She shuddered and leaned into his side. “You were there? In America?”
He nodded, gazing out the window again. “War is ugly business, full of betrayal and hatred and the basest of human feelings rising to the fore.”
Her mother lifted her chin. “Why, then, have you made a career of it, General?”
He breathed a laugh sans amusement. “If we left it solely to those who loved it, how much uglier would it then be, madame?” When the carriage halted, he arched a brow. “Are we here?”
“Oui.”
“We will all go in. I will leave neither of you alone.” He opened the door himself, jumped down, and then helped her mother out.
Julienne reached for him next. Even now, with fear and nerves foremost, her heart gave a little skitter when his hands closed around her waist so he might lift her down without bothering with the steps. She sent a smile up at him when her feet touched the ground, but he was looking over her shoulder.
And his eyes lit with fearsome determination. “Back in! Up, hurry!”
Too late. The duc’s voice even then pierced the air, calling Julienne’s name like a curse.
Eight
Time slowed to a chaotic jumble of images and sounds for Julienne. Remi, looking furious and deadly as a pagan god in some classical painting, needing only a cape to billow behind him to finish the picture. Light flashing off the swords and muskets of the four guards. The muted clamor of the mob a few streets over, creating a cacophonic symphony. Mère’s scream, Isaac’s shout, and the deafening roar of her own pulse.
And the litany of denial that stampeded through her mind. Non, non, non. He was not here, could not be here. He was supposed to be at his country estate, not his home in Paris so near Grandpère’s. He could not stop them now, must not stop them now. Non, non, non.
Gunshots were heard in the distance. Was it her imagination, or did that horrific sound make the duc’s eyes light with even more evil glee?
“Climb up!” Isaac’s command penetrated her fog. He had grabbed for her mother and pushed her toward the carriage again too. Julienne turned, shaking. She wished she knew the words to curse her skirts from letting her get up quickly in the vehicle without the steps.
Remi’s voice overlapped with Isaac’s. “Shoot them! Kill them if you must, but stop them!”
Seconds later the wood of the carriage splintered just beside Julienne’s head, shots ringing out and sending her reeling away. Mère screamed again.
Julienne grasped her mother’s shoulders, looking frantically for the wound. “Are you hit? Hurt?”
She managed only a shake of her head through her tears.
Isaac pushed them behind him, raising an arm. Another crack, and this time one of the duc’s guards fell. To Julienne’s lips sprang a prayer, memorized long ago but never before so desperately needed. “Defende nos in proelio; contra nequitiam et insidias diaboli esto praesidium.” Protect us in the battle, be our safeguard and protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
Remi shouted something more, but she could not hear what. One of his men had reached them, and Isaac sprang forward. A jab, a strike, and the man’s weapon clattered to the ground. A knee, a punch, and the guard soon joined it.
“The house!” Mère shouted into Julienne’s ear. “Go to the house.”
And leave him? Non. She could not. Her feet would not move. Not until her mother pushed and shoved at her so that she stumbled forward. Then she saw that a servant had opened the door for them and was waving them forward.
She made it only a step before a familiar hand seized her arm, biting into the bruises it had put there a week ago. But her cry was more anger than pain, and she swung around to hit him with her other arm with all the force she could muster.
It won her only a curse and a backhanded slap across the mouth.
The metallic tang of blood touched her tongue. The bolstering wind of defiance lifted her chin.
“Idiot woman.” He tried to pull her away from freedom—the house, the carriage, Isaac, Mère, who found a stick and raised it above her head—but Julienne dug in her heels. Then she thought better of it and kicked him in the shin instead. He grunted and raised his hand once more.
Then he froze when a gun pressed against his temple. “Strike her again and I will kill you. Let her go. Now.”
Even had she not already been in love with him, Julienne would have sworn lifelong loyalty to Isaac in that moment. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he had laid the third guard flat upon his back, leaving only one more coming up behind the duc, who would surely not act with a pistol to his master’s head. Her mother let her arms fall to her side but kept the fallen branch in hand.