Delacroix continued writing.
“Thank you, Major,” Mairin murmured and got to her feet.
She followed Iefan back down the long room. He paused at the desk of a corporal, who jumped to his feet and saluted.
Iefan acknowledged the salute. “Is there a spare compartment I can use for the day, corporal?”
The corporal nodded and pulled out a drawer. Inside, lying on felt, were iron keys with card tags. He picked one and offered it to Iefan.
Iefan took the key, then moved over to the wall at the top of the stairs and picked up his rifle and kit. Holding both in one hand, he took Mairin through an arch in the wall beside the stairs. A corridor ran the length of the building, with doors along it.
Most of the doors had numbers. Others had been painted with the names of the facilities within. There was at least one bathroom.
Iefan stopped at the door with “3” upon it and inserted the key and turned it. He pushed the door aside.
The room was small, although it was a far cry from her shoddy lodgings of the previous night. A thick rug covered the stone floor. A bed which looked sturdy and above all clean, sat on top. The netting had been clipped out of the way. A small desk with stationery and a pen and ink was pushed against the wall by the window. Like the windows which faced the square, these windows were also full-length.
A small polished hickory wardrobe sat beside the door, completing the appointments.
On the wall over the bed were two iron brackets. Mairin realized they were for an officer’s sword.
She hesitated from entering a clearly masculine room. “Are women permitted in here?” she asked.
Iefan’s dark gaze met hers. “I don’t give a damn if they are permitted or not. What can they do to me? Send me back to Europe?”
The bitterness in his voice was a surprise. Mairin realized she had stepped into the room anyway, too busy processing his words. “Do you…are you angry about being sent back?” she asked.
Iefan shut the door behind her and turned to face her. Mairin stood in the middle of the room. There was only the one chair at the desk and she did not think it was wise to sit uninvited, for his expression made her feel uncertain.
Iefan pushed a hand through his hair and Mairin caught her breath at the familiarity of the gesture. Then he gripped the bedframe and studied her. “Look at you…” he breathed. “What are you wearing, anyway?”
She plucked at the long front of the waist coat. “I couldn’t wear winter tweed here, not for another minute. I died walking through the souk, yesterday.” She let the waist coat drop. “Are you angry, Iefan?”
“Angry?” He considered. “If I am, it is not you I am angry with. I still can hardly believe you are here. You must tell me the story of how you got here. I suspect there is an adventure there.”
“There is, although not a very exciting one measured against the adventures in novels,” she confessed. She hesitated. “You are angry you are forced to leave here, then?”
Iefan sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. He scrubbed at his hair, a scowl forming. Then he dropped his hands with another great gusty exhalation. “Do you remember—I’ve lost count of how often—when I spoke about finding an honest world? A simple one?”
Mairin nodded. How could she forget?
Iefan moved past her and opened the windows. Then he pushed open the shutters to let in bright early morning sunshine. Instantly, the dry smell which Mairin had already associated with the sand beyond the town, washed through the window.
“Look,” Iefan said.
She moved to his side and gazed out, her hand on the railing.
The ground beyond Oran was a rocky, desolate place, without a single growing thing in sight. Long before it reached the horizon, the ground turned to soft sand, which undulated in waves, crest after crest, until she could distinguish no more of them and the sand blended into a beige mist.
“Those dunes go on for days and days. The Berbers have spent hundreds of years learning how to live among them and their life is ruthless and simple.”
“This is the honest world you were looking for,” Mairin breathed.
Iefan turned to lean one shoulder against the window and looked at her. “It might be. I haven’t been here long enough to know for sure…and now I will never know.” He grimaced.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t seem to hear her. His gaze was not direct. She thought he might be…why, he was looking at her mouth.
A shudder ran through her.
Iefan turned his head away. He peered out the window and she could see his throat working. Then he said, his voice strained, “Why are you here, Mairin? Why did you come all this way to find me?”
“You disappeared without a word. Not even your mother knew where you were.”
“There was a reason for that.” He still did not look at her.
“To vex everyone?”
“You accepted Gascony’s proposal.”
“You knew that?”
“I saw it.” Finally, his black gaze settled on her. “I suppose I should congratulate you. You have achieved what you wanted.”
Mairin stared at him. “Now I understand,” she breathed. “I don’t know how you came to witness it. It doesn’t matter. If you did see him propose, it explains so much…”
Iefan scowled and looked away. “All it did was tell me you no longer wanted an adventure. There was no other reason to stay in London. You had what you wanted.” He paused. “Which is why I want to know why you are here.”
Mairin swallowed. This was when she must reveal the thoughts and feelings which had driven her here. Only, his frustration at being driven back to Europe made her hesitate. Perhaps she had been wrong?
“You tell me why you left London, first,” she insisted.
“I did tell you. You didn’t need me anymore.”
“Liar.”
Iefan’s scowl deepened. “I am not.”
“You pride yourself on your honesty yet you are lying right now and you cannot see it.”
He made a growling sound in his throat. “You know nothing about my—”
The door thrust open. “Sir, the Major wants to see you, tout de suite,” the young corporal said. He shut the door again.
Chapter Twenty
Iefan closed his eyes, drew in a breath, then exhaled. With a searing glance in Mairin’s direction, he turned and left the borrowed room.
Mairin waited until the door closed, then followed him. She saw Iefan and the corporal turn through the archway in the middle of the corridor and hurried after them.
In the big front room, Delacroix was standing at his window once more. He waved Iefan to him. Mairin walked swiftly through the desks to reach them as Delacroix pointed out the window.
“I wasn’t certain until now, because there is always a lull in trade after the early morning rush,” Delacroix said. “I watched two of the permanent stall owners shut down their stalls and leave. And look, there is another one.”
Mairin moved to the next window and looked out. At the edge of the souk, a man was pulling down the awning over his stall with quick, nervous movements, looking over his shoulder every few seconds.
The rest of the square, which had been filled with people and animals yesterday, was empty.
“They’re evacuating,” Iefan breathed.
“Indeed,” Delacroix agreed.
“Rashid is coming,” Iefan added.
Mairin gripped the window frame, her chest tight and her heart thrumming.
Delacroix turned back to his desk. “This building is for administration and is indefensible. We must withdraw to the fort. Bonnay! Leon! Dive into the tunnels. One to each fort. Tell them to pull back to Santa Cruz. Run!”
Two men rose from their chairs and raced down the stairs.
“Tunnels?” Mairin murmured to Iefan.
“Between the three forts and this building,” he said. “Built for such a moment,” he added.
Delacroix pulled a long pi
stol out of a drawer and shoved it into his belt. “As the focus of Rashid’s rage, you must go now, Captain,” Delacroix told Iefan. “If we tell him you are no longer here, it might make him pause.”
“It won’t,” Iefan said calmly. “I am an excuse. You said it yourself. He wants the gold he thinks you have.”
“Nevertheless, I want you and Lady Mairin to go to the main fort now. That is an order, Captain. If this building…” He looked around and grimaced. “When this building is breached by Rashid’s men, I will blow the tunnel and cut off their access to the fort. You cannot risk being caught outside the fort when that happens. Go. Go! I have papers to destroy.”
Iefan nodded. “Yes, sir.” He caught Mairin’s hand in his. He pulled her back through the desks to the archway, then into the other corridor, where he strode back to the room they had been using.
There, he collected his rifle and kit. He was frowning.
She knew that frown. “You are going to do what the major said, aren’t you?” Mairin said.
Iefan looked at her, startled. He frowned again. “I am thinking that Rashid has whipped the Berbers into a frenzy over gold. If he was no longer around to drive them, they might find assaulting a Legion fort far too much effort.”
He unbuckled the kit and withdrew a pistol, which he pushed into his belt.
Uneasiness built in her. “What are you planning?” she demanded.
Iefan slid a knife into the top of his boot.
“The roof of this building is high ground. If I’ve judged him right, Rashid is the type of man who would insist upon riding at the front of his troops. When he rides into the square…” He hefted the rifle.
“You would disobey a direct command?” Mairin breathed.
“I would resolve this mess I have made,” Iefan shot back. He buckled the kit closed.
“That I have made,” Mairin said, with a sigh. “By coming here.”
Iefan’s gaze flickered over her. He put the kit on his back and secured the straps. “I’ll take you to the tunnel entrance.”
“I’m coming with you to the roof.”
Iefan hefted the rifle, considering her. He nodded. “Hurry,” he told her. He strode out of the room and along the corridor. Mairin almost jogged to keep up with him, glad of the flat slippers and baggy pants. Without petticoats and a long skirt to get in her way, she could move much faster.
Rooms along the corridor stood with their doors open. The residents had taken their possessions and fled. She spotted an officer’s sword on the brackets over an identical bed to the one in room number three. She turned into the room. She reached for the sword, then saw a rifle standing in the corner, behind the door.
She grabbed the rifle instead and ran to catch up with Iefan. He was at the far end of the corridor, now, and stood waiting for her at the foot of a steep set of wooden stairs. He nodded when he saw what she was carrying. He turned and climbed the steps three at a time.
Mairin followed. She could only take one step at a time.
A dozen steps from the top, Iefan reached up and slid an oversized bolt out of the bracket on an ordinary door lying horizontally, built into the roof. He climbed again, raising the door as he stepped.
Harsh sunlight illuminated the unfinished wood of the steps. The fresh chill of dawn had disappeared. The air was warm and still.
Iefan stepped onto the roof, his boots crunching on grit. He helped Mairin up. He bent and dropped the door back over the hatch. There was a bolt on this side of the door, too, and he slid it home with a solid thud of metal.
“Over by the front of the building,” he said, nodding toward the parapet there.
Abruptly, he staggered and cried out. He fell heavily.
Only then did Mairin hear the distant crack of rifle fire. She looked up and saw a man standing on another roof, far away. He was lowering a rifle.
Rashid.
Iefan caught her hand and yanked her down to the roof with a strength which brooked no argument. She fell flat, her breath whooshing out of her, as Iefan curled into a ball and clutched at his leg. Blood welled on either side.
“Damn it to hell,” he breathed. “Don’t raise your head, Mairin. The shot came from the west. We have to get behind the west wall.”
Mairin lifted herself a few inches off the roof. “It was Rashid. I saw him.” She got behind Iefan’s head and pushed her hands under his arms. “Don’t let go of your leg,” she told him and pulled.
He was heavy, although by yanking and hauling, she pulled Iefan over to the parapet closest to where Rashid had been standing. She peered over the edge of the rough stonework. The roof where the prince had been standing was empty. “He’s gone.”
“We can’t take that chance. Don’t stand up.” Iefan breathed heavily for a moment, grimacing. He swore, hard and low. “He was waiting for someone to step out of the building. He was going to pick off Legionnaires from a distance. The coward. I walked straight into his sights.”
Mairin pulled out her knife, reached beneath her tunic and sawed at the straps of her camisole. The cotton parted with a soft ripping sound. She sliced the buttons off and pulled the long rectangle of white cotton out of the tunic and tucked the knife away.
The camisole folded into a four inch wide bandage with several layers. “Here, let me see,” she told Iefan. “Lift your hands away.” She brought the bandage closer.
Iefan raised his bloody hands and hissed as the blood welled again. Mairin slapped the cotton over the two wounds and wound it tightly around his leg. She tore a thin strip from the end to use as a tie.
“Tighter, if you can,” Iefan said, his voice strained.
Mairin nodded and yanked hard on the tie and he hissed again.
“Is it broken?” she asked him.
He sucked in three heavy breaths, recovering. He met her gaze. “Yes.”
Mairin sat back and crossed her legs without thinking about it. “We’re stuck here.” She couldn’t carry him the way she had in London, not if he couldn’t take most of his weight on both legs.
“You can go.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t know where the tunnel is.”
A low thunder sounded from the west, swiftly growing louder. “Horses,” Iefan said. “The Berbers are coming.”
From the square below the building, Mairin could hear the last of the locals screaming and shouting as they hurried to leave.
Her heart fluttered. They were exposed on this roof, although if the Berbers were attacking at ground level…
Iefan was trying to drag himself along the roof.
“What are you doing?”
“Moving to the side facing the square. We have two rifles and a pistol. We can help the fort.”
Mairin rose to her feet, staying bent behind the parapet, and helped him. “What do you mean, help the fort?” she asked, as Iefan pulled himself the last few inches so his shoulder was against the front parapet.
“Rifles,” he said, jerking his chin toward where they had both dropped their rifles when Rashid had taken his shot. “Stay down,” he added.
Mairin crawled to where the rifles laid, snatched up both by the leather straps and wriggled back. Iefan was flexing his hands over his injured leg as if he would squeeze or pummel the leg to stop the pain. He gripped the rifle she handed him, instead.
“Remember how to load?” he asked her.
“I do.”
He shrugged the kit from his back and dropped it beside her. “There is a hundred shells in there. We can hold out here for a good long while.”
Mairin unbuckled the kit. The clatter of hoofbeats echoing in the square made her lift her head again to peer over the edge of the parapet.
Dozens of armed Berbers with cloth wound about their heads over the top of white hooded tunics and bright sashes, dashed into the square, yelling and brandishing their rifles.
“Check the load on the other rifle, Mairin,” Iefan said, lifting his voice to be heard over the marauding Berbers.
S
he dropped back to the roof and picked up the rifle she had taken from the other room, and carefully eased back the engraved lock and checked the breech. It was empty.
With a grunt of effort, Iefan got his good foot beneath him. While the injured leg laid uselessly along the gutter running beneath the parapet, he used the good one to raise himself high enough to see over the parapet. He rested the rifle on top and sighted along it.
“Why are you waiting?” she asked, as she pushed the shell into the breech and locked it.
“I won’t shoot. Not until they do. They might be happy to merely terrify everyone and have them flee.”
As he spoke, a rifle fired. The bullet slapped against the parapet with a sour whine and dun colored dust rose into the still air, marking the spot.
“On the other hand…” Iefan said. He aimed and fired, then thrust the rifle toward her. Mairin took it and pushed the second into his hand. She unlocked the breech on the first and reloaded carefully, for the breech was hot.
Iefan chose his shots with care and in between, Mairin could hear other distant shots, coming from too far away to be from the Berbers below. “What are those other rifles?” she asked.
“From the fort. Take a look,” Iefan said. “Carefully,” he added.
Mairin raised her head until she could just see over the edge.
“To the west, at the high end of the harbor,” Iefan told her, pointing.
At the crest of the hill sitting over the end of the harbor was a sprawling building with the same dirty white walls as the rest of the city. The walls, though, were solid and high, without windows or doors. The hill dropped away from the foot of the fort and would be impossible to scale while being fired upon.
“Fort Santa Cruz,” Iefan said. “The rest of the Legion are there. Watch for muzzle flash.”
She saw tiny flares of light and smoke. A Berber, below, threw up his hands and slid off his horse to lie still on the baked earth. The other horses stepped or jumped over him. Red showed on his chest.
He was not the only man lying on the ground.
A loud boom sounded and the building shook beneath them. Mairin slid down to the roof and looked at Iefan.
He drew in a slow, deep breath. “They’re ramming the doors.”
Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7) Page 20