The Sergeant's Lady (10 page)

At least it was a dark night. The stars overhead dazzled, but there was no moon. That should improve Will’s odds. He was Will to her now, she realized, and she couldn’t imagine ever thinking of him as Sergeant Atkins again.

After an unbearably long interval, he reappeared. With difficulty she resisted the urge to jump at his footsteps.

“Here,” he whispered.

Her hand closed around a slender cylinder of wood and metal. The stock and barrel of a rifle.

“I took two. Can you carry it?”

“Yes. But you’ll have to shoot it.”

She heard him smile, a small, amused exhalation. “It’s what I do best. Ready?”

Cautiously she shifted the rifle, terrified of the noise it would make if she dropped it. She found its sling and hoisted it over her shoulder. “Yes.”

He searched for her hand in the darkness and led her away from the square. In the dim starlight she could see that his silhouette had changed by the addition of a knapsack on his back, and he too carried a rifle.

At the edge of the village they halted and strained their eyes in every direction, but saw no one. Still, they used even greater caution as they crept across an open field to the shelter of an olive grove.

A stream flowed through the trees. Will sank to his knees, and Anna imitated him.

“Drink as much as you can, and we’ll fill the canteens.” Still he whispered, but more loudly than he had in the village. “I got two of those, too.”

“Good.” She took the canteen he offered, removed the stopper and held it under the water. The stream was fast-flowing, colder against her fingers than she expected. She took a long drink, then lowered the canteen to fill it again.

“We’ll follow the stream south for awhile, then turn east,” he said.

“East? But our army is south.”

“Exactly. So when they realize we’re missing, most of the searchers will go south. East improves our odds.”

“Of course.” How foolish of her not to have realized it.

“We won’t run—too much of a chance one of us would fall and sprain an ankle in the dark—but we’ll walk fast. We’ll find someplace to rest in the morning, and we can plan more then. For now we need our breath to walk.”

“Of course,” she repeated.

“But if you’re hurt or can’t keep up,
tell
me. Understand?”

He spoke as a man accustomed to command, and it reassured her. She was out of her depth, and it was a relief to place herself in his capable hands. “Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

He stood and she followed, tugging at the canteen strap until she found a way to carry it without it banging against her hip at every stride. The rifle was more difficult to manage. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but its length made its weight awkward, and she couldn’t find a comfortable balance for it. Obviously its sling hadn’t been designed with slender female shoulders or full female bosoms in mind. She alternated between unslinging it and carrying it in her hands and, when that grew too burdensome, slipping it back over her shoulder and enduring that discomfort for a time.

After about an hour, they reached a point where the stream was shallow enough to ford dry-footed by stepping from rock to rock. They set out east across rocky, open ground. Will maintained a steady pace. Each time Anna considered asking for a rest, he beat her to it and ordered a halt, just long enough to catch their breath and swallow some water.

She had never walked so far before. But she found herself capable of greater endurance than she had expected. Through the night she pushed on through exhaustion, sore feet and aching shoulders.

When the sky began to lighten, Will led them up a steep slope and found a narrow track near the top of a ridge. As dawn advanced, Anna surveyed the valley below. It was empty country, and she wondered how long it would be before they got a chance at any food. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

Will turned and favored her with a lopsided smile. “When we stop, we’ll check this pack. I hope its owner is the sort who hoards a bit of bread against emergencies.”

“It’s not yours?”

“No, ma’am. At least, I’ll be stunned if it is. I didn’t have time to look, and I didn’t want to risk the noise, so I took the first I found.”

“I see.”

They walked doggedly on, following the track until they reached a wide spot where patches of grass grew between boulders. Will sat on a flat rock facing west, where they could spot approaching pursuers, and beckoned for Anna to join him.

She sat at his side, unstoppered her canteen and took a long drink.

“Be careful, ma’am,” he said. “If they come after us, it may be a long time before we can re-water safely.”

“I’m sorry.”

She wished he’d stop calling her “ma’am” all the time. He hadn’t done so immediately after he rescued her, and surely they could dispense with formality under their circumstances.

“I’m thirsty, too. And I didn’t think to tell you. You did so well at a forced march that it’s easy to forget you don’t have a soldier’s training, ma’am.”

She basked in his praise, but there was that word again.

Will reached for the knapsack. “Let’s see what we have.” He unstrapped the rolled-up blanket atop it, then delved into the pack. On top lay a deck of cards. “How are you at picquet?”

She laughed. She was exhausted and terrified, but it was far better to banter about cards than to give way to her weaknesses. “Terrible,” she confessed. “My uncle always told me I must never gamble at cards, or I’d find myself gone from an heiress to a pauper before my first Season was over.”

“Then we’ll play for penny stakes, ma’am.”

She sighed. “Must you call me
ma’am?
My name is Anna.”

He met her eyes frankly. “I must. Ma’am. Out here, if we break one rule, it’d be too easy to break them all.”

The memory of their dance and kiss suddenly seemed a tangible thing, a barrier between them. His touch had been delightful, and as she looked at him, the pleasure of the memory outweighed the terrors that had befallen her since. He was right.

“I understand,” she said. “Sergeant.”

In a strained silence, Will returned his attention to the knapsack, revealing a tin cup and plate and a box of soap. Next, a spare shirt. He held it up. It was very small, and he pulled a face. “
You
could wear it.”

“Perhaps I’ll make a turban,” she said lightly. “I didn’t think to bring a hat, and I’d rather not sunburn.”

He grinned, good humor restored. He reached into the compartment again. “Aha!” He revealed a wedge of hard cheese the size of his fist.

“Hurrah!”

He broke it in half, put half back and split the remainder between them. “We should save some.”

She nodded and took a bite. On her empty stomach it tasted ambrosial. When they had finished, they got up and kept walking. Anna’s eyes were dry and her mind hazy from her sleepless night, and she trudged along half in a stupor. She scanned the countryside ahead of them, longing for sight of a village or farm. But Will kept looking back along the road to the west. While they were still high in the hills she heard him exhale sharply. “There.”

She turned, blinked, and saw horsemen in the distance, cantering across the dusty countryside. “They’re coming.”

Anna stared at the French horsemen, still tiny figures in the distance. She counted only four and hoped that meant going east rather than south had worked. Four against two. Four against one, really.

“What do we do?” she asked.

“Take cover and hope they don’t see us.” Will scrambled behind a large boulder and pulled her after him.

“And if they do?”

“I shoot them.” He watched them approach, his face still.

“All four of them?”

“Maybe. I can take two shots quickly, one per rifle, but then it’ll take me about a minute to reload one.”

He put the pistol into her hands. It was heavier than it looked. She held it away from her as though it stank. She had never fired a gun.

“It’s primed,” he said. “All you have to do is cock it and squeeze the trigger. Don’t shoot unless they’re upon us before I can reload, and then only at close range—else you’ll waste the shot. Understand?”

She stared at the pistol. It looked gigantic in her small hands.

“Mrs. Arrington, look at me.” She turned her head and met his steady amber eyes. “You fought Colonel Robuchon, and you marched through the night as well as any rifleman. I have no doubt that you can fire this pistol—damn!”

They were spotted. The French riders, now about three hundred yards away, pointed toward them and wheeled their horses about.

Her heart pounded, and through a haze she watched Will raise the first rifle, steady it—and wait. What was he doing? Surely they were in range, and he needed to act quickly to have time to reload. But he waited, cloaked in a strange calm, as the horsemen rode nearer. Anna’s breath raced, but his was steady.

At last he fired. The flash of the gunpowder and the noise of the shot dazed her. The lead rider toppled from his mount and lay still. Lightning-fast, Will set the first rifle down, picked up the second, and fired it with equal success. Anna felt horrified awe at how steadily he went about his deadly work. It was worse than in yesterday’s battle, now that she could see his targets.

He began to reload in a flurry of quick motions.

The remaining troopers halted at the bottom of the slope, which was too steep for their horses. “Wait,” one of them cried in French. “If you surrender, the lady will not be harmed.”

They made no such promise for Will, and Anna knew she would never be safe under Colonel Robuchon’s power. “No,” she called.

“So be it.” They surveyed the steep slope before them, dismounted and charged toward them at a scrambling run.

Anna looked wildly at Will. He wasn’t finished, and even then he would have only the one shot.

With shaking hands she cocked the pistol’s hammer, raised it and waited. Her heart galloped and a dizzy wave of nausea rushed through her. When the Frenchmen were not five feet away, she fired at what she thought was the leader’s heart, but her arm jerked as she squeezed the trigger. Her shot hit his throat. He fell at her feet but lived, bloody and horrible, gasping for gurgling breaths.

The loud report of a rifle sounded in her already ringing ears, and their final attacker fell dead. His detachment gone, Will stood beside her, wild-eyed and breathing hard. The stench of blood and gunpowder smoke hung in the air.

She looked down at the man she had shot. So young he was, no more than twenty, and sweet-faced. Perhaps she could dig the ball out. She could tear strips from her petticoat to make bandages. She sank to her knees.

Dimly her mind registered the sounds of Will reloading again. When he was done, he gently nudged her aside. She watched, transfixed, as Frenchman and Englishman engaged in a wordless communion. After a moment Will lifted the rifle and raised his eyebrows questioningly. The French boy swallowed, closed his eyes and nodded.

Will pointed the rifle straight at his chest.

“Merci,”
the soldier gasped.

Will fired. Anna knelt, paralyzed in horror, then leaned forward and retched.

Quickly Will stripped the two fallen hussars of their pistols, powder and shot. He hoped Mrs. Arrington realized it had been a mercy to kill the wounded man. His wound had been mortal, but slowly and painfully so. Far better to make a quick end. The lad had understood. Will never would’ve done it if he hadn’t been sure.

But there was no time for explanations. He had no way to know whether these men had been the only ones about, or whether reinforcements were already on their way. They had to flee.

“Mrs. Arrington.”

She didn’t look up.

“Ma’am, we have to leave. There may be others near who heard the shots. Come help me move the bodies.”

She got to her feet and stared at him. Her face was pale and set. “Why move them?”

“If we roll them off the side of the hill, anyone who finds them might not think to look up here.” All four of the troopers’ horses had scattered, and Will hoped they wouldn’t make too much haste back to their stables and thereby prompt the French to send more riders in this direction.

“Oh.” She joined him then, and together they dragged the limp burdens to the edge of the slope and rolled them off. She bent to retch again when they were done, and he held her lest she tumble after the bodies. She knelt passive and weary within the circle of his arms. Silently he handed her his canteen. She took it, rinsed her mouth, spat and took a long drink before returning it to him.

He tightened his embrace, hoping to offer her at least a moment’s comfort and encouragement. After a brief hesitation she set one of her hands atop his and leaned back until her head rested against his shoulder. His breath caught as his awareness of her as a woman came flaring back to life. He felt the first stirrings of arousal, and he clenched his jaw, willing it to subside. If she felt
that
after all she had just endured, surely she would despise him, and he wouldn’t blame her.

Carefully he broke the embrace, got to his feet and helped her stand. “We should go,” he said.

She nodded. Together they gathered their gear and left the scene of the skirmish behind, continuing to wend their way along the steep hillside toward the east.

“When will we turn south?” she asked in a tight yet conversational voice.

“Tomorrow morning, I think.”

“Do you think they’ll keep sending more men after us?”

“I’m not sure. I wouldn’t, but it all depends how much they want us back.”

“I see.” A pause. “I wouldn’t trust Colonel Robuchon to think rationally.”

“Nor would I. We’ll stay on our guard for the next few days, but if we can make it the next hour or two without anyone else coming to find us—” A shadow at the base of the rocky escarpment on their left caught his eye. “Wait.”

He knelt to investigate. Their luck was still in. A cave, and by the look of it just big enough to hold the two of them lying down. They would be safer there than in the open until the immediate danger had passed. He doubted anyone on horseback would even notice the opening, and if they dragged a few branches over the entrance, it would be even harder to spot.

“Look,” he said. “Sanctuary. A bit tomblike, but I believe we’ll both fit.”

She crouched beside him and shuddered. “Don’t talk of tombs,” she reproached him.

“I’m sorry.”

Hastily they shed their gear, pushed it against one wall of the cave, and crawled in feet first after it. They lay on their sides, facing each other. When Will stretched out his toes, they bumped against the back of the shallow cave. If he’d been a little taller they wouldn’t have fit, but as it was, the cave was perfect. For the first time since the Frogs had opened fire the day before, he relaxed his vigilance.

Mrs. Arrington, however, did not share his contentment. She shook from head to toe, her breath came dangerously fast, and she began to sob.

He patted her shoulder in awkward reassurance. “Don’t be afraid. We’re safe now.”

“I know,” she said between sobs, “only I can’t stop thinking about it.”

His need to comfort her overwhelmed all his resolutions of proper behavior. He captured her face between his hands, molding it, stroking her soft skin, exploring the feel of the features already so familiar and beloved to his sight. She stilled, and her breathing steadied as she exhaled on a sigh.

As he traced the path of her tears, she turned her head and pressed a kiss into his palm. The touch of her soft lips on sensitive skin jolted him down to his toes.

He leaned closer and brushed her lips with his own. Even now, he wasn’t sure she would want this. She might still be in shock from their encounter with the hussars. Or she might not want a man anywhere near her after what had almost happened to her last night. So he asked by making his kiss as gentle as he could.

One of her hands stole out to rest against his shoulder; the other threaded through his hair.

He had his answer. He deepened the kiss, opening his mouth over hers. Still it was a leisurely exploration, tongues softly tasting each other. He slid one hand into her hair, into the silken curls that wrapped around his seeking fingers.

He broke the kiss to breathe.
“Anna,”
he gasped and sought refuge in her touch again.

***

Anna smiled against Will’s mouth. She pressed closer to him, reveling in the feel of his long, lean, masculine body, the horrors of the morning and the night before forgotten for the moment. Long before she was ready, he ended the kiss and gathered her hard against him, her cheek pressed against his shoulder. She could feel his every ragged and unsteady breath.

“What are we going to do?” he asked. He sounded dazed, lost.

Whatever they did, no one would ever know about it but the two of them. The implications terrified and thrilled her. “I don’t know,” she said. She thought she knew what she wanted—if she dared—but she wasn’t ready to speak of it yet.

She nestled closer. He mustn’t push her away. Not that he could, under the circumstances.
Bless
this cave. “Tomblike is entirely the wrong word,” she said. “It’s more like a cocoon.”

He exhaled, somewhere between a sniff and a snort. “Don’t expect me to turn into a butterfly.”

She chuckled. “You’d never be so gaudy. You’re more of a moth.”

She felt him relax, his grip on her back comfortable rather than taut and desperate.

“Not a moth, either,” he said. “A grasshopper.”

“Grasshoppers don’t hatch from cocoons,” she pointed out.

“It’s what the Frogs call the Rifles, because of our uniforms.”

“Oh, of course. Colonel Robuchon called you that, and I meant to ask why, but it slipped my mind.”

“No wonder.” His encircling arm tightened briefly, protectively, and she sighed against his shoulder. “I wish I’d killed him,” he said thoughtfully. “If I ever get the chance in battle, I will.”

She shivered.

“It’s what I do, you realize.” His voice took on a confessional tone. “What all riflemen do—at least, the good shots. Not always, of course. Sometimes we fight just like the rest of the infantry. But we’re meant to pick out officers and the like, anyone who looks important.”

“I know,” she said. “At least, I understand the strategy. But it’s…startling…to watch you.”

“When you’re in battle, your mind is different.” He spoke slowly, as if he were trying to work it out as he explained it to her. She doubted he had ever talked of it to anyone else, and she felt honored that he found her a worthy confidante. “Everything is faster. You’re more aware of each action, each moment—no remembering yesterday or hoping for tomorrow. It’s all now.”

They were silent for a few moments. His hand was in her hair, and she shifted slightly to give him better access and because one of his uniform buttons was digging into her cheek.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She considered. Really, it was a marvel to her that she
was
all right, content in the arms of a man for whom she felt something too powerful and deep to name. She had fought Colonel Robuchon, and with Will’s help she had won. The terror lingered, but she had won, and she rejoiced to be alive and able to lie in his arms and take pleasure in his strength.

One thing haunted her, however. “I’m well,” she said. “Except I keep seeing that boy, the one I shot. I wonder who will mourn him once he’s missed.” She shuddered. “I know I had to shoot him, but I wish I’d done it properly, so you wouldn’t have been forced to finish it.”

“I was afraid you hated me for that.”

She attempted to stretch her legs, bumping her feet against his. He shifted slightly. “I think I did for a moment,” she said. “But then I understood. You gave him a good death. The one I’d given him wouldn’t have been half so quick and merciful.”

“Anna.” He laid his free hand against her cheek. “You’d never so much as held a gun before today had you?”

“No.”

“What you did was brave. You did something you’d never done before well enough to keep us both alive.”

“I had to.”

“That’s what courage is. Doing what must be done no matter what. You did well. And the lad is with God now.”

“You believe that?”

“I have to. I couldn’t keep being a soldier, else.”

Anna had never had much faith. “I hope you’re right. He looked younger than I am. And he had a kind face. He was too young to come to an end.”

“That’s the worst of it, isn’t it?” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “It’d be easier if all our enemies were like Colonel Robuchon.”

“But they’re just the same as us. We’ve even got our own Robuchons,” she added, thinking of Sebastian and the Spanish girl.

“Yes, we do.”

Despite herself, Anna yawned. How could she feel tired? But then she remembered it had been over a day since she’d slept.

“You should try to sleep,” Will said. “We’re safe here. We’ll leave this afternoon, after the heat breaks.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay awake and listen for the Frogs.”

After all she had seen him do, she could well believe him capable of going without sleep indefinitely. So she nestled against him and closed her eyes.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but when she awoke her right arm was numb and sections of her side ached from the uneven cave floor. Her head was pillowed on Will’s shoulder, and she felt his chest rise and fall with each slow, steady breath, punctuated at intervals by soft snores. So he was human after all.

She couldn’t judge the time by the scant light that filtered through the half-hidden mouth of the cave, but the air felt like afternoon now—hotter, but drier. Should she wake him? Not yet. He needed his sleep. Besides, this was bliss, and she wanted to savor it. Throughout her marriage she had rejoiced when Sebastian’s duties took him away for a few nights or when the logistics of a billet forced them to bunk apart.

But Will, now. If she could always sleep beside someone she trusted and admired as she did him, she would never want to spend a night alone again. Better this cave with Will than the finest feather bed by herself.

Yet she would only have him at her side for a few days. A week, at most. She had to make the most of the little time they had.

She wanted him desperately, and she was past caring whether it was right or wrong. She hoped he felt the same and would take the lead, as she had no notion of how to conduct a seduction. With Sebastian her duty had been to lie passively and let herself be used. And because her pride and sense of honor would not allow her to do otherwise, she had executed that duty faithfully.

Maybe, just maybe, Sebastian had been wrong about her. If she ever meant to try again, how could she hope for a better chance than what the fates had handed her now? No one would ever know what she and Will did out here. Sebastian had never told the world what he thought of her—he was far too proud for that—so she was a lady of impeccable reputation. That reputation, coupled with her fortune, should keep her above suspicion. She could do it. Why not? Will made her feel alive again after she had consigned herself to a kind of living death. Her old self, her reckless self, wanted to embrace that life to the fullest.

She had never felt anything quite like this heady blend of desire, trust and admiration, but she shied away from putting a name to it. It wasn’t love. It couldn’t be. It was impossible to love on so short an acquaintance. She had learned from her great mistake and would never again stake her life and honor on a momentary enchantment. But surely she and Will could enjoy the enchantment while it lasted and part with dignity at the end of their journey—surely they both had sufficient maturity and wisdom for that.
Why not?

And if it turned out that Sebastian had been right—well, it would mean reviving all the old misery. But at least she would know and be able to live accordingly.

Will stirred. “What?” he mumbled in a sleep-fogged voice as he patted her shoulder and back as if trying to remember who she was and what she was doing there. He shook his head vigorously. “Good God. I didn’t mean to sleep.”

She laughed gently. “No. Because Will Atkins is a perfect soldier who can go without sleep for a week.”

“Actually,” he said with great dignity, “I’d planned to let you have your nap, then wake you to listen while I rested. But I must have drifted off.”

“In a warm, dark place, with someone snoring beside you? I don’t see how such a thing could’ve happened.”

He chuckled. “No harm done, I suppose. If anyone had ridden through, I’m sure we would’ve heard. And you don’t snore.”

“You do,” she said affably. “But I’ve heard far worse.”

“Your husband?”

“Oh, he was loud enough, but I meant Cousin Alec—Major Gordon. I hated when we had to camp in the open or our billet had thin walls. I don’t see how Helen endures it.”

“True devotion?”

“Undoubtedly.” She stretched out, trying to revive her stiff limbs. “We should leave, I suppose.”

“Yes. I’d like to put a few more miles behind us before dark.”

Will pulled aside the branches concealing the entrance to their refuge and crawled out. Anna followed and accepted his offered hand to lift her to her feet. He slid the knapsack onto his back, shouldered his rifle and handed her the spare rifle and her canteen. As she settled the straps as comfortably as she could manage, movement in the valley below drew her eye. It was one of the hussar’s horses, a chestnut with a white blaze and white stockings on its forelegs. “Look, Will!”