“We’re not informers,” she said in French. Like every accomplished young lady, she’d mastered the language, but not for social reasons. She’d hoped someday to follow her father into the great Game.
But not like this.Fox, Fox, where are you?
“The war is over,” she shouted, “and you have no quarrel with us, or us with you. At least let this boy go. You have no reason to harm him.”
White teeth flashed as he grinned. “Please to turn around and go to the edge. And then you will kneel.”
All her blood pooled in her legs, and she dragged them closer to the cliff edge. Her nerves skittered, her breathing…her breathing tightened again, pain ratcheting through where she’d been punched.
Pip began to tremble. “What did he say?”
She had to be strong for the boy. “Do not worry,” she whispered.
The Frenchman leveled his gun.
“He’s going to shoot us.” Pip shouted, his little-boy voice high and strained. He waved a hand around.
“Shoot me if you will, but you let the boy—”
“No buts,messieur. Or should I say,mademoiselle?” He laughed. “These English have no subtlety. I knew from the moment I saw such a fine derriere.” The white teeth flashed again.
Panic roared through her. “He’s going to shoot us,” she shouted and waved.
He frowned and glanced over his shoulder. “We are quite alone,cherie. No one is coming to rescue you.”
