A Warrior’s Heart by Misty M. Beller
26
The knot in Evan’s middle balled tighter as he mulled through what he had to do. Chief Durand was the only person he could think of with enough authority to have Gerald stopped forever. But what would stopping the blackguard consist of? A hanging?
Part of him felt like that was nothing less than the man deserved if he really did plan to carry out his foul plans. The council would have some debate, and Brielle had earned a great deal of respect in the eyes of these people. Earned, not inherited, as Gerald had implied. He’d seen the way she protected and provided for even the least of these, often enduring hardship herself, as she’d done in her search for Marcellus. That was more than he’d seen Gerald do for another.
On the other hand, Gerald had shown himself to be a lecherous snake. One who had to be stopped once and for all. Inside his holding room, Evan dropped down to sit on his fur as Leonard took his spot against the wall.
Grit scraped against his eyelids from lack of sleep, but he had far too much to do to waste time with the luxury of rest. How could he speak with Brielle’s father? He’d only seen the man a couple of times—right after his fisticuffs with Gerald, and again at the feast. That meant the fellow probably wouldn’t just happen to stop by. Evan would have to ask for an audience.
He slid a glance at Leonard, who’d taken up the arrow he’d been whittling. If Gerald stuck to the timing he’d said, Evan only had today to stop him.
Should he ask Leonard to send for him? Or wait until Audrey came and ask her? He trusted her almost as much as he did Brielle, more than any of these other guards.
But Audrey was probably busy tending those who’d returned from the storm. She hadn’t brought their morning meal, but she likely wouldn’t be able to come until at least midday. Even then, she might send it with someone else. He’d have to make his request through Leonard.
He straightened and turned to face the guard. The man looked up, his brows rising in question.
Evan tried to force the emotion from his voice. “I need to speak with Chief Durand. How can I get an audience with him?”
The man’s brows dipped and the confusion on his face seemed to hold a hint of suspicion. “He is busy. If you have something to ask, it’s better we take it to Brielle.”
Evan’s stomach turned at the thought. He should have expected the man to want to bring in Brielle. But he couldn’t speak to her of this, not yet. Everything in him said her father was the one to bring it to first.
He did his best to school his expression. “Brielle’s still recovering, and, in truth, what I have to tell concerns her father most anyway.” Let the man make of that what he would. Maybe his assumptions would induce him to find their chief posthaste.
Leonard studied him, his hands no longer working the arrow. Evan kept his expression blank. For long moments they sat like that.
Did Leonard think he would get in trouble for going straight to the chief? Perhaps. Evan wasn’t sure how strict their hierarchy was, but it seemed securely structured. Or maybe Leonard thought he’d be in trouble for stopping by his sister’s home instead of coming directly back to this room.
At last, the man tightened his jaw and pushed to his feet. “Can I trust you to stay here while I walk down the hall and send for him?” His tone had lost the congeniality from moments earlier, but at least he was getting Brielle’s father.
Evan nodded. “I won’t move.”
Leonard left the door ajar, probably so he could hear if Evan shifted around, and his footsteps faded partway down the hall. He called someone, and a young voice answered. After a quick conversation in Italian, Leonard’s footsteps sounded, coming back toward the room.
He stepped inside and closed the door, barely sparing Evan a glance. “Jean-Jacques has gone to look for the chief. If he’s not too busy, I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”
“Thank you.”
The man only grunted a response as he moved back to his wall. He didn’t sit, just leaned against it with his arms crossed. Probably wanted to be ready when his chief arrived.
Evan should be ready, also. What all should he tell the man? Only what he’d overheard? Durand would probably want to know what existed between Evan and his daughter. He’d been watching closely enough when they were gathered around the fireplace. He must have seen something.
So how much should Evan say about his feelings toward Brielle? And his mission? He’d wanted to tell her everything first, then make plans with her about when and how his purpose should be communicated to her father and the others. But if Durand pressed, should he tell him first?
Perhaps revealing his intentions toward Brielle—and likely his mission in the process—was the right thing to do here. Coming clean would draw at least a little respect in the man’s eyes. Either that or he’d haul him out to the nearest tree and string him up beside Gerald, so he didn’t bring an army of miners to destroy their city.
Lord, show me.He would have to follow the Lord’s nudges as the conversation progressed. Wasn’t there a verse in one of the Gospels where Jesus said not to plan ahead what one should say when being questioned? In that hour, the Holy Spirit would give the words.
Give me the words, Lord.
Evan’s body itched to move, to stand and pace. Or better yet, to go find the man himself. But he’d better settle in and find some patience, for it could be a while before Jean-Jacques even found the chief, much less the time it would take for the man to answer the summons.
But it must have only been minutes after that when the sound of footsteps drew near in the hallway. The bar clanged, and the door opened.
Chief Durand stepped inside. Even without someone accompanying him, the man’s presence seemed to fill the room. Maybe that was only the importance Evan had assigned him in his mind. This man had the power to make things very hard between him and Brielle . . . or smooth the way completely.
Lord, give me the words.
Durand looked from the guard to Evan, then back to the guard. “I’d like to talk with him alone.”
Leonard’s chin jerked up, but then he nodded and stepped toward the door. “Yes, sir.”
When the door shut behind him, Durand turned to Evan.
From his position sitting on the fur, the older man towered over him. A feeling he hated. Maybe the fellow wouldn’t mind if they found some even ground for the coming conversation. “May I stand, sir?”
The man looked around the area, then moved to the wall nearest Evan, opposite from the spot where the guards usually parked themselves. “Actually, I’d like to sit.” As Durand eased down to settle on the hard floor, his age showed itself in his grunt and the creaking of limbs.
He seemed to be settling himself for a long conversation. A new knot twisted in Evan’s middle. He had a feeling he wouldn’t get out of this without telling all.
When he was settled with his knees bent in front of him, wrists propped up on both knees, Durand focused on Evan with a thoughtful gaze. “I was coming to speak with you anyway when I received the message you wanted an audience.” He nodded at Evan. “You may speak first.”
Coming to inquire about his intentions toward Brielle, no doubt. Evan pushed that thought away, lest it tie him up in tighter knots. For now, they had a more important threat to discuss.
He leveled the man with a serious look. “When we left your quarters, the other men were just returning. Leonard wanted to stop there and make sure his brother-in-law was well. He had me sit against the wall near the fire, and there were many other people around.” It was important he lay the scene clearly in the man’s mind or he might disbelieve what Evan had to tell him.
As Evan recounted what he’d overheard from Gerald, Durand’s breathing grew heavier the longer Evan spoke—his only visible reaction. But the air hung thick with enough anger and pent-up emotion; the place might explode if one of them didn’t tamp it down.
After Evan stopped speaking, Durand asked, “Is there any more?”
Evan replayed those minutes in his mind, trying to summon anything else that had been said. Maybe he had a few of the men’s comments out of order, but he’d given all the details he’d heard.
He shook his head. “My first instinct was to tell Brielle, but I thought you might know better how to stop him. Permanently.”
Durand blinked, the only shift in his expression. “I will take care of it.”
Evan held his breath for a moment as he tried to find the words for this next part. “I want to help. Brielle’s safety is important to me.”
Now he’d exposed the next thing they had to speak of. He should let Durand get his own questions off his chest.
The man’s gaze shifted, his eyes losing some of their anger as he considered Evan. Long moments passed. Painful moments, but Evan didn’t drop his gaze from Durand’s.
At long last, the man spoke. “I need to know more about you before I can give my daughter the blessing she seeks.”
Evan let the full meaning of that statement soak through him. Brielle had asked her father to bless a courtship between them? Or maybe to speak on his behalf in front of the council?
But the older man knew there would be more. In truth, the look in his eye said this conversation would determine whether he approved anything—including allowing Evan to take part in protecting Brielle . . . or not.
Give me the right words, Lord.
And with that prayer, he started from the beginning. “I was born in Scotland. When my parents and brother died, I moved to America. I had little money, and the only jobs I could find were small or temporary. So, I enlisted in the United States Army. I worked my way up to captain, and eventually married a woman in the town where I had settled. A marriage of convenience for both of us. She’d lost her family and needed a home, I wanted to settle down, and she was a God-fearing woman of good reputation. Not long after that, the war with Britain started, and I was recruited by the army office to work as a spy.” Evan did his best to keep his voice level with that last word, even though Durand’s gaze sharpened on him.
“I was sent on various missions to infiltrate British camps and forts. My Scottish accent helped me pretend I was from Europe. While I was gone on one of those assignments, my wife took ill from a sickness she contracted in one of the war hospitals where she volunteered. When I came home on my next leave, I found that she had passed away.” Once again, he had to work to stabilize his voice.
“I mourned her death, and I mourned the fact she was alone at the end. I never should have put her in that situation.”
He inhaled a breath to steady himself. As difficult as this part had been to tell, the conversation would only become harder.