Married At Midnight (4 page)

He wouldn't be at all surprised if he were blushing. He thanked God for the shadows and his sun-darkened skin.

"Did I dream it?" she asked. "Or are we married?"

Tension coiled in him. It had seemed so right, yet she could hardly be said to have been in full possession of her

faculties. "Yes, we are married, Kate. This little one is the legal son of Captain Charles Tennant unless his mother decides to contest the dubious honor."

"There is nothing dubious about it. I fear it is a terrible imposition on you, though. Such undisciplined weeping and wailing..."

"Hush." He leaned forward to place the baby in her arms. "I have no particular use for my unmarried status and am

glad to surrender it in the cause. I fear it's more likely to inconvenience you than me. But war often takes care of such problems."

* * *

Kate held her precious child close, looking up at Captain Tennant—her husband, for heaven's sake— not at all sure what to say. She knew this campaign was not going well, and Dennis's death was proof of it. In a little while she was going to be very concerned over the safety of herself and her son, but for the moment she was more concerned about this man.

Charles the Bold, they called him because he seemed without fear. Even just walking through the camp he gave off a kind of energy, a readiness, an extra dose of pure life. He led the charge others quailed from. He captured positions others thought invincible.

In many ways Dennis had hated him—a kind of envy really—but he'd loved to serve under him because Dennis was above all a soldier. He wanted to be in the thick of things and victorious.

Part of the captain's boldness came from strength, she supposed. He was an impressively big man, lean and hard with muscle, dusted dark with virile hair. In the intimacy of army life she hadn't been able to

avoid seeing men in various stages of undress and she'd sometimes feasted her eyes on the captain's fine form.

And felt guilty afterward.

His was a boldness of the spirit, though. She'd often seen his dark eyes light with the joy of a terrifying challenge. He didn't laugh much, but his smile, wide and carefree, had terrified her once or twice. It had generally been a prelude to

him leading his men into appalling danger.

His smile now was just an ordinary one, yet he seemed to be expecting to die. She'd heard him say that since he didn't fear death, it could not dismay him. Now, he still didn't seem to fear death, but was he walking toward it?

She'd seen it happen a time or two. It wasn't suicide, and it certainly wasn't fear. Sometimes men just grew war-weary. They cheated death again and again until one day the game palled and death, like a teasing harlot, became not the

enemy but the seducer.

Kate didn't have the energy to fight death at the moment, but she'd hate to think that their strange midnight wedding

might have pushed him closer to the brink. "I would much rather you didn't die," she said simply.

"Then I assure you I will endeavor not to. I think this greedy lot may have left a little stew. Would you like some?"

"Yes please."

When he left her corner, she put the baby down on the bed and pulled back the blankets a little to peep into the room. Now the excitement was over, the men had rolled in their cloaks and blankets to sleep.

Mr. Rightwell was sitting quietly by the fire. He looked up and smiled at her quite kindly, so she smiled back.

She'd almost kidnapped the poor man and dragged him along on this adventure.

The captain had squatted down by the hearth to scrape the last of the stew into the bowl, and the dying fire outlined him like a halo. She grinned at that. Saintly, he certainly was not.

Good, though. Yes, he was a good man. She'd lived with his company now for over a year and seen the way he cared for his men. A rough caring at times, and he could be harsh when called for, but caring all the same.

She dragged her eyes away from the sight of him and turned back to her baby. She'd wrapped him in cloths and a blanket for warmth, but she would have to put a baby clout on him before he soiled everything. She carefully unwrapped his tiny limbs and put the folded cloth between his legs, securing it with an outer cloth, tied at either side. She'd practiced this on other babies, but her own newborn was so tiny and delicate that she was afraid. She'd dearly like to have one of the women from the camp here to advise her.

Meg Fully, perhaps, who'd had a baby recently. Or Red Jess who'd had ten of her own and generally acted as midwife. These women had become her friends, though back home in Aylesbury she'd have crossed the street to avoid them.

Meg and Jess would scold her mightily for this mad venture, though it did seem that thus far she'd avoided disaster. Both she and her baby were alive.

The captain was coming over with the bowl and a spoon. Perhaps their marriage was the disaster she deserved. She couldn't think so. She did regret entangling him, but her child had a name now, and a respectable one.

She put the baby down again to take the bowl, murmuring her thanks.

He sat cross-legged on the ground by her bed, as graceful as a big cat. "There was only a crust of bread, so I broke it up into the broth. There's not much meat left, I'm afraid."

She took a spoonful. "It's good."

"It's not much nourishment after all that work. No wonder they call it labor."

"I admit I am hungry." She consumed the stew with indecent speed and could have eaten more if there'd been any. She knew enough to be grateful for what she'd had. One of the inefficiencies of this campaign was in the food supply. If there'd been meat in the stew it had probably been a rabbit one of the men had managed to snare or shoot.

She saw Mr. Rightwell find himself a corner and lie down to sleep. "You must be tired," she said to the captain.

"So must you."

They both spoke softly to avoid disturbing the exhausted men.

"A little. But there's a kind of excitement. I don't think I can settle yet."

He nodded. "Like after a battle. But why not try? Lie down, and if you don't mind, I'll lie here by you in case you need anything in the night."

Because he clearly wouldn't rest until she did, Kate lay back on her lumpy bed and closed her eyes. She heard him moving and peeped to see he'd wrapped himself in his army cloak just a foot away and appeared to have gone to sleep.

She rolled, too, so that she could study her sleeping baby. Such a soft little face, yet so old-looking.

Round cheeks,

tiny nose, and closed eyes offered no hint of a resemblance. What would he look like as he grew?

By God, but I wish the captain was your father.

Taking the baby with her, she rolled so she could look at the captain again, placing the baby between them. The women at the camp had assured her that she wouldn't smother a baby in her sleep unless she was drunk. She prayed that was true for she had no cradle or other safe warm spot to put him in.

The captain looked less formidable lying down and with his eyes closed. She'd always been struck by his eyes, but now she realized they were framed by remarkably long dark lashes. His hair was dark, too, and fell in disorder around him, having escaped its ribbon. One lock straggled down over his eyes. She remembered him stroking her hair off her face many times during labor. She wished she were bold enough to do the same to him. She was not Kate the Bold, though. She was Kate Dunstable, very proper daughter of Augustus Dunstable Esquire of Aylesbury, Purveyor of Books, Pamphlets, and Writing Materials. Tears threatened. Childlike, she wanted her home and her mother at this moment...

She pushed such weak thoughts away, studying instead the man who'd saved her. She'd never have thought him the

kind of man to involve himself in a birth. But then, what choice had he had other than to toss her into the dubious

care of his men?

Suddenly, Kate lay back on the bed, painfully embarrassed. Giving birth had been the strangest, strongest, most exhilarating experience of her life. But now she thought of what she must have looked like

—what she must have

sounded like—and turned hot from head to toe.

No wonder they kept men out of these affairs!

The next thing she knew, a strange noise was dragging her out of sleep. An animal? A baby . ..

Her baby!

She jerked up and grabbed him. "Shhhhhh."

"What is it?" the captain asked sleepily.

"I think he's hungry."

" 'Struth."

Kate swallowed a chuckle as she exposed a breast and tried again the tricky business of attachment. The baby seemed willing to take a good firm grip of just about anything near its mouth but it took a few tries to get him on the nipple.

Then there were the strange sensations of suckling and a kind of tingling in response. Kate relaxed back against her lumpy pillow, relieved that the babe was silent and sucking away with remarkable strength and confidence.

Kate heard a faint snore and looked to see that the captain was fast asleep again on his back. The wonders
of
birth

and babies had palled a bit, she assumed.

The baby didn't feed long and soon they both drifted back to sleep.

The next time her son woke her, the captain sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Horses are definitely easier." He spoke softly,

for the men were still sleeping, and the only light was the embers of the fire.

"I beg your pardon?" said Kate, the babe already suckling.

"Foals find their mother without having to demand attention." She could hear teasing humor in his voice as he added, "And they don't make such a stink."

Kate was only too aware that the baby had wet his cloth, but she retorted, "I have smelled a stable, Captain."

Clearly the infant had only wanted a light snack, for he soon slid off the nipple, fast asleep. Kate put him down and began to struggle to her feet.

Immediately, Captain Tennant pushed her down. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

"I need water to wash him."

"Stay there. I'll get it. I put a jug by the fire last night so it will be a little warm."

He brought the bowl of water and a candle he'd lit in the embers. She thanked him, but added, "I don't think I need

to lie abed, you know."

"Then why do they call it 'lying in'?"

"Are you always so logical?" She set about cleaning and changing the child, being especially careful in the dim light. "Perhaps women do usually keep to their bed for a few days. But that requires a bevy of female assistants to fetch

and carry and a deal more security than we have here."

He rubbed his big hands over his face. "Gads, you're right. We have to get you out of here, though I'm damned if I know how. If no transport comes by, you'll have to walk."

"I know."

"But can you?"

She looked up, hoping she looked and sounded calm and confident. "What choice do I have? Quite apart from

warfare, I'm soon going to run out of clean cloths for him."

He touched her hair. "As soon as there's a trace of light, I'll send a couple of men to try to find some form of transport. I'd escort you, but. . ."

"But your duty lies elsewhere." She picked up her clean little tyrant and held him close. "I understand, Captain."

"You're a remarkable woman, Kate."

"Am I? I feel like a remarkably foolish one, all in all."

He stretched, hands brushing the rafters, then coiled down again to sit beside her, leaning on one raised knee. "What happened between you and Fallowfield, Kate? If you were willing to go to such lengths to force a marriage, why not sooner?"

Kate delayed by looking down and stroking her baby's tiny head. She could feel a light fuzz beneath her

fingers, but

now it had dried, the poor thing looked almost bald.

"You don't want to talk about it?"

She looked up then into those remarkable eyes, eyes that mocked cowards and fools. "It's just such a sorry tale. The truth is that until a short while ago, I thought we
were
properly married."

"What?"

She grimaced. "I'd heard tales of false clergymen and lying witnesses used by libertines to cozen virtuous young ladies, but of course such things could never happen to me. And certainly Lieutenant Dennis Fallowfield—handsome,

charming, adoring— would never resort to such deceit."

"He staged an elopement?"

"Certainly not!" Then the absurdity of her outrage struck her and she smothered a laugh. She laid the baby back down on the mattress and lay back on her pillow. "I think you deserve to hear the whole tale, Captain."

He lay back too; so that their heads were only a foot or so apart. Pillow talk, didn't they call it? she thought wryly.

"Could you bring yourself to call me Charles?" he asked.

She would do almost anything for him, but that was beyond her. "I really don't think so."

He just shrugged and lay there on his side, head propped up on hand, attentive.

"Dennis was on furlough and visiting friends near my home. Of course you know he had looks and charm to turn any female head. It seems brash to say so, but I too am similarly cursed."

"I don't think Dennis saw his attractions as a curse."

"Perhaps not. I have always found beauty a cross to bear."

"You certainly made a remarkable couple. Two blond gods among mere mortals."

Kate couldn't be sure if his tone was ironic or not. "Perhaps that was part of my appeal to him. Mainly, however, I

was a challenge. Many men of all stations had wooed me and yet I remained unmarried. The truth was that none of

my suitors caught my fancy and I was content enough with my life not to leap into marriage. In time, however, the

male species began to see my unmarried state as a kind of insult. I gather—though of course I only discovered this recently—that the subject of my chastity came up over a punch bowl and Dennis boasted that no woman had ever resisted him. Perhaps it was cheating of him to decide to win my chastity through marriage, but he courted me most assiduously and I proved as foolish as the rest of my sex. I accepted him even though he was charmingly frank about