When the woman wasn’t screaming in high dudgeon, she had a pleasant voice, Michael thought. It was low and rich and reminded him of warm honey. It was the voice of a woman, not a girl.

As she cleaned the table closest to him, he could see a hint of maturity about her face. Early thirties, at a guess. He should probably make himself known.

Michael was about to emerge from his feigned sleep, when he heard an unmistakable sob. The woman was now two tables away. She raised a hand to her face and roughly wiped away tears, her harsh features softening.

Sympathy welled in his breast. How hard it must be to be the strong one; to be the one to pull everything together. War didn’t just affect men. Women too, paid a very high price.

He rose, deliberately scraping the bench to draw attention to himself. The woman straightened her back and squared shoulders, looking more like the tough tavern keeper he’d witnessed earlier.

“Pardonez-moi, madame…” Michael effortlessly slipped into flawless French. “I’m looking for room and board.”

“Why?”

The question took him aback, so too did the gimlet stare in those hazel eyes.

“I have business here.”

“What business?” she demanded.

“One that is none of yours.” He returned volley and met her unwavering look with one of his own. Michael waited for her to respond and felt a small moment of victory in his chest when her eyes fell from his.

“Do you have room, or should I go elsewhere?”

That was a bluff, he had nowhere else to go. Even if he had to camp the woods outside the village, he’d be hanging around. His instructions had been clear – stay in Boisville until he received further orders. The woman seemed to find his question amusing too. She raised her head and smiled for the first time since he arrived. The face, which at first seemed to be quite plain, was actually quite arresting.

“Then good luck to you, sir. There’s nowhere within fives leagues of here.”

“Then you have room for me?”

The response was swift. “Upstairs. Third room on the left. Three livres for the week, room and board.”

The price was steep but he supposed he couldn’t blame the woman for trying to profit from the Revolution. God knows she wasn’t the only one. With that settled, there was only one more order of business before he got to work.

“I want to see Jacques.”

“There is no one by that name here,” she said, dropping that honey-sweet voice of hers down to a whisper. He matched it.

“Strange, since I have a letter from him asking me to meet him here.” He reached a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket.

The woman’s face took on a pallor so white, Michael feared she was about to faint, but to her credit, she recovered herself quickly.

“Not here!” she said harshly. “He will contact you.”