“Mad?” Ariele cocked her head. “Disgustingly arrogant, true, but . . .” She shrugged. “So he does not know we are leaving?”
“No.” Helena came to help with her laces. “We must be very quiet. And we can take only a small bag—just your brushes and important things.”
“I didn’t bring much with me from Cameralle. I’d hoped to go home for Christmas.”
Helena tied off the laces, then hugged her. “Ma petite, we won’t see home for some time—”
“Yes, but think of the adventure!”
Reassured, Helena left Ariele brushing out her long hair while she hunted and found a small bag in the armoire, then piled all the little
items from the dressing table into it, then hurried to the prie-dieu to collect prayer book and crucifix.
A tap on the door had them both looking up; Phillipe peered in. He saw Ariele and slipped in, crossed to her. Sebastian followed him into the room. Helena stared at him, drank in his strength, calmed her tense nerves. All would be well.
Sebastian returned Helena’s regard, then, satisfied that all was as she’d expected, switched his gaze to Phillipe and the young girl he assumed was Ariele. Phillipe was whispering earnestly, explaining his part in things. The girl was listening politely.
Ariele was taller than Helena, larger overall, yet not above average. Her hair lay like a curtain of old gold down her back. He could see her profile, as perfect as Helena’s. See her hands gesture, swift and delicate, reassuring Phillipe and hushing his apologies.
Then she sensed his presence and turned. Smiled shyly.
He walked forward, held out his hand.
She reacted instinctively and laid her fingers in his. He bowed over them. Ariele shook off her surprise and curtsied prettily.
Sebastian raised her. “I’m honored to meet you, my dear, but I think we should leave further pleasantries until later. We must leave immediately.” He looked into eyes that were darker than Helena’s, a different shade of green. “If all goes as we plan, we’ll have years to get to know each other better.”
Ariele tilted her head at that, looked at him almost challengingly. The same fire that burned so brightly in Helena had not missed Ariele.
Sebastian laughed softly; leaning closer, he dropped a light kiss on Ariele’s forehead. “Do not fence with me, ma petite. You are not—yet—in your sister’s league.”
Ariele made a sound that could only be described as a chortle. She shot a quick glance at Helena, her face alight with innocent query. No mystery why Phillipe had been smitten.
Releasing her hand, Sebastian stepped back. “Come. We dare not dally.”
Helena had remained rooted to the spot watching the interplay between her sister and him; now she bustled up, took the brush from Ariele’s hand, dropped it in the bag, and cinched the drawstring tight. She looked at him. “We are ready.”
He took her hand, kissed her tense fingers. “Good. This is what we’ll do.”
They left the room, four silent shadows slipping through the slumbering house. As before, Phillipe led the way; Ariele, in her cloak with the hood already up, followed at his heels, much as if he’d been sent to summon her and she was grumpily complying. They walked swiftly but quietly down the corridors. A few yards behind, Helena, also fully cloaked, followed with Sebastian, keeping to the shadows as much as they could.
Helena’s heart thumped. As she hurried along, she felt giddy. They were nearly free—all of them. And Ariele liked Sebastian. The two people she loved the most would get on. Relief mingled with anxiety; lingering trepidation weighed against her burgeoning joy.
They reached the gallery and started along it.
A single, confident footstep was all the warning they had before Fabien swung into the gallery from the other end. He’d taken three long strides before he halted, staring. The moonlight sheened his fair hair. Booted and spurred, dressed as always in unrelieved black, he was carrying his riding gloves in one hand. His rapier was at his side.
For one instant they all stood transfixed in the light of the moon.
Then Helena heard a soft curse, and Sebastian stepped past her. The sibilant hiss as his rapier left its scabbard shimmered, menacing in the tense quiet.
It was immediately answered by a smiliar hiss as Fabien’s rapier flashed into the night.
What followed, Helena later understood took but a few minutes, yet in her mind each action was ponderous, laden with meanings, subtle hints, and portents.
Like the smile that curved Fabien’s lips as he recognized Sebastian, the unholy light that flared in his dark eyes.
The fact that Fabien was considered a master swordsman flashed into her mind. She felt ill for one instant, then rallied. Remembered Sebastian’s confidence over younger men challenging him—remembered that indeed they didn’t.