunt underway, there had been no time for more of a reunion. Luke’s priority—in fact, everyone’s priority—was to vacate the forest and sprint to the coast.
Traveling in twos and threes had been safer than plowing through the forest in a pack, so Dani had ridden with Killian Crewes and Sister Marie. Luke traveled with Linus on his horse and Fernsby beside. Only Dani’s brother, Gabriel, had set out alone, riding over the Orleans lands as he went.
The seven of them had convened outside of Calais by sunrise, and Marie had led them to a convent that could harbor them long enough to eat and wash. The nuns provided care to Linus’s most pressing damage after the year of neglect.
The final freedom had been this sailing from Calais across the Channel to Dover. A month ago, Luke had bought and stored a small vessel with the idea to sail it to England himself—but that was before he’d taken on five comrades. There wasn’t room for everyone. Buying a larger boat was a public enterprise that would cultivate gossip on the docks. Also, it would take time, and they must leave France at once. There was a daily public packet with room for everyone, but it would mean aliases, boarding separately, and blending in with the crowd. A sick old man was difficult to disguise; likewise a beautiful young woman. What Luke and Killian really wanted from the crossing was to disappear with no trace.
In the end, Luke made a chance encounter with the young smuggler who’d sold him Danielle’s crown. The boy’s boat was modest but, according to the smuggler, very fast. Best of all, he agreed to sail as soon as their party could convene at the wharf. Luke paid the smuggler in advance, praying he wouldn’t double-cross him, and returned to the convent to rally their party. True to his word, the boy had waited; by sunset, they sailed for Dover.
The smuggler’s schooner was fast, but there were only two cabins. Luke had settled Linus in one of them. He told Dani, who’d endured a week of breakneck travel and a castle siege, to rest in the second. The journey to England was six hours, and she could sleep while the men kept watch. Luke intended to join them on deck as soon as he saw Linus settled.
“A well-built schooner,” Linus was telling Luke now, his voice creaky, “but the fastening will need to be replaced before the end of the year.”
“With the money I’m paying the young captain for passage, he can see the repairs made tomorrow, I’d wager.”
“We can help him,” suggested Linus. “If he has time to sail to my workshop in Helford, I can see to it myself.”
“Remember L, I don’t intend for us to return to Helford. I’ve been given an estate in Kent. I’ve been married. I hope to make a go of life”—he sighed—“inland.
I’ve plans for a new workshop for you, L. In Kent.”
“Oh yes,” whispered Linus, his voice a wheeze,“the girl.”
Luke chuckled. It had been a struggle to explain to Linus how he’d acquired a wife while the old man was a prisoner. Luke had found the words, admitting his incredible guilt and worry about the conditions inside the dungeon, about his plan to marry Surcouf’s French princess, about falling in love instead. The story had—as Luke suspected—delighted the old man. Linus had always been sentimental and selfless; he’d always wanted Luke to find a girl.
Now a knock sounded. Luke turned the knob, allowing the door to swing open.
The girlin question stood in the doorway. Luke had been expecting Fernsby, and he shoved up.
“Danielle,” he said. Their relationship was so very new, Luke felt a little startled every time he saw her. His mind went through the confusing geometry that had made her his wife—his willing, eager, proper wife. He was forced to accept that she did things like beam at him, and reach for him, and seek him out behind the doors of boat cabins.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Danielle said, “but the nuns sent us away with far too much food. I would try again to tempt Mr. Welty with their bread and cheese?”
