Falling for the Enemy

And with those words, the man knelt down to tie her brother, cutting off their best chance at escape.

Chapter Four (#ulink_182ce8e6-92df-586b-b968-ce06859723d2)

“Serge, you have to be quieter,” Danielle hissed into the darkness.

The admonishment did little good. Her brother still clomped behind her, his boots rustling old leaves and snapping twigs.

’Twas hardly astonishing the boy had trouble killing a squirrel. The entire forest would hear him coming a full kilometer away. “You’re going to awaken the English and lead them straight to us.”

The noise of mud sucking at his feet drowned out her words.

She rolled her eyes and moved soundlessly behind an ancient maple tree. They’d best just focus on getting away fast—since “quiet” wasn’t working for them. She surveyed the darkened trees. The clouds now blanketed the moon and stars, making the forest so black it obscured trees a meter in front of her. But the darkness would also make following them nigh impossible.

If not for Serge and his incessant noise.

He came up beside her, panting. “How do you move so fast in the dark? I can hardly follow you.”

“There’s a thick stand of firs several meters ahead.” She reached back to take hold of his wrist, keeping her eyes pinned on the goal ahead. “If we can get there, the English will have no hope of—”

“Finding you?” A hand reached out to clasp her upper arm.

She squealed at the sound of the familiar English voice.

“Serge, t’enfuis! Run!” She shoved her brother away before Halston could grab him, as well. At least one of them would be free to find a gendarmerie post.

Serge’s heavy footfalls crashed into the darkness while a narrow beam of lantern light found her face.

“Where, exactly, did you intend to go this late?” Halston asked.

The oaf. He deserved to have his other cheek scratched as badly as the first. She curled her fingers into fists at her side.

He chuckled, clearly guessing the direction of her thoughts. “I wouldn’t attempt it again if I were you.”

She jerked her chin up. “Where I go is none of your concern.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for not believing you, seeing how when you feigned sleep two hours ago, I left both you and your brother bound.”

The word cracked through the woods with such force she couldn’t help but cringe. “Mayhap we didn’t like being bound.”

His hand dug harder into her arm. “Wretched woman.”

She couldn’t make out more than his shadow with the way he held the light to shine on her alone, but she could well imagine him gritting his teeth as he called her wretched, just like Papa always did when he said she was insufferable.

Not that she was either wretched or insufferable.

“My brother has spent the past year and a half trapped in your horrid country for the heinous crime of traveling here when our two countries were at peace and not managing to leave before we were once again at war.” Frustration ground across the edges of his words. “When I came to rescue him, the French guide I paid quite handsomely betrayed us. Now Westerfield might well be dying, and he needs help. I’ve offered you two thousand pounds to take us to the channel, a sum that should be of great use to you and your family, and you look down as me as though I’m no more than dung on the heel of your boot. What must I do to convince you to help us? Offer you another thousand pounds?”

“That man is your brother? The sick one with the wretched cough?”

He probably raised that arrogant eyebrow at her, except she couldn’t see it in the black. “Does it make a difference?”

It didn’t. Or rather, it shouldn’t. But his brother? Could she blame him for wanting to protect his family? And what if his claim about not being spies was true? “When you learned he fell ill, you came over from England solely to get him out of Verdun?”

“Again, why does it matter?” His voice was hard, as though he hadn’t a drop of mercy anywhere inside his tall, lanky form.

“Because...because...” Because I had an older brother once, and if he’d been trapped in your country, I would have done anything to save him.

But Laurent wasn’t trapped in England. He was dead.

And she, Serge and Julien—Laurent’s twin—were all absent a brother because of England’s navy.

She licked her lips and looked away from Halston’s shadow. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not what you were thinking.”

She attempted to yank her arm away. Serge had had ample time to escape, and if she could free herself, he’d never be able to catch her in the woods. But Halston only tightened his hold on her arm.

“So are you going to take me back to camp and tie me up again?”

“What were you about to say concerning my brother?”

She glared at him and tapped her foot impatiently against the soft earth. “Sometimes it’s better to keep your mouth shut. Or do they not teach such manners in your country?”

He laughed then, so bold and loud the sound echoed off trees. “The woman who held a knife to my valet’s throat and scratched my cheek is now lecturing me about manners? Forgive me if I hesitate to heed your advice.”

Her stomach coiled into a knot. “Fine. Perhaps I wished your brother dead a few moments back.”

“You were right. You should have left that thought to yourself.” His voice, relaxed and curious only seconds ago, now resonated hard and cold. He turned her back toward camp and thrust her forward, his hand never leaving her arm.

She swallowed tightly. She hadn’t meant to offend, not really. The words had just slipped out. What else did he expect when she’d been thinking of Laurent? If he was bound and determined to drag her to the coast with him, he’d best learn to accept her harshly honest ways.

She peeked back over her shoulder. Halston’s jaw was set at a hard angle, while the rest of him remained shrouded in darkness. “I didn’t mean it like that. I had a brother once, ’tis all.”

He shoved her forward with greater force. “You still have one, by the look of it.”

“An older one named Laurent. He served in the navy.”

The grip around her shoulder loosened a fraction.

“Your country captured his frigate and killed him. Mayhap I don’t actually wish your brother dead, but in some ways it seems fair, does it not? A brother for a brother?”

Halston pulled her to a stop, though he didn’t turn her to face him. It was just as well. She hardly wanted to look into an Englishman’s eyes when she spoke of Laurent. So they stood in the darkness, with only the faint sound of the flowing stream permeating the eerie silence.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” His words, once he finally spoke them, rang with sympathy.