Page 56 of A Fierce Wind

“Well, if it’s to be like that,” said Émile Bequel, obviously disappointed.

One of his two opponents lunged toward him. M’sieur Bequel snatched his pistol from his waist and fired into the man’s head at close range. The other soldier stared at his fallen companion while Émile slid a knife from his sleeve and threw it at the soldier’s neck. He sank to the stone floor, a gurgling sound emanating from his throat.

Zoé’s mouth dropped open, amazed at how the fifty-year-old quartermaster had fought like a much younger man. She turned to see Freddie sinking his sword into the flesh of the soldier he fought. The man dropped to his knees.

“Well, that’s done,” he said smiling at her.

The last soldier standing was no match for Gaspar. Surveying the field of dead Blues and realizing he was the only one of Donet’s men still fighting, the former ship’s carpenter forced his opponent to the wall, knocked his sword from his hand and sliced the man’s throat. “I wouldn’t want to keep you waiting,” Gaspar said to her uncle as he quickly wiped clean his sword and sheathed it.

Turning his attention to the jailor huddled against the wall, worrying his red cap in his hands, her uncle said, “Care to engage one of us?” Sweeping his arm in front of his companions, he said, “You can take your pick. We are very accommodating. We will even lend you one of our swords.”

The jailor vigorously shook his head, his eyes huge with fright.

“Then be gone with ye,” said M’sieur Bequel.

The thin man disappeared out the front door.

Freddie offered his hand to Zoé and she took it.

“You did well,” said Pax, gazing up at the Englishman he obviously adored.

Zoé squeezed Freddie’s hand, glad to be assured he lived. No matter he smelled like filth and rats. He was here with her. Not for the first time, she thanked God for this man who had offered his life for hers. “I thought you were wonderful.”

At her uncle’s shout, they raced out the door and piled into the waiting carriage, the men’s chests still heaving with the exertion of their fight.

Her uncle took out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I would have preferred a quiet exit, but perhaps the prisoners will take this opportunity to escape.”

“They were already creeping into the entrance hall before we left,” said Zoé.

As the carriage traveled down the street, the horses’ hooves clattered over the cobblestones. Freddie leaned across her to peer out the window, looking back toward the Conciergerie. “A great flood of them is flowing out the door.” He leaned back against the seat and let out a breath. “I am more than pleased at least some of the prisoners made it to freedom. Perhaps they can slip into the crowds, unnoticed.”

Zoé smiled at him and then looked across him to Pax, who clung to Freddie’s side like a limpet securely attached to its favorite rock. With Isabeau, who had remained safely behind on la Reine Noire, there would be two children returning with them to Guernsey. Playmates for Jack, she supposed. Pax was about Jack’s age but Isabeau was older. She smiled thinking that would not deter Jack from ordering Isabeau about.

“I wonder who came for Dordogne,” said M’sieur Bequel, his dark brows furrowed in contemplation.

“Assuredly, one of his own,” replied Gaspar. “Fearing the capitaine as he does, he would not have left except at the command of one to whom he was accountable.”

Remembering the odd look Dordogne had given her, Zoé said, “Oncle Jean, that man, François de Dordogne, gave me the strangest look when he first glimpsed me. Why?”

Her uncle gazed out the window, scanning the street, as if still worried about pursuers. “I suspect ’tis because you look very much like my daughter, Claire. She was your age at the time Dordogne was contracted to wed her. Though her eyes are blue and yours are gray, you both have the Donet hair and it’s been years. At the time, I was unaware that Dordogne had deceived me, that he hid a secret that would forever keep him from being a proper husband.”

“Aye,” said M’sieur Bequel, his mouth twitching up in an uncharacteristic grin. “Must have brought back some bad memories for him. He might even have thought the capitaine brought ye along to remind him of his perfidy.”

Freddie raised Zoé’s hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

His warm lips on her skin reminded Zoé of his kiss in the forest that had caught her by surprise and forever changed the way she looked at him. Returning him a contented smile, she breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, Freddie was safely returned to her and soon they would be sailing to Guernsey. The future opened wide before them. Not that the war was over, but they could face it together, no longer merely friends but more. Did her uncle and the others notice the more intimate nature of their friendship?

Still holding her hand, Freddie leaned toward her uncle sitting across from them with Gaspar on one side and M’sieur Bequel on the other. “I know this may seem sudden, sir, and I am not dressed for the occasion, but I have waited years to approach you on a certain subject. I can wait no longer.”

All eyes on Freddie, his gaze paused on each man before continuing. “Now that it appears I’m to live, if you give your permission and Zoé will have me, I would like to ask her to become my wife.”

Zoé beamed her happiness at hearing Freddie’s intention and squeezed his hand. She could think of no other man she would rather have. Her best friend had become the man of her dreams, the one man she wanted by her side forever.

Her uncle glanced at her with raised brows. “Zoé?” Beside him, M’sieur Bequel nodded his approval.

“Oh, oui, Oncle Jean. I love him!”

Freddie flashed his white teeth in a broad smile aimed at her. “And I you.”

“I daresay your aunt will be pleased,” said her uncle. “She hinted of this to me not long ago. You did not mention a dowry, West. I assume it is of no matter to you?”

“None at all, sir.”

“Well it matters to me!” Zoé spoke up.

Her uncle chuckled. “I thought it might. ’Tis a considerable one, West, large enough to buy you and my niece a nicely appointed house on Guernsey, should you choose to live there. Or, if you prefer, a ship of your own.”

His words pleased Zoé. She would not go to Freddie a pauper. “Thank you, Oncle Jean.”

Freddie smiled. “Very generous of you, sir.”

“So be it,” her uncle said, “you have my permission, West. But I must insist on a Guernsey wedding, else your sister will have my head.”

Laughter filled the carriage at her uncle’s macabre humor. It was clear they were all relieved to be quitting Paris.

Pax looked up at Freddie, his dark eyes speaking confusion. “Are we going home now?” he asked in a small but hopeful voice.

“Indeed we are,” said Freddie, pulling the boy to him. “To paradise, I’m thinking.”