The Irresistible Rogue (Playful Brides #4)(81)

The walk wasn’t long. They’d left their horses tied back at the campsite. It would make their group more nimble and much less conspicuous. As they trudged through the forest, Rafe’s head turned at any little sound, any twig snap, any birdcall. He was on edge, because of the mission and more so because of Daphne’s presence.

The smoke coming from the clearing stopped them. Rafe led them all to the edge of the tree line where they crouched down to watch the small house that sat nestled in the clearing.

“Between Calais and Paris,” he said. “The perfect spot for traitors and thieves.”

He crouched low and watched through the window. A fire inside the cabin illuminated the interior. One of the men stood in front of the window holding a mug and laughing. The Frenchmen appeared to be in the middle of a meal.

The laughing man turned and Rafe saw his face. He swallowed, hard.

Gabriel, they had called him. Rafe would never forget that name, or that face. It was the countenance of a man who had beaten and tortured him for months. The past came rushing toward him, kaleidoscoping time and making his vision tunnel.

Groans of pain rang in his ears. They were Donald’s, not his own. Donald Swift. The man had given his life. He’d been honorable till the end. He hadn’t given up a single secret. So they killed him. Then they focused their torture on Rafe. They knew he was the spy, the one who had the most information. They’d said Donald was nothing more than a useless aristocrat.

Rafe swallowed. Donald had been more than that. Much more. He was a brother, a son, and a friend. He had more nobility for what he’d endured than any title would ever be able to bestow.

Rafe narrowed his eyes on Gabriel through the window. These were the men who had stolen months of his life and killed the earl.

He was going to destroy them.

“On my count,” Rafe whispered, without removing his gaze from the house.

Salty and Grim nodded.

“Daphne,” Rafe warned in a voice that was low but commanding. “I needn’t remind you how important it is to follow orders during a mission. Stay here.”

“I will, Captain,” Daphne promised. At least she wasn’t going to argue with him at a time like this. Thank God.

“Three, two … one.” The three men all moved but remained crouched as they emerged from the bushes. They each took a different position. Rafe went straight for the front door of the cabin. Salty went to the left and Grim to the right.

*

Daphne watched from the tree line lying belly-first on the ground with her heart lodged in her throat. Her jaw was clamped so tight it ached. Soon the men were only shadows in the darkness. She would stay where Rafe asked her. If something went terribly wrong inside, she might be of more use out here. But only moments had gone by before she severely regretted her decision. It was much worse watching and waiting and not knowing what was happening.

Time seemed to not only slow but to stop entirely. Her knees ached and so did her chest from unconsciously holding her breath. The chirping of the bugs in the brush nearby and the sound of a few birds overhead, coupled with the thud of her own swallows, were the only noises. The cabin was a dark smudge in the distance and her three friends had long ago blurred into the large shadow.

Daphne mentally counted to one hundred.

She did it again, closing her eyes and praying for their safe return.

Moments later, shots rang out and Daphne’s heart plummeted into her boots. She bit the back of her shaking hand, then leaned up on her elbows frantically searching the darkness. Smoke began to billow from the back of the cabin and flames were soon shooting out, too. The house was on fire and all she could see were shadows fleeing the burning building. But which were Rafe and his team and which were the spies? Had Rafe been shot? Was he dead? Wounded? Did he need her?

A group of men headed straight for her position. It had to be Rafe’s team. How else would they know where she was? But until she knew for certain, she remained silent on her belly in the pine needles to remain out of sight.

“Did you hit him?” came a voice that was decidedly not one of Rafe’s men.

It took her a moment to realize the voice was speaking in Russian but with a French accent. Odd but they must have been speaking in that language in case Rafe and the others could hear. They knew the Englishmen would speak fluent French.

“I’m not sure. I think so,” came another voice. “I’m sure I hit one of them.”

“Damn English. We should have killed that bastard when we had the chance,” came a third voice.

They had all spoken in Russian. Daphne searched the darkness behind them. She didn’t see any more shadows. Were Rafe and his men dying in the fire? She had to go search, to look for them. Help. But if she moved now, the Frenchmen would surely see her.

She glanced at the pistol that lay in the grass not an inch in front of her face. Blast. She couldn’t shoot them. She was an awful shot, not to mention she only had one bullet. She shifted her leg and the knife moved against her ankle. She allowed a smile to spread across her face. She’d taken a knife from the ship and placed it in her boot, but when she’d looked through Rafe’s bag while he’d been out scouting, she’d replaced it with the one she preferred. The one she’d killed Billy with. She had a lot of experience with that knife. And she was glad for it now.

She clenched her fist, steeling her resolve. By God, one of these men had killed her brother and might have killed Rafe. She might be outnumbered. They might have pistols, too, but with the knife she could take at least one of them with her. She reached down into her boot and slowly drew the knife.