Page 11 of The Agent and the Outlaw
That rationale gave me little comfort. Even if he was a valiant sort, I still didn’t know what his intentions were toward me. If I’d been caught in the same kind of compromising position, I would’ve been compelled to do away with any witnesses. Instead, he’d abducted me. Why? To try and convince me that Sade deserved to die so I wouldn’t turn him in? Lock me in some dungeon and torture me into forgetting I’d seen him with his absurd crossbow?
I snorted. His actions didn’t make sense. Either I was missing something crucial, or he was operating on panicked instinct without sufficient forethought.He’s a man, and probably a soldier, so I’d wager the latter.
I took a deep breath and changed tactics. If I was going to get back to Versailles safely, I needed to understand Antoine and find out just how much trouble he was in.
I tore a strip of fabric from my discarded toga and dipped it in the cool water. Motioning for his burned hand, I held it out in a gesture of truce.
He regarded me suspiciously.
“The cool water will help lessen the pain,” I offered. “And it will prevent the burn from blistering. Allow me to wrap it for you.”
“I’m fine,” he gritted out, but extended his hand anyway.
I dabbed at it gently with the cloth. Antoine flinched at first but started to relax after a moment. When his shoulders began to sag—either from exhaustion or reprieve—I seized the chance to question him.
“Why did you kidnap me?”
“I didn’t kidnap you,” he grunted.
I quirked a brow. “What, exactly, would you call it then?”
He clenched his jaw. “Protecting you,” he said.
I laughed. He scowled. When I finally recovered, I shook my head.
“Protectingme,” I chuckled. After so much training and so much blood on my hands, the thought seemed ridiculous.
“Would you rather have been found by the guards at Versailles? With your stupid costume arrows and a dead marquis at your feet?” he grumped, frowning.
“Who was he to you?” I asked.
“A loose end that needed tying,” he said. His voice cracked roughly.
“And is that what I am?” I prodded, eyes darting to the pistol on the table. “A loose end that needs tying?”
He shook his head. “No. I don’t know. Who was Sade toyou?”
Two could play at that game.“As you say, he was a loose end to tie.”
He didn’t seem to be any more interested in offering information than I was. Having reached a conversational stalemate, we were silent for a time. Eventually, I spoke up again.
“Those men back there—they were hunting you.” It was a statement, not a question, so he did not answer. “Was it something to do with your reasons for killing the marquis? Are you a soldier?”
“Are you a spy?” he countered. “Seems you know how to fight.”
“Seems you have an arsenal of weapons tucked away in that cloak of yours. Was Sade youronlytarget?”
He heaved a sigh. I could tell this verbal jousting was starting to grate on his nerves, but I hadn’t gleaned anything helpful. I tore another strip of fabric from the discarded costume and wrapped it gently, but firmly, around the burn.
“There,” I said. “That will do until you can find some salve, or a poultice.”
He didn’t pull his hand away—not immediately. I caressed it softly. His gaze followed the movements of my fingers across the makeshift bandage.
“Will you at least tell me where you intended to take me for protection?” I asked, quietly this time.
His eyes met mine—fathomless pools of mossy green. There was a flash of something helpless in his gaze, which quickly shuttered. He turned away and lifted a shoulder in forced nonchalance.
“You ask too many questions,” he said roughly.
