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“Because you are the actress.”
She blew out a breath that frosted in the cold air. The sky had grown darker and not simply because the rain clouds hung low. Night was upon them, and if they did not find a place to stay, they would be forced to travel in the rain and the dark. One false step, and she could break a leg. Even worse, with the rampant poverty in France, the roads could be dangerous after dark—not that any thief would go out in this weather.
But she supposed someone would have to save them. Again. Some hero this Chevalier was turning out to be. “Fine. I will do my best,” she said, marching past him. “But if I lived in one of those houses,Iwouldn’t allow you in.”
“We don’t need access to the house. Ask if we can wait out the storm in the stable.”
Really, he was altogether too used to giving orders. She ignored him. He could sleep in the stable if he wanted. She wanted a warm fire and civilized company. No one answered at the first door where she knocked. She called out, but either the occupants were not home or they did not hear her.
Or this plan was flawed from the start—a point she had made in the beginning.
Chevalier led them to another house, where he knocked loudly, then stepped back so she might be the face that greeted whomever answered the door.
“Go away!” a man’s voice called through the wood.
“Please, citoyen!” Alex answered. “It is wet and cold. My brother and I beg you to have compassion.”
“Go away!” he said again.
“Please, sir. I have assignats. I can pay for shelter.”
Silence fell and for a moment she heard nothing but the pop of rain on the ground. Then the locks rattled, and the door opened. A short man with white wispy hair and rheumy blue eyes stood in the doorway. “Let me see.”
Alex reached under her cape and withdrew a bill from her purse. She held it out, and the man snatched it away. “That will buy you a half hour.”
“A half hour? This is nothing short of robbery. Give me that back.” She held her hand out, but Chevalier covered it with his and lowered it to her side.
“Another just like that and shelter in your stable until the rain passes. That is all we ask.”
The man looked at Chevalier, then at her. “Fine.” He held out his small, dirty hand again. With a glare, Alex reached into her purse, closed her hand on another bill, and handed it to him.
“The stable is in back,” he said and slammed the door in her face.
Chevalier looked inordinately pleased with himself. At least she thought that was his expression. It was difficult to read with all of the rain obscuring her vision.
“Why aren’t you smiling?” he asked, leading her around to the back where the small, ramshackle stable sat. Alex’s jaw dropped. The place was not fit for animals, and she had given the owner the last of her money for it.
“I’m not smiling because I have to go in there”—she pointed to the building, which seemed to be listing to one side—“withyou.”
“It may not be Versailles, but it will be dry.” He seemed to get a better look at the stable. “Reasonably dry, at any rate.”
Alex glared at him. “I didn’t like you before, and now I really, really don’t like you at all.”
She marched away, but the distance didn’t prevent her from hearing his answer. “I don’t like you either.”
***
TRISTAN WISHED HE HADthe materials to build a fire. Understandably those materials were not kept in stables. Livestock and fire were not compatible. Of course, the only being inside, other than the she-wolf and himself, was a donkey, and its stall was in the only part of the stable that didn’t leak.
Tristan had tried to make friends with the beast, so they might share its stall, but it had bared its teeth and kicked him. He’d limped back to Citoyenne Martin, who did not bother to hide her smile. She sat back against the wheel of a cart and shivered in her wet clothing. He was shivering too, but he would rather shiver than sit close to her. Night had fallen while the rain pummeled them, and now Tristan did not see how they could return to Paris for yet another day. Robespierre must be wondering where he was. Tristan rose from the floor, brushing the dirt from his trousers, and paced back and forth. The activity kept him from falling asleep and warmed him at the same time.
“?To be, or not to be,’” Alex said. “?That is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer—’”
“If you wish to recite, could you choose something more pleasant?” he asked between clenched teeth. The last thing he wanted was Hamlet’s soliloquy on suicide.
“Of course. Let me think.” She paused. “?Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!’”
He started toward her. He would have to throttle her if she did not cease speaking soon. “How is that more cheerful?
