Page 17 of The Agent and the Outlaw
“It’s a kind of stew. Wild boar, chestnuts, vegetables, red wine. When I was a boy, my father was stationed in Corsica for a time. He developed a taste for the cuisine there and brought a cook with him when he returned home. Lucia always made it for me on my birthday. It’s my favorite food.”
“So, you followed in your father’s footsteps to become a soldier,” I observed. Immediately, Antoine tensed beneath me.Wrong line of questioning—his father is apparently a sore spot.I returned to the more acceptable subject.
“When was the last time you had it?” I asked.
“A long time ago.”
“I envy your worldliness, Antoine. All I’ve ever known is society. Paris, Versailles. I should like to see the world someday.” I could not keep the wistfulness from my voice.
“Have you never ventured abroad?”
“No. My husband—former husband—used to travel often. He would bring me presents and stories from all over the continent, perhaps to appease me, but it only whetted my appetite for adventure,” I said with no small hint of bitterness.
“Where is he now?” Antoine asked.
Oh, what a question! When last I checked, he was locked away in the Château d’If for the rest of his miserable life for summoning a demon and murdering several people because he was desperately in love with my cousin. Who really knows, though? Perhaps he has had the good sense to die.
Not something I wanted to get into with my secretive travel companion.
“He is…gone. Are you married?” I asked.
“No.”
“Why not? Didn’t you ever want to?”
He shrugged. “I spent long years abroad, fighting in battles that no one really wins. It’s cruel to start a family and spend all of your time away from them.”
“You speak from experience.”
I didn’t expect him to answer, but he nodded once. I grinned at his back.
“Well, now I know I was right about you, Antoine. Youarea soldier. My first impressions are seldom wrong.”
“It’s lucky for you that mine often are,” he chuckled. It was a deep, warm sound, so low that I felt it vibrate like the string of a harp plucked between our bodies. Heat sparked low in my stomach.
“I’ll take it as a compliment that you don’t still think I’m a young lad besotted with a depraved marquis. Will you tell me why you killed him?”
Instantly, a wall of icy silence fell between us. Try as I might, I couldn’t get him to respond to any more questions. It appeared I’d crossed the line and our friendly tête-à-tête had ended.
We rode for several more hours through the countryside. Antoine picked up the pace in the late afternoon, perhaps hoping to find a suitable spot for us to rest for a while. The clouds above began to darken to an ominous pewter and thunder heralded the onset of a winter storm, but we still hadn’t come upon the next town. The trees had thinned out, which would leave us dangerously exposed—especially if we camped somewhere and had a fire.
“Have you been this way before? Do you think we’re far from the next town?” I asked. The road showed precious few signs of frequent use—scraggly, bare weeds crept in from the nearby fields and flat stretches of unblemished mud lay before us. Obviously, it had been days since anyone had come through.
Antoine frowned as fat droplets of rain started to fall. In the gathering storm clouds, it had been difficult to determine the point of sunset, and I realized it was too late. Surely the sun had gone down now, and thebêteswould be waking up to begin their hunt.
“There’s no point in resting if we can’t find some decent shelter,” I said. “We should carry on as long as we’re able. At least the rain will help disperse our scent.”
Antoine nodded and spurred Tartuffe forward in a gallop. The rain came down in earnest, then, as if the forces of nature sensed our resolve to find somewhere out of the elements. Ten minutes later, we were both soaked to the skin and shivering, but at last we spotted a light down the road ahead of us.
The village was smaller than the previous one, boasting a dilapidated church, a couple boarded-up shops, and an ancient-looking tavern and inn. We trotted up to one of the empty horse stalls beside the tavern and dismounted. Antoine turned to enter, but I laid a hand on his arm.
“We’ll need a cover story,” I said. “If we’re to escape notice in a small town like this. Especially if we’re to hide here tonight from thebêtes.”
“Shall I follow your lead then, Madame Spy?” Antoine smirked.
“I’mnota spy, it’s just common sense. But yes, you may follow my lead. Keep your head low and your scar covered—it makes you rather rakishly noticeable, and I don’t have the energy to deal with some overzealous tavern maids tonight,” I said brusquely.
Antoine pulled the hood of his cloak down, but I saw his lips kick up in a lopsided grin, showing off his perfect white teeth and—good heavens—was that a dimple?Mon dieu.
