Moonlight Surrender (Moonlight Book 3) (37 page)

Duncan laughed at her question, realizing what she must have thought. He took another look at the leader,
who was now only a few yards away, and confirmed his
original supposition.

“No, not his religion, Beth, his name: Christian. Jacques Christian.”

“What ho, pilgrims. Are you in any sort of trouble?” the man Duncan knew as Jacques Christian called to them in French.

Duncan had no idea what Jacques asked, but he cupped his hands and shouted back. “We certainly don’t need any help from any black-hearted, seafaring pirates like you,
Christian.”

Surprised to be addressed by name, the tall, proud-looking man pulled up his horse for a moment in order to focus better. Recognition followed instantly as he took a good look at the man who had shouted out his name. Jacques urged his horse forward until he reached the three people standing in the midst of a circle of dead men.

Jacques swung his leg over the pommel and slid off
his horse with the grace and agility that was the demar
cation of everything he did and touched. His sensual mouth curved over two rows of perfectly formed white teeth as he grinned his obvious delight.

“Duncan! Duncan Fitzhugh! I thought the devil had long ago called you home.”

“Not yet,” Duncan testified, relieved finally to see a
familiar face.

The man clasped Duncan to his chest. Duncan returned the fierce hug. Of the two, Duncan knew that he was the happier to see an old friend.

Jacques held Duncan at arm’s length, as if unable to believe that he was actually here on this side of the Channel. “What matter of booty brings you to France? I’ve heard no talk of secret treasures.”

Jacques was not so taken with Duncan’s unexpected appearance that he missed the fact that Duncan had a woman with him, as well as one of his companions from their seafaring days.

His smile broadened. “But then, I see you have brought your own treasure with you. You always did have excellent taste.”

With a hearty laugh, he shook Jacob’s hand in greeting, but his eyes were still on Beth.

Behind Jacques, his men had ridden up and remained on their horses, looking at the reunion with mild interest. Duncan recognized none of their faces.

Jacques released Jacob’s hand and took a step back as he looked at the two men. “It has been what, five years, since our paths have crossed?”

“Seven,” Duncan corrected. It had been that long
since he had left the sea behind and last seen Jacques
Christian.

Jacques took a long look at the bodies strewn around them on the ground. Humor touched his mouth.

“I see you have not lost your touch, my friend.” Thinking he knew one man, Jacques turned him over with the toe of his boot. But he didn’t recognize the man’s face. “From the looks of them, France will not be the worse off for their demise. I would even say that you have done her a service.”

Beth looked uncertainly from Jacques to Duncan. She
was relieved that they were not about to be beset again by thieves, but she was anxious to attempt to recover her stolen mount.

“Duncan, shouldn’t we try to find the man who stole my horse?”

Jacques dark eyes shifted to Beth’s face. He took quick appraisal of her and found that what he saw pleased him.

“Well, are you going to introduce me to the lovely lady, or do you wish to keep her to yourself?” A knowing look slid over his face. “You always were a greedy bast—scoundrel,” he amended at the last moment, for Beth’s benefit.

Though he counted Jacques as a friend, Duncan still knew the limits of that friendship. He placed a proprietary hand on Beth’s shoulder as he made the introductions. “Elizabeth Beaulieu, I’d like you to meet Jacques Christian.”

There was a familiar, cocky manner to the way the man stood before her. It mirrored Duncan’s as easily as
if one had been the shadow of the other. “Another pri
vateer?” Beth asked.

Jacques laughed, delighted at her question. There was neither contempt nor fear in her eyes. He slanted a look toward Duncan.

“Ah, so she knows about you, does she?” Taking her hand in his, he bowed low and kissed it. “I am your humble servant, mademoiselle.” He raised his eyes to her face. A woman of substance, he thought in open admiration. “Beaulieu,” he repeated, rolling the name about his tongue. “You are French?”

“American,” she corrected. “But my father was born here, as were his people.” As she spoke, she felt herself relaxing. There was something about the man, despite the devil in his eyes, that she trusted.

Jacques considered her words. Surely she wasn’t traveling through just now. He regarded her clothing. An odd choice of apparel for a visitor.

“It is not an advisable time to be traveling aboard.”
He looked questioningly at Duncan, waiting for an ex
planation to be tendered.

When they looked back at it later, both Duncan and Beth thought of Jacques’s appearance that day as a godsend.

“Jacques,” Duncan began, as he placed his arm about the man’s broad shoulders, “I think I’m about to say something to you that I never thought I would.”

The dark crescents rose in an arch above expressive, dark eyes. “And that is—?”

Duncan exchanged looks with Beth. She nodded. It
was another time to trust blindly, as she had with Lafay
ette. “We need your help.”

Jacques laughed, though his eyes had grown serious. He motioned his men from their horses, then turned to look at his friend. “As it so happens, my friend, I have the afternoon free.”

He quickly introduced his men, Henri, Sebastian, and Pierre. As the latter two stood guard, Christian took a seat on a fallen log. He waited until Beth and Duncan joined him. Jacob stood not far away, tending to their horses and keeping a watchful eye out of his own.

“Tell me what you wish of me, my friend,” Jacques
encouraged. “My right arm is yours.”

He looked at Duncan significantly, wondering if Duncan remembered the incident on the Black Death when
Duncan saved him from having his arm severed by pirates that had boarded.

The smile on Duncan’s face told Jacques he did.

As succinctly as possible, Duncan and Beth explained
the circumstances of what had brought them to Paris.

Jacques listened in silence, interjecting not one word. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. The look in his eyes told them, as if they did not already know, that what they were about was dangerous.

When Duncan finished, Jacques smiled.

“The Bastille,” he repeated slowly. There was no reverence in his voice, but no intimidation, either. “This is
clearly a challenge. And as you know, my friend, I dearly love challenges.” He thought of the uprising he had witnessed yesterday. And the needless bloodshed that had followed shortly thereafter. “I do not, however, dearly love Robespierre. He is a madman.”

Beth studied Jacques’s face. There was no way to gauge his loyalties. “Are you a royalist?”

“Perish the thought.” He placed his hands on his
knees and rose. Beth and Duncan followed suit. “I am
Jacques Christian, and that is enough for me and my men.” He turned and looked toward the city that lay not far beyond. Plans began to form.

“I might know of someone who could help us.” In fact, he was certain of it, but it would not do to say too much too soon. Easily, he laid a hand on Beth’s arm and ushered her toward Jacob and the horses. “Come with me, my friends. I have a place where you can remain safe while I make inquiries.”

Paris was as crowded today as it had been the day before. They drew no undue attention as they passed through the streets. There were too many people about for anyone to be singled out. People were sitting, hud
dled or sleeping, in doorways and alleys, awaiting the
continuation of the celebration.

And waiting for the executions to begin.

Beth saw men, women, and children all eagerly gathered for the bloodletting that was to come.

She understood her grandmother’s despair. That such a beautiful land could be brought so low was unthinkable. She couldn’t wait to be gone from this wretched place.

Jacques brought them to an inn with no name. Years before, the sign had been struck down by lightning. The innkeeper, a superstitious man, took it to be an omen.
The sign was never put up again and the name never re
peated. It was merely known as “the inn.”

The innkeeper, a heavyset man who sampled his own
wares with relish, was a friend, Jacques assured them.
And one who could be trusted to hold his tongue. Secur
ing a room for Duncan, Beth, and Jacob, Jacques left them, promising to return as soon as there was news.

*
 
*
 
*

That had been several hours ago.

Duncan paced the length of the room as he had been
doing for the last hour. His restlessness grew rather than diminished.

“I don’t like small places,” Duncan explained, when Beth looked at him quizzically. “They make me feel as if I was in a coffin.”

She felt as restless as he did, but for far different reasons. And she didn’t understand his reaction. “You were at sea. There were long months when you had but a small cabin to retreat to.”

Duncan shook his head as he crossed the room once more. “The sea is vast, as are the stars overhead. And I had the entire ship at my disposal, not a tiny room.”

He glanced at Jacob. The latter sat on the floor, his lank body leaned comfortably against the wall, content to wait.

“That one would be comfortable sitting on the points of a fence.” He envied Jacob that trait. The young man was never impatient, as if he felt that there was time enough for everything.

Jacob merely grinned his acknowledgment.

Beth took care as she looked out the window, afraid to be seen. The rear of the inn faced an alley. Beyond it was a clear view of the Bastille.

Where was her father this moment? she wondered.
Were they beating him? Was he fed? Was he frightened
and in the throes of despair?

She turned back to face Duncan. “Do you think he can help us? Your friend Jacques?”

Duncan didn’t want to make promises he had no control over. But he had faith in Christian. “Jacques is a very crafty scoundrel.”

Jacob looked up at the comment. “He said the same of you, once,” he recalled.

Duncan laughed. “And an intelligent man as well.”
Crossing to her in a few steps, Duncan gathered Beth into his arms. “Don’t worry, Beth; if there is a way, we’ll find it.”

Beth laid her head against his chest. She took such comfort in his warmth, in his words, this man she had not even known existed a month ago. She felt that if he told her it was so, it would be so, though she had nothing to base her faith on.

But Duncan would not lie.

The next moment, before she could respond to Duncan, the door opened. Jacob leaped to his feet, but it was only Jacques.

He eyed the two in the center of the room as he slipped in quietly and shut the door behind him. He grinned broadly at them.

“Oh, forgive me for breaking up such a touching scene.” Jacques closed the door firmly behind him before continuing. “But I’ve news.”

Afraid to hope, afraid that it might be something she didn’t want to hear, Beth still flew to him. She grabbed ahold of his arm with both hands.

“Tell me.”

The fear pulsed in her voice. Jacques was glad to be the bearer of good news. He lay a gentling hand on the two that gripped his arm.

“For the moment, your father is still alive, mademoiselle.”

Self-consciously, Beth released Jacques’s arm. “Thank
God.”

“For the moment,” Jacques repeated. “They will be transporting him from the Bastille to the guillotine for
execution tomorrow.” A mirthless smile lifted his lips,
though the turn of events was fortunate for them. “It seems their docket is filled today. There are only so many they can dispose of in a day.”

Beth closed her eyes, heartsick over his words. Heart
sick for the people who were to die today. She wished she could save them all.

“Tomorrow.” Duncan nodded thoughtfully. “Then I have a plan.”

“Somehow, I knew you would.” A smile played on
Jacques’s lips as he straddled a chair to listen. ‘Tell me, my friend, what is on that crafty mind of yours, and I will see what can be arranged.”

Chapter Thirty-eight

It was a simple plan that required a minimum of information and a maximum of courage to execute.

After listening to Duncan and offering a few of his own suggestions, Jacques dispatched Henri to acquaint himself with the route taken by the carts when they left the Bastille for the execution site. Sebastian was sent to purchase an extra horse to replace the one stolen from Beth. Pierre was told to secure a wagon.

Duncan doled out the gold coins that were in his saddlebags.

“You’ll have need of that to buy the silence of whom
ever you deal with,” Jacques cautioned his men. “No one can know the purpose behind these purchases. And I want the wagon filled with straw,” he told Pierre. “We shall need plenty of straw to conceal the good doctor from prying eyes.” He smiled encouragingly at Beth.

As his men were sent about their different tasks,
Jacques remained with Duncan, Jacob, and Beth. They
lingered not far from the gates of the Bastille. It was important to familiarize themselves with procedures and to be there in the event that plans were changed for some
reason and her father was transported earlier than orig
inally scheduled.

Jacques reclined indolently against a wall not far from his horse. To the passing eye, he appeared to be but one of hundreds who had come to cheer the depar
ture of the filled carts as they took their human cargo to
slaughter. The man’s bearing gave no indication of the passionate fighter who existed beneath.

He shifted his eyes toward Beth and Duncan. Beth was dressed in the peasant garb he had obtained for her from one of the many women he’d visited when nights were too long. Yvette had never looked like that in
them, he mused with a critical eye. He wished, however,
that Beth’s eyes were not so bright. Fear could be seen glowing in them. Fear and sympathy.