By the time she sensed the danger, it was too late. Rough hands reached out to grasp her from behind, and she unthinkingly shouted in English, “Let go of me, you bastard!”
Samuel’s head snapped up from his papers as he heard the voice, and he walked over to her. He lifted a candle, and peered into her face. He let out a wry chuckle of amusement.
Vevina gagged on the horrible smell of his breath, laced as it was with garlic and spirits.
“Well, bless my soul, not a partisan, but a traitor and murderess,” Samuel crowed in triumph.
“So you've been telling everyone, but if the cap fits, Samuel Fitzgerald, you can wear it yourself.”
His knuckles came up and backhanded her hard across the face. His signet ring cut her cheek, so the blood ran down, staining her blouse. Then her arms were pinned even further behind her back, and her two pistols taken from her belt.
“I’m sorry, my dear, I won’t have the pleasure of using you first before you die, but you never were my type anyway. On the other hand, Grimes here will be only too willing. Hawkes, I’ll pay you your reward now for finding her,” he said, casually throwing several coins at him.
“You’ll get the rest when her snivelling brother is dead too,” he added, turning back to peruse his papers as she was dragged from the tent.
Vevina struggled, cursing and screaming.
Samuel eyed her with derision. “Grimes, make sure she dies as slowly and painfully as you can manage. Take her over to where the French patrols are scouting. One more Spanish woman raped and murdered will hardly cause comment, now will it?” he laughed savagely.
“And one more thing. Bring me her clothes when you are finished, so I know she’s dead. A little memento of my poor dead wife, of course.” He smirked with such smug delight, Vevina was determined to bring about his downfall at her own hands. But first she had to save herself, her brother and Stewart.
Vevina felt her hands being tied, and tensed all of her muscles so that the ropes would slacken as soon as she relaxed them.
She was jerked roughly out of the tent by both Grimes and Hawkes. In the dim twilight she tried to see where she was going, to get her bearings so she could remember where she had left her horse.
She went along meekly enough, but all the time she was trying not to panic and struggle, loosening the ropes as best she could by straining against them, and waiting for the right moment to defend herself.
As soon as she was brought into a small clearing, Hawkes pulled her backwards, and Grimes began forcing her onto the ground. His massive weight knocked the breath out of her as he pinned her down.
She forced herself to gasp out, “There’s no need to be so rough. You and I might like each other. And there's plenty I can do with my hands if they're not tied. ”
With an evil leer, Grimes moved onto his knees, and yanked upright long enough to loosen her ropes so she could move her hands around to the front.
Hawkes began to protest that he should watch out, but Grimes was already hauling her skirts up to her waist. A fleeting thought of Stewart and the camp reminded her of Martha’s gift so she bent one knee as though in invitation, and was able to grasp the handle of the small dagger concealed in her boot.
Just as he was about to get on top of her again, Vevina stabbed upwards with both hands, the knife smacking him square in the throat. She tried to roll out of the way as the blood spurted all over her face and hands.
She wriggled out of Hawkes’ grasp on her shoulders, and was nearly free, but the bayonet Grimes carried dug into the flesh of her upper left arm, and Vevina felt a searing pain as it tore through the skin from shoulder to elbow.
Grimes’ great fist came up against her bruised cheek again as he tried to pin her down, but he was losing blood rapidly, and she squirmed out of his grasp again.
A few seconds later, he had stopped moving, and Vevina knew she had killed him. But she still had to struggle with Hawkes, and even a well-placed kick with her booted foot did nothing to deter him.
Hawkes swore violently, and grabbed a handful of hair. “I’ve worked too hard to get my reward, ever since I read about your exploits in the newspapers goin’ round the camp. I ain’t gonna let ye go now. I don’t care whether ye be dead or alive when I ‘ave ye. But 'ave ye I will.”
Vevina pretended to faint, but when Hawkes drew his own knife, and tried to grab her own, she knew she had to keep calm, and outwit him. In a show of brute strength, she had no chance. Nor could she sweet-talk him. The knives locked, and she pulled him closer with her left arm, injured though it was, in order to yank him off balance.
Her elbow came up into his face, and her fist with the handle of the knife into his groin. As he doubled over, Vevina pulled her hand up, and Hawkes fell over, impaled on her blade.
Once she was certain that both men were dead, she tried to gather her tumultuous thoughts together, when suddenly the tall man whom Samuel had addressed as Francis came out of the woods.
“Thank God you’re not hurt,” he gasped, as she cowered away from him.
She now detected his strong Cork accent.
He reached down to help her up, but with a cry of pain she grasped her arm, which was bleeding profusely.
“Oh no, I’m too late. He sent me out to make sure the job was done properly, miss, but I couldn’t see where you had gone. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner,” he apologized.
“It’s all right, Francis, isn’t it? You’re here now. Can you help me tie this up?” Vevina asked through gritted teeth.
"Gladly." Francis did as she indicated, and shredded her petticoat, which he folded it into a thick wad.
“Miss, I hate to have to remind you, but he’s going to want your clothes to prove you're dead. You stay here a minute, while I find something else for you to wear, and keep pressing on this.”
He disappeared into the darkness.
Vevina shivered. All alone and injured in the woods as she was, she felt like a sitting duck.
But as her terror over the attack and her narrow escape from both Grimes and Hawkes subsided, Vevina knew she had to get back to warn Stewart of everything she had overheard, and the disaster Samuel was leading the army into.
Suddenly Francis was back again, with a boy’s shirt and breeches.
“I’ll let you keep the boots. I can say I sold them. But you must let me have the other things with blood on them, miss.”
“Go on, then Francis, tear them, so it will look real.”
“No, Miss, I couldn’t really!” the young man cried, blushing with embarrassment, but she grabbed his hand.
“Look, you must convince him I’m dead,” she ordered, as she grabbed his hand and put it into the bodice of her blouse. “ You've already done a fine job with the petticoats. Now tear it!”
The thin fabric gave way with a shred, and then Francis turned his eyes away.
“Now the skirt,” Vevina insisted.
He reluctantly put his hand in the waist of her skirt and petticoats.
Another jerk tore them free, and she pulled the trousers on hastily.
“Now, you must bind up my arm a bit more tightly so I can get back to my own camp. And hurry, or he'll be wondering what’s kept you.”
“I’ve brought your horse as well, miss,” Francis whispered, as he worked quickly, first smearing the blood on some of her torn clothes to make her death look more convincing, and then wadding up another section of petticoat for a fresh bandage. He gathered the old one with the shredded clothing to give to Samuel as evidence of her death.
As they labored, she stiffened. "Sush. Riders."
Vevina could hear several horses’ hoofbeats. The smell of French cavalry horses was unmistakable. The French rode their animals hard, so they were riddled with sores which festered and stank a mile off.
“Quick, into those trees,” Vevina gasped, and scrambled half-naked into the covert.
Francis obeyed, but asked, “It’s only our patrols, isn’t it?”
She shoo
k her head. “No, it’s definitely French cavalry. The stench is appalling. I must get back to my own camp. Hurry, Francis, finish that so I can get my shirt on and go.”
As Francis worked, Vevina said, “Why are you helping me? Samuel will kill you if he finds out.”
“I’m the youngest son of Thomas Baines, whom you're reported to have murdered. But Samuel did it himself, because of what my father knew. I know you're innocent, miss, and I want to help. I was forced to go into his service as his new secretary by my step-brother, that useless lout Grimes who just attacked you. But I want to get away. Please take me with you.”
“Francis, I would love to, but can you be very brave, and stay here, to keep an eye on all of Samuel’s movements? A spy in his camp would be very valuable to Wellington,” Vevina coaxed.
“Does Wellington know who you are?”
Vevina nodded. “He does, but at the moment you're my only hope of clearing my name. Please Francis, is there any way of getting a message to him some time soon, telling him what you have told me?”
“I will try, I promise, and will send him as much proof as I am able to lay hands on.”
“Send your message with ‘God Save the King’ on it, at the start and end of each letter to me or Wellington, is that clear?”
“Yes, but...”
“It is a secret. Tell no one, especially not Samuel.”
“I promise, miss.”
Vevina didn’t want to delay any longer, especially with the ten mile ride ahead in the dark and the French cavalry on the loose. But she need some clue as to what they were all up against.
“Francis, do you know why he is doing this? Is there an estate in France he wants to lay claim to, some notion of an old treasure, or some sort of secret?” she asked urgently.
“I’m pretty sure there is, near Grenoble, but he doesn’t tell me any confidences like he did with Grimes.”
“Well, just keep your ear to the ground, then. And if Samuel does anything odd, let me know, and Wellington too. Now, help me up onto the horse. You must go before Samuel suspects you.”
Francis helped her button her shirt, and then lifted her up onto the horse as though she were as light as a feather.
“Be careful!” he called.
“And you!”
Her horse leapt under her as she galloped through the trees, hoping she was going in the right direction of the camp.
Vevina kept her eyes open for any more signs of the French cavalry, and when she was about two miles away from Samuel’s camp, she heard a shout.
Vevina spurred her horse on, and the French pursued her, but she heard an angry voice call them back, and berate them as being fools. Vevina didn’t pause to wonder at her timely rescue, she simply thundered on through the night.
It was only as she saw the lights of her own camp up ahead that Vevina concluded the last thing the French cavalry wanted to do was give chase and inform everyone of their presence. All the secrecy could mean only one thing. A huge French offensive.
Vevina’s mind was numbed with the enormity of it all. It was bad enough Samuel was planning to attack the towering walls of the fortified city with only his small handful of troops.
Vevina knew without the shadow of a doubt that Samuel was deliberately directing his men into battle like lambs to the slaughter, and planned to disappear over to the French side, leaving the few possible survivors leaderless.
Wellington’s orders would never be followed, but who was to say they had ever arrived? Samuel’s men were completely at his mercy. God help them all, for Samuel had shown her that he had no mercy.
He would allow nothing and no one to stand in his way of his plans, his ruthless quest for power by whatever means possible. He simply had to be stopped, before he killed thousands with his blind ambitions.
Vevina rode on towards her camp as fast as she dared given the darkness and rugged terrain. Though her body was numb with exhaustion and loss of blood, her brain still raced on, and plans formed in her mind.
She knew Stewart would be angry with her for returning, especially in the state she was in, but even angrier if he discovered her plans for tomorrow.
She galloped on, hoping they had not moved the camp too far since she had been away in order to make Samuel believe they were playing right into his hands. Time was of the essence, and she could hear every second ticking past like the sound of a death knell.
Chapter Twenty
As Vevina charged into the camp, her horse lathered and steaming in the frigid wintry air, Stewart ran out of his tent to see who had ridden up.
“Vevina, thank God, I was just about to send some men up the road to find you!”
She could hear from his voice that she was about to get a stern lecture, so for once Vevina wasn’t all that unhappy to discover she was going to faint. She pitched forward off the left side of the horse, and Stewart just managed to catch her.
“Get her inside,” Mitchell cried.
Stewart brought her into the candlelight, and saw the blood all over her face and shirt from the cut on her cheek, and the unwieldy bandage Francis had wrapped around her wound.
“Vevina, what’s happened to you?” she could hear Stewart gasp, as he wiped her swollen face, and began to remove the blood-soaked bandage from her arm.
“Get Doc Gallagher!” Stewart shouted to the young soldier.
Vevina shook her head. “No, Mitchell, listen. Get Will, and tell him to bring the maggots,” she whispered through white lips.
Stewart’s eye widened, but he sent Mitchell with the message.
Soon Wilfred came tearing in with a small tin.
Stewart protested, “No, you can’t!” as Wilfred opened it and he saw the sickening contents inside.
“Best thing for a dirty wound,” Wilfred said grimly, as he cleaned away the blood and inserted a few maggots into the gash. Then he bound the arm up tightly and gave his sister a draught from his small flask of brandy.
“Thank you, Captain,” Vevina said weakly.
“Don’t try to talk,” Wilfred urged.
Vevina shook her head. She took another gulp of the fiery brandy, and begged, “Listen to me, this is urgent. I must tell you before I faint again.”
She swallowed the last of the brandy, and choked out, “Wellington gave me orders for Samuel not to attack until he got back from Lisbon. He isn’t really going there, but he wanted to see if Samuel would take the bait. He has. He’s planning an attack for tomorrow night. Since I was the messenger, he tried to have me killed off, to pretend the message never reached him.”
“The swine!” Wilfred and Stewart swore together.
“But it’s worse than that, Stewart,” Vevina gasped breathlessly, as Stewart tried to stand up and fetch her more brandy.
“I got away from my attackers with the help of a lad called Francis Baines, Samuel’s new secretary. While he helped me bind up my wound, we heard horses. They're definitely French cavalry horses. I know the smell.”
Stewart exchanged looked from brother to sister in confusion.
“How many?” Wilfred asked quietly, not doubting his sister's assessment for a moment.
“There must have been at least fifty riders that I could hear in the woods on the way back here. I didn’t dare take the road, so I came overland.”
Stewart forced himself to ask, “And your clothes?”
“I killed my attackers, Hawkes and the man I told you about yesterday, Grimes, but Samuel had asked the men for my clothes as proof I was dead. Francis and I, well, we made it look convincing.” Vevina blushed hotly. “Samuel won’t fear me any longer, because he thinks I’ve been raped and killed. He may be upset his two cronies have been killed, but he will also think he’s won against me now. Perhaps he will get careless.”
She took another gulp of the burning brandy Stewart offered her, and then insisted, “Major Fitzgerald, Stewart, I know Wellington told you to wait, to see if Samuel would show his hand. But there are hundreds of men out there, with no leader
ship, blundering into a deadly trap. Please, Stewart, we must do something.”
“What do you suggest? I can’t defy my orders,” Stewart snapped, running his fingers through his thick dark hair in frustration.
“But Samuel didn’t get any orders, did he? I’m dead, remember?” Vevina suggested boldly.
“Vevina, have you gone mad?”
She shook her head. “No, but we're outmanoeuvred on every front. The only thing to do is fight as unscrupulously as Samuel,” she declared, lying back against the pillows wearily.
Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series) Page 17