LeFevre’s black eyes never left Isobel’s face.
“We shall have to kill her, of course.”
Chapter Thirty-three
When do we sneak back to get Isobel?” Linnet asked.
Stephen sat with the twins and Jamie at a simple wooden table in the abbey guesthouse. While the other men were preparing to ride, he was giving Jamie a brief recounting of events and advising him of his plan.
“Youare not going, Linnet.” He wished he did not have to take François, either, but he needed the boy’s help to get into de Roche’s house. Damn, damn, damn.
Ignoring Linnet’s glower, he told Jamie, “I shall go back into the city after dark.”
“How many of us do you want to go with you?” Jamie asked.
“François and I will go alone. I need you to lead the men back to Caen.”
When Jamie started to object, Stephen held up his hand. “This is a command, Jamie. The king must be warned of the murder plot without delay. He needs to know of the Burgundians’ treachery. I shall follow as soon as I am able.”
How he would manage to get to Caen with Isobel and François he did not know. He would worry about that after he got Isobel out of de Roche’s house.
Jamie seemed resigned. Within a quarter hour, he had the men mounted and ready. Linnet was another story. Lips pressed tightly together, she refused even to bid Stephen and François good-bye before riding off with the men.
Stephen changed into his regular clothes and wiped mud onto his and François’s boots to give the illusion of long travel. At dark, they mounted and headed toward the city. A cold wind picked up with nightfall, giving them excuse to draw their hoods low and wrap their capes close about them as they approached the gates.
If the men at the gate thought the merchant on the fine horse unwise to travel outside of the city accompanied by a single servant, they did not bother telling him.
“Once you get me inside the house, come back and wait for me near the gate,” Stephen told François. “We need to make a plan for you in case I do not return.”
Stephen ran a hand over his face and tried to think. Damn, damn, damn. “I wish I knew one soul in this wretched city I could trust,” he muttered half aloud.
“What about Madame… er, Sybille?”
Stephen rolled his eyes heavenward. Lord above, was this wise? The courtesan had something else in mind when she whispered her address in Stephen’s ear. Nonetheless, he had it.
“If I do not return by dawn, her house is on Rue St. Romain next to the small church,” he said. “Sybille can get a message to Robert, and he will figure out how to get you back to Caen.”
They took a circuitous route to the narrow lane that abutted the back of de Roche’s house and stables. Then Stephen hid in the shadows with the horses while François called out at the gate.
“ ’Bout time you showed your face, boy.”
The gruff greeting was followed by the creak of the gate. Luck was with them—the man had not been informed François was no longer in de Roche’s service. Stephen eased his grip on his sword.
“You been gadding about the town again when you’re s’posed to be working?” the gruff voice continued.
“Of course!” François said. “How else would I have stories to tell you? I’ve brought you a flask of wine, as well.”
The man’s laugh rang out in the darkness. “Come in, then, you rascal.” Their voices faded as the gate clanked closed.
François was in.
Stephen paced up and down the dark lane, wondering how long he would have to wait. François said the man would be well into his cups by this hour. The waiting seemed endless.
Would he find Isobel alone? God, please, he did not want to find her in bed with de Roche.
Killing de Roche would be satisfying, to be sure. But not in front of Isobel. She would suffer shock enough when he told her the news Sybille brought. After hearing whispers in Paris of de Roche’s secret marriage, Claudette confirmed it with de Roche’s mother, of all people. Stephen knew he would have to tell Isobel to convince her to leave with him.
When the gate creaked again, every muscle of Stephen’s body tensed. The outline of a figure appeared, leaning out the gate.
