Chapter II

Maurice sat alone in his room at the inn, deep in thought. Should he just go after Napoleon on his own? Maurice was already very close to the Italian border, all it would take is to cross it, head to Tuscany, and find a way across the Mediterranean, and get him out.

He stood up and began to pace, "No, that will never work!" he yelled, throwing his pillow against the wall. But why wouldn't it? Maurice questioned himself, sitting down again. It is quite plausible after all, Napoleon did have personal guards on Elba, surely enough to gun down a few Tuscan and Sardinian Carabinieri and the Gendarme foolish enough to follow this lone Sergeant.

He smiled like a mad fool, yes it would work. He didn't need this Count's help; he could do this whole damn thing himself. He was about to laugh a mad laugh when he stopped himself. He had already written the letter and he wasn't sure how much this new monarchy knew about him. Were the two that came to the tavern the advanced guard?

"No," he reasoned, "I was just a lowly sergeant," but his mind would not stop. Maybe he should have eliminated the two Gendarmes when he had the chance. Again, his thoughts caught up. That would not be wise both as they probably had to report to the local office and if they didn't show up they would send more and start massacring citizens. Maurice had done the right thing…for the moment. Sooner or later he knew he would have to fight.

The fighting itself did not frighten Maurice. He knew how to wield a weapon and was heavily armed, but he was afraid of failure, the failure if he did lose a fight, the failed attempt of rescuing Napoleon. He slammed his fists against the wall of the old inn, he must not fail.

Standing in the center of the room he began to breath slowly, releasing his tension, focusing. He had come up North to hide out after an incident in Aubagne with one of the Royalist bastards. There had been a scuffle, then chairs flew, and then the Gendarme arrived but not before the Royalist had taken a bullet from Maurice's pistol.

Fleeing soon after, Maurice stopped near the border with Italy, convinced he'd gone far enough. He stopped at this little inn/tavern to rest his horse and himself. As soon as he got in the tavern he ordered the best wine he could find and thought.

It was after his second glass he remembered a name, a Count Hamilton living near Paris. Maurice then proceeded to write.

"What if this man isn't who I think he is? What if he is a royalist? What if I'm found out?" Maurice stood there for a few seconds, then laughed, "That's why I had him meet me in the Lone Rose," The Lone Rose was a small café in Paris, famous for its wine selection, but more so for its Bonapartism. It was rumored Napoleon spent time early in his career in the Lone Rose and because of this the Café was also known as "Napoleon's Rose". It was a favorite haunt of Maurice.

Relaxing, Maurice's thoughts drifted to things other than his current mission. The girl, Aimee, was the first one to come to mind. An unconscious grin grew on his face. Such a beautiful woman in such a desolate place, she probably got offers like that every day. She deserved better than this backwoods cesspool.

The last time he saw a woman that remotely close to beautiful was at a ball, but that was many, many years ago. No, he hadn't seen a woman quite like Aimee in a long time. There was something striking about that red hair, those beautiful eyes, and the face in general. He let out a sigh, almost drowning out the soft knocking on the door.

"Yes?" Maurice asked the person on the other side, his left hand hover just above his pistol. The steps he took could not be heard. Like a cat stalking its prey, he crept upon the door. It probably wasn't Gendarme, they would have banged the door and he would already be in a running gun battle. Maybe Stefano, he didn't seem that strong so it might be him.

"Monsieur Tabor, it's me, Aimee," Came that calming voice from the other side of the door. The left hand relaxed as the right one rose to open the door. He didn't realize his face had an expression of relief on it, but he was acutely aware of the grin.

"Hello, Mademoiselle. What can I do for you?" He asked, stepping back. She was very exquisite this evening. Slapping himself internally, he reminded himself he was a gentleman.

Against her logic, Aimee stepped into the room. Like the rest of the rooms in the dirty little inn, it was cramped, "I just came to thank you."

"For what?" Maurice asked, regretting and cheering the girl for entering his room. This was…well, uncomfortable. Hopefully she didn't believe that the 600 francs was payment for a…how did that man put it? Go. Maurice was not like that, although he fought as a soldier, he had the bearing of an officer and a sense of honor to match.

She took a seat on his bed, "For rescuing me today. That man, he tried, they all try," she seemed to grow distant.

She was nursing her right arm, "Let me take a look at that," Maurice offered, kneeling in front of her. Reluctantly, she showed her wound. It was a purple bruise, with a small scratch. The fiend had injured her, the wound was small though. The physical signs would disappear, but the mental scars would be harder to get rid of.

"Does this happen often?" The older man asked, a caring tone in his voice. He put a cool cloth on her wound with an exaggerated tenderness.

She nodded, "Yes, many men call me pretty and beg. Usually they give up, but a few do try to force their way. Some of them have succeeded," She burst into tears, grabbing the man in front of him.

Maurice was shocked, but he hugged her, "Hush angel, it's ok. No one will hurt you any more," Her tears soaked his shirt. Patting her back, rocking her back and forth, he calmed her to a silent sob. He looked her into her eyes, those beautiful eyes, "Wait here."

She withdrew into herself again, just watching Maurice dig in his bag. This man was different…or was he. He had charm and he was generous, but did all he want was…her body? She shuddered to think about it. No, she thought defiantly, he's different, he's caring. He turned and was holding a box wrapped in cloth. He knelt beside her, "What I have here is a gift from Napoleon to Josephine, or at least was supposed to be. See, when they divorced, Napoleon was heart broken. True they stay on good terms but he was still saddened by the loss. He gave this to me when I was on his personal guard," He unwrapped the box. It was beautiful with gold inlay and the Bonaparte crest in the center. Opening it revealed an Ivory handled, pistol and the accessories to it, "It is now yours. It will protect you," He placed the box on her lap, stood up, and walked to the door.

"Don't go," Aimee shouted abruptly, "Please," She continued in a much more subdued tone, "I don't like being alone," She began to cry once more.

Maurice rushed back to her, "I'm here, you won't be alone," His eyes looked into hers, "Come with me, tonight is such a beautiful night. I don't want you to get the impression that my only interest in you is your physical nature, but your inner person as well," He stood up again, offering her his hand, "Come, don't be afraid, I'll keep you safe."

Placing the box aside, she stood up and took his hand, "I know…"