Petals in the Storm

Chapter 24

Though Rafe's charge took the two searchers by surprise, the taller one whipped up his shotgun and fired both barrels. Rafe managed to knock the weapon upward so that the shot discharged into the ceiling, but the blast was deafening and a ricocheting pellet grazed his wrist.

Undaunted, the tall man swung the empty shotgun above his head to use it as a club. Before he could bring it down, Rafe kicked him viciously in the groin. The gunman shrieked and doubled over.

Glad to see that he hadn't forgotten the lessons of distant college tavern brawls, Rafe turned his attention to his other foe, a broad, balding fellow who was clumsily trying to aim his weapon. Before he succeeded, Rafe hit him in the jaw with a right jab that could have felled a small ox.

The tall man lurched toward Rafe in a feeble attempt to rejoin the fight. Rafe stepped aside, then chopped the edge of his hand down on the back of the man's neck. The servant promptly joined his companion on the floor.

Rafe snatched up the two shotguns and the ammunition pouches. Not stopping to reload the gun that had been discharged, he raced down the hall after Margot and Robin. The whole encounter had taken less than a minute, and he caught up with the others around the next corner.

Rafe looked so rakishly handsome that Maggie would have stopped to admire him if there had been time, which there wasn't. With a glance at the two shotguns, she panted, "I'm impressed, your grace. I didn't know that rough and tumble fighting was taught at Jackson's salon."

"It isn't, but I did have a liberal university education," Rafe retorted, laughter in his voice.

The passage ended with a door. Robin swung it open, revealing another pair of searchers literally face-to-face with them. Since Maggie was already halfway through the doorway, she collided full force with one of Varenne's men.

The impact knocked her breathless, but it bore much harder on Rex, who had been letting himself be carried with amazing passivity. The cat erupted straight up in the air with a blood-curdling shriek of feline fury.

He came down on the man who had collided with Maggie, and his flailing claws and powerful hindquarters ripped and slashed with gory effect. Using the man's face as a launching ramp to safety, Rex left the gunman screaming as blood poured from his face. The cat vanished down the passage behind the servants, his black tail a feathery plume of rage.

Rafe dragged Maggie back, then slammed the door on the demoralized searchers. As they ran back the way they had come, he said, "You are not going after that damned cat!"

Maggie was too out of breath to say anything other than a sarcastic, "Yes, your grace."

"Amazing," Rafe said as they swung into another passage. "That's the first docile remark I've ever heard from you, Countess."

"Savor it," she said tartly. "It's the first and the last."

The fleeting humor disappeared when they reached an intersection where two corridors crossed. Another pair of armed men appeared in front of them, drawn by the sound of the earlier shotgun blast. Maggie glanced back, and saw that the cat-struck duo had recovered and were coming after them.

"Go to the right!" Rafe ordered. "And take this." He handed her one of the shotguns and an ammunition pouch.

While she and Robin dashed down the right-hand cross passage, Rafe raised the other gun and cocked both hammers. After discharging one barrel ahead of them, he spun around and blasted the other one behind. He didn't bother to aim, relying on the scattering effect of the shot to discourage the searchers. Then he followed his companions.

Seeing that Robin was near collapse, Maggie halted by a door in the middle of the corridor. It was locked. With a silent prayer, she fumbled for the key to her bedchamber, which she had kept after locking Northwood in. To her acute relief, the key worked and the door opened to reveal an ascending staircase.

When Rafe pelted up, she said, "Thank God that the locks in this place are so old and crude. The same key probably works on all of them. Come on!"

Instead of following, Robin slumped against the wall, his face white. "I can't… keep up. You'll never escape with me slowing you down," he gasped. "Leave me with a loaded shotgun-maybe I can buy you some time."

Before Maggie could speak, Rafe snapped, "Don't be a damned fool." He looped his free arm around Robin, then started up the steps.

Maggie relocked the door, then followed the men upward. With luck, the hunters wouldn't be able to guess that their quarry had gone this way.

They climbed for what she estimated was two floors before reaching another door. It opened into a hall that was wider and better kept than the service passages below; they had reached the section of the castle where the masters lived. After the hubbub below, it was eerily silent.

Rafe eased Robin into a sitting position against the wall, then reloaded the shotguns. "From the direction of the light, I think that the river face is to the left, so we have to go right to get out of the castle."

Worriedly Maggie said to Robin, "Can you keep going for a little longer?"

Robin was chalk-pale and perspiration beaded his face, but he struggled to his feet again. "Now that I've caught my breath, I'm fine. Don't worry, I've ridden a hundred miles with worse."

"Liar." Tenderly she brushed sweaty hair from his forehead. "Luckily, we don't have to go a hundred miles."

Observing the intimacy befween his companions, Rafe felt very much the outsider. Mentally he vowed that if they survived this, he would go away as silently as possible; they would never even notice he was gone. "Time to go," he said, his voice clipped. "Varenne claimed to have a small army, and they're probably all outside between here and the stable. Margot, be prepared to use that shotgun."

She nodded soberly, and he gave thanks for the unladylike skills her father had taught her. He was also grateful for the fact that Robin had a coolheaded recognition of his own limitations. With luck, they might actually make it out alive.

A few minutes of exploration brought them to a stairway to the ground floor. In a low voice, Rafe said, "Since the doors are probably guarded, let's find a room on the east side and go out through a window."

Stealthily they went downstairs and soon located a shabby morning room with windows only about five feet about the ground. Rafe opened the casements and helped Margot and Robin out, then dropped lightly beside them. "Shall we see if the stables are being guarded by Varenne's army?"

"They had better not be." Margot hoisted her shotgun again. "We're running out of time."

It was a sobering remark. While saving their own lives had high priority, it was far from their only concern.

When the combined French and Prussian forces reached the gates of Chanteuil, there was no one in sight and the gate was locked. Helene watched tensely as von Fehrenbach dismounted and rattled the gate. Eventually an ancient gatekeeper emerged.

Sharply the colonel said, "Open this gate in the name of Marshal Blucher and the Allied Army of Occupation."

Since the gatekeeper seemed rooted to the ground, Roussaye called out, "You will not be harmed as long as you obey orders."

The Frenchman's reassurance succeeded where the Prussian order hadn't, and after a minute of fumbling the gate was opened. Riders began streaming through. As the Hussars entered the grounds, the flat, deadly rattle of gunfire came from the castle that crowned the hill. Von Fehrenbach wheeled his mount to face Helene. "Wait here, Madame Sorel, until we have dealt with whatever rabble Varenne has."

She nodded, her tired hands clutching her horse's reins. "Just… please be careful."

He nodded and touched one hand to his forehead. Then he spurred his mount toward the sounds of firing.

As Helene watched the men gallop up the driveway, she prayed that they were in time.

Maggie and company saw no one on the shrubbed path between castle and stable. The open yard felt horribly exposed, and it was a relief to reach the stabledoor. Rafe unfastened the latch, then stood to one side as he kicked the door open, his shotgun ready for any danger within.

His precautions were unnecessary; the stables appeared to be empty of everything but horses. Probably the grooms had been pressed into the search at the castle.

After scanning the interior, Rafe said,"Robin, pick the best horses. Margot, find some harness. I'll stand guard."

The other two nodded and moved off, meshing together into a smoothly working team. As she turned right to look for the harness room, Maggie thought it was remarkable how well they were getting on considering that all three people were by nature leaders, more accustomed to giving orders than receiving them.

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off when she entered the tack room and was seized in an iron grip. Before she could scream a warning to her companions, an iron hand clamped over her mouth. She fought fiercely to free herself, but she was no match for her assailant's strength. Viciously he twisted her arm until she was forced to drop the shotgun. Then he pulled her head around so that she could see him.

She found herself looking into the black eyes of the Count de Varenne. He smiled, his usual congenial social smile, and jammed a cocked dueling pistol against her temple. There would be bruises, if she lived long enotigh.

"Congratulations on escaping my men in the castle," he said, a little breathless from the exertion of subduing her. "I am not entirely surprised-you and your lovers are formidable adversaries. Have the three of you ever shared a bed? I would think that would account for the harmony among you."

Not bothering to wait for an answer, he forced her ahead of him into the main stable block. Once there, he slipped his left hand from her mouth and locked his arm around her midriff, pinning her arms to her sides. "Now you may scream all you like, Countess."

Hearing Varenne's voice, Robin swung around. His furious oath caused Rafe to turn, then stop dead, frozen with horror.

"I'm sure that neither of you gentlemen wishes any harm to come to your lovely fraudulent countess," Varenne snapped. "Drop the gun, Candover. Then both of you raise your hands above your heads and move into the center of the room."

Instantly Rafe tossed the shotgun aside and went to stand by Robin.

Margot's face was white, and there was fear in her eyes, but she said evenly, "Don't let him stop you. It's only a single-shot dueling pistol, so he can't get all three of us."

"While the countess shows an admirable willingness for martyrdom, I wouldn't advise you to try anything, gentlemen." Varenne began backing toward the door, still holding Maggie firmly against him. "My men are concealed outside, and you would never escape. I have gone to this effort because I prefer to capture you alive, but I warn you, at the least move from either of you, I will blow the lady's head off."

When Oliver Northwood swam dimly back to consciousness, he knew that he was dying. There was too much blood puddling below him, and the final chill was reaching into his bones. At first he thought the voices were in his head. Then he realized that the people he hated most were talking only a few feet away, in the main stable.

Knowledge that his enemies were near galvanized him. Though the smallest effort exhausted him, he still had a little strength left, and by God, he would use it well.

An eternity was required to struggle to his knees, another to gain his feet. Northwood was gratified to discover that he still had Varenne's pistol. He cocked it, a time-consuming act since his fingers had no sensation.

The wound in his chest wasn't bleeding much-he must be running out of blood-but he was very clear about what must be done. Blinking to clear his eyes, he lurched the length of the harness room, one hand on the wall to steady his faltering step. He didn't have much time left, but he vowed that it would be enough to kill the one he hated the most.

To Rafe, the scene was a tableau from hell-he and Robin motionless with their hands up, Varenne inching back to the door, Margot's golden hair falling about her shoulders, the high cheekbones stark in her rigidly calm face. Though almost consumed by his fury, Rafe remained absolutely still, unwilling to risk angering the count.

Then, eerily silent, a blood-soaked figure staggered from the harness room behind Varenne. His face contorted with an ugly blend of hate and rage, Oliver Northwood raised a pistol that was a mate to the count's. The barrel wavered feebly as he tried to center the weapon between Varenne's shoulder blades.

For an instant Rafe was paralyzed, not knowing whether Northwood's intervention was more likely to help or harm Margot. Then he realized that if Varenne was shot, his hand would spasm and pull the light trigger of the dueling pistol. "Look out, Varenne! Northwood is behind you."

"I thought you were cleverer than that, Candover," the count sneered. "You won't trick me into turning away from you to look for a dead man."

Varenne wasn't quick enough to realize the significance of the fact that Rafe had called Northwood by name, but the flash in Margot's eyes showed that she understood.

Beyond hearing, beyond knowledge of anything but his goal, Northwood lifted his other hand to steady the pistol. Then, expression gloating, he squeezed the trigger.

The blast shattered the tableau. Varenne was knocked forward by the impact, his weight carrying Maggie with him. Alerted by Rafe's warning, she was already twisting frantically when Northwood's gun went off.

As she tried to duck away from the muzzle of Varenne's weapon, it fired, scorching her cheek with gunpowder. She hit the floor hard and lay stunned, pinned beneath the count's heavy body. There was warm blood on her face; perhaps she had been mortally wounded and was too numb to feel pain.

Then the count's body was wrenched away and Rafe lifted her to a sitting position. "Oh, God, Margot, are you all right?" Cradling her against his chest, he gently examined the side of her head, alternately swearing and praying under his breath.

She managed to say through dry lips, "I-I think the blood is Varenne's."

Rafe embraced Maggie so tightly that she thought her ribs would crack. She was shaking violently, and it was hard to breathe with her face buried against the scratchy wool of his coat. Yet despite the discomforts of her position, she wanted to stop the world and stay in his arms forever, safe and warm.

Robin's voice pulled her back to reality. "Any moment now, Varenne's men are going to come in here to investigate the gunshots. Though the count preferred us alive, his loyal followers will probably be less generous."

He retrieved Rafe's shotgun and cradled it awkwardly against his chest with his good arm. "How much ammunition do we have?"

As abruptly as it had begun, the embrace ended. Rafe released Maggie, a stark, unreadable expression in his eyes. As he helped her to her feet, he answered, "Not much. Margot, get the other shotgun while I saddle the horses. If we ride out together at full speed, at least one of us may get through."

Rafe's heart was hammering as he saddled the horses. If they didn't break out immediately and ride like fury, they would never make it to the embassy in time. He was glad to see that one of the horses was Rafe's own mount. It was an exceptionally mannerly beast and would be a good choice for Robin.

A shot crackled outside, followed instantly by a whole barrage of gunfire. A bullet came through the upper part of the door and Rafe instinctively ducked, swearing under his breath. Varenne hadn't been lying about having an army out there!

Then the sounds of firing diminished, as if the combatants were moving away from the stables. Puzzled, Rafe led two of the horses forward into the front of the barn. Before he could go for the third, the door eased open. A voice called in French, "Surrender! Resistance is futile."

Margot raised her shotgun and Rafe grabbed the other, but they held their fire. Whoever was entering was moving with the same kind of caution Rafe had exercised earlier. It was a tall man, silhouetted against the bright yard, the unmistakable shape of a pistol drawn and ready in his hand…

Maggie was the first to identify the uniform and fair hair of Colonel von Fehrenbach. She lowered her weapon, almost dizzy with relief. "I hope you are here to rescue us, Colonel," she said unsteadily, "because we certainly need it."

Recognizing her voice, he lowered his gun and swung the door open, revealing that General Roussaye was right behind him. With a slight smile, the Prussian said, "Then we came in time. Madame Sorel will be pleased."

"You're in time for us, but if we can't reach Paris in the next hour, the foreign ministers meeting at the British embassy will be blown to kingdom come." Rafe gave a staccato summary of the situation as the three of them led the horses outside.

The sound of firing still came from the right, away from the main road out of the estate. Roussaye said, "Our men are herding Varenne's back to the river. They won't last long without a leader. Some have already surrendered."

Maggie mounted, then watched with concern the effort that it took Robin to get into the saddle of his horse. "Will you be able to manage, love?"

"The horse will be doing most of the work." He closed his eyes for a moment, his face as pale as parchment. Then he opened them again and managed a reassuring smile. "I might be useful at the other end, since I know the embassy better than you or Rafe."

That was undeniable, so she said no more. If Robin wasn't up to the whole trip, she and Rafe would manage on their own.

None of the horses carried sidesaddles and Maggie was astride, her long legs visible. The animals pranced nervously as the acrid scent of gunsmoke curled through the air.

Von Fehrenbach asked, "Should I send an escort with you?"

Rafe shook his head. "We have fresh horses, and three of us can travel faster than a larger group. Wish us luck. I'll send word if we're successful."

Then the three Britons put heels to their horses and galloped out of the stable yard.