Lady Alexandra's Excellent Adventure: A Summersby Tale (22 page)

She had an idea.

“Hand me your pistols,” she shouted across at her brothers as they came up beside her.

“What the hell are you thinking, Alex?” William yelled, though he wasted no time on doing what she asked.

There was no time left to talk. The French were upon them and they were mad as hell now that one of their own had been hit. Two were getting ready to fire, so Alex aimed, and took her best shots, felling both of them. Two remained.

Unwilling to risk her life to reload, Alexandra judged the distance between herself and the oncoming soldiers. She might just be able to do it if she dared. No time to think.

Swinging back around, she ground her heels against her horse’s sides and hauled with all her might on the reins, bringing her about to face their attackers head on. At little more than a moment’s notice, Alexandra reached for her sword and dagger, holding one in each hand and thrusting them out at the oncoming men as momentum carried them forward. She saw the fear in their eyes the second before her blades touched them. They knew what came next and then it happened—blood splattered across her as each man was sliced open, their screams of despair dying in a horrific gurgle of bubbling liquid. Alexandra closed her eyes and dropped her weapons—she could not bear to have a reminder of such an awful moment, but at least it was over. Ryan and William were safe.

M
ichael had pulled his horse to a stop when he’d heard the air splitting screams. He could only pray that it didn’t belong to someone he knew. There was a bend in the road behind him, so he couldn’t see—he could only hear. Horses were coming toward him and again he prayed. If those were the French approaching, then everything he loved and cared about in this world would be lost. He had no power to move as he sat there upon his horse, his eyes fixed on the bend while he held his breath.

“Did you see her?” Ryan yelled, rounding the corner with William close behind him.

Michael shook his head, his throat tightening.

Where is Alex?

He couldn’t seem to get the question out. All he could do was sit there and stare as Ryan and William slowed their horses, bringing them to a walk.

“She was magnificent,” Ryan said, his voice filled with excitement as he related Alexandra’s unbelievable feat to Michael.

“She
what?”
Michael shouted, suddenly finding his voice. “She could have been killed. Speaking of which . . . Where the hell is she?”

No sooner had he asked the question, than he spotted her coming toward them at an almost sedated gait. Her shoulders were slumped and her head hung forward, lolling to the beat of her mare’s walk. A whoosh of air escaped Michael’s lungs as he let out a deep sigh of relief. But as Alexandra came closer, his stomach clenched itself into a knot and his heart ached at the sight of her pain. Gone was the strong and fearless hoyden he knew. Before him sat a trembling woman, her face wracked with anguish as tears poured freely down her cheeks.

“T
hank you,” William whispered as he reached out to grab her horse’s reins. “Had it not been for you . . . thank you.”

All Alexandra could do was nod. She was too overcome by the enormity of her own actions to be able to speak. She’d taken life without a second thought—just like that, as if it had meant nothing. Yet somewhere, each of those men had a set of parents, a wife, perhaps even children, all of whom loved them and worried for them. And in the blink of an eye, she’d altered the lives of all those people—people who were just now going about everyday things without a care in the world, until news of their son’s, husband’s, or father’s death would finally reach them. Then they would know grief, and the knowledge of having delivered such pain to the doorsteps of people she did not even know, was more than Alexandra could bear.

She felt an arm close about her waist and before she knew what was happening, she was being hauled onto another horse. Looking up, she saw Michael. The closeness of him, and the tenderness that shone in his eyes was enough to make her cry all the more. He hugged her against him, apparently not caring about her disheveled state or the blood staining her shirt. “You had no choice,” he whispered in her ear. “They would have killed your brothers. You did what you had to do, and you did it brilliantly.”

His words of praise brought on yet another wave of shaky tears, but in her heart, Alexandra knew that he was right.

Easing his horse into a slow trot, Michael started forward just as a loud crack split the air. Alexandra jerked against Michael’s chest when a second shot followed to the sound of whinnying horses. The frightened animals skittered about while their riders pulled frantically on the reins to steady them.

“What happened?” Alexandra yelled, looking about for the source of the sound.

“It seems one of Bonaparte’s men survived, Alex. Somehow he managed to stagger after us. He fired a shot, but it must have missed,” William told her as he looked toward the soldier who was now sprawled out upon the ground with his pistol still in his hand. “Ryan and I are both unharmed. How about you?”

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I—”

“Hold still!” Ryan yelled, turning his mount about and hurrying to her side. He reached Alexandra’s, side just in time to stop Michael from falling from the saddle.

“What the—” Alexandra gasped with horror when she turned to see Michael’s face, completely ashen, staring back at her.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, bracing himself against Ryan for support. “It’s merely a flesh wound, I’m sure.”

“You’ll be riding with me, Ashford,” William told him sternly. “Alex can ride with Ryan.”

“I said I’ll be fine. It barely even hurts. I’m sure it’s just a graze.”

“You were hit?” Alexandra’s voice came in a small whisper of disbelief.

“No need to trouble yourself about it, my dear. All things considered, there’s really . . . no reason for you to concern yourself about me now, just because I happen to be slightly injured.” He shot her a cheeky smile before turning his attention to William. “Come along then and give me a hand. I’m not sure if I can dismount gracefully without your assistance.”

Alexandra was simply stunned. She couldn’t quite believe that even though he’d just been struck by a bullet, Michael put her in her place. She felt as if she’d just been smacked.

As he slid from the horse with William’s and Ryan’s help, Alexandra finally caught sight of the blood. It was pooling beneath his shirt at the very top edge of his shoulder. Perhaps the bullet had just grazed him like he’d said. Still, there did seem to be an awful lot of blood. “Shouldn’t we tend to him before we do anything else?” she asked. She had no experience with this sort of thing. All she knew was that it looked really bad.

“Not on my life,” Michael growled. He hoisted himself up onto William’s horse a little awkwardly, wincing, no doubt in response to the pain. “We’re not risking the chance of failure because of this. Not after everything we’ve all been through, and not with all the people who depend on us to succeed. Pull yourself together, woman, it’s not as bad as it looks.”

Alexandra blinked. Was she just imagining it or did Michael seem brusquer with her than usual? Very well then, she thought as she grabbed hold of Ryan’s waist and felt the horse move beneath her. If Michael Ashford wished to bleed to death, then why the hell would she care? It wasn’t as if she loved him or anything. Besides, if he wanted to be in pain, then that was his prerogative. Still, she couldn’t help herself from thinking him a complete ass for being so damn stubborn.

I
t was almost eleven by the time they entered Brussels. Only a few people were about at that hour, all of them local citizens who were unable to help in locating Wellington’s whereabouts. They rode from street to street, hoping for some sign of where he might be staying, but soon discovered the enormity of such a task. Michael was looking visibly worse, though he did his best not to show it, but they all knew better and Alexandra didn’t miss the look of concern on William’s face.

At eleven forty-five, they came across three young men, all dressed in military uniforms and heading back to their quarters for the night. They were finally able to point them in the right direction, no more than a few streets away. By the time they arrived at Wellington’s headquarters, it was midnight, though candles still flickered from within.

William banged loudly on the door, and they were soon admitted by a young man whom they guessed to be the duke’s valet. Once inside, they wasted no time in stating their purpose and were quickly brought before the very man they’d been seeking.

“Your Grace.” William’s greeting echoed through the room as he bowed before the Duke. Righting himself, he gestured toward his companions. “May I present Lady Alexandra Summersby, Mr. Ryan Summersby, and Lord Trenton?”

All three made a courteous bow, including Alexandra who found it odd to courtesy without a dress. She cast a nervous glance in Michael’s direction and was relieved to see him standing straight and surprisingly upright.

Wellington nodded politely at each of them, but he did not smile. “I understand you’ve brought some news for me.” He eyed Alexandra who knew she was looking more and more like something that had just been dragged behind a cart.

“Yes, Your Grace,” William said. “If you’ll forgive our appearances—we decided time was of the essence.”

“Quite right.” Wellington squinted as he took in Michael’s bloodied shirt. “Will Lord Trenton be requiring medical assistance?”

William turned a questioning gaze on Michael.

“It’s very kind of you to offer, Your Grace,” Michael replied. “But I think we would all prefer to be on our way as soon as William here has said his peace. I thank you though.”

Without further ado, William conveyed what they knew as quickly and concisely as he was able to. Wellington stared at him for a silent moment afterward, before turning on his heel and marching across to a large oak table to look at a map. He murmured a few words to another military man dressed in equally prominent attire, pointed to a couple of places on the map and then looked across at them once more and frowned. “I wasn’t sure I ought to believe it until now,” he admitted. “But you have just confirmed how wrong I’ve been.”

Alexandra’s mouth fell open in shock at the duke’s show of self-deprecation. She’d heard rumors about him of course, but she’d never suspected he’d so openly admit to a tactical blunder. She had no clue as to what that blunder might be of course, but she felt that she was about to find out.

“Earlier today, I issued orders for my troops to gather at Nivelle in order to head off any attack coming from Mons,” Wellington said.

“But that will . . .” the words were out before Alexandra could stop them. She clamped her mouth shut and shifted uneasily as Wellington’s gaze met hers. An uncomfortable silence followed.

“Yes,” Wellington agreed with quiet firmness. “That will open the road between here and Charleroi, just as Bonaparte undoubtedly planned it.” He let out an agitated sigh before turning toward his companion. The other man was surprisingly unmoved by the sudden turn of events, his face set in a mask of sternness. “General, have a dispatch sent this instant to Nivelle.” Wellington told him. “I want the troops moved to Quatre Bras without further delay.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The general bowed, turned sharply on his heels and departed with swift steps that rang through the air.

“Thank you,” Wellington told them. “I suspect you plan to return to England now.”

“You’re quite right,” William replied. “I think we’re all a bit eager to get home.”

“Well then, I wish you a safe journey. Will you please give my best to Sir Percy? It seems I would have been quite lost without his assistance. He has the best men . . . and women”—he added as his eyes moved to Alexandra—“working for him. You may tell him from me that you four might just have saved the day. We’ll see tomorrow, and the day after that, but I want you to know how grateful I am for your efforts.”

“That’s very kind of you, Your Grace,” William said.

“Now, if you will excuse me, it does appear as if there’s a battle to be won.”

“Good luck,” the four of them told him in unison before bowing and making their exit. Wellington merely inclined his head in response before returning his full attention to the map that lay stretched out before him.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
WO

I
t was difficult for Alexandra to believe that all their efforts—the lies they’d lived for the past four weeks and all the risks they’d taken—had culminated with no more than a ten-minute audience with the Duke of Wellington. It not only baffled her but it also left her with a deflated feeling of disappointment. Somehow she’d expected more. She wasn’t sure what exactly—just that it was very surreal to now be riding toward England without any purpose.

They rode until they reached Gent, hoping to put some distance between themselves and any eventual battle that might take place in the morning. By the time they’d found some lodgings and been assigned to their rooms, they were all bone tired. It was after two, and they’d been on the road since early morning. Still, Michael’s injury needed tending to, and Alexandra was beginning to lose her patience. She quickly called for some hot water, some towels, and a pitcher of wine.

“My lord,” she told Michael firmly while she pointed to a chair.

He sat down with a loud groan that clearly indicated his resignation—he didn’t look as if he was the slightest bit pleased about the way in which he was being treated. Alexandra really didn’t care. She was going to tend to his wound whether he liked it or not.

“Good,” she said once he’d taken his seat. “Now take off your shirt.”

Judging from their pinched expressions, William and Ryan were doing their best to hide the ridiculous grins that played upon their faces, albeit with a tremendous amount of difficulty. Removing themselves to the other end of the room, they must have decided that it was best to stay out of their sister’s way, for which she was thankful. She certainly wasn’t in the mood to be trifled with right now.

With a glowering look of displeasure, Michael followed her orders, revealing a wide gash upon his shoulder. Closing her eyes, Alexandra took a deep breath before letting out a sigh of relief. It was only a graze, just as he’d said it was. The bullet had merely clipped him. Still, it had to be cleaned and the sooner she did that, the sooner they could all be off to bed.

Wetting a fresh linen towel, Alexandra dabbed at the blood, gently wiping it away as she cleaned it to the best of her abilities. When she was done, she asked that William and Ryan come and inspect her work. They both gave their approval before nodding in the direction of the pitcher. The worst was yet to come. Discarding the blood stained towel, Alexandra picked a clean one and poured a generous measure of wine over it. Without wasting time to think of how much it was sure to hurt, she pressed it against Michael’s wound. He barely even flinched.

“I apologize,” she said. “But I have to do this.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” he grinned. “I imagine this might be your pay back for when I tended to your feet in Paris.”

She hesitated for a moment, her hand resting upon his shoulder. This was the closest she’d been to him since departing the city. Her fingers trembled as the heat from his body flowed through them. The effect that he had on her had not lessened. If anything, it had risen to a new level of maddening frustration. How she longed to wrap her arms about his chest and hug him against her. But fear persisted, bellowing for her to beware.

“Just grit your teeth,” she heard herself say in a distant voice as she let her hand fall away from him. “It will be over before you know it.”

Once the wound was firmly bound and Alexandra was confident that it would remain so while Michael slept, they thanked the sleepy innkeeper and began to make their way upstairs. Alexandra was certain that she would sleep until ten, unless someone happened to wake her—she was so exhausted.

On the landing, Michael caught her arm, stopping her gently in her tracks. “A word if I may?” They quietly waited as both of her brothers said their good nights, each of them departing to their respective rooms.

“What is it, Michael?” she asked warily.

He saw the glimmer of hope that shone in her eyes, but there was still that trace of dread that lined them. He knew what he had to do, but it wasn’t going to be easy. However, if they were to stand a chance of happiness together, then she was not only going to have to face her greatest fear yet, but she was going to have to overcome it. For that to happen, he would have to back away, give her space and allow her the chance to fight her demons alone.

“Thank you for everything you did for me this evening, Alex. I just wanted to tell you I’m so very, very proud of you. You’re the strongest woman I know, and I’ve no doubt you can do anything you set your mind to. I know we’ve had our differences, but you have made me see that you truly are a remarkable woman. You’re one of a kind, and I . . . well, I want you to know I hold you in the highest regard.” He hoped that she would consider the meaning behind his words in the weeks to come as memories of the last few weeks filled her mind. Then hopefully, in time, she would come back to him.

Caught between two needs, that of pulling her into his arms and kissing her with all the longing that he felt and that of letting her go, Michael reluctantly released his hold on her arm. “Good night,” he whispered as he leaned toward her and placed a tender kiss upon her forehead.

She looked as if she might say something, but Michael didn’t wait to hear it. Instead, he hurried to his room, closing the door firmly behind him before he lost his resolve.

A
lexandra stood for a long moment afterward, staring at the solid oak door through which Michael had so quickly vanished. She wanted so desperately to go to him, but what was the use? She would only be prolonging the inevitable. She could not allow herself to love him and because of that, she would not marry him, so then really . . . what was the point? It would be better this way. Eventually, he would forget about her, move on, and find someone else.

Alexandra forced away the unwelcome wave of emotions that shook her at the thought of Michael in someone else’s arms. But then, they’d known each other for only four weeks, the man would hardly be in love with her. And even if he were, she was determined to push him away.

Eager for the escape sleep offered, she snuck inside her room to undress before climbing into bed.

A couple of larks perched on a tree branch just outside Alexandra’s window woke her with their twittering just after ten on the following morning. Stretching her arms out behind her head, she considered calling for a bath. She’d been too tired the previous evening and too unwilling to set the whole inn on its end at such a late hour that she’d gone to bed filthy. But now it was a new, bright, beautiful day. Her mission was over, and it was time to get cleaned up.

Moving to the bell pull, she rang for a maid. A slip of a girl appeared at her door five minutes later. Alexandra made her request and within twenty minutes a tub filled with steaming hot water was brought into her room.

With a sigh of contentment, Alexandra eased herself into the water, reveling in its warmth. She found the soap and eagerly covered herself in a thick lather, washing away any remnants of blood and dirt that might still be upon her. That done, she washed her hair, dunking her whole head underwater until she resurfaced with a splash of delight.

When she went downstairs for breakfast fifteen minutes later, she felt like a new woman. She wore a clean white shirt, a pair of light grey breeches, and her newly polished boots—her damp hair held loosely together at the nape of her neck with a red velvet ribbon.

Stepping outside onto a small sunny terrace, Alexandra noticed her brothers sitting at a round, iron wrought table. Ryan spotted her immediately and waved for her to come over and join them. “Tea or coffee?” he asked as she took a seat.

“Coffee,” she replied, just as a maid brought her a plate. Taking a roll of bread from the bread basket, she allowed Ryan to fill her cup.

“I’ll let you add the milk and sugar yourself, shall I?”

“Yes, thank you, Ryan.”

He leaned back in his chair to look at her. “You’re looking a whole lot better today than you were last night. Don’t you agree, William?”

“Hm?” William brought his attention away from the newspaper he was reading, waving away a boisterous fly as he did so. “Yes, absolutely.”

“Well, so do you,” Alexandra grinned as she spread a thick layer of jam across her bread. She licked her fingers as she glanced about. “Any sign of Michael yet?”

She’d aimed for a casual tone, but her brothers apparently knew her well enough to realize that there was nothing casual about it. They glanced at each other for a brief moment before Ryan excused himself and headed back inside. William folded his paper and turned a steady gaze toward his sister. “Ashford left early this morning,” he told her simply.

Alexandra froze in mid bite and stared across the table at her brother. She didn’t care; she reminded herself. This was after all what she’d wanted—to push him as far away from her as possible.

Then why did it feel as if her world was suddenly crumbling all around her? “I see” was all she could manage to say, even though she didn’t really see at all. It hurt that he’d gone without saying good-bye, and there was something else—a sudden feeling of emptiness that she’d never known before. She felt hollow.

“It’s probably for the best, you know,” William told her. “You clearly don’t care enough for him or you wouldn’t have broken off the engagement. What reason would he possibly have to stay?” The words sounded harsh, and Alexandra couldn’t help but serve him a disgruntled frown in return. She knew that he thought she was being an obstinate little twit, and he probably reckoned she’d do well with some blunt truths.

“I don’t know. I just thought—”

“What did you think, Alex? That you could string him along indefinitely to pamper your own ego? Surely you hold him in higher regard than that.”

“Of course, I do, William. You know that I . . .”

William raised an expectant eyebrow and watched while she struggled with her own emotions. She wanted to tell him how she felt, but how could she when she barely knew it herself?

“Never mind . . . it’s nothing,” she finally said, cringing at her cowardice.

“Good.” William’s voice was suddenly clipped with annoyance. “Then by all means let us be off. We can’t sit about here all day eating pastries, no matter how tempting it may be.”

“Yes, of course,” Alexandra agreed, finishing the last of her coffee and rising to her feet. There was a sudden smile on her face as she pushed in her chair and walked around the table to William’s side. “Papa will be terribly pleased to see us.”

“Indeed, he will, Alex,” he replied, throwing his arm over her shoulder and steering her toward the doorway. “Indeed, he will.”

C
aught up in her own thoughts, Alexandra was too distracted to notice the woman who was just then stepping out onto the terrace. A second later, she turned right into her, almost knocking her off her feet.

“Pardon!” Alexandra exclaimed, startled by the woman’s sudden appearance and quite embarrassed at not having noticed her soon enough to avoid running into her.

“Please, forgive my sister,” William said kindly, offering the woman his arm to steady her. “Her head is somewhere in the clouds today.”

Alexandra mumbled a few words of denial before pasting a bright smile on her face and turning her attention toward the helpless victim of her clumsiness. She appeared to be no more than eighteen years of age, shorter in height than Alexandra, but with a slim figure and ample bosom that any number of women might envy. Her hair was dark brown and straight in appearance, tied back into a taught knot at the nape of her neck. Her face was not exactly beautiful, but could certainly pass as pretty. Looking her up and down, Alexandra had to conclude that her greatest flaw had to be her taste in clothes. Her garments were simply drab and did very little to flatter her figure, but then, who was she to judge? After all, she was standing there in men’s clothing while the woman before her was at least wearing a dress.

“It’s quite all right,” the woman replied, stretching her neck to get a better view of the terrace. “I was just looking for my papa. Have you perhaps seen an older gentleman with graying hair and a big, bushy moustache?”

“Afraid not,” Alexandra said.

“Perhaps, he went for a walk in the gardens?” William suggested.

“Yes, I believe I’ll take a look. Papa does enjoy the flowers.” Thanking them for their advice, the woman hurried off toward the other side of the building.

“That was odd,” William muttered a moment later after they’d gone inside.

“What?”

“That woman you just ran into . . . there was something odd about her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t put my finger on it just now, but I’m sure it will come to me.”

“Very well then,” Alexandra said. “Let me just pack the last of my things so we can be off.”

T
hey continued on toward Dunkerque, with another overnight stay at Lichtervelde, enjoying the lack of haste. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Alexandra asked as they stopped in Veurne to marvel at the neo-gothic architecture surrounding the town square.

“Hm . . . I believe extraordinary might be a more apt description of it,” Ryan said as he stared up at the splendid display of color in the stained glass windows of the church.