The man wriggled and bucked, but he had no power over the sneering, wily, Herculean Rafe Durham. His success in subduing the creature had Evan reminding himself to go more often to Gentleman Jack’s, and to go, preferably, with Rafe. Then he strolled up to the squirming guard and showed him his stiletto and an imitation of how he would slide it across his throat. The man’s bleary eyes went wide and he nodded. Often.
“Wise of you,” Rafe whispered to the man in French.
Evan nodded at him to continue. His French had not improved, and he would not risk detection because he had opened his mouth and given away his birth.
Rafe told the warden how he would hand over the keys to his friend here…then sit in his little chair. The man gave them over, and Evan turned away while Rafe found chains or ropes to tie the man to his seat. Evan hurried back down the corridor with the large iron keys grasped tightly in his fist. All he needed was to make a commotion with jangling keys, and they would be besieged by dozens of poor buggers behind all these bars demanding to go with him. Oh, to take them all!Alas. Not to be.
He fit the key to the lock of Luc’s cell and slowly swung back the door. Luc, he was surprised to see, stood back against the wall and stared at him.
“Come,” Evan urged him.
“No. We must take her.”
Her?
Luc stepped to one side, and there lay a slight, nearly naked figure with luminous, feverish eyes and long, violently red hair that draped over the side of her slight bed of filthy hay.
“I cannot. I must find another.” Evan could be angry at the suggestion to take this one, but how much would he gain?
“Who?” Luc snatched at his greatcoat with feeble fingers. “Who must you take?”
“Burton. Zephora, a—”
“Zeph?But this is she!” Luc vibrated with joy, anger, or anticipation. Evan knew not which.
Evan bent over the woman. He was happy his sight was poor, the cell pitch black, his hope the brightest thing he possessed. She looked like a heap of cloth. Skin and bones, as Rafe had expected. Only the raw power of her red hair obscuring any of her features told Evan there might be life left in her yet.
Rafe appeared behind him. “Can you walk, Bechard?”
“Oui.”
“Run?”
“Ah, for this? Oui.But she must come. They have…abused her.”
Rafe bent over her. “Ba! She is dead.”
“No, no!” Luc grabbed him.
Rafe lifted a hand to calm him. “I’ll take her. I will!”
“Know she vomits. Often.”
Rafe shook his head, then knelt and snaked his arms under the limp woman.
Luc plucked at Rafe’s coat. “We all have lice.”
Rafe ignored him and hoisted the girl into his embrace. “I loathe bigger vermin who walk the earth.”
Evan took Luc’s arm. “Let’s go!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Inès huddled in her coat, shivering with anxiety. What kept them?
She criticized herself for their delay. She had made them repeat their plans to her many times. Rafe had walked away, refusing to say it again. Evan had told her to have confidence in him. But getting Luc out of this cavern was the work of angels. Rafe was cunning, agile. Evan was insightful, adept at creating alternatives. His stories of catching spies had warmed her. The two he hadn’t caught—Faucon and La Mère—stayed on his mind. At every turn, it seemed, he kept looking for them, La Mère especially. Inès had felt her presence twice along their journey, but had seen no one who resembled the beautiful woman with evil in her soul. Evan looked for the spy constantly, and it grated on his peace of mind.
To say nothing of mine.
