Chapter 8
The next morning as the first rays of dawn slipped in through the wooden shutters, Freddie rose, thinking of the long day ahead. Somehow he would find his way through the unknown forest.
He pulled on his boots while watching Zoé sleep, her mahogany hair flowing out behind her on the pillow and her cheeks rosy with the same blush as her lips.
He wanted to crawl back into that bed with her but not for sleep.
Having held her through what had remained of the night, he’d had little rest. Even with the bedcover and their clothing between them, she had curled against him, her breasts pressing against his side, stirring his body to attention.
Aye, torture, indeed.
He had struggled mightily against the overwhelming desire to initiate her in the ways of love. Having been patient for so long, he could wait a bit longer. Besides, he didn’t know if she would want him in the way he wanted her.
A muffled sound from the bed drew his attention. She had turned onto her back. “I trust you are rising sometime this morning, Pigeon.”
She let out a dull moan. Her eyes slowly opened and she turned her head to look at him. “You are dressed.”
“As I was when I went to bed, silly goose. Best hurry if we are to arrive in Fougères in time to dine with Aimé du Boisguy.” Freddie put on his coat. “I will meet you in the common room.”
She was just sitting up as he reached the door, her long hair tousled, a temptress rising from her mussed bed like Venus rising from the sea.
With a single glance back, he opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him. A man could only stand so much.
Several minutes later, surrounded by Chouans in the common room, Freddie introduced Zoé to Isabeau and her brother. From the warm smile Zoé directed at the girl, she seemed pleased to have Giles’ sister included in their travel. Because he was a Breton and happy to see one of his own escape France, Erwan had been enthusiastic at the idea of Isabeau joining them. Gabe had merely shrugged when asked his view, but then he was along to guard Zoé. While Freddie worried for Isabeau’s safety, he couldn’t bear to tell Giles no having seen the fear in his eyes for his young sister.
Cadoudal had advised Freddie that Fougères could be reached in a day, but it would mean a very long day. “At least you’ll have many hours of daylight.”
Giles knelt in front of his sister, taking her small hands in his. “Mademoiselle Donet will take good care of you, mon petit chat. Do as she says.”
Tears flowed down Isabeau’s cheeks as she nodded, her dark eyes fixed on her brother. The men in the tavern quieted at the touching scene. Isabeau was reed-thin and tall for her age but her modest peasant’s clothing, now that of a lad’s, made her appear younger than her twelve years.
Freddie studied the girl’s face. She was trying to be strong for her brother but the tears flowing down her cheeks made clear she was failing.
In a halting voice, Isabeau said, “I… I have only just got you back.”
Giles placed his hands on her shoulders. “I need to know you are safe, Isabeau, somewhere far from Brittany. My friends here will take you to their home on the Isle of Guernsey.”
Isabeau regarded Freddie with a look of suspicion. “But he is Anglais.”
“Oui, and one of us,” said her brother, rising. “I’m told Guernsey is a wondrous place. You will love it and it is there I will come for you.”
Freddie gave the girl a reassuring smile. He hoped it would be as Giles predicted. None of them knew from one day to the next if they would live or die. Too easily, they could join the victims of the republicans’ muskets or the guillotines that stood in every major town.
When their goodbyes had been said, Cadoudal handed Freddie a message for Boisguy. “This will vouch for you.”
Freddie tucked the folded parchment into his waistcoat and offered his hand to the Chouan chief, thanking him for his help.
Giles opened the door of the inn and led Freddie and his companions out into the misting rain. He was glad for the wide-brimmed hat that kept the drizzle off his face. As an Englishman, he should be used to such weather, but his time on Guernsey had spoiled him. He now preferred sun.
“I will show you the road leading to Fougères,” offered Giles. “Then I must leave you. You will know you have arrived when you see the huge stone fortress rising above the town. It is Boisguy’s headquarters and where many of his men may be found. Should you want to stop for the night before you reach Fougères, there is a mill house just outside of Combourtillé where you can stay. The miller is a friend of Boisguy and has often been of assistance to the Chouans. He will know the owl’s cry.” Giles handed Freddie a drawing. “I have made this to help you.”
Zoé peered around Freddie and they studied the map together. He resisted the urge to wrap his arm around her shoulder and draw her close. Instead, he concentrated on the simple sketch. The way was clear enough, marked with a few landmarks and small towns.
“This is most helpful,” said Freddie.
Giles kissed his sister on the cheek. This time she did not cry but her wrinkled brow betrayed her anxiety.
Turning to Freddie, Giles said, “There are pockets of republican soldiers between here and Fougères. Beware the sham Chouans who are really Rossignol’s men. They will be few and will not know the owl’s cry. None of them would dare wear a rosary.”
Freddie thanked him for his advice. “I won’t forget.”
At the edge of the city, Giles glanced once at his sister as if to memorize her face and then disappeared into the trees.
“You will see him again,” said Zoé, taking Isabeau’s hand as they followed Freddie onto the dirt road leading north. She hoped she spoke the truth.
Isabeau returned her a doubtful look.
Zoé understood the girl’s plight. She had lost her parents to the revolution and now she believed she was losing her brother. But Zoé could not allow her to focus on her loss. After all, Zoé had once been where Isabeau was. “You are a Breton, are you not, raised in the Church?”
The girl nodded.
“Well then, remember you fight for what is right and you must trust God to keep Giles safe.” She squeezed Isabeau’s hand. “We will pray for him each night.”
With that thin thread of hope, the girl’s countenance brightened. She and Isabeau had more in common than the girl knew. “When I was a few years younger than you, with my parents both dead, my uncle became my guardian. He and his English wife, Freddie’s sister, became like parents to me. Through my uncle, I have traveled much. You will meet him when we leave Brittany, for we will sail on one of his ships.”
“He has ships?” Isabeau asked, her eyes full of awe. “I’ve never been on a ship.”
Freddie turned back to caution them. “Best not to speak more while we are on the road. We cannot predict who we may encounter.”
Zoé nodded. How could she argue when he was right? At any moment, republican soldiers could appear out of the woods to question them… or worse.
She had never witnessed Freddie leading others before, but as she observed him, he seemed to grow taller, more confident, truly comfortable in the role. Pride filled her as she realized how easily he had accepted the responsibility for them all.
Hours later, Freddie called a halt and directed them off the road to a small clearing surrounded by oak, yew and beech trees. Above them, the branches teemed with twittering birds. The light rain had stopped and the sun glistened off the wet leaves. Around them, wildflowers appeared wherever the rays of the sun pierced the canopy.
Freddie asked Gabe to stand guard near the road and told the rest of them to find a place to sit.
Zoé handed Gabe some of the dried beef and apples the Chouans had given her and then shared what remained with the others. She found a seat on a large rock as they passed around skins of water.
Casting his gaze first at her and then at each face in their small circle, Freddie said, “If you’re feeling up to it, we can press on until we arrive at Fougères. We will not reach the town until day’s end but there should be sufficient daylight for us to find Boisguy and secure lodgings.”
Zoé preferred not to stop no matter how weary she would be when they finally arrived. She knew by the pace Freddie had set that he, too, was anxious to reach Boisguy. Still, they had to consider Isabeau’s ability to keep up.
Freddie must have had the same concern as he studied the girl. “If, at any point, you feel too tired to go on, Isabeau, we can spend the night at the mill house Giles spoke of and resume our journey tomorrow morning.”
“Je ne suis pas fatiguée,” insisted the girl, raising her chin. Considering what she had been through, Zoé thought her a hearty soul to deny her fatigue. Perhaps for her brother’s sake she wanted to appear one of the valiant Chouans.
“You have done well to keep up,” Zoé told her. “But no one will fault you should you want to stop sooner than Fougères.”
A few hours later, they skirted the town of Combourtillé and Freddie asked them if any were of a mind to stop for the night. Zoé inquired of Isabeau, but the girl bravely shook her head. Nonetheless, Freddie suggested that before they pressed on, he should call on the miller to see if he had any messages for Boisguy.
“I’ll take Erwan with me since he has the best command of Breton. The rest of you stay here, off the road and hidden among the trees. Gabe will stand guard.”
Zoé was about to remind Freddie she could be useful in a fight, but something in his expression told her to hold her tongue.
From the edge of the trees bordering the stream, Freddie observed the two-story stone mill house some thirty feet away. Its chimney rose above a sloping slate roof typical of the countryside. While the house appeared in good repair, the six paned windows were devoid of curtains, a woman’s touch clearly lacking here. Smaller buildings of similar ilk but without windows stood nearby. He assumed they were for grain storage, equipment and animals.
An eerie quiet permeated the area. No birds sang in the trees. Even the stream was silent in its sullen passage. ’Twas as if nature was holding its breath.
Freddie’s nerves were taut with expectation. “Keep alert, Erwan.”
They were about to step from the cover of the trees when the faded blue door of the mill house burst open and two Chouans strode outside, their jackets bearing the sacred heart patch. Each carried a bayoneted musket. A third man, coming from the side of the house, joined them.
Freddie raised his arm in front of Erwan, holding him back when he would have stepped forward. “Wait.”
Sun glinted off the Chouans’ clothing revealing what looked like fresh blood splashed across their shirts and waistcoats. Two of the men carried bulging sacks.
“Boisguy’s men?” Erwan whispered.
Somehow Freddie didn’t think so. “Or men who would have us believe they are.”
“The false Chouans?”
“Possibly.” When the three men had departed into the woods, Freddie carefully left the cover of the trees, his musket raised. By his side, Erwan drew a pistol. Slowly, they crept toward the mill house.
The front door stood ajar.
No sound emanated from the interior.
Freddie whispered to Erwan, “Inquire in Breton if anyone is home.”
Erwan spoke the words loud enough for anyone in the house to hear.
Silence greeted them, and the eerie feeling Freddie had experienced earlier returned. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Light from the windows and open door filled the large room. The first thing he noticed was the wooden table fallen on its side, the broken dishes it once held lying scattered across the stone floor.
Freddie crossed the room and stooped before the fireplace searching for heat. Warmth emanated from the ashes. “There was a fire here not long ago.”
“It seems the Chouans, or whoever they were, meant the mill owner no good,” said Erwan.
Freddie scanned the room. The shelves contained a few books, cooking pots and tankards. Over the fireplace was a miniature portrait of a woman.
There was no evidence of blood.
“Take a look at the rest of this floor, Erwan. I’ll see about the upstairs.”
Freddie took the stairs two at a time, dreading what he would find. Perhaps the man died in his sleep and the men had discovered the body and decided to plunder his home, robbing the dead man of his valuables.
But that would not explain the blood splashed across their clothing.
Inside one of the bedchambers, a gruesome sight confronted Freddie, confirming his worst fears. A man of middle years with lined skin, his brown hair peppered with gray, lay across the bed fully clothed. He had been stabbed in the chest and his throat slit. Blood seeped from his wounds into his clothes and onto the bedcover, the coppery scent of his life’s fluid filling the air.
Freddie returned to the top of the stairs. “Erwan, up here.”
Erwan gasped as he entered the room and came to stand beside Freddie. The two of them stood over the body, crossing themselves.
Erwan shook his head. “A terrible way to die.”
“Aye, a bayonet to the chest and a knife to the throat to make certain the man did not live.”
“But why?” asked the Breton.
Freddie could only speculate. “The man’s support for Boisguy likely became known. I’d bet this is the work of Rossignol’s false Chouans. None that we saw leaving the mill house wore rosaries.” Freddie did not wish to linger where their enemies had been. “See if you can find a shovel. We must bury the man. It will take time we can ill afford but Boisguy would expect it. While you find the shovel, I’ll check on the other buildings.”
In one of the buildings, Freddie found a black mare unharmed. Next to the horse was a dead stable boy lying in the hay, stabbed like his master. Crossing himself, he muttered, “The republicans make no exceptions for the young.”
Leaving the lad in the hay, he found Erwan. “We’ve another body to bury, a young stable boy.”
Erwan let out an oath, then held up his hands in which he held shovels. “I found these.”
“Good. Oh, and a horse will be joining us. I must tell Zoé and Gabe of our discovery. Once the dead are laid in the ground, we’ll continue on.” He wanted to get Zoé out of the woods in which the false Chouans might still be prowling. “I am more eager than ever to reach Fougères.”
Freddie returned to where Gabe guarded Zoé and Isabeau. Addressing the girl, he asked, “Did you know the man who lived here, Isabeau?”
Beneath her felt hat into which she had tucked her brown hair, Isabeau truly appeared to be a lad. “Non.”
He was glad for her answer. The girl had suffered enough. “It seems the man has died.” He would not speak of murder, not in the presence of one so young. “We will bury him and move on. As he left behind a horse, you can ride.”
Drawing Zoé aside, he said, “The man and his stable boy were murdered. Erwan and I will make sure they are in the ground before you and Isabeau join us.” To Gabe, he said, “You might see if you can help Erwan.”
Gabe nodded and headed in the direction of the mill house.
Zoé looked up at Freddie with trusting eyes. “Do you have any idea—”
He loved her all the more for her unflinching reaction to what had happened. Not many women would nod at the word “murder” and inquire the cause.
“Yes, and we will speak of it later.” In a louder voice, he said to her, “Why don’t you and Isabeau rest here while we take care of the task?”
“Can I help?” Zoé asked.
“Aye, you can say a prayer over him when we are ready.”
With the shovels Erwan had found in a shed, Freddie and the other two men soon buried Boisguy’s friend and his stable boy. Zoé said a prayer over the common grave that Erwan, certain they were fallen Chouans, marked with a large stone.
Freddie hoped this was not to be a sign of what was to come.