Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy (7 page)

Madame Laval found a smaller basket in the back of the store. Into it she placed a bottle of wine, the cream, some eggs, bread, cheese, four mussels and all of the
frites.

“C’est assez,”
she muttered. She called to Emmaline.
“Bonne nuit, Emmaline. Demain, nous parlerons plus.”

Gabe understood that. Emmaline’s aunt would have more to say to her tomorrow.

“Bonne nuit, madame.”
Gabe took the bouquet of flowers and handed them to her, bowing again.

“Hmmph!” She snatched the flowers from his hand and marched away with half their food and all his
frites.

Emmaline walked over to him and leaned against him.

He put his arms around her. “I am sorry to cause you this trouble.”

She sighed. “I wish her visit in the country had lasted longer.”

He felt the velvet box press against his chest. “It is safer for her to be in the city.”

She pulled away. “Why? Have you heard news?”

He kept an arm around her. “No, nothing more. There is to be a ball tomorrow night. There would not be a ball if Wellington was ready to march.”

They walked out of the shop and across the courtyard to her little house. Once inside, Gabe removed his coat; as he did so he felt the ring box in its pocket and knew this was not the time to show it to her. Her aunt, unwittingly, had cast a pall on Gabe’s excitement, his dreams for the future.

She busied herself in readying their meal. Their conversation was confined to the placement of dishes and who would carry what to the table.

When they sat at the table, she remarked, “It is a lovely meal, Gabriel. I like the mussels.”

He smiled at her. “I know.”

As they began to eat, she talked about her aunt. “Tante Voletta came to Brussels a long time ago. After her husband went to the guillotine—”

Gabe put down his fork. “Good God. He went to the guillotine?”

She waved a hand. “That was when they sent everyone to the guillotine. He was a tailor to some of the royals, you see.
Voilà!
That was enough. Tante Voletta came here, to be safe. She opened the shop.”

“Why does she dislike me?” he asked. “The English were opposed to the Terror.”

She smiled wanly. “Ah, but the English are an enemy of Napoleon. My aunt reveres Napoleon. He made France great again, you see.” Her smile fled. “Of course, he killed many by making them soldiers.”

What she feared for her son, he remembered.

He turned the subject back to her aunt. “I dislike causing you distress with your aunt. What can I do?”

She shrugged. “You can do nothing.”

He gave her a direct look. “Would you prefer I not spend the night tonight?”

Her lips pressed together. “Stay with me. She will know we are lovers soon enough. Everyone around us knows it by now and will delight in telling her of all your coming and going.”

He frowned. “Do I cause trouble for you with your neighbours, as well?”

She smiled again. “
Non,
Gabriel. Here a widow is allowed lovers. They might think I am wise to bed you. Most of my neighbours like the money the English bring. My aunt likes English money, too, but she would never say so.”

They talked of inconsequentials through the rest of the meal and the cleaning up afterwards. The sky was not quite dark.

Emmaline wiped her hands on the towel. “I am tired tonight. Do you mind if we sleep early?”

“Whatever you wish, Emmaline.” Gabe was not about to make anything more uncomfortable for her.

Their lovemaking that night was bittersweet, slow and filled with emotion, as if both of them realised how fragile it could be to love each other.

The words ‘With my body I thee worship’ repeated in Gabe’s mind as his eyes drank in her beauty and his fingers memorised the feel of her. He wanted to erase the tension between them that her aunt’s arrival had caused. He wanted to convince her with his body that he needed her in his life.

They reached the pinnacle of pleasure in a slow climb this night, but finally writhed together in its acute glory. No night-time sharing of confidences this time. They merely held each other in silence.

Perhaps in the morning, with the hope of dawn, he could make love to her again and bare his soul to her as they lay next to each other in tangled linens.

Gabe drifted off into disturbed dreams. He was a child again, cast out of doors, alone in a storm, no one near to hear his calls, no one to shelter him. Lightning flashed in his dream and its clap of thunder jarred him awake, his heart pounding.

The sound came again.

Emmaline sat up. The sound repeated. It was not thunder, but something hitting the window, which was open only a crack.

“Someone is out there.” She scrambled out of the bed, a sheet wrapped around her.

She lifted the sash and looked out the window.

“Maman!”
a voice called in a loud whisper.
“Maman!”

“Mon Dieu,”
she cried. “It is Claude.” She grabbed her nightdress and put it on. “My son is here.”

Chapter Four

E
mmaline dashed out, not even bothering to put on a robe. She ran down the stairs, threw open the front door and hugged her only child, who now stood a head taller than she.

He lifted her off her feet and crossed the threshold.
“Maman!”
He spoke in French. “I am here.”

Her feet touched the floor again and she stepped back to look at him. In the unlit room she could see little more than a shadow, a shadow that looked so much like her late husband that it made her gasp.

“Let me light a candle so I can see you.” She pulled him further into the room. “Why are you here? Have you come home to me?”

“No,
Maman.
” It seemed as if his voice had deepened the few months he’d been away. “You must tell no one, but the army is nearby. Close enough for me to come see you. I cannot stay long. I must return before dawn.”

She lit a taper from the dying coals in the kitchen stove and moved around the room lighting candles. “Do you need food? Something to drink?”

“Whatever is quickly prepared.” He sank down on her sofa.

In the light she could see his hair, as dark as her own, pulled back in a queue. His face had matured a bit, even to the point of a thin moustache above his lip. He did, indeed, look as Remy must have looked in his youth. Claude wore the blue coat of his uniform with the gray overalls that the soldiers wore to keep their white trousers clean. He would have been able to slip through the streets unseen.

“Do not light too many candles,” he told her. “No one must know I am here.”

She blew out the one she’d just lit. “I’ll bring you some wine.” There was wine left in the bottle she and Gabriel had shared. She poured it into a glass for Claude and brought it to him.

Gabriel! She had forgotten. She hoped he did not show himself.

He drank half of it quickly. “Thank you,
Maman.
”

She sat opposite him and reached out to touch his face. “I’ll prepare your food, but please tell me first if you are well. Tell me why you are so close by.”

He took another sip. “I cannot tell you why we are close by, but I am very well. They have allowed me to join the cavalry, Maman. I am a cuirassier. That is a great privilege.”

Claude had loved horses from the time he could toddle across a room. When they had travelled with his father, Claude was happiest riding with his father on his horse. Poor Coco, the mare, had been lost to them after Badajoz, another heartbreak for Claude.

Here in Brussels, Emmaline could never afford to keep a horse, but Claude had befriended Mr Engles, who ran a stables nearby. Claude performed whatever chores the man would give him, anything to be with the horses. Eventually Mr Engles began to pay him and Claude saved every franc until he could purchase a horse of his own. Named Coco. Claude rode Coco away to Napoleon’s army, and most likely having Coco was why Claude was allowed to join the cuirassiers.

“I am not surprised.” She smiled at her son. “You probably ride better than most of them.”

Would being in the cavalry keep him safer than the infantry? She prayed it was so.

He finished the wine. “They are veterans of the war and I have learned much from them.”

Learned how to fight and kill, she thought. But had they taught him how to face men wanting to kill him?

She took his glass and stood. “I will bring you more. And some food.”

He rose and followed her to the kitchen, but suddenly froze. “What is this, Maman?”

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him pointing to Gabriel’s red coat, hanging over the chair.

“An
English soldier’s
coat?” His voice cracked. He gaped at her in disbelief. After a moment his face flushed with colour. “You have an
English soldier
here?” He looked around, as if the man would step out from behind a curtain.

“Claude, I can explain—”

“Where is he? In your bed?” His voice squeaked again.

Before she could say another word, he dashed to the stairs and leaped up them four at a time.

She ran after him. “Claude. Wait!”

“Show yourself,” Claude shouted in French. “Show yourself, you dog.”

From the bottom of the stairs, Emmaline glimpsed Gabriel in his shirt and trousers, standing in the doorway of her bedchamber. Claude charged him and they disappeared into the room. As she hurried up the stairs she heard something crash to the floor.

“I’ll kill you!” Claude yelled.

Emmaline reached the doorway. From the light of a candle Gabriel must have lit, she could see Claude trying to strike him and Gabriel, larger and stronger, holding him off.

“I’ll kill you!” Claude cried again, his arms flailing. He sounded like a wounded child.

“Stop it, Claude.” She tried to pull him away from Gabriel. “Someone will hear you. They will discover you are here.”

He immediately stopped, but glared at her, his chin trembling. “
He
knows I am here.
He
is the enemy.”

“
Non, non,
Claude.” Emmaline faced him. “Do you know who this is? Do you?”

He spat. “An Englishman in your bed. How could you do such a thing?” He took two breaths before charging Gabriel again. “Did you force her?”

Gabriel again held him off.

Emmaline jumped between them. “He did not force me, Claude. He is our rescuer. Do you not remember him?”

Claude backed away, looking puzzled.

“This is the captain who kept us safe in Badajoz.” She tried to keep her voice down.

“Claude—” Gabriel started.

Claude leaned forwards, pointing his finger at him. “Do not say a word! There is nothing you can say to me, you English dog!”

Emmaline pushed him back. “Calm yourself, Claude. We will go downstairs and talk about this.”

He looked as if he was about to cry. “This is traitorous, Maman.”

“I cannot be a traitor to Napoleon. I am not in his army. You are.” She seized his arm and yanked him towards the door. “Come downstairs.” She turned to Gabriel and spoke in English, “Will you come, too?”

Gabriel nodded.

He did not follow immediately, though. Emmaline took advantage and spoke to Claude. “You must remain calm and quiet. If someone hears you yelling and fighting, you will be discovered.”

“Do not be a fool,
Maman,
” he countered. “
He
will turn me in. I am already lost.”

“
He
is Gabriel Deane, a good man who will do what is right.”

A part of her wanted Gabriel to take her son prisoner. At least Claude would stay alive, but she’d been a soldier’s wife too long not to understand that Claude would find being a prisoner worse than death.

Claude sat down on the sofa and she sat down next to him, leaving the chair opposite the sofa for Gabriel.

He entered. “Shall I pour wine?”

“
Oui,
Gabriel.
Merci.
” She forgot to switch to English.

He brought the glasses and the wine and placed them on the table, pouring the first and handing it to Claude.

Claude kept his arms crossed over his chest.

“Take it, Claude,” Emmaline said in French.

He rolled his eyes, but did as she said. Gabriel handed the next glass to Emmaline before pouring one for himself.

“Tell Claude I have no intention of hurting you in any way. That—that I have the highest esteem for you,” Gabriel said.

Emmaline translated.

Claude closed his eyes as if he wished not to hear. “I cannot speak with him about you,
Maman.
Ask him what he will do with me.”

She turned to Gabriel. “Claude believes you will take him prisoner, but I beg you will let him go.”

His brow furrowed. “This is asking a great deal of me, Emmaline. My duty—”

Her throat tightened. “Please, Gabriel. Please allow him to leave.”

He glanced away, as if thinking.