Beloved Enemy (46 page)

Alex
clenched his fists tightly and waited in grim silence until the two women had
completed an extended good-bye. Then he clasped the dilatory Ginny around the
waist and lifted her onto Jen where she landed with a jarring thump. "You
may have been a civilian for the last three days," he told her furiously,
"but you will please remember that you are now back in the army, Virginia
Courtney, and an entire division is not to be kept cooling its heels at the
whim of a headstrong girl."

"I
had matters to attend to," Ginny countered, aware of the interest this
heated exchange was generating in the courtyard, but unable to accept the
public rebuke without defending herself.

Alex
chose to ignore that and went over to bid farewell to his sister-in-law.
"I do not think you will ever have the last word," Joan whispered,
chuckling. "Mistress Courtney is more than a match for a mere
general."

At
that, Alex smiled reluctantly. "I am afraid you are right, sister, but I
shall persevere, nevertheless." They embraced, briefly and silently, each
knowing that this might be the last occasion on which they would ever meet.
Alex mounted Bucephalus, and the group rode through the gatehouse and into the
park where the division waited in marching order.

The drums
sounded, sharp and alert, and they moved out under the gray skies, down the
driveway and out into the country lane. Alex did not once look back, although
Ginny kept her head turned toward the house nestling in the lee of the hill
until it was lost to sight. In Joan Marshall, she had felt something she had
hitherto not experienced—a sense of sisterhood, of shared emotions and
attitudes that sprang, not just from similar experiences, but from the
universality of the female condition. She had had no true women friends; in her
childhood there had been Edmund, and he had provided her with all the
friendship she desired. Her husband's sisters had made no secret of their
dislike of her, and, until the last three days, she would have said that the
friendship of her own sex was an irrelevancy, something she neither wished for
nor needed. Now, she felt a deep regret for what she was leaving behind, for
the fact that she must lose so soon what she had so recently discovered.

She
glanced sideways at Alex. His expression remained somewhat severe, but it was
impossible to tell whether that had still to do with her keeping them waiting
or was caused by his own thoughts on leaving his ancestral home for possibly
the last time. No one seemed inclined to disturb his silence, and the
atmosphere became as leaden as the skies.

"How
far do we ride today?" Ginny ventured.

"The
far side of London," she was informed without warmth. "It will be
slow going when the rain begins, and we are already two hours later than I had
intended."

"I
did not keep you waiting two hours," Ginny protested.

"I
had already delayed the start because I was loath to wake you," Alex
snapped. "We must now march without a break until we make up lost
time."

Ginny
decided that further conversation was going to be fruitless and lapsed into
silence. The rain began in half an hour and settled into a relentless,
impenetrable, soaking stream that turned the ground beneath them to thick
yellow mud churning under the horses' hooves and the marching boots,
splattering britches and leggings. It dripped down the back of Ginny’s neck in
a cold, wet trickle fed by her drenched hair. The heavy serge of her riding
habit became sodden, clinging to her thighs and chafing the underside
unbearably as she was forced to move in the saddle with the rhythm of Jen's
gait. No one talked, each locked in his own miserable discomfort, except for a
brief exchange between Alex and Colonel Bonham as to whether they should stop
for a half-hour's break.

Ginny
did not know whether she wanted the decision to be for or against the breathing
space. She did not think, if she once got off the mare and was able to pull the
soaked material away from her raw skin for a blissful while, that she would be
able to bear the agony of returning to the saddle again. She thought enviously
of the men in their leather britches which the rain scarcely penetrated,
running away as if off an oiled skin.

The
decision fell against a halt, and the long, dark day wore on. After six hours,
the benefits of her lengthy, unbroken night's sleep had dissipated, and Ginny
was as bone tired as she had been yesterday after three sleepless nights. But
she could not begin to imagine what she could do about it. It was unthinkable
to ask Alex for special  consideration, to demand that he stop the entire
division for the night because this pursuivant of the drum needed to take her
rest and anoint her raw flesh. He had warned her that the journey would be
arduous, and she had accepted the conditions, but a cheerful imagination had
not matched the wretchedness of the reality of unceasing rain, wet serge, and
unutterable weariness.

She
seemed eventually to fall into a sort of trance where physical miseries became
inseparable from herself and from each other. She shivered with cold, flexing
her numb fingers in her gloves, curling her deadened toes in her boots. Her
back ached with the effort to keep it straight, shoulders set, to keep
concealed the extent of her weakness. In spite of all her efforts, however,
tears of misery rolled down her cheeks, mingling with the rain so she made no
attempt to brush them away, aware that, as true darkness fell, no one would be
able to see her face clearly.

For an
hour, Alex watched Ginny anxiously. He had no way of knowing the full extent of
her wretchedness, could only guess at her weariness, and for a while he was
fooled. Then she sniffed suddenly, biting her lip fiercely, and he realized she
was crying. Cursing himself for his stupidity, he reached over for Jen's bridle,
drawing the mare alongside Bucephalus. "I am going to lift you up,"
he said. "Help me by putting your arms around my neck."

Ginny
looked up at him bewildered as the words penetrated her daze. She saw the
green-brown eyes filled with concern, the hard lines of his previous expression
dissolved with the tenderness that she knew belonged to the lover.

"Ginny,
did you hear me?" he asked urgently, twisting and bending down from his
saddle. "Put your arms around my neck."

As she
raised her arms in almost hypnotized obedience, he caught her beneath them,
lifting her bodily from the saddle and settling her in front of him. Diccon,
who as usual had been riding on her other side, took Jen's reins so that he
could lead the mare. An involuntary groan of relief escaped Ginny as she turned
sideways on the saddle in front of Alex, taking the weight off her sore thighs,
leaning into the supporting arm that held her against his chest. His buff
leather coat provided minimal comfort, but Ginny was beyond caring, knowing only
that she no longer needed to keep her body upright, that Alex provided all the
support she needed.

"Brave
girl," he said gently, "but foolish with it. I had no idea how you
were suffering. You must tell me much sooner next time."

"It
is only the chafing that became unbearable," she said. "The cold and
wet I can endure as well as any."

"What
chafing?" He frowned down at her.

Ginny
explained the problem somewhat diffidently, wondering whether a man who was
accustomed to leather britches could begin to understand. But it seemed that
Alex did. "I think," he said matter-of-facty, "that we must
contrive a pair of britches for you. Apart from this specific problem, you will
find it more comfortable to ride astride on long journeys. Jed will look out a
suitable saddle for your mare."

They
were riding through countryside that showed little sign of habitation, only a
scattering of cottages here and there offering no welcome or possibility of
shelter for such large numbers. Alex again consulted with Colonel Bonham, who
seemed to find nothing strange in a tactical discussion with his general, when
the general was cradling a wet female form against his chest. A group of
cavalry troopers, led by Jed, was sent on ahead to scout out some form of
shelter, however inadequate, since the evening was drawing in and food and rest
were now become imperative for more than Ginny.

They
rode back within twenty minutes to report a large barn and outbuildings on the
outskirts of a small farm. The farmhouse was ruined, destroyed by fire, but the
farm buildings still stood, and there was straw in the barn, a little moldy,
certainly, but relatively dry and better than no bedding at all.

Alex
nodded. It would do because it had to. Orders were passed back, and the pace
picked up as the thought of journey's end lent renewed vigor. Ginny, when she
was set tentatively upon her feet, found to her relief that she could stand and
was spared the mortification of having to be carried. “Let us see what
hospitality this palace can offer us," Alex said cheerfully, striding into
the barn, the rest following. It smelled of moldy hay, manure, and damp stone,
but there were plenty of hay bales, and a rickety ladder led up to the hayloft.
"Up with you," Alex said to Ginny, leading her to the ladder.
"You will have your privacy up there and can get out of that soaked habit.
I will have your baggage and medicines brought as soon as the men have been
dispersed."

Ginny
climbed up the ladder, holding her wet skirts to one side. Something scuttled
across the floor as she stepped into the loft. Rats! She pulled a face, but was
too relieved to find herself somewhere relatively dry and free of motion to
care what fellow inhabitants there were. It felt a little peculiar, getting out
of her clothes without a door between herself and the very male voices coming
from below. It sounded rather as if everyone was doing the same as she was,
stripping to their undergarments, using their shirts to dry their hair. She
heard Alex cheerfully make some ribald joke and felt that flash of admiration
for him again. He always knew exactly how to raise morale, how to show by
example that one could and should rise above minor inconveniences be they rain,
inadequate shelter, or Royalist ambushes.

She
was soaked to the skin, but remained shivering in her shift until Alex's voice
came again and the top rung of the ladder standing above the loft floor shook
as he put his foot on the bottom. "Dry clothes," he announced.
"You were fortunate that your baggage found shelter under some tarpaulin.
Jed, I suspect, has your interests very much at heart. More so than mine, at
least, since everything I possess is as wet as what I have on." He grinned
at her, and she had the unmistakable impression that he was enjoying tins, that
hardship and discomfort were mere grist to the soldier's mill. "Turn
around and let us see how much damage has been done."

Ginny
submitted to being turned around so that he could lift up her shift and examine
the backs of her thighs. His voice was very sober, however, as he said,
"What do you have that I can put on?"

"Is
it as bad as it feels?" she asked, trying for a light tone.

"If
it feels as bad as it looks, sweetheart, you must be in agony," he said
succinctly. "You'll ride with me again, tomorrow. Now, tell me what I may
put on."

Ginny
found the salve in her basket and handed it to him, gritting her teeth as he
smoothed over the rawness. But imperceptibly the stinging gave way to a
spreading warmth, and she heaved a sigh of relief. "That is better. My
thanks. If you have any more of that brandy, I shall be quite restored."
Her smile was strong as she turned back to him, and Alex tipped her chin to
kiss the corner of her mouth.

"You
have all the makings of a soldier," he teased. "It is only your
lamentable tendency to insubordination that causes difficulty." When she
opened her mouth in indignant protest, he kissed her again, laughing. "I
will bring you brandy and food, chicken, but I fear you must stay up here,
since below there is a scene of some considerable dishevelment."

"Must
I sleep alone, with only the rats for company?" she asked in mock
distress, rummaging through her baggage for her warm flannel robe that kept the
winter drafts at bay and should prove equally useful in a chilly, damp barn in
summertime.

"No,"
Alex said. "There seems little point in such pretense. I will protect you
from the rats, and we will keep each other warm."

The
next day, Ginny rode on Bucephalus, in front of Alex, able to wear a simple
linen gown and sit in such a way as to spare her chafed skin. That evening,
when they made camp, Alex brought her a pair of leather britches.

"They
fit," Ginny said in amazement, buttoning them up. "How could that
be?"

Alex
laughed, but would only say, "Jed has many skills." He regarded her
through narrowed eyes as she preened delightedly, striding up and down the
small chamber the general had requisitioned above the village forge. "I am
no longer convinced that it was a good idea," he said thoughtfully.
"They accentuate all those curves that are normally hidden by your skirts.
You are a sight to enflame even the most jaded spirit. And since my spirit is
far from jaded . . ."

He
lunged for her, but, laughing, she drew back, saying with slightly pink cheeks,
"You must control your ungovernable lust, General, for a few days. I find
myself a little indisposed."

Alex
frowned, then his expression cleared. "I cannot tell you what a relief
that is, chicken. I have been much afraid that I would get you with
child."