The Runaway Princess by Christina Dodd Read Free Book Online Page A

flames that ate at the château, and shrieked at the servants, “Get buckets! Pans! Anything! Start a line from the kitchen well, or we’ll be out in the snow this winter!”
    â€œDon’t look for help from him,” Danior murmured to Evangeline. “His livelihood is going up in smoke. And Your Highness—it’s your fault.”
    He took his hand away, and when she kept quiet, he let go of her. But it didn’t matter. She was incoherent. Her fault? How was this her fault?
    Futilely Evangeline hunted for a handkerchief. The madness around her was sweeping her up. The shouting and increasing hysteria made her wonder if she would make it back to England at all. Or if others might agree with Danior and somehow deduce that this catastrophe was her fault. After all, the world had run mad.
    She sniffed and dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand.
    â€œWomen.” Danior stuck a clean square of linen in her hand.
    As if she weren’t going to cry after all this! She wiped her eyes, then hiccuped and pressed the material to her mouth, wishing desperately she could blow.
    â€œIt’ll be safer outside,” Rafaello shouted, his voice aimed above the hubbub. He made shooing gestures,and although a few rational voices raised objections, the hysterical herd advanced toward the exterior door.
    Victor tossed a cloak over Danior’s shoulders. When Danior turned up the collar, he covered the white of his shirt and cravat, and his somber figure became positively grim. Then the men joined the flow of refugees, carrying Evangeline in their midst. When she tried to wiggle away, Danior simply grasped her arm and hustled her along.
    These men with their conservative clothing and their obvious tension stifled her. Worse, the two bodyguards looked remarkably like Danior in their height and coloring, and she had no doubt they were of like temperament.
    She was surrounded by bullies.
    Even in a crowd, their stature should have made them stand out, but as they cleared the threshold to the outside, they bent their knees to make themselves shorter and to blend in with the crowd.
    The throng scattered along the verandah and out into the garden, encouraged by comments from Rafaello, their harrying guard dog. “It’ll be safer away from the building,” he called. And, “This is all Napoleon’s fault. I imagine his Frenchies are trying to liberate him.”
    â€œWhy would anyone toss a bomb here to free Napoleon?” Evangeline asked logically.
    Her unwanted companions ignored both her comments and her dramatic sniffling, staying with the crowd until they reached the deepest shadows. Then they broke away, hastening toward the stables. At some prearranged signal, Rafaello and Victor picked up speed, leaving Evangeline with Danior.
    Danior tugged her into the shadows of a tree and held her there, unseen by the stable boys who ran past them, lugging washtubs full of water.
    â€œHelp!” she yelled. “I need—”
    â€œBe quiet!” Rudely, he pulled her close and shoved her face into his chest, holding her by the back of her neck as a tomcat did with a field mouse, then he moved them farther from the path, farther from human activity.
    It didn’t matter. She could shout all she liked. She could struggle. No one paid attention. No one cared about one woman’s kidnapping. Not when the château was burning.
    The shouts of the toiling servants almost drowned out Evangeline’s subdued lament. “Who did this thing?”
    She wasn’t still crying, not really, but the slow leak of moisture from her eyes must have wet his shirt, for he answered, “It was the revolutionaries.”
    Her mind blanked. Revolutionaries? What did he mean, revolutionaries?
    Yet Danior seemed to think she knew what he was talking about. “That’s why we’ve got to go, and quietly, too.”
    â€œThe revolutionaries.” She tasted the word, not liking its