I am hurrying. Just trying for it not to be to my death.
With her fingers and boots clutched tightly to the clay moldings, she sent a prayer to heaven, then dropped.
He caught her just before she hit the ground. “Oof.”
They both tumbled heavily onto the hard stone of the courtyard. Gus let out a low string of vile expletives, some of which Evangeline hadn’t ever heard before. And she had been around smugglers and sailors almost all her life.
He struggled to his feet, clutching at his wounded shoulder. His face contorted in agony. Evangeline winced as she stood and tried to put weight on her right ankle.
“Let me look at your shoulder,” she said, ignoring her own injury.
“We don’t have time. They could be here at any moment,” he said.
Evangeline hobbled after him as he hurried toward the rear lane way where the stable boy and their horses were waiting. After struggling onto their mounts, they quickly rode away.
They had escaped, but barely. A minute or two later and they would have been discovered.
And then what would we have done?
The journey back to the coast and theNight Windhad just become a flight into danger.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Evangeline’s father had taken her on several long journeys over the countryside as a young girl. France had been in turmoil. First with the aftermath of the revolution, and then with the ongoing political strife that had seen them lose their home for several years. It was her memories of the roads they had travelled during those trips which she now drew upon.
It was a painfully slow ride out of Dinan. They dared not draw attention to themselves, so they joined a small group of fellow travelers who were also leaving the walled city. They waited until they had ventured a good five miles from the town, before finally breaking away and striking out on their own.
Turning off the road, they made their way up a narrow track and into a woodland area. Once they were far into the trees and out of sight, Evangeline pulled back on her reins and brought Gobain to a stop.
Gus drew up alongside her on the bay. “Well done. We got away.”
“For now.”
He threw a leg over his saddle and dropped to the ground. He held out his hands as he came to the side of Evangeline’s horse. “Let me help you down.”
She shooed him away. “It’s just a sprain. I can get off a horse without assistance. The last thing you should be doing is putting pressure on that shoulder. I know your injury was stirred up when we fell. So, don’t go getting all heroic on me, Gus Jones.”
“It’s fine. Just a little sore. The doctor I saw in London says I will likely never have full use of this arm again, so I may as well get used to the discomfort.”
She climbed down from Gobain, giving Gus a dirty look when he reached out and steadied her as she landed.
“Do you want to remove your boot? I could examine your foot,” he offered.
“When I last looked it was still improper for a gentleman to peek at the ankle of a lady. So, thank you but no. Besides, I have a feeling that once I take this boot off, I won’t be able to get it back on. My ankle has already swollen enough to be pressing against the sides.”
A patch of red appeared on Gus’s cheeks. It was rather sweet that he was embarrassed over offering to lift her skirts and take a look. She limped over to a nearby tree and plopped onto the grass.
There was a small pond nearby and Gus led the horses over to it and let them drink. Returning to Evangeline, he sat down beside her. After pulling his hip flask from out of the pocket of his greatcoat, he bent and waved it under her nose. “Something for the pain.”
The warm brandy slid easily down her throat. While Gus took his own drink, Evangeline lay against the bottom of the tree trunk. She still didn’t want to consider how close they had come to being caught at the hotel.
“What are we going to do? I doubt Vincent and Claude are going to leave Dinan without a clear idea as to where we might have gone. The innkeeper will have confirmed my identity, and possibly yours,” she said.
Gus put the lid back on the hip flask and tucked it into his pocket. “Vincent isn’t a fool. It won’t take him too long to work out the real identity of the gentleman you are travelling with.”
He wasn’t wrong. Vincent and his second in charge, Claude, had fought Gus and Evangeline during the gun battle several months ago. Claude had been the one who had shot Gus. And just about everyone in Saint-Brieuc knew the group of Englishmen who regularly visited Château-de-La-Roche from time to time.
“We may have eluded them on our way out of the city, but it won’t be long before he realizes that we are not on the road to Paris,” he said.
