The Wartime Bride

by Joanne Wadsworth

  From her high perch on the battlements, she grinned to herself.

  Yes, she was in for a wonderfully sweet affair with a gentleman she trusted.

  Chapter 5

  Harry strode down the passageway with Captain Poole, his gut gnawing in the most vicious way. Poole had met with Wellington, a meeting Harry had attended too. Wellington had given the order that their mounted troops be repositioned closer to the forts along the first Line. The 18th regiment had been recalled here to St. Vincent’s and would remain stationed within these walls until they learnt the French commander’s exact target point along the peninsula.

  Wellington had now ridden for his headquarters at Pero Negro, but not before asking Harry to visit the smaller forts along the western coastline, to ensure all was readied for an attack. They had to be prepared along the entire twenty-five mile width of the first Line for when the French advanced. Before he left though, he needed to release some of the tension flowing through him.

  Patting his ever-present saber strapped to his hip, he couldn’t miss his friend’s white-knuckled grip on his own saber. Eyeing Poole as they entered the front foyer, he said, “It appears we both need to vent our frustration. I was leading a training session with my men before your arrival, but haven’t had a chance to wield my own sword. Perhaps you’d care to join me in a sparring session of our own? Just the two of us.”

  “Hell, yes.” Poole gritted his teeth. “It’s been far too long since our last bout.”

  “No restrictions. No restraints.” He stepped outside the front door as Poole nodded his agreement.

  Across the other side of the inner courtyard, a cart rumbled through the main gate and weary soldiers—their uniforms streaked with dirt and blood—jumped from the rear. Working in pairs, they carried their fellow wounded soldiers on stretchers into the infirmary. Two stable lads harnessed fresh horses for the cart’s return to the front line. The driver stacked sacks of oats onto the cart while maids from the kitchens hurried across from the servants’ entrance with loaves of fresh bread, baskets of vegetables, and piles of blankets. With the cart overflowing with provisions, the driver gripped the reins and drove back through the main gate under the portcullis.

  High on the battlements next to the gatehouse, Jamie Chalmers stood in fawn breeches and a yellowed tunic with a brown cap on his head. Julia’s brother chatted to one of the guardsmen who had a telescope raised to his eye as he surveyed the craggy mountains in the distance.

  “That’s the professor’s son, isn’t it?” Poole asked from beside him.

  “Yes, Jamie. He’s sixteen, and rather clever. He takes after his father with his love of engineering.”

  “Is Miss Chalmers about?”

  “Why do you ask?” Harry snapped his gaze from Jamie back to Poole, his friend’s tone far more suggestive than it needed to be.

  “I meant no offense with the question.” Poole held up his hands.

  “Then what did you mean?”

  “Jamie’s sister is a lady I quite admire. I realize she’s not from our Society, but she’s intelligent, quick-witted, discerning in nature, and extremely alluring.” Poole stroked his jaw, his gaze veering toward the infirmary. Poole’s elder brother was a viscount, a man who’d already secured his heir and spare, his wife giving him two sons, which meant Poole could marry whomever he wished.

  “She is admirable.” At present he was Winterly’s heir until his brother married. He would have to take more care with whom he chose for his future bride. His family would expect him to marry a lady of distinction or even an heiress, not that he needed the dowry either could offer him. Papa had left him a generous amount following his passing. Not only that though, he’d earned a decent amount as a hussar and had invested his funds wisely. He had plenty to follow his dreams once he retired and sold his commission. Soon. He’d retire soon. He didn’t wish to be fighting in this damned war once he’d reached thirty, an age awaiting him just around the corner.

  Poole continued to eye the infirmary as if hoping that Julia would soon emerge, then hummed under his breath before saying, “Miss Chalmers is splendid to look upon. I honestly wouldn’t mind becoming better acquainted with her. Are you aware if she’s—”

  “She’s a spinster.”

  “Pardon?” Poole startled and struck him a wide-eyed look. “She’s a beauty and can’t be more than twenty.”

  “Seven and twenty, actually.” He growled low and Poole seemed to notice his discontent and damn it, his friend was now grinning.

  “Ahh,” Poole murmured with a sly nod. “Am I perhaps encroaching, treading where I shouldn’t? Have you taken note of the lady’s admirable qualities and are pursuing her yourself?”

  “No.” A huff. “No.”

  “That didn’t sound like an actual no, even though you said it twice.”

  “Julia is everything you said, but she has chosen spinsterhood. I don’t believe she intends to veer from that decision.”

  “Hmm, since you’re calling her by her first name I’d say there is something more going on between the two of you than you’re willing to share. Oh well, I’ll simply have to search elsewhere for a lady.” Poole slapped him on the shoulder and tipped his head toward the training yard. “Come. Let’s train.”

  Training certainly beckoned. He walked with Poole toward the battling men and once they found a clear spot, he slid his saber free and faced his comrade.

  Poole had already planted his booted feet wide, his sword snug in his hand. His friend didn’t hold back. With a quick flick of his blade, he attacked, thrusting his sword high and Harry moved fast to block the fierce blow.

  For twenty minutes they fought hard, one strike after another, their blades clanging against each other’s and sweat beading on their brows. The sun rose higher and he slashed over and over, meeting each of his friend’s strikes with a firm blow of counterstrikes. “I’d forgotten,” he muttered as he swiped his forehead. “That you don’t hold back when training.”

  “You’re getting less practice since you’re not currently out on the front line.” Gaze glinting with firm determination, Poole sprang forward. “Remain on guard.”

  Harry did, meeting each swing as they battled. As the other men in the yard completed their training sessions, they moved into a circle around him and Poole. From the sidelines his fellow soldiers cheered both of them on.

  Invigorated, he slammed his blade into Poole’s and fought with one brutal blow after another until his friend suddenly grunted and fell back a step. Not for long though. Poole bounded straight back into their fight, twirling his blade as he circled him. Another hard strike from Poole, then another, each of his friend’s strategic blows coming from one side and then the other as he tried to weaken him.

  Time to change their positions.

  Rocking on his heels, Harry waited and when Poole swung, he dropped low and rolled clear, his comrade’s blade pinging off the dusty ground. His fellow soldiers cheered at his supreme move to turn the tables.

  “Major!” A lad shouted as he ran across the dusty yard, his hand on his brown cap atop his head and the odd strand of golden hair poking out.

  “Stay back, Jamie.” He cast one of the soldiers a glare. “Keep an eye on the boy.”

  Poole struck his ribs with the flat of his blade and sharp pain ricocheted through him.

  Damnation. That’d serve him for losing his concentration. If he were on the battlefield, he’d be dead.

  Poole clicked his tongue at him. “Never allow anyone to steal your concentration, not even for a moment.”

  “Captain Poole!” Jamie ducked under the soldier’s arm and bounded onto Poole’s back. The lad clung to the captain with his arms and legs wrapped tightly around him.

  “Jamie, get off me.” Poole laughed as he tried to dislodge the boy, thankfully finding the humor in the situation. “You’re like a crab.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Jamie covered Poole’s eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “I can’
t see a dratted thing now.” More chuckles from Poole.

  “Yes, and you can’t hit the major since you can’t see him.”

  Poole half bent over with laughter. “All right, all right. I promise not to hurt the major again.”

  “Very good. The crab is releasing you.” Jamie dropped to the ground, dust rising over the tips of his scuffed boots. The lad brushed his hands together with great satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

  “Good grief, lad, you’re going to make a fine hussar one day.” Poole slid his blade away and saluted Jamie. “Once you turn eighteen, come and see me. I’ll gladly take you under my wing.”

  “You will?” Jamie smiled rather wide, looking extremely pleased. “Yes, Captain. I’ll come and see you as soon as I can join the hussars.”

  Harry would have snapped his displeasure at that. If anyone was to take Jamie under his wing, it’d be him. He sheathed his saber and shook Poole’s hand. “Your last move would have been a death blow, this session your win. I’m duly reminded to keep my attention on my opponent and not on any possible distraction. A very valuable lesson. You have my thanks, my friend.”

  A nod as Poole released his hand.

  “Come with me, Jamie.” He gripped the boy’s shoulder and steered him back across the yard.

  “Are you mad at me, sir?”

  “Yes, you shouldn’t have jumped on Poole’s back. You could have gotten hurt.”

  “You’re the one who got hurt,” the boy pointed out. “Not me.”

  “Don’t argue with me when I’m trying to prove a point.” The boy was just like his sister, always arguing with him at every turn.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Down into the valley to the main encampment.” He marched through the postern gate, then strode down the hill toward the valley where yellowish-white canvas tents were erected in uniform row after row.

  “Excellent.” Jamie half ran to keep up with him. “Then what are we doing?”

  “My duties today include riding out to the forts along the western coastline. Since you have a rather observant eye when it comes to the defensive forts, you can join me. First though, I have an issue to deal with, or I should say two issues. Greaves and Rogers. They spoke ill words against your sister last eve and now we’re going to find them and knock their heads together.”

  “You’re worried that they might hurt her?”

  “No, not when I intend on making certain any such thought is driven completely and irretrievably from their minds.”

  “Hmm, by chance do you have a tendré for my sister, Major?” The lad stumbled, then righted himself as he tried to keep up with Harry’s long strides, the boy’s eyes the same striking honey-brown shade as his sister’s.

  “No, she is simply an annoyance of the greatest sort.” He had the worst tendré that any man had ever had for a woman, not that he’d ever admit that to the lady’s younger brother. “Speaking of your annoying sister, has she ever had a serious suitor?”

  “You’d have to ask her. That’s a rather personal question, wouldn’t you say?” Jamie wiped one finger smeared with coal dust on the side of his breeches.

  The boy had some strange ways about him. Whenever he saw Jamie his face was smeared with coal dust. “Why do you always do that, have a grimy face?”

  “Julia hates it when I get all grubby, and it’s my job as her brother to annoy her at every possible turn.” The boy burst into chuckles, his lips full, exactly like his sister’s, his hair the same golden shade as well, or at least what he could see poking out from under his cap.

  They passed several men working in the trenches, fortifying them where needed, the land rolling in smooth undulations here as it flowed toward the south. With his curiosity regarding Julia burning deeper than ever, he asked Jamie, “Tell me something interesting about your sister, which very few people know.”

  “She’s fluent in several languages.” The boy picked between two of his teeth. “Are you aware of that?”

  “No, which ones?” He was aware she’d traveled extensively with the professor over the years, throughout all of Europe and farther afield across the seas, but he’d never heard her speak anything other than English.

  “She speaks Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, French, Sicilian, and Latin.”

  “Are you certain?” He wasn’t aware of any lady who knew that many languages.

  “Yes, sir. I speak them all too.”

  “That’s astonishing. How did you both come to learn so many languages?”

  “From Captain Bourbon?”

  “You’ve both known him awhile, correct?” This might be his chance to uncover more about how Bourbon had met the Chalmers family. A chance he didn’t intend on giving—

  Greaves and Rogers strutted toward him.

  Anger rose swift and sharp in his gut.

  Squeezing Jamie’s shoulder, he muttered, “Stay here,” then he stormed toward the men he sought. One hand clenched, knuckles straining white, he slammed his fist into Greaves’ belly then swung at Rogers. Both men went down, gasping for air and clutching their middles. Palming the hilt of his saber, he stood over them. “I will warn you both only once. If you dare to come within fifty feet of Miss Chalmers, I won’t simply lay you both to the ground as I’ve done just now, but instead shoot you. I am a crack shot with my pistol. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Major.” A groan and nod from both men.

  “Obey my order, or else suffer the consequences.” Before he pummeled them any further, he turned on his heel and marched toward the stables near a copse of trees at the edge of the encampment.

  “Good grief.” Jamie bounded in beside him, one hand over his mouth. “I wouldn’t wish to upset you for any reason.”

  “They won’t bother your sister again, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Exactly how did they bother her?”

  “They tried to enter her chamber, without her permission.”

  “I see.” The boy went silent.

  So did he.

  They passed two apron-clad women chopping vegetables and slabs of beef on a trestle table, the cooks tossing the vegetables and meat into large blackened pots which bubbled on the fire. The hearty aroma of beef stew wafted all around.

  He entered the area near the stables where a lanky-legged lad of perhaps ten—with loosely belted pants rolled at the hem—brushed a sleek brown war horse with long and firm strokes. Across the dusty yard another lad saddled a destrier for a soldier awaiting his mount. The soldier thanked the lad with a tousle of his messy hair, then hoisted himself into his saddle and galloped across the valley toward the north.

  “Saddle two mounts and be quick about it,” he instructed the stable lad who was now free. “A destrier for me and a palfrey for the boy.”

  “Right away, Major.” The lad scurried inside the makeshift stables.

  As he awaited the lad, he leaned against a post, while Jamie plucked an apple from his pocket and climbed the corral railing and petted a horse. He fed the horse a wedge he bit out of the fruit then took a bite for himself.

  A large hawk screeched as it soared overhead.

  Toward the edge of the tree line, men practiced with their bows as they aimed their arrows at a strip of white ribbon tied around a wide trunk a hundred feet distant. Arrow after arrow thunked perfectly into the white silk, their accuracy impressive, just as it should be. He would gladly go into battle knowing those men were behind him firing their arrows at their enemy. Several other heavily armed men wielded their sabers in a fierce training session, the loud clang of their blades echoing all around. Jamie leaned his forearms across the top beam as he whistled to another horse, Julia’s favorite if Harry wasn’t mistaken. She always rode Star Blazer, the mare easy to spot with a white star emblazoned on her forehead. Jamie fed the mare some of his apple too.

  “I can ask the stable lad to ready Star Blazer for you instead.” Harry pushed off the post and set one booted foot on the rail next to Jamie’s booted feet. Forearms acros
s the top beam, he leaned in.

  “I don’t want to cause more work for the lads.” Jamie petted between Star Blazer’s silky ears.

  “It won’t take more than a few minutes to make the change.” He raised a hand to the stable lad and called out, “Ready this horse for Jamie instead of the palfrey I requested.”

  “Yes, Major.” The boy scooped a saddle from inside the stables, his voice muffled as he spoke to the other lad inside the cool recesses, then he brought the saddle out to the corral, unclipped the gate and readied Star Blazer.

  Jamie snuck into the enclosure and checked the cinch before leading the horse out and slotting one foot into the stirrup. The boy heaved into the saddle.

  “Your horse is saddled, sir.” The other stable hand passed him his reins.

  “Thank you.” He mounted up, checked the saddlebags held a flask of water and rations and once assured all was well, he cast a look at Jamie. “We’re headed directly to the coastline.”

  “Righto. Keep up if you can.” A teasing grin as Jamie thrust his knees into his mare’s flanks and galloped away.

  Oh, he’d keep up.

  He’d been riding since before he could walk.

  He urged his destrier into a gallop and rode hard until he came in side by side with the boy. They weaved up the hilly trail, the wild breeze sweeping the grass in rippling waves all about.

  Jamie beamed at him, his head tucked close to Star Blazer’s neck. “Even in the midst of a war, one can find beauty and peace. This land is stunning, don’t you think, Major?”

  “Stunning, yes.” He settled more comfortably into the saddle and gripping his reins with a firmer hold, he urged his mount on and they raced over the rise before tackling the next hill. An hour later the coastline shimmered into view, the blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean rippling for as far as the eye could see.