“Fernsby is God knows where, but he’s the only proper soldier among us and he understands the risk of a personal vendetta. Gabriel will have, hopefully, located the dungeon by now. Without knowing the precise layout of this castle, we’re assuming that any stairwell leading downward is a good start. I’ll try to assist.”
“But your proficiency with French,” Dani worried.
“This tunic and the short trousers cast me squarely among the kitchen help. I’ll be expected to listen, not speak. Trust me,Iam not the worry here. Be careful, Danielle, Marie.Promise me.No risk-taking, no heroics, find Bannock and get out.”
“I understand,” Dani assured him. In the same moment, Marie told him,“Go.”
Chapter 25
Luke was shoved against the wall by a shallow-chested guard, and of course he allowed it. Passivity did not come easily, but it was part of the act. He was dressed like a member of the band who’d lost his way. In reality, he buzzed with combat energy, and he’d like nothing more than to tussle with a guard. But members of the band did not challenge the watch; they complied. They apologized. They pretended to be drunk and lost.
“What’s your business so far from the ballroom?” the guard shouted in Luke’s ear. Luke forced himself to cower against the wall.
“Thought you’d give yourself a tour of the castle, did you?” the guard went on. He spun Luke, pressing his face against the rough stones. The young guard had been alone when he’d come upon Luke, but they usually canvassed these passages in pairs. Luke could handle the guard if his partner remained absent, but there were no guarantees.
Luke had only been stopped because he’d been darting through the shadows like a bloody assassin. Sloppy. His desire for revenge had obscured his common sense. He must slow down; he must look like a musician. Linus had been, thank God, located, and collected and carried out; but he needed medical attention, and fresh water and clean clothes. Luke’s men were hustling him to safety and arranging for this and Luke was on the prowl for Vincent Surcouf. He needed only a quarter hour more.
“Answer me!” the guard was shouting.
“Lavigne?” called a second voice behind him. “What’s happened? Who’s that?”
Luke craned to see. Another guard trotted up, a hand on his blade.Damn.
“Musician,” said the first guard. “I came upon him scurrying from the stairwell like a rat.”
“Musician?” asked the second guard, leaning in close. He snarled in Luke’s ear, “What’s the rush, Fiddler?”
“Aye,” said the first guard. “And where’s your instrument?”
“You know who runs when there’s no chase?” asked the second guard. “A thief, that’s who. He’s stolen something, I reckon. Step away from the wall, Fiddler.”
Luke ignored him, choreographing a fistfight in his head. This would not be his first time to fight two men at once, but it was hardly his preferred scenario. And where there were two guards, there were sure to be more. He was just about to shove away from the wall and spin with a roundhouse kick when a woman’s scream rang through the passage.
“Aidez!”Help.
The choreography in Luke’s head dissolved. He knew that voice.
“Aidez-moi!”Help me, the voice cried again. Again, he knew it. Undeniably, unmistakably. It was a voice he heard in his dreams at night.
And she was crying for help.
Luke shrugged off the hulking guard and pushed from the wall. The man was distracted by the siren song of a young woman in distress, and he fell easily away.
Luke ducked right, keeping out of the man’s reach, and squinted into the dim passage. Why, in God’s name, wouldhiswifebe in France? And if shewasin France—which shewould not, could notbe—why would she be in the rabbit warren of corridors deep in this castle, calling for help?
He took a step toward the sound...
“Guards!” the voice shouted in French.
Without hesitation, the two guards scrambled after the sound, leaving Luke behind. He bolted after them, his heart in his throat. The voice sounded like it came from just around the corner. The guards made the turn, Luke close behind. Meanwhile, his brain told him to embrace the distraction, run the other way. There was no reason for Danielle to be in France, in this castle, now. Danielle was safely—
For as long as he lived, Luke would never forget the vision that greeted him around the corner.
His wife—oh yes, he’d not misheard—his wife, Danielle Allard d’Orleans Bannock, stood in a pool of light cast by hanging lanterns. She wore a gossamer gown of silvery white and the crown he’d given her on their wedding day. Her hands were raised like someone pantomiming the wordCome.She looked ethereal and regal and unforgettably beautiful. She also looked like she was in the wrong country, at the worst possible time, drawing unnecessary attention to herself.
She did not, at first glance, look like she required help.
And yet—
