Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy (27 page)

Like his father.

Gabe approached Rappard Hall, his horse’s sides heaving. Through a window he could see a scuffle, a man being beaten.

“Good God!” he exclaimed aloud. Was he too late?

He dismounted at the front door and ran up to pound on it.

It opened immediately. A wide-eyed elderly footman pointed to the stairway. “They are fighting!”

Gabe bounded up two flights of stairs and spied Edwin standing at one of the doors.

“Lawd!” exclaimed Edwin, jumping aside as Gabe ran past him and burst into the room.

A man turned in surprise. He held a knife and looked as if he was about to plunge it into Claude’s chest.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” In one swift motion Gabe seized the man’s wrist and twisted it until the knife fell to the floor.

Two other men rushed at him, but Gabe swung the first man around and used him as a battering ram, shoving them all across the room against a wall. They tumbled to the floor like a set of skittles.

Gabe snatched the knife, a thin, lethal stiletto, and was ready for them when they made it back to their feet.

“Get back!” Gabe ordered, whipping the stiletto under their noses like a sword.

The three men retreated until they stood flat against the wall.

From the corner of his eye Gabe saw a young woman run to Claude and wrap her arms around him. Claude’s face looked battered. His nose bled as did a cut above his eye. His clothes were ripped and dishevelled.

Gabe swallowed. He’d almost been too late. He’d almost cost Emmaline her son.

He shook the thought away and aimed the knife at Edwin’s friends. The scent of perfume filled the room. Gabe quickly glanced around. This must be the young woman’s room, not Edwin’s, but Edwin had blood on his shirt. What exactly had happened here?

He asked the young woman, “Miss, are you harmed?”

“No,” she responded, still holding on to Claude. “But—but this man received a terrible beating.”

Claude looked up at him. “Captain Deane,” he said in a raspy and pained voice.

“He is an intruder!” cried the man who’d wielded the stiletto. “He attacked our friend and this lady. What did you expect us to do?”

“Claude did not attack me! He came to my aid.” The young woman snatched a robe from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around herself. She pointed to the man who’d wielded the stiletto. “Mr Frye accosted me and Claude stopped him.”

Edwin entered the room and leaned against the wall next to the door. He gestured to the blood on his nightshirt. “Come now, Deane. You sent this fellow. He tried to kill me.”

“Stubble it, Edwin!” Gabe shouted. “You brought trouble on yourself. Unless you want more of it, shut your damned mouth.”

Edwin scoffed. “Who could possibly cause me more trouble than you have?”

Gabe glared at him. “Your father. He’s seen proof of what happened in Badajoz.”

Edwin’s eyes flashed with surprise. “Proof?”

“Proof of what?” Frye asked.

Gabe advanced on him and put the point of the stiletto under his chin. “Keep silent.” He turned a steely gaze on the other two men. “And you lot? Who are you and what have you to say?”

One replied. “Ha-Harry Stewel, sir. I only saw this stranger fighting with Nicholas. I did not know Nicholas attacked Miss Finch.”

Gabe nodded and pointed the stiletto at the last man. “And you?”

This one straightened his spine. “I am George Rappard. This is my house.” He pointed to Claude. “This fellow is an intruder! As are you, sir!”

Gabe ignored his accusation. “Is Miss Finch a guest in your house?” he asked, staring him down.

Rappard looked confused. “Guest? No, she’s a cousin. She lives here.”

Gabe leaned in close so that mere inches separated his face from Rappard’s. “You should be less concerned about intruders and more about protecting your cousin from your friend.”

Rappard’s eyes widened.

Gabe stepped back again and looked at each man in turn. “You are a disgrace to your names.” He turned to Frye. “You and Edwin most of all.”

George Rappard, looking disturbed, turned to his cousin. “Did Nicholas really accost you?”

Her eyes shone with tears. “Yes.”

Frye’s voice rose in protest. “She enticed me. It is all her fault.”

Claude struggled to his feet. “You cannot blame her!”

“No. No. No.” Rappard waved his hand at Frye. “You’ve been bothering her the whole visit. I did not credit it until now.” He faced Gabe. “I would like to end this with as little fuss as possible. I certainly would not like it to become known to the magistrate. Or my parents.” He peered at Gabe sheepishly. “May—may I know who you are, sir?”

“Captain Deane, lately of the Royal Scots.” Gabe offered little more explanation. “I have been searching for Edwin. I called upon him here earlier today.”

Rappard made a mollifying gesture. “I will not ask why, nor what possessed you to return at this hour. I am only grateful that you did.” He took a step towards Miss Finch. “Forgive me, Louisa.”

Miss Finch nodded.

The young man sounded sensible and the situation was calming. Perhaps Gabe could get Claude safely back to his mother after all.

“I will be content to leave now,” Gabe said. “I’ll take Claude with me, but you must assure me that this young lady will be safe under your protection.”

“You have my word on it.” Rappard turned to Edwin. “I do not know what trouble you caused, Edwin, but I think you should leave.” He glared at Frye. “I demand you leave, Nicholas. There is a coach passing though the village tomorrow. You both will be on it. You are no longer welcome here.” To Gabe, he said. “You may go anytime.”

“We leave now, Claude.” Gabe retrieved the stiletto’s sheath from the floor and put the knife inside his coat. “No argument.”

Claude did not argue. He did not speak at all, but merely limped towards the door, one hand pressing his ribs. He looked Edwin directly in the eye as he passed. Edwin shrank back.

In the hallway, Gabe offered Claude an arm, but Claude pushed him away.

“Wait!” cried Miss Finch. “I will walk you out.” She ran to Claude and lent him her shoulder for support. Claude accepted her help.

Gabe shrugged and followed them to the stairs.

The servants were clustered at the bottom of the stairway in the hall.

“Miss Louisa,” the elderly footman asked, “what happened?”

“I will explain later,” she said as they descended the stairs. “All is well now.”

She, Claude and Gabe walked out of the door.

As soon as they were outside, Miss Finch embraced Claude. “How can I ever thank you for saving me!”

He shook his head, but held her in return. “Do not make me so good, Louisa. I am not.”

Gabe watched them, his hands on his hips. Obviously more than a chance rescue connected these two.

She pulled away and put both palms to his cheeks, making him look at her. “Do not say more. To me you will always be my hero and my good friend.”

Claude looked down on her. “I am afraid for you to stay in this house.”

She gave a wan smile. “My cousin is in earnest, I believe. But I will also stay the night in the housekeeper’s room and remain with the servants until Nicholas and Edwin leave.”

He held her close again. “Goodbye, Louisa.”

“Make haste, Claude.” Gabe spoke gently.

Claude broke away from her. “I must retrieve my satchel.”

“I will get it. Where is it?” Gabe asked.

“Around the back of the house behind the large tree.” His gaze did not leave Louisa’s.

Gabe found the satchel and led the horse to Claude, who still stood with Louisa. She held on to him as if she could not bear for him to leave.

“You ride.” Gabe offered an arm to help Claude mount.

Claude ignored it and mounted on his own, uttering a pained cry as he did so.

His Louisa blew him a kiss as Gabe led the horse away.

When they reached the road, Claude, sounding very defeated and in pain, asked, “Where are you taking me?”

Gabe turned. “To your mother.”

Chapter Eighteen

G
abe led the horse well past the Rappard gate before Claude spoke. “Why did you bring my mother to this place? I demand you tell me. Why did you bring her here?”

Of all Claude might have said, these words were not what Gabe expected. He stopped the horse and stepped closer. “Do you wish to make me the villain in this escapade?”

Claude’s eyes flashed back at him, filled with resentment and accusation.

Gabe schooled his emotions. “Your mother is in England because of you. She journeyed from Brussels to seek me out for the sole purpose of asking my help to find you and stop you from killing Edwin Tranville.”

Claude’s spine stiffened, but the action seemed to cause him a spasm of pain. “The honour of my family demanded it.”

Gabe kept his gaze steady and his voice firm. “Was it honourable to sneak away, to hide your intentions from your mother? You knew she would not approve. Instead of facing up to her, you lied about your whereabouts and informed her in a letter.”

Claude lowered his head.

At least Claude showed some guilt for what he’d done to Emmaline. Gabe intended to make it even clearer. “Your mother was frantic for you. She was terrified she would lose you.”

Claude’s voice turned defensive. “She merely presumed I would fail.”

Gabe shot back, “No. She feared you would succeed and be caught and hanged for murder.”

In the moonlight Claude’s eyes now filled with misery. “I did not succeed, did I? I failed to kill Tranville.” The young man turned his face away. “I failed again, like before.”

“Before?” How many attempts had Claude made?

“In Badajoz.”

Ah! Gabe was beginning to understand. Claude’s need for vengeance was fuelled by anger at himself. “When you were merely a boy?”

Claude’s nod was almost imperceptible. “They killed my father and I could not stop them. Edwin Tranville tried to rape my mother and I could not stop him.” He wrapped his arms around his ribcage and took in a laboured breath.

A memory returned. Young Claude flung over his father’s body, crying,
“Papa! Papa!”
Gabe felt a wave of pity.

“You were a boy. They were men. Not only men, they were soldiers. You were helpless against them.”

Curse that Frenchman. Mableau had dragged his wife and son into war. He had caused the horror in their lives. Perhaps Emmaline and Claude would have found happiness had they stayed in France, had they never seen Badajoz.

Had they never had reason to meet Gabe.

“It does not matter now.” Claude sounded like a bitter child. “Because you have prevented me from killing your friend.”

So Gabe was back to being the villain? He laughed. “Edwin is no friend of mine. I stopped you from killing him only for your mother’s sake.”

Gabe held on to the horse’s bridle and signalled the animal to start walking again. Claude winced in pain with each step the horse took. It was no wonder. The young man was bruised all over, in body and in spirit.

Gabe took his time before speaking again, because he suspected Claude would not credit anything he had to say.

Still, the young man deserved an explanation. “Your father was a soldier, Claude. Soldiers die in war. Your father died in the ugliest part of war, when men riot and plunder, but it was still war.” Emmaline had given this same explanation their first night together in Brussels. “Three thousand of our men were killed in Badajoz that day. I don’t condone what came after, but perhaps none of those men would have acted so barbarically had they not endured such hard fighting. You never had a chance to learn how a battle can affect a man. You were injured too quickly—”

Claude interrupted him. “How do you know I was injured quickly?”

Gabe had assumed Emmaline had told Claude. “You charged my square at Waterloo. I saw you fall and dragged you into the square for safety.”

“It is true?” Claude gaped down at him. “You carried me to Brussels, to my mother?”

Gabe glanced away, the pain of that parting with her still raw. “It was the least I could do for her.”

Claude looked so distressed that Gabe decided to leave him to his thoughts.

They travelled on in silence until Gabe spied the gate of the hill farm ahead of them.

There was one more matter he must address before returning Claude to Emmaline once again.

He slowed their pace. “I want you to tell me what happened tonight. The whole of it.”

Claude’s head lifted. An obstinate expression was quickly replaced with a resigned one. “I went to Tranville’s room to kill him. I tried to push the knife into his heart, but I could not make myself do it. You may call me a coward if you like.”

“Were you afraid to kill him?” Gabe asked.

“I was not afraid!” Claude responded quickly. He paused as if reluctant to go on. Finally he said, “I thought of how it would be for someone to discover him dead. To see all the blood. I did not wish that experience on—on anyone.”

Gabe would wager it had been Miss Finch he’d thought of.