The Falcon and the Sparrow (42 page)

She knew it.

The man in black nodded, and she thought she saw the briefest shadow of a smile alight upon his lips before he turned, stepped toward the rock wall…

And disappeared.

Somehow, deep inside, she knew she would never see him again. It was as if God had allowed her to see the angel for a short while to reassure her of His presence.

Following him, Dominique stubbed her toe upon a jagged rock and stifled the scream that rose to her lips. Burning pain seared up her foot and leg, but she pressed onward until she came to the place where the man in black had disappeared. A narrow pathway etched out of the massive rocks led upward. At the base of it, right where the angel had stood, a flower grew, thrusting its bright yellow petals out from a tiny crack. Dominique halted and eyed it curiously. How could such a delicate flower thrive surrounded by nothing but cold, hard rock? Then she realized with a smile that the Lord was showing her a vision of herself, and if He could take care of this flower and make it flourish despite its frightening surroundings, then He would do the same for her.

Clambering upward, she braced herself against the boulders on each side, more than once scratching her fingers and arms against the craggy, damp rocks. The crash of the waves echoed between the walls like peals of thunder, drowning out all other sounds, especially the pounding of her heart that seemed to increase with each step upward. The fear would not subside. It was increasing, but she knew now that it was of little importance how she felt on this harrowing journey. God was with her.

Finally, as she reached the cliff top, a blast of wind swept over her, loosening her hair from its chignon and carrying with it the scent of salt and flowers. Lights flickered through the trees ahead, and, taking in a deep breath, she headed toward them.

She had not gone three steps when she heard a rustling behind her, and a rough hand grabbed her by the throat. “
Nous vous attendions
, Mademoiselle Dawson,” a man growled.

Unable to speak, all Dominique could do was allow the man to drag her forward into the trees and down a pathway and then shove
her into a clearing filled with men. Flickering light from lanterns perched upon boulders scattered at the edge of the forest cast an evil glow over the faces of the mob. All eyes shot to her. Gasping, she scanned the crowd, looking for Marcel. Two men dressed in the ostentatious, jewel-studded silks of the old regime stood in the center of the pack. One she recognized as her French contact. At least ten more men wearing the blue and white tailcoats and tall blue hats of the French infantry stood at attention, bayonets by their sides.

Panic gripped Dominique. Where was Marcel? What were these beasts up to?

“Ah, Mademoiselle Dawson. So good to see you again.” The Frenchman took a step forward, exposing his crooked teeth in a grin, and doffed his colorful bicorn. “Me, I had wagered you would not come.”

“Then I hope you did not lose too much money, monsieur,” she replied with a confidence she in no way felt.

“Dominique.” A voice that ignited a spark of hope within her shot through the crowd, and Marcel appeared beside the Frenchman, a beaming smile on his face. Dressed in a black waistcoat and tan breeches, his hair tied neatly behind him, he did not appear harmed in any way.

Quite the opposite. Unease churned in her empty stomach.

“Marcel,” Dominique sobbed, resisting the urge to run to him.

He started toward her, but the Frenchman held out his arm, blocking his way.

“First, have you brought
tous les documents
?” He flung his purple cape over his shoulder and held out his hand.

“Oui. They are in here.” Dominique clutched her bag tighter to her chest and willed her legs to stop shaking before these men noticed.

“No ruse—how do you say?—trick, this time.” He grinned, and venom seemed to drip from his lips.

Dominique shook her head, her gaze darting over the men, landing upon a taller man hiding in the shadows of a tree behind the crowd.

The Frenchman gestured for her to approach. “Let me see them.”

“First, allow Marcel to come to me.”

He blinked.
“Absolument non.”

“Come now, monsieur.” Dominique pursed her lips. “Do you think we would run away with your precious documents? Where would we go?”

The Frenchman cocked a brow toward Marcel and snorted. “You said she was meek.” He shot his beady gaze back to her and shrugged. “
Trèes bien. Allez…
go.” He flicked his fingers out in front of him.

Marcel walked cautiously toward her, glancing back at his captors, then hastened to her side. He opened his arms, and Dominique flew into them, laying her head upon his shoulder. He seemed to have grown during their separation, taller, more muscular. Drawing a whiff of his musky scent, she listened to his strong heartbeat and silently thanked the Lord. She took a step back and wiped the tears from her face. “You look well, my brother.”

“They have been good to me, Dominique.” He nodded then furrowed his brow. “But you have been so very brave.”

“I could not lose you.” Emotion burned in her throat as she gazed into his ocean blue eyes and ran her fingers through his dark curls, the strong features of his face reminding her so much of their father. “I will not lose you,” She said with more determination.

“Assez, assez,”
the Frenchman barked as he approached them.
“Maintenant, les documents.”

Opening her valise, Dominique grabbed the bundle and shoved them toward him. Taking Marcel’s hand in hers, she pulled him beside her and took a step back while the man perused them. He fingered his oily mustache, sifting through the pages, his eyes alight with cruel excitement.

“Excellent.”

Dominique squeezed Marcel’s hand, relishing the feel of him beside her. She had saved him, after all. She cast a quick glance his way just to ensure he was not a dream, a vision. He did not look her way but kept his gaze forward.

Dominique’s palms grew sweaty, and her hand almost slipped from Marcel’s. “Now you have what you asked for. Let us go,” She demanded with all the authority she could muster.

Marcel stiffened beside her.

The Frenchman handed the documents to the man behind him then folded his arms over his silk coat and studied her.

Dominique shifted her boots in the dirt, still moist inside from the seawater, and tried to meet his imperious gaze. Wind howled through the trees surrounding them, sending the branches fluttering and initiating the eerie hoot of night owls. Yet he said not a word. One of the soldiers shifted.

Something was amiss. Every nerve within Dominique pricked to attention. All she wanted to do was grab Marcel and run.

“But no. I fear we cannot do that,” the Frenchman finally said with a sneer.

The infantrymen raised their bayonets.

Dominique’s heart crashed into her ribs then crumbled into a heap in her sodden boots.

“What of your bargain, monsieur?”

“We do not bargain with Englishwomen.”

Marcel turned Dominique to face him. “It will be all right, Dominique. Their cause is a good one.”

Every fiber in Dominique went suddenly numb. “I do not understand, Marcel. What are you saying?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as it always did when he got caught at something. He shot a glance at the Frenchman before facing her again. Still he said nothing as his eyes searched hers.

Her gaze wandered to the Frenchman. An evil grin twisted his lips.

She faced Marcel. “You were with them….” Dominique uttered the words that her mind still refused to admit. “All this time.”

“It is not what you think, Domi. You were never in any danger from them.” He gripped her shoulders.

“Danger?” Anger raged through her. She snapped from his grasp
and pounded his chest. “Do you know what I have been through? I could have been hung for treason!”

Marcel grabbed her wrists. “They never would have let that happen.”

“You stupid boy.” Dominique dropped her hands to her sides and felt her heart sink further into a deep mire.

“Uncle Lucien has taught me much.” Marcel gave her a pleading look. “He cares for me, and I am sure he will care for you, too. He has been like a father to me, Domi.”

“You have a father, Marcel. Or have you forgotten him already?”

Marcel lowered his gaze. “That is not fair.” He kicked his boot in the sand. “I told you I would take care of you. Uncle Lucien can provide for us, give us a name. He has great plans to ensure our futures.” Marcel’s eyes glittered with excitement. “I have met Napoleon. He intends to make me one of his elite Guarde des Consuls. His Imperial Guard. Can you believe it?”

No, she could not believe it. Dominique shook her head, wanting to cover her ears with her hands and stop this nonsense. How could her brother betray her?

“I did it for us, Dominique,” he continued in a pleading tone. “This is our chance, chérie. I told you I would take care of us. Now we will have position, title, and wealth.”

“No, Marcel. They are using you. Don’t you see?”

Marcel swiveled his gaze to the Frenchman. “Tell her, Vicomte.”

The Frenchman smiled—one of those smiles that reminded Dominique of a snake about to devour its prey. “Cheer up, mademoiselle. It works out for everyone, does it not? You and your brother will be cared for. Napoleon will win the victory at sea.” He waved a jeweled hand through the air. “Everyone will be happy.”

Everyone but her. For she would not serve napoleon, nor his cause. And she would not allow her innocent brother to be a part of his wicked schemes to rule the world.

“Shall we go, then?” The vicomte gestured behind him.

Dominique clutched Marcel’s hand. “This is madness. Come with me, Marcel.”

“Are you daft? I cannot, Dominique. This is my home. We are related to Napoleon. He will soon be emperor. Think of what that will mean for us.”

“You see how he treats his relatives. Do not make a pact with the devil, Marcel. ‘What shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?’ ”

“
Assez.
We go now,” the Frenchman roared.

Dominique released her brother’s hand. She could not force him to leave with her. “Go with them, Marcel. But I cannot.”

The vicomte pivoted on his heels. “I am afraid you have no choice, mademoiselle. My orders are to bring you back, as well.”

Alarm cinched her heart, but she threw back her shoulders. “I will not go with you.”

“Then you will die.” With a snap of his fingers, the infantry cocked and pointed their muskets upon her.

“Die! This was not part of our bargain,” Marcel shouted. “Take her with us. I assure you, she will change her mind later on.”

“No. She has been nothing but a bother to me, an annoying little gnat, as she will be to His Excellency. I have neither the patience nor the time to deal with her.” He straightened the lace at his cuffs and spun around.

“Shoot her.”

Marcel flung himself in front of Dominique, stretching his arms wide. “Then you will have to shoot me, as well.”

Fear spiked through her. She pushed against Marcel, trying to shove him out of the way, but he was too heavy to move and stood his ground, keeping her behind him with one arm.

The Frenchman slowly turned around. “Very well. Shoot them both,” he said with the same tone with which he would order a drink.

Oh Lord, save us.
Dominique wrapped her arms around her brother and squeezed her eyes shut.

T
hat will not be necessary.”

Chase marched into the clearing, the pistol in his hand pointed directly at the Frenchman’s chest. Behind him, he heard his seven marines emerge from the shadows of the trees, then the cock of their muskets as they aimed them at their enemies.

The Frenchman’s eyes narrowed and snapped to Dominique. “You tricked us.”

Ignoring him, Dominique slowly turned, her amber eyes locking upon Chase’s and widening with both surprise and something else…joy?

“Chase.”

The sweet sound of his Christian name upon her lips seeped through him like soothing balm over an open wound. Egad, but it was good to see her again. He glanced over her shoulder. But not with ten bayonets aimed at her heart. Terror like he had known only once before froze the blood in his veins. He could not lose another woman he loved. He could not.

Trust Me.

The voice that he had heard over and over again these past days eased through him—the voice that had answered him when he had cried out in agony, in despair, seeking guidance, seeking answers.

The initial shock lifting the Frenchman’s features soon faded, replaced once again by a bellicose impudence. “You are outnumbered, Admiral.”

“It will not matter. My pistol is aimed at you.”

The Frenchman spat to the side.

Marcel, the brother whom Chase had heard betray Dominique, glanced at Chase over his shoulder. No maliciousness stormed in his gaze. Young. So very young. So easily fooled by these men with their vain promises of glory.

“I have a better plan.” Chase glared at the Frenchman. “Give me the documents and allow myself, Miss Dawson, and her brother to go free. Then you may scurry back to the hole where Napoleon hides himself and tell him he will never defeat His Majesty’s Royal Navy.”