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them.”

      Learned how to fight and kill, she thought. But had they taught him how to face men wanting to kill him?

      She took his glass and stood. “I will bring you more. And some food.”

      He rose and followed her to the kitchen, but suddenly froze. “What is this, Maman?”

      She glanced over her shoulder and saw him pointing to Gabriel’s red coat, hanging over the chair.

      â€œAn English soldier’s coat?” His voice cracked. He gaped at her in disbelief. After a moment his face flushed with colour. “You have an English soldier here?” He looked around, as if the man would step out from behind a curtain.

      â€œClaude, I can explain—”

      â€œWhere is he? In your bed?” His voice squeaked again.

      Before she could say another word, he dashed to the stairs and leaped up them four at a time.

      She ran after him. “Claude. Wait!”

      â€œShow yourself,” Claude shouted in French. “Show yourself, you dog.”

      From the bottom of the stairs, Emmaline glimpsed Gabriel in his shirt and trousers, standing in the doorway of her bedchamber. Claude charged him and they disappeared into the room. As she hurried up the stairs she heard something crash to the floor.

      â€œI’ll kill you!” Claude yelled.

      Emmaline reached the doorway. From the light of a candle Gabriel must have lit, she could see Claude trying to strike him and Gabriel, larger and stronger, holding him off.

      â€œI’ll kill you!” Claude cried again, his arms flailing. He sounded like a wounded child.

      â€œStop it, Claude.” She tried to pull him away from Gabriel. “Someone will hear you. They will discover you are here.”

      He immediately stopped, but glared at her, his chin trembling. “He knows I am here. He is the enemy.”

      â€œNon, non, Claude.” Emmaline faced him. “Do you know who this is? Do you?”

      He spat. “An Englishman in your bed. How could you do such a thing?” He took two breaths before charging Gabriel again. “Did you force her?”

      Gabriel again held him off.

      Emmaline jumped between them. “He did not force me, Claude. He is our rescuer. Do you not remember him?”

      Claude backed away, looking puzzled.

      â€œThis is the captain who kept us safe in Badajoz.” She tried to keep her voice down.

      â€œClaude—” Gabriel started.

      Claude leaned forwards, pointing his finger at him. “Do not say a word! There is nothing you can say to me, you English dog!”

      Emmaline pushed him back. “Calm yourself, Claude. We will go downstairs and talk about this.”

      He looked as if he was about to cry. “This is traitorous, Maman.”

      â€œI cannot be a traitor to Napoleon. I am not in his army. You are.” She seized his arm and yanked him towards the door. “Come downstairs.” She turned to Gabriel and spoke in English, “Will you come, too?”

      Gabriel nodded.

      He did not follow immediately, though. Emmaline took advantage and spoke to Claude. “You must remain calm and quiet. If someone hears you yelling and fighting, you will be discovered.”

      â€œDo not be a fool, Maman,” he countered. “He will turn me in. I am already lost.”

      â€œHe is Gabriel Deane, a good man who will do what is right.”

      A part of her wanted Gabriel to take her son prisoner. At least Claude would stay alive, but she’d been a soldier’s wife too long not to understand that Claude would find being a prisoner worse than death.

      Claude sat down on the sofa and she sat down next to him, leaving the chair opposite the sofa for Gabriel.

      He entered. “Shall I pour wine?”

      â€œOui, Gabriel. Merci.” She forgot to switch to English.

      He brought the glasses and the wine and placed them on the table, pouring the first and handing it to Claude.

      Claude kept his arms crossed over his chest.

      â€œTake it, Claude,” Emmaline said in French.

      He rolled his eyes, but did as she said. Gabriel handed the next glass to Emmaline before pouring one for himself.

      â€œTell Claude I have no intention of hurting you in any way. That—that I have the highest esteem for you,” Gabriel said.

      Emmaline translated.

      Claude closed his eyes as if he wished not to hear. “I cannot speak with him about you, Maman. Ask him what he will do with me.”

      She turned to Gabriel. “Claude believes you will take him prisoner, but I beg you will let him go.”

      His brow furrowed. “This is asking a great deal of me, Emmaline. My duty—”

      Her throat tightened. “Please, Gabriel. Please allow him to leave.”

      He glanced away, as if thinking.

      â€œWhat are you saying?” Claude asked her in French.

      She gestured for him to be quiet. “Gabriel?”

      He rubbed his face. “For you, Emmaline, but only if he swears he has not been gathering information for Napoleon.”

      She turned to Claude. “Have you come to Brussels for any other reason than to see me?”

      He looked surprised. “Non, Maman. What other reason could there be?”

      â€œTo find out about the English?”

      He gave her a withering glance. “I cannot learn any- thing in the dark. And I must return before light or be branded a deserter.” His expression reminded her of when he’d been five years old. “I wanted to see you before—before the battle.”

      She grasped his hand. He averted his gaze.

      She turned to Gabriel. “He only came to see me.”

      Gabriel nodded. “Very well. I’ll do as you desire.”

      She squeezed Claude’s hand. “Gabriel will allow you to go.”

      He blinked in surprise. “Then I must leave posthaste.”

      â€œI will pack you some food.” She rose, shaking inside at the thought of saying goodbye to her son, not knowing if he would ever return to her.

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