Page 82 of Echo in the Wind

As the carriage raced ahead, the three of them were jostled about so badly they had to grab the strap and grip the windowsills to keep from being thrown together.

Heart pounding, Joanna peered out the window, wondering where the third brigand had gone.

Before they reached the château, the driver brought the carriage to a sudden stop. The horses snorted, restless in their traces. Joanna braced for another attack.

Unexpectedly, Donet appeared at the window astride a horse. He jumped down, yanked open the door and pulled Joanna into his arms, crushing her to his chest.

He pulled back, his forehead creased in an expression of concern. “You are all right?”

“Yes, all of us,” she said.

In the carriage window, Zoé nodded. “Bien. I must help Émile and the driver. They are wounded.”

Zoé leaned out of the window, watching anxiously as Joanna followed Donet. At the front of the carriage, he climbed on top. A ball had pierced the coachman’s calf and blood coated his stockings.

Joanna was sickened by the sight. Donet acted as if it were an everyday occurrence. Perhaps, for him, it was.

M’sieur Bequel was slumped over, blood oozing from his shoulder.

“I am fine, Capitaine,” he said. “Just a prick to my shoulder.”

“I’ll be making my own assessment, mon ami.” Donet took off his cravat and tied it around the driver’s wound. Then he helped the quartermaster down.

“You will ride with the ladies,” said Donet, helping Bequel into the passenger compartment.

The quartermaster bristled. “Really, Capitaine, this is unnecessary.”

Donet ignored him and, once the quartermaster had taken a seat, handed Joanna into the carriage. As he closed the door, through the open window, he offered her a pistol. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

“I do,” she said, taking it from him. “My brother Wills taught me when he was on leave from the Coldstream Guards.”

“Keep it ready should you need it on the way back.”

He led his horse toward the back of the carriage. As he returned to the front, he passed by her window.

She heard the whip crack and the carriage lurched forward.

Inside, Gabrielle tended M’sieur Bequel as best she could, pressing her handkerchief and the one Joanna offered into the wound to try and stop the bleeding.

Joanna kept the pistol close, unsure of what to expect.

Zoé looked on anxiously, but she did not cry. A brave little girl, thought Joanna.

Wondering what had prompted Donet to set out to find them, she looked at the quartermaster, who gritted his teeth with every movement of the carriage. “How did he know?”

“I could tell ye stories, Mademoiselle. ’Twould make yer hair stand on end. The capitaine has instincts that often baffle the crew. When the war raged on the Channel, more times than I can remember, with not a sail in sight, he would suddenly order Lucien to change course. Only later would we learn an English frigate had been heading for our ship.”

“You think he sensed there would be trouble?”

“Oui. I expect so. He gets a feeling something’s not right. At such times, I have learned not to question him.”

Joanna heard the pride in his voice and the affection for the man to whom Bequel gave his loyalty, the one he called “Capitaine”.

“You and Donet have been friends for a long time, no?”

The quartermaster’s breathing was labored. The ball in his shoulder had to be causing him great pain. Still, he managed to say, “Many years. And I hope for many more.”

A man who could engender such loyalty and unfettered obedience from a crew of cutthroats was not a man to be ignored. “I, too, hope you and he will have many years together, Monsieur. And I am glad his instincts told him to come after us. I feel safer for knowing he is with us.”