Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter (8 page)

She brushed her hands together. She barely knew him. “Today I rode alone. Tonight I can continue with a fresh horse and provisions.” Her words echoed in her ears—stupid and proud. Alone in strange woods at night.

“I remember you.” Louisa’s filmy eyes gazed over the bowl as she raised it to her mouth. “And your brother.”

This was the farthest she and her brother had ventured in practice for escape. They’d ridden out on their horses, certifying that they knew the lay of the land, paths, streams, and the safe houses. Just in case they ever needed to leave Grand-mère’s for Aachen and then on to Amsterdam from where they’d depart to the colonies.

Huguenots weren’t tolerated, certainly not at court, but when her grandmother was alive, they’d benefitted from the auspices of her fervent Catholic faith.

“Did you ask if she’s crazy?” Johan asked his aunt.

How impolite—to discuss her in his native language, as though she wasn’t there. Yet his aunt spoke to her in French and Suzanne hadn’t considered whether he understood or not.

“No.” The elderly woman screwed up her face as though taking a bitter tonic. Clucking her tongue, she added, “I think Suzanne fears for
your
safety. A brave young lady. Are you afraid, nephew?”

“Without God’s help, yes, but I will obey Him, for He directs our path.”

Etienne’s sensual smile hovered in her mind, imposed over Johan’s friendly grin, even as he discussed her “insanity.” Her beau faithfully attended services, believed in God. Why hadn’t she trusted him and asked him to protect her? But she trusted this stranger. Everything seemed mixed up. She untied her queue of hair to ease the tension from the back of her head.

Johan bent toward her and swiped her cheek with his thumb, then displayed the gravy he’d removed.

Sudden shyness washed over her. Suzanne closed her eyes; afraid she might see
something
in his face that would make her more afraid. That horrible hungry look of Etienne’s. But this peasant only scrutinized her face, his mouth set and eyes sad.

“Very tired—look at her, Aunt Louisa. Let her sleep. We go at morning’s first light. Something tells my soul the soldiers can bring us no harm.”

Louisa nodded, her rheumy eyes bright. “I pray that is so. Pull the benches together when we’re cleaned up and we’ll put the cushions on. She can sleep there.”

Johan lifted the heavy benches and settled them together before the hearth.

Louisa handed him bedding and he arranged the quilts and pillow.

“Merci.”

Fire from the grate flickered in his eyes. She sucked in her breath. Maybe this
was
wrong. But that thought was washed away as sleep overtook her.

As dawn broke, Johan’s elderly aunt awoke them. And after taking care of her needs, Suzanne returned to the house where a baguette of bread and hot
café au lait
awaited them.

Johan barely met her eyes as he wolfed down his breakfast and then went to ready the horses.

Louisa handed Suzanne a bag of food. “Take this with you.”

Johan returned to the cottage, unsmiling, sweat beading his brow.

His aunt turned to him. “Nephew, I’m an old woman.”

“You’ll always be my beautiful and sweet aunt.” He bent to kiss her.

She patted his cheeks. “I’ll never see you again in this life.”

“Auntie…” He tilted his head at her. “Don’t say that.”

Shaking her snowy head, she smiled and closed her eyes before pressing her hands against Johan’s brow. “May God bless you and keep His hand upon you and protect you and guide you.”

Then she turned to Suzanne and blessed her, also.

A chill raced down Suzanne’s spine as the frail woman’s whispered words took root.

When she finished, Johan took both of Louisa’s hands in his and kissed them. “Mama will kill me if she finds out I was here.”

The elderly woman stared up at Suzanne’s new companion. “Johan, don’t regret your choices. I haven’t. Never forget that doing God’s work is reward enough. We’ll all answer to God in the end—not to our earthly parents.”

Earthly parents? Suzanne no longer had them. But her heavenly Father? And dare she look to this young man to protect her? If only her grandmother yet lived. But she didn’t.

5

Far western border of France

The sun hung above the evergreens, their freshness wafting down to envelope the two riders.

Suzanne glimpsed blue jackets through a gap in the pines. Startled, she reined her horse to a stop. This was the fifth time they’d diverted their path because of obstacles.

A trio of soldiers on the main road laughed and took turns juggling green plums. Their coats were ragged, unlike those of the soldiers who’d taken Pierre.

Johan shook his head at her and raised a finger to his lips.

She shrugged at him in question. Although they’d avoided the highway for most of their journey, they needed access to it to get to Aachen. She exhaled, holding Fury’s reins tight as he tried to pull forward. Clenching her jaw, she yanked as hard as she could on the reins without causing the beast to rear up.

The voices of the three soldiers carried through the trees.

“Kill him if he doesn’t say,” the thinnest man insisted.

The brawniest of the trio unsheathed his sword, a glint of light piercing their cover. “This beauty slew a nun. Right in her sleep.”

The two others cackled, an unholy sound in this sanctuary of woods.

We’re within a stone’s throw of murderers.

Johan’s wide shoulders were hunched over, his eyes closed, his golden head bowed as in prayer. She felt for her beads, comforted when her fingers wrapped them tight.

One of the men grunted as his heavy feet thudded to the ground. Bridles jingled as they were undone. They intended to remain there. Her breath stuttered.

Breeze, high in the treetops, wafted the piney incense of fresh new growth, and the whisper of needles.

Johan motioned for her to back up her horse. She complied. Then he gestured her in a different direction, away from the criminals. And how would they get to Aachen now?

Several hard hours of riding later, they stopped by a bubbling stream near a small boggy clearing.

Suzanne inhaled the acrid air of the dense woods shielding them. With the sun now in the west, she knew they headed south, not northeast as originally planned.

“Where are we going?”

“All routes to Aachen hold danger.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “We cannot travel there.” Johan dismounted and secured his horse, his hair loose and covering his face.

“But I need to go there.” She gritted her teeth. If her legs and thighs weren’t so stiff, she’d have gotten off the horse by herself.

Instead, when Johan took her reins in one hand and then lifted her down, she gratefully allowed herself to sink into his arms.

“Merci.” Leaning against him, legs trembling from the long ride, she clutched his shoulders, her face pressed against the sturdy fabric that covered his broad chest. Warmth flowed through her.

“Get out the food from Louisa.” He released her and moved to examine tracks near low green foliage in an opening favored by the sun’s rays.

Does he think I’m his servant?
She bit back the retort that he should get the food himself. Suzanne frowned at his back and retrieved their midday meal, her stomach growling.

“We should stand and get our legs back.” Johan stretched.

She shook her head and offered him bread. But she held onto the loaf.

Johan had to tug. He raised one eyebrow at her as he broke off a chunk and then held it aloft. “You don’t wish to share?”

She wasn’t used to being ordered around but if she said so, this peasant may ask more questions than she should answer. Instead she scowled at him.

Johan tilted his head and laughed.

She couldn’t help laughing, too.

This man could well save her life and she begrudged his directives? He probably kept them terse because of his lack of French language skills.

He set out a blanket on the ground and motioned for her to sit. After settling themselves, they leaned against two trees and ate in silence. Stealing glances at him, she found her companion giving her his slow, crooked grin. He irritated her the way Guillame had.
Not quite the same.

Did her brother live? A trip to Aachen may be futile, regardless.

Johan crossed to the horses, patted down the mare, and examined her legs. “Pretty good, for a cart horse. Not so fast, but steady and sure-footed.”

Suzanne thought she understood him.

“On the road she’ll do even better.” He stroked the horse’s back.

During their travel time, Suzanne remembered more German phrases as he used them. While Johan seemed to understand some French, he didn’t speak many words. He’d repeat if she teased him and gave him the proper pronunciation. His voice was so melodious; she could listen to him forever. But in a few days, they’d be separated. The thought made her sad.

“What activities do you like?”

“Fencing.” The word exited her mouth before she realized it. Only nobility fenced. She cringed at her mistake, wishing she could take the word back.

He struggled to repeat the word. “I don’t understand.”

Good thing.
She relaxed. “I can…” Master of the pianoforte, and an artist, she doubted Johan valued these abilities. She could embroider and sew a pretty stitch but had never constructed a garment. “Stitch.”

He plunked down onto the ground. “Do you cook?”

“
Une peu
. A little.” She’d observed Cook on a number of occasions.

“Good. Mama could use help.”

His mother? “You’re taking me to your home?” Her heart beat harder, but whether it was from sitting so close, or from his news, she wasn’t sure.

“Ja, it’s best.” He tapped his chest.

“Do you have brothers or sisters?”
I hope his mother has plenty of children to help. I don’t want to be a burden…

Color drained from his ruddy cheeks. “A brother.”

“That’s all?”

“Ja. One.” His voice was strained.

What wasn’t he telling her?

“And your brother—what happened?”

“I hope I still have a brother.” A tear slipped down her cheek.

Both remained silent as they rested.

Water gurgled in the brook nearby. “Does it flow all the way to the Rhine?”

“Probably.”

Answering its invitation, Suzanne pushed up her sleeves, the idea of washing up irresistible.

Joining her, Johan stood by the flowing spring, his arms and face raised toward the sky.

Above she discerned only thick clouds, most dark gray around the edges−clouds associated with storms. “The weather doesn’t favor us.”

Johan shook his head, wavy hair bobbing. “Ah, sun is there, still, behind clouds. I talk to my Father. Like sun, he’s there even on a cloudy day.”

“Are you praying?”

“Ja, shield us. Where to turn.”

“Didn’t you just come from Aachen? Don’t you know where we’re going?” She bit her lip.

He stared at her, his mouth set. Piercing—how those light eyes could do that to her she didn’t know. She trembled, a little afraid of Johan’s stern look. If he wanted, she was sure he could be quite fierce.

Johan shifted uneasily. “I take you to my home.”

“Why?” she blurted out. “Where?”

Seeming to consider his words, Johan rubbed his beard. “Safer, south.”

Additional travel meant more time alone with him. They rode on in silence. One more hour in this infernal stiff saddle and she wouldn’t be able to walk for a week. Here she was following a strange German man to his home. She knew almost nothing about him, and communicating with him remained a trial.

What if she was wrong and the French soldiers at Grand-mère’s had been there to help her? Adjusting herself on the saddle, she imagined that Rochambeau had sent them at Guillame’s request. She pictured the soldiers there to safely return her to court. Madame DeMint would take her into her care while she and Etienne made preparations to marry. In the cathedral. She’d go to their apartment and get…

Visions of soldiers ransacking her home and Pierre disrupting the wedding dashed her daydream to bits. She pressed her eyes shut against the image. “Do you think someone who believes in God has the right faith, Johan?”

He laughed. “Even Satan believes there’s a God.”

Etienne believed in God. And so did she. But she’d not followed Him in the same manner as her Huguenot parents had. She didn’t want to dwell on this topic.

Johan pointed to the farm ahead. “This place marks the Palatinate duchy’s Western edge.”

“We’re out of France?”

“Yes, let’s ask them for water. And about swapping your horse.” They dismounted and led the horses behind them.

Hanging her head, Suzanne followed. If she pushed Fury any further, he might become lame.

A young man, almost as imposing in size as Johan, emerged from the barn. He stopped, covering his eyes from the sun’s rays. Taking her hand, Johan pulled her toward the farmer. “Hello! We’re traveling through. Thirsty. Might we have some water?”

As they stepped through the hard-packed dirt between the small house and the barn, Suzanne caught the stranger’s eyes first upon Guy’s horse and then upon her.

He tilted his head. “Why do you dress like a boy?”

Johan opened his mouth, and a puzzled expression crossed his face. Pinching his lips together, he peered down at Suzanne but said nothing.

The farmer wiped his brow with a cloth. “She’s French, isn’t she?”

“Oui.” Suzanne stared up into his almost colorless eyes.

“Huguenot?” He spat into the dirt.

She wanted to slap his arrogant face.

“Husband!” A young woman emerged through the doorway of the wood-framed house, a baby on one hip and a toddler clinging to her leg.

“What do you need?” His brusque question was addressed to Johan, whose smile now wavered.

“My uncle is a priest at Aachen.”

What was that supposed to mean? Suzanne peered at him, but Johan’s expression was blank. He’d already told her that they weren’t going to Aachen but to his home.

The farmer’s expression softened and his shoulders relaxed. “You’re making a journey?” But this was no pilgrimage, which is what the man meant.