“I came close. I was wounded by patrollers sent out to capture me. I kept staggering on until I collapsed near a village church. My life was saved by Frère Emmanuel, an elderly Franciscan bonesetter who is the closest thing to a saint I’ve met.”

Surprised, she asked, “No one wanted to turn in an escaped English prisoner even though a reward was probably offered?”

“I speak French as well as I speak English, so no one realized what I was.” Foxton gave a harsh laugh. “I survived, but in the end, Colonel Roux won. Once I recovered, I felt the full weight of my breach of honor. I hated myself too much to return to England, so for years I lived a wandering Franciscan life with Frère Emmanuel, trying to atone for my sins.”

“You became a Franciscan friar?” she asked, startled.

“I never took vows.” His mouth twisted. “I’m not made for sainthood. I let people think that I was a novice serving an older friar.”

Kendra poured herself a little more brandy, thinking his story was becoming more and more interesting. “What form did atonement take?”

“I apprenticed myself to Frère Emmanuel and learned his trade while caring for him. We moved around the countryside and treated anyone with bone or joint problems. We stayed in small country churches and religious communities. Sometimes farmhouses or even barns.” Foxton swallowed hard. “He was old and frail and I was honored to serve him. After Frère Emmanuel’s death, I continued his work, but with . . . less sense of purpose.”

“What persuaded you to return to England?”

“My cousin Simon. My almost-brother. We were raised together, and he never quite believed I was dead. He’s a very persistent fellow, so here I am.”

Before Kendra could ask more questions, Foxton swung around and poured more brandy before settling back into the other wing chair. “I’ve said enough. Your turn now.”

“I appreciate that you’re willing to share so much of your difficult past.” His past and his pain. “Why have you done so when I am almost a stranger?”

He gave her a weary smile. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than a friend. Also, because we’re in similar situations, I feel some kinship. I hope that’s a basis for friendship. Do you feel the same?”

She did with a sudden fierceness that shocked her. “I have a few friends who have not completely abandoned me, but none who truly understand the essence of being dishonored. Yes, we are kindred spirits.” And she must match his honesty, no matter how painful. “Your words about moving past the pain resonated in me. That, and how I must decide what I want most and work toward it.”

“And that is?”

“My son.” She closed her eyes against tears. “I want my son!”

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

“I want my son!”