“I am very lucky. Being that close to death…. I can’t really describe what it was like, but it made me realize just how much I have: a loving wife, a father after all these years….”
“So at last you have come to an understanding with Charles,” said James, looking up at Val with a bittersweet smile. “I am glad that something good has come of all this.”
“I hadn’t finished counting my blessings, James,” Val said humorously. “I was about to say that I am also lucky to have had your friendship all these years.”
James sat very still, and unable to tolerate the tension between them, Val stood up and walked over to the window. The day had started out sunny and warm, but now gray clouds were scudding across the sky and the first fat drops of rain were hitting the glass and running down the pane. Val turned. “You were wrong to do what you did. It was treasonous, but I understand why you were driven to it. I am not sure what I would have done under the same, er, circumstances,” he stammered.
“And the ‘circumstances,’ Val—what do you think of them?”
“I can’t pretend it is easy for me to understand. In fact, I am not sure I do. But I have thought about it a lot and I would choose you as my friend all over again, James. I find that who you are is far more important to me than whom you love. You offered me the same acceptance, James, despite my birth. How can I do less?”
James was silent, and Val turned abruptly and said, “Well, I must go.”
James stood up and they walked to the door together. “I am glad you came, Val,” James said quietly. “I leave tomorrow.”
Val turned to face him. “Damn it, James, I hate to lose someone else I love,” he choked out.
“I will only be in Italy and I will write. After a few years, when the war is over, perhaps I will be able to come home for a visit. I’ll come to Yorkshire and see you and Elspeth and your children and we will tramp the moors together the way we did in Devon,” he added with a sweet smile and an extended hand.
This time, Val pulled James into a warm embrace. “I must go,” he mumbled, after they separated.
“Take care of yourself in Spain, Val,” James told him, resting his hand on his friend’s arm for one moment before opening the door. Val was gone quickly and James walked over to the window, where he stood for a long while, watching the English rain beating down until he could see nothing because of the rain and his tears.
* * * *
Two weeks after James left, Val and Elspeth returned to Portugal. Their sail took longer this time, for the wind was not with them. But the weather was warn and their return journey seemed an idyllic interlude, taking them away from the difficulties of the past two months and toward the unknown challenges facing them in Spain. Every evening they walked the deck, hand in hand, and watched the stars. Then they returned to their cabin, some nights to make love, others just to fall asleep in each other’s arms.
Their journey through Portugal to Spain was uncomfortable but uneventful, yet Val felt himself getting more and more anxious the closer they got to Wellington’s army.
“What will I tell your parents, Elspeth?” he asked her one night as they sat in front of their campfire.
“The truth, my dear. That we discovered we loved each other and decided we could not wait to be married.”
“That is not quite the truth, madame wife, and you know it. We discovered we loved each other only after our marriage.”
“But you did love me, Val, and I, you, long before.”
“Oh, yes, my dearest,” he answered, giving her a kiss.
“When did you know you loved me, Val?”
“I think I loved you almost from the beginning, Elspeth, but I knew it when I heard you say Mrs. Casey’s vows. You looked so lovely, just like that red rose in the Burns song that your father loves to sing. As I listened to you, I realized how much I wished you were saying those words to me.”
“You needn’t worry about my parents, Val. All they have ever wanted was for me to have what they have with each other. I never thought I would,” she whispered wonderingly.
Val pulled her into his arms and started to hum the Burns tune that had haunted him since the first time he’d heard it. “It is a beautiful song, Elspeth.”
“But even more beautiful with the lyrics, Val.”
“I don’t ever want to leave you, Elspeth,” he said, “though I will often have to, until this bloody war is over. But I will always ‘come again, my love, though it were ten thousand mile.’ I will come back if it is ten times ten thousand miles, to be with my rose. My bonnie wee lass,” he added, pulling her closer. Elspeth laughed softly, and when the fire died down, they warmed each other with the love that would burn for the rest of their lives together.
Author’s Note
I am greatly indebted to four books which gave me the background for my story: Wellington: The Years of the Sword, by Elizabeth Longford; A History of the Peninsular War by Charles Oman; Britain and the Defeat of Napoleon: 1807-1815 by Rory Muir; and The First Respectable Spy, the Life and Times of Colquhoun Grant, by C. Haswell.
The historical situation is accurate: The British troops did sit behind the Lines of Torres Vedras for months, waiting for Massena to make a move. At the same time, the question of a Regency was being debated back in England. It seemed plausible for my story to suggest that Massena might be receiving inside information, although there is no basis for this in fact.
I have taken the greatest liberties with Colquhoun Grant, since his scenes seem to suggest he spent more time behind a desk than he did on a horse! In fact, he was one of Wellington’s most indefatigable exploring officers.
I was also inspired by the Richard Sharpe stories, written by Bernard Cornwell and brought to the video screen by the BBC. I bought all of them and immersed myself in another fictional representation of the Peninsular War while I was writing.
Music is always an inspiration for me. To anyone who wishes to hear “A Red, Red Rose,” I recommend The Songs of Robert Burns sung by Andy Stewart, a Green Linnet CD. “Bonny Light Horseman,” sung by Eliza Carthy, is found on Troubadours of British Folk, Vol. 3 on Rhino Records.
This one is for my father, Major (ret.) John Aloysius Farrell, Pearl Harbor survivor and a man who has faced all of his life with great courage.
It is also dedicated to the memory of Leslie Baker, my “instant sister,” who gave me what Charlie gave to Val:
unconditional love.
Copyright © 1999 by Marjorie Farrell
Originally published by Topaz (ISBN 0451408179)
Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House/Regency
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
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