The marquess's hands clasped behind his back and he turned to stare into the fire. After a lengthy silence, his mouth tugged into a rueful grimace. "To think I used to box your ears when we were pups, and now it is you who are teaching me a well-deserved lesson. I shall try not to be such a... pompous ass in the future."
His words caused his brother to gin. "Well, let us not expect miracles."
"Jackanape." But William was grinning as well. His steps picked up again, and he moved alongside the leather armchair. Gazing down at the papers in Thomas's lap, his mien sobered considerably as he took out his spectacles. "Any news that may be of use?"
His brother handed him a number of the pages. "You may have a look at these, but as of yet, the news is nothing but grim. The Russians were defeated in a bloody battle at Borodino, and Boney's troops marched into Moscow soon after." He heaved an exasperated sigh. "The city is flames, Kutusov's army is in full retreat, and to top it off, the snows have begun early, even for this land of ice and wind. Somewhere in the middle of such madness is Alex. That is, if he is still alive."
The marquess took the dispatches and sat down. "Perhaps Uncle Ivor will have some news when he returns from the embassy." At the look of doubt that flashed in Thomas's eyes, he cleared his throat. "No, I suppose there is no use pretending that Alex will get help from any quarter. God help him—he is going to need it."
* * *
"Keep your head down," growled Alex as his hand forced Octavia's shoulders to the ground.
"You needn't manhandle me. I am quite aware that we do not wish them to see us," she retorted, though her voice remained a whisper. She brushed away some flakes of snow from her cheek and raised her chin just a fraction, so she could once again regard the column of soldiers marching down the narrow road.
"French," he muttered, running his eyes over the sky blue coats and frogged braid of the uniforms. "Damnation. I hadn't imagined they—" He broke off his words as a rattle of musket fire exploded from the far side of the road. This time his hand shoved Octavia down with even more force as the troop of soldiers below them scattered for cover.
"Who—" she began.
Another oath slipped from his lips. He quickly slithered off the crest of the ridge, Octavia in tow, not pausing until they had gained shelter behind an outcropping of granite fringed by a number of stunted hemlocks.
"Of all the devilish luck," he swore. "First thieves, then murderers, and now we have stumbled into a whole damn war." His lips compressed. "I fear we will find precious little chance of shelter this way."
Octavia didn't answer right away, but took the small brass compass from her coat pocket. "Why do you imagine they are headed west?" she asked after a bit.
"West?" He turned from keeping watch on the way they had just come. "Hmm. It may be due merely to the vagaries of the road, or—"
Another volley of shots rang out.
"Or they may be in retreat," finished Octavia.
Alex nodded grimly. "Kutusov may finally have rallied his men to make a stand. Wait here. I am going to take another look."
Before she could protest, he disappeared behind the low screen of trees. Giving vent to her own silent curses, her gaze turned upward. It had begun snowing several hours ago, and the thick grey clouds gave no hint of any change in the weather. Night was fast approaching as well, bringing with it an even greater drop in temperature. Alex had reason to look so worried, she thought. Her eyes shifted back to the dark outline of forest where Emma and Nicholas lay hidden, along with the horses. The children couldn't endure too much more of the cold, and their supply of food was nearly gone.
Her thoughts were interrupted by Alex's return. "It's not the Russian army, but partisans," he said, dropping down beside her. "The French managed to drive them off, but not before losing a few of their own." A musket and a tattered knapsack were in his hands.
Octavia gave a sharp intake of breath.
"They have moved on," he continued. "Judging by the look of the fellow I took these from, their rations have been as meager as our own."
"That was foolhardy thing to risk," she said, eyeing the new items.
"There is at least a handful of millet and some dried beans there," he replied. "And we may find ourselves in need of all the weaponry we can muster."
She bit her lip and looked away. "Do you think we ought to retrace our steps? The other road may still be free of soldiers."
"I dare not risk it, not with our food running out. I'm afraid we have little choice but to continue along this way and pray that we may slip through the fighting." He leaned back against the rocks and pulled the creased map from his coat. "We must try to make our way in the direction of Bologoye. That will bring us to the main road to Novgorod, and from there, on to St. Petersburg." The snow was coming down even harder now and icy crystals were beginning to form on his unshaven cheeks. "Come, we had best return to the children and get started."
* * *
The scent of wood smoke drifted through the trees, penetrating the snow laden boughs to reach where the four of them sat huddled up against an uprooted larch.
"Can we not light even a small fire, Alex?" Emma's voice sounded very small from deep within the folds of wool enveloping her slight form.
Alex grimaced. "I'm sorry, sweeting, it's too dangerous. We must try to bear the cold as best we can." He stood up and removed the blanket from around his own shoulders, then wrapped it around the girl. "Perhaps this will help."
"I... I c-c-can s-s-share mine with her," volunteered Nicholas, trying to still the chattering of his teeth.
Octavia brushed the snow from her lap. She and Alex had not wished to stop so close to where a small detachment of French soldiers—they had counted ten men and what looked to be an officer of rank—had set up their tents for the night, but the children had simply not been able to go any farther. Too exhausted and too numb to complain about their empty stomachs, they had curled in their blankets, but the bitter cold was making sleep difficult. In fact, she couldn't help but wonder whether they all might be in peril of freezing before dawn.
The enemy camp, primitive though it was, looked ever so inviting when she and Alex stole up to the edge of the clearing to take closer look. A large kettle hung over a roaring fire was giving off the most enticing aroma, and two shelters of ratty canvas, despite their grime, had seemed a snug respite from the swirling snows. Why, the man in command even had even a small sleigh....
She dropped back into the thick pines and motioned for Alex to come closer. "I have an idea."
As she explained what she had in mind, his expression grew darker and darker. "Are you mad!" he exclaimed when she had finished. "Put such a corkbrained plan out of your head this instant. I won't hear of it."
"Alex, we have no choice but to consider something drastic. Do you truly think we can survive without shelter in this weather through the night?"
His jaw clenched.
"We need transportation as well. We will not reach St. Petersburg with only two horses and the few supplies we have left."
He moved slightly to his right, stamping his feet as much from frustration as the need to keep his toes from freezing. "Very well. But I shall be close by, and if anything goes the least amiss—"
"If anything goes amiss, you must take Nicholas and strike out for St. Petersburg," replied Octavia with some heat. "There can be no argument over that, for the boy is your first responsibility. Emma and I will be safe enough in the hands of a French officer, but an Englishman, especially one not in uniform, might be taken for a spy...." Her words cut off abruptly as she drew in a ragged breath. "Come, you know as well as I that with just the two of you, there is a much greater chance you will make it."
A low oath slipped from between Alex's clenched teeth.
"Let us not waste any more time. I shall rouse Emma and explain what we must do, but first, give me one of the pistols."
"Bloody Hell," he growled. "You have about as much chance of hitting what you aim at as—"
"That may be so," she countered. "But mon cher capitaine over there has no notion of that fact." Her gloved hand was already outstretched. "Pass it over."
"Bloody hell," he repeated under his breath, slapping the polished butt of the weapon into her palm. "Always determined to race in where angels fear to tread," he added as she made to go by.
Stung by the odd roughness of his tone, Octavia started to voice a retort, but suddenly his lips were pressed against hers with a fierce urgency, their heat melting through the biting cold. They lingered there for only a brief moment before he broke away and turned his steps in the direction of their hidden camp.
She stumbled after him, her senses reeling from the passion of the embrace, however fleeting. Why, if she hadn't known there was not a drop of spirits among their supplies she might have thought he was foxed again! Surely only someone addled by drink could be so angry one moment and so... possessive the next.
Men! she fumed. They were the most exasperating of creatures. She doubted she would ever understand the way their minds...
Her foot caught on a frozen root, nearly sending her sprawling. With a tired grimace, she reminded herself that she had best push such thoughts aside if she was to hope of not making a misstep in executing her plan.
It took little time to explain to Emma what was required of her. To her credit, the girl's eyes took on a certain shine, despite her obvious exhaustion. "Oh, it's a clever plan," she said through chattering teeth. "I shall manage just as you say, I promise."
Nicholas looked somewhat miffed that he was not included, but his disappointment quickly disappeared as Alex told him what role he was to play.
"Well then, let's get on with it," said Octavia, taking up Emma's hand and moving off towards the faint scent of smoke.
* * *
The French soldiers were huddled in a group around a single campfire, either too cold or too disheartened to have posted a proper sentry. The two cloaked figures ghosted out from among the trees and were within a dozen paces of the crouched men before someone gave a cry of alarm.
"Grace a Dieu! Ne tirer pas!" cried Octavia, her hands flying to her breast as several muskets were leveled at that exact spot. Little exaggeration was necessary to appear a female on the verge of hysteria, she thought wryly as she continued on. "Oh, ma petit, nous sommes sauve!"
Emma gave a very credible shriek of relief, then collapsed in a swoon worthy of any Radcliffe heroine.
The French officer was already on his feet, pistol in hand, and approaching the two women.
"The partisans attacked our platoon—my daughter and I became separated from my husband in the fighting," explained Octavia in hurried French, hoping that any odd pronunciation would be thought the result of a mouth too frozen to move properly. For good measure, she caused a few tears to run down her reddened cheeks, an easy task as the cutting wind was already making her eyes water. "P-perhaps you know him—Colonel Lesveque, from Rouen?" she added, kneeling down beside Emma's prostate form and chafing the girl's hand between her thick mittens.
"Non, madame," replied the officer rather warily. His gaze flitted uncertainly from Octavia's distraught face to the small form lying in the snow. "What regiment?"
Grateful that she had paid some attention to the newspaper accounts of Napoleon's movements across Europe, Octavia immediately came up with a name. She could only hope that the long march into Russia and the recent battles had created some measure of confusion within the French ranks.
Apparently satisfied that the two forlorn figures presented no threat, the officer slowly returned the pistol to his belt. "I fear our troops have become sadly disorganized in the past few days—I had not realized they had been shifted to this flank of the army."
He bent to assist Emma in getting to her feet. "Please, allow me to help with the pauvre petite. I-I have a daughter nearly her age at home." A shy smile and a whispered 'merci' from the girl caused his voice to grow even more wistful. "Thank the Lord you stumbled upon us, Madame Levesque, and not some band of those bloodthirsty Russian savages." He gave a pained grimace. "Come closer to the fire. Our fare is naught but a thin gruel but at least it is hot."
"How kind," murmured Octavia, feigning a slight swaying as she, too, rose. "O—Oh...." Just as she hoped, the officer was quick to offer his support. "Many thanks, sir," she added, taking firm hold of his arm. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Emma had dropped back several steps and followed close on her heels. "I knew I might count on the honor of a Gallic gentleman to help two ladies in need."
He smiled, then turned to give a brief order to his men. Octavia stumbled again, falling with an awkward lurch sideways that twisted the man's arm behind his back. An exclamation of concern interrupted his words, and his head jerked back in her direction. Its progress, however, was quickly arrested by a muzzle of cold steel pressed up against his temple.
"No one move, else your captain will suffer the consequences." Octavia was pleased that her voice sounded a good deal more calm than she felt.
Recovering from his initial shock, the officer swore and started to pull away from her hold.
"Freeze!" The metallic click of the hammer being cocked was quite audible above the hiss and crackle of the burning pine. "If you wish to see that daughter of yours again," she added in a lower voice, "I suggest you do as I say. No doubt she would infinitely prefer a live father to a dead hero."
Although another oath sounded, he ceased all movement.
"A wise decision. Now order you men to lay down their weapons over there." She indicated a spot several paces away from the fire. "Then have two of them harness the horses to the sled."
"Madame, are you mad?" he began to argue. "Think on it. If the cold doesn't kill you and the child, the wolves—or worse—will. Whoever you are, you would be wiser to remain with us. Even if you are Russian, I give you my word—"
"Watch out—his pistol!" Emma clutched at the officer's sleeve, preventing his hand from stealing around to the weapon tucked in his belt.
Mouthing a silent curse at herself for having forgotten such a crucial detail, Octavia quickly snatched it away from his grasp. Several of the men had edged toward their muskets during the brief distraction, and although they were now still, she noted the furtive glances they were exchanging with their commander. Sensing that control of the situation was in danger of slipping away, she acted without hesitation.
The barrel of the second gun smashed across the officer's cheek, hard enough to draw blood. She then jabbed its barrel none too gently up under his throat. "No more tricks! If you think I won't pull the trigger, you are dead wrong. As you can see, I am very desperate and very angry—not a good combination in a female, especially one who holds a weapon at your head."
He swallowed hard, then slowly repeated her orders to his troops.
As soon as the muskets were stacked and soldiers had retreated back to the fire, two shadowy shapes slipped out from among the surrounding trees. "About bloody time," muttered Alex, handing one of the weapons to Nicholas while keeping his own gun trained on the huddled men. "A pretty speech indeed, but must you always indulge in a flair for the dramatic?"
"Forgive me if I stumbled a bit in my role," she snapped with some sarcasm. "I have had precious little practice in subduing a platoon of enemy soldiers."
He moved to her side, a lopsided grin coming to his haggard face. "All things considered, the critics give you a standing ovation. I shall, however, take over the lead from here." Taking one of the pistols from her numb fingers, he pushed her gently aside. "Help Emma gather up some of the blankets and rations."
"You are... English!" stammered the officer in some disbelief. "What in the name of the Holy Virgin are you—" A nudge of the pistol caused him to fall silent.
"Don't ask," sighed Alex as he watched the two ladies stow several armfuls of supplies into the sled. "I doubt you would believe it, even if I were to tell you the truth." Ignoring the man's look of complete bafflement, he motioned to Nic
holas. "Put the muskets into the sled as well."
"Mon Dieu, y-you don't mean to leave us unarmed in this godforsaken wilderness!" exclaimed the officer.
"No. Not if you and your men do as you are told. Don't attempt to pursue us and I shall drop your weapons just before we turn onto the main road."
"God help you—the two of you really are mad," repeated the officer with a dazed shake of his head.
A gust of wind shivered the heavy pine boughs, and a flurry of snow swirled around the small encampment. Alex glanced at the men's tattered boots and worn cloaks and his lips compressed in a tight line. "I have a suspicion you are going to have just as much need of the Almighty's help in making your own way home." The horses shifted in the traces, clouds of vapor muffling their snorted complaints. With a shrug of his shoulders, he signaled for the others to climb into the waiting conveyance.
Octavia didn't budge. "Alex... "
"The Devil take it, must you always argue—" She cut off his snappish words with a mute gesture at the kettle of soup. "You are quite right. But hurry."
Octavia took up two of the battered bowls from near the fire and ladled out a generous helping for the two children, who fell upon the steaming contents with undisguised relish. After a quick bite for herself, she fixed another portion and carried it to where Alex held the officer at gunpoint. "You must eat as well. I'll keep my pistol trained on the prisoner."
He said something rude under his breath.
"Must you always argue?" She mimicked his own earlier tone of exasperation with frightening accuracy. "Don't be an obstinate ass! Do you really wish to pass out cold from hunger and exhaustion?"
The Frenchman's lips gave a wry twitch. "It does not appear, monsieur, that your wife is a lady to argue with. Er—" He gave a nervous glance at the gun that was being waved uncomfortably close to his head. "—please do as she says."
Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03] Page 18