As if to taunt him, a gush of water fell from the roof, splattering on the floor right next to her. She moved over as if it were nothing.
‘Are you hungry, miss?’ Rossiter called over. ‘We have some bread and cheese.’
She swivelled around to face him. ‘I would be very grateful for anything, Rossiter. I have not eaten since breakfast.’
‘You might as well cook our beef, too,’ Rhys said. ‘While we still have dry wood.’
The roof was now leaking from many places. Smith found a bucket to place under the worst leak, but the building did not have enough containers to catch every drip.
The batmen prepared a simple meal and none of them mentioned to Helene that they were sharing their limited rations with her. After dinner, Rossiter and Smith pulled out a square piece of leather with concentric squares drawn on it and used it and some black and white game pieces made of wood to play Three Men’s Morris.
Grant took out a bottle of brandy he’d somehow preserved and poured some for Rhys and himself. He lifted the bottle. ‘Would you like some, Lady Helene?’
She offered her tin cup and the three sat together, sipping their brandy.
‘Will you tell me of the battle yesterday?’ she asked.
Rhys exchanged a glance with Grant. They both knew there were parts not to be spoken of.
Finally, Rhys spoke. ‘It was hard fighting. The 44th lost four men and another fifty or so wounded. The French did not take the crossroads, though, so the objective was achieved.’
‘I passed carts of wounded men when I rode here,’ she said. ‘Lots of them.’
Rhys took a sip of his brandy. ‘It will be worse tomorrow.’ He instantly regretted saying that to her. Why worry her more than he had already? ‘But you will leave before it starts, Helene.’
She nodded sadly. ‘I know I won’t find David now.’
Grant gestured to their leaking roof. ‘We won’t have a battle unless this rain stops.’
‘Those poor men outside,’ Helene murmured.
Rhys liked that she thought of the men. Like always, the common soldier endured the worst.
‘We’ll try to stay as dry as possible tonight,’ Rhys said.
‘You should take off your coats and put them close to the fire to dry,’ she said. ‘Do not keep them on because of me.’
Rhys suspected they had been doing that very thing.
He must have looked sceptical, because she added, ‘Come now, Rhys. When we were children, we stripped down to our underclothes to swim in the lake. You know I am not missish.’
Grant was first to stand and remove his coat. ‘I do not need a second invitation.’ He took off his boots and stockings, as well.
Helene removed her coat and boots, and Rhys followed. He and Grant carried the clothes to the fireplace, interrupting Rossiter and Smith’s game and their mugs of gin. ‘You, too, men,’ he said. ‘Maybe you can devise some way to take best advantage of the fire.’
‘I have just the thing.’ Smith rose to his feet.
The privates drove spikes into the stone walls and strung a rope they’d packed from one side of the room to the other. When the clothes were hung on it, it also created a sort of barrier.
Grant picked up his blanket. ‘I’m getting closer to the fire.’ He walked through the clothes to the other side with Rossiter and Smith.
Helene remained seated on the ground. Rhys felt her eyes follow him as he gathered his blankets. He found a dry spot in the dark corner that afforded as much privacy as possible. He laid out one blanket on the dirt floor.
‘Come here, Helene,’ he said softly.
She rose and walked over to him.
‘Best to get as much sleep as you can,’ he murmured.
She stood close and suddenly he did not care if he was angry at her, did not care if she’d been foolhardy, all he cared about was that she was standing near. Without speaking, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She melted against him.
He lowered his head to be close to her ear. ‘I thought I would never hold you again.’
She clasped him even tighter. ‘I never expected to see you—’ Her voice broke off.
He turned her face to his and he lowered his lips to hers. The memory of lying with her the night before came rushing back and he was consumed with a desire he could not slake.
No matter. No matter. He would be content that she was in his arms, that he would lie next to her for another night.
He eased her to the blanket that offered little warmth against the dirt floor. With any luck the ground beneath them would stay dry. That must be enough for this night. She nestled next to him and he covered them both with his second blanket.
She moved so that her lips were next to his ear. ‘I wish this were last night.’
He did, as well, with every fibre of his being, but he feared his desire had dishonoured her. ‘I am not sure—’ he said.
She put her fingers on his lips. ‘Do not tell me you regret last night. I will be furious with you if you do. I do not regret it. No—no matter what happens, I will never regret making love with you.’
He took her hand in his and kissed her fingers. ‘I do not regret it.’
She nestled against him again. ‘Good.’
He held her, laying his cheek against her soft hair. ‘I meant what I said to you, Helene. I never stopped loving you.’
‘Oh, Rhys.’ She sighed. ‘After I…rejected you, it took me very little time to realise that I’d made the wrong decision. I yearned to be with you.’ She separated the slit in his shirt to place a kiss on his bare chest.
It was too late. The army was too much a part of him now. He’d thrived on the hardship that had tested his strength and resolve, but, no matter how scrappy Helene might be at the moment, she belonged in the world of gold gowns and glittering balls.
‘I—I cannot promise—’ he said.
She cut him off. ‘I am asking nothing of you, Rhys.’ She released a long breath. ‘Except to live. You must live.’
Even that he could not promise.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Rhys heard stirring in the shack. He opened his eyes and spied daylight coming through cracks in the roof. He glanced over at Helene. Her hair had come loose during the night and curled around her shoulders. Her lips were slightly parted and her face was tranquil. She looked very much like that little girl who’d been his constant companion in his childhood. He eased himself away from her and rose, tucking the blanket around her.
He padded across the still damp floor, through the barrier of drying clothes. Rossiter and Smith were up and already had water on to boil. Grant sat up and rubbed his hair. None of them spoke.
Rhys felt his coat, which was still damp, but, at least not quite as bad as the night before. Rossiter held up his razor and Rhys walked over to shave at the small basin and mirror the private had rigged up. Rhys wiped his face after. He donned his coat, stockings and boots.
‘I’m going out,’ Rhys said. ‘See what I can discover.’
As he headed towards the door, Helene stirred. ‘Rhys?’
‘Right here.’ He walked over to her.
She sat up. ‘What is that rumbling sound?’
Rhys had to stop to think about what she was hearing. ‘Oh. That’s the sound of the voices of seventy thousand men waking up.’
Her jaw dropped.
He leaned down and brushed the hair away from her face. ‘I was about to go outside. Do you want to come with me?’
‘Yes. Give me a moment.’ She rose and quickly put on her stockings, boots and coat. She pinned her hair up on top of her head and placed her beaver hat over it.
‘Good God, you look just like a boy.’ Grant spoke as he emerged through the drying clothes. ‘A very pretty boy, that is.’
She smiled. ‘When we were young, I us
ed to wish I was a boy.’
Grant grinned. ‘I rather suspect Rhys is now glad you are not.’
Rhys opened the door. ‘We’ll be back. I just want to see what is going on.’
‘Do not miss breakfast,’ Smith called to him. ‘We’ll have some ham. And there’s bread, as well.’
Rhys held the door for Helene to go out first, before he stepped outside. The sky was clear and the air smelled of the rye in the nearby fields, of wet grass, mud, and campfires. They walked to a hill and climbed to the top so they could see the regiments splayed out across the fields.
‘What will happen today, Rhys?’ Helene asked.
He responded. ‘Napoleon must first wait for the ground to dry so he can move his artillery. He’ll pound us with cannon fire first.’ He pointed to La Haye Sainte at one end and Hougoumont at the other end. ‘He’ll try to take those farms, but Wellington will have us defend them to keep open the roads passing by them.’
‘What about your regiment?’ she asked.
He glanced down to where he knew his men had camped for the night. He could see them stirring, getting ready for what lay ahead. ‘Eventually the French will attack.’ He would not tell her the French infantry far outnumbered the Allies, nor that many of the Allied regiments were filled with new and untested men, some who fled in panic at Quatre Bras. ‘The British infantry are the finest in the world,’ he assured her instead. ‘We will either defeat them or we will hold them until the Prussians arrive to assist us.’
She turned away, so he was unable to see her reaction to his answer.
Finally, she spoke. ‘Thank you for telling me.’
Suddenly the sound of musket fire filled the valley. She swivelled around. ‘Where is that coming from? Has the attack started?’
‘The men are merely clearing their muskets,’ he told her.
He scanned the area again. Everything looked leisurely and unremarkable. Where the army had not trampled on it, the rye in the fields swayed in the breeze beneath a clear blue sky dotted with white clouds. An idyllic day.
He turned away from the scene and faced Helene. ‘We should go back. Breakfast will be ready.’
He walked next to her, wanting to hold her hand or drape his arm over her shoulder, but he could not afford any hint that she was not the boy she was dressed up to be. Soon he would have to send her on her way. With luck she could pass unnoticed on the road back to Brussels.
They reached the farm building where Rossiter and Smith had breakfast ready, ham and bread and cheese and glasses of wine. She laughed when the bottle of wine was produced. When they finished, Rossiter helped Rhys put on his officer’s sash, his sword and two pistols. Helene never took her eyes off him.
He met her gaze. ‘Time to go.’
* * *
‘I’m ready.’ Helene smiled.
Rhys looked magnificent in his full uniform, but the sword and pistols reminded Helene of what he would be facing this day. She felt like pulling her hair and wailing out of fear that he might be hurt or killed. But she’d already caused him too much worry by being here. She refused to put any more on his plate. She’d merely be strong and assure him she would do precisely what he’d told her to do.
Leave.
Leave without knowing if he lived or died.
Rhys picked up his saddle while she said goodbye to Rossiter and Smith and thanked them for their kindness to her. She gave Grant a big hug goodbye, one that almost made tears fall. He, too, could die.
They all could die.
She scolded herself. How dare she assume these fine, strong, experienced soldiers would not emerge victorious? They’d survived the Peninsula, after all.
So she lifted her head and walked out of the farm building exuding confidence in them.
‘I’ll walk with you a little way,’ Rhys told her. ‘But I need to get my horse and join my company to await orders.’
‘Why don’t I walk with you to where your horse is stabled, then I will be on my way,’ she suggested, wanting to stay with him until the last possible moment.
He agreed and led her to his horse, one of the few that had shelter during the rainy night. Although the groom was nowhere in sight, it was clear Rhys’s horse had been fed and watered. Helene stood at the horse’s head and stroked its neck while Rhys put on the saddle and bridle.
The smell of hay and horse brought back memories. ‘Remember when we were finally old enough to ride my father’s horses wherever we wished?’ she asked Rhys.
He smiled at her. ‘Most of my experience on horseback came from those days.’ His father never had enough to afford keeping a horse for Rhys to ride.
She smiled back. ‘We had many fine days.’
Her heart was breaking. Would those memories be all that they had?
He led the horse to the door of the stable.
She looked up at him. ‘It is time, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
She reached up and touched his face. ‘You will make your country proud today.’
He enfolded her in his arms and held her so tight she could hardly take a breath. ‘Go back to Brussels. Promise me.’ His voice was urgent. ‘I love you, Helene. You must stay safe.’
She pulled away enough to hold his face in her hands and make him look into her eyes. ‘I will. I love you, too, but you must not worry about me. Do not give me another thought. I will be back in Brussels before noon.’
He leaned down and kissed her. As she tasted his lips, now so achingly familiar, she thought of the soldier she’d seen saying goodbye to his wife and baby. She knew that woman’s heart had been breaking like hers broke now.
He abruptly pulled away and led his bay mare outside and mounted the horse. Helene reached up to grasp his hand one last time.
‘Go with my love,’ she said in a brave voice.
He merely nodded. He turned his horse and rode away.
Helene watched until he disappeared from sight. ‘God, keep him safe,’ she whispered. ‘God, let him live.’
* * *
Rhys rode along the road to the ridge when he heard several horses behind him moving at a faster pace. He pulled his horse to the side of the road and waited for the riders to pass.
He saw instantly that it was the Duke of Wellington leading the cavalcade on his chestnut horse. He wore his typical battle wear—a dark blue coat, white neckcloth, white buckskin breeches, Hessian boots, and a cocked hat that further distinguished him from anyone else on the battlefield. In his entourage were his aides-de-camp, his generals, the Prince of Orange and other dignitaries, but it was not these important men that caught Rhys’s eye.
At Wellington’s side was his friend, the Duke of Richmond, who was not with the army, and with the Duke of Richmond was his son, William Lennox, eyepatch and all.
And David.
In such exalted company, Helene had never had a chance of finding David. Think how puffed up David must be at such an honour to ride with the Duke of Wellington. Rhys hoped the Duke of Richmond and the others who did not belong with the army would have the sense to observe the battle from a very safe distance. And he hoped David would have the sense to remain with them.
He waited for them all to pass. The last man in the group Rhys recognised as Quartermaster-General Sir William De Lancey. De Lancey glanced his way and acknowledged Rhys with a nod. Rhys followed behind them, but they quickly pulled ahead. It was time he joined his company. Wellington’s arrival meant that orders would soon reach them.
As Rhys rode on, he glanced over towards La Belle Alliance. On the crest of the ridge he could just make out lines of men. The French army. Rhys was glad Helene would be well on her way to Brussels by now.
Suddenly a man on a white horse rode across the far crest.
Napoleon.
* * *
Helene searched for her horse for more than two
hours. The mare had been moved from where she’d left it in the care of a groom and he did not know where it wound up. She’d searched everywhere horses had been kept, to no avail. The day had become beastly hot and she wound up carrying the caped coat and wishing she could just leave it somewhere.
She was far from the road to Brussels, but she started walking back to it. She was determined to keep her promise to Rhys so she’d have to return to Brussels on foot. At least she was far behind the Allied lines. She could not see the thousands of soldiers, but there were plenty of people rushing here and there. Farriers shoeing horses, servants tending to officers, women caring for children.
She made her way to a barn on one side of the battlefield but there were no horses there except the ones hitched to a wagon full of crates. A man was moving the crates from the wagon into the barn.
He beaconed her over. ‘You! Lad! Come here a moment.’
She obeyed. ‘Yes, sir?’ She lowered her voice.
‘Help me move these crates off the wagon.’ He picked up one and handed it to her before she had an opportunity to refuse. She had just enough time to drop the coat she held to take the crate into her arms. He picked up another one and led her to corner of the barn. Inside were several long tables. He directed her to place the crate atop others stacked in the corner. It was not a difficult task; the crates were not too heavy, so she continued to help him until they’d moved them all inside the shelter.
‘What is in these?’ she asked.
‘Lint, surgeon’s tow, sponges, linen for bandages,’ he responded. ‘Thread, needles, plaster. You know. What we need for the wounded.’
For the wounded? There were so many boxes.
She turned to go.
‘Wait,’ the man said. ‘Here’s another wagon.’
Another wagon pulled up, this time carrying blankets and a large wooden chest. Helene helped him empty that wagon and its driver moved it quickly out of the way.
Helene was damp with perspiration. She wiped her face with her sleeve.
Harlequin Historical February 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 42