. . . As soon as he could manage it, the man known as Mickael or Péale snatched away Christophe from his father. Wry amusement sparkled in Mickael's eyes. "You have always had quite a way with words. But you had best watch that colorful vocabulary of yours or you'll never survive to see the coming of the next decade. Not to mention that politeness is next to godliness as well."

"Where are we?" A single stern look of warning Thomas shot from across the room prevented his son from saying anything more than those three stilted words.

Mickael propped his elbow against the wall, still looking every inch a gentleman. "Technically you're in Belgium, but in the area of land which many Germanic princes have laid claim to."

"In short . . ."

"Disputed territory," the handsome young Prussian concluded for Christophe.

"Figures," the boy grumbled and then dropped to a mulish silence. "Danka." Christophe belatedly remembered his manners, this time in German, and a moment later asked to be excused so that he could rest as the weight of exhaustion suddenly crushed down on him. The young man nodded and watched as the youth curled up and quickly dropped into a deep sleep. Whatever had possessed Thomas to continually take his only child around with him on such dangerous missions? Of course they were Mickael's friends, and he owed them his life, but . . .

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Thomas raised his hand and gestured for his son to approach. Their pursuers had to be dangerously close was the thought he left unvoiced. This time Thomas was well prepared for a battle. No child of his was going to delay any longer than the day he'd already spent here.

Christophe came to stand by the bed where his father was propped up. Already the marquis looked greatly improved, but it would still be a few days before he was back up to adequate strength. Thomas gestured again for his son and heir to come closer still so as to provide a measure of privacy. Reluctantly the boy complied.

"You will go with Peter," said Thomas firmly. Christophe looked nothing short of mutinous. Thomas snapped, "Non, mon petit, you will go with Peter, immediately, to the heart of Belgium and then you will make your way back to France. Enough. You will listen! I will not be responsible for your death, and I will not have your uncle or cousin ruling over my lands as your guardian or in any other capacity. Do not bring that fate upon our family, especially not after all my efforts to avoid that outcome."

Another protest was clipped short by Thomas' resolute look. "I repeat, if nothing else youngster, do not stoop to dishonoring your family name and heritage. Now you were saying?"

"Papa," Christophe insisted in a hushed tone. "I intend no dishonor, and I have grown up on this lifestyle. I will not die if I stay to help you. And I can help you get out of here. I beg of you."

"A lifestyle I should never have brought you into," barked Thomas. "Silence! I've done you no favor in raising you this way. You'll always be too wild and too headstrong for proper society. I should have had you trained properly, but since I can't change that, at least I will ensure that you survive this mission and that my holdings have a proper heir. Plus, they search for a man of my description fleeing with a boy. If we split up, we can better disguise ourselves and will increase the odds that we both escape. You will go or I will see to it that the marriage that was arranged for you years ago will go through."

Christophe fell abruptly silent again. How could he, after he had promised that his son could choose his own spouse! But he had no doubt as to the earnestness of the marquis' words. Check and mate. He would go, and heaven forbid anything happen to his father. Mechanically Christophe rose to his feet and was on the verge of going to Peter when his father touched the boy's hand.

In Thomas' hands was a collection of papers. "Take them," Thomas told his son. "Anything at all that is found on me will condemn me, and I have every intention of coming back to you alive and well. Watch my estate until I return." Langeac, Christophe knew his father meant, as it always had been the most precious of his father's holdings, at least to Thomas, regardless of its humble size compared to his other numerous holdings.

Without a word the boy snagged the papers so deftly that neither the man better known as Erik nor Peter saw the exchange. Rapidly, his anger at having his hand forced still simmering, Christophe gathered his belongings and bundled himself tightly against the cold before joining Peter. The pair was on the verge of departing when Christophe rushed to his father and hugged him fiercely before returning just as quickly to the door.

In dry-eyed silence Christophe followed Peter out the door, and as he passed, Erik said, "Do not fear, Qiara, I will do what I must, and your father will be safe. I give you my word."

The young Prussian watched as Peter and his charge made their way towards the safety of Belgium. At least the boy would be out of harm's way he concluded and turned back to Thomas.

Blasted intrigue! He wasn't very good at it, but he had given his word that he would see to it that Christophe's father would safely escape. Of course if Christophe knew the half of it. . . . Best to deal with that hurdle when he or Thomas ran into it. No doubt they'd never hear the end of it-if they managed to get out of this quagmire alive. . . .

Kat Jaske www.forhonor.com © 2006