‘My dearest girl. I’m so sorry. So very sorry.’
At last she found her voice. ‘I think I’ve killed him, Robert.’ She ought to have been glad but the feeling engendered was one of sick horror.
‘If you have, no man deserved it more.’ He drew in a sharp breath, dreading to ask the next question. ‘Sabrina, did he.?’
‘No.’
His throat tightened and he knew a moment of relief more intense than any in his life before. Silently, he thanked God. ‘I never saw anything so brave as you this day.’
Tears flowed down her face unbidden. ‘I did not feel brave, only frightened.’
‘That is scarce to be wondered at.’ He held her gently at arm’s length. ‘Let us not waste the chance you have won for us.’
Suddenly the wider peril impinged upon her thoughts once more. ‘What are we going to do, Robert?’
‘Get out of here,’ he replied.
She looked at his cut and swollen face. ‘You’re injured. They must have hurt you terribly.’
‘I’ve known worse.’
He released his hold and crossed the room. His bruised ribs protested as he bent to retrieve the Frenchman’s sword. Then he hurriedly checked the drawers in the desk. One side proved quite useless, the other revealed a pistol which he lost no time in appropriating.
‘Machart dismissed the guards but the chances are they haven’t gone far,’ he said. ‘We need to take care of them first. Then we can set our companions free.’
‘Tell me what I must do.’
‘Take this.’ He handed her the pistol. ‘If you need to use it, shoot to kill.’
Her stomach wallowed at the thought, but she nodded. Quietly, he opened the door and glanced out. The corridor was empty of other human presences. Clearly the guards had taken Machart at his word. Sabrina’s heart thumped and with every step she expected to hear a shouted challenge. However, none came. Not until they reached the stairs leading to the underground vault did they see any sign of life, one man on duty. Falconbridge ducked back out sight.
‘Can you distract his attention while I come up behind him?’
Dumbly, she nodded assent. Shaking her hair loose over her shoulders she opened the front of her shirt to reveal the upper curves of her breasts. Then, assuming what she hoped was a provocative stance she summoned all her courage and strolled forwards. The guard turned, regarding her with astonishment; then he reached for his musket, levelling it at her.
‘Who goes there?’
She surveyed him coolly, praying her voice would not shake. ‘I am the Condesa de Ordoñez y Casal.’
‘The Condesa is Colonel Machart’s prisoner.’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘As from now, his mistress.’ Seeing him hesitate she forced a smile. ‘The Colonel really knows how to appreciate a woman, doesn’t he?’
Seeing her dishevelled appearance the guard returned a knowing grin and opened his mouth to reply. The words were never uttered because the hilt of a sword dealt him a blow to the head and felled him in an instant. Falconbridge surveyed the still form and then looked at his companion.
‘Wonderful girl! Get his musket and powder horn. We’ll need them.’
While she obeyed, he retrieved the bunch of keys from the man’s belt. Then he and Sabrina hurried down the steps to the cells. A minute later the door was unlocked and their companions were free. His men beamed.
‘Good to see you, sir.’
‘Aye, that it is, sir.’
Falconbridge nodded. ‘It’s good to see you, too, and you, Luis.’
As they emerged from their prison and got a proper look at Falconbridge, the men frowned.
‘The filthy scum gave you a rough time, sir,’ said Blakelock.
‘I’ll live,’ he replied.
Luis caught sight of his companion and smiled. ‘Doña Sabrina! Are you all right? We heard them take you away earlier.’
‘Quite all right, Luis.’
‘I am truly glad to hear it.’
Falconbridge tossed the musket to Willis and gave Blakelock the sword. ‘Here. It’s a start, but we’re going to need more than these if we’re to have a hope of getting out of here.’
Sabrina met his eye. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘Go back along the corridor and check those other rooms. It’s a risk but there’s no other choice.’ He paused. ‘In the meantime, we’ll take one of those coils of rope.’
Luis hastened to obey, selecting the most suitable and slinging it round his chest like a bandolier. Then they retraced their steps. Leaving Sabrina and Luis at the entrance to the passageway the other three moved quietly forwards. With thumping heart she watched as Willis put his ear against a door, listening. He opened it and glanced in. No shouts or challenges resulted but he shook his head. Further along Blakelock grinned. She heard him hiss to the others. Then all three vanished into the room, to emerge a short time later with swords and muskets.
Luis grinned and moments later he, too, was armed. ‘Estupendo! Now we go over the wall, eh?’
Falconbridge nodded. ‘That’s the general idea, and preferably before anyone finds Machart or that guard.’
The junction of the passageway revealed the door that led onto the courtyard. Falconbridge looked around the corner and mentally cursed as he counted at least a dozen soldiers there. He ducked back quickly.
‘No go. Let’s try the other way.’
They fled down the passage towards the archway at the end. From there it was no more than twenty yards to the wall. A crumbling flight of steps led to a small lookout platform on what remained of the rampart. It was currently empty. Falconbridge looked swiftly left and right and, having ascertained the coast was clear, jerked his head towards the steps.
‘Up there. It’s our only chance.’
They ran for the wall and began to climb. The steps were in a parlous state, some only a few inches wide, the rest having crumbled away. Nor was there any kind of handrail and the fall, though it wasn’t high enough to kill, would likely result in a broken limb. Luis went first, testing each step gingerly. Beneath his weight the ancient stonework broke away in places sending down small showers of rubble. However, he reached the platform unscathed. Quickly, he slid the coil of rope off his shoulder and tied one end to a stone merlon. Then he turned and signalled to the others. Willis went next, and then Blakelock, disappearing over the edge of the drop. Falconbridge turned to Sabrina and smiled.
‘Ready?’
She nodded and began to climb, trying not to look down and to concentrate on where she was putting her feet. She reached the platform a short time later, closely followed by Falconbridge. He squeezed her arm.
‘Your turn now.’
Before she could reply, they heard shouting in the distance.
‘At a guess they’ve found Machart,’ he said. ‘Hurry, Sabrina.’
She needed no second bidding. Unheeding of rough stone or the rope burning the palms of her hands, she slid swiftly down to where the others waited. A short time later he joined them, and together they ran for the cover of rock and scrub, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the walls of the castillo. Without horses though, the chances of success were small and everyone knew it.
‘It won’t take them long to find out how we escaped,’ said Falconbridge. ‘We can expect mounted pursuit fairly soon, I think.’
Sabrina shivered inwardly. If they were recaptured, they would die this time, but perhaps not quickly. The French would want revenge for their slain. She thought of the pills Falconbridge had given her and was glad. Better a swift end thus, than a protracted one at the hands of their enemies.
They ran hard until at length they were forced to slow down to catch their breath. Even then the Castillo was still only about a mile away. Not far enough. Sabrina pressed a hand to her aching side, forcing herself on. Falconbridge kept pace beside her, his smile lending her strength. She knew he must be in pain himself from the beating at the hands of Machart’s guar
ds, but he made no mention of it. To judge from the bruising on his face it must have been hard for him even to smile. If he could keep going, so could she.
Eventually they paused, taking shelter behind a group of scattered rocks. Luis flung himself down, ear to the ground, listening intently. Then he frowned.
‘Many horses coming, though some way off yet.’
Falconbridge gritted his teeth against the pain in his ribs. ‘We can’t outrun them. Take cover. We’ll have to make a stand here.’
They knew it wasn’t going to be much of a stand, given the limited weapons and ammunition available. Their defiance would be counted by minutes, not hours. Nevertheless, it was the only option now. Surrender would likely not delay the inevitable outcome by very much. They took cover and waited for the appearance of the enemy. Sabrina crouched behind a large rock, resting her cheek against the rough surface. There could be no doubt now that she would not see her father again. She had gambled and lost. The long-dreamed-of reunion would never happen. He would be grieved by her loss but at least he would be free to continue his work for the war effort. She glanced at the man beside her and smiled faintly. If they had only met under other circumstances things might have been different. There might have been time to get to know each other better, time for talking and laughing, time in which to relax and to be herself. Unfortunately, time was the one thing they didn’t have.
‘I’m truly sorry things have turned out like this,’ he said. ‘I’d planned it all rather differently.’
‘What was it the poet said about the best-laid plans?’
‘Best-laid? Under other circumstances I’d want to laugh.’
She hesitated, and then took courage in both hands. ‘I wish we had met under other circumstances.’
His gaze held hers. ‘Yes, so do I, and yet I would not have missed knowing you. In truth, I have never met a braver woman.’
His words brought an inner glow of pleasure. At least she had not lost his regard. Since they had little time left, and since there might never be another opportunity, she needed to say what was on her mind. ‘I would not have missed knowing you, either.’
‘I thank you. It is a compliment I have done little to deserve.’
‘Not so. You saved my life.’
‘Only to fail you when it mattered most.’ His lips curled in self-disgust. ‘When I think of you in the clutches of that lecherous brute, it sickens me to my stomach. Yet I could do nothing. Nothing.’
‘It was not your fault, Robert.’
‘Yes, it was. I should have insisted you ride on with Ramon. Instead, I as good as delivered you to Machart.’
‘Machart was a sadistic beast, but he is unlikely to trouble us any more.’
‘And I thank God for it. To be tortured is one thing, but to be forced to watch while he…No civilised man could countenance it. I was not afraid until that moment.’ He reached out and took her hand in a warm clasp before raising it to his lips. ‘I honour your spirit and your courage.’
The words, so sincerely spoken, brought a deeper glow of pleasure. She made no attempt to disengage herself from his hold. It did not repel her. Rather, its warmth and strength were comforting, like his nearness now. ‘There are men who consider themselves civilised in every way who do not baulk at it.’
He regarded her intently. ‘You say that with some authority.’
‘With authority enough.’
Curiosity mounted. There was so much he wanted to know and so little time left them. However, before he could speak, Blakelock’s voice interjected.
‘Here they come, sir.’
Falconbridge followed his gaze into the middle distance and saw the oncoming soldiers. His heart sank. Even from here it was possible to make out their blue uniform jackets and grey shakos. He relinquished his hold on Sabrina’s hand and lifted the musket, aware of bruised muscles protesting.
‘Let them come then. We’ll account for as many as we can.’
She threw a sideways glance his way and nodded. ‘Yes, we will.’ Then, hoping her hand would not shake, she drew the pistol from her belt.
Chapter Eleven
Falconbridge grimaced, mentally counting the number of the oncoming force. With sinking heart he reached twenty. This was going to be a fight to the death. Knowing what to expect at the hands of the enemy there was no point in contemplating surrender. Better a quick ending here. He glanced at the faces around him and saw the same resolution in each one. A man could feel proud to die in such company. His gaze rested a moment on Sabrina. As though she sensed his regard she turned her head and met his gaze with a smile. He returned it, albeit crookedly, and his admiration increased. Truly, she was the rarest of women: the woman he would defend to the death. Setting his jaw he lined the first oncoming soldier in his sights. Alongside him his companions did the same.
As the shots rang out and three of the French vanguard fell, the others drew rein, and for a few moments there was shouting and confusion. Then a command rang out and the rest of the force drew their sabres. Falconbridge heard the order to charge and cursed softly. Men on the ground were no match for cavalry. This was going to be a slaughter pure and simple.
Another volley of shots brought down three more of the French, but it did not slow their advance. The thunder of hooves grew louder. Sunlight glinted on naked blades. With no time to reload, Falconbridge thrust Sabrina behind him.
‘Behind that rock. Stay down.’
‘If I am to die then I’ll go down fighting with you.’
His throat tightened. A man could not be mistaken about such a look as hers. Suddenly there were so many things he wanted to say, but had time for none of them. Instead, he nodded. ‘So be it.’
Heart thumping, she watched him draw the sword at his side, knowing they had no chance now. Soon the sabres would cut them down. If not. Her fingers felt for the small package inside her jacket and felt its reassuring presence. She would never be a prisoner of the French again.
More shots rang out and on the warm air she heard the sound of galloping hoofs. It could only mean reinforcements. She swallowed hard. There came more shots and then shouts and cries of pain. At any moment the vanguard would be upon them. For the space of several heartbeats she waited. Then, slowly, she became aware that the impetus of the French charge was lost, and those riders remaining had veered off, turning their attention another way. Her bewildered gaze took in the large host of roughly-dressed horsemen that was bearing down on them. She was not alone in her astonishment.
Luis looked round at his companions. ‘Que pasa?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ replied Willis.
Sabrina stared at the newcomers. ‘Wait, aren’t those redcoats among them?’
Willis narrowed his eyes, looking intently in the direction she had indicated. ‘By heaven, you’re right, ma’am.’
‘But what are redcoats doing among those others?’
Falconbridge grinned, ignoring the pain in his cut lip. ‘I think Ramon found help after all.’
For a moment or two the implication was lost and she could only stare in disbelief at the oncoming horde. Then she experienced a sudden surge of hope so intense it was almost painful. Turning she met his eye. What she read there caused her heart to leap.
‘You mean we’re not going to die after all?’
‘We’re certainly going to die,’ he replied, ‘but not today I think.’
Tearing her gaze away, she watched with bated breath as the opposing forces met amid shouts and the clash of arms. There followed a short spell of fierce hand-to-hand fighting as the desperate French tried to stave off the unexpected assault, but, hopelessly outnumbered, they were cut down one by one. Soon the area was littered with the fallen, the scene confused by riderless horses. Then, as the last of the enemy fell, the battlefield grew quiet.
Sabrina heard voices in Spanish and saw a few figures dismount, moving among the fallen. Those French still living were swiftly dispatched. She drew a deep breath, fighting the c
hurning sensation in her stomach. Then she became aware of mounted figures moving towards them. The first was a British officer. For a moment he and Falconbridge surveyed each other in silence.
Falconbridge smiled wryly. ‘I’m glad to see you, Tony.’
‘And I to see you,’ the other replied.
‘Your arrival was most timely.’
‘So I see.’ The officer paused, looking at Sabrina. ‘Will you not introduce me to this lady?’
‘Forgive me. I have the honour to present Miss Huntley, my companion on this mission. Miss Huntley, Major Lord Anthony Brudenell.’
‘We are much obliged to you, Major,’ she replied.
Brudenell’s blue gaze swept her from head to foot and then he smiled. ‘I wish I could take the credit, ma’am, but that rightly belongs to El Cuchillo and his men.’
Sabrina’s gaze went to the horseman who had reined in alongside. Like most people she had heard of the guerrilla leader, for his reputation preceded him. Her imagination had supplied a figure from high romance, something very different from the person before her now. He was perhaps in his early forties, and she guessed of average height. Like most Spaniards he was dark. The swarthy, bearded face was not handsome, but it was arresting, the left side being marred by deep scars across the cheek and brow. Piercing black eyes took in every detail of her appearance but gave nothing away. He favoured her with a slight inclination of the head, then turned to the man beside her.
‘I am glad we arrived in time, Major.’
‘You are not alone in that, señor,’ replied Falconbridge. ‘In truth, I thought it was all up with us.’
The conversation continued but Sabrina’s attention was arrested by a familiar figure that had appeared from the group, ranged behind the guerrilla leader. Then her heart leapt.
‘Jacinta?’
‘Doña Sabrina!’
The two women embraced. Sabrina’s voice caught on a sob. ‘How glad I am to see you.’
‘And I you.’
‘I prayed you would live.’
‘I received a concussion only,’ replied Jacinta. ‘It gave me a headache for a while, that is all.’
His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) Page 17