The Return of the Prodigal

Rian rubbed at his suddenly aching head. Prolonged thinking was still beyond him, damn it. Feeling, touching, desiring, indulging his senses—those worked for him, quite nicely. But to think, really think? That wasn’t so easy. “Far away from here, you said. That brings us to another question, Lisette. Where, exactly, is here? I should know, but I don’t.”

“Valenciennes, of course. We are closer to Valenciennes than anywhere else. I told you that, yes?”

“Probably,” Rian answered, cursing himself for not paying more attention when Lisette spoke to him. But it was so much easier to drift, to think of nothing of any consequence. Although he felt more alert tonight. Perhaps making love to Lisette helped to concentrate his mind? He could think of worse ways to nudge his brain. “I’ll need a map, Lisette. To see how far we are from the coast.”

“There is no need,” she told him quickly. “I have been planning this for some time now. Since the day the Comte stroked my hair and asked if my hair was this same color…everywhere. He is a filthy man, Rian, and I must be gone before he returns. And if he knew that you…that you had gotten to me before him, your life would be forfeit, no matter his plans for you. You see that, don’t you? For all of this, we must go. I have sneaked into the Comte’s study, I have seen a map. I have a route already decided.”

“He asked you such a crude question? Bastard. No wonder you’re frightened,” Rian said, his right hand balling into a fist. He would like to linger, to thank his benefactor, and then knock him down. How long had Lisette lived with this fear? “Are we within walking distance to the coast?”

She shook her head. “Not if anyone were to come looking for us, no. We would needs must move faster than that. But I have a plan for how to get the money we will need for the journey.”

“Of course you do. You have a head full of plans, don’t you, Lisette?”

“Do not laugh at me. You could no more fight off the Comte than could I. Oh! Je suis très stupide! Don’t frown! I’m sorry, Rian. I didn’t mean that. I really didn’t.”

“So you don’t see me in the role of protector? How shocking. Never mind, Lisette. I know my worth as a protector now. I know how useless I am. Tell me about your plan.”

“I am so sorry to have said that, Rian.”

“Lisette, enough. The plan.”

“If you’ve forgiven me? Very well. I will steal from the Comte, of course. I volunteered to houseclean his private chambers this past spring, and that lent me the excuse to rip and tear everywhere, to find every last bit of dirt. I am very good at finding dirt. I found a leather purse at the back of his wardrobe.”

“And you took it? That was dangerous, Lisette.”

She looked at him as if he’d just told her he could fly. “Of course I didn’t take it, Rian. I left it just where it was. After I’d counted the coins inside it. Gold coins, Rian Becket. English coins. Worth even more than their weight in gold now that the French treasury is in shambles. The purse is still there, and still full. I checked on it tonight, to be sure, before I came to you. That is why I was so late.”

“You’ve thought this out well, Lisette,” he said carefully. “There’s only one thing I don’t understand. Why would you wish to slow your escape by taking me along with you?”

“I said I was sorry, Rian Becket. I didn’t mean that you are helpless.”

“Yes, thank you yet again, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“You said…you said you would miss me. I would miss you, too.”

Rian smiled, relaxed. This was what living with secrets did to a person. It made him leery even of people whose only thought was to help, to be a friend.

But then he thought of something else. Something Lisette had said to him that afternoon, something he’d forgotten until now, and her mention of ransom. “You think the Comte took me in because he might have some use for me?”

“I said that?”

“You did. More than once. Don’t dissemble, Lisette, I need to hear the truth. You said this employer of yours does nothing unless there is a reason. I don’t have my head completely up my— I do remember some things, even when my mind insists on wandering down its own paths.”

“Your mind dances in mists, Rian, but that is only because you nearly died. And you are better each day. This past fortnight, you have been very much improved. Very well. There are rumors—rumors only—that the Comte finds different inventive ways to keep himself wealthy. As a traitor to France, I am convinced, tossing his hat into whichever camp he sees most likely to benefit him. I can only think he means to ransom you, now that you aren’t going to die. It is not all that uncommon. Others have done this.”

Her explanation seemed reasonable, to a point. The Comte couldn’t know for certain, simply because he’d worn the uniform of an officer—granted, one especially tailored for him in London—that his family had enough money to pay the Comte a ransom sufficient to not only cover the expense of Rian’s recuperation, but also provide him with a handsome profit. Besides, now that England had won the war, the Comte could find himself dangling at the end of a rope for attempting such a trick.

Then again, he might have thought Rian’s family could be his entrée into London society if he were to escort him home to England. Was that too far-fetched a notion? The Comte wouldn’t be the only Frenchman eager to make a splash in English society. Especially one who would appear to like to be allied with the victors? Yes, this prospect made more sense.

There had to be a reason that the man had taken him in, kept him here for four long months. A hope of some reward. Certainly, from Lisette’s description of the man, he was not a saint. The man could be nothing more than an opportunist.

But old habits die hard, and the one of looking at every unknown person with suspicion harder than most, especially for a Becket.

“If you say so, Lisette, then I imagine I have to believe what you believe. One way or another, the Comte sees me as a paying guest. We leave tomorrow evening, all right?”

She nodded furiously. “You will stay here, in your bed all of the day, and I will tell everyone not to disturb you, that I am in charge, caring for your new fever. You will rest, take your medicine without arguing with me, and I will bring you food, more than enough for your needs, so that we can pack it, take it with us.”

“No more medicine, Lisette.”

“But you must, Rian! You know you’re not yet entirely well. What would I do with you, on the road, if you really were to fall into another fever?”

“Leaving me behind would be one answer,” he said, smiling at her fierce expression. “Very well, another thing for us to discuss at some other time. We should probably delay our departure until after dark.”

Once again, she nodded, and then smiled, as if delighted that he shared her opinion. “We’ll walk to the outskirts of Valenciennes, where we should be able to hire a coach. Not a good one, I’m afraid, as that might raise suspicion, but one that will serve our needs. From there, we’ll stop whenever you feel the need to rest, until we arrive at the coast. A pity your fine English uniform was ruined. Does a ship passage cost a terrible amount of money? There are twenty-two gold coins in the Comte’s purse, but I don’t know what English coins are worth.”

“More than twenty? We should be able to hire our own small boat, Lisette, with that much money. One that can take us across the Channel to Dover in a few hours. Will you feel safe from the Comte then?”

“Oh, yes, I will. And then I will be English. And then you will take me to your family and they will shower me with kisses for bringing their prodigal home safe to them. I will be the heroine, Rian,” she said, snuggling against him. “I like that.”

It was so easy to smile when Lisette was being silly. So easy to forget anything else when she slid her hand onto his belly, then trailed her fingers lower, teasing him, arousing him, taking him out of this world and into one where he was still whole.…

CHAPTER THREE

“LORINGA, YOU FRIGHTENED ME!”

“Nothing frightens you, devil’s child. If you fail when you leave us, it will be that lack of respect for fear’s warnings that will be your destruction. But you are wise to fear me while you are here.”

Lisette watched as her father’s constant companion, the self-proclaimed Voodoo priestess, plodded across the carpet and sat down heavily, glared at her in the candlelight.

“Don’t be silly. I don’t fear you,” Lisette protested as she continued to pack a small portmanteau, hastily shoving in the few bits of simple clothing she had carefully chosen for her journey. “I should have said that you startled me. That is all, Loringa. Because I don’t believe in you.”

“You say you eat only from the common pot,” Loringa reminded her, smiling, the gap between her front teeth seemingly growing wider by the day. “You believe.”

“I believe you are capable of drawing up potions, poisons. I believe that it’s you who keeps my own papa chewing on those strange leaves, so that he rarely eats, he rarely sleeps. I believe you are evil pretending to do good. But none of that makes you a priestess.”

“I am Dahomey. Your maman, she was born in New Orleans, she understood the power of the Voodoo. She entrusted your life to me, remember? Voodoo is powerful. And I am the most powerful of the powerful. I saved that boy, didn’t I? Nobody but me. He was as good as dead when he was brought here.”

Lisette didn’t have an answer for any of that, so she continued her packing, sweeping her brushes and a hand mirror from the dresser and tossing both on the bed.

“Not those, servant girl,” Loringa scolded. “A teacher’s daughter, an orphan working as a lowly servant, does not have pretty silver brushes.”

“I’ll simply tell him I stole them.”

“And that will explain away the initials carved on their backs?”

L.M.B. Lisette Marguerite Beatty. Lisette replaced the brushes and mirror without further comment. She supposed she should have thought about that herself. Truth be told, the woman really did unnerve her. Still, the brushes and mirror had been her papa’s first gift to her. She longed to take them with her, have something of him to look at, to remember why she was doing what she would do.

After Loringa left, she’d pack them. The old woman worried too much.