Page 70 of The Darkest Oath

She turned and shuddered at the sight.

“Unless you want to end up like him,” Rollant said.

Her face paled as she nodded, and he wished he hadn’t brought the body to her attention.

“I’m just glad you aren’t hurt,” he said.

“What are you doing here, Rollant?” Élise asked with a tremble in her voice. She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers.

Rollant stroked her hand.

“I was worried about you,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure you would stay away, given everything that has transpired,” he said, turning her hand in his. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you . . .” His voice trailed off, and his throat tightened. “I needed to know you were safe.”

Cries of the mob roared to life: “They’ve opened the gates!”

Élise’s face lit up, her jaw dropping wide. “We did it! We—!” She almost jumped up, but Rollant kept her down.

She shook her head, pulling against him. “I’ll be safe now. We won.”

“You don’t understand,” he said, peering one eye over the cart. The riot spiraled out of control. The mob spilled into the Bastille’s gates with shouts of victory. Rollant knew the danger wasn’t over—victory often turned to bloodlust.

“You did win; now let’s return to Charonne,” he said.

“What? No!” Élise tried to pry his iron grip off her wrist. “Let me go, Rollant. We won!”

Rollant shook his head. “I’ve seen it before, Élise. More will die. Please,” he said, removing his grip. “Please, let me take you home.”

Her gaze flicked to his hand before looking down at the spot he’d held on her wrist. Admiration flickered in her eyes. “You didn’t bruise me,” she stammered.

Rollant’s chest tightened. He knew why she’d said it—knew the weight her words carried.

“I will never hurt you, Élise,” he whispered. “I only aimed to restrain you from seeing things that will haunt you for a long time.”

A flash of fear leached into her eyes before she glanced back at the dead man.

“Please, Élise,” he urged. “I’m not supposed to be here but came for you. I had to make sure you were safe.”

Her gaze fell back on her wrist. “You didn’t bruise me,” she whispered.

A tear ran down her cheek before she wiped it away. She lifted her chin and studied his face before giving a slight nod. “You can take me home, Rollant. I trust you.”

Relief swept through him as she took his outstretched hand. Before doing anything further, he kissed the back of her hand just to feel her soft skin against his lips.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He kept Élise close, careful not to let her fall into his arms. His broad frame shielded her from the frenzied crowd as they pushed through the streets. The crowd had already beheaded a garrison soldier and dragged Governor de Launay into the streets, beating him as they paraded him toward a likely execution. Élise froze at the sight, her fingers squeezing Rollant’s.

They reached his mare and escaped through side streets, avoiding the worst of the violence until they crossed the city gate. Black smoke marked the large chateaux in the countryside.

Rollant’s heart sank. The revolt was not as isolated as he had thought; it was something much bigger: a revolution.

Élise sagged against Rollant, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She scanned the spots of black smoke. “Why have they set homes on fire?”

“Because they belonged to the rich,” Rollant sighed as he gripped the mare’s reins in one hand and adjusted her hand in his other. They walked the cobblestone path to the quiet, contented village living on his land. It was a stark contrast to the chaos they’d left behind.

“I don’t understand. Did they say horrible things like Réveillon?”

“Doubtful.” Rollant opened the door. “They only had too large a home.”

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