Instead of being insulted, she laughed. “Since both of us do, I didn’t even notice.” Then she leaned forward into another kiss, and this time her lips parted against his.
Their tongues touched and desire jolted through him. “Meu anjo,” he whispered again between nibbling kisses across her lips, her satin smooth cheek, her delicious little ear. “My bonnie, bonnie lass.”
She whispered endearments back, moving closer and closer so that she was pressed against him. His hands moved of their own volition, shaping the curves of her waist and hips. She was exquisite, perfect, and, for this brief moment, his.
Realizing how close he was to losing control, he hid his face against her sleek dark hair and enfolded her in his arms, inhaling her scent, feeling her heart beat against his. She sighed and relaxed against him, her arms going around his chest.
“You know I’d marry you if I could, don’t you?” he whispered.
“I know.” After a long silence, she said hesitantly, “I’ve wondered if this is what the English call ‘calf love’ and if it would last. I’ve not had the opportunity to meet many interesting, attractive men. You’re the only one I’ve met that I wished I could marry.”
She was seven or eight years younger than he was, and though in some ways, she was wise beyond her years, in others she was an innocent. “I can’t speak for the depth of your feelings, meu anjo,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “For your sake, I hope what you feel is infatuation that will pass and that fate grants you a husband you can love completely and forever.”
“I’ve hoped for that, too,” she said wryly. “But princesses are seldom so lucky.”
“Then I shall pray you have good luck.” He moved back, still holding her but able to look down into her dark eyes and exquisite features. “But for me . . . I’ve had the usual experiences for a man of my station. That has included calf love and brief infatuation. But I’ve felt nothing like what I feel for you. I believe it’s the forever sort of love.” In fact, he was sure of it.
Tears glinted in her eyes. “My hope for you is that you marry for love and have strong, beautiful children.”
He brushed a kiss on her hair. “I hope that, too, my princess. But you will always be in my heart.”
“And you in mine.” She closed her eyes for a moment, then stepped away, her expression composed. “I’ve considered making you a count of San Gabriel to make you more eligible,” she said teasingly. “Uncle Alfonso would agree to such a charter if I asked him.”
“Lord Ballard of Porto?” Justin chuckled. “I suspect that no one would be persuaded that would make me a suitable consort. My father is likely to be made a baron soon for his services to Britain—in other words, running several successful businesses—but that is even less likely to impress anyone in San Gabriel.”
“British titles don’t count, I fear. Only ancient Iberian titles will do,” Sofia said with a smile. “Now we must return to the campsite before Athena sends a search party.”
“Agreed.” He bent and scooped up a large armload of firewood.
Sofia added more pieces, then lifted a smaller load for herself. “One more trip after this should suffice.”
They retraced their steps. Carrying a pile of firewood made holding hands impossible, which was just as well.
When they reached the camp, Athena glanced up from a small fire. “Good timing. I was about to run out of firewood.”
“About the same amount of wood is waiting to be brought here.” Justin released his load in a pile by Athena, then transferred Sofia’s kindling to the pile.
“I’ll go with you to bring it back,” Will said.
Knowing he shouldn’t be alone with Sofia again, Justin led the way back to the rest of the firewood. As they picked up pieces, Will said with mild amusement, “You cut a lot of wood, considering how short a time I heard chopping sounds.”
“I worked fast so Sofia and I could have time to talk.”
“Talk,” Will murmured. “Of course.”
“I’ve done nothing to compromise her,” Justin snapped.
Will looked surprised. “Of course not. It’s obvious that you’re yearning for each other, but you’re both too wise to do anything foolish.” He reached down for more wood. “Only a high stickler would consider a kiss to be ruination.”
“You know me too well,” Justin muttered as he picked up the last chunk of firewood. Straightening, he said, “Are we going to end up as two old men mourning over our glasses of port about the girls who got away?”
“Quite possibly,” Will said as he started back toward the camp. “I haven’t entirely given up hope yet, though I suspect it will take a miracle to persuade Athena that she wouldn’t regret marrying me.”
Justin grimaced. “I need rather more than a miracle, I fear.”
And yet, it was impossible to suppress a faint whisper of hope.
* * *
As Athena built up the fire with the new kindling, she asked, “Did you find anything interesting while foraging for fuel?”
“Only more rocks and boulders and a few sad little trees.” Sofia settled on her folded blankets, her legs tucked to one side. Athena had arranged their saddles and blankets around the fire, the two men on one side and the women on the other. Quiet chaperonage. She added, “I didn’t do anything very shocking.”
Athena glanced up with a smile. “I didn’t say a word.”
“My conscience is bothering me,” Sofia admitted ruefully. “Attending a convent school left me with the belief that a single kiss outside legal matrimony is a mortal sin, and one shouldn’t enjoy kisses too much even if married.”
Athena sat back on her heels. “Passion is powerful and can have dire consequences,” she said seriously. “Young people in particular burn with desire, so churches do their best to keep unruly passion under control. But desire is natural and without it, there would be no humankind. As with so much in life, it’s finding a healthy balance.” She grinned. “I’m told that marriage eventually reduces mad passion from a fever to a more manageable part of life. Not that I’d know about that.”
Sofia sighed and pulled the pins from her hair, then massaged her tired scalp with her fingertips. “Do you think there is any chance that San Gabriel would accept Justin as a royal consort? It will take my country years to recover from the damages of war and lost young men. I couldn’t bear to set my subjects at war with each other.”
Athena considered before answering. “Your country values tradition greatly, but you are very popular, so people might be more accepting of your choice. The world is changing. I won’t say it’s impossible that he could be accepted. You should discuss this when the time comes to weigh the possibilities.”
“But the chances are vanishingly small. Being popular means people want ‘the best’ for me, and to many, that means a Duke Toad.” Sofia stood and dusted off her riding skirt. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Slice the cheese and bread and ham.” Athena pulled a large cast-iron griddle from her saddlebags and set it over the fire on three piles of stones she’d stacked outside the coals. “A griddle is too heavy for a serious trip, but I thought that for only a night or two on the trail, it was worth bringing. These will be special days for both of us, Sofi. I’m glad you suggested this holiday.”
“So am I.” Sofia ducked to hide a blush as she pulled a large chunk of cheese and a loaf of bread from her saddlebags. She and Athena had divided food and utensils between them. For two days, she could enjoy being a kitchen maid rather than a princess.
By the time the men returned, Athena had the simple dinner prepared. Admittedly, Will in his scarlet uniform coat was stunning, but it was Justin who held Sofia’s gaze. His eyes widened when he saw her loose hair spilling around her shoulders. The nuns would say she was tempting him. Sofia was glad that she could.
As Will added his load of wood to the pile, he said, “I believe I’m seeing a sandwich of some sort, but one that smells particularly fine. Will you explain
, or make me guess?”
She laughed. “It’s more or less what you’ve been eating since you arrived in San Gabriel, only toasted on a griddle.” She flipped two nicely browned sandwiches onto a platter, where half a dozen were already stacked. “Slices of bread layered with smoked cheese, smoked ham, and a Gabrileño pepper sauce, then heated on the griddle till the cheese melts and the bread is toasted. After, toasted almonds to round out the meal.”
“The wine is a light red that will go nicely with these sandwiches,” Sofia added as she passed filled tumblers to the men. “This would be a modest meal in the castle, but quite nice for trail food, don’t you think?”
Will settled on a folded blanket in front of his saddlebags and bit into one of the hot sandwiches, then swallowed a mouthful of wine. “Excellent! I didn’t realize that you’re a good cook, Athena.”
“I’ve had to cook often enough that I’ve learned a few dishes that are more or less foolproof,” she explained as she sat cross-legged in front of her own saddle and belongings. “This is one of them.”
“Simple pleasures are so often the best.” Justin raised his tumbler of wine in a toast. “To good food and good company!”
Everyone leaned forward to clink their wineglasses. Sofia wished this expedition with friends could last forever. Since that wasn’t possible, she’d enjoy every moment they had. “To friendship and Saint Deolinda!” She tossed back half of her wine.
Justin drank the toast, then reached for one of the sandwiches. “Sofi, you said you’d tell me the story of Deolinda. The name means Beautiful God?”
She nodded. “It’s the story, perhaps only a legend, of the founding of San Gabriel. Many, many years ago, the beautiful Deolinda was a Portuguese girl of high birth married to Prince Alexandre, son and heir to the king of Alcantara.”
“This was a Spanish kingdom where the city of Alcantara is now?”
“Yes, ‘alcantara’ means ‘the bridge,’ and that name suits the story. An evil rival for the Alcantaran throne marched his men into the city by night and murdered the king.” Sofia paused to finish consuming her sandwich. “Prince Alexandre bravely fought to his death to allow the escape of his beloved wife.”
“No doubt it was a dark and stormy night,” Justin said solemnly.
“But of course,” Sofia said with twinkling eyes. “In a legend, one never flees for one’s life on a sunny day! Great with child, Deolinda and a loyal guardsman fled north into the mountains and ended up in this valley. She gave birth to her son in a cave near the site of the Castelo Blanco. The archangel Gabriel appeared and said that she and her son would both be made saints, and they would rule a land of peace and plenty, where all could live in safety.”
“It sounds like the legend might be based on a true tale,” Justin said, intrigued.
“I’ve always thought so, for the angel’s prediction came to pass,” Sofia said pensively. “Refugees from Spain and Portugal made their way to the valley, which is why we have names and words from both countries. It was said that only those led by the angels could find their way here.” Her mouth tightened. “And it was a land of peace, until the French came.”
“There will be peace again,” Athena said gently. “Already the valley is healing.”
“It’s a fine tale,” Will said as he finished his third toasted sandwich. “If the princess was Saint Deolinda, who was her son?”
“San Gabriel de Montana. Saint Gabriel of the Mountains,” Sofia said. “Named for the archangel, of course, and the country is named for both of them. Because Gabriel came of royal blood, San Gabriel is a kingdom rather than a duchy or a principality, even though it’s so small.”
She rose grandly, took several steps away from the fire before pivoting and saying with exaggerated hauteur, “Kneel before me, peasants, for the royal blood of Alcantara, Spain, and Portugal runs in my veins!”
Her companions laughed at her antics.
Then the clearing erupted with gunfire and danger.
Chapter 24
Athena was relaxed and a little dreamy from wine, food, and discreet contemplation of Will’s splendid physique when gunshots exploded across the clearing. Multiple bullets ricocheted from the boulders, and the ear-numbing blasts echoed over the gorge and the stony landscape. As she froze in shock, a hoarse voice bellowed in French, “Grab the girl—we haven’t had a camp whore in too long! Kill the British officer and the others!”
Gunshots were still echoing when Will leaped to his feet, yanked his carbine from the saddle behind him, and shouted, “Take cover!”
A bullet kicked up dust where he’d been sitting an instant before. As he dropped to one knee, cocked his weapon, and aimed upward at a sniper atop one of the boulders, he barked, “Athena, grab your gun and move!”
Will fired and a scarlet blossom of blood appeared in the center of the sniper’s chest. With eerie slowness, the man and his rifle fell separately to the ground. The weapon discharged harmlessly when it struck. Athena smelled the sharp sulfur scent of black powder and felt the fierce compression of air from the blast of the weapons.
Her brief paralysis ended and she scrambled to her feet as two men in shabby blue French uniforms burst into the clearing. One grabbed Sofia and the other had his rifle aimed at Will from point-blank range.
The Frenchman’s finger was tightening on the trigger and Will was still reloading. Terrified, Athena grabbed the griddle from the fire, spilling toasted almonds from the surface, and pitched the heavy, cast-iron utensil at the rifleman.
The scorching-hot metal disk smashed into his face. He shrieked and pitched backward, dropping his gun and pawing at his eyes. Will’s bullet ended the man’s struggles before he hit the ground.
Athena grabbed her carbine and took cover behind a boulder opposite the French attackers. As she gulped for breath, her gaze swept the clearing through the eye-stinging smoke from the shots that had been fired.
In the seconds that had passed, Sofia’s captor had started to drag her away, but she kicked and screamed and fought like a furious wildcat. Swearing, he lifted her high so her feet were off the ground.
“Sofi!” As the Frenchman tried to subdue her, Justin lunged after them. His right fist punched into her captor’s jaw as his left hand locked onto Sofia’s arm.
As Justin tried to wrench her from her captor’s grasp, the man swore in filthy French, pulled a pistol from a side holster, and shot. Justin twisted away, but from the way his body jerked, he’d been hit. Even so, he didn’t let go of Sofia.
Still swearing, the Frenchman shoved his pistol back in its holster and pulled out a wicked dagger. Sofia screamed, “Justin!” and kicked at her captor’s knee, but she couldn’t prevent him from stabbing Justin.
Justin managed to wrap his arms around Sofia’s waist. His weight dragged her free of her captor’s grip and they fell together, Justin protectively on top.
With the two of them on the ground, Sofia’s captor was a clear target. Grimly, Athena aimed her carbine and shot. She aimed for his chest, since it was the largest target, but the bullet tore into his throat instead. He made a horrible gasping sound and collapsed against the boulder that had concealed him earlier.
Will had vanished. Since he hadn’t fallen in the clearing, he must have gone after their attackers. Swearing at herself, Athena realized that she’d left her ammunition pouch with her saddle and she’d fired the ball loaded in her carbine.
She was about to run to her saddle for her ammunition so she could help her friends when a man charged out from behind the boulder to her left. He was carrying his rifle, but skidded to a stop just before colliding with Athena. His eyes widened with shock, possibly from the surprise of running into a woman taller than he.
Not waiting for him to recover, she gripped the barrel of her empty carbine and swung at his head with all her strength. The heavy stock smashed into his temple and dropped him in his tracks. Will was right—an empty firearm made a good club.
More gunshots were fired from not far a
way. Three or four, it was hard to tell with the echoes. After enough time to reload, another two or three shots.
Then, silence.
Athena grabbed the fellow’s rifle and cautiously emerged from her refuge behind the boulder. A bloodstained Sofia knelt over Justin, sobbing his name as she rolled him over to examine his wounds. As she crossed to join Sofia, Athena scanned the clearing.
No French soldiers in sight except for the fallen; no sounds of men approaching, though with the background noise of the cataract it was hard to be sure. The sounds of water were how the French devils had managed to sneak up on them, she realized.
Athena reloaded her carbine while keeping a wary eye out for new threats. “How is Justin? How are you?”
“I . . . I’m fine,” Sofia said in a choked voice. “Justin is breathing, but there’s so much blood!”
Athena joined her, kneeling on Justin’s other side and setting the carbine and French rifle within grabbing distance. The pistol shot had wounded him in the head, and blood poured from his scalp, as well as the knife injury. To her relief, Justin’s eyes fluttered open. “Still here,” he whispered. “But I’ve . . . been better.”
Relieved that he was coherent, Athena ordered, “The head wound doesn’t look serious. Sofi, bring towels from your saddlebags, my cooking knife, and a basin of water from the spring.”
Sofia gulped and scrambled to her feet. Her white shirt and tan riding skirt were garish with bloodstains as she raced to obey.
While she waited, Athena ripped open Justin’s shirt along the slashed linen. A bloody laceration started at his right shoulder and cut halfway to his waist.
When Sofia handed her several small towels, Athena rolled one and pressed it along the knife wound to slow the bleeding. Then she sponged the head wound clean so she could examine it better. “The ball only grazed you, Justin,” she said calmly. “Head wounds bleed dreadfully and you’ll have a beastly headache, but it doesn’t look like there was serious injury.”
Once a Soldier Page 18