Surrender to a Stranger by Karyn Monk Read Free Book Online Page A

equal under the law and not burdened by the accident of their birth. It was a romantic, poetic vision, started by aristocratic philosophes like her father and members of the wealthy new bourgeoisie, men who never dreamed that their ideas would quickly race out of control, manipulated and interpreted and perverted into something oppressive and tyrannical. It was not until the National Convention voted to chop off the head of their king, who ruled by the will of God and was supposed to be their partner in the new order, that the former Duc de Lambert realized something was going terribly wrong.
             
    “Stop looking around and keep your head down,” commanded Citizen Julien.
    Jacqueline obediently snapped her head down and watched her heavy wooden shoes dragging along the cobblestone street. Its broken surface was treacherous, and made more so by the refuse and slops that were carelessly strewn over it. The avenues they were taking were narrow and dark, without any sense of order or logic. They twisted up and down, circling around ancient, decrepit buildings that seemed to house many families, sometimes leading to a tiny square where a small, crumbling church pointed up to a dim patch of sky, and then heading off again into another dank, foul alley that never enjoyed air or light. Jacqueline could hear the screeching and scurrying of rats foraging through garbage. If she closed her eyes she could almost imagine she was back in the halls of the Conciergerie, except that the stench was not quite as oppressive.
    When they first left the prison Jacqueline had wanted to run, simply to release herself from the steady grip of the old man and move one foot in front of the other and just run and run, as fast and as long as she could, until she was sure that the guards of La Conciergerie and the jailer Gagnon and the members of the Tribunal and Nicolas Bourdon were far behind her. After passing all those guards and gates in such a slow, shuffling pace, with the terror of discovery churning wildly within her, and Citizen Julien pausing to exchange inane pleasantries with each and every guard they encountered, the exhilaration of walking away from that chamber of death almost made her shriek with excitement. She had started to move faster, and immediately felt the firm pressure of Citizen Julien’s ancient hand on her shoulder, restraining her from exceeding his tortoiselike pace.
    “Walk,” he told her firmly as he continued to shuffle along beside her. Jacqueline realized that Citizen Julien was unable to run, and as he seemed to have some destination in mind, and Jacqueline did not have the faintest idea where she could go to hide from the National Guard that would be sent searching for her, she decided to slow her pace and stay with him, at least for the time being.
    The streets were not crowded, and Jacqueline supposed that as it was late, most people were at home taking their supper. The few men they did pass were mostly drunk, hanging about gulping from bottles and glaring at whoever happened to pass by. The men seemed to eye her and the old man with interest, as if they knew there was something peculiar about the duo, or perhaps they were debating whether or not to accost them. Jacqueline felt herself shiver and told herself she was being ridiculous. In her ragged sansculotte outfit, dressed as a boy accompanying a frail old man, it was clear that neither of them could possibly have anything of value. Still, if they were stopped for any reason and it was discovered that she was a woman, she wondered how she would protect herself. Citizen Julien was far too old and feeble to render her any assistance, despite his planning and quick action during their escape.
    After Gagnon had left the cell in search of water, Jacqueline was startled to see her elderly patient, still coughing and wheezing hard enough to burst a lung, rise from his chair and quickly open his enormous black coat, revealing a series of deep pockets