The Soldier's Secrets

She lurched back, but his hands held her firm, leading her toward the house. Surely he didn’t mean to take her inside, where ’twould be far more difficult for her to get away.

“Non.” She planted her feet into the dirt. “I—I wish to stay in the sun.”

He scowled, a look that had likely struck fear in many a heart. “Are you certain? Mayhap the sun’s making you over warm. The house is cooler.”

Her current state had nothing to do with the heat, but rather the opposite. Fear gripped her stomach and chest, an iciness that radiated from within and refused to release its hold. She’d felt it twice before. First when those soldiers had barged into their house and taken Henri away, and then the night Alphonse had given her this task.

Now she was in Abbeville, staring at the man she might well need to destroy and letting fear cripple her once again.

* * *

She’s like Corinne. It was the only thing Jean Paul could think as he stared at the thin woman in his hold. She was tall yet slender, as his late wife had been, and had a quietly determined way about her. Unfortunately she also looked ready to faint.

He needed to get some food in her. He’d not have another woman starve in his hands, at least not when he had the means to prevent it.

“I should sit,” she spoke quietly then slid from his grip, wilting against the stone and mud of the cottage wall before he could stop her.

“Are you unwell?” he asked again. A daft question, to be sure, with the way her face shone pale as stone.

She shook her head, a barely perceptible movement. “I simply...need a moment.”

She needed more than a moment. Judging by the dark smudges beneath her eyes and hollowness in her face she needed a night of rest and a fortnight of sumptuous feasts.

“Come inside and lie down.” He hunkered down and reached for her, wrapping one arm around her back and slipping another beneath her legs.

“Non!” The bloodcurdling scream rang across the fields, so loud his tenants likely heard it. “Remove your hands at once.”

Stubborn woman. “If you’d simply let me...”

His voice trailed off as he met her eyes. They should have been clouded with pain, or mayhap in a temporary daze from nearly swooning. But fear raced through those deep brown orbs.

She was terrified.

Of him.

Why? He shifted back, giving her space enough to run if she so desired. The woman’s chest heaved and her eyes turned wild, the stark anguish of fright and horror etched across her features.

“Let me get you a bit of water and bread.” He rose and moved into the quiet sanctuary of his home. The cool air inside the dank daub walls wrapped around him, the familiar scents of rising bread and cold soup tugging him farther inside. But the surroundings didn’t banish the woman’s look of terror from his mind, nor the sound of her scream.

How many times had he heard screams like that? A woman’s panic-filled cry, a child’s voice saturated with fear?

And how many times had he been the cause?

Chapter Two

Jean Paul’s hands shook, as they sometimes did when his memories from the Terror returned. He gritted his teeth and filled a mug with water, then grabbed the remaining loaf of bread and half a round of cheese, wrapping both in a bit of cloth.

The woman sitting outside his door couldn’t know of his past, how he’d once evoked terror, how he’d turned his back on those in need for the glorious cause of the Révolution.

How their screams still haunted his dreams.

But she was wise to look at him with fear, as though she sensed the hideous things he’d done.

The walls of the house closed in on him, the air suddenly heavy and sour. He stalked toward the door. The woman had the right of it, much better to be in the sun than trapped inside a dark house.

He half expected her to have dragged herself into the woods. But she sat in the position he’d left her, with her back against the wall and her head slumped over her knees. Reddish-brown hair peeked from beneath her mobcap to dangle beside a gaunt cheek.

Too gaunt, too pale, too sickly. An image rose of a time long past. His wife lying on her pallet in the cottage they’d shared, her fingers and face naught but bones, her skin stark and pale, her body crumpled into a little ball as she struggled to suck air into her wheezing lungs.

He dropped to his knees and pressed the wooden mug to the stranger’s lips.

“Drink,” he commanded, perhaps a bit too forcefully. He attempted a half smile so as not to frighten her again, except the upward tilt to his lips felt rather stiff and foreign.

She took a gulp then slanted her gaze toward him, her eyes soft and dark rather than filled with fear. Mayhap his smile had worked?

“I’m better. Truly. I only needed a bit of rest.”

Mayhap lack of food and water coupled with too much sun had caused her distress. He’d heard of people going mad after a day working the fields. Or then again, she might be with child. Swooning went along with bearing young, did it not?

She’d said she needed work. Her husband could be a soldier who’d left her with child and gone to the front. Or worse yet, her husband might have been killed in battle.

He opened his mouth to ask, but the woman braced her hands on the ground to push herself up. “Merci, Citizen, but I must away.”

He shoved the water back in front of her face. “Drink more. I’ve brought you bread and cheese, as well. I’ll not have you nearly swoon one moment and then be up and about the next.”

She took the mug from his hands and swallowed. The wooden cup no sooner left her lips than he placed the bread before her. She nibbled at a crumb or two then wrinkled her nose, a ridiculous expression considering how ill she’d looked just minutes before.

But with the thick, dense state of the bread, he could hardly blame her. It tasted little better than mud, he knew. He’d been making and eating the loaves since his mother’s death last fall, and no matter what he tried, the heavy dough refused to rise.

The woman handed the bread back to him then rose unsteadily to her feet. “I’m fine, truly, and I’ve other business to attend now that I’ve an answer regarding a post here.”

He stood with her. So they were back to discussing a post. Could the woman cook? Mayhap offering her work wouldn’t be so terrible...

But no. He wasn’t ready to have a woman about his house, not with the way Corinne’s memories still rose up to grip his thoughts. “Try looking about town for work, and if you find naught there, then head to Saint-Valery. ’tis not more than a day’s walk, and there’s always work at the harbor.”

Her chin tilted stubbornly into the air. “I thank you for your time, Citizen.”

He held out a bundle of bread and cheese. “Here, I trust it keeps you until you find a post.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re too generous.”

The woman didn’t know the half of it. “Take it.”

“Merci.” She tucked the bundle beneath her arm. “I think I should have enjoyed a post here.”

And with that she walked off. Head high, shoulders back, posture perfect, even if her gait was rather wobbly.

* * *