The Sergeant's Lady (19 page)

“I did, before. But I think it might be best if I spent the winter in Gloucestershire with James and Lucy. I owe them a long visit, and I may be of use to Lucy during her confinement.”

“As long as you’re certain.”

“I am.”

And with that, Anna was established as a member of Alec and Helen’s household for as long as she chose to stay. With Will within her reach, she had no intentions of going anywhere.

***

The next fortnight flew by in a happy blur. The army stayed in camp. Anna didn’t question why neither side offered combat or otherwise provoked the other, but accepted it as a gift from the fates. Will came to her every second or third night, and they loved each other well on her narrow bed.

She slept lightly, awakening to fly into Will’s arms the instant he climbed through her window. After their passion had been slaked for the moment, they would curl up together and whisper about anything except the future.

One night as they lay in each other’s arms, he peered at the book resting on the trunk beside her bed. “What are you reading?”

“
The Scottish Chiefs
,” she replied. “You’d enjoy it, even if your people are the villains of the piece.”

“My people?”

“The English, of course. The accursed Southrons.”

“Southrons, is it?” Anna got the sense that he was fighting to restrain laughter.

“Yes, though the author takes pains to show that not all Englishmen are perfidious. We meet the occasional courteous knight or honest soldier.”

“That’s a comfort. I do try to avoid perfidy, wretched Southron though I am.”

She laughed against his shoulder. “You’re just like Helen. She’s English, too, and she mocks Alec and me for taking such pleasure in the story.”

“Well, it explains why your accent has been growing stronger—you could almost be sister to the Highlanders in the regiment.”

“Och, aye?” she said, deliberately exaggerating.

“Aye, ye could, bonny lassie.” His Scottish accent was atrocious, and she shook from head to toe with the effort of suppressing a laugh that might waken the household. “I wondered about it,” he said in his normal voice, “but now I understand. I can only wonder that you still allow a Southron soldier into your bed, warrior woman of the Gordons that you are.”

She stretched luxuriantly against him to remind him how very welcome he was. “I’m no warrior,” she said. “Though at least I’m not so pathetic a creature as the heroine of the book. Every time she faces any peril, she swoons or at the least is overcome. If I had such an excess of sensibility, I’d be dead a dozen times over by now.”

“As many as that?”

“Yes—and been the death of you, too. You would’ve had to carry me bodily out of that French camp, for example. But I wouldn’t have lived to meet you in the first place. I’ve fallen in a river or two, between Dunmalcolm and campaign life—if I’d swooned instead of swum, I’d be dead.” She shook her head. “It may be very feminine and interesting, but I’m glad I’m not the fainting kind.”

“So am I,” he agreed. “Though I might take it as a personal challenge to see if I can make you swoon.” He rolled atop her and kissed her thoroughly.

She sank her hands into his hair. “Whatever shall I do? I’m powerless against the wiles of my mighty Southron captor.”

He responded with a laugh that was almost a growl, followed by the slowest and most thorough loving yet.

“You didn’t swoon,” he commented afterward.

“But I am quite overcome,” she replied languorously. “Is that sufficient?”

He buried his face in her hair. “Absolutely.”

“You wouldn’t want me to in any case. Admit it, sharing a bed with a woman in a swoon would be disconcerting.”

“Very,” he agreed. “She wouldn’t kiss me back or dig her nails into my shoulders or say my name again and again in that maddening way you have.”

Anna blushed. “You’ve no idea how hard it is not to scream it.”

He held her for a long time before slipping away into the night.

***

Her only regret was that she could not hold back time and linger in this paradisiacal place. Outside of winter quarters, she had rarely known the army to linger so long in one spot. Soon they must leave it behind, and she was unlikely to have such beautifully private quarters again. Also, while Helen and Alec showed no signs of tiring of her company, she knew she couldn’t stay with the army forever.

Anna accepted her dread of the future as a fair trade for the furtive bliss of the present. But she couldn’t help wishing she and Will could be together in the light. She felt more married to him than she ever had to Sebastian. As much as their nights delighted her, as much as she reveled in giving and receiving love in the caresses of hands and lips, in the slide of skin on skin, she wanted more. She wanted an ordinary, daylight life at his side.

By the end of the fortnight she was exhausted from her half-sleepless nights. She yawned over her sewing, fought to stay awake in the stifling afternoons and dozed off while Alec read after dinner. When Helen fussed over her, she assured her she was quite well, only tired—perhaps the early August heat was disturbing her sleep.

Helen accepted that, but Anna did wonder at herself. Surely she slept as much despite her stolen hours with Will as she had in the social whirl of her Seasons, and she had never felt like this then. But she was older now, and a Spanish summer
was
tiring in a way a London spring was not. And she had endured much over the past few years—perhaps the exhaustion had overtaken her at last. She was always alert when Will came to her. Nothing else mattered.

“Lieutenant Montmorency!”

George turned at the sound of Captain Matheson’s voice. “Yes, sir?”

“Please join me for coffee.”

He complied, though he would have preferred to remain alone. It was early one morning of the third week since the convoy had returned to the army. George’s wounds from the skirmish with the French battalion had healed. That, combined with his new rank as first lieutenant of the company, should have made him happy. But he was not, and he did not care to endure Captain Matheson’s courtesy. The captain did not like him, of that George was certain. He merely felt it his duty to be kind to a junior officer, and George did not relish being a duty. Yet to advance he must please his superiors, so he joined the captain outside his tent.

“I hope your wounds don’t trouble you,” Captain Matheson said as he handed him a steaming mug.

“Not at all, sir,” he said politely. “My head hasn’t ached in a week, and I’m sure I’m fit for duty now.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” The captain leaned back in his camp chair and studied George, tenting his fingers. “I’d feared you weren’t healing well—you look pale.”

George knew he did, but poor health was not the cause. “I own I shall be glad when the weather cools.”

“So shall we all—until we’re shivering in winter quarters and longing for the summer.”

He murmured some response, and they sipped their coffee in silence for a few moments.

Captain Matheson cleared his throat. “Is something troubling you, Lieutenant? A quarrel, troubles at home? I’d be happy to offer any assistance in my power.”

“Nothing at all,” George lied, as he thought of his gaming debts and yesterday’s letter from Mama.

“I’m glad. But—do come to me if you’re in need.” The captain spoke with labored sincerity—no real warmth of friendship—and George vowed never to confide in him.

As soon as he could, he excused himself and resumed pacing about the camp. He ought to have stayed away from cards. Gambling had been his father’s downfall. But his fellow officers expected him to play, and when he’d won the money to purchase the step to captain as soon as the next opening appeared, he had felt lucky and played more. Now he had lost his initial winnings and was so deeply in debt he could not imagine a way out.

Mama’s letter had sealed his misery. She and his four sisters had been taken in by the same distant cousin who had got him his place in the Rifles, and they were living on Lord and Lady Hartshorn’s charity. They had all been living quietly together in a cottage on the Hartshorn estate, but now Mama had uncomplainingly told him that Lady Hartshorn had found suitable positions for his two eldest sisters. Augusta was companion to Lady Hartshorn’s great-aunt, while Henrietta was governess to the daughters of a Bristol merchant. Mama had written only of the baroness’s kindness and of her promise to do the same for Clarissa and Frederica when they were older.

But George seethed with humiliation. His sisters were ladies, and it demeaned them to toil for their bread. Henrietta’s position especially galled him. A Montmorency, a daughter of an ancient noble line, forced to tutor the spoiled infants of some low merchant!

He frowned as Atkins strolled by, stifling a yawn and laughing at something Reynolds said. The sergeants’ untroubled happiness seemed too much to bear.

George meant to keep walking, but an overheard snatch of conversation among some of the breakfasting riflemen arrested him. He leaned against an oxcart and pretended to inspect a worn spot on one of his boots.

“It’s no wonder Sergeant Atkins is tired,” Bailey said, leaning a little closer to his confidantes, Robertson and Flaherty.

“Why’s that?” Flaherty asked.

“His bedroll was empty when I came back from sentry duty just after midnight, and then when I happened to wake again, not long before dawn, I saw him creeping back into camp. He must have a woman in the village.”

“You can’t say that just because he was away from his blanket.” Robertson said. “Maybe he ate something that disagreed with him.”

Bailey shook his head. “I don’t think so. There was a night last week when
I
was visiting some of the ladies of San Miguel—”

“—whose company you paid for,” Robertson interjected.

“Naturally,” Bailey said with perfect aplomb. “In any case, the sergeant was missing part of that night, too.”

“I hope she comes with us when we march,” Flaherty said. “We need more women in this company.”

Robertson shook his head. “If he has a woman, and she were that kind, he would’ve already brought her here. If he’s sneaking off in the night, she’s not someone he can see openly.”

“That’s so,” Bailey said. “She’d be a married lady, or a girl from a decent family.”

“The sergeant wouldn’t seduce a married lady,” Flaherty said firmly. “But a girl whose father wouldn’t want her keeping company with an Englishman and a Protestant, maybe so. She’d do better with an Irishman.”

The conversation degenerated into nationalistic insults from there. George ignored them, consumed by his own suspicions. Sergeant Atkins and Mrs. Arrington had been alone together for days. But as far as George knew, not a whisper of suspicion had attached to them. Despite the scandalous circumstances of her husband’s death, Mrs. Arrington was known for her modesty and good conduct. Atkins too was a general favorite, likewise praised for steady good sense.

Could he prove it? The lady was an heiress, and he desperately needed money. He felt a brief qualm over what he meant to do—but he had no choice. His sisters needed him, and if Mrs. Arrington had truly stooped so low as to take a common sergeant as her lover, she deserved her fate.

***

Before nightfall George moved his tent within sight of the sergeant’s bedroll—a tricky proposition, because Atkins slept at the edge of camp, screened by a baggage wagon.

The first night passed uneventfully. But a little after midnight the next night, George’s patience was rewarded when Atkins slid out of his bedroll and crept toward the village. After waiting a moment, George trailed him.

Though he followed a good distance behind, his task was made easy by just enough moonlight to keep his quarry in sight. They skirted the western edge of the village and climbed through an olive grove toward a house on the hill. George wanted to clap his hands. While the Sixteenth was escorting the convoy back to the army, he’d heard Major Gordon remark upon the comfort of their isolated billet. No other property met his description.

He hung back at the edge of the olive grove and watched as Atkins made his unerring way to a ground floor window on the back side of the house and climbed through it. George smiled. He had the information he needed, and tomorrow he would put it to use. He had no reason to linger here—he would return to his tent and sleep the sleep of the just.

For the first time in years, George Montmorency felt genuinely happy. His troubles were over at last.

***

One morning over breakfast Alec told Anna and Helen the regiment would leave San Miguel the next day and ride southward. Anna dared not ask if the Ninety-Fifth would travel with them.

She and Helen spent the day packing belongings they had scattered about the house during their long stay. By the time she went to bed, Anna had put away everything but her nightdress, her clothing for the next day, and her pistol. She meant to carry it with her, holstered in her donkey’s saddle, so she left it out, loaded and primed, on the table in the corner of the room.

The day had been cloudy and warm, and shortly after nightfall a storm struck, high wind and driving rain punctuated by flashes of lightning and bursts of thunder like none-too-distant artillery fire. Despite her ongoing exhaustion, Anna couldn’t sleep. Just after midnight she heard another sound—footsteps at her window. Will should’ve been on sentry duty, but perhaps he’d managed an exchange to buy them one more night together.

She sat up. “Will?”

The intruder laughed. “Not Will, Mrs. Arrington.”

Unfamiliar hands, wet and clammy, groped for her in the darkness, and a strange figure loomed above her. Instinctively Anna kicked, twisted and clawed. Her knee connected with his groin, a glancing blow, but enough to make him loosen his grip. Her heart racing, she rolled away and scrambled to her feet.

She edged away from the bed and took a deep breath, fighting to quell her panic. She must
think
. She recognized her attacker’s voice. “Lieutenant Montmorency?” she asked incredulously.

“Correct.” He sounded smug, yet nervous underneath. She strained to see his face, but the night was pitch black between lightning flashes.

She sidestepped, putting more distance between them. “Leave this instant.”

“Oh, I think not, Mrs. Arrington. We have much to discuss.”

Somehow he must have found out about her and Will. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“But I have much to say to you. You need only listen.”

If only she could reach her pistol, she would gain the upper hand. But he stood between her and the desk. Slowly, she must circle him until she could reach it in one lunge. She took a step backward, another to the side, and forced herself to breathe.

“For instance,” he said, “we could discuss how I witnessed Will Atkins climbing through this very window last night. Where
did
you acquire such low tastes, ma’am?”

Anger began to supplant her panic. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. And how dare you force your way into my room?”

There came that unpleasant laugh again. “I hardly call it forcing when the shutters were unlatched. Anyone might conclude you were expecting someone.”

Lightning illuminated the room, followed instantly by a crack of thunder. In the brief burst of light, Anna saw a tall, pale young man, drenched to the skin and shivering, but with a petulant set to his full lips and hateful determination in his eyes.

“I suppose you mean to extort payments from me,” she said, striving for a bored tone as she edged closer to the desk. “But why should anyone believe your word rather than mine?”

“No, Mrs. Arrington, I had something else in mind.”

A chill ran down Anna’s spine at the naked triumph in his voice. “Oh?”

“Yes. Tomorrow you will announce that you have accepted my marriage offer. As soon as we find a chaplain to perform the ceremony, you will be my wife.”

She swallowed a wave of nausea and forced herself to speak calmly. “No. I’d rather you told the entire camp what you saw last night—rather you sent a letter to the
Gazette
to tell all England—than marry you.”

“Really? You astonish me. But would your answer change if your beloved Will’s life were at stake?”

“What?”
Her heart beat out a drumroll.

“It’s the simplest thing in the world, for an officer to send the men under his command into an untenable position.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Dreadfully smoky things, battles. A man might shoot a member of his own regiment, quite by accident, and no one would be the wiser.”

Anna gasped. Not even Sebastian would have dreamed of something so evil. “You are a despicable man.”

“I’m sorry to hear you speak so of your future husband, ma’am.”

“I’ll never marry you.”

“Do you hold your lover’s life so cheaply?”

“Why do you even want to marry a woman with such
low tastes
?”

“Money, my dear madam. You have it. I need it.”

Just a few steps more. “I’ll make your life hell,” she promised.

“I care not, as long as I have your money.”

“I’m barren.” Perhaps
that
would dissuade him. If so she would never again regret her childless state.

“No matter. I own that it would be a disappointment to be the last of my line, but at least I needn’t worry that I’d be forced to give the Montmorency name to Will Atkins’s by-blow.”

Anna’s mind whirled in desperation. How could she marry him? It would be beyond comparison worse than her life with Sebastian. Better she live in torment for the rest of her days than allow Will to be murdered, but there must be another way.

She was almost to the desk now. Stretching out her hand, she groped for the pistol. “I will never marry you,” she said. “But I’ll give you ten thousand pounds, if you leave the army and never have any contact with me or Sergeant Atkins again. Now
get out
.” Her questing fingertips found the smooth metal of the pistol’s barrel, and she slid her hand down to its grip.

“No. It’s marriage, or he dies.”

Another flash of lightning lit the room, and Montmorency’s eyes widened at the sight of her hand on the pistol. He lunged for it as she seized it and brought it to bear. He grabbed the barrel—Anna tightened her grip—the pistol fired.

Its report, in so enclosed a space, nearly deafened her. She stood stunned, the pistol dangling from her hand, as Lieutenant Montmorency slumped against the wall and sagged to the floor.