Page 61 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
“Okay,” Henry muttered, hands raising, then falling to his hips, dropping, folding in front of him, unfolding and returning to his hips.
Léon made for the door, but it was only two steps before Henry gasped out, “Ah, but,” tripping in front of him for the billionth time, “before you really do go, I just wanted to say, I didn’t mean that. What I said just then.” Léon cast furious eyes up at him, and Henry stepped backwards. “Not entirely. I don’t… feel like that. Completely. The bit about hating you.”
Léon tried to walk around him, and yet again Henry jumped in his path, blathering, “In fact, I like-like-I-I do actually like y-you-rrrr-your axe.”
Léon’s boots scuffed to a halt on the floor, and he shot a look that was both withering and appalled.
“Your— Not your axe,” Henry vomited out, pinching the bridge of his nose, one hand twisting in the air as he tried to explain. “Notjustyour axe. I like you— The way you-you-hold your axe… The… um… The things you do with it, and um…”
“Do you think you’re funny?”
“No. No. I think I’m an idiot.”
“Please get out of my way.”
“Right. Yes. I’ll…” Henry moved out of his way as fast as if he’d found a hole to crawl in to nurse his mortification. But as Léon stepped past him and out the door, Henry smacked himself in the head and yelled, “Léon!”
“Léon!” came a shout from Souveraine on sight of him.
“There they are!” came another yell, this one a man’s voice from down the road.
Eyes locking on a group of 8 men on horseback, Léon was overcome with panic. At the man’s call, they all kicked heels into their animals and shot forward.
Souveraine, who’d seen them coming, was still on her horse, holding a squirming Émile in place with an arm on each side, the reins pulled tight in her fists.
Catherine, astride her horse, watched the approach of the men, tight-lipped and pale. She looked to Henry for direction, that complete faith in him and his word spiking Léon in the heart.
Henry stepped in front of Léon and pulled his sword free. “Ride, Catherine. I’ll find you.”
29
A NOBLE FIGHT
Léon caught the flash of the one slim piece of steel shining in the lamps of the men setting in upon them. And all he saw behind his eyes was Henry, dead on the ground in their wake, battered and bloody, trodden into the mud as they hunted Catherine to her grave. It was the briefest hesitation while he dwelt on the image, but one that made Souveraine snap, “Léon!” half in urgent fright, half in indignant shock.
He assessed Catherine, sickly and trembling, Souveraine, eyes like a warrior, and Émile, squealing and kicking against her vice-like arms. “I’ll only slow you down.”
His eyes were drawn irresistibly to Henry’s, burning into him. Eyes that were bright and wide, with a mouth set sincere and determined. He heard both Souveraine and Catherine shouting, Émile screaming at him, but before he could say another word, Henry whistled.
It was a low and long whistle, with an odd vibration to it. It wasn’t quite like any whistle Léon had ever heard, and it didn’t seem right somehow that it had come out of Henry’s mouth.
Even more disturbing was the way both horses, stolen and unfamiliar with them, responded to the sound. The animals, as one, took off across the field for the woods, their riders verynearly being flung off by the sudden movement. Both women screamed in shock, Émile cried out for his brother, and they were gone.
Léon turned back to Henry, but now his face held an expression Léon had never seen before. Guilt. Fear and guilt. And something wary, like he’d just revealed his greatest secret to Léon. And Léon didn’t doubt he had.
The word was fast on Léon’s fearful lips. “Witchcraft.”
“It’s not how it looks,” Henry tried.
“You lied to me.”
“They’ll be safe.”
“What are you?” Léon searched the trees frantically for Émile, who was already gone into the cold black of the night. “Is she one?”
“No, Léon, I promise you, Catherine’s innocent. It was me. It was all me. The red rain, the tremors, the-the wave thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out all the money he had, shoving it into Léon’s hand. “You’ll find them in Saint-Quentin.” He twisted the ruby ring off his finger, pulled Léon’s hand open, and enclosed the jewel with a firm press. “Now please, go back inside. But whatever happens, don’t tell Catherine if I die. Tell her I’m coming. Always, always, tell her I’m coming. And if she gets upset…” He glanced off into the woods where she’d disappeared, mulling over his words. “If she gets upset,veryupset, run.” He gave Léon one desperate and searching look to confirm he understood, then shoved him hard, back into the safety of the doorway, before stepping into the fray.
The sound of hooves descending on them snatched Léon’s attention. He knew, just as Henry knew, Henry was all that stood between the men and Catherine. And just as Léon would have died for Émile, he found in Henry a sublime bravery and nobility in the way he was willing to lay down his life so easily. Becausethat’s what it was. Alone, he stood no chance of anything but slowing them down, buying his sister precious time.
