Page 19 of The Autumn Wife
“I told you.” Nausea rose along with a pounding in her temples. “I don’t know what to think of you.”
Her foot scuffed against hardened ground. They’d reached the area beyond the grassy field where the canoes were stored under a brace of pines by the convent schoolhouse. Etienne waited there, leaning against the schoolhouse wall, his fierce gaze fixed onthem. Theo shot a few steps ahead of her, overturned the canoe and laid it on the hard-packed ground next to the others.
When Theo straightened, her heart did a double thump as his pale gaze of green pinned her.
“You’re not going to ask anything else about my crime?”
She threw a palm up. “It’s not my business—”
“You mean it doesn’tmatter.” His eyes narrowed as he took a step toward her. “A dirty criminal is just a dirty criminal, right?”
The fierce, angry words hit her like a whip snap. He’d read her wrong. But she couldn’t calm his affront without revealing some secrets of her own.
“Hey.” Etienne strode in front of her, all puffed up. “No one talks to my mother like that.”
“Etienne.” She placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Mother, he’s been bothering you since—”
“Enough.” She whispered the word. Etienne went silent. Theo, too. “Sir.” She turned her attention back to Theo and forced her voice even. “I thank you for bringing the canoe back for us. I will see you tomorrow morning for our usual discussion.”
She headed toward the convent schoolhouse, nudging Etienne to come along with her, only to stop as a black ball of spines waddled across their path. The porcupine continued on its way, chaff and seeds caught amid its quills from the long trip across the field. It stopped, snuffling, by Theo’s bare feet. Theocrouched down and swept it up into the crook of his arm again, where it burrowed.
By all that was holy.
Even wild things trusted this man.
CHAPTER NINE
She’s coming.
In the shadowed edge of the woods, Theo sat at the foot of a maple tree, watching as Cecile left the convent schoolhouse and strode across the sunset-streaked field toward the stable, where the children waited for lessons. At the sight of her, Theo sagged against the rough bark, exhaling long and slow though he hadn’t been aware of holding his breath. He couldn’t fully say why he was lurking here in the forest shadows, guts bunched in knots, wondering if she would keep her promise and resume lessons.
He knew only one thing—his relief at seeing her wasn’t solely for the children.
Now, digging his fingers into the leaf-litter, he drank in Cecile Tremblay in a way he would never do when she could see him. The toes of her boots jutted from under the hem of her gray novice’s dress withevery kicking stride. Her head bowed over that lovely neck, where her hair lay coiled so tight that he couldn’t help fantasizing about yanking out the pins and watching it tumble down her back.
As she neared the stable, Theo flattened a hand on the ground and considered pushing himself up and shouting her name—no, not her name. Calling her Cecile unsettled her more than anything. Her throat would flush rosy. He suspected she would blush in other places, too, but that damn nun’s habit covered her from neck to wrist to ankle and silently screamed—Stay away, you violent brute.
He closed his eyes as frustration tightened into a spiny lump in the pit of his stomach. Despite their talk yesterday, he knew she was still wary of him, but why did her opinion bother him so much? He’d long shielded himself from caring about such things, yet here he was, lurking, when he should be bedding down in the laborer’s cabin for the night—and reminding himself that, once he was free, he had a life to resurrect and family back in France depending on him.
None of his plans allowed room for Cecile.
Six weeks and five days.
The porcupine pup, tucked into a tuft of grass at the foot of the tree, snorted in her dozing, as if she could sense Theo’s unease. Twice, he’d carried the pup into these deep woods to set her free. Twice, she’d followed him back by scent and stubbornness. She wouldn’t even stay in the stable with the kids,who’d tried to win the pup’s favor by feeding her acorns, twigs from maple and oak trees, and the occasional slice of green apple. The critter hadn’t shot a quill at anyone yet, but more than once she’d ruffed up when startled. Bringing to mind another prickly female he knew.
The faint creak of leather hinges brought his head back up, just in time to see the flash of Cecile’s heels as she entered the stable. Inside, Jeanne squealed, and the boys shouted greetings. Yes, he’d done the right thing in keeping his distance, if only for the kids’ sakes. He should get up and cross over to the laborer’s cabin now, get some sleep, but his backside remained on the ground. Stewing over the matter longer than he should, he scratched the little spot the porcupine liked, just under her chin, before leaning back against the rough bark and closing his eyes in frustration.
When he lifted his head again, the bright sunset had given way to the gloaming. He must have dozed. Church bells clanged in the distance. At first, he thought they were vesper bells, maybe compline. But the ringing was less rhythmic and more discordant than for ordinary canonical hours. He pushed away from the tree, stepped out from under the canopy, and squinted west. Past the thick stand of pines that separated the convent grounds from the outer edge of the settlement of Montreal, a red glow bathed the sky.
From the road came a shout.
Fire!
Panic kicked him. Theo dropped into a run, bolting across the field. He knew the wooden buildings on Saint Paul Street sat cheek by jowl, which made Montreal a tinderbox. Against his cheek, he felt the gust of a northeasterly breeze, the kind that might carry sparks to the stand of pines, or even to the convent schoolhouse itself.
As he passed the stable, he saw François and Jeanne burst through the door, shouting and pointing west. A bewildered Cecile emerged last, fumbling with gathered slates.
