Lady Emma's Campaign (10 page)

“Enrique, help Colonel Stackhouse and Señorita Alvarez. Continue toward the river. Lady Emma and I will join you shortly,” Sidney said and then squatted down to Emma’s eye level. He pulled her hands from her face and retrieved a handkerchief from his jacket pocket, grimacing as he looked at it. Lieutenant Trenchard was obviously not fastidious about cleanliness.

When he offered it to her, she held up her palms and saw the mud covering the palms of her gloves where they’d landed on the ground. The sight was apparently too much, and she began to weep in earnest, sobs wracking her body.

Sidney lifted her chin and found the cleanest corner of the handkerchief to wipe her cheeks. “Emma, do not cry.”

His admonition only served to make her weep harder.

“You did not injure your . . . um . . .” Sidney glanced down to where she sat in the mud. “Your . . .
self
, did you?” he asked.

Emma shook her head.

“Then, we can overcome whatever is distressing you. Tell me what is wrong.”

“Nothing has happened the way it was supposed to.” Emma choked on her sobs, and Sidney knew enough to remain silent and simply listen.

“I have disappointed my brother, first by sneaking aboard his ship, then by sneaking away from Cádiz. And it is because of me that Colonel Stackhouse was injured. I cannot walk to Tarifa in these ghastly boots. It is impossible. I am not a soldier.”

She had stowed away on William’s ship?

Her sobs were building in momentum, and Sidney found her increasingly difficult to understand with the keening cries distorting her words. He dabbed the corner of the handkerchief over her cheeks again, searching his brain for anything he might say to comfort her.

She continued speaking, and he strained to listen. “Images in my mind . . . men broken . . . and . . . dying. And horses . . . and . . . the screams and cries and explosions . . .”

Sidney empathized completely. He had violent images of his own—some twenty years old—that refused to leave his mind. His chest ached as he realized she would carry these memories with her always. “I am sorry, Emma. War is more horrific than anyone who has not witnessed it could possibly imagine. How I wish I could take such things from you.”

“And I ran away . . . I should have helped the soldier in the forest, but I was afraid, and . . . I am so ashamed.”

Sidney planted one knee in the mud next to her and put his arm around her, pulling her close to cry on his shoulder. He wondered what she had seen. It must have been shocking to leave such an impression upon her.

“Shh. Nothing could have prepared you for such a thing.”

“I should not have run away. I deserted him—another human being—in his most desperate hour. I am a terrible person.”

He pulled away and lifted her chin, forcing her gaze to his. “You are not a terrible person. You are a wonderful person who was in a terrible situation. There are times when the most seasoned soldier cannot endure what war does to him. Do you understand?”

Emma nodded and laid her head back upon his shoulder. “I will not do it again,” she said softly. “I will not neglect a person I can help.”

“Of course you will not,” Sidney said.

They remained quiet for a time, with only Emma’s sniffles breaking the silence.

Although they needed to make haste, Sidney found that he wasn’t at all annoyed by the interruption. It was surprisingly comfortable to pass the time in such a way. Even though it was humid and they were in the mud of a stinky bog, Emma still managed to smell wonderful. She was soft and warm, and he decided that comforting her was perhaps the most pleasant thing he had done in years.

However, as much as he didn’t want to put an end to the moment, he knew the others were waiting for them. “Are you ready to continue, now?”

She took a deep shuddering breath and lifted her head. She nodded, and Sidney stood, reaching for her hands to assist her.

Emma looked at her soiled gloves and then moved her eyes to her stockinged foot that had sunk partway into the mud. She twisted slightly to examine her dress; the entire back of the skirts was stained.

Her lip began to tremble once more, but before she could start to weep again, Sidney flung himself down, sitting in the mud next to her.

Emma made a sound somewhere between a shriek and a giggle. “Sidney! Your . . . trousers are filthy.”

“I thought we might attempt to begin our own trend. I predict it will soon be the height of fashion upon the Spanish plain to have mud covering one’s backside.”

Emma’s face turned crimson, and a laugh burst forth. She bumped into his shoulder with hers. “And will it also be a la mode to travel with no bonnet or parasol and develop a face full of freckles?”

“Undoubtedly.” He tapped his finger against her nose. “The more freckles the better.” He rose and turned to help Emma stand and balance while she slid her muddy foot into her salt-and-mud encrusted boot and pulled it up beneath her skirts. “And now, my dear, if you will accompany me on a stroll about this delightful bog . . .”

Emma laughed again, and the sound penetrated into a part of Sidney’s heart he hadn’t remembered existed. It was strange that he had not realized how much he’d missed the sound of her laughter until now. And stranger still how quickly he pledged to himself that he would move heaven and earth to hear it again.

As Emma walked next to
Sidney, she was overcome by a myriad of emotions: she was embarrassed by her outburst, bolstered by Sidney’s faith in her, but mostly, just exhausted. She had never walked so far in her life. She tried to adjust her floor-length shawl over her shoulders, but it was hopeless—the wet silk merely stuck to her skirts. She held her soiled gloves between her fingers. The boots she wore rose over her knees, making it impossible to completely bend her legs. One boot was filled with mud and made a wet, squishing sound with every step. The other continued to slide off her heel as it stuck to the ground, and she had to twist her foot to lift it.

When she pondered the hours she had spent in deportment training where she’d practiced moving across the floor as though she were gliding, a smile twisted her lips.

“What are you thinking of that amuses you so?” asked Sidney.

Emma glanced up at him, not realizing he had been watching her. “I was remembering my finishing school instructors. They believed me to be prepared to behave with decorum in any possible situation. Certainly they did not foresee such an eventuality as this.” She pulled her boot out of the mud with a loud squelching sound to prove her point.

Sidney chuckled. “I imagine that all your gentlemen suitors would still consider you every bit as desirable, should they see you at this moment. If not, then they are completely unworthy of your affection.”

She kept her eyes on the muddy ground in front of her. Sidney had spoken lightly, having no idea what his words did to her. She wished that
he
found her desirable. She imagined how differently he would look at her if she were in London wearing a ball gown—perhaps something with gossamer netting—feathers in her hair, and lace at her neckline. If only she were in her element, she would know the perfect thing to say, the exact tilt of her head and curl of her lips that would captivate him.

“Clearly you have not spent much time among the
ton
,” she said. “I cannot think of one gentleman of my association in London who would not be repelled by such a sight as this.” Emma made a waving motion, encompassing her dirty gown and the stinking bog surrounding them.

“Ah, yes. Those soft-fingered fops who prefer servants waiting on them as they lounge around a drawing room in an embroidered waistcoat instead of getting their boots dirty doing an honest day’s work.” His voice had lost all trace of humor. “Avoid that type at all cost, Emma, unless you aspire to a life of boredom. Surely you can find someone with more substance.”

Emma didn’t think she had ever heard such bitterness in Sidney’s voice. She felt her hackles rise in defense of her friends and her brother. “Not every gentleman is lazy, sir. William attends Parliament and sees to the needs of his tenants, and even now is establishing an import business to bring sugar from Amelia’s plantation in Jamaica. He works extremely hard, I assure you.” She had begun to breathe heavily, whether from the effort of walking or the lump that was growing in her throat, she did not know.

Sidney stopped. “Emma, I apologize. I certainly did not refer to William when I spoke. I am afraid I allowed a few particular examples to color my opinion. It was not my intention to pass judgment upon an entire class when my own experiences are with a select number. I should have thought before I spoke.” His eyebrows raised as his gaze met hers. “Please forgive my words.”

Emma nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

Sidney resumed walking, patting her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow and sending tingles up her arm. “And now, I believe it is time to change the topic. Why don’t you decide upon a subject, as I made such a blunder with the last?”

Emma glanced ahead. They were nearing the others, who had sat down beneath a dead tree to wait for them. She estimated that she would have Sidney’s undivided attention for a few minutes more and did not want him hurrying off to join the others.

“I do have something I would ask you . . .” she said, “about the prison.”

She felt Sidney stiffen. “What would you like to know?”

Emma pressed on, not wanting to back down now that she’d broached the subject. She could tell he was uncomfortable, but truthfully, she was feeling a bit vindicated as he’d not seemed to mind touching on topics sensitive to her. “When I arrived and asked to see you, the guard told me that there was no prisoner with your name, which was the same report given to Lieutenant Wellard. However, another guard began to argue with him, stating that you were, in fact, a prisoner, and the first attempted to quiet him and send me away.”

“And being an accomplished lady, you understood them.” Sidney’s mouth quirked in an expression that warmed Emma down to her toes.

“It seems that the French army has underestimated Miss Carlisle’s insistence that her finishing school’s graduates be proficient in French and German. I did not ever imagine that conjugating verbs and memorizing vocabulary sheets would be useful.” Emma lowered her head to hide her blush, wishing she had a bonnet to conceal her face. She was rather pleased by the fact that she had outsmarted those fools at the gate, but she did not want Sidney to think her proud.

“Yes, well,” she continued, “once I learned you were indeed inside the fort, I demanded to see you, and when I was shown to the . . . Oh, Sidney, how did you ever endure that place? And why the deceit? William told me that the typical practice in the capture of an officer—especially a captain—would be the issue of a ransom demand. If you had given your parole, you should have been treated more like a guest than a common prisoner. Why was your imprisonment concealed?”

Sidney stopped walking. “What is the date, Emma?”

“The fifteenth of June.”

“Nearly two months then,” he muttered. He glanced toward the tree where the other members of their party rested; then he withdrew an object from his trouser pocket and offered it to Emma. “I retrieved this from Lieutenant Trenchard’s coat.”

She looked up at his face as she took the object and then turned her attention down to study it. It was a misshapen, flattish piece of tarnished metal with jagged edges. When she moved it to catch the light, she noticed symbols pressed into the faces—most notably, a large cross.

“I am afraid I do not understand,” she said. “Is this a coin?”

“Not just any coin. A ‘piece of eight,’ a
real
, minted in Peru by the Spanish conquistadors 250 years ago,” Sidney said, sweeping his hand in a flourish.

“Is it from a pirate chest?” Emma looked back at the coin. “Did you find a buried treasure?”

The corners of Sidney’s mouth lifted in a tired smile. He shook his head. “If only it were so exciting. No, I merely found the coin shortly after coming ashore. I saw it on the ground and, thinking it looked interesting, put it in my pocket. That action has proven to be the greatest regret of my life. The warden, Lieutenant Trenchard—lovely gentleman—you remember?”

Emma shuddered at the memory and nodded.

Sidney continued, “He considers himself quite the numismatist—an expert in coins. When he found the
real
upon my person, he was convinced that it came from the lost treasure of de la Cruz, rumored to be hidden by smugglers centuries ago near the coast of Tarifa.”

“And do you remember where you found it?” Emma asked. “Why did you not tell him?”

“Well, aside from the fact that the information compromises the confidentiality of troop movement, I am convinced that the last thing Napoleon and the Republic need is a fortune in conquistador silver.”

“Such a thing could win the war for them,” Emma mused.

“It certainly would not hurt their cause,” he said, scowling.

“And Lieutenant Trenchard concealed your capture because he did not want the navy to pay your ransom and take you away before he could discover where you found the coin.”

“Exactly correct. He was convinced that given the right . . . encouragement, I would lead him to the treasure.”

Emma’s stomach clenched as she realized what type of encouragement Sidney meant. “And that is why you were in the dungeon, and why your face . . .” She took a breath and spoke softly. “He tortured you. Oh, Sidney, I am so sorry.” She handed the coin back to him, wishing she could kiss away each cut and bruise and the look of anguish upon his face.

Sidney held the coin between two fingers, staring at it as he spoke. “I do not know if I shall ever be the same man, Emma. I lost two months of my life. I may have surrendered a piece of my soul for this chunk of metal.” He clenched the coin in his fist and pulled back his arm as if to throw it.

Emma laid a hand upon his shoulder, stopping him, and he turned his head toward her with brows raised in question.

“If you indeed paid such a high price for it, I do not think you should cast it away.”

Sidney studied her for a moment. The typical playfulness in his eyes was replaced by a dark sorrow that caused Emma’s heart to ache. His eyes never left hers as he reached for her hand and pressed the coin into it. “Nobody has a better claim on my soul. If it were not for you, I would still be in that—” He swallowed and closed his hand around hers. “You keep this.”

They stood a moment longer, and Emma thought her heart would explode from her chest as Sidney held her hand and looked into her face.

A noise nearby startled them, and Sidney whipped around, drawing his sword and thrusting Emma behind him.

“Señor! Captain Fletcher, it is only I.”

Emma peered around Sidney’s shoulder and saw Enrique standing in much the same stance as the first time they had seen him. He held his hands up, and his eyes were wide and frightened. Enrique began backing away, and when Sidney did not immediately lower his weapon, Emma placed her hand upon his arm.

“Sidney . . .”

He was breathing heavily, and his arm shook beneath her hand.

Emma stepped around until she was facing him. Beads of sweat stood out across his forehead.

He looked at her strangely for a moment before his eyes seemed to widen in recognition. He lowered his sword and resheathed it, taking a few unsteady breaths. “I beg your pardon, Señor. I’m afraid it is unwise to startle me.”

Enrique cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. “I apologize for taking you by surprise, Captain. I simply wanted to ensure that Lady Emma is well?”

“I am quite recovered, Señor. Thank you.” Emma said. Her eyes flicked briefly to him but returned immediately to Sidney. Though his breathing had reverted to normal, his muscles still seemed tense, and the lines around his mouth indicated that he felt a great deal of strain.

“And perhaps you will walk with me to the river?” Enrique said to Emma. His gaze darted to her clenched fist that held the coin.

“I thank you, Señor, but I would prefer to walk alone for a bit.” Emma looked back at Sidney, whose eyes had narrowed as he watched Enrique. She wondered if he had seen Enrique’s errant glance as well. The more time she spent with Enrique, the more uncomfortable she had become with his flirting and his “innocent” touches.

Taking her leave, she hurried ahead of the men, walking as quickly as she could through the mud. She wanted some time to herself to process the things Sidney had told her.

He had not given details of his mistreatment, but she had seen the expression on his face when Enrique had startled him. His eyes had bulged, darting in terror, his nostrils flared, and his breathing was ragged. And he did not seem to recognize her until his panic had subsided. She had seen nearly the same thing in her mother after her father had been particularly brutal. And Emma had even felt it to a much lesser extent when he had mistreated her. The worst part had been the horrible shame that followed—the feeling that it could have been prevented if only she had behaved or tried harder to please her father.

She was nearly to the river when she glanced behind to see that Sidney and Enrique had stopped walking and were engaged in conversation. Sidney unconsciously shook a lock of hair off his forehead, and the sight caused her heart to flutter.

The uneven edges of the coin pressed into her palm, and Emma tucked the bit of metal into a pocket hidden in the folds of her gown, resolving to find a way to help Sidney recover. Whatever it took, she would find a way to bring the laughter back into his eyes.