Page 44 of A Fierce Wind

The stone walkways connecting the thirteen towers were winding and convoluted so that one could easily get lost, but she kept the central hall far below in her sights, glad for what light the moon afforded.

They arrived in the immense chamber, which, even at this late hour of the night, was crowded. At one end of the hall, men slept on pallets. The other end was a hive of activity with men standing around engaged in low-voiced conversations and stacking weapons on a table. She could not see Freddie among them, but she recognized Victorine who was speaking with Boisguy.

“I’m going to talk to General Boisguy,” she said to Gabe as she walked away.

Boisguy smiled as she approached. “What has you up in the middle of the night, mademoiselle?” He seemed remarkably awake for the late hour and pleased to see her.

Glancing at Victorine, she said, “I was hoping for news of the night patrols.” She said nothing of her concern for Freddie.

“Jean Chouan has yet to return,” said Boisguy, “but, as you see, Captain Victor is here with her men.”

Victorine looked as if she had been in a fight, her cheeks and jacket besmirched with dirt and her hair, so neatly plaited at dinner, now had loose strands dangling to her shoulders. “How did the search for the false Chouans go?” Zoé asked.

Victorine returned her a smile of success. “I was just telling the general. We found them and, after a brief skirmish, made sure they will never again harm one of ours.”

“Any of your men wounded?” inquired Boisguy.

“One man took a bayonet in his arm. He will recover.”

The sound of men’s voices caused Zoé to turn toward the hall’s entrance. In strolled Jean Chouan followed by his men. Several carried extra muskets. Her eyes raked over the Chouans who, like Victorine, bore the evidence of their excursion.

“All’s quiet?” asked Boisguy of the Chouan commander.

“It is now. We took out a company of Blues heading toward Fougères.”

At the end of the line of Chouans filing into the hall was Freddie. Zoé’s heart leaped to see him unscathed.

She rushed to meet him, touching his shoulder. “You are well?”

“I’m fine, Pigeon. The Chouans are good at their jobs. They are stealthy fighters and crack shots. I did manage to dispatch one of the Blues who had his musket trained on me.”

She looked into his eyes but saw no trepidation, no regret. He spoke of killing a man, albeit a despised enemy, with a coolness that surprised her. How could he be so nonchalant? “Oh, Freddie, you might have been killed!”

“Do not dwell on what might have been, Pigeon, only what is.” With a broad smile, he said, “I have returned hale and hearty.”

She slapped his shoulder. “And as arrogant as ever.”

Freddie fell asleep with a smile on his face as he remembered the look of concern in Zoé’s beautiful eyes.

He rose a few hours later. Since the war began, his sleep was fitful and often disturbed by vivid dreams. He could not always remember them but the sense of foreboding he had upon rising told him the cause had been a dream.

He intended to spend the day talking to Boisguy’s men about their particular needs and to get an idea from Boisguy as to the routes he preferred for delivery of the supplies Freddie arranged when he returned to Guernsey. He had yet to reduce to code what he had learned thus far, but he would this night. Captain Victor had been right about their ammunition running low. The lack of artillery and cavalry might make them less effective in the open, but without ammunition, they could not fight at all.

It was his plan to leave for Lorient tomorrow. If all went well, they would arrive earlier than expected since they weren’t traveling on to Maine. The trip to the coast would take them a week, maybe longer depending on what they might encounter. Donet had told them he’d bring his ship close to shore each night for the week before they were expected—and the week after, should they be delayed. Hopefully, the timing would be right for la Reine Noire to take advantage of the dark of the moon.

Stuffing his notes into his satchel, Freddie left his chamber for the hall. On the way, he knocked on Zoé’s door, but there was no answer. Seeing no sign of Gabe, he assumed she had already risen. He suspected Zoé slept little at night. After all, she and Erwan were combing the streets of Granville and other port towns at that time to meet fleeing émigrés. Several times he’d observed her napping in the afternoon on the aft deck when they were at sea, doubtless making up her lost sleep.

The hall was bustling with men when he arrived, some breaking their fast while others were dividing into squads, receiving orders. A small group of priests stood in one corner, conversing in hushed tones. They would be the priests who had refused to take the oath of allegiance demanded by the National Assembly, thereby subjecting themselves to Robespierre’s terrible vengeance. At least these were protected by Boisguy. Freddie had not asked but it seemed likely the priests said mass for the Chouans each morning.

As he gazed about the hall, he spotted Zoé sitting with Boisguy. The young general leaned across the table to whisper something to her that made her blush. Freddie narrowed his eyes on the handsome aristocrat, immaculately attired in his coat, waistcoat and white cravat. Freddie was suddenly aware of his own creased, slept-in common garb, annoyed that he appeared shabby by comparison.

He decided it was past time for him to speak to Donet about courting Zoé. Donet could hardly protest the suit of an English Anglican since he had married one, but Freddie was no peer, only a younger son with little to show for his years serving the Crown. No naval officer’s uniform, no estate of his own, and his prospects were more limited with the war. He had been Donet’s partner in trade before the revolution. Perhaps that might continue.

If they could just get home to Guernsey, he would pursue a deeper friendship with Zoé, one he hoped would lead to love on her part. The war might last for years but he didn’t want to wait years to claim the woman he had loved for so long.

She raised her head at his approach, bringing a smile to his face. Her bright eyes gave no hint of fatigue, though her clothing bore the signs of all she’d been through. Matching Freddie’s appearance, she looked like a crumpled Chouan, her waistcoat stained from their travels, her shirt wrinkled and besmirched and her boots scuffed and splattered with mud. It mattered not. He would take her dressed in lace and satin or in a dirty coat and muddied breeches.

“Freddie,” she scolded, “are you finally awake?”