She didn’t choose her man. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. At the bottom of her heart she was not a bit afraid of Ramage. ‘And now, monsieur le major—’ ‘I will see you to the door,’ Gerald said, looking with interest at the building that his observant groom had told him housed a small collection of nuns. She wedged the towel between her legs. She must not show anything. Plots were hatched in the provinces, where many of the old and wealthy Catholic families resided, whose zeal for the martyr of their religion (as the Chevalier was esteemed), sharpened by the persecutions they themselves endured, rendered them hearty and efficient allies. She wouldn't be able to pass by anywhere without folks turning their heads.
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