“ ‘Ere ‘e is, Will,” announced one of them.
“Happy Christmas, sir,” said Will. “We thought you might not make it to our little celebration this year.”
“I was glad to get away, Will. Both the company and the food were too rich for me,” he said with a wry smile.
“You are looking a little peaked,” said Mags Casey. “Have a sausage,” she offered, handing Val a plate.
“My appetite seems to have deserted me,” Val confessed. “But I will take a bite or two of this, for it smells so good. However did you get the sausage, Will? It was supposed to go in the stew.”
“Oh, I know the quartermaster’s, uh, intended,” said Mrs. Casey.
A few of the men smiled at Mags’s characterization.
“Don’t you be so quick to laugh,” she said, waving her spoon at them. “She may have been his whore before now, but as of this morning, she is his fi-an-cee. And what do you think of that, Will Tallman?” she added angrily, giving him a sharp rap on the top of his head.
“Are any of you going to be shooting later on?” asked Val, trying to change the subject.
Mags’s face softened and she laid the spoon gently on Will’s shoulder, almost as though she were dubbing him her knight. “Will is going to be taking the prize, aren’t you?”
“I feel reasonable confident against my fellow foot soldiers, but the second half will be rifle against musket.”
“How can that be done fairly?” asked Val. “Why, a rifle can shoot much farther than a musket.”
“They will be setting up the targets at two ranges, sir,” explained Private Murphy. “They will score the number of bull’s-eyes.”
“You had better not drink too much of Mrs. Casey’s coffee, then,” joked Val, for she had been most generous in lacing the coffee with rum. “I don’t want to lose my month’s wages, William.”
* * * *
The day was cold, but at least it was a dry cold and the sun was shining down on the parade ground as most of the camp gathered later that morning for the marksmanship competition.
It was close, but Will emerged the winner at the end of the first round, just as Val had expected. Then two new targets were set up.
“There’s the rifleman you’ll be shooting against, Will,” said Private Doolittle. ‘E’s from the Ninety-fifth. David Hardin,” he added, a note of awe in his voice. “Why, Oi ‘ear ‘e can ‘it a man in the ‘eart at two hundred yards.”
Val watched as a tall, thin older man emerged from the ranks of green-jacketed rifles and positioned himself at the firing line. He clapped Will on the shoulder and said encouragingly, “Go on, Will, you can take him.”
“I’d like to, Lieutenant, just to show up those riflemen.”
“It will be the best three shots out of five, gentlemen,” announced Lord Wellington himself, who had arrived in time to judge the final round. “Private Hardin will shoot first.”
“That gives you the advantage of the last shot, Will,” said Val.
Private Hardin bit off the end of his cartridge and poured the powder and rammed the ball down in a fluid series of motions. His rifle was up at his shoulder and his first shot fired in under twenty seconds.
“One inch to the left of the bull’s-eye,” the score-keeper intoned.
Will wasn’t as fast a loader and it seemed he brought his musket up and aimed very slowly, although the reality was that it only took thirty seconds.
“One-half inch from the center,” called the scorekeeper.
“First round to the Eleventh Foot,” announced Lord Wellington to the raucous cheers of the infantry. But the next two rounds went to Private Hardin, whose expression had not changed since he took the field. His second shot was a bull’s-eye and his third only a fraction from the center.
“Just a hair short of a bull’s-eye,” called the scorekeeper after Hardin’s fourth shot.
“All right, Will,” called Private Doolittle, “you can take this back.”
“Half a hair,” announced the scorekeeper with a grin after Will’s shot.
“Fourth round to the infantry,” he called out, after checking Will’s shot.
It seemed to Val that Private Hardin made his next preparations a bit more slowly.
“Half a hair from the center!”
Val could see Will’s hands trembling as he poured his powder down the barrel.
“Don’t ye worry whether you win or lose, Will Tallman. You’ve always found my bull’s-eye,” Mags Casey stepped up and whispered in his ear.
Will gave her a grin and a hug. “Thanks, Mags.”
He lifted the musket to his shoulder and sighted the target. Then he squeezed the trigger slowly, breathing a quick prayer.
“Bull’s-eye! Marksmanship medal to Private Will Tallman of the Eleventh Foot.”
The infantry went wild, while the green jackets stood around with dazed looks on their faces. David Hardin had never been beaten before.
“You do be a fine shot, Sergeant Tallman,” said Hardin in his soft west-country voice. “Maybe you’d like to join the Ninety-fifth,” he added with a grin.
“Thank you, Private. I was proud to be shooting against you. But I think I’ll stick to my musket.”
“Come on, Will, Old Nosey himself is waiting to give you your medal,” said Mags, linking her arm in his and walking him toward the tall, austerely clad figure.
“Oh, my Lord, whatever will I say to him?” Will whispered.
“Don’t you worry, you just bow and say, ‘Thank you, my lord.’ ”
“So this is the man who outshoot Hardin,” said Wellington. “Let me shake your hand, Sergeant.”
Will bowed and then stammered out a thank you.
“Give him your hand, Will,” said Mags.
Will stuck his hand out and felt it pressed by cool, dry fingers. Wellington turned and took from one of his officers a small gold medal hanging from a red-and-white ribbon.
“Shall I pin this on you?”
“Not on me, my lord. If I won this—and I didn’t think I would, you understand—I’d already decided to give it to Mags…uh, Mrs. Casey.”
“So this is not Mrs. Tallman, then,” said Wellington dryly.
Will blushed. “No, my lord.”
Wellington turned to Mags. “Mrs. Casey seems a fine woman, Sergeant,” he said as he pinned the medal on her gown.
“Indeed she is, sir,” Will stammered.
“Perhaps you might consider the gift of this medal something like a statement of your honorable intentions toward her, then?”
“Like we are a-fianced, my lord?” asked Mags, tucking her arm through Will’s and drawing him close.
“Something like that,” Wellington responded with an uncharacteristic twinkle in his eye. “What do you say, Sergeant?”
“Er, yes, my lord. I never did have it in my mind to look elsewhere.”
“Then it is settled. Mrs. Casey, you can consider yourself affianced. Sergeant Tallman, you have won yourself a medal and a fiancée today. Congratulations.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord,” Will answered dolefully.
* * * *
“That was very wicked of you, my lord,” said Mrs. Gordon after Will and Mrs. Casey walked away.
“It was, wasn’t it? But I couldn’t resist it, Mrs. Gordon. They make such a delightfully odd couple. And who knows, I might have done him a favor. Mrs. Casey may well be satisfied just with a betrothal, after all.”
* * * *
“Congratulations, Will.”
“Maybe you should be offering me condolences, sir,” complained Will a little later. “Mags has gone off to show off her medal and brag to all the women.”
“I am almost disappointed in you, Will,” said Val. “You’ve always said you were not a marrying man.”
“Nor am I, sir. I didn’t make any promises up there no matter what Mags thinks! I didn’t have much choice about this affiancing, what with Old Nosey himself pushing it on me,” he added disgustedly.
“Perhaps Mrs. Casey will be happier now that she can call herself your fiancée.”
“I never said I wouldn’t have a fiancée, sir. If it makes her happy, then I’ll just have to hope it holds her for a long time!”
Chapter 15
The officers were expected at Major Gordon’s by two and the closer it got, the less Val felt like feasting.
“I am ravenous,” said James as they walked to the village.
“I think I have a touch of indigestion myself,” said Val. “Too much sausage and rum for breakfast.”
“Yes, of course, you ate with your old companions, didn’t you?” replied James. “Well, it must be that.”
“What else would it be?”
“Oh, perhaps a reluctance to feast on a little animal that was so fond of you?” asked James sympathetically. When Val looked over at him, however, he could see that his friend’s mouth was twitching.
“Don’t be an ass, James. It is nothing but a spot of indigestion.”
Val had hoped that a glass of wine would make him feel better, but for some reason, sweet as it was, the red wine the Gordons served only left a sour taste in his mouth.
When Mrs. Gordon summoned them all to the table, he was tempted to excuse himself. But there had already been one snide comment from Lucas Stanton and he knew he’d make himself a laughingstock if he left. And, damn it, the state of his stomach had nothing to do with the main course, after all!
Val was seated opposite Elspeth and next to James and George.
“Doesn’t Miss Gordon look lovely tonight?” asked George.
“Absolutely,” agreed James, smiling across at Elspeth.
Val said nothing, but his eyes widened in appreciation as he took in Elspeth’s appearance. She was wearing a dress of fine wool, so light it appeared to be another fabric altogether, and across her shoulders was pinned a wool sash in the Gordon tartan. The deep green of her dress brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes. Elspeth, who had lowered her eyes in embarrassment at George’s compliment, lifted them and found herself gazing directly into Val’s admiring gray ones. The moment was brief, but she flushed with pleasure at the appreciative smile he gave her.
As Private Ryan removed their first course, Elspeth saw Val’s expression as the others began to anticipate the main course.
“You are quieter than usual tonight, Aston,” commented Stanton.
“Not mourning the piglet, are you?” said George with a jab in Val’s ribs and a loud guffaw.
“Private Ryan,” said Elspeth.
“Yes, Miss Gordon?”
“I believe you said you needed a little help in the kitchen?” Elspeth stared intently at him and then shifted her gaze across the table and back.
“Er, yes, miss. Lieutenant Aston, may I ask you to help me get the roast onto the platter?”
Until that moment, Val had not been able to admit where his discomfort was coming from. But as he rose, he realized he didn’t know what would be worse: sitting there waiting for that damned little pig to be placed in front of him, or going into the kitchen and helping Ryan slide him out of the pan. He knew one thing: Not one bloody piece of pork was going to pass his lips. And at least in the kitchen he would have time to assume an air of indifference and think of some reason for not partaking of the main course.
When he got there, Private Ryan was already opening the oven door. “There is the platter, sor. I was afraid it would be too heavy for Mrs. Ryan to handle. Hold it steady, now, sor, while I slips the capon out.”
Val almost dropped the platter in his surprise.
“Capon! I thought we were having roast pork.”
“Roast that dear little piggy?” Private Ryan said sarcastically but with a sympathetic twinkle in his eye. “Sure and Miss Gordon and me wife wouldn’t let me near him, sor. Though I have to confess I grew a bit fond of him meself,” he added. “Here, watch yerself, sor, or ye’ll be having both birds in yer lap.”
As the private slipped the second fat fowl onto the plate, Val breathed a sigh of relief. “But where is the pig?”
“Traded to a family in the village, sor, for these birds. They needed a male for their sow, though it will take him some time to grow tall enough. He may end up on a dinner table yet, but at least you won’t have to be eating him! Miss Gordon’s a softhearted lass,” he murmured appreciatively.
The smell of sage and thyme was filling the kitchen and the hall, and Val’s stomach began to rumble as he returned to the table.
“The roast made it safely to the platter, I take it, Lieutenant,” said Major Gordon with a sly smile.
“All right and tight,” replied Val, and he winked across the table at Elspeth as he slipped into his chair.
* * * *
There were a few groans of disappointment when the platter was set down.
“Why, wherever did the pig disappear?” asked George.
“Taken refuge with Aston, no doubt,” replied Stanton.
“This is Elspeth’s doing,” the major informed them. “She was worried that the pig, being so small, wouldn’t feed us all, so she did some hard bargaining for these birds.”
“Sure and they’ll make us a grand soup after, sor,” Private Ryan chimed in. “Miss Gordon is a good, practical lass.”
“Miss Gordon is a young woman with a soft heart,” muttered James to Val as they started their dinner. “I am just not sure whether her sympathy was with you or the pig!”
“The pig, James, the pig,” Val replied with a smile.
The table was very quiet, for the food was delicious and all of them were hungry for something different than the usual fare. After dinner, they made their way to the parlor, where a cheerful fire was burning and a decanter of port waiting.
“Thank God we have an hour or so before the ball to digest that wonderful dinner, Mrs. Gordon, for no one of us could be light on his feet after that meal!” James joked.
“Shall we have some music, Peggy?” the major asked.
They went through all the choruses of “God Rest Ye,” “The Holly and the Ivy,” and “Adeste Fideles.”
“Now you, Lieutenant Aston. Surely you must have picked up a song or two in your travels,” suggested Mrs. Gordon.
“What about the ‘Boys’ Carol’?” James suggested.
“You know my Spanish is far superior to my Latin, James,” said Val with a smile. There was no chip on his shoulder when he said this, James realized. Something—perhaps it was simply the joy of the holiday—had allowed Val to be more himself, more open that his friend had ever seen him.
He sang them a Spanish carol from the hills, a shepherd’s carol, and as he sang, James glanced over at Elspeth Gordon. She was sitting across from Val and she had an appreciative half-smile on her face and a dreamy look in her eyes. Sits the wind in that quarter? wondered James. Well, they would make a good pair, now that he thought about it. Val’s birth made him ineligible for any young ladies in Society, but Elspeth Gordon and her parents were just unconventional enough to overlook Val’s status. The question, James thought as he looked back at Val, was whether his friend would appreciate Elspeth, and if he did, would he allow himself to consider her as a possible wife?
* * * *
They ended their festivities with small cups of Turkish coffee and then set out for the walk to the other side of the village.
“May I escort you, Miss Gordon?” asked Val, offering his arm.
“I would be delighted, Lieutenant.”
Val made sure to hang back and let the others go a little way ahead before he turned to Elspeth. “I want to thank you for your soft-heartedness, Miss Gordon, for I think it was more than practicality that made you trade the pig.”
“I had begun to grow quite fond of him, I must confess, and it seemed to me that you might find it difficult to eat the poor little thing after you’d shared a blanket with him.”
“You are right, although I am ashamed to confess it.”
“I don’t think there is anyt
hing to be ashamed of, Lieutenant. I think it admirable for a soldier to be able to keep his heart open to the plight of a small animal even after the sights he sees on the battlefield,” she added with a slight shudder.
“You may have seen more of those horrors than I, Miss Gordon. It was quiet in the Caribbean, with only a few skirmishes around a small mutiny. I was at Talavera, but now that I am in Captain Grant’s service, I am unlikely to become involved again.”
“I hope not,” murmured Elspeth. “I have walked the fields the day after a battle….” She was silent for a moment and without thinking, Val drew her arm closer to him. “I do believe this war is necessary,” Elspeth continued. “We must stop Bonaparte. But sometimes the price is horrifying and exorbitant.”
“I am surprised your parents let you walk the field.”
“Oh, I convinced them a long time ago that if I was to follow the drum with my mother, I would not shrink from the realities of a soldier’s life. And I had a purpose, Lieutenant. I was helping to identify the dead and make sure there were no living men amongst them.”
It was Val’s turn to shiver. “A gruesome task for a lady.”
“But a necessary one and by now, Lieutenant, you must know I am no lady.”
“You are the granddaughter of an earl, Miss Gordon.”
“My mother’s father was only a younger son.”
Just then they heard someone coming up behind them and Val stepped protectively in front of Elspeth. “Who is there?”
“Hola, amigo. Is it Lieutenant Aston?”
“Captain Belden?”
“And Colonel Sanchez. We have just finished our supper with Lord Wellington and are on our way to the dancing.”
“Bienvenidos, Capitan,” said Elspeth.
“Habla espanol, Senorita Gordon?” Val asked with surprise.
“Un poco. A very little,” she added with a soft laugh. “Will you introduce me?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Miss Elspeth Gordon, may I present Captain Jack Belden and Colonel Julian Sanchez.”
“I have occasionally seen you walking with Lord Wellington, Colonel Sanchez,” said Elspeth. “I am honored to meet such a devoted patriot. And Captain Belden. I have heard of you from my friend Maddie Lambert,” she added.
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