The young woman nodded to the soldier.
Lily knew what would happen next, and she dreaded it with every fiber of her heart. The man approached her and reached for Jack. Panic sprang through her like a wild animal released from its cage. Lily lurched, but the soldier snagged her arm. He jerked her around to face him. Simultaneously the second soldier moved forward and wrapped a strong arm around Jack.
Lily could have fought them, but she was terrified a struggle would hurt Jack. That it would frighten him. She cried out as her son was taken from her arms. “Don’t take him!” she screamed in grief and fury. “Give him back to me!”
Blinking back tears, the young woman rushed forward and gently took Jack from the soldier’s arms. “I will take good care of him.”
Lily’s control left her, replaced by a mother’s instinct to protect her young. Twisting, she tried to lunge toward the woman, but the soldier holding her was faster and stronger. Screaming, she fought him, lashing out at the second soldier with her boots. A fleeting sense of satisfaction flashed through her when her boot connected with something solid. The soldier yowled and danced back.
“Give me my baby!” she screamed.
But the young woman hurried away from them and down a long stone corridor. “Bring him back,” Lily whispered as her son and the young woman disappeared.
“Calm down!” the soldier snapped, giving her a hard shake.
Lily barely felt her head snap back. Despair pressed down on her like a giant, smothering hand. Her arms felt cold and empty without Jack. Feeling the tears build in her eyes, she looked at the soldier. “I want my baby back,” she said.
His eyes skittered away. And even though his inability to meet her gaze told her this young man was still human, that he could still feel the need for basic human kindness and dignity, she also knew it wasn’t enough to save her.
“Take her to the guest suite adjacent General DeBruzkya’s,” said the second man.
Taking her arm firmly in his, the young man guided her in the opposite direction from where the woman had taken Jack. Lily looked over her shoulder, hoping to get one last look at her son. But he was gone. She felt Jack’s departure like a saber slashing through her heart. The pain was so intense and so deep she could barely draw a breath. She felt physically ill as the soldier guided her up massive stone steps. Her despair darkened. She knew it was fruitless for her to cry, knew it wouldn’t make any difference to her captors, but she couldn’t hold back the tears. A sob wrenched from her by the time they’d reached the first landing. Lily cried openly, stumbling on occasion, feeling as if her heart were being torn from her body. Of all the things that could have been done to her, having Jack taken away was the worst.
She thought of Robert, and fresh pain slashed her. She felt it well like blood on a wound, spill over and burn a path down her heart. She lost her sense of direction as they walked down a wide, dark hall and turned onto yet another winding staircase.
“He won’t hurt you,” the young soldier whispered as he guided her toward the top landing. “He won’t hurt your son.”
Lily looked at him through her tears. “Let us go,” she said. “Please. I’ll die without my son.”
The soldier looked away. “I can’t do that.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Your suite.”
“You mean my cell?”
“Call it what you like.”
At the top of the landing, Lily looked around to get her bearings and shivered. The hall was made of stone, dank and dark and cold. A gaslight flickered high on the wall but cast very little light. The soldier guided her to a door. Keys jangled as he removed a round ring from his uniform pocket and opened the door.
“Step inside,” he said.
When Lily didn’t move, he put his hands between her shoulder blades and shoved her. She stumbled into the room, but a quick spurt of anger spun her toward the door—just in time to see it close. She reached for the knob only to hear the lock click into place.
Feeling more helpless than she’d ever felt in her life, she turned and scanned the room. Surprise rippled through her when she realized she had, indeed, been locked in a suite. The room was befitting an expensive Paris hotel. Glossy mahogany furniture glimmered in the dim light. There was a sleigh bed with a high mattress. A chest of drawers. A bureau with a beveled mirror. A writing desk with a gas lamp beneath the single window—which was at least fifteen feet up.