Free Saving The Marquise's Granddaughter by Carrie Fancett Pagels Page A

food himself. Suzanne frowned at his back and retrieved their midday meal, her stomach growling.
    “We should stand and get our legs back.” Johan stretched.
    She shook her head and offered him bread. But she held onto the loaf.
    Johan had to tug. He raised one eyebrow at her as he broke off a chunk and then held it aloft. “You don’t wish to share?”
    She wasn’t used to being ordered around but if she said so, this peasant may ask more questions than she should answer. Instead she scowled at him.
    Johan tilted his head and laughed.
    She couldn’t help laughing, too.
    This man could well save her life and she begrudged his directives? He probably kept them terse because of his lack of French language skills.
    He set out a blanket on the ground and motioned for her to sit. After settling themselves, they leaned against two trees and ate in silence. Stealing glances at him, she found her companion giving her his slow, crooked grin. He irritated her the way Guillame had. Not quite the same.
    Did her brother live? A trip to Aachen may be futile, regardless.
    Johan crossed to the horses, patted down the mare, and examined her legs. “Pretty good, for a cart horse. Not so fast, but steady and sure-footed.”
    Suzanne thought she understood him.
    “On the road she’ll do even better.” He stroked the horse’s back.
    During their travel time, Suzanne remembered more German phrases as he used them. While Johan seemed to understand some French, he didn’t speak many words. He’d repeat if she teased him and gave him the proper pronunciation. His voice was so melodious; she could listen to him forever. But in a few days, they’d be separated. The thought made her sad.
    “What activities do you like?”
    “Fencing.” The word exited her mouth before she realized it. Only nobility fenced. She cringed at her mistake, wishing she could take the word back.
    He struggled to repeat the word. “I don’t understand.”
    Good thing. She relaxed. “I can…” Master of the pianoforte, and an artist, she doubted Johan valued these abilities. She could embroider and sew a pretty stitch but had never constructed a garment. “Stitch.”
    He plunked down onto the ground. “Do you cook?”
    “ Une peu . A little.” She’d observed Cook on a number of occasions.
    “Good. Mama could use help.”
    His mother? “You’re taking me to your home?” Her heart beat harder, but whether it was from sitting so close, or from his news, she wasn’t sure.
    “Ja, it’s best.” He tapped his chest.
    “Do you have brothers or sisters?” I hope his mother has plenty of children to help. I don’t want to be a burden…
    Color drained from his ruddy cheeks. “A brother.”
    “That’s all?”
    “Ja. One.” His voice was strained.
    What wasn’t he telling her?
    “And your brother—what happened?”
    “I hope I still have a brother.” A tear slipped down her cheek.
    Both remained silent as they rested.
    Water gurgled in the brook nearby. “Does it flow all the way to the Rhine?”
    “Probably.”
    Answering its invitation, Suzanne pushed up her sleeves, the idea of washing up irresistible.
    Joining her, Johan stood by the flowing spring, his arms and face raised toward the sky.
    Above she discerned only thick clouds, most dark gray around the edges−clouds associated with storms. “The weather doesn’t favor us.”
    Johan shook his head, wavy hair bobbing. “Ah, sun is there, still, behind clouds. I talk to my Father. Like sun, he’s there even on a cloudy day.”
    “Are you praying?”
    “Ja, shield us. Where to turn.”
    “Didn’t you just come from Aachen? Don’t you know where we’re going?” She bit her lip.
    He stared at her, his mouth set. Piercing—how those light eyes could do that to her she didn’t know. She trembled, a little afraid of Johan’s stern look. If he wanted, she was sure he could be quite fierce.
    Johan shifted uneasily. “I take you to my home.”
    “Why?” she blurted out.