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“My thoughts exactly. Why did you let him out of your sight?”
“It was the only way. What do we do now? Should we split up? One of us take the road toward Paris and the other backtrack?”
Dewhurst rolled his neck to one side and then the other. “I don’t think we’ll find him, and we run the very real risk of meeting our friends again. No doubt they will have reinforcements as soon as the sun is up.”
“Then what do we—” She broke off abruptly as the kitchen door opened and the man himself stepped into the yard. He spotted them, jerked back, and turned back to the posting house. Dewhurst grabbed his collar.
“Not so fast.”
“Oh, it’s you, citoyen.” His gaze landed on Alex. “And you. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I told you to stay out of sight.”
“And I was out of sight. You didn’t see me.”
“But anyone inside the posting house might have!”
“Citoyenne Martin, give me some credit.”
“I will. When you earn it! And the next time you call mecitoyenne,I’ll punch you.”
He looked at Dewhurst as though expecting an explanation. Dewhurst just shrugged.
“We’re wasting time here,” Alex said. “The sun will be up soon, and that will make it easier for the provincials to find us. We had better go now.”
“More running?” Chevalier asked with a sigh. “I have a better idea.”
“Oh, really?” She put her hands on her hips and waited.
“There’s a cart over there. The farmer is inside. He stopped to wait for the storm to pass, then drank too much and passed out.” He gave Alex a meaningful look. “These are the things you hear hiding in the kitchen.”
“Go on,” Dewhurst said.
“He’ll probably depart when it’s light. I propose we hide under his produce and stow away. When we’re close to Paris, we jump off.”
Dewhurst looked down at Alex. “You have to admit, it’s a good plan.”
“Fine. As long as there are no chickens. I don’t want to be pecked for the next several hours.”
***
TRISTAN WAS PLEASEDthere were no chickens or any other animals on the cart at present, but something with digestive faculties had occupied it recently because no matter where he turned his head, he could smell feces.
Dewhurst obviously didn’t care. He’d fallen asleep and was snoring softly. Alexandra heaved annoyed sighs every few moments, letting him know she was less than pleased.
“Oh come now, cit—Alexandra. This can’t be the worst place you’ve ever had to hide.”
“The sewers are worse,” she admitted. “But at least down there one can keep moving. Is that farmer ever going to wake?”
He could hear people milling about and taking their leaves, but no one had saddled the workhorses to the cart yet. “Are you certain you would rather I call you Alexandra than...the other?”
“You might as well. It’s not as though we haven’t spent two nights together now.”
“They haven’t exactly been enjoyable.”
“No, but certainly climbing trees together and shooting at provincial patriots together means we can be a bit less formal. You may even call me Alex, if you wish.”
He shook his head, though she could not see it under the old horse blanket they’d climbed under, moving the baskets of fruit in front of them so their presence was not so obvious.
