Carla Kelly (30 page)

I should argue with him, Jesse thought, but there was no denying the lift to his heart. A glance at Elinore told him her answer as clearly as if she had shouldered her way to his side and grabbed him by his uniform front. “I’ll write you a letter, monsieur.”

He wrote the letter, describing each injury as he found it, and outlining both Barzun’s treatments and his own. He signed the document with a flourish, allowing himself to hope that since Armand Leger was the messenger, perhaps the French would leave Number Eight alone, now that they had the old revolutionary in their grasp.

After Elinore sanded and sealed the letter, Jesse gave it to Leger. “Here you are, monsieur. We will leave immediately.
Sister Maria told me of a less traveled road from Salamanca to Ciudad Rodrigo.” He tapped the letter. “Buy time for us today if you can, monsieur, but there must be another surgeon here soon.”

“I will do that, Captain,” Leger said. He pocketed the letter and swirled his cloak around his shoulders. “Be honest. You are not sorry to see me go.”

“No, I am not,” he said frankly, “but it does not follow that I wish you ill. Go with God, monsieur.” He took his hand. “I hope you find what you are after.” Just words, Jesse thought as he watched Leger fold Elinore into a tight embrace. No, I don’t dislike you, but I am tired of you and this endless war. Well, every revolution has its victims.

Saying good-bye to Philippe Barzun proved more difficult. He took one last stroll through the refectory, checking a bandage here, listening to another’s respirations there, until he came to the surgeon, who had been watching him with no little amusement.

“These
are
my patients, Captain Randall,” Barzun reminded him, and touched his hand. “When I am home in Grenoble—pray it will be this winter—I will write our
maestro
in Milan and tell him that although you are proprietary, like most Englishmen, you are a worthy graduate.”

I can keep it light, too, Jesse told himself. “Proprietary, eh? May I ask which of our commanders has thought to go to Russia, if we can believe the rumors? I doubt Tsar Alexander invited him.”

They smiled at each other with perfect understanding. Jesse leaned forward suddenly and kissed Barzun’s forehead. “I will write you a letter in Grenoble, my friend,” he said. “I will tell you how Elinore and I are doing in Dundee.” If we make the border. W
hy
do men and women keep making plans, even during war? He couldn’t say any more, so he turned on his heel and left the room.

The others were already mounted in the courtyard. “My little army,” he said, and Harper and Wilkie grinned at him. Elinore smiled at him in a way that made him feel warm, and blew him a kiss. Sister Maria Josefina handed him a bag with bread and cheese after he swung into the saddle. “Oh, Sister, I am certain your need is equal to ours,” he said in protest, but knew better than to argue when she narrowed her eyes and glared at him. He turned
to the others. “My dears, I believe it is time to shake the dust of Spain off our boots.”

Harper regarded Wilkie. “Gor, Private, when was you anyone’s dear?” he teased.

“I disremember,” the other private mumbled. He turned cheerful eyes to Jesse. “Lead on, Cap! We follow.”

Elinore had ample time to reflect on Wilkie’s words. The road that paralleled the Salamanca highway was more of a cow trail. They moved single file through a bleak landscape. Never much of a rider, she was forced to concentrate on the trail ahead. Harper rode first, followed by her husband, who cut no real dash on horseback, either. Wilkie followed her, and he sang as he rode.

During their noon stop, just as the rain started again, she asked him where he learned his songs. “I listen to the sergeants’ wives, miss,” he told her, then blushed and was silent.

Her father had told her once that the army was family to rough men like Wilkie and Harper. It has been family to me, too, she thought as she looked around her at the others. She knew her husband came from a different world. She huddled close to him as he shared his cloak with her and the rain beat down. For the tiniest moment she allowed herself to think of Dundee. Imagine the novelty of raising children in a house, she thought. She nudged Jesse. “Do you have servants in Dundee?”

“There’s just a housekeeper and her husband now,” he said. “He keeps the place trim, and she cooks.” He tightened his arm around her. “We can have a maid or two, once I set up my private practice. Would you like that?”

“It would be heaven, I think,” she said. “I could probably lounge in bed until seven in the morning, couldn’t I?”

When he didn’t answer, she looked at him, then wondered why he appeared so solemn. “Oh, dear. Perhaps only until six and a half, then,” she suggested. “But I would like roast goose at Christmas, if we could.”

“Done, madam,” he replied. His voice still sounded strange, but he hugged her even tighter, and she did not think he was angry with her for asking.

They encountered outriders from Clausel’s army as night fell, a small patrol moving along and talking to each other,
unmindful of anyone else, their approach muffled by the rain. An urgent word from Harper, and they turned off the path and into the trees to dismount and wait behind some boulders. Before she was aware of what he was doing, Jesse had moved her tight against the boulder and put his cloak around them both again. When she realized that he was covering her body with his to protect her from gunfire, she wanted to remind him that of the two of them, he was more valuable to Wellington’s army.

He must think I am a trivial woman, she told herself as she relaxed into the safety of his arms and body. “Jesse, it doesn’t really matter about a Christmas goose,” she whispered. “That’s not important now, is it?”

“You’re the goose,” he whispered back. “Wait until I get you to Dundee.”

She closed her eyes, pressed her hands against the rock, and rested her face against her hands. He moved closer, until they were breathing together. He was so close that she began to think about last night and how perfectly logical and right their lovemaking had seemed. As she enjoyed the gentle pressure of his body against hers, she couldn’t help think that the workings of fate were strange, indeed. Three weeks ago, it was just going to be another dreary retreat from Spain, like so many others. Her mother’s death had begun all manner of consequences, right down to the delicious experience of practically turning herself inside out half the night for this quiet man who was ready to protect her from armies. She found herself trying to smother her laughter now, quite undone by the reality that life was so bizarre at times.

“What is the matter?” Jesse asked, his lips next to her ear.

“You would never believe me,” she told him.

“Oh, I would,” he whispered. “You know, you could turn around and raise your skirt, and we could try this standing up, but I do believe we’d scare the horses.”

He put his hand over her mouth when she started to laugh, and held it there until Harper gave a low whistle and stepped away from the boulder. “A close one, sir,” he said.

“I’ll say,” Jesse replied. He winked at Elinore.

“She hysterical, sir?” Harper asked, his concern undeniable.

“No, no. Something more mundane than that. Well! Harper, I suggest we get off the road. Find us a place, will you?”

He did, a ruined stone outbuilding whose only virtue appeared to be a slate roof that looked old enough and strong enough to have kept out Noah’s rain of forty days and forty nights. The other virtue was that it was large enough for the horses, too. Harper grained the animals, then showed Jesse the empty bag.

“I think we’re about to reach the Douro, Private,” he said.

Harper moved closer. “D’ye think there’s a bridge left, sir?”

“Certainly.” Jesse looked at her. “Very well, Elinore,” he said, his embarrassment obvious. “You are right to glare at me, so I’ll say it out loud: I would be surprised if Clausel or Soult were not already in possession of it.”

“That’s plain enough,” Harper said, and busied himself with the horses.

She woke early in her husband’s arms. They had burrowed close together in the night, seeking warmth, and he had pushed his face deep into her hair. She thought of her parents then, and their strange hand-to-mouth life following the drum from India, to Canada, to Spain. Mama had told her once how proud she was of Captain Mason in his regimentals when the army marched in review. I will miss the life a little, she thought, but not enough to yearn for it. I have seen enough marching. Jesse says that the French cannot remain long in the Peninsula, and someday the war will end. She sighed, wondering if she could manage even another five minutes of it.

Jesse stirred when she sighed. “What are you thinking of?” he whispered

“My father. I suppose he is near Lisbon by now, and the lines.” She raised up on her elbow. “I am not so certain I will know what to say to him, when I see him.”

“Can you be generous with him?”

It was a good question, one for which she had no answer. Jesse seemed to require none. He smiled at her, and she
was content to lie beside him and wait for the sun to rise. Her eyes were closing again when she took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let it out. There was no mistaking it: campfires.

She glanced at her husband, who was deep in sleep again. Holding her breath, she rose to her feet, moving slowly so as not to startle the horses. She sidled up to the window and peered out, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the early dawn. Oh, God, she thought, her hand over her mouth.

Daylight revealed that they had camped at the edge of an abandoned village, hardly more than a collection of houses. She was no judge of distances, but French soldiers had camped at the other end of the desolate street, close enough for her to smell the fragrance of their breakfast campfire. She sniffed again. They were cooking sausages.

As she watched, horrified, one of the soldiers rose from his place by the fire and walked toward their ruined cottage. Her tongue seemed too large for her mouth, and she wondered if she could even warn her companions. She pulled herself away from the window, and watched out of the merest corner of it as he stopped, unbuttoned his trousers, and urinated. Unable to look away, she watched as he finished his chore, shook himself, buttoned his trousers, and ambled back to the fire.

On her hands and knees, she crawled to Jesse, put her hand just over his mouth, and touched his shoulder. He woke immediately. “The French,” she whispered. “They camped for the night just beyond us.”

Wilkie must have been awake, because he prodded Harper. In a second, the two of them crouched next to her. Jesse lay still where he was. “I smelled a campfire,” she whispered.

“How many?” Wilkie asked.

“Ten?” she replied, uncertain.

“A patrol,” Harper said. Moving quietly for a big man, he went to the window and raised up slowly. “Chasseurs,” he said as he returned to their little group. “I don’t see their horses.”

No one said anything. Elinore looked from one man to the other, and back to Jesse, who appeared no more than
thoughtful. “Do something!” she wanted to shriek, until reason righted itself. If they can be calm, I can be calm, she told herself, even as she started to shake. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Silently, Jesse took her by the arm and walked her behind the horses. The other two followed as he sat her down in the farthest corner from the door and the window, and wrapped her cloak around her. As the men she had come to know so well sat in front of her, fear was replaced with comfort. They are ready to defend me with their lives, she thought in wonder.

Jesse spoke first. “Private Wilkie, I have observed that you are somewhat resourceful,” he said. “You have also informed us—and we have seen your handiwork—that you specialize in diversion.”

“Aye, sir,” Wilkie said promptly. He glanced at Harper. “It’s not a new calling.”

“I didn’t think so. Have you and Harper been partners for long?”

“Aye, sir.” Wilkie leaned closer, after looking around, perhaps to make sure the French weren’t listening. “We worked the Strand, Captain: I did the diverting, and ’arry did the plucking.”

Elinore could see that in spite of their desperate situation, Jesse was hard put not to smile. “Dare I hope that patriotism led you to abandon the criminal life for the army?”

Harper grinned. “Not a bit of it, Chief! I got caught by a Runner, and the magistrate gave us the choice: Botany Bay or the king’s shilling.”

“Wilkie, too?”

“’e didn’t catch me!” Wilkie said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. He shrugged. “But what’s a good diversion without a cutpurse to follow through?”

“What, indeed?” Jesse asked. “My dear Wilkie, do you think you could find the chasseurs’ horses and liberate them without causing suspicion?”

The private thought a moment. “Piece o’cake, sir.”

“Make it look like the Frogs just tied a poor knot? We can’t have them even suspecting we are about.”

“I can do it. A little rain would help, though.”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when rain began to fall. With an expression that Elinore could only call beatific, Wilkie looked upward in surprise.

“Don’t even say it,” Jesse warned. “I am no expert, but I do not believe the Almighty humors miscreants when He has nothing better to do.”

Wilkie smiled, obviously unconvinced. “I was saved once in a Methodist street meeting. Maybe it took, Captain. C’mon, ’arry.”

The two of them crept back to the window. Wilkie positioned himself by the door, and Harper raised up just enough to see out. Both men were perfectly still, almost to the limit of Elinore’s patience, then Harper gave a little grunt, and Wilkie vanished. Elinore blinked. “Jesse, I’m amazed,” she said.

Her husband nodded. “London must be a safer place, with these two in Spain. A wealthier one, certainly.”

He moved closer to her. Harper remained by the window, watching, then moved back to them. “We’d better saddle these horses now, really quiet-like,” he said. “No telling how long Wilkie will take, but once the Frenchies leave their camp, we’d better be ready to ride.”

“You seem pretty confident about Wilkie,” Elinore said.