Page 46 of The Rebellious Countess (The Ruined Duchess #2)

Nineteen

Monsieur Berthier,

I regret to inform you that the Earl of Astley died at Mont Saint Michel from an ague that has struck the island and neighboring towns.

As to your concerns about England using your grandson and daughter in a plot to rescue the earl, they are unfounded cruel rumors. Your daughter and grandson have not been seen for several weeks, and it is believed he convinced her to return to England with him as he has settled down with a wife.

I apologize for my messy handwriting. I broke my wrist during a night with the locals who were overwhelmingly excited to celebrate our recent victories in the East. I will be staying on at Mont Saint Michel to convalesce. I will advise when my hussars and I are once again available for campaign.

Regards,

Alexandre Baptiste Reynard Beaumont, Comte Legrand

—A letter written one week after the earl’s escape from the abbey at Mont Saint Michel, from the General of the Hussars, Alexandre Baptiste Reynard Beaumont, to the Minister of War for France, Maximilien de Danton

“ U hhh.” Astley groaned as his feet bounced on the steps.

“I’m sorry, Simon. I don’t mean to cause you pain. I must hurry so that I may return and help Elias.”

“Wh—what are you…you doing…here?” His voice barely audible over the crashing waves.

Máira worried about the dangerous surf. She didn’t want to think about how she would make it without Elias.

It wasn’t possible. Physically, mentally, emotionally.

He had become the center of her world. When they’d wed, she’d dreamed she would be happy and content.

Yet nothing about this experience had been happy, and somehow, she felt joy with him.

In his presence, her heart blossomed in a manner beyond her comprehension.

Astley groaned once more as she took two more steps down toward the water’s edge.

“It’s a long story, I can’t begin to explain at the moment. On our voyage home, I will explain everything.”

A grunt was his only reply, and she prayed he did not lose consciousness once more. He had only awoken after his feet had struck their twentieth step. Máira struggled with the weight of his body. Sweat dripped down the center of her back despite the cool night breeze.

She slipped into French to talk to the boy. “How much farther, Sébastien?” she asked as the boy tried to carry Astley’s feet with little success.

“I’m not certain. It looks like there is a tower below.”

A tower? That could only be bad news. Had the priest unknowingly steered them toward more guards? “Do you know where these steps lead?”

Sébastien grunted from exertion. “I’m not sure. I heard something about the fountain of Saint Aubert.”

Máira looked up and caught sight of people descending the steps.

“Sébastien!” She hissed. “We must hide.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the forms following them and turned toward the edge of the steps.

Farther down to her right, the wall appeared to be crumbling, if they were lucky, she could pull Simon through. If she couldn’t…

Desperately she searched for another option and then caught a glimpse of a roofline down at the water’s edge. A large tower loomed in the distance holding unknown dangers. She had to get Simon over the wall, and quickly.

“I’m sorry, Simon. This is going to hurt, but I need you to keep quiet,” she whispered.

A barely audible grunt acknowledged her apology.

“Sébastien, run ahead to the hole in the wall. Go!”

“But what about?—”

“Go!”

Sébastien didn’t hesitate. He set the earl’s feet on the ground and ran for the break in the wall.

For the first time in her life, she was giving orders as if she were a leader of something important.

Granted, her audience was a man hanging onto life by a thread and an eight-year-old boy, but in her experience the male species didn’t listen to anyone who wore skirts.

Máira increased her pace, her chest heaving with every heavy step.

When she finally reached the crumbled spot on the wall, she was thankful to find it at chest height.

A large man would hurdle it with little effort…

Simon would no doubt do just that if he were healthy.

As it was, he was little to no help as she leaned his back against the wall.

“Can you stand?” She asked between gulps of air.

“Yes.”

She released him for a moment and he swayed.

Then with a low guttural groan, he forced his body to comply as he braced himself with the palm of his good arm, his broken pinky sticking up in the air as if it were a vine sprouting out from the rock.

Máira cringed at the sight, before climbing the wall and finding Sébastien on a narrow ledge on the other side.

“Ballocks,” she swore, as she gazed down at the steep incline. The rocks would not be easy to maneuver. She leaned back over and whispered, “This will hurt, Simon, but we have no choice. We must hurry.”

Máira squatted on top of the wall and braced her feet on the sides, testing the stability of both before she reached down and grabbed Simon under his arms. “I need you to use your feet and push yourself up.”

“Máira, leave.”

His order caught her off-guard. “Hell no. Bloody hell no .” She grappled with his arms.

“Leave. I am more burden…than I’m…worth.”

“I said ‘use your feet,’ or this is going to hurt like hell. One. Two. Three.” She lifted under his arms and smiled when he finally gave into her command.

Her legs shook, the muscles in her arms burned, and Simon’s feet slipped time and time again as he snarled his pain, his left foot doing little to nothing to help him push.

When his backside was finally even with the top, she leaned back and forced him onto the top of the wall, his weight counterbalancing her own. “Don’t move.” Her grip slipped.

“Do not try to kick me again, Astley,” a male voice cautioned right before Elias appeared on the wall next to her as if he'd scaled the wall in one step.

“Bloody hell…it’s about blasted time. It’s damned…embarrassing…having your wee wife…drag my…pathetic…arse…” Astley’s diatribe seemed to use the last of his energy, for as he uttered his final word, his body sagged against her, going completely slack.

Elias grabbed her as she began to fall with Simon’s weight forcing her backward, his strong arms steadying her and Simon all at once.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered in her ear, and she sank into his touch, relief nearly engulfing her. “My mother is here. She can help you stabilize Astley while I hop down to take him on the other side.”

“What? Hag is here?” She looked up into the shadowed face of the woman she admired and feared.

“Yes, I am.” Her tone was flat and brusque, the opposite of Máira’s, until she said, “It seems you should start calling me by my Christian name, Aventine.”

“Only if you call me Máira.”

“And who is this?” Aventine asked.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet Sébastien.”

Aventine bent down to the boy’s height and held out her hand as if waiting for Sébastien to greet her like a lady, despite the trousers and men’s shirt she wore.

Sébastien looked toward Elias, tentatively gripped her fingers, and awkwardly bowed over Aventine’s hand. Aventine gave the boy a brief smile.

Between the four of them, Simon was off the wall and draped over Elias’s shoulders in a matter of minutes. “It’s going to get easier from here.”

Máira placed her hand on his chest. His heartbeat strongly under her hand, proof that he was not a dream. He turned to go, and her hand came away with blood smeared upon her palm. “Elias!”

He turned and saw her upturned hand. “Apologies, ma chérie . It is nothing but a scratch.”

“A scratch doesn’t bleed like this.” Her comment went on deaf ears as he led the way down to the water’s edge.

Despite their steep descent, going down at the tower was easier for everyone, except Elias.

They traversed the rough terrain to a small inlet on the side of the tower that Sébastien had said contained the Fountain of Saint Aubert, and found Father Charles waiting for them with another man inside a small boat.

Elias swore under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, but only got a shake of his head in reply.

When they got closer to the water, she understood.

Accompanying Father Charles in a small pleasure boat was another holy man, who appeared to be of higher rank, if his manner and dress were any indication.

He sat at the helm wrapped in a ruby-red cappa magna robe with a train long enough to fill more than half the boat.

“With all due respect, Your Eminence, the robe must go.” Elias’s voice brokered no other options.

The cardinal’s posture stiffened, his voice full of authority. “It will not. You will make two trips across the bay.”

“I will be making one. With or without you.”

The silence that fell over them was deafening.

Sea water lashed at the little boat as Father Charles jumped out to hold it steady.

Sébastien’s head turned back and forth between the two formidable men starring each other down.

Aventine stepped forward and reached out her hand.

Máira wasn’t certain if it was meant to help the cardinal out of the boat or take his robes.

“Father Charles, I order you to take me to safety.”

Everyone looked at the priest who was stuck in the middle of a losing battle as Máira grabbed the opposite side of the boat.

Father Charles shook his head. “I—I cannot take this boat across the bay alone. Tonight, the tide is beyond my strength.”

Máira didn’t believe the priest to be lying. The tide was indeed treacherous as white caps swirled in an eerie pattern around the island, some crashing into the rocks, others being swallowed by their own force.

“Either take off the robes or step out of the boat. If you don’t, I will throw you out of the boat, Cardinal.”