Page 45 of The Rebellious Countess (The Ruined Duchess #2)

Elias took a step in her direction, but Legrand’s saber pointed in his direction.

Damn the man. He addressed his wife in a strong, yet calm tone, attempting to install as much iron in her backbone as possible.

“Máira, he will not kill me. Have a little bit of faith in your husband. Please, my dear, get the saber. Focus on the task, not the body.”

Her lip trembled and he feared she would collapse.

Yet once again, she steeled herself to the task at hand and retrieved the saber without hesitation.

He smiled at her as she pressed it into his palm.

The weapon was not the caliber of Legrand’s, but Elias was certain that despite his battered face, broken nose, and sore knuckles, he could and would defeat Legrand.

He had way too much on the line not to—especially the woman standing in front of him.

He touched her face and gently kissed her precious lips. He would kiss her again, of that he was certain. Before Máira, he had never wanted a wife. Never desired to stay in one place, but for her, he would do anything and everything.

“A man should always have one final goodbye with his wife.”

Legrand’s words were meant to unravel, and for his wife, they did.

Máira turned on him like a mother bear he had once seen protecting its cub.

Elias grabbed her and kissed her hard. When he pulled away, he let his forehead rest upon hers.

“Trust me in this. I will handle him. Go to Sébastien and the earl. When the fighting begins, head down the stairs. You’ll have to drag the earl, just keep his head from hitting. ”

Máira clung to the lapels of his jacket. “No, I won’t leave you.”

“Máira, please. More soldiers will come. Trust me. I will join you.” He brushed his lips against hers and pushed her toward Sébastien without another glance.

He had work to do. He had to have faith in her ability to make the decision to save herself, Sébastien, and Astley.

If he died, he would die knowing he gave her a chance, but if he was the victor, no army could stop him from joining her.

“You have your mother’s confidence. It’s most appealing in a woman, is it not?” Legrand goated.

Elias refused to take the bait but instead waited for him to make the first move, and with a grin Legrand lunged.

Elias shed the attack, blades clanging with impact as Legrand’s edge slid down his own.

He immediately sloped to the left and parried, but Legrand was a true swordsman and deflected his blow with ease.

Back and forth they fought, each deflecting blows, a test to their strength and stamina.

Sweat poured down his brow and Elias swiped at it with his sleeve.

Legrand was ten years his senior, but the man was a seasoned soldier who loved the fight more than the victory.

Looking for an advantage, Elias retreated toward the abbey wall, taking advantage of the shadows to hide his expression.

Legrand lunged, the tip of his blade slicing across Elias’s chest and scoring a point Elias could not afford to give.

His borrowed jacket split. His shirt ripped. And his flesh tore.

He gritted through the burn as the wetness seeped into his clothing. Before he could launch an attack of his own, a long pipe swiped down upon Legrand’s arm, striking his wrist and wiping the grin from the general’s face.

Bone shattered with a deafening crack, the pipe struck the stone with its downward follow through. Legrand’s shashka clattered to the ground, his wrist shattered, his hand hanging down as if the only thing keeping it attached to his body was the casing of flesh.

Elias dropped and twisted around toward this new threat, wondering if it had missed its mark, or if Máira had ignored his instructions. The last person in the world he’d expected to see stood in front of him—his mother.

Hag stepped in front of him, raised her pipe again, but held it up in a defensive posture.

He tried to push her aside, but she was having none of it despite her small stature.

He had seen his mother fight, knew she could handle her own, but the men she confronted were normally her own size.

Anyone larger faced Tomás and he was not there.

He tried reasoning with her. “Mother, step aside.”

“He will not raise his saber to me.”

“It’s not a saber,” Elias and Legrand replied as one.

He could hear the eye roll in his mother’s tone. “Leave it to men to argue while they’re both standing there injured.”

He stepped to the side of his mother and looked at the man standing before them, holding his arm and hand close to his chest.

“You once told me not to come between you and your son, and now you’ve attacked me…with my own weapon.” Legrand grinned as if the pain he was experiencing was nothing new.

His mother twirled the pipe in her hand. “I did. I now understand why you sometimes choose to ride into battle with this pipe in your hand.”

“I give it to you with my blessing,” Legrand bowed slightly.

Ignoring his gesture, she asked, “Why did you come here?”

“Your barmaid, Louise, spoke of an English woman traveling with a very attractive pirate, bound for Mont-Saint-Michel. I followed my hunch that your persuasive seduction wasn’t because of my charms, but to delay me from doing my duty.”

His mother snorted. “You went through my things, found the letter, and then followed my son here.”

“I swear on my honour, I did not know of any letter, nor did I know he was your son until he identified himself as the grandson of Maximilien de Danton . You know I am a man of my word, I killed my own hussar for not honouring it to your son’s wife.”

His mother nodded as if she would not question it.

“Yet you must understand that I cannot let him help the Earl of Astley escape.”

His mother shrugged as if what Elias had been doing was inconsequential. “All I see is a mother and son on pilgrimage to a holy place. A place the emperor has desecrated with the blood of holy men.”

Legrand shrugged, his attention no longer on him, and Elias felt as if he were interrupting something very intimate.

Legrand’s expression sobered. “Your father will be out for blood.”

“He is a blood-thirsty man. The only time he was not, was when Elias was but a child.”

“You are not safe in France. He will hang you for treason.”

His mother shook her head as if she was not guilty of any crimes. “I have only helped people caught in the middle of this miserable war.”

“I will take her back to England with me,” Elias interjected.

His mother bristled and looked at him as if his head was addled. “They will hang me in England as the daughter of the France’s Minister of War. Your uncle said as much. That’s why I did not go with you.”

“Bastard.” Elias swore. “This entire time he led me to believe you chose France over me.”

“That is why…” Something in Hag’s voice broke. “You never answered my letters.”

“I never received any letters from you until after I came back to France on business.” Elias hadn’t realized how devious his uncle had been.

There were many of the French nobility who had escaped France with their heads intact, his mother could have traveled to England among them after his father was killed.

“If your uncle wasn’t dead, I would kill him.”

“You’d have to wait until after I did.”

“She must go this time,” Legrand said, his entreaty spoken in a soft, but firm tone.

Elias agreed. “I will not leave her behind even if I have to truss her up and carry her kicking and screaming aboard my ship.” His mother was going home with him, and Hag would disappear, never to be seen on French soil again.

All three turned at the sound of footsteps racing toward the piazza. Elias pointed his saber in the direction of the new threat, his mother stepped up beside him, wielding her pipe, and Legrand dipped back into the shadows as if he were a hidden weapon—broken wrist and all.

A figure stopped at the top of the steps and bent over. His chest heaving, his breath labored. He looked up, startled to see someone standing in front of him.

“Elias. Thank the Lord. We must hurry.” The priest eyed his mother and swallowed an audible gulp of air. “Is your wife…”

“Charles,” Elias said, purposely dropping his religious honorific. “This is Hag. Did you find what you were looking for?”

Father Charles shook his head, still eyeing his mother who refused to acknowledge their relationship. “He’s not here, but there is someone else I must evacuate.”

Legrand stepped forward, and Father Charles took a step backward, clearly shocked by Legrand’s presence and that he’d been purposely hiding in the shadows. Elias could see the monk’s suspicions rise as his gaze darted between the three of them.

“That stodgy old man attempting to get the upper hand is an acquaintance of Hag’s.”

Legrand moved closer, nodding his head in the monk’s direction, the night sky lighting up as the cloud cover began to disappear.

Legrand’s broken wrist would make a lesser man drop to his knees with pain, yet Legrand acted as if he was staunching an annoying cut that would not stop bleeding.

“You planned on taking Cardinal Linguet as well?” He asked.

Elias shrugged. “I didn’t. It was a holy order or something.”

Legrand looked at Father Charles who stood silently watching their exchange.

“And the Pope?” Legrand asked. “If he had been here, would you have attempted to rescue him as well?”

“I guess we’ll never know the answer to that, since he’s not here,” Elias replied.

Legrand laughed as if he would have relished such a challenge. Elias waited to see what he would say about the cardinal’s escape. A nobleman and a cardinal in one event were a bit too much for any of Napoleon’s men to accept.

His mother stepped in front of Elias, her back to him as she whispered something to Legrand he could not hear. Legrand watched her speak, his expression giving away something far more intimate between the two of them than what either had displayed up to that point.

“I wouldn't want to come between a holy man and a higher power. Go before I change my mind,” Legrand said, his eyes never leaving her face.

“I have a boat down near the chapel,” Father Charles whispered. “He’s waiting there.”

Elias could have hugged the man. It was a much better option with the tide well on its way into the bay.

“You’re going to steal my boat?”

Elias cringed inwardly. He truly hoped the boat wasn’t the tipping point for this man of war, who was giving more sway than he probably had in his entire career.

Legrand huffed out a breath before acquiescing. “Fine. Take my boat.”

Elias didn’t hesitate. “Can you handle the boat by yourself and meet us at the bottom of these steps?”

Father Charles nodded. “The Fountain of Saint Aubert. I’ll be there.” He disappeared the same way he’d come, his steps much quieter this time.

Elias turned to his mother and put his hand on her arm. His voice gentle as said, “We need to go.”

“I would like to speak to your mother for a moment—in private.” It wasn’t a request, more like the order of a man who was used to having his instructions followed without hesitation.

Elias bristled. If Legrand changed his mind and held his mother hostage…

no, he would not leave her. Not now when things were finally leaning in their direction.

“I will grant you some privacy, but you will not be alone with her.” When Legrand began to argue, Elias cut him off.

“As you said, the War Minister will be after blood, and you work for him.”

Legrand laughed. “I work for Napoleon, and no other, but I understand your concern. Take my shashka as my guarantee. You can leave it at The Happy Hag.”

Elias nodded but didn’t relent. He picked up the shashka and moved ten feet away, within striking distance.

“I’m sorry about your wrist,” his mother said, the wince in her tone evident.

“It is nothing I didn’t deserve. I will miss you, Aventine.”

“We were good together,” his mother replied, and Elias really wished he could give them privacy.

“Perhaps, after the war?—”

His mother laughed. “There will always be a war for you. You do not know how to do anything but battle.”

“And love.”

Mon Dieu , he didn’t want to hear this.

“You deserve a better life, mon bijou . Go to England, see your grandchildren grow and be happy.”

His mother said something Elias didn’t understand, and he was grateful for that small gift.

Legrand’s voice suddenly grew husky. “My heart belongs to you. My blood to the emperor. My life to honour.”

“Goodbye, Alexandre.” His mother’s voice shook with an emotion Elias had not heard since his father died.

“Au revoir, mon amour .”

As silence fell, Elias glanced in their direction and saw his mother kiss Legrand tenderly before she laid the pipe down at his feet and joined Elias. He caught her wiping tears from her face as she took one last look at her lover and exited through the gate.

“I lied when I said my mother had been with many men since my father’s death. There was never any other man—only you.” Elias confessed.

“I know.”