Page 43 of A Fierce Wind

Zoé gazed into the fire seeing again Henri’s face lit with the passion of the royalist cause. “For this trip deep into Brittany, a man’s clothing seemed in order. But I most often dress as a peasant woman to blend with those in the villages.” Shifting her gaze to Victorine, she said, “You see, ’tis my way of avenging Henri. I had only my uncle and aunt to convince that I should be allowed to rescue those destined for the guillotine. My uncle well understood my desire to join the cause, being something of a rebel himself. My aunt, who is Mr. West’s sister, grudgingly accepted my nighttime excursions.”

“Ah, M’sieur West, l’Anglais. He speaks French like one of us but he has the unmistakable air of an aristocrat. Handsome, too. Is he your man?”

“Non,” Zoé replied quickly. “We are just friends.” At the back of her mind stirred a restive thought that they might be more. The attractive Chouan leader’s interest in Freddie did not sit well. “He truly wants to help the royalists.”

“He takes his life in his hands to do so.”

Zoé met Victorine’s dark gaze. “We all know the risks, don’t we? And the dangers. Yet, how could we not join the cause when so much is at stake?”

“I asked myself the same question and here I am.”

“Are there many women in the Chouan army?”

“A few but no others who serve as an officer under Boisguy. Women can help in ways other than fighting. We need them as spies in the villages and towns where the republicans congregate, to hide priests and the wounded and to care for the Chouan army.” She laughed. “As you saw tonight, we’ve a lot of men to feed who are not tending their farms.” She let out a sigh and got to her feet. “I’ll let you get some rest. Dawn comes early. You can bolt the door if you like but you will be safe. No one would harm one of the general’s guests. I’ll see if the one who guards you can be persuaded to bring Isabeau to you. By the way, how is it she came to join you?”

“It was her brother’s request when we left him in Rennes. He wants her out of Brittany. So, we agreed to take her with us to Guernsey where my uncle and aunt live.”

“Ah, Guernsey,” said Victorine, reaching for the door. “I was there once. Quite a lovely place. I’d like to think I might see it again but something tells me I shall die in Brittany.”

And with that, the woman slipped through the door like a shadow and was gone.

By the time Jean Chouan and his men took to the woods of Fougères, the half-moon had risen, casting its pale light on the path, that is, when it did not disappear beneath dense leaf-covered branches. Except for the occasional hoot of an owl, or the stirring of the leaves in the night wind, the woods were silent.

Not more than a half-hour had passed when the Chouan leader drew to a halt and held up one hand. Behind him, Freddie came to a standstill, tuning his ears to the subtle night sounds. At first he heard nothing, but then in the distance there came a rhythmic thumping of boots treading through the forest.

Jean Chouan pointed his finger toward the sky, circling over his head.

In response, his men spread out, moving from the path into the woods where they vanished. Not wanting to be left a standing target, Freddie slipped in among the trees. He had no sooner crouched beside Jean Chouan than a company of Blues, their white waistcoats and breeches glowing in the moonlight, briskly strode past, heading in the direction the Chouans had come.

The Chouan leader stood, watching the last of the soldiers disappear down the path. His men gathered around him awaiting orders. “They are heading toward Fougères and we cannot have that. Pick them off and gather the weapons.”

His men hissed, “Vive l’roi!” and took off after the soldiers. Louis XVI might be dead but the battle cry still stood. Long live the king! It spoke of the Chouans’ commitment to one day see a Bourbon restored to the throne of France.

Jean Chouan dashed after his men and, a minute later, the sound of gunfire echoed through the woods.

Eager to see how the Chouans fought, Freddie ran after them. Taking cover behind a tree, he watched them carefully picking their targets. Jean Chouan had been right; they did fight differently. Outnumbered as they were, every shot had to count. They were aided in their accuracy by the flashy white of the enemy’s uniforms, which made them easier to spot at night. As far as he could tell, the Chouans did not miss once.

Freddie took a step forward only to be seen by a fleeing soldier, who turned his musket on Freddie. He whipped his pistol from his sash and shot the Blue in the forehead. The soldier sank to the ground, his eyes frozen in shock.

Leaning against a tree, Freddie’s chest heaved. The soldier had been no older than he. Freddie reminded himself this was war and he had chosen his side long ago. Too, the republicans had committed many atrocities in the name of their revolution and these were headed to Fougères where Zoé slept in the château.

Jean Chouan gave orders to pull the bodies into the woods away from the path and to harvest any uniforms that were not stained with blood.

“Does this typically happen on a night patrol?” Freddie asked the Chouan leader.

“More often here in Brittany than in Maine,” he said, fingering his dark mustache. “Rossignol is eager to retake the château, but he lacks the men and the cunning to do so.”

Zoé tossed on her small bed, worried about Freddie. When Gabe returned with Isabeau, he had told her that Freddie had gone on patrol with Jean Chouan, leaving both Erwan and Gabe behind. Victorine, too, was out there somewhere with her men, searching for the false Chouans. Did no one sleep here?

Sitting up, she flung her feet to the floor. Across from her, Isabeau enjoyed the dreamless sleep of youth.

“I might as well be up,” Zoé muttered. Perhaps the patrols had returned. Since she had slept in her clothes, she had only to pull on her boots and light a lantern to be ready. Opening her door, she encountered Gabe lying across the threshold beneath a blanket. He would be displeased with her should she not wake him.

“Gabe,” she whispered, nudging his shoulder, “I’m going down to the hall to see if the patrols have returned. You can stay and keep an eye on Isabeau. Where’s Erwan?”

He answered in a groggy voice. “Sleeping in the hall with Boisguy’s men. He has friends among them.” Groaning, Gabe got to his feet. “If you are going, so am I.” Raking his fingers through his dark curls, he said in a sleepy voice, “I’ll send a servant back to sit with Isabeau.”

To have Gabe by her side was a little like having the shadow of her uncle watching over her. “Très bien,” she said, handing the lantern to Gabe. “Let’s see if we can find our way to the hall.”