imperturbable Englishman did know the meaning of
fear after all.
Moments
later, the moon broke through the clouds to once again flood the courtyard with
silvery light. The Englishman relaxed his punishing grip, uncovered the
lantern, and held it aloft, his eyes still riveted on the open courtyard as if
the patch of moonlit sky drew him like a magnet.
“Well
that’s that,” he said in a voice devoid of expression. “What now, lady guide?
Have you any idea where we are?”
Taking
her cue from him, Madelaine pulled herself together and gazed about her,
determined to hide the fear that still threatened to buckle her knees. “It is
hard to tell from the light of a single lantern, but there is something about
this passageway that looks familiar,” she answered in the same flat tone in
which he had posed his question.
“Good.
The sooner we find our way out of here, the better. But if you have any doubts,
for God’s sake, express them now. One wild goose-chase through these curst traboules is more than enough.”
Madelaine
stiffened. “I shall do my best to keep from inconveniencing you further,
monsieur.” Crossing her fingers once again, she moved ahead of him down the
passage. This one was wider and cleaner than the one they had previously
traversed, and the doors lining it were more ornate and spaced further apart.
With
a sigh of relief, she spotted an alcove containing an ancient stone well and
beyond it a narrow passage branching off the main one. If memory served her,
the apartment that had been her grandfather’s lay but a few feet beyond this
intersection.
“Here
is the door I seek,” she said, stopping to run her fingers over the two coats
of arms. Just so, she had traced these carved emblems on her fourteenth
birthday when her grandfather first brought her to this spot to hear the
history of the noble family from which she’d sprung.
She
remembered well the bitterness in his voice when he’d explained. “I dare not
take you to the front entrance, ma petite fille ; we must stand here like
fishmongers at the tradesman’s door, while a peasant occupies what has belonged
to the Navareils for centuries.” Even now, years later, she felt choked with
sorrow for the old man who had wasted a lifetime grieving for the wealth and
privilege that had once been his.
With
one last look at her family’s coat of arms, she closed the door on her noble
past and opened another on the unknown future to which this stern-faced
Englishman was taking her. It occurred to her that he had been amazingly
patient with her, considering the perversity of his nature. First he’d helped
her give her grandfather a proper burial at great danger to himself; now he
waited in this dark traboule while she bid her sad good-bye to her life
in Lyon. Perhaps he was not so lacking in compassion as he appeared.
“I
am finished now,” she said, a tiny portion of her heart warming toward this
enigmatic stranger her father had appointed as her protector. “I promise I will
detain you no longer.”
“And
I promise I will remind you of that promise if you do.” His biting sarcasm made
it all too apparent he was neither patient nor compassionate, but merely bent
on completing the onerous task her father had assigned him with the least
possible trouble. For some reason she could not fathom, this surly Englishman’s
disapproval cut her to the quick. She found herself wondering what the going
price was these days for delivering long-lost daughters to wealthy London
merchants.
“How
much farther must we go?” he asked in an oddly breathless voice a few moments
later.
“I
am not certain, monsieur. It has been a long time since I last visited the traboules .”
“If
you could bring yourself to walk a little faster, I would appreciate it,” he
said through gritted teeth.
“Faster,
monsieur?” Startled by the intensity in his voice, Madelaine glanced behind
her. He had that look again—the black one that made him appear
fear after all.
Moments
later, the moon broke through the clouds to once again flood the courtyard with
silvery light. The Englishman relaxed his punishing grip, uncovered the
lantern, and held it aloft, his eyes still riveted on the open courtyard as if
the patch of moonlit sky drew him like a magnet.
“Well
that’s that,” he said in a voice devoid of expression. “What now, lady guide?
Have you any idea where we are?”
Taking
her cue from him, Madelaine pulled herself together and gazed about her,
determined to hide the fear that still threatened to buckle her knees. “It is
hard to tell from the light of a single lantern, but there is something about
this passageway that looks familiar,” she answered in the same flat tone in
which he had posed his question.
“Good.
The sooner we find our way out of here, the better. But if you have any doubts,
for God’s sake, express them now. One wild goose-chase through these curst traboules is more than enough.”
Madelaine
stiffened. “I shall do my best to keep from inconveniencing you further,
monsieur.” Crossing her fingers once again, she moved ahead of him down the
passage. This one was wider and cleaner than the one they had previously
traversed, and the doors lining it were more ornate and spaced further apart.
With
a sigh of relief, she spotted an alcove containing an ancient stone well and
beyond it a narrow passage branching off the main one. If memory served her,
the apartment that had been her grandfather’s lay but a few feet beyond this
intersection.
“Here
is the door I seek,” she said, stopping to run her fingers over the two coats
of arms. Just so, she had traced these carved emblems on her fourteenth
birthday when her grandfather first brought her to this spot to hear the
history of the noble family from which she’d sprung.
She
remembered well the bitterness in his voice when he’d explained. “I dare not
take you to the front entrance, ma petite fille ; we must stand here like
fishmongers at the tradesman’s door, while a peasant occupies what has belonged
to the Navareils for centuries.” Even now, years later, she felt choked with
sorrow for the old man who had wasted a lifetime grieving for the wealth and
privilege that had once been his.
With
one last look at her family’s coat of arms, she closed the door on her noble
past and opened another on the unknown future to which this stern-faced
Englishman was taking her. It occurred to her that he had been amazingly
patient with her, considering the perversity of his nature. First he’d helped
her give her grandfather a proper burial at great danger to himself; now he
waited in this dark traboule while she bid her sad good-bye to her life
in Lyon. Perhaps he was not so lacking in compassion as he appeared.
“I
am finished now,” she said, a tiny portion of her heart warming toward this
enigmatic stranger her father had appointed as her protector. “I promise I will
detain you no longer.”
“And
I promise I will remind you of that promise if you do.” His biting sarcasm made
it all too apparent he was neither patient nor compassionate, but merely bent
on completing the onerous task her father had assigned him with the least
possible trouble. For some reason she could not fathom, this surly Englishman’s
disapproval cut her to the quick. She found herself wondering what the going
price was these days for delivering long-lost daughters to wealthy London
merchants.
“How
much farther must we go?” he asked in an oddly breathless voice a few moments
later.
“I
am not certain, monsieur. It has been a long time since I last visited the traboules .”
“If
you could bring yourself to walk a little faster, I would appreciate it,” he
said through gritted teeth.
“Faster,
monsieur?” Startled by the intensity in his voice, Madelaine glanced behind
her. He had that look again—the black one that made him appear
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