The Spymaster's Lady

“Ah.” Adrian rose to the occasion. “Poor Adelinachen. Do you think something to drink would help?”

She shook her head decisively and the hand upon her belly subtly became the unmistakable, eons-old gesture of protection for a child beneath. There would not be one among these men who would miss the significance. French gendarmes were naturally courageous as lions, but it would be a brave lieutenant indeed who pressed attentions upon a woman in the throes of morning sickness.

“Perhaps some bread? Or a dry biscuit? I’m sure we have biscuits somewhere.” Adrian was enjoying himself. She had known men like him, admirable spies, and a great nuisance to all who must work with them.

“Do not mention food. You are making it worse. How long will they stop us, Fritz?”

France had been at war with various German speakers for the last decade. The chance someone in this troop spoke at least a little German was very good. The man most likely to do so was the lieutenant whose increasingly reluctant footsteps still approached.

“I don’t think they’ll keep us long. They will eventually realize a man doesn’t take his silly young wife with him when he goes smuggling.”

“I am not silly. I hope in England everyone does not scowl so much and ask for papers all the time.” Dizziness swept across her—the drug trying to take hold. She stumbled and steadied herself upon the panel of the coach. “I wish it were not so hot. I do feel most dreadfully sick.”

“Do not be sick upon the lieutenant, Liebling.” Adrian switched to French. “Lieutenant, if we are to be stopped here much longer, is there somewhere I can get my sister out of the sun? In her condition—”

“I deeply regret the inconvenience to Madame.” The lieutenant sounded young, she thought. Young and definitely uneasy. “It should be the smallest moment only.”

“I was not told of the need for a local travel stamp. I was not informed…Excuse me, Lieutenant.” Grey walked rapidly toward them. He need not have worried so much, she thought. She could handle this.

“Fritz, what does he say? I am not sure I can…” She kept her head down and put her hand delicately to her mouth and tried to look pale.

Adrian drawled, “Karl will be most annoyed if you are unwell again. Especially upon the lieutenant’s boots.”

The lieutenant understood German. He stepped back hastily. Then Grey was in front of her, so the gendarme could not see her face, and Adrian made some remark, taking the lieutenant’s attention further away. It was a great pleasure to work this way with these clever men. It was like children playing, keeping the ball always in the air. The lieutenant did not have a chance against them.

“I was not informed of the need for a regional pass stamp upon our passports.” Grey spoke with fussy precision, shielding Annique behind him. “I was assured by my embassy in Paris they had acquired all the necessary permissions prior to our departure. Again, in Rouen, it was not made clear—”

“Yes. Yes. The stamp. It is a mere formality.” The lieutenant’s voice said he would much rather deal with Grey than with the young wife, enceinte, and a danger to his uniform no less than his dignity, however pretty she was to look upon. “You must correct this oversight at the mayor’s office in Dorterre. That is all. It is a difficult time for your wife to travel, non?”

“Difficult?” Grey paused long enough to seem puzzled. “No, no, you misunderstand. She is young and strong, Adelina. Her condition is the most natural thing in the world. Women dramatize themselves at this time.” He switched to German. “You will be better now, Adelina. No more getting sick, you understand?”

She gave her best young hausfrau nod. “Ja, Karl.” Her skin was cold and seemed to fit her badly. She did feel sick. Sometimes she surprised even herself how well she could act. “If I could perhaps sit down for a few minutes. I am not—”

“No, Adelina. It is not good for you to indulge yourself. Exercise is what is needed. A gentle walk beside the carriage for the next mile or so will make you feel much better.”

The lieutenant cleared his throat. “There’s an inn at the next village. I know it myself. A most pleasant, respectable place. Madame could repose herself there until the heat of the day passes.”

Having talked herself into it, she was now feeling decidedly unwell. “Karl, I feel so very—”

“Nonsense. I have made myself knowledgeable in this matter.” Grey sounded insufferably complacent. All the while, his grip steadied her, unwavering, iron-hard, and full of comfort. “This is a perfectly natural process and should not cause the least discomfort. Mares do not become sick. Cats do not become sick. There is no reason for women to do so. I have explained this, Adelina. There is a monograph by my friend Herr Professor Liebermann on this subject which I will read to…Adelina, what are you doing?”

She broke free and groped her way along the carriage wheel, to double over, fists pressed across her stomach, and be sick with nothing in her. She had not eaten or drunk anything for a while, it seemed. This did not stop her from being abominably ill.

“I…we will not detain you further.” The lieutenant sounded about fifteen years old and appalled. He retreated in haste. The whole lot of them, in fact—men, horses, and musketry—seemed glad to quit the area immediately.

Hooves clattered on the roadway. Grey, still being Bavarian, scolded, “Adelina, if you would simply concentrate your mind, you would not be sick. You must think of other things.” He hid her from their view. Gently, he lifted her hair away from her face and held her upright, which was more than she could manage for herself.

“Fox Cub, that was one hell of a convincing performance.” Adrian sounded exhausted. He spoke German still. So wise, they were. The cadence of a language carries farther than the words. One of the gendarmes might linger to listen and hear their voices change if they started speaking French.

“It’s that poison we’re feeding her. Adrian, get me…Good.” Grey patted a wet cloth on her face. “Finished?”

She simply nodded. It was not that it was too hard to speak German. It was that she wanted to die.

“Drink this.” Grey set something to her lips.

Not again. She knocked the glass aside and heard it shatter on the ground. She was too weak and dizzy to run. She could only put her back against the coach and cover her mouth with her arm. It would do her no good. There was no fight within her.

“Goddammit, Annique, there was nothing in that but water.”

Adrian was lazily amused, as always. “He’s telling the truth. This whole area’s swarming with armed Frenchmen. We can’t clutter up the coach with unconscious females.”

“He’s not trying to drug you,” said Doyle, up on top of the coach.

“He leaves that to you, Herr Doyle. You are a sheep-swiving, swine-dog traitor, that is what you are.” German is a lovely language for cursing.

“Now, miss, a nice young lady like you shouldn’t even know them words. You folks going to mill around here for the next hour, chatting? Let me know so I can turn the horses loose.”

“We’re leaving.” Grey switched back to French. “Adrian, get in the coach before you keel over.”

“Ever obedient to your command, oh Exalted One.” The coach dipped as Adrian climbed inside.

Grey came close. “Annique…” He molded her fingers around a cup. He poured, and the cup got heavy and cold. “It’s water. Just water. God knows you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I wish you’d drink it.”

The reality of her helplessness closed in around her. They were such clever men, these three—hard and experienced and quite ruthless. Grey was the most dangerous of all. He made her believe he wanted to be kind. Every moment it was a fight to remember he was her enemy.

Perhaps he forgot also, sometimes. It was doubtless easier for the victor to ignore the realities.

She said, “I must drink, sooner or later. I have no choice.” The cup held clean water with no taste but that of a metal flask. She drank what he had given her.

His hand on her cheek was like a flower falling onto her. “The first time, when I drugged you, it was wrong. I should have told you. I should have let you fight me. I made a mistake.”

That soft touch. He had done that before. Memories were beginning to rise like bubbles to the surface of her mind. “I remember. I was lying beside you on a blanket. I wanted to touch you. I wanted—”

“It’s time we left.”

But she remembered. She had pressed herself against him and opened her legs and throbbed with mindless pleasure. “What did I do when I was asleep? What did I do with you?”

“You dreamed. The drug takes some women that way. It means nothing.”