He thought of his mother, who had abandoned him. “But I have no other family.”
“Nonsense,” Madam Petit said brusquely. “We are your family. . . . Some families you are born into and others you grow into. You grew into ours. You’ve been coming home with my husband for over fifteen years, and Petit was so proud of your captain’s commission. Prouder for you than he would have been for himself. You were the son we could never have. The boy we always wanted.”
Gerard sniffed. “That means more than I can say.”
“Then give your mother a hug.”
She held out her arms and he stepped into them. She nearly squeezed the life out of him before letting go with a great smack of a kiss on his cheek.
“There’s more I wish to tell you.”
He told her about the visions—the other princess’s bloody death. Madame Petit’s breath caught, but she did not interrupt him. Then he told her about Elea. How she’d used her gift to manipulate him into helping her. He kept nothing from Madame Petit.
“She’s a fool.”
Gerard swallowed heavily. “She’s a queen and I’m nothing but a captain.”
“You’re not nothing,” Madame Petit said. “You’re worth more than that silly little queen will ever understand. Now, you wait here and I’ll make up the bed in your old room.”
Gerard stood. “I can help you.”
“I should like that, Son.”
“As should I,MamanPetit,” he said, the wordmotherforeign on his lips.
Madame Petit’s smile was blinding, and he knew that he was finally a part of a family. A balm to his ravaged soul.
14
ELEA
Aloud bang shook her room. Elea’s stomach dropped. It was probably just another earth shake. But then the sound of beating drums grew louder, and her bed did not move. Throwing off her covers, she ran to the window and flung open the curtains.
It wasn’t an earth shake. There was an army of thousands of green-coated soldiers flooding through the city gates. She could see Nora’s father, Laird Lochdon, a great giant of a man, at its head. His army was already here.
Seven purgatories!
Elea ran to the wardrobe and grabbed the first dress. She threw it over her head and didn’t bother lacing up the front. She was too busy pulling on a pair of boots and grabbing her dagger. The first place she ran to was the kitchen. It smelled of freshly baked bread and hot eggs. Three under-cooks were still cutting, and Mother Walsh was sitting on a chair and holding her chest. Her apron was covered in flour and her face was pale and looked twice as lined as before.
“Are you all right?”
The older woman nodded. “Another earth shake.”
“No, it wasn’t,” she said, shaking her head, her voice on the edge of hysteria. “My uncle is here. That was the drums of an army.”
“Màthair bless me,” she said, clutching her apron even tighter. “I dinna expect them so soon.”
“It’s my fault,” Elea said, her empty stomach clenching. “I didn’t stop the guards from leaving, and I should have set lookouts on the towers. Or, at least, closed the gates to the city.”
Mother Walsh hopped to her feet. “That’s it, Your Majesty. We need to close the drawbridge to the castle. That should keep you safe long enough for our people of the city to grab their weapons and fight for you.”
The head cook dashed out of the kitchen and through the green of the courtyard at a speed that left Elea breathless as she followed. There were a few men near the stables, feeding the horses and cattle.
“Close the gate!” Mother Walsh yelled as soon as they were near enough to the soldiers’ quarters. “Father Camran, close the gate! The army is here!”
The head groom and two of his men dropped their buckets of grain and ran for the gatehouse. Elea followed them up a windy flight of stairs to a narrow landing with a large winch on it. Both she and Father Camran took one handle and began to turn it, while the two other men turned the heavy handle on the other side. Even with all four of them pulling with all their strength, the metal chains were slow to wind up around the winch. The gate was only halfway closed when Elea saw the first soldier in green.
“Hurry!” she shrieked. “They’re here.”