“Your suggestion?” he asked in a tight voice.
She tapped a finger against her teeth, then she grinned. “Take off the jacket,” she ordered. “And the shirt.”
He blinked at her, but did as he was told. The moment his chest was bare, she took the spare rope the gypsies had given her to hold up her trousers and used it to tie his arm close to his body. Then she helped him put the shirt and jacket on over it. Finally she stepped back and observed him from head to toe.
“Yes. It will do,” she said. “The clothes are loose enough to hide everything. You look as though you have already lost an arm in the fighting and no one will think twice that you go from town to town begging.”
Despite himself, Harry grinned. “You make a formidable ally,” he said. “But I think you are mistaken about yourself. I am not certain you look young enough to be safe.”
“We cannot both pretend to have lost an arm,” she countered. “What do you suggest I do?”
He had already thought about that. He did not think she would like his suggestion but he was not certain what else to do. “I think,” he said carefully, “we should give out that you were an early baby and never quite right in the head.”
At her look of outrage he held up a hand and explained, “We meant for me to do most of the talking anyway, didn’t we? This will explain why you only sit and listen. And you may well overhear things that would not be said in front of you if they thought you had all your wits.”
“I cannot like being part of this,” she said in a troubled voice.
He put a hand over hers. “I must depend on you to listen for danger to us. I shall not ask you to do more than that, if it goes against your conscience. But what I do will, I hope, save lives.”
She did not look entirely content, but neither did she protest further. And so they began their odd adventure. Over the next month, as Harry continued to try to lead them closer and closer to Spain, they learned a great deal.
Sometimes at night they would talk it over. Miss Marland, Harry discovered, had a quick mind and a fair amount of common sense. Still he wished she were safe in Spain or, better yet, back in England.
Chapter 7
One evening they risked building a fire in a cave some distance from the nearest town. As they sat there, after eating, Miss Marland asked Harry again about his family.
He hesitated, then shrugged. “What do you wish to know?” he asked.
“You spoke of them all with such affection,” she said, resting her chin on her knees, arms clasped around them, “and it has been on my mind, ever since. I have never felt, you see, that I had a family. Certainly not one like yours. Indeed, there were times when my uncle seemed to scarcely remember my existence.”
“That much is evident!” Harry exclaimed. “For how else could you have ended up aboard a ship, dressed as a foreign prince, and headed for Spain?”
Miss Marland sighed and leaned closer to the fire. “For all his experience,” she said, neatly evading the question, “I think there are times my uncle does not understand his work very well.”
“And you do?”
She sighed again. “Yes, as arrogant as I may sound, I do. And going to Spain was part of it. It was a foolish thing to attempt, I know, but my uncle was being sent to join Stewart in Prussia. He could not seem to understand that in order to negotiate properly he needed to know what was really going on in Spain.”
She paused and looked at Harry. Her eyes were earnest as she said, “You must understand that we were receiving the most conflicting reports and how could one negotiate from that? So when my uncle would not agree to go to Spain first, I said that I would and then join him with the news of what I learned.”
Miss Marland paused, then added dryly, “I have masqueraded as a boy before. The last place my uncle was posted was Tangiers, to the court of Moulay Soulaiman. It would not have been safe for me to go out and about if I hadn’t been dressed as you saw me. And as slender as I am, it was easy to pass as a boy. No one ever seemed to guess the truth.”
Harry tried to imagine what such an existence must have been like for her. “Do you prefer to dress as a man, then, to wearing skirts?” he asked at last.
She laughed and shook her head. “No. What I like best is to be in my skirts. Especially my satin or velvet skirts, with pearls at my ears and throat. For the men hang on my words and answer every question I ask them and I can lead them wherever I wish.”
It was said unself-consciously, as though it were the simple truth and Harry supposed it was. He felt jealousy at all the men who had ever seen her that way and a pang of loss at the thought that perhaps he never would.
“You are very quiet,” Miss Marland said, her own voice sober. “Have I shocked you, then?”
Harry reached out and put a hand over hers. Perhaps it was the moonlight, perhaps it was all the time they had spent together so far. But in the end he shook his head and told her the truth.
“No. I was simply wishing I could see you like that someday.”
Her brown eyes were bright and large and shining as she whispered back, “Perhaps some day you will.”
He lifted his hand, then, to touch the side of her cheek. Unconsciously she tilted up her chin and her lashes trembled, but her gaze met his, completely unafraid. Harry leaned forward, slowly, to give Miss Marland time to withdraw if she wished. Instead she met him halfway.
He had feared he would find that she was accustomed to kisses, this odd sprite before him. But her lips trembled under his and her hand was tentative as she reached up to grasp his shoulder for support.
There was an innocence about her that she could not hide and it was then that Harry knew however irregular her upbringing may have been, the essential Miss Marland was as untouched as that of any English miss at her first coming out ball.
When they broke apart, her eyes were wide and luminous. She gulped at the night air, for she found it hard to breathe, and looked at him as though not certain whether to be frightened or to ask for more.
“I think,” Harry said, in a voice that was none too steady, “that we had best not do that very often or we shall surely scandalize the countryside.”
Miss Marland gave a shaky laugh. “We have said that before and seem to forget it anew each time.”
Now Harry gulped at the night air as he drew back, trying to put some distance between them. He tried for lightness in his voice but missed. “So we do. We shall just have to keep reminding ourselves then. Or make our way back to Spain a bit faster so that I can send you back to your uncle.”
She looked away, staring into the fire, and he could feel the hurt his words had caused her. “You are so eager to be rid of me, then?” she asked, not looking at him.
“I—”
He found that he could not lie to Miss Marland, though it would have been wiser. He could not tell her the words that would drive her away. Nor could he tell her how he truly felt for that would have been worse. For both of them. In the end he said nothing.
“Never mind,” she said, her face still hidden from him. “I shall not press you, for I already have my answer. You never wished to be saddled with me and I cannot say that in your place I would not feel the same.”
He watched as she rose from the fire and walked the short distance to where he had laid out her blanket earlier. She rolled herself up in it and Harry sat, fists clenched at his sides. It occurred to him that they had not talked about his family after all. But then it didn’t matter. What mattered was what was happening, but should not happen, between them.
As he looked over at her, Harry found himself wishing he had met Miss Marland under different circumstances. Perhaps at a ball in London. Then he might have courted her. But not here, not when she was in his care.
And yet he knew that she wished he would. Indeed, it was the hardest thing he had ever done, not to go to her now and wipe away the tears he knew she was shedding.
* * * *
Prudence lay curled up in her blanket. It should
not hurt so much to know he wanted to be rid of her, but it did. How could she have lost her heart to a man who was wed to the military? After all the years spent in the company of men who were soldiers, assigned to the embassies where her uncle was posted, she should have known the danger of that! She, of all people.
She tried to tell herself that she hated war, hated soldiers with the greatest passion. Except that Prudence could not hate Alain. She could not even think of him by the formal title of Colonel Langford. Not after all these weeks together.
And yet, was it not she who had counseled more than one woman never to lose her heart to a uniform? But Prudence hadn’t lost her heart to a uniform. She had lost it to a raggedy gypsy priest. She had lost it to a man who understood her fear of kindness and gave it anyway. She had lost it to a man who needed her as much as she needed him, even though he did not yet know it. She had lost her heart to a man who might never understand how alone he was.
She ought to walk away, when they reached Spain. She ought to let Alain send her back to England and go to join her uncle as planned. But she would not. That same fierce determination that had sent her toward Spain would now be enlisted in the cause of making Colonel Langford give her his heart. And she had no doubt that in the end she would win. It was just getting to that point that would be the problem.
Prudence was almost asleep when she heard the horses whinny. Something had obviously disturbed them. Apparently Alain heard them too for he stood and doused the fire, as though ready to go to sleep.
She watched as he lay down on his blanket, laid out on the far side of the cave from hers, pretending he had heard nothing. But he moved with a purpose she had come to recognize. She would have bet he had a dagger in his hand. And she held herself ready as well.
When Alain had stolen her a uniform, he had stolen the man’s knife too and insisted that she carry it. Now she silently pulled it out of its hiding place and lay very still with the knife in her hand covered by the blanket. No one would miss her, except perhaps her uncle in passing, but she was determined that Alain would make it back to his family safe and sound.
She didn’t doubt that he would be appalled at her presumption if he knew. But Alain had saved her life and, despite the encounter with Monsieur Gilbert, the debt was not yet repaid. Prudence always repaid her debts.
The sound of something moving outside the cave came closer. Only now it sounded less like it could be a man. Alain was the first to realize the truth. He rose from his blanket and came over to hers.
“It is a wild creature,” he said. “A bear I think. I shall try to scare it away. Dousing the fire may have been a mistake.”
He started to go and Prudence reached out a hand to stop him. “Be careful,” she said and even she could hear the fear in her voice.
He quirked that odd smile that had become so dear to her heart. Then he bent forward and dropped a kiss on her forehead as he whispered, “I shall.”
Prudence lay still, listening as he moved toward the mouth of the cave and slipped outside. What if he were wrong? She wondered. Or what if Alain were right but instead of being scared away, the creature attacked him?
Even as she asked herself that question she heard the sound of something scrabbling on the stones and then falling. There was a wild keening sound and Prudence flinched.
A shape appeared in the opening of the cave and she gripped her knife tighter, only to drop it with relief and fling her arms around his neck when Alain reappeared at her side.
“I was so afraid you would be hurt!” she sobbed.
In answer, he held her tighter and made soothing sounds even as his hand stroked her hair. Her body seemed wracked with sobs and when, finally, she could pull back, Prudence was grateful for the darkness that hid her blushes.
“I am so very sorry,” she said in a small voice that seemed most unlike her own.
“I do not mind,” he replied and she could hear both the gentleness and the amusement in his.
“But I mind,” she said tartly. “I never cry.”
“Never?”
“Well, never like this,” she allowed.
He pulled her close again and this time tucked her head beneath his chin. “You have been through a great deal,” Alain said with the same gentleness as before, the same gentleness that threatened to totally undo what little hard-won composure she had regained. “It is no wonder you should feel overwhelmed.”
“You don’t,” she said accusingly.
He chuckled. “On the contrary, I know the sensation well. But we colonels are schooled never to betray our fears. Nonetheless we have them.”
She turned to look up at him. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
And then she would have sworn he meant to kiss her. He bent his head closer but abruptly he pulled back and set her down.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered and there was neither warmth nor kindness in his voice, only anger.
And yet, Prudence found herself oddly comforted anyway as she fell asleep.
Chapter 8
It was longer than either of them expected before they crossed the mountains into Spain. During all that time, Harry had not let himself touch Miss Marland again. Not even to help her over the stones in a stream or up a difficult path.
Now they were close to English lines, or so he hoped, and it was more important than ever to keep his distance, Harry told himself. But it was almost a physical ache to see her bright smile, her hair shining in the sunlight, or the way her eyes seemed to dance when she laughed.
“Where are we headed?” she asked, coming alongside of him.
Harry frowned. “I am not entirely certain. It has been a long time since I left and I cannot be certain where we will find Wellington.”
She nodded.
“You’ve become almost tame,” he teased. “I cannot recall the last time you challenged me.”
“Do you complain?”
“Oh, no,” he replied with a sober face belied by the twinkle in his eyes. “I like my women to be docile and quiet you know.”
She snorted a most unladylike snort of disgust and he chuckled. So, after a moment, did she.
Oh, yes, he thought, he’d been right to stay away from Miss Marland. There was too much magic in her smile, too much danger in those rich brown eyes. Harry’s smile faded as he stared at her.
And then her own smile faltered. “Is something wrong?” she asked.
The sound of footsteps nearby and men stepping out of the woods, guns trained on the pair, obviated the need for an answer. With a vast sense of relief, Harry realized the uniforms were English.
“Halt!”
Harry slowly raised his hands to show they were empty and Prudence beside him did the same. “I am Colonel Langford,” he said crisply. “Which regiment are you from?”
“Oh, a colonel is it?” one said in disbelief.
“Aye, dressed like that, of course ‘e is,” another added sardonically.
“And is the lad yer corporal?” a third chimed in.
“I am Colonel Langford,” Harry repeated, “and you had best take me to see Wellington at once.”
“Oh, it’s Wellington ‘e wants to see. Right quick, too, I’ve no doubt,” the second man said to the others.
“Come along now,” the first said to Harry and Prudence with no little exasperation in his voice. “Tain’t my job to sort you out, just to bring you in. There’s others what’ll decide who you see. And when.”
Harry shrugged at the men, then looked at Miss Marland and smiled reassuringly. “It shouldn’t take long to sort this out,” he promised.
She nodded, bravely he thought, though he could see the hint of fear in her eyes. He didn’t blame her. Not when no one would believe who they were. If they put her in with other prisoners, her unmasking as a woman would come quickly. But he could not believe it safer to tell these men either. He would have to hope that he knew the officers to whom they were taken.
* * * *
Prudence had never s
een a soldier’s camp before. The things that struck her most were the smell and the dirt and the noise. All of it seemed overwhelming and she clung to Alain’s side.
The soldiers would have separated them as soon as they reached camp, since Alain had claimed to be an officer and she, so far as they knew, was no one. But he insisted they stay together. He claimed they both had important information for Wellington. It was clear the men doubted this claim, but they did not quite dare to override him without the orders of a superior officer.
Prudence was grateful for Alain’s protection. Colonel Langford’s protection, she reminded herself. She must become accustomed to thinking of him, of speaking to him, in such formal terms or she would scandalize everyone. And she did not wish to cause him any more trouble than she must.
She did not doubt that Colonel Langford meant to send her back to England as soon as possible. But it was clear that until he could, he would do what he must to make certain she was safe.
She didn’t know any of the men they encountered, but she understood negotiations. She understood that Alain was taken aback at how difficult it was proving to reach Wellington. But somehow he managed to persuade the third officer they saw. That man at least seemed to believe Colonel Langford’s claim of who he was. Though he didn’t know him, the officer agreed to send him on to Wellington.
“The lad can stay here. I’m short of men,” the officer said.
“No. He must come with me. He has information Wellington must hear,” Alain insisted.
The officer peered closer. “This ragamuffin? Tell me, boy, is this true? Do you know something essential?”
Prudence nodded. Even for the boy she pretended to be her voice was pitched a trifle high to trust it now. And she was painfully aware of how much her hair had grown in the past couple of months tramping about France.
Maybe something in her face showed. Maybe it was the way he studied her so closely. But suddenly the officer straightened, blinked, and turned to Alain.
“My God!” he whispered. “He’s a woman!”
Colonel Langford closed his eyes and opened them again and sighed with resignation. “Yes. She is a woman. We had hoped to keep that secret until I got her safely to Wellington.”
The Sentimental Soldier Page 6