Once a Spy by Mary Jo Putney

Author:Mary Jo Putney
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Zebra Books
Published: 2019-08-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

The boy assigned to guide Simon and Suzanne turned out to be a Moreau grandson about ten years old. He chattered cheerfully as he led the way down a lane to the family farm. Apparently most of the meat and vegetables and dairy served at the inn were grown there, and his mother was the best cook in the world.

As the grandson skipped ahead of them, Simon took Suzanne’s hand and they strolled along the lane enjoying the birdsongs and vigorous spring greenery. Suzanne remarked, “There seem to be more and more people in our lives, so riding across country with only you sounds very appealing.” She glanced up at him through her dark lashes. “Positively romantic.”

He loved that she felt that way, but he was having second thoughts. “With France so unsettled and disturbing all her neighbors, it might be dangerous for the two of us traveling alone.”

“But you were an army exploring officer, yes? You must have spent much time in Spain riding alone through hostile territory, and here you are, alive and well,” she pointed out.

“I relied on my uniform and a fast horse to keep me out of trouble, but I’m wondering if it’s wise to take you.”

“You’d rather sleep alone with your horse?” she teased. “Travel always brings some risks, but this country is quiet and we will have good horses and weapons. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“Probably,” he admitted. “But being a husband makes me feel very protective.”

“Protectiveness is a fine trait in a husband.” Her smile was angelic. “I have complete faith in your ability to keep me safe.”

He laughed. “How can I argue with that?”

“You can’t. We’ll be fine.” She shivered. “If Napoleon’s armies start to march, that will be quite another matter.”

“They will march,” Simon said grimly. “But not just yet. It will take him time to organize his forces again.” But damnably, it probably wouldn’t be much time.

The lane ended in the Moreau farmyard. Monsieur Moreau came out to greet them, having heard already about the inn’s unusual guests. He was a vigorous man in late middle age, and his shrewd gaze seemed to assess them for honesty and horsemanship.

“My grandson says that you’re interested in hiring a pair of saddle horses for a few days,” he said. “All my horses are over there in the paddock. Take a look, and I’ll join you in a few minutes, after I give this scamp a sweet cake as a reward for his efforts.” He ruffled his grandson’s hair affectionately.

The grandson happily followed his grandfather into the farmhouse for his treat while Simon and Suzanne crossed to the paddock. It contained the full range of horses from great, strong draft beasts all the way down to a grandchild-sized pony. Suzanne sighed happily. “So beautiful. All horses are beautiful.”

“Some are more beautiful than others,” Simon said. “There appear to be several mounts that will meet our needs for a few days.”

After a brief study, Suzanne said, “I like the looks of that golden chestnut gelding with the blaze down his nose.

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