The Tide Watchers Read Online Free

WAS A harvester’s sickle hanging low over the west as Lisbeth left the tavern via the servants’ exit, her eyes hot and itchy, her hands rough and hard from scrubbing floors. The stiff night breeze softened the acrid perfume of spilled wine and wood smoke on her clothes, and cooled the sweat beading her face. Even after a pulsing-hot day, when the night Channel wind hit, it felt almost like winter. Drawing her cloak around her, she bid farewell to Elise . . . at least for the walk back to the place that would never be home. Elise lived in a cramped room in a pension, walked to work and back, took the insults and lower wages. Lisbeth was English to the fingertips, with carriagesat her disposal, and home was a converted abbey snug in the rolling fields of Norfolk, with Mama in her sitting room reading or embroidering while her renegade daughter escaped on her spirited roan mare, and poor Ralph chased her on his hack. “Give over, Miss Lizzy! Go back to yer ma ’n’ yer lessons. What’d yer da say if he was here?”
    That was always the question nobody could answer.
    As she reached the shadow of St. Vulfran’s, a church again after years of storing either pigs or ammunition, she heard footsteps behind her. Please, God, not again.
    â€œElise, you can’t walk home alone. You need protection.”
    She pursed her mouth. It seemed LeClerc hadn’t forgiven her for the incident with the beer; the tone was aggressive beneath the persuasiveness. No doubt the second set of footfalls was his ever-present sidekick, Tolbert. Gritting her teeth, she strode on. She’d long ago learned that saying anything to them, even rejection, only encouraged these fools.
    â€œElise, end this foolishness.” LeClerc’s rough voice was impatient but held a note of would-be tenderness. “We’ve played your game long enough.”
    In grim determination she walked even faster.
    Tolbert puffed as he trotted behind LeClerc. “You owe Delacorte no loyalty.”
    â€œHe deserted you and stole your child—but you need not be alone. We want to be so kind to you.”
    Lisbeth closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the rebel ache, longing for a kind word, a gentle touch. Perhaps they would be kind to me . . . at least until I’m not so young or the novelty of my birth and English blood palls.
    They hadn’t been kind in mentioning Edmond. That type of ploy was far too clever for these two . . . but Alain knew how she loved her son.
    In the precious minutes she’d held her baby she’d forgotten Edmond’s conception, or how she’d prayed to miscarry at the start; she’d even hoped they could become a family. Then Alain took Edmond and disappeared, leaving her with medical debts and the rent.
    What had she done to make Alain hate her so? She’d told him Papa didn’t love her, yet Alain had been furious when Sir Edward Sunderland refused to allow either of them in the door after she’d eloped. By the time she’d discovered the reason Papa would never allow his new son-in-law into his home, it was far too late.
    â€œThat’s it, chérie, ” LeClerc said in an exulting tone, far too close. She must have slowed. Like a fox with hounds on her scent, she hitched up her skirts and bolted.
    Booted feet pounded behind her. Jerked back by the hem of her cloak, she fell on the cobblestoned road. A jolt of pain shot up her spine. She couldn’t breathe.
    In the muted light of his lantern, LeClerc’s thin, ordinary face came into view, his eyes red rimmed with drink and blazing with excitement. “Come, chérie, it’s over now. Be sweet to us, and you’ll see how good we’ll be in return.”
    Oh, yes, Alain had taught her all about the goodness of men. She screamed as loud as she could. Not one light went up in response. When LeClerc reached for her, she head-butted him.
    â€œ Salope! ” LeClerc hauled her over his