She continued in the general direction of the forest. The white crystals strewn through the trees were breathtaking; the ground was hard but no longer covered in snow. Isabelle’s thoughts went to the night before.
Of Dominique’s hands on her thighs, of his lips nibbling her ear. The air should have chilled her, but the idea of their skin making contact threatened to make her sweat. Isabelle shook the sensual thoughts from her consciousness and looked around again. The trees all looked the same. Perplexed, she bit her lip and continued riding in the general direction she assumed the little ice sculptures were.
Now, deeper within the forest, she was able to see through the trees to the little clearing where she and Dominique had spent their time. Excited that she had found it, she kicked the horse into a slow trot. Once she reached the clearing, she let out a little laugh and slid off the horse. It was just as magical as she remembered it. Perhaps the rejection of her husband, the idea of him not wanting her after such a wonderful night, maybe it wouldn’t be as hard to deal with in this place. She twirled around, once, twice, and finally stopped.
“What have we here?” A foreign voice penetrated her magical world.
Frozen in place, Isabelle didn’t want to turn, or think, or even blink for fear of what would happen. Unmistakably, the man was speaking French.
Another man laughed, “An English bird?”
Isabelle’s own understanding of the language wasn’t what it should have been, in fact it was nearly impossible to translate, but she was convinced the man just asked if she was English. Either that, or a bird, not that it mattered.
Slowly, she turned, and couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips as her eyes locked on five French soldiers, fully armed, looking her up and down as if she was on the menu for devouring.
“A very pretty English bird, most likely alone.” The man who had been speaking stepped closer to her and held his hand up for the other men to back away. “I said…” his accent was thick, “You are alone, yes?”
“No.” Isabelle stepped toward her horse; a few more feet and she could make an escape, that is, if she didn’t get shot first. “I am with my husband.”
At that, the men burst out laughing. The one in front of her spit on the ground. “What kind of husband leaves a beautiful woman alone in the forest?” He took another careful step toward her. “Your husband is an imbecile, no?”
Isabelle opened her mouth to say no, but movement in the trees stopped her. Heart pounding, she glanced out of the corner of her eye; something else moved and then she saw Dominique.
She had to think quickly, but she didn’t know how to distract them. The Frenchman lifted his eyebrow in mockery. “He is not an imbecile, as you delicately put it. You see, we, um, we like to play games.”
“Games?” he repeated. “Interesting. Are others invited?”
“Always.” Isabelle managed a saucy smile. “In fact, he often uses me as bait, in order to make things more… interesting.” She swallowed the bile in her throat as the man walked purposefully toward her. He was going to hurt her; his face was menacing, his eyes hard and cold.
“I think I would like to be the first to play, oui?” His gaze narrowed on her bosom. She pulled tightly at her cloak and crossed her arms.
“Ah, patience, my love, don’t I always go first?” Dominique’s voice was calm and reassuring as he stepped into the clearing. “After all, there is enough of you to go around, wouldn’t you say?”
What was he doing? Her eyes widened in horror and then she saw it, he tilted his head just slightly; she looked in the direction he indicated and noticed Hunter pulling out a pistol.
“Yes, well, last time, that is to say, l-last time, I was so fatigued after just one round that I nearly fainted…” Isabelle stammered, thoroughly disgusted with their topic but knowing it was necessary.
“But dear, you’re forgetting.” Dominique walked to her side and pulled her into his embrace; it was then that she noticed how thick his accent was, as if he had reverted back to his Russian heritage. He didn’t seem English at all, not that he was completely English. But at this moment, he seemed foreign if not more foreign than the soldiers. “I own you, remember? Won you fair and square from the idiot, Wellington.”
All five Frenchmen spit on the ground at the mention of the Duke's name. No love was lost on the man fighting against their fearless leader.
“You won her, you say?” The Frenchman cursed. “I would have liked to see that man’s face when you stole this piece from his arms.”
“She’s nothing but a whore.” Dominique clenched his arm tighter around her. “So she meant nothing to him. I imagine it was his pride that was hurt, not the loss of a beautiful woman.”
The men nodded their agreement as Dominique turned Isabelle to face him. Laughing, he tilted her chin up and kissed her hard across the mouth. He forced her onto the ground and pulled out a pistol.
Everything happened so fast. One minute she was in his arms and the next she was in the dirt watching him open fire on the men. Firing his weapon, Hunter jumped from the brush. The Frenchmen cursed and shot their own pistols.
Isabelle tried to close her eyes. Attempted to cover her ears, but she was paralyzed with shock and watching in utter horror as one of the last men standing opened fire on Dominique, sending him sailing to the cold hard ground.
Hunter knocked the assailant unconscious and was immediately at Dominique’s side.
“Isabelle!” Hunter yelled.
She couldn’t move.
“Isabelle! This is not the time to play the frightened woman. You may cry later; right now Dominique needs you.”
Nodding, she jumped to her feet and rushed to Dominique’s side. Blood poured from a gunshot wound in his shoulder. His gloved hands were covered in blood.
“Hold this tight, right here.” Hunter ripped a piece of fabric from his shirt and placed her hands over the cloth covering the wound. “Listen to me, Isabelle. I need you to take Dominique back to the castle. You just get on the horse and it will take you back, do you understand? I need to know you understand!”
Isabelle felt her head jerk into a nod. “But where are you going?” Her voice sounded hollow, foreign to her own ears.
“Wellington. I need to be sure he knows that we’ve not only killed five French soldiers, but that they are this deep into the country. They were supposed to be near Brussels, not…” He looked down at his hands. “Not here, it isn’t safe. I must go. It’s my job to go. If I don’t...” his voice trailed off. “I was already planning to leave, now it’s of the essence.”