The Elusive Bride

placed many, many of us along this channel up there. If the major goes that way, Uncle will follow, and then he’ll have plenty of men-and then it will once again be death if you fail.”

The youngest shrugged. The elder two exchanged glances.

Then the youngest raised the spyglass he held and trained it on the first of two carriages bowling north along the road.

The elder two settled back and returned to staring at the sky. Countless carriages had already passed by.

“Hi!” The excited exclamation broke their absorption. The youngest bounced with excitement, then lowered the spyglass and held it out. “That is them-I am sure of it. Look at the men beside the drivers. The first is the major’s batman, yes?”

The eldest had taken the spyglass. After a moment, he nodded. He handed the glass on to the third man, then turned to the youngest. “You stay here until they pass, then follow, but not close. Stay off the road and do not let them see you. We”-he collected his comrade with a glance-“will go and take the good news to Uncle. When he and the rest of us catch up with you, Uncle will commend you as you rightly deserve.”

Meanwhile the elder two, who had been staring at the sky for hours, would reap the glory of Uncle’s approbation, but the youngest cultist knew that that was the way of the world, so he nodded. “I will follow them, and wait for Uncle and the others to join me.”

Without further ado, the elder two scrambled back over the rocks to where they’d left their stolen mounts.

Fourteen

30th November, 1822

Mid-morning

In our carriage on the road to Lyon

Dear Diary,

I am rushing to scribble this while Gareth is out of the carriage getting fresh horses put to. The last two days-and even more the last two nights-have been well worth my earlier efforts. My campaign has been assisted by the smallness of the village inns we’ve stopped at. As I invariably have the largest and most comfortable chamber to myself, and Arnia and Mooktu and Dorcas usually take the remaining rooms, it’s been undeniably more sensible for Gareth to join me in my bed than sleep in the stables with the rest of the men.

And then, of course…

With dogged perseverance, I will claim all my heart desires.

E.

That evening they arrived in Lyon. They’d made excellent time, and Gareth thanked the twist of fate that had sent them the Juneau cousins, Gustav and Pierre, as coachmen. Experienced, with just the right touch of belligerence, they’d already proved themselves up to the task of pressing ahead regardless of obstacles like traffic and overturned drays.

They’d barreled through, and they’d reached their first major town without seeing hide nor hair of any cultist.

That, Gareth felt certain, would change all too soon.

With Emily, smiling sweetly, beside him, he walked into the town’s largest hotel. It was a predominantly timber structure. He would have preferred stone, but the further they’d come north, the weather had turned damp and cold, and smaller establishments came with other hazards, namely easy access to the upper floors.

One glance confirmed that this hotel provided reasonable security. He continued to the counter at the rear of the foyer, Emily on his arm.

There were plenty of rooms to be had. He could easily request adjoining chambers for him and Emily, but didn’t. Their party was already cognizant of the fact that they were sharing a bed, and every Frenchman or -woman who laid eyes on them instantly assumed they were already wed.

Neither Emily nor he made any attempt to correct that mistaken assumption, so there hardly seemed any point in hiring separate rooms.

Even if he did, he’d spend the night in her bed.

Quite aside from the fraught questions of whether he could gather strength enough to resist her lure, and even if he did, whether she would acquiesce and allow him to keep his distance, there was the undeniable fact that he wouldn’t sleep, certainly not well, not unless she was within arm’s reach.

With the rooms organized, he glanced at Emily. She caught his eye, smiled the smile of encouraging approval she often bent on him, then she turned to the clerk and set about ordering their dinner.

He and Emily dined in comfort in the inn’s gilded dining room. In such an establishment, they were forced to observe the division between classes, so the other members of their party were dining in the bar. He and she joined them there afterward.

They chatted only briefly. He conferred with the other men, setting the watches for the night, a habit they’d reinstated after leaving the relative safety of the Juneaux’ inn.

Shortly after, they all retired. After one last glance around the foyer and reception rooms, noting the shutters that had been closed against the night and the heavy locks on the main doors, Gareth followed Emily up the stairs.

Instinct was pricking, battlefield premonition coming to the fore.

He glanced at Mooktu, on first watch, sitting in the bay window at the end of their corridor. “Stay alert.”

The big Pashtun nodded gravely. He, too, scented danger in the wind.

Hoping they would both be proved wrong, Gareth followed Emily into their room and quietly shut the door.

The attack-a typical cultist attack-came in the darkest watch of the night. Gareth himself, standing at the window of their room, Emily asleep in the big bed behind him, caught a glimpse of movement in the street below, hard up against the hotel’s side, then saw the first flicker of flame.

He was downstairs, banging on the manager’s door, Mooktu beside him, before the fire could take hold.

Within minutes the manager had collected his staff. Flinging open the front doors, they rushed out, pails in hands, to douse the flames.

Gareth and Mooktu, with Mullins and Bister, hung back in the shadows of the unlighted foyer-and dealt with the six cultists who slipped in through the untended doors, unsheathed blades glinting in the moonlight.

The four of them met the threat with quiet, deadly, ruthless efficiency-all under the terrified stare of the night clerk who had been left behind the desk.

Later, however, when, this being Lyon and not some outpost of an uncivilized land, the authorities arrived in the form of a disgruntled upholder of the local law, the clerk readily confirmed that the cultists had come in with daggers drawn-that they’d been intent on doing murder and the members of Gareth’s party deserved a medal for protecting him and the many inn guests now gathered about exclaiming.

As said guests, taking in the dead cultists’ outlandish apparel, vociferously agreed with the clerk, the chief gendarme huffed, and ordered the bodies to be carted away.

Gareth paused beside the innkeeper. His eyes on the activity in the crowded foyer, he murmured, “Don’t worry. We’re leaving at first light.”

The innkeeper glanced sideways.

Gareth met his eyes.

The innkeeper nodded. “Bon. I will give orders for the kitchen to have breakfast ready early.”