Page 45 of A Fierce Wind

He laughed and slid onto the chair beside her. “It seems no one here needs sleep. Morning, General.”

“Good morning to you, West.”

“Where is Isabeau?” he inquired, looking about the hall.

“She has made friends,” said Zoé, pointing to a far table where the girl sat laughing with some younger Chouans.

“A pity you can’t leave her with us,” put in Boisguy. “We can protect her, you know.”

“We promised her brother we would take her to Guernsey,” Zoé reminded him.

“Very well,” said Boisguy. “I will not press. How long do I have the pleasure of your company, mademoiselle?”

Zoé turned to Freddie, brows lifted.

He answered for her. “I am hoping to garner what more I need today, put my notes into code tonight and be off with the dawn.”

A look of regret crossed Boisguy’s face as his gaze met Zoé’s. “Alas, war separates what life would join. When this wretched revolution is over, if I still live, I will seek you out, mademoiselle.”

This time Freddie was certain Zoé blushed, but pleasure infused his soul when the regret he glimpsed in Boisguy’s eyes was not mirrored in hers.

“While you are gathering your facts,” she told Freddie, “I plan to join Captain Victor today. I might learn something about the challenges she faces as a woman fighting with the Chouans.”

Freddie frowned. “Do you mean on patrol?” He didn’t like the idea of her being exposed to more danger just as they were preparing to leave.

“Well, yes, if she is to lead one.”

“Mademoiselle Donet will be fine,” Boisguy assured Freddie. “Captain Victor takes no unnecessary risks.”

It was the necessary ones Freddie worried about, but seeing Zoé’s enthusiasm for her last day with the female Chouan, he made no objection.

Zoé placed her hand on his sleeve. “Don’t worry, Freddie. I’ll be careful and you know Gabe will insist on coming.”

“All right.” He rarely said no to her. Found it near impossible, as a matter of fact, especially when she turned those dove gray eyes on him. It was one of his many weaknesses where she was concerned.

Zoé watched Freddie stride across the hall toward a group of Chouans, his broad shoulders and height standing out amidst the smaller Bretons. She couldn’t remember just when he’d grown so tall. Perhaps it was—

“I have told the men to give your English friend their candid assessment as to what they would ask the English to do for us,” said Boisguy, interrupting her thoughts. “I think I heard one mention uniforms. Unnecessary to my thinking but important to some.”

Zoé gave the general her full attention, her mouth hitching up in a grin. “But you wear a uniform of sorts, do you not?”

Boisguy shrugged. “My men think so. Like me, many of the officers come from the nobility, asked to lead the fight by their tenants and villagers. We merely retain the dress we started with. That and the white cockade set us apart for our men.”

Zoé allowed her mind to wander back to the last time she had seen the dashing comte de la Rochejaquelein sitting atop his chestnut stallion as he rode off to join the Royal Guard of King Louis XVI. “Henri dressed like you, monsieur, impeccably attired even when he was riding off to battle. Beneath his crowned hat, his golden curls were never out of place.”

“Ah, oui, de la Rochejaquelein was the perfect soldier, the perfect officer, a brother to his men, eating their food, sleeping on the ground under the trees. And happiest with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other. Of course, all the women threw their handkerchiefs at his feet, sent him love notes and tokens of their affection. So foolish. Henri and I used to laugh about them over our wine.”

A knot formed in Zoé’s throat. Had they laughed about her? She had sent Henri notes and given him small tokens to carry with him, a ribbon from her hair, a ring he wore on his smallest finger. “But surely, Henri had someone who was close to his heart, someone whose token he treasured?”

“Non, mademoiselle. I assure you, he did not. The sacred heart patch was his Madonna. He had no room in his heart for a mere female. Women like Captain Victor were useful to him and therefore he admired her skill with a sword, but he never loved a woman. Most he considered a nuisance.”

The scales fell from Zoé’s eyes, as she realized why Henri had never given voice to the words of love she had longed to hear. Not wanting Boisguy to see how his barbs affected her, she hid her despair beneath a cough. Her gut twisted to think she was among the women they had laughed about. Boisguy might not know her name as one of Henri’s devotees but she felt the shame as if he did. She could not chide Henri for his indifference for he was gone. But here was another. Was Boisguy just like him?

“Are you of the same opinion as Henri, monsieur?”

Her hand was on the table. Boisguy covered it with his own, his warm skin pressed against hers in too intimate a gesture for their brief acquaintance. “Non, mademoiselle. I am not like Henri. I make room in my heart—and my bed—for women I like.” His eyes took on a dark, predatory gleam. “Particularly one as lovely as you.”

Zoé pulled back her hand and slipped it under the table.