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Alex gave him a sidelong look. “We’re not ready for that conversation yet.”
***
SHE DIDN’T TRUST HIM...not yet, Tristan thought, leaning back against the log. It was too hard to sit on for long. Citoyenne Martin had also given it up, resorting to pacing instead of resting as she ought. They were clever not to trust him. He hadn’t really proven himself—not yet. Yes, he’d freed the abbé, but the man was probably guilty of nothing more than being associated with the church. It had been a worthwhile venture to find out more about the League of the Scarlet Pimpernel and to discover the traitors in the farmhouse near Saint-Germain-en-Laye.
And Tristan knew if he did not return to Paris and go directly to Robespierre and tell his superior all he knew, any excuses he might make later would seem paltry and weak. Tristan had enough evidence to destroy the League, and that was what he would do when he was home once again.
They might destroy him in turn, but perhaps if he accompanied the guard when they made the arrest, he could find the papers that damned him and burn them before they could do him any harm.
And more than likely not. They’d be hidden away, somewhere the league could direct the guard to look during their trials. Then Tristan would be labeled a traitor as well.
It was a label he deserved, and he could not help but think perhaps the republic needed more traitors if the rampant bloodshed were ever to end.
Then again, he might just be one more death in a sea of them. His sacrifice would mean nothing.
But he couldn’t think like that. Alexandra Martin and her royalist ideas were corrupting him. His loyalty was to the revolution, not to these traitors.
He watched Citoyenne Martin pace and wondered what motivated her to risk her life. This was not her country. The people she saved were not Englishmen. She was not even of noble blood. What did she care if France killed its former ruling class?
“I think it’s been long enough,” she said, stopping midstride and whirling to face him. “We should start for the road.”
“You haven’t even rested,” he pointed out.
“I promise you won’t have to carry me. I’m stronger than I look.”
“I have no doubt.” He rose and brushed his trousers off, though he hardly saw the point as he’d spent the night in a barn and now muddied them in the woods. “You do seem quite the most determined woman I have ever met.”
She looked about, gauging their direction, then started toward what she assumed was Paris. As Tristan’s own sense of direction told him Paris was that way, he did not argue.
“I would take that as a compliment,” she said, picking up their conversation as she walked.
He fell in step beside her, his eyes on the ground for any roots that might trip him or her. “And it would be a compliment if your cause was not the wrong one.”
She scowled at him, then looked down to watch her footing. He waited until she had stepped over a muddy puddle. “Tell me, why have you allied yourself with the Scarlet Pimpernel? Why do you risk your life for that of a handful of nobles who would never have done the same for you?”
“Now you are capable of seeing into people’s hearts and minds?”
His jaw tightened. “With few exceptions,” he said coldly, “I do not need to see into an aristo’s heart or mind. They are all the same. They care for nothing and no one but themselves and their fortunes.”
“That is not true, but even if it were”—she raised a finger before he could interrupt to argue—“they are still people. No matter their sins or imperfections or shortcomings. They are people, who deserve basic rights, no matter what class they were born into.”
“And under the republic they are given a trial where they might prove their guilt or innocence, which is far more than these nobles you claim are people ever gave my family.”
He closed his mouth immediately, angry for revealing so much. He hadn’t meant to tell her. He’d had enough of what the nobility and their sycophants called pity.
She paused and looked back at him, but there was no surprise in her eyes. “I am sorry for what happened to your family. The Duc du Mérignac was known to be a cruel man, but you cannot judge an entire class based on the actions of one person.”
She had known. Somehow she had known what had befallen his family all those years ago. What else did she know about him? They would be poor spies indeed if they had not watched his comings and goings of late, but for some reason this peek into his past felt like a violation.
“What else do you know about me?”
She swallowed, her pale throat working, and looked away.
“You think you know me? You think I joined the revolution for revenge and now that I’ve had it, I will change loyalties.”
Her steady gaze met his. “You didn’t want revenge? Because if not, the duc and his family paid a very high price indeed.”
He took her by the shoulders and all but slammed her against the nearest tree. She didn’t flinch, and her gaze never left his. “I know what you had done to them,” she said in a low voice.
