The Misguided Matchmaker by Nadine Miller Read Free Book Online Page B

her clumsy peasant’s boots, praying he wouldn’t pull her off her
feet. By the time they reached the courtyard, her heart was pounding and her
lungs crying for air. Without a moment’s hesitation, he dove through the
closest archway and sprinted down the dark passageway just far enough to be out
of sight of anyone in the courtyard.
    “Give
me your jacket so I can cover the lantern,” he demanded. Madelaine slipped the
canvas jacket from her shoulders and handed it to him. Instantly, they were
plunged into darkness and her heart leapt into her throat. Normally she had no
fear of the dark, but the combination of the ancient traboules and this
mysterious stranger set her nerves on edge.
    “Wouldn’t
we be safer farther down the passageway?” she asked when she caught her breath.
    “Possibly
so, but I prefer to stay here.”
    Madelaine’s
eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could see his gaze was riveted on the
moonlit courtyard through which they’d just passed as if his very life depended
on keeping it in view—a useless precaution to her way of thinking. She tried
again. “Are we not too close to the courtyard to escape unnoticed if whoever
was behind us chooses to travel this traboule ?”
    “If
you have any influence in high places, pray they don’t.”
    Madelaine
sniffed. “If I had such influence, monsieur, I would not be cowering here in
the dark.”
    “Cowering?
You, mademoiselle?” He gave a derisive snort. “I would pit you against a cage
of hungry lions and wager my last shilling on the outcome—and my money would
not be on the lions.”
    “Am
I to take that as a compliment?”
    His
gaze remained steadfastly fixed on the courtyard. “You may take it any way you
wish.”
    Madelaine
chose to ignore it. She changed the subject rather than show she cared in the
least what he thought of her. Anxiously, she made her own study of the
courtyard. “I see no sign of Monsieur Forli’s lantern. I fear we have lost
him.”
    “Don’t
worry about Forli. He can take care of himself.”
    Madelaine
shivered, filled with alarm for the odd little Italian who had befriended them,
and certain this callous Anglais would show the same lack of compassion
if she had been the one to fall behind during their mad dash. He struck her as
a man complete unto himself—needing no one, caring for no one. She found
herself wondering if it was this cold aloofness that had made Monsieur Forli
label him “The Fox.”
    The
object of her ruminations gripped her upper arm with fingers of steel,
startling her to instant attention. “What in holy hell is that?” he asked in a
hoarse whisper.
    She
looked up to find a host of black-hooded figures, each carrying a candle,
filing into the courtyard. At that same moment, the moon disappeared behind a
cloud, leaving only the pinpoints of candlelight to outline the unearthly
procession.
    In
silent orderly formation, the ten or more shadowy apparitions circled the open
area. Then, as if defying the moon’s rejection of their diabolic order, one of
them began to chant in some ancient guttural language, the likes of which
Madelaine had never before heard. One by one, the others joined in an unholy
harmony that sent chills skittering down her back.
    “ Nom de Dieu !” she gasped. “The rumors of the
Black Mass are true.”
    “The
Black Mass?” Tristan Thibault swore softly in gutter French. “Just what we need
to make this fascinating evening complete.”
    For
the first time since he’d barged into her life, Madelaine found herself in
complete accord with her irascible traveling companion. Crossing herself, she
held her breath until she saw the last of the sinister-looking figures
disappear through an archway on the opposite side of the courtyard from where
the two of them were hidden.
    Not
a muscle in the Englishman’s big body moved, but his grip on her arm tightened
noticeably and his breathing sounded heavy and labored. She felt a brief moment
of triumph. So, this seemingly