phantom knights 04 - deceit in delaware (52 page)

“Not me,” he whispered hoarsely. “My family.”

That made things all the more difficult, but I could work around the family, as long as they did not get in my path.

When I agreed to do my best to keep his family from harm, he sucked in a fortifying breath and walked toward his house. Waiting until he went inside, I made my way toward the front of the house, keeping to the shadows until I was out of view from the windows. Moving forward, I leaned against the front of the house, beside the open window.

Whatever was being said, was being spoken in French. As I had never learned French, I did not know what they were saying, but I did understand tones, and whoever was inside Pierre’s house was not pleased.

From the sounds, there were three men besides Pierre inside the house. When a child whimpered near the window, I took a step away, for a shadow appeared beside the window. Leaning a little ways forward, I could make out the form of a woman rocking a child in her arms.

Women and children always made things more complicated with their screaming and incessant tears.

Something loud crashed and the woman screamed out something in French. That was all the push that I required. With a pistol in each hand, I charged into the house.

Pierre lay unmoving upon the floor with a man standing over him, pointing a pistol at his head. This new man looked up, startled as I threw open the door and moved into the house. He quickly changed the direction of which his pistol was pointing. Aiming mine, I was quicker on the trigger, and the ball from my pistol blasted a hole through his chest.

There were two more men inside that room, one tied to a chair, with a bloody cut upon his forehead, and a man standing over him with a knife.

Knife man whispered something in French. His expression told me what was coming. Leaping to the side, I bumped into the woman and child as the knife lodged in the wall beside the door.

The woman shrieked and struck at me with her fist as she tried to shove her little girl behind her.

Pushing myself off of her, I was assisted by someone grabbing the back of my coat. Stumbling backward, my head struck the chin of the man trying to pull me up. Shoving against the heels of my boots, I launched myself backward against the man at my back. The impact would not have done much beyond making him stumble if it were not for the quick acting man tied to the chair. He stuck out his legs and the man gripping my coat tripped over them, falling to his backside.

As I was righting myself, the man that I assumed was Pierre’s brother shouted.

Twisting around, knife man had his blade in hand, but he was not aiming the blade toward me. He was aiming for Pierre’s wife.

Without a second thought, I leapt forward, landing on top of the man seated on the floor as my hand shoved his knife hand to the side. My fist struck his chin, and then his cheek.

He tried to stab at me with the knife, grazing the back of my hand as he swung. Grabbing his hand, I wrested the knife away from him, and tossed it away. Shoving his flailing arm down to the floor, I threw my fist against his face again. He spat out something in French and tried to bite me. Hitting him with more force, his head swung to the side, and then the whites of his eyes showed as they rolled back. His body went limp beneath me.

Pushing myself to my feet, I looked about me at the occupants of the one room. The woman had put down the little girl and was kneeling beside Pierre, trying to revive him. The little girl, who looked to be around the age of my children, hid beneath the small table. She peeked up at me from between the legs of a chair, her blue eyes frank and appraising.

Turning my attention to the man tied to the chair, he stared up at me with defiance in his gaze.

Kneeling down, I picked up the knife and then stepped toward him. He could not keep the stiffening of his body from showing. As I walked around him, his head followed my progress until he could no longer turn. Using the knife, I cut the ropes that were binding his hands to the chair. As the ropes fell away, he rubbed at his wrists, eyeing me with disfavor.

A groan from Pierre had me going to him and kneeling on his other side. As his eyes fluttered before he grimaced.

“Easy there,” I told him. As his eyes focused on me, his gaze widened. He quickly glanced to his wife. She tried to smile, but there were tears in her eyes.

He said something to her in French, and she nodded, but I could tell from her expression that she was not pleased. She rose and walked out of the house, ordering the little girl to go with her.

Once they were gone, I assisted Pierre to sit up. He touched the back of his head and winced. There was a large bump where he had been struck.

Helping him into a chair, he stared across at his brother.

The two conversed in French as I stood by and watched. The conversation was calm on Pierre’s end, but heated on his brother’s.

When Pierre turned his attention back to me, he tried to smile. “My broter renders his tanks.”

That was not at all what it looked like, but I said nothing about that. “Who were those men?”

The brother spat something.

“Arnaud says tey were here for ye,” Pierre told me. “He would not tell yer location so tey were to beat it out of him.”

“Then you have my thanks, Arnaud.”

The brother sneered at me as he hissed something.

“He did not do it fer ye. He did it fer me.”

When my brows rose, Pierre told me a bit of their history. He had come to England when he was a young man. He had apprenticed with the manager of a theater troupe, and had ended his time there in marrying that man’s daughter. A few years ago Pierre’s brother had arrived from France to live with them. Little did Pierre know that his brother was a spy. When Arnaud tried to pull Pierre into his way of life, Pierre refused, but watched his brother, knowing that one day his life would grow complicated. Arnaud had been ordered to discover my location, and the location of my family. He was then to murder me and take my wife to meet one of his leaders. What that man was to do with her, Pierre could not tell me, but I knew. He was to hand her over to Luther.

“Did you give them the location of my family? Does anyone know where to find them?”

“Alas, we could not find tem,” Pierre said.

Breathing out a sigh of such sweet relief caused Pierre to smile at me.

His wife and daughter entered the house, carrying a bucket. When she came toward me with a wet cloth, she spoke.

“I am to clean your wounds.”

Raising my brows at Pierre, he nodded.

Placing my hands on the table, I surrendered to her ministrations.

Pierre introduced his wife as Jeanne, and his daughter was Violette. The little girl with the bright blue eyes watched her mother wrap my hands in clean bandages. Her gaze was clear, and I knew that she would be an intelligent one.

When Jeanne was through wrapping my hands, I stuck my hand into my pocket and brought forth the little dog that I had been whittling for my own daughter’s birthday. Keeping it concealed in the palm of my hand, I brought both of my closed hands to rest upon the table.

“May I give her a gift?” I asked Jeanne.

She looked to Pierre, and then back to me and nodded.

“Choose one,” I said to Violette.

She inspected both of my hands for a moment, and then chose my right. Turning my hand over, I opened my fingers to reveal the dog.

She smiled down at it and then at me. Placing it on the table, she picked it up tenderly.

“Thank you, Monsieur.”

“You are welcome, Violette.”

Focusing upon Pierre, I told him what he needed to know. “My contact is waiting for me to come to him with either the name of the French spy or the body.”

Jeanne and Pierre exchanged a glance.

“What will you tell him?” Jeanne asked me.

“That depends upon Arnaud.”

That man, who looked to be Pierre’s elder brother, watched me closely.

“If you leave England at once, I will give them this man here as their spy.” I pointed to the unmoving man upon the floor.

“You would lie for us?” Jeanne asked.

“No,” I told them, and three pairs of eyes bore into me. “For Arnaud will no longer be their spy. You will leave England, but you will not return to France. I cannot risk you giving away more of our secrets.”

They stared at me for many long breaths, until Arnaud spoke, and then Jeanne translated.

“He says that he is agreeable if it will keep his family safe. He is gaining in years and is tired of the life of a spy.” She turned her attention upon Pierre. “How will we pay for such a voyage?”

“Leave that to me,” I told her. Then I focused upon Arnaud. “I am going to take this one to my contact, and if I find upon my return that you have run, your brother shall take your place as the spy.”

Jeanne refused to translate my words, so Pierre did. Arnaud gave me a curt nod.

Pierre assisted me to locate a wagon, tie up the French spy, and then place him in the bed of the wagon.

I met my contact at the edge of Weymouth. He had my payment for the capture of the spy, which was a larger sum than I normally received.

When I arrived back at Pierre’s house, they were all still there.

Placing the money upon the table, I told Pierre to take it and leave the country. He tried to refuse, but I would not allow it. For his daughter I said.

“Where are we to go?” Jeanne asked as she slammed a lid upon a trunk.

“I hear that America is not particular in who they accept amongst them. Even French spies.”

“The colonies?” Jeanne said it as if it were cursed.

“Yes,” Pierre said.

As I was about to take my leave, Arnaud and Pierre had a quick, heated conversation. When they were through, Pierre was looking grave.

“Arnaud says tat he was not te only one tat knew yer name. He says it will not be long before tey find yer family.”

Then there was only one thing for me to do. I had to get my family out of England.

“I hear tat America is not particular in who tey accept,” Pierre told me.

After a moment, I chuckled. “So it is said.” As I held out my hand, Pierre gripped it. “Perhaps we shall meet again one day.”

“So we will,” Pierre said.

****

When I arrived home to the farm, I had been expecting to find my family gone, but there they were to greet me. After kissing my wife, I whispered in her ear for her to pack all of our belongings into one trunk, for we were leaving at first light.

Eleanora stared up at me, but she never questioned me about why we had to leave. Instead, she reminded me that Elisabeth’s birthday had been the week before. Having given away her gift, I had nothing of significance, except my father’s knife.

Kneeling before her, she was my image in her tall body and brown hair and eyes, but the beauty to be found in her face belonged to her mother.

Speaking in Danish, I said, “This belonged to my fader, and now it belongs to you. I expect you to treat it as if it were a priceless jewel.”

“You have my word,” she said as she took the knife and balanced the weight in her hand.

The following morning, we left at first light, traveling into the village where Eleanora directed me to the man who had been asking to buy our farm for years. The price was not as high as the land deserved but it would be enough.

It was difficult for me to leave England behind. Leaving meant surrendering years of work. Years spent trying to build us a better life. I did not know what we would find in America, but I hoped that in a land that was known for its opportunities there would be a place for us. If not, I would create a place for us.

Farmers and savages were how many of the English spoke of them. Both I could deal with. I had lived among farmers, had been one. Talk of savages did not bother me overmuch, for I had lived amongst a savage, and if he had not bested me, none in America would either. I was the provider for my family, and provide for them I would, even if it meant going about things in less than savory ways. I was prepared to lie, cheat, steal, and spy my way to a comfortable life. If it meant that Eleanora would finally have everything that she deserved, it would be worth the difficulty.

The ship,
The Lutania
, was awaiting us in an out of the way port. I had found it, being captained by Karl, one of the former guards who had served with me in Lutania. When I had asked what he was doing in England, he had said that he had been sent out to find us, and he was ordered not to return to Lutania until he had accomplished his goal. At first I had suspected Luther’s hand, but Karl assured me that Luther had not been in Lutania for years. No one knew where he was to be found since the last time he arrived and dumped his son upon the king. A conversation that Luther and Eric had shared before Eric sent him away had come back to me. Eric had known that Luther had a son. When Karl spoke of Luther’s wife, and her mysterious death, I understood Eric’s desire to have the boy brought to Lutania.

Karl and his crew had been traveling as smugglers, and when I told him my destination he was agreeable to the long voyage. He said that there was nothing awaiting him in Lutania, and that the ship belonged to me. That had taken me aback, but Karl explained that it was to be a wedding gift from King Eric and Queen Elisabeth. I did not understand that, until I realized that Eric was trying to make amends for my having to flee. He could not have me return to Lutania, but he could try to provide for me.

One night while my family and I sat in the captain’s cabin, I told them that in America we would be known as the Martins. The children did not understand why, but Elisabeth did understand when I told them that Smith had never been our true name. She had suspected that some mystery surrounded our time in England.

I told her that we were changing the spelling to her name to the more American way. Elizabeth. John would be known as Jack, which Elizabeth called him daily.

When I spoke with Eleanora alone about why we had to leave England, she agreed that what we had done had been for the best. Neither of us spoke the words, but we both knew that Luther would not have wanted the children should he have succeeded in capturing her. He may not have had them killed. He could have sold them. Which would have been the worse fate.