Page 47 of A Fierce Wind

Her eyes welled with tears as she grabbed onto his coat. “But, Freddie—”

Taking the coded information from his satchel, he stuffed the papers into her hands. “There is no time to argue. You must get this to d’Auvergne on Jersey.”

She took the papers, tears streaming down her cheeks as she frowned her dismay. “They will kill you; I cannot bear it.”

His eyes bored into hers. “And I cannot live in a world where you are not.” This was the last time he would see her, his only moment to show her how he cared. He pulled her to his chest and kissed her full on the mouth, putting all his love into the only kiss he would ever give her.

She made a slight gasp as he forced himself to end the kiss. Bringing her fingers to her lips, she stared at him wide-eyed, on her face a look of wonder.

“I will try and convince them that I am too valuable to Rossignol to die here without ceremony. Perhaps I will live for a time.” And with that, he said to Gabe, “Take them away; don’t let her follow.”

Gabe nodded, in his eyes a solemn promise to do as Freddie bid him.

“Freddie, don’t do this,” pleaded Zoé. “Don’t go.”

With a last look at the woman he loved, Freddie turned and strode toward the oncoming company of Blues.

Gabe tugged at her coat sleeve but Zoé resisted. She had to know Freddie’s fate.

Stupid heroic Englishman.

Her lips still stung from his kiss. It had not been the gesture of a parting friend, one who was saying goodbye as he sacrificed his life for hers. Non, in his eyes she had glimpsed a depth of affection she had not seen before. Feelings for her he’d kept hidden until now. She remembered the first time he’d kissed her, the night of the Fête de la Fédération when fireworks exploded in the sky above them. That had been the innocent kiss of a friend, but this…

“I must know what happens,” she whispered to Gabe.

“One moment only, mademoiselle.”

Zoé strained her ears to hear what was taking place some thirty feet away.

“Halte-là!” came a shout. “Identify yourself!”

Speaking the terrible French of an Englishman acting in a comedy on stage, Freddie said, “Why, I am Frederick West, lately of England. Perhaps you might be of assistance. You see I seem to have become lost in these damn fine woods you Frenchies have.”

“Insolent cur!”

She heard the smack of a blow and flinched, touching her hand to her cheek where she could almost feel the pain of the impact.

“No need to be rough, good sir,” Freddie intoned. “I am but a humble public servant like yourself, a professor of botany to be precise.”

“Kill the English pig!” shouted a coarse voice.

“Now, do not be hasty,” advised Freddie. His voice sounded calm but, for all his brave front, Zoé believed his bluster masked fear.

Oh, Freddie.

“And why not kill you?” came a drawl.

“Well, for one thing,” Freddie replied, “I would very much like to meet your General Rossignol about whom I have heard so much. What’s a trip to Brittany without a visit to Rennes, n’est-ce pas? After days wandering about with only plants for company, to see the city I’ve heard so much about would be a treat.”

“He’s a spy!” exclaimed one of the men.

“Whether he is a spy or not,” said another, “he is most certainly English. Perhaps we should deliver him to the general and let him decide what to do with this lying English dog. Take his weapons.”

With that, she heard some muffled sounds and then boots moving off through the trees.

The woods fell silent. Even the birds held their songs.

Freddie was gone.