Forever His(115)

Which was suddenly cut short.

Gaston burst into action. Celine found herself lifted to the ground before she even knew what was happening.

“Guard her with your life, Etienne,” Gaston ordered in a harsh whisper. He cut the bundle from his saddle, the one containing her purse, and tossed it to her as he pinned his squire with an intense gaze. “Do you hear me, lad? With your life! Run!”

“Gaston!” Celine caught the bundle, but she never had a chance to question him or call out more than his name before he wheeled his horse and galloped off in Remy’s direction. Etienne vaulted from the saddle, holding his crossbow in one hand, grabbing Celine’s arm with the other.

“Etienne, no!” Celine struggled. “We can’t just let him ride off alone like that!”

“Milady,” he hissed, “this is for your own good—”

“I don’t care about my own good. He’s—”

“Shh!” Keeping a firm grip on her arm, he smacked the horses—his stallion and the little plow horse—sending them galloping back down the path the way they had come. Then he darted into the trees at a dead run, tugging her behind. Celine didn’t have any choice but to race with him into the shadows, her mouth dry, her heart hammering.

She didn’t understand at first why they were fleeing on foot. Then she realized that any pursuers would follow the horses first before they thought to search the woods. The trick might buy them time. She stumbled as she tried to keep up with Etienne’s agile stride. He still held the crossbow in his hand.

Behind them, she heard the sound of riders pounding down the path, right where they had stood seconds ago.

They ran until the trees were nothing but a blur and every gasp of air hurt her lungs. Finally Etienne stopped and pulled her behind a thicket. They crouched there, both breathing hard. Celine was shaking, her pulse pounding. What had happened to Gaston?

“Rest a moment, milady,” Etienne whispered. “Then we must keep—”

“Christiane?”

The angry male voice was a thin, distant sound that came from the direction of the road.

Tourelle’s voice.

Celine almost leaped to her feet in panic, but Etienne yanked her back down beside him.

“Nay—if we break cover now, we might be seen,” he whispered. “Wait until he moves on.”

“Christiane!” Tourelle shouted again, the name carrying eerily through the trees as he rode slowly along the path. “Do not vex me further by hiding! Show yourself. Your husband is not yet dead, but he will be if you do not come out. Now.”

Etienne fastened a hand over her mouth to stifle her cry and locked an arm around her waist to hold her still. She struggled against his grip.

“Milady, nay,” he hissed in her ear. “It is a ruse.”

Trembling, she forced herself to stop fighting him. Logic told her she couldn’t do Gaston any good by obeying Tourelle’s demand, but not knowing what had happened made her want to scream. Where was he? What had they done to him? Was he hurt?

Tourelle was getting closer. She could hear the steady clop of his horse’s hooves on the dirt road now, and his voice, louder, icy with fury.

“You have betrayed me, you willful, ungrateful girl. You have driven me to desperate acts. I cannot be responsible for what may happen next if you anger me further. Already the boy who was riding ahead of you is dead, Christiane. He would not come along quietly. He tried to warn his lord—a foolish choice. We were forced to kill him.”

Celine flinched and closed her eyes, remembering the sound of Remy’s voice cut short so abruptly. It made her feel sick inside. She could still see his easy smile and the pride he had felt at being chosen as one of their escorts. She heard Etienne swear beside her.

“Let his blood be on your hands,” Tourelle shouted, his voice terrifyingly close now. “All of this unpleasantness could have been avoided, Christiane, had you carried out my orders. But instead you repaid my trust with treachery, and you fled with Varennes.”

The sound of his horse’s hooves stopped. Celine felt a cold trickle of fear down the back of her neck. Though she and Etienne were concealed by the thicket, she almost believed that Tourelle was looking right at them. He stopped talking. She held her breath.

He continued along the trail.

“You know it is useless to defy me,” he said coaxingly, his voice fading as he moved on. “It was inevitable that I would find you. I have had my men looking for you on every road north for weeks, but Varennes was too careful. You, however, my dear, were not. You were sighted on one of the main roads, riding a lame mare near the chateau of Lady Rosalind de Brissot. It was easy enough for my men to follow you and guess your destination.”