Carla Kelly (16 page)

The man kissed Sonia, and rose, only to kneel before Jesse, take his hand, and kiss it. “Thank you for the lives of my wife and daughter.”

As startled as he was, Jess had the good sense not to jerk back his hand. He helped Ramos to his feet, then put his hands on the other man’s arms. “I am glad I was here to help,” he said simply. “If I have learned anything from war, it is to cherish life.”

“I am in your debt.”

Jesse shook his head. “I was only doing what I promised Hippocrates I would do.”

“Then, he is a good man, too. Please tell him for me,” Ramos said fervently.

You hear that, Hippocrates? Another ringing endorsement. “I will.” He turned to Sonia, who indicated that he put the baby back in her cradle. He took the infant from her with pleasure, enjoying the way babies newly birthed
contracted into a small space, even though they had the world to stretch out in now. He held her close to his chest for a moment, feeling the steady rhythm of her. “You were determined to live, weren’t you, my dear?” he asked, and then put her on her side in the cradle. He wanted to hold her longer, because he liked that utterly unique fragrance of newborns, but it was late.

He turned back to Sonia. “
Con su permiso
,” almost exhausted his Spanish, but she understood his motions, and lay on her back. He kneaded her abdomen gently, pleased that her womb was already contracting. “
Esta bien, senora
,” concluded his repertoire.

He started for the door, but Ramos stopped him. “I think you should know that the rather elegant horse hitched to your wagon is the favorite mount of Souham himself,” he said, naming the general who had assumed command after Marmont was injured at Salamanca. “Look in the saddlebags and then consider the wisdom of keeping the horse.”

“How do you…” he began, then considered the nature of Ramos’ current trade. “Perhaps I shall do that in the morning, senor. Go with God.”

He left them together then, and went back to his own bed, to stand a while on the chilly tiles to admire Elinore, whose shimmy had slipped entirely off her shoulder and exposed one lovely breast. When he thought he could trust himself, he climbed in beside her, and had the pleasure of putting his cold feet on her legs. She mumbled something and settled against him in such a way that he thought it best to turn his back to her.

He contemplated the variety of things he wanted to do with his wife, and allowed himself the luxury of imagining a week or two with time to devote to her alone. Time! He had never had any, not since the University of Milan declared him a surgeon and he plighted his troth with the Medical Corps. I wonder what it would be like to have time, he asked himself. It is your fault, Hippocrates. I cannot fathom such a turn of events. He slept.

E
linore woke to find Jesse gone. She lay still, disinclined to move, then inched over into the spot he had vacated. It was still warm. She wondered if she had dreamed of Jesse running his hand over her hip in the night, and felt her face go red at the thought of it, especially considering that her shimmy had worked its way up to her waist. Well, what of it? she asked herself. I think we have more serious matters to deal with today.

She inched over a little farther, and heard paper crinkle. She moved away and picked up a note he must have left on the bed. “My dear, please join me in the chapel after you look in on Sonia Ramos,” she read to herself. “Her husband was here last night. I suppose London ladies would swoon to see a real
guerilla
, but frankly, he appeared to be in need of a bath.” She laughed, pleased to know that he still possessed a sense of humor. “Perhaps that is just me, though. You know I am the division officer of hygiene.”

Indeed you are, she thought as she got up. She pulled her shimmy over her head so she could wash as much of herself as she could in the basin of water that he had obviously already used. She looked closer. At least there were no whiskers in the basin. I do have my standards of hygiene, too, Captain, she thought.

The water, though used, was still warm. Someone had thoughtfully provided a cup of soft soap, which smelled of summer herbs. She washed quickly, dried herself on a slightly damp towel, pulled on her wrinkled shimmy again, and looked outside the door to see if a miracle had taken place.

She was not disappointed. Even though it was her same
dress and useful apron, they were clean. Her lace-up shoes were still sturdy and brown, but minus the mud. And blessing of blessings, some kind soul in the Ramos household had left her a comb. She dressed and did her hair up in a tidy knot on her head, using a bit of string she salvaged from the medical satchel with plasters and bandages she carried.

Elinore opened the window to look out on a morning where the sun shone, even though the brisk air reminded her that it was November. She sat on the sill for a moment, wondering how it would feel to stay in one place from now until the end of her life. She tried to think of life in Scotland as the wife of a respected surgeon, living in a large house, then discarded the idea because she could not imagine such a turn of events. All my life I have followed the drum, she reminded herself. I have lived in tents, and ruined buildings, argued with bill collectors for my mother and father, and spent very little time acquiring any useful female skills. I know I am not what is known as an accomplished lady. I would be a fool to think that anywhere I lived, people would not be able to tell this at once. Can I converse on genteel topics at dinner parties? No. Do I have even an inkling what is fashionable in London or Paris right now? No. What about lofty intellectual skills? None I am aware of.

But there was a worse matter that goaded at her heart as she looked across the Spanish landscape she knew so well. Perhaps the captain truly does blame me for what happened to the alcalde and his daughter, she thought as the horror of yesterday returned full measure. If I had agreed to Major Bones’ demands, the alcalde would still be alive, his daughter undisturbed, and the chief surgeon would not be lying so still in the church. She wrapped her arms tighter about herself to ward off the chill of her thoughts, even as another part of her brain clamored for attention. Be fair, Elinore, she thought. If you had gone with Major Bones,
you
would be ruined. The retreat would have gone smoothly for Number Eight, but there likely would have been no stop at Santos. Sonia Ramos and her baby would have died in agony. Be fair and admit to yourself that you have no way of knowing what good or evil can rise out of any situation.

She knew herself well enough to also admit that she was a practical woman. I am married to a good man who felt sorry for me, she reminded herself. It could be that he does blame me for what happened to the alcalde and his daughter. If I am to find out—and somehow my standing in his eyes matters to me—I must ask him. She leaned her head against the sill and thought of all the times her mother complained to her about her father, but, to her knowledge, never confronted him about his many disservices and marital misdemeanors. Sitting in the windowsill, and looking out on the beautiful morning, Elinore wondered if things between them would have been different had Audrey Mason ever spoken up.

“Surely I can do this,” she said out loud as she went to the door and pulled on her shoes. The reality is that I am married to this man who has at least promised me his protection to the Portuguese border, she reasoned with herself. We will probably part company there, because surely he knows already what a sad bargain I am. Even so, there is no need for him to think ill of me. I must ask him how he feels, even if I’m not precisely certain how to go about it.

She opened the door, but stood still, unwilling to move. She knew it was going to be another trying day, and she knew in her heart she had suffered a lifetime of trying days and wanted no more. She squared her shoulders, smoothed down her apron, and closed the door quietly behind her.

Sonia Ramos was sitting up in her bed and taking a definite interest in her daughter, who was being washed by her grandmama in a copper basin pulled close to the warmth of the brazier. Elinore smiled at the baby’s noisy protests and the vigorous way she pumped her legs and waved her arms about. If the captain were less of a surgeon, neither of you would be here this morning, she thought, and looked at Sonia, her heart full of wonder at his skill. Off and on since she was a young girl, she had seen him quietly at work in the marching hospital, never calling attention to himself, seldom talking to her. She knew the other officers teased him about his shyness. Captain, I don’t suppose you cut a great figure on the dance floor or astound the ladies with your repartee, she thought, but you astound where it matters, don’t you?

She stood by the squalling baby as Sonia’s mother took
her from the bath and set her on a towel on the bed, enjoying the moment, at once so ordinary and yet miraculous. I will have to ask you, Captain, if you ever get tired of seeing this miracle. I don’t think I could.

“Do you have any children, senora?”

She looked around in surprise. “Me?” she asked in Spanish. “Oh, I have been married but two days.” For no discernible reason, her face felt hot. She bent over the infant, lying on Sonia’s bed now, and wrapped the towel more tightly around her.

The other women in the room—it seemed like hundreds, rather than just a maid or two—put their hands to their mouths in that polite Spanish way and laughed behind them. Elinore put her hands to her face in unconscious imitation and smiled back at them in an agony of embarrassment that made her realize quite forcefully that Jesse Randall was not the only shy one.

She busied herself drying the baby’s hair, and then moved her closer to Sonia, who held out a diaper. When the baby was dressed, and nuzzling at her mama’s breast, Elinore watched them for a moment, her heart full. “I have to leave now,” she said finally.

Sonia raised up, which caused the little one to flail her arms and root around. “We are forever in your husband’s debt,” she said, reaching for Elinore’s hand.

Then whisk us safely to the Portuguese border, Elinore thought as she leaned into Sonia’s embrace. Teach me how to talk to that husband, who must be regretting my acquisition on such short notice. “He was glad to help,” she murmured.

“We will not forget,” Sonia replied firmly. “How could we?”

She found her cloak—someone had brushed it cleaner—retrieved her medicine satchel, accepted the hunk of bread and cheese that the maid handed her, and left the Ramos home. The people of Santos were going about their business in streets that no longer looked sinister, now that morning had come. Some nodded and smiled to her, and she realized that news probably traveled as quickly in a village as in a typical regiment. I am such a simpleton, she thought. Give me a sunny day, and I feel I can conquer nations.

The feeling lasted as far as the church, which looked even smaller in the morning light. She saw two men digging graves at the edge of the cemetery behind the church, then stood where she was and watched as Harper and Wilkie carried out a body wrapped only in a blanket. “Oh, Major Sheffield, why did it have to end this way? Why couldn’t you be exempt from war?” she asked out loud. She came closer, noticing that Sheffield was barefoot now, even his socks gone. With a question in her eyes, she looked at Jesse, who had followed the body outdoors.

He came to stand beside her. “It’s one hundred and fifty miles to the Portuguese border,” he reminded her. “We may need his boots more than he will.” He took her arm, and moved away from the others. “After they are buried, I have something to show you. It’s something I learned last night from Sonia’s husband.”

She nodded, then hoped for one irrational moment that he would keep his arm on her hand. To her delight, he moved it up to her shoulder, and pulled her in close to him when the soldiers put Sheffield into the grave. “They’ve already buried Jenks,” he whispered in her ear. “Oh, Elinore, this is harder than anything that happened last night.”

Maybe you need comfort, too, she thought, and slipped her arm around his waist. “He told me once that he thought you would do…as a surgeon,” she whispered back, gratified when he stooped a little to hear her.

“High praise from the crusty old boy,” he replied, and she could tell he was pleased, even as he struggled to maintain his composure.

She knew she could not look at the grave, not with Father Esteban praying, and Wilkie and Harper, so serious, poised there with shovels. She looked at Jesse instead, relieved to see that the swelling had greatly diminished on his temple. Dan O’Leary must have applied the plaster, which pulled the laceration together. His eye was black, to be sure, but it was partly open now. She was glad he was not a great deal taller than she was, because it was nice to stay there with her head inside the reach of his arm, pulled close to his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to his heart, and cried for Major Sheffield, best of men. She felt Jesse’s lips on her hair, and then he turned his face down
against hers, because he obviously did not wish to look at the sight before him, either.

He released his hold on her when the grave was filled in and stepped forward to speak to the soldiers. “Private Wilkie, find a string and run it through Major Sheffield’s boots. They’ll probably fit you, and you can carry them. Corporal Harper, tell Daniel I want to talk to him.” He touched Elinore’s back. “Come inside with me.”

He sat her down at a table in a cold room off the chapel and spread out a piece of paper before her. “Last night, Sonia’s husband told me that out of all the horses in Marmont’s division, Harper managed to steal the horse of General Souham himself.”

She stared back, her eyes wide. “He certainly has a knack for trouble.”

“No doubt.” Jesse sat beside her on the narrow bench. “Father Esteban can read French. What we have here is a list of all the French army in Spain. I doubt it is something of any earthshaking importance to Sir Arthur, because I think Wellington must already have this information. But look at this.” He pointed to another page, closely written. “Father tells me this little page describes their proposed winter campaign.”