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“Shh. We’ll talk later.” But as soon as the words left his lips, he realized that wasn’t true. She would go her way and he his. This might be the last time they spoke.
He couldn’t let her go. Even if it meant going to Austria with her and the...king, he couldn’t leave her.
Finally, the cart slowed and turned. The late afternoon light filtering through the blanket dimmed and darkened. Under the blankets, no one stirred or even dared breathe too loudly.
The cart stopped and the silence seemed to clang as loudly as the horses’ hooves had a moment before.
“You’re a bonny sight. I dinnae think you were coming,” said a voice in English.
Alexandra pulled the blanket off her head.
“Wait!” Tristan urged.
“It’s Mackenzie,” she said. “I’d recognize his voice anywhere.”
Just then a man with brown hair and broad shoulders peered over them. “Och. What happened to you, lass? You look half deid.”
Alexandra touched her head again. “That oaf”—she pointed to Dewhurst, who had turned to look back at them—“set my barrel upside down. I could hardly breathe. I had to topple it just to take a breath and then when it fell over I hit my head.”
Dewhurst raised his brows. “Oh, now it makes sense.”
Tristan jumped to his feet. “It makes sense? You almost killed her!”
“But I didn’t.”
Mackenzie looked amused at the two men, but Ffoulkes strode over from beside the closed carriage that also occupied the enclosed courtyard in front of what looked like some sort of warehouse.
“We don’t have time for arguments,” Ffoulkes said. “If they close the gates early, we’ll never make it. Honoria there has all of the papers. Get yours and sort yourselves out.” He gave a deep bow to the boy. “Your Majesty. I will be honored to escort you to Austria. You have family there who, I believe, are eager to see you safe.” He gestured to Alexandra, who’d accepted a handkerchief from Mackenzie and was dabbing the blood on her forehead. “Miss Martin and I will accompany you.”
The boy looked from Montagne to Ffoulkes. “What about Uncle Laurent?” It was the first time Tristan had heard him speak, and he was taken off guard by the high pitch of the child’s voice. Such a small voice in such an emaciated body. How could Robespierre have been so afraid of a child as to treat him so monstrously?
“I’m afraid he will go another way tonight, but you have family in Austria who—”
“No!” The boy wrapped his arms around Montagne’s neck. “I won’t go without him.”
Tristan understood how the boy felt. He wanted to wrap his own arms around Alexandra and beg her to come with him.
“Your Majesty,” Montagne was saying. “You will be safe with Sir Andrew.”
Ffoulkes went to the end of the cart and removed the rope strewn there to secure the contents. “Come down and let’s meet properly.”
But when they’d all climbed down, the boy would not release Montagne from his hold. “Give us a moment, will you?” Montagne said and carried the boy to the carriage where Miss Blake stood. The two conferred quietly.
“He’ll not want to leave the king,” Ffoulkes said, voice low. “I should have anticipated the boy’s attachment.”
“But Honoria wants to return to London,” Alexandra said.
“I think she wants to be with the marquis more.” Ffoulkes gave them a fleeting look. “She’ll agree, and then I cannot travel with you. Two men might look suspicious, but two women will not. Alex, you can say you’re the boy’s nanny.”
She nodded. “I think the three of us will do very well once we escape Paris.”
Tristan could almost hear the words she’d been thinking—ifwe escape Paris.
“Then Dewhurst, you go with Chevalier and Leroy to London. I’ll stay behind. Mackenzie could use help with his next mission.”
“Aye, that I could.”
“I’m afraid I must object,” Tristan said, causing everyone to look at him. “I’m not going to London.”
