by M. J. Putney
“Not quite that bad,” Tory said. “But it’s certainly an advantage to be short!”
“I’m a major and outrank you two, so I’ll take the single pallet,” Cynthia announced as she hung her bag on one of the pegs.
Tory laughed as she hung her bag on the next hook. “Ah, but I’m the chief mage of the South Wales Army. Surely I deserve the single bed.”
“And I’m the army surgeon,” Elspeth pointed out. “My job is to heal your wounds if you try to scratch each other’s eyes out.”
“Will you accept the argument that I need more space because I’m taller, and whoever I’d share a pallet with wouldn’t get any sleep?” Cynthia said sweetly.
Elspeth looked at Tory. “I don’t want to sleep with her.”
“Neither do I,” Tory agreed. “And since Jack isn’t here…”
“You are bad!” Cynthia tossed one of her boots at a grinning Tory, who barely had space to dodge.
“Now that you children have had your fun, I’m going to collapse.” Elspeth sank onto the pallet, pulled off her sock, and rotated her foot.
Tory asked, “Is your ankle still hurting?”
“No, it’s as good as new. But this has been educational.” Elspeth pulled the sock back on. “I’ve used my healing magic on many people, but never had major healing done on me. I hadn’t realized how much energy a body uses when it’s being healed. I’ll need to remember that when I work on patients of my own.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to fix broken bones the way Mistress Jones does?”
“She has a huge talent for bone mending that I’ll never match. But having experienced her work, I think I’ll be able to do a better job with bones in the future,” Elspeth said thoughtfully. “I also need to work on being able to use my healing abilities even when I’m injured myself. I’m embarrassed at how useless I was!”
“Anyone who has performed as many miracles as you has no need to apologize,” Tory said firmly.
Unimpressed, Elspeth crawled onto the larger pallet against the wall and pulled up the one thin blanket. “A good thing we have hearth witch magic to warm this room, or we’d freeze.”
Tory lay down next to her. “I’m exhausted, too. We’ve been burning masses of magic in the last couple of days.”
Cynthia attached her mage light to the door and dimmed it to a faint glow. “But we’ve used it well. I think the demonstration of our powers may have convinced the French to surrender.”
“I hope so,” Elspeth said soberly. “I have no desire to burn myself out repairing broken bodies.”
“I just hope the French don’t find out they outnumber us three or four to one.” Cynthia shook out her hair and finger-combed it before braiding it. “If they realize that, they might decide to fight.”
Tory frowned into the near darkness. There was still no sign of the reinforcements from Cardiff. The South Wales Army needed a thousand or more men in scarlet uniforms. That would persuade the French.
Scarlet. She asked, “Have you noticed what most women wear here?”
“Rather dull dresses, usually with red shawls and high-crowned black hats like Quakers wear,” Cynthia said promptly. “It’s practically a uniform for Welshwomen.”
“What might those look like at a distance? For example, if they were standing on that bluff above Tregwilli Sands.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed for a moment before understanding dawned. “Soldiers! With the red and the black, they look a bit like British redcoats!”
“Exactly!” Tory bubbled with excitement. “Do you think you could use illusion magic to strengthen that resemblance?”
Cynthia frowned. “A clever idea, but I’ve only ever done illusions for individuals. I haven’t the faintest idea how I could change the appearance of a group of people.”
“It may not be possible,” Tory admitted, her initial enthusiasm fading as she considered the complexities of such a large magical working. “But think about it. Perhaps inspiration will strike.”
Cynthia smothered a yawn and climbed onto her pallet. “Inspiration is in short supply just now. All I want is to sleep!”
Taking the hint, Tory closed her eyes and tried to turn off her mind. Despite her fatigue, she could feel the varied energy currents churning through Carmarthen. Fear, excitement, determination. She doubted that many people were sleeping soundly tonight.
She was particularly aware of Allarde’s energy since he was quartered in this same house, sharing a ground-floor room with Bran and Jack. Not that Allarde had been allowed to go to bed yet. She could feel his strain.
She sent him energy in a glow of warm affection, ending with a mental kiss. He relaxed and return the invisible kiss. She dozed off with a smile.
* * *
Tory came awake abruptly, wondering if the town was under attack. After a moment she recognized that she was sensing Allarde. He was calling her mentally, and from very nearby. Trying not to wake the other girls, she eased from the pallet, padded quietly to the door, and let herself out into the freezing corridor.
Allarde was right outside. He’d let the general’s illusion fade, so the dim mage light he held illuminated his own weary, handsome face.
Wordlessly he gathered her into his arms. His whole body pulsed with tension. She raised her face and kissed him with warmth and empathy. His lips softened under her, and tension faded from his long limbs. “You always know what I need,” he whispered as he caressed her hair.
“You’ve had a very hard day,” she said. “But you’ve managed splendidly.”
“I don’t know about splendidly, but at least I’ve been good enough.” Taking her hand, he led her to the stairs so they could sit side by side with their arms around each other. “Mostly I listen to what more experienced people are saying. Pretending to be a man of few words means I haven’t said enough to reveal my ignorance.”
“Have you received word about the reinforcements?”
“A courier from the colonel in charge arrived earlier in the evening. The troops should be here by midafternoon.”
“So if you can bluff the French just a little longer, it will be over.” Tory tucked her head under his chin.
“I don’t know if it will be that easy.” Allarde’s body tensed again. “I have a bad feeling it could go either way. Major Girard understands that his situation is precarious, but he’s not yet convinced that he must surrender. If he realizes how much stronger the French forces are…”
When Allarde’s voice trailed off, Tory prompted, “Did you see a vision?”
He swallowed convulsively. “I had a flash of the French marching down the beach toward us, then falling into firing position and attacking our forces. There would be blood on the sands. If they defeat us there and go on to take Carmarthen, it will be far harder to dislodge them.”
“And this area could become a foothold for landing more French troops,” Tory said, chilled as she imagined what Allarde had seen. Remembering her earlier idea, she continued, “I thought of something that might strengthen your bluff.”
After she explained her idea about summoning the women of the area in their red shawls and black hats, Allarde said with interest, “That will be wonderful if Cynthia can make the local women look like additional soldiers.”
“She isn’t sure she can, but perhaps sleeping on the idea will help.” Tory sighed. “I’m praying that before the day is over, the French will have surrendered and we can quietly hike up to the stone circle and go home.” She smiled. “We’ve been so quick that the school will hardly notice we’re gone.”
He smiled agreement but shook his head. “I won’t be going back through the mirror.”
She stiffened. “You’re running away from Lackland?”
“No, no!” His arm tightened around her. “Sorry, I’m so tired I’m not being clear. Remember I told you I was writing a letter to my father to inform him that I’ve made my choice, and he must disinherit me? It … hasn’t been an easy letter to write. I think it will be better t
o tell him in person. Not easier, but better. This is my chance to tell him face-to-face. Since the route from South Wales to Lackland runs very near Kemperton, I’ll hire a private coach and stop there on my way back to school.”
“Then I’m going with you,” Tory said calmly.
“No! It’s going to be a difficult, painful visit.” His mouth twisted. “This would all be easier if my father despised me.”
She took his hand. “Easier for you, or for him?”
“For both of us. He doesn’t want to disinherit me from the title and Kemperton, but since I’m choosing you and magic, he has no choice.”
So Allarde had to face not only the loss of the land he loved, but the knowledge of how much his choice was hurting his parents. Her grip tightened on his hand and she said again, “I’m going with you.”
As he opened his mouth to protest again, she hushed him by laying her fingers on his lips. “Justin, you are wonderfully protective and responsible, and I’m certainly not complaining since you’ve saved my life several times over. But protectiveness runs both ways. I can’t let you face such a trial alone.”
“You’ve saved my life, too,” he said, his eyes haunted. “But you shouldn’t have to suffer my family’s distress.”
“I may be small, Justin, but I’m not a frail child to be protected from all unpleasantness. We must be there for each other as needed.” She caught his gaze, her expression intent. “Will this visit be easier for you if we’re together?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I always feel better when you’re near. But I can’t help wanting to protect you from misery as well as danger.”
“Go right ahead and feel that way,” she said cordially. “And I’ll continue to ignore you when I think it best. I’m going with you to Kemperton, and that’s that.”
His eyes lit with laughter and he hugged her close. “Have I mentioned lately how wonderful you are?”
“You haven’t, but feel free to do so any time.” She tilted her head back and kissed him. “Now for bed. You have a very demanding day tomorrow, General.”
Their kiss transformed from affection to tongues and hands and heat as they sprawled back on the icy wooden floor. Tory came to her senses first. “Oh, Lord,” she said, panting as she ended the kiss. “My blood is boiling without even a hint of hearth witch magic!”
Justin’s long, lean body had been above hers, but now he rolled to the side, ending up against the wall of the narrow corridor. Pulling her against him in a hug, he said raggedly, “You’ve done a brilliant job of distracting me from the anxiety of pretending I’m a general. But it’s fortunate that you’re wiser than I am!”
“We take turns being wise.” She pulled away from him and sat up, hating every fraction of an inch that she put between them. “Once again, being with you has restored me to the point where I can face another demanding day.”
“You’ve done the same for me.” He sat up, his back against the wall, and tenderly stroked her hair, which had fallen loose over her shoulders. “The first moment I saw you, I thought, ‘I’m doomed!’ I had no idea doom was so wonderful.”
Blushing, she got to her feet, keeping a safe distance away from him. “I think I prefer to call it fate. Sleep well, General. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He stood and straightened, his appearance changing to the stern visage of General Blakesley. “I really hope the reinforcements arrive soon!”
“They will,” she said optimistically, and hoped that her words weren’t just wishful thinking.
CHAPTER 20
It was just breaking dawn the next morning when Cynthia shook Tory awake. “I think I’ve worked out how to make Welshwomen look like British soldiers from a distance,” she breathed. “Let’s go find Bran. He’ll know how to get the word out.”
Tory rose quietly so as not to disturb Elspeth, but Elspeth’s pale green eyes opened. She sat up and stretched like a cat. “This sounds much too interesting to miss!”
Since they’d slept in most of their clothing, it didn’t take long to dress and head down the stairs. The mayor’s cook had baked piles of currant buns, so they each grabbed one for breakfast and headed out.
The streets of Carmarthen were filling fast with soldiers mustering to march out to Tregwilli Sands, where the French might, or might not, surrender. Since Bran was aide to his “father,” he was at the command post in the town square. Allarde was at the center of a knot of officers and others, and Bran was standing at the edge of the group.
Tory drew Bran aside and explained, “We realized that the Welshwomen’s costume of black hats and red shawls looks a bit like British soldiers, and Cynthia can use her illusion magic to enhance that. Is there any way the word can go out to the women of the area to gather along the bluffs above Tregwilli Sands?”
“You can do that? You’re amazing!” Bran gazed admiringly at Cynthia, even though she was wearing her officer illusion. If it weren’t for Jack, he’d be courting her, Tory suspected.
“I believe so,” she replied. “Is there any place around the town where we can find a number of women and see if my magic will work? I’ve never tried to change a whole group all at the same time.”
“If the French think we have hundreds more troops waiting, they’ll be far more likely to surrender. And I know just the place where we can find out how effective your illusion magic is.” Raising his voice, he called, “General Blakesley, I’ll be leaving for a few minutes with several of your staff members.”
Allarde nodded but said gruffly, “Make it quick, Lieutenant. We’ll march within a quarter of an hour.”
Bran snapped a salute. “Yes, sir!”
Then he led Tory and Cynthia away from the town center. “The Methodist minister’s wife, Mrs. Llewellyn, is improvising a field hospital in a barn on the west edge of town in case there’s a battle rather than a surrender. She’ll have a number of volunteer nurses with her making preparations, so you can test your magic.”
Tory and Elspeth had to skip to keep up with Bran’s long strides, but it wasn’t far to the spacious barn where the hospital was being set up. The wide door was open, and inside a dozen or more briskly busy women were visible as they arranged tables and bandages. Most wore the local garb.
Cynthia said, “Stop and let me try this.”
They halted. Cynthia closed her eyes, her face screwing with concentration as she tried her new technique. “Is it working?”
“Yes!” Tory said jubilantly. “Look!”
It now appeared as if a dozen soldiers were moving around inside the bar. The illusion was far from exact. If Tory singled out a particular figure and studied it, she could see that it was a woman. But the general impression was of a group of redcoats.
“Oh, yes!” Bran exclaimed. “This will do very well. Let’s go talk to them. Mrs. Llewellyn is the tall woman on the left. I’ll bring her out here to meet you.”
He trotted into the barn, and after a brief conversation he returned with the minister’s wife. Tall and middle-aged, she had an air of command. “You are magelings?” she asked, her words rolling with a musical Welsh accent. “And your magic can help us women contribute to stopping the French?”
“We hope so,” Cynthia said. “Turn around and look into the barn.”
Mrs. Llewellyn obeyed, then caught her breath in wonder. “That’s amazing! Our men have gathered what weapons they could find and they’re about to march to Tregwilli Sands. We women have wanted to do something more than stand by and roll bandages. If we can help persuade the French to surrender, we won’t need these bandages!”
“To do that, a large number of women will have to assemble on the bluffs,” Tory said. “So we have to spread the word as quickly as possible. Can you help with that?”
Mrs. Llewellyn grinned. “You’ve come to the right woman, lass.” Raising her voice, she called out, “Angharad!” When a woman inside raised her head inquiringly, the minister’s wife said more in Welsh.
Angharad joined them, looking intrigu
ed, and a rapid conversation in Welsh broke out among the two women, Bran, and Elspeth. When the words slowed, Elspeth said, “They’ll send offspring and servants in all directions to get the word out.”
“Aye, there will be hundreds of us on those bluffs,” Mrs. Llewellyn said. “Some will come to watch what happens even if they don’t hear about our plan, and they’ll all be part of the Women’s Army of South Wales.” She gave a cackle of laughter. “I suggested everyone bring a broom or rake or something else that will look like a weapon.”
“Excellent thought!” Cynthia agreed. “The closer you are to soldiers, the less strain on my magic.”
“Mrs. Llewellyn, since I speak Welsh, would it be helpful if I join you and help organize our troops?” Elspeth suggested.
“Aye, and time we got started.” Mrs. Llewellyn turned abruptly and entered the barn, calling commands. Smiling, Elspeth followed.
“Now it’s time for us to join the main column of march.” Bran pivoted and headed back toward the center of the town at a pace just short of running.
Tory and Cynthia followed a little more slowly. Between breaths, Tory said, “If this works, Carmarthen should give you a tall black hat of your own!”
“Have you looked at them?” Cynthia asked incredulously. “I should only get one if this doesn’t work and we lose!”
Tory laughed and hoped the South Wales Women’s Army would be enough to turn the tide.
* * *
By ten thirty, the British troops were drawn up in formation on Tregwilli Sands. They faced west toward the French position. Allarde, in his role of general and commander in chief, was on his horse in front of his troops, flanked by his staff and the subordinate commanders.
Behind the officers, the militia and yeomanry stood in parallel columns with a wide space between them. Behind the official troops, volunteers whose only uniform was a red band tied on their upper arms formed two more columns.
Above on the bluff were ranks of Welshwomen in red shawls and tall black hats with brooms and mops in their hands. Since Cynthia would be using so much magic, Tory kept her horse within touching distance of Cynthia’s so she could enhance her friend’s power. As the time of the ultimatum approached, Cynthia looked up at the hundreds of women and exercised her illusion magic.