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The possibility that the necklace could be amplifying that desire for power, driving an already-righteous fervor over the edge into a reckless confidence, lay unsaid between them.
“He won’t be content to drive King Louis from Paris,” Harry continued. “He must conquer. His nature demands it. And the Allied powers will never allow him free rein. We’re heading for war, you mark my words.” He glanced over at her, and his furious expression softened. “You’re exhausted.”
He pulled Makeen to a stop, and Hester reined in her donkey.
Harry reached out his arms and indicated his foot in the stirrup. “Come on. Give that poor beast a rest. Makeen’s strong enough to carry two for a while, and you look like you’re about to fall asleep in the saddle.”
Hester was too tired to argue. When she slipped from the donkey’s back, her knees nearly buckled, but she managed to tie the animal’s reins to Makeen’s saddle. Harry hauled her up in front of him and settled her sideways across his lap. Makeen pranced in protest, but Harry controlled him with a squeeze of his thighs, and Hester sighed as she settled against his chest.
She should have felt embarrassed, being held in his arms like this, with her head tucked beneath his chin and her ear pressed to the steady pounding of his heart. But it felt so right, so natural, that she didn’t put up a squeak of protest. She simply melted into his body, savoring the spicy scent of him and the hard strength of him beneath her. She closed her eyes with a sigh of contentment. Harry would keep her safe. Harry wouldn’t let her fall.
When they arrived at a small hostelry that evening, Harry purloined a newspaper from the taproom and read that the French Marshal Ney, who had promised King Louis that he would convince Napoleon to turn himself in or ‘bring the usurper back in an iron cage’, had instead turned traitor and returned to Napoleon’s side.
Hester couldn’t shake the conviction that the evil power of the necklace was coming into effect. The medicine man back at Kharga had foreseen great destruction, and she had a terrible feeling that things were rushing pell-mell toward some dreadful, bloody outcome.
Luck finally favored them when they rode into the small town of Villefranche. They had finally caught up with Napoleon.
The town was bursting with people who’d come to show their support. According to the local blacksmith, the emperor was staying in one of the larger hotels in town. A great number of wounded officers were being presented to him that afternoon, to receive his thanks and to pledge allegiance to their old commander.
Harry’s eyes lit up, and he smiled for the first time in what seemed like days. “That will be the perfect distraction. While Napoleon’s busy talking to his soldiers, we’ll disguise ourselves as servants, sneak into his rooms, and look for the necklace.”
“I doubt it will be that easy. Surely if he has it, after all this time, he won’t let it out of his sight.”
“It won’t hurt to look,” Harry countered reasonably.
So an hour later Hester found herself carrying a tray of dirty dishes near the back door of the hotel, dressed as a lowly serving wench. Harry had taken gleeful pleasure in stealing her an outfit from a flapping washing line. She’d been about to lecture him on the ethics of thievery—yet again—when she’d seen him slip a gold coin into the peg bag left hanging there. He was an oddly honest thief.
“Aren’t you coming in with me?” she grumbled.
Harry sent her tightly-laced bosom an appreciative leer, and her cheeks heated. She was sure he’d deliberately chosen the most revealing dress he could find, just to make her squirm. Did he like what he saw?
“You make a far more convincing chambermaid than I would,” he chuckled, “and I don’t want to leave Makeen. Someone might steal him. Besides, one of us needs to keep an eye on Napoleon. I’ll watch him through the front windows and make sure he stays downstairs.”
“And what will you do if he looks like he’s about to leave?”
“Create a distraction.”
Hester lifted an eyebrow. “A distraction.”
“I’ll pretend to be drunk and start a brawl in the front courtyard. That’ll draw everyone’s attention.”
Hester shook her head.
“I know that’s all you think I’m good for,” Harry teased. “Don’t pay any heed to the fact that I’ll be outnumbered ten to one and probably beaten to a pulp. Never mind that some burly French grenadier might snap me like a twig.”
“You’ll be fine,” Hester snorted. “I’ve never met a man as lucky as you. You always manage to come out of scrapes without so much as a scratch.”
He sent her a cocky smile and gave her bottom a playful swat. “Off you go, sweetheart.”
Nobody paid Hester any attention as she pushed her way into the kitchens, hiding behind her tray. The entire staff was in a state of mild panic as they scurried to accommodate the demands of their unexpected guest and his huge retinue. Hester exchanged the tray for a pile of clean, folded linens and made her way up the back stairs, looking for any signs that would indicate which room belonged to Napoleon. She passed one set of guards lounging at the foot of the stairs, but they ignored her. Would he have guards standing outside his chamber too? How on earth was she supposed to gain access?
She followed a couple of giggling maids along a corridor and stopped with a hushed curse as she caught sight of a huge figure standing guard outside the room at the far end. She turned towards the wall and pretended to be fumbling with a set of keys, then sneaked another glance at the bulky silhouette.
She frowned. It was hard to see against the sunlight, but the man didn’t seem to be wearing a uniform, nor carrying a weapon. He had his arms folded across his chest and he looked . . . oddly familiar. Broad shoulders, baggy pantaloons. Carefully wrapped turban.
Hester turned with a gasp.
“Suleiman!”
