Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series)

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  During the long ride, she recognized with a pang that every beat of the horse's hooves was taking her further and further away from her brother and their friends, further and further away from Stewart and the love they hand shared.

  She was almost completely on her own now, with only Captain Olivier's letters to help her, and despite all she had accomplished so far, she would need to be even braver than she had already had, if she were ever to defeat Samuel and clear her family's name. Only then could she ever hav a future with Stewart, but it might well be at the expense of his brother's life.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Vevina rode on through Spain, from Salamanca to Avila, Avila to Madrid, Madrid to Barcelona, scarcely pausing except to change horses, always conscious of the fact that Samuel lurked somewhere in the distance.

  She did have one advantage over him, in that thanks to Francis Baines’ help, Samuel assumed she was dead. With any luck, she would be able to secure the treasure, if there were any, find out what awaited Samuel at the chateau, and be on her way back to Cuidad Roderigo as soon as she could.

  Vevina had to face the fact that Stewart’s regiment might have already moved on by the time she ever returned, to God only knew where.

  As for Wellington, he too could be campaigning up and down the Iberian peninsula for the next few months. Only time would tell when she would ever be able to return to her brother, Stewart, or her home, so for the moment she dealt with her most immediate problems, food, water, and a change of mount, and keeping awake during the long hours she travelled with thoughts of Stewart and all they had shared, and the scheming of Samuel, which could well prove the undoing of them all if he wasn't stopped.

  Her journey through Spain proved relatively uneventful, for her boyish garb and caution in getting too close to anyone protected her from unwanted male attentions. The walnut dye on her face, along with the dust and dirt from the road, convinced most people who looked at her that she was only a Spanish boy out on his own.

  But once Vevina neared the border, she stopped at an inn, and paid for the best room in the house. With the help of the two astonished young maids, she wrought a transformation upon herself, and once again became a fair-skinned beauty. Vevina soaked in the tub for hours, and scrubbed vigorously until a large apart of the dye, and much of her skin, was removed.

  Then she crossed the border, dressed in a fine black velvet riding habit, and played her part of the damsel in distress for the benefit of the French soldiers who stopped her along the roads at the toll booths.

  Captain Olivier’s name was indeed a charmed one, for as soon as mentioned her supposed identity, and showed the signet ring, nothing was too much trouble for her.

  Once she told her story of the fall of Cuidad Roderigo and her ‘escape’ from there, and her desire to return safely to the bosom of the Olivier family, her reception was assured. All the innkeepers and better quality of folk sent her on her way with food, a fresh horse, and much interesting information about what she would find in Grenoble when she got there. She asked indirect questions, and people chatted with her amiably about what they knew.

  By all accounts the Chateau Gerald was haunted. While it was true there was a rumour of wealth secreted somewhere in the old ancestral home, no one had ever succeeded in finding it.

  Vevina thought it had to be family jewels, of which there were said to be many, and perhaps some old trifles from the Middle Ages that noble families were still sentimental about.

  As she rode on to, she wondered how much of the truth she should tell to Captain Olivier’s family. She knew their fortunes had been restored under Napoleon, because Captain Olivier’s father had been a great general and had helped Napoleon in his rise to power.

  But the family might not agree with all of Napoleon’s sentiments, and in any case, many years had passed. Perhaps the success of the ‘Little Corporal,’ as Napoleon had been dubbed, was starting to wear thin.

  As Vevina rode on, she heard rumours of more and more campaigns to the east, and became convinced that Napoleon had overreached himself. Fighting on two fronts so far apart as Russia and Spain could only lead to trouble. Many French people she spoke with said it would all be over in two years, but what would be the outcome?

  In any case, the news gave Vevina less cause for worry in some senses, for at least she didn’t have to fear her three homes in Ireland being used as landing places for an invasion force. If Napoleon was having as many problems as they said, surely he would not be so foolhardy as to begin fighting a war on a third front.

  On the other hand, Napoleon might believe the British would be so concerned with a war in their own territory that they would pull their resources out of Spain, or stretch them to the limit by being forced to wage a war on two fronts.

  Ireland could prove a huge stumbling block for the English army, especially if the indigenous population, tired of the heavy yoke of British rule, decided to take advantage of Wellington’s preoccupation in Spain to rise up again.

  However, for the moment, the winter storms at sea were particularly violent, and she heard no rumours of a great sea force being gathered, so Vevina concluded that no invasion fleet was being prepared just yet.

  But in some senses this realization brought with it problems of its own, for Vevina recognized it would make Samuel all the more desperate to secure his so-called inheritance as quickly as he could and get away. His choices then were to stay in France, in which case he might disappear for a long time, if not forever, or be killed, or go back to Ireland. From what she had overheard, he had already cast off many of her tenants, and things could only get worse for all her dependants if he returned to Cork.

  Vevina rode on to the Chateau Olivier in Perpignan, and almost fell exhaustedly from the horse. The two powdered and perfumed footmen tried to chase her away as a disreputable woman, but as soon as she showed the ring and letter, she was ushered upstairs to the family reception room, and was surrounded by his cousins, two handsome young men not quite old enough to enlist in the army, and their charming mother, who was absolutely delighted to hear that her favorite nephew Vincent was finally planning to marry.

  Vevina smiled until she was sure her face would crack, and tried to stay awake if only so she could remember the tissue of lies which was getting more and more complicated the more she was asked for details of how they had met, fallen in love, and so on.

  “It was very sudden, Madame, I assure you,” Vevina couldn’t resist saying. “We took one look at each other across a shadowy courtyard, and voila, before we knew it, we were engaged.”

  After being fed as much food in one sitting as she had had in the month she had been travelling, Vevina was shown up to a luxurious suite of rooms, the windows of which faced the sea.

  Vevina inhaled deeply, the smell of the salty air reminding her poignantly of home. A tear came to her eye, and Madame Olivier spotted it at once.

  She soothed, “There, there, my dear, soon this war will be over, and you shall be reunited with your dear Vincent.”

  “I am sorry, Madame, I don’t mean to be rude, but I can’t wait to be on my way again. I must get to Avignon for his ransom, and to see his parents. I can’t bear to think of my dearest love as a prisoner, or worse,” Vevina sniffed. It was no lie she told, as she longed for Stewart with every fibre of her being. “Please, I must get back to him as soon as possible. Will you help me?”

  “Of course, my dear, my carriage, fresh horses, money, anything your heart desires,” Madame Olivier promised.

  “Then what of a boat?”

  Madame’s face took on a look of glazed horror.

  She finally managed to splutter, “You cannot be serious! The English, they control the entire Mediterranean! It would be impossible for you to cross over the Golfe du Lion safely. It is winter as well. No, no, it is out of the question! My nephew would never forgive me if I acceded to such an insane request and anything happened to you because of it.”

  “Madame, please, it would help m
e make up valuable time, and were the boat small enough, I could sail right up the Rhine to Aries.”

  “It is impossible!”

  “Please, Madame, won’t you reconsider?” Vevina urged in a wheedling tone. “Your nephew is rotting away in prison somewhere in Spain until I bring back the ransom money. The journey will be much faster if I go by boat to Avignon. I am willing to take the risk, and would do anything to help him!” Vevina pleaded tearfully.

  Her performance must have been convincing, for in the end the older woman relented.

  “I will see what the servants can arrange, but you must be ready to go tonight, under cover of darkness. If there is no moon, perhaps you will succeed,” Madame sniffed, and swept out of the room to make the arrangements, shaking her head in bewildered disapproval as she went.

  Vevina was too exhausted even to avail herself of the huge bathtub in her room, and slept soundly for the rest of the day. But as the sky darkened, a servant tapped on the door, and brought in a candle. She offered Vevina some warm black woollen clothes to put on, including a very thick pair of dark breeches. Vevina scrubbed herself hastily with some water from the jug, and then put on the clothes.

  She descended to the family room, where Madame awaited her. When she saw she could do nothing to dissuade Vevina from undertaking so perilous a journey, she led her to the kitchens, where Vevina packed a saddlebag full of food, wine and water.

  Madame Olivier bundled Vevina into a huge shawl, and then tied on a cloak over that.

  “Not many people would be willing to go on such a dangerous trip. I can tell you are truly in love,” the woman sighed, and kissed her on both cheeks tearfully.

  “I am in love,” Vevina reassured her, as an image of Stewart flashed through her mind. She wondered if he were well, and if he ever thought of her occasionally.

  “Go now, my dear. If the wind isn’t favorable, I will see you again, but I hope for all our sakes I do not,” the woman whispered.

  Vevina was escorted to a waiting horse and cart which drove her down to the small cove where the boat lay in wait. It was off-shore, so they had to row out to it, and Vevina noticed there was only a handful of sailors with her.

  Sighing, she insisted she would take an oar, and she pulled until she thought her arms would come out of their sockets against the turning tide.

  Finally they were aboard the small cutter, and Vevina manned the ropes and the tiller as the occasion required. She had often gone sailing with Wilfred in their younger days, and Vevina could even boast of being an excellent swimmer. She recalled that her brother had not been when younger, and had usually sunk like a stone. She prayed he was not in deep water or sinking now. At least she had the comfort of knowing that Hawkes was dead and could do him no harm.

  As luck would have it, the wind was in their favor, and they made good progress across the gulf. The night was starry but moonless, and she looked up into the sky and saw a bright light flash across the ebony velvet. Vevina had heard it was good luck to see a shooting star, and that she should make a wish, so she closed her eyes tightly, and wished that Stewart was safe, and that they might live happily ever after.

  She smiled softly to herself. What a silly girlish thing to do, she reflected. But then, it was only natural, when one fell in love, to have such high hopes and dreams. And, after all she had lost, it seemed so little to ask. The money, gowns, balls, horses, carriages, meant nothing without someone to share it all with, she realized. A husband, children.

  But did Stewart feel the same? That was the burning question. And even if he did, she was unavailable. Moreover, he had told her several times he was married to his career. A wife and child would only get in the way.

  Yet Martha Beckett managed, she considered thoughtfully. Martha’s husband was just an ordinary soldier. If they could do it, with no advantages, and a mere pittance for subsistence, why couldn’t she?

  But these fanciful thoughts for a life by Stewart’s side in the army were literally blown out of the water when a British frigate spotted them shortly after dawn.

  The French cutter tried to outmanoeuvre the larger craft, but to no avail. The wind turned, and the rain began to fall in heavy torrents.

  Then the guns started to blaze, and the cutter shifted under her feet with a jolt.

  “Get in closer to land! How much further?”

  “Not far, but they will try follow us up the river. With those guns, many will die,” the middle-aged, burly captain stated baldly.

  “What should we do?”

  As another shot barely missed them, he said, “We are exactly in range now, so I doubt we have much choice. We can surrender.”

  “No, impossible!” Vevina argued, dreading to think what might happen to her if they discovered her true identity.

  “No, we will keep on course, and if we have to swim, we will.”

  “I can’t swim,” the captain mumbled.

  Vevina looked at him gently, and nodded. “I understand. You have helped me this far. I won’t let you down now. Whatever happens, we must stay together.”

  In the end it was the French guns at Port St. Louis which eventually swamped them, for in the captain’s panic to avoid the British frigate and the returning fire, they hit a jagged rock, which not only knocked a hole in the cutter, but caused it to capsize completely, sending them scattering all over the roiling surf.

  Terror grasped Vevina’s heart like an icy hand, or perhaps it was just the seawater, which was biting into her warm clothes as she struggled to keep the Captain’s head above water.

  “Damn it, don’t fight me!” she shouted. “Just calm yourself. Don’t struggle.”

  When the captain’s desperate flailing eventually subsided, Vevina concentrated on her second concern, whether or not the British ship was going to attempt to pick up the survivors.

  But the guns from the French fort blared, scaring the frigate off, and it sailed smoothly away into the dawn, leaving Vevina alive and free, but desperate.

  Vevina kicked her booted feet to stay afloat, while she and the captain helped strip off layers of clothing from each other, for she felt they were being weighed down. The other two men who had been clinging to a tiny rock motioned to her that they were coming, and would have to head for land soon before they froze.

  Vevina struggled with the heavy captain, and they paddled on purposefully. Much to their relief, the guns stopped firing overhead, and within a few minutes, they saw a small boat coming out to rescue them. The wait was long and cold, but they paddled on, and it was far better than having to swim all the way to shore in the tempestuous sea.

  Once the four were hauled safely inside, the captain praised Vevina profusely, and assured her that he would do everything in his power to help her reach Avignon.

  When they landed at Port St. Louis, the authorities criticized their stupidity in trying to run the English blockade, but the Captain had reassured them it was a matter of life and death for the Olivier family, and so their suspicions had been laid to rest.

  Then the Captain led her to a grim, evil smelling hovel on the quay, and managed after a great deal of cajoling, threats, and a few gold coins out of Vevina’s purse, to secure her a set of dry clothes. Vevina shivered uncontrollably, and huddled by the fire while the captain saw to their comrades. She tried not to gag at the sight of the dreadful looking fish they were cleaning, gutting, and cooking. Her stomach heaved like the stormy sea raging outside, and she forced her jaws to remain clamped tightly shut until the feeling subsided.

  “Come,” the Captain said, “the morning is still young, and we will have a long sail up the Rhone.”

  He had managed to secure assistance from the fishermen, but this new boat was much smaller, and there was now hardly any wind, only driving icy rain.

  They mostly had to row, tack and veer frequently in order to get any wind at all in their sails, but by the end of the day, the small band came to a ford in the Rhone, with a ferry waiting to help traders get across with their wares. Here
the Captain helped Vevina secure transport for the rest of the journey to Avignon, and patted her on the shoulder.

  “A great woman you are, truly,” he praised, as he handed her into the ferry boat as though she were a queen.

  Vevina said her farewells, and soon she was gliding up the river again. The trip was uneventful, save that the weather was getting colder and even wetter. Vevina was delighted to finally see the town emerging in the distance out of the mist late the next day. She was sure she had never been so cold and wet in her life, and ached for a good fire and a hot meal.

  The journey had been a hazardous one, but well worth it, for Vevina had saved herself almost two hundred miles of hard riding. As she staggered dripping from the boat, she wearily took her leave of her helpers, and trudged onwards relentlessly.

  As she headed to the nearest inn, her heart gave a little lift. She realized that Samuel would have to sprout wings to catch up with her, and thus she had the upper hand. She would be ready and waiting for him at the chateau if he ever succeeding in getting so far.