A Soldier's Heart (15 page)

“What has happened?” Long asked, with no trace of boredom.

“Kendall has fallen. You must get him back to Brussels and get him medical help.”

“I shall take him to Serena. She stays with Cecily and Mrs. Buckle at Lady Charlesworth’s. Those three could drag a man back from hell if they set their minds to it.”

His heart gave one single stroke. “Serena? Here? How? Why?”

“Steady, Matt. You shall ask her yourself.” The familiar mocking smile curved Long’s mouth. “But first, I believe Wellington gave you an order.”

Shocked that thoughts of his wife could make him so forget himself, Matt moved with superhuman speed procuring a wagon and driver and urging Longford toward Quatre Bras. He left him with precise directions to Kendall’s regiment while he continued on with orders for Picton.

The old man was not happy, as Wellington had foreseen. Holding his hand firmly to his two broken ribs, Picton cursed and raved, but in the end followed the orders as he’d always intended.

Weary soldiers tramped along the chausée. Occasionally a snatch of song could be heard. Matt searched for Kendall’s brigade and found them near the front, two newly appointed officers reorganizing their march. He learned Long had left only an hour before him. He spurred his horse forward, searching the mass movement for signs of a wagon. It was slow going as the army shifted their position for the coming battle. Finally he saw Long up ahead. The wagon jarred to a stop and Matt dismounted to reassure himself Kendall still lived.

His lids slowly lifted. The haze over the usually bright eyes pierced Matt like a bullet.

“Longford here. What a lark, hey, Matt?” Kendall tried to grin, but it turned into a grimace of pain.

“Easy, old friend. Long shall take you to Brussels. To Serena and Cecily.”

Slowly he rolled his head to where Long stood beside the wagon. “Long, if … if I don’t make it—” Kendall swallowed, taking a harsh breath “—Tell your sister she’s stolen my heart.”

“Tell her yourself, Kendall,” Long snorted. “And a merry dance she’ll lead you.”

“I … can hardly wait,” Kendall sighed, closing his eyes, with a shadow of his old grin.

At just that minute the threatening gray clouds overhead split, and pelting rain began to fall. Matt swept his cape off his shoulders and flung it over Kendall, protecting him as best he could from the downpour. If he developed a fever…

“Long…” Fear for his friend colored his voice. He couldn’t let Kendall die like Jeffries, Higgens, and the others.

“Never fear, Matt, I won’t let Kendall die. God in heaven, I couldn’t bear the peal Cecily would ring over me for the rest of my days.”

Grasping his brother’s shoulder, Matt stared into the hooded eyes. “I know not what tomorrow will bring. Tell Serena—”

“Good God, not you, too!” Long exploded, stopping Matt cold. “God continue to preserve me from cupid’s arrow! You shall tell her yourself. Believe that!”

Longford leapt back onto his horse, and with a wave of his hand, the wagon creaked away, leaving Matt staring after it.

Lightning split the sky, and a second later, thunder rumbled around him. The storm was at hand. If he lived through it, he would tell Serena all that was in his heart.

Her heart jumped to her throat when word reached her in the front parlor, where she sat under Buckle’s guidance rolling bandages, that the marquess had returned with an injured officer.

She raced, with Cecily at her heels, to the back courtyard.

When she saw Kendall’s ashen face and blood-soaked uniform, she clasped her hand over her mouth to still the nausea. Beside her, Cecily broke into loud, gasping sobs.

As three footman lifted Kendall’s limp body from the wagon, Aunt Lavinia, Frederick, and Buckle all appeared in the doorway.

“Lord Charlesworth, go fetch a doctor immediately,” Buckle urged, and to Serena’s surprise, Frederick instantly did as she bid.

With her owl eyes blinking rapidly, Aunt Lavinia wrung her hands. “The blue bedroom,” she finally gasped, bustling away.

When Kendall, face and uniform black with soot and dried blood, was carried past them, Cecily recoiled with horror back against the house.

“Come, Cecily, we must attend him until the doctor arrives,” Serena said gently, touching her arm.

“No!” She shrugged her hand away. “I can’t! He looks so … so…” Cecily’s eyes were round with horror.

Raging anger exploded through Serena’s veins. Gripping Cecily’s shoulders, she shook her. “This is what a hero of the nation looks like! Remember what you said! It isn’t glorious and it isn’t noble! He no longer looks like your glittering dream hero, does he? He looks like a man who has fought bravely for his country. Which do you truly love, Cecily, your dream of him or the man he truly is?”

Cecily shook with her sobs while tears ran unceasingly down her cheeks. “The man, Serena, the man!” she cried, tearing out of Serena’s grip to race after him.

“I shall see to him until you arrive, Serena,” Buckle said calmly from the door before following Cecily.

Alone with Longford, Serena turned to look at him. The dark hair was tumbled over the chiseled forehead. Mud clung to his usually impeccable clothing and caked his Hessians.

“Longford, what of Matt?” Finally she asked the question that drove her through each hour of this interminable wait.

“He is well. We parted near Genappe. He ordered me not to let Kendall die. I promised him we wouldn’t.”

“I shall keep your promise,” she declared hoarsely, unshed tears choking her throat. “What is happening?”

“They held the French at Quatre Bras. But tomorrow will be the great confrontation.” He shrugged. “And that outcome only God knows.”

Climbing back on his horse, Longford stared down at her. “I must get back. Will you be all right here? There is panic in the city.”

Lifting her chin, she stared back at him. “Don’t concern yourself about us.”

He laughed with that genuine note which was so rare. “I told Matt, between you, Cecily, and Buckle, the devil should beware.”

“The next time you see Matt, tell him—”

“No!” he bit out. “You shall tell him yourself, I promise,” he declared grimly, wheeling his horse and galloping away, leaving her staring after him.

Yes, she must tell him herself. If only she was given another chance!

Fear settled firmly into the fabric of her being. Fear that she’d never have the chance to say the words which burned in her heart.

She loved him. Forever.

As the door finally opened, both women held their breath.

The doctor rolled down his shirt-sleeves and stared at them with red, tired eyes. “I’ve removed two bullets, one from the chest, and another from his arm. For a while I debated taking the arm, but his lordship assured me he’d have my head if I tried.”

“I must see him!” Cecily sobbed.

“He’s asleep now, miss, and probably will remain that way for some time.”

Cecily could wait no longer and flew past the doctor to see Kendall for herself.

“That man has lost much blood.” Beckoning Serena aside, he lowered his voice. “I don’t know what will be the outcome of his lordship’s wounds. Have you someone who can nurse him? There is no one I can send. The city is in chaos.”

“We can do it, if you just give us directions.” She was determined to keep Kendall safe. Somehow, although her mind knew it couldn’t be so, she had equated saving Kendall with keeping Matt safe on the battlefield.

“Expect a fever.” The doctor walked down the hall, giving her explicit instructions and a promise to return early the next morning. But tonight they must carry on alone.

Carry on. Yes, she must carry on as Matt would expect her to do. Matt, where are you! her spirit cried. Could he feel all the love and strength she was sending his way? At least he knew she was hare, she had come to be with him. Did he understand what that meant? Could he ever forgive her harsh words of parting?

She could only wait and hope for the chance to tell him what was in her heart.

Buckle with her calm good sense allowed the girls to sit quietly in Kendall’s room as he slept. They rolled lint bandages before the fire, scarcely daring to whisper. At dawn Cecily fell into a fretful slumber, slumped in a chair pulled next to Kendall’s bed. On the other side Buckle kept her vigil, the doctor’s instructions she and Serena had discussed committed to memory.

Pushing the drawn draperies aside just enough to see, Serena watched the sun rise. Matt would already be up and about on this day—a day of destiny, and only God knew the outcome.

At six sharp, Matt was on horseback. The staff had gathered around Wellington for a final briefing. Even though he issued specific orders, he liked to give his men an overall picture so they could act for him, if necessary.

He sat his charger, Copenhagen, with every sign of ease and confidence, resplendent in white buckskin, with tasseled top boots, short spurs, a white stock, blue coat over a knotted gold sash, and a Spanish field marshal blue cape. The staff had warned him too many times that he made an excellent target than to do so again.

Matt remembered from the Peninsula the duke didn’t like to get wet. Even though the sky had cleared, he was taking no chances. He wore a cocked hat similar to Napoleon’s, Matt thought eccentrically, although he wore it fore and aft instead of broadside. Stuck in the hat were the four colored cockades signifying Britain, Spain, Portugal, and the Netherlands.

The staff had swollen to forty, regulars and those specially requested like Longford, and hangers-on. Where was Longford, anyway? Matt wanted to know about Kendall.

The duke took up a position under a lone tree at the crossroads staring across the rain-soaked ground, now a quagmire of watery puddles and mud to the thousands of French who faced them.

Suddenly Matt heard the faint ringing of church bells off in the distance. It was Sunday. In Brussels and in all the surrounding villages, people would be attending church, praying for victory this day.

Would Serena be among them, or would she stay at Kendall’s side, offering him the gift of her strength which he so sorely needed?

A light breeze played across Matt’s hair, and in the oddest way he was comforted as if he felt some of her strength himself. In every battle of his life he’d fought alone, secure in his sense of honor and duty. Now he felt something different. Although there was still so much left unsaid between them, Matt carried, at last, a true image of Serena and the rest of his world which gave him an inner peace and resolve. England, its policies and governments, might not be perfect, but it was the best he knew. He remembered his Shakespeare and found himself repeating snatches throughout the day: “This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, this earth of majesty … this happy breed of men … this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.” It would endure long past this day of battle, and so would he.

Sometime before twelve, fever took possession of Kendall’s pain-racked body. Serena held him down, keeping his shoulders from thrashing much as she had held Matt during the nightmares, while Buckle tried to force liquid through his dry, cracked lips. Cecily constantly bathed him with a cool cloth, whispering words of love and encouragement unwittingly. They fought valiantly, seeking to stem the tide of devastation through his already weakened body.

Seeing the ever-cheerful Kendall so weak, helpless under their hands, somehow made the battle more real to her. Serena wouldn’t let Kendall die! Longford had promised Matt, and she was determined to do everything in her power to keep that promise. She would fight for his life as surely as Matt and all those men who had marched with such confidence from Brussels were fighting for theirs.

At eleven-thirty the French opened fire on the farmhouse at Hougoumont. Within minutes great clouds of white smoke hung over the field, lit here and there by a column of fire. The French advanced steadily, through the orchard up to the courtyard walls. Wellington peered through his telescope, watching as the doors were forced and Macdonnell’s men fought hand to hand. With a great roar, reinforcements stormed the house and pushed the French back. With an imperious wave, Wellington beckoned Matt forward. Swiftly he rode with orders to Bull’s howitzers to fire over the infantry to enable it to move forward and recapture the orchard.

Such a cloud of gray smoke hovered over the field now, it was difficult to see anything clearly. The pounding of the cannons rang in Matt’s ears, shutting out everything else as he rode back toward Wellington. He urged the men on as he rode among them, shouting encouragement and directions. This battle was neither noble nor glorious, but necessary, he told himself over and over. Longford had once called him a leader of men; now he wasn’t sure what that meant. The infantry advanced; Matt wheeled his horse in the direction of his commander.

Chills shook Kendall’s slender body. He moaned continuously. Serena watched Cecily carefully, waiting for her to break down. But she remained constant. When Kendall’s clutching fingers closed over her hand, she held on to him firmly, speaking soothing words of comfort. Serena built up the fire and layered covers over his shivering body. Buckle attempted to drip warm gruel down his unresponsive throat. Thoughts of the last time Serena had fought to save a life tightened the bands of fear about her heart.

When the doctor arrived, he shook his head. “He is worse. I fear for Lord Kendall’s life. There is nothing more I can do.”

He stepped back before the blaze in Cecily’s eyes. “Lord Kendall is not going to die! If you cannot, we will make sure of that!”

The doctor left shortly thereafter, with dire reports of the wounded streaming into the city. He made a half promise he would return that evening, but Serena sensed he believed by nightfall his services would no longer be needed. Kendall would be beyond his help.

Wrapping her arms tightly around her shoulders, she shivered with deep foreboding. What she had feared was coming to pass; everything she held dear was at stake, and she was utterly powerless before it. All she could do was fight for Kendall’s life with every bit of strength and courage she and Cecily and Buckle could muster.

She went to the window to look toward where the battle even now must be raging. Matt was in the thick of it, she was certain of that. Deep inside her she sensed he was still alive; surely she would know if, if … She refused to even think the words. She must be strong for Matt. He was a soldier; now she must be one, too, facing this uncertainty and fear with the same kind of courage.

All that she could do for Matt was to send her thoughts and her love to be with him through his time of danger. And pray that they would have at least one more moment together so he would know how much she loved him.

By afternoon the infantry was in defeat. D’Erlon’s French infantry had swept across the Dutch-Belgian troops and forced them all the way back to the Forest of Soignes. Matt was sent, yet again, to Picton, demanding action from his lordship. He had already lost two horses and had his hat blown off, the bullet barely missing his right ear.

Picton rode to the front of his troops, waving his sword, and roared, “Charge.” The line started forward at a double pace. Picton turned to the left, calling to Kempt, “Rally the Highlanders!” At that moment he fell from his horse.

Matt rushed forward, but by the time he reached his old general, Picton was dead. Behind him he heard the charge sounded. Even in the midst of confusion it never ceased to amaze him. Ten notes climbed in threes to a long, insistent tone. Instinctively he mounted his horse and watched in amazement as the Scots Greys swept around him like a thunderbolt, crashing into the French, carrying all before them. But they did not respond to the rally. They kept going. Although they captured two eagles and fifteen guns, they were cut off and only a handful returned. Their leader, Sir William Ponsonby, was not among them, Matt mournfully reported to Wellington.

Too many had fallen for Wellington to mourn one more. His charger swept into the thick of the fighting, Matt keeping pace beside him should a message need to be sent. When leaders fell, other men took up the rally call and led. Matt had told Serena he was a soldier, but until today, he hadn’t truly known what that meant.

He could hear Wellington muttering Blücher’s name. If the general didn’t arrive soon with the Prussians, defeat was at hand. Finally they withdrew to a small rise and Wellington pulled out his glass to survey the field.

The heavy French cannonade made the men deaf with the sound. Matt wished he could no longer hear the pitiful cries of the wounded and dying all around him. Corpsmen tried to keep the field clear, but at times the fighting was so intense, it was virtually impossible. Wellington ordered a general reverse—only one hundred paces, it would be just enough to put them out of the reach of the cannon fire. Matt was sent to pass the word, and assure an orderly withdrawal. Before it was complete, a wave of French cavalry swept toward them.

“Prepare to receive cavalry!” Wellington roared, and the infantry formed into squares. Matt galloped down the lines shouting the order, tempering his resolve into steel. One of the final squares, already set into place, was Kendall’s. The new officer waved his shako and Matt responded with a fist raised high above his head.

An early evening fog settled in, pushing down the smoke so everything was seen through a peculiar gray-white swirl. Matt rode slung low over his horse toward the left flank, where Wellington had charged after seeing signs of confusion. Another rider galloped up, recklessly exposing his whole body, and reined his horse to a rearing halt.

“The Prussians are within sight,” Longford gasped.

Filthy, disheveled, a rag tied around a bloody wound on his thigh, all the bored mockery stripped away, he looked wonderful to Matt.

“Long, your leg!” Matt shouted over the din.

“It’s nothing.” He laughed. “The duke commanded me to hoodwink the gamesters, and I shall. Did you know your ear is bleeding all down your neck?”

Gingerly touching his right ear, Matt’s fingers came away bloody. “I thought it missed me. No matter! If we can hold for the next two hours, we shall have them.”

“Be careful, Matt!” Long shouted back, wheeling his horse. “I’ll see you in Brussels!”

Brussels, where Serena waited. In the oddest way he’d felt her beside him all this day; almost as if he were within reach of her thoughts.

If he got another chance, he would tell her what he should have said that last morning. He had fallen in love twice in his life, and both times with the same woman. The person he once was, and the person he had become, each loved her with a completeness he’d only discovered possible throughout this long day.

If he was given the chance, he would tell her. But time was running out. The Prussians were coming, but until they arrived, Wellington ordered “hold to the last man,” and that they must do or perish.

By early evening, after an afternoon that left all three women drained, Kendall’s fever broke. Although his breathing was still not as strong as Serena would like, tears sprang to her eyes at the doctor’s satisfied nod.

“I don’t know how you did it, but it seems Lord Kendall will live.”

“Of course he will,” Cecily stated firmly, although her soft lips quivered. “I plan to be Lord Kendall’s bride.”

The doctor’s eyes flicked over Cecily’s white-gold curls hanging in damp ringlets against her cheeks and neck, and her sherry eyes blazing in her colorless little face, and then he smiled.

“Had I known that, my dear, I would have had no doubt of his full recovery.”

Hearing his kind words, Cecily slumped back down in the chair, and picking up Kendall’s hand, wept all over it.

Now that Kendall was out of danger, new energy sent Serena out into the street seeking news. A surprisingly helpful Frederick was beside her. He had forsaken his ridiculous attire and airs, and with a sheepish “That all seems a bit out of place, considering,” escorted her to the Brandenburg Gate.

The city was wild with conflicting reports; some claimed a French victory, then just as quickly an English. Just as the whispers had built in a crescendo around her at the Duchess of Richmond’s ball only three nights before, when it seemed a lifetime ago, so the crowds shouted to each other.

“Hook-nose beat Boney once and for all!”

“It’s over, let us flee at once.”

“…but the cost was high.”

“The French are on their way…”

Serena could not find a reliable report. She remained at the gate, long after Frederick begged her to return home. Wagons full of wounded poured into the city, their stories as conflicting as the rumors. Resigned, Serena returned home.