Vidal's Honor

by Sherry Gloag

  * * * *

  Unable to sleep, Honor tucked her chin on her knees and wrapped her arms round her up-drawn legs. Staring into the dying embers of the fire, she sifted through Vidal’s words. The difference between Devlin and his brother had always puzzled her. It bothered her that she couldn’t understand how two boys, well, men by the time she’d come to know them, had managed to turn out so differently. While Devlin knew he had no choice but to accept his destiny, his only rebellion being that he joined Wellington’s army, Cedric had been free to live a life of his own choosing.

  While Cedric never crossed the line of the courtesy owed to Devlin’s fiancée, she’d never-the-less always felt uneasy in his presence. That the ton embraced him so wholeheartedly she found equally disconcerting.

  She watched the sleeping forms of her companions. Consuela, wrapped in her shawl, lay beside Juan and beneath the comfort of his outstretched arm. Shifting her gaze to the prone, lone figure across from her, with the fire between them, she wondered how it would feel to follow the Spanish woman’s example and cosy up beside Vidal. She missed the feel of Devlin’s arms around her while she slept. For practical reasons alone, it made sense, but taking that final step and lying down beside Vidal seemed like a betrayal. More so, she discovered, because she wanted to, not just to share his body warmth against the increasingly cold winds but because… She inhaled deeply, slowly, and chased the whimsical longing away. After all, once they reached England he’d go his own way, pick up his life again and forget about her. Why would it be any other way?

  “Can’t you sleep?”

  Vidal’s voice by her shoulder shocked her out of her contemplation. “It’s nothing unusual. Since coming to Spain…“ Her voice trailed off.

  In one lithe movement Vidal lowered himself down beside her. “Go on.” Without looking at her, he poked the embers, groped around for any nearby twigs and then drew his knees up too, propping his elbows on them.

  “I used to help the medics, I think I’ve mentioned it before,” she began, and when Vidal nodded, continued, “For many of the injured soldiers, death came in the night. The thought of them being alone—“ She shifted, straightened her spine, and looked directly at Vidal.

  “I’d talk with them or, if they couldn’t speak, I simply talked to them, or read. I had several books, and because it seemed to soothe them, I used to read to the soldiers.

  “Those that could often told me about their families, and after a while I took it upon myself to write to them and tell them what brave soldiers their sons, husbands, or fathers were.”

  Night sounds replaced her voice when it ceased. A rustling nearby, the howl of an animal, or the hoot of an owl.

  Not wolves, Juan had once told them, but he’d never gone on to explain what other animal made that sound. It had taken her several days to understand how far sound travelled on a still night in the mountains and understanding forbade her to seek the answers.

  “You know, I fought in Portugal and lay awake watching the stars on many a night. I’m sure you gave great comfort to those men.”

  “They told me that knowing I’d contact their families when I could eased their worries. Indeed…” She sighed and studied the glowing embers again. “For many, ‘thank you’ were their final words to me.”

  “Why did you do it?” The image of Honor sitting beside and comforting the dying squeezed his heart.

  “How could I not? It was little enough to give those valiant men some peace in their final moments.”

  “I’m not talking about that.”

  Vidal’s impatient hiss startled Honor into looking at him again. “What then?”

  “Follow Dev out here, get mixed up with his work.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. How could I get mixed up in Dev’s work? He was a soldier.”

  “He was a spy,” Vidal snapped, “and according to Lord Dundas, you were working with him.”

  Jumping to her feet, Honor no longer cared about keeping her voice low and not disturbing the others. “Well, he’s wrong.”

  “Whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter. Too many people believe you were and are prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to silence you.”

  His words hit her like a musket ball, and one look at Vidal’s face told her he hadn’t intended for her to know the extent of the danger they faced. Her legs gave way and she landed where she’d sat seconds ago. When Phillipe told her he’d promised to get her home to England safely, she’d thought whatever the dangers they would be left behind in Spain. Now she wondered whether these disbelievers would come after her once she stepped back onto English soil.

  A circle of glowing ash failed to give off enough light for her to see Vidal’s face. “Then why are you bothering to try and take me home?” Wrapping her arms round her up-drawn knees again she struggled to keep the panic at bay. Dev would never claim she’d worked with him. Hadn’t he always told her never to ask for details of his work, for he wouldn’t ever talk about it? At first she’d taken his words as an insult to her integrity, and seeing her disquiet, Devlin had broken his silence only the once.

  “To know what I do, my dearest, would put your life at risk, and I should never have agreed to let you come to Spain. It was my selfish desire to have you close that overcame my common sense.”

  He’d never spoken of his work to her again, and she’d never asked.

  “Do you seriously think there are people who believe I have some sort of information?” She gasped, as a new and appalling thought struck her. “Do they believe I am a spy? That I have been spying against my country?”

  “There are those who believe you have spied for your country.”

  The warmth of Vidal’s hand on her knee alerted her to the chill of the wind on her back.

  “Some want you back to discover what you know because they believe you can help your country, and there are others who’ll go to inordinate lengths to prevent you from doing so.”

  She tried to take in his words, to believe what he told her. The chill within her body no longer came from the wind keening round them.

  Indignation jammed in her throat. “Who would presume I would ever do such a thing?” Thoughts, vying for attention, jumbled in her head. Images like cracked glass caught in a shaft of sunlight then dimmed by a passing cloud, shifted and coalesced. Dev — Phillipe — their departure from the camp — Juan — Consuela— How could she be a part of all this? She couldn’t, but why had she decided to join them in their flight across Spain? Suddenly the other woman’s comments no longer ran true.

  “Why you?”

  “Why me, what?”

  “Don’t bandy words with me, Vidal. Why were you sent out to bring me back?” In the darkness she couldn’t see him, but instinctively knew he’d stiffened. Well, too bad. From leading an unorthodox but mainly happy life with Dev and assuming everyone her friend, she found herself wondering whether she could trust anyone around her. “Why did Lord Dundas send you?”

  The chill in his tone matched the wind. “Because he thought you would be happier if a friend accompanied you back to England”

  “And when we reach England? What then?”

  “That will be for Whitehall to decide.”

  “Not an encouraging thought.” It didn’t help that her own sarcasm backfired on her.

  “You say Cedric has taken possession of the estate and is unlikely to welcome me back there?”

  “He seemed to think you’d never ret–” The slap of his hand on his knee roused Juan from his sleep.

  “What is going on here?”

  “Nothing.” Vidal waved the Spaniard off. “Go back to sleep.”

  “How can I sleep when I think someone has taken a shot at us and woken me up?”

  When Consuela stirred, Juan brushed the hair from off her face, whispered a few soothing words to her and waited until her breathing evened out again before rising. For a moment he watched the sleeping woman at his feet, then crossed to where Vidal sat and dropped
down beside him.

  “What is going on? If you do not sleep now, you will fall asleep on your animal and drop off, and then we will have even more disruption.”

  “Problems?” Ignoring the impatience lacing Juan’s voice, Vidal swung round to face him. “We have more trouble? What?”

  * * * *

  She hadn’t expected her reaction to Vidal’s curt response. One moment they’d been talking about Cedric, the next he sent a look, hot enough to melt her bones and then walked away. A look that haunted her dreams through the night and followed her into the morning and kept her company at they continued their trek.

  A wife for nearly three years and a widow for only a few weeks, she recognised the sexual tension thrumming through her body. How could he bring her back to life with one look? Why would she want him too?

  In a vain effort to redirect her thoughts she focussed on the home she thought she’d return to, and according to Vidal, would never be allowed to re-enter. Devlin had taken her there immediately after their wedding. “We’ll spend our honeymoon at home, since in a few weeks we’ll be away from it for several years.”

  Now it seemed she’d never set foot in it again.

  A fatigue that owed nothing to the difficulty of maintaining their footing on the ever increasing steep inclines and narrow tracks littered with loose rocks and boulders settled over her. The mules stumbled beneath the weight of their own fodder and the packs they carried for the four travellers who’d all taken to walking.

  “Keep up.” The ever present thread of urgency in Juan’s voice brought her out of her thoughts. What ailed the man? At times she almost persuaded herself that they’d lost those who’d trailed them long before her fever.

  “Why the urgency, have you arranged some personal meeting you cannot afford to miss?” Annoyance propelled the words through her lips; shock clamped them shut. The fury shooting from Juan’s eyes was almost as sharp as arrows and, she decided as she hastened to catch up with the others, nearly as deadly.

  Without responding to her barb, Juan strode to the front of the line. He usually led, with Consuela holding onto his hand or his bandana, while Vidal normally fell in behind her. Not today. Vidal had taken the lead and continued walking when Juan had stopped to chastise her.

  Now she had two angry men to contend with and one sulky woman. For the last three days, as swathes of green gave way to barren rock denuded of vegetation by wind, weather, and height, she struggled for breath. Did the men have to go so fast? They’d never wasted time over the weeks they’d travelled across Spain but she swore they’d increased their pace over the last day or two. And unlike Consuela, she had no one to hold on to.

  Chapter Ten

  Halfway through the next morning Juan brought their trek to a halt with an upturned open palm. “You must all stay out of sight.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Vidal’s natural resort to cold disdain simply earned him a scornful look from the Spaniard.

  “There is a hamlet not far beyond the corner, and it is better I approach alone.”

  After a beat of silence Vidal nodded.

  “I suppose if we all entered the community together, the locals would take more notice of us.” She’d spoken to Consuela, and jumped when Juan agreed.

  “You are correct,” he said raising an eyebrow. “We have failed in our hunt for food on the last two days. How long do you suppose we can continue our journey if we do not eat? So I go to see if I can bargain for food.” Glancing down at his clothes and then at theirs, he offered I rueful grin. “They’d take one look at us and refuse to believe we have anything to barter with.”

  While Juan may consider her a stupid fool, it made sense he’d try to barter something worthwhile for even a sparse exchange of food. But what?

  She’d exchanged the britches she started off in for a Spanish skirt and blouse. Mud caked the hemline of Consuela’s skirt, and she’d torn a ragged hole in her shawl two nights ago. And they’d both demanded the use of the men’s knifes to hack the tangled knots out of their hair.

  On one occasion Juan had stopped long enough to show the women how to cushion their feet from the rough terrain by lining their shoes with grass. It didn’t prevent water from leaking through the cracks in the soles, but did help to ease the discomfort of rough walking for hours.

  And Vidal? His understated elegance upon his arrival had given way to peasant garb. Loose legged breeches replaced the fine cloth pantaloons he’d arrived in. And his immaculate shirt? Struggling to silence her choke of laughter, she remembered the shock on Vidal’s face when Juan presented him with a colourful vest gifted by one of the village elders after she’d recovered from the insect bite. His once neat hair blew unrestricted in the breeze, and a sudden urge to run her fingers through it shocked her out of her memories and back to the sight before her. No, they had little to offer anyone in exchange for rations and fresh water.

  Stunned, she watched Juan size up the three remaining mules. After the fuss he’d made when she’d lost hers to injury, did he intend to swap one of their animals for food? How could they afford to lose another one? How could a small hamlet offer them a fair trade of food for a mule, and at this time of year would they want to? Would they want the additional burden of having to feed the creature through the winter? Thus its value at the beginning of autumn would not be as great as in the spring or summer.

  And that, of course, applied to the people as well. Did they have enough provisions for themselves, let alone even a small quantity for strangers passing through?

  “Why are you taking two animals with you?” she asked, having long since reached a stage of not caring that Juan had lost patience with her.

  “Take a good look at them, Mrs. Beaumont. They are skin and bones. We cannot find food for ourselves, let alone the animals. We need food, and they need a chance to survive.”

  “Why not take all three?”

  “A man with two animals is understandable. If one goes lame — do I need to remind you what happens then?”

  Honor fought the rising anger his contemptuous response provoked. “I remember you shot the poor creature and left the evidence in full view.” A small and quite useless repost, she knew, but hunger, weariness and a growing mistrust for the people around her fuelled her need to protest.

  “Well, this time, in order to avoid further sinecure from you I intend to try and protect the lives of at least two of the mules who have brought us so far in exchange for a little food for us.” He pointed towards the range of high mountains ahead. “It doesn’t get any easier from here, Mrs. Beaumont, so I suggest you concentrate on making a better effort to keep up with us in future.”

  With that Juan grabbed the reins of the nearest animals, strode off up the track, and disappeared round the corner.

  “Why do you always have to annoy Juan so?” With her hands on her hips, Consuela stepped in front of her. “Always you have to have the last word. Anyone would think you did not trust him.”

  “Think what you like.” Too weary for diplomacy, Honor swung away and came face to face with Vidal.

  “It’s a valid question,” he said, his voice almost as cold as the wind whipping down from the snow-capped Pyrenees. “I do think you should answer it.”

  Stunned by Vidal’s antipathy, Honor stepped back. What had gone on, what had she done to deserve his sudden contempt?

  “I repeat, think what you like.”

  Honor swung away from him, desperate to put distance between them while she strove to contain the tears clogging her throat.

  What entitled him to demand she share her thoughts and fears, when he’d turned from a friend to a stranger overnight and without any explanation?

  Adrift in her confusion, she sought a sheltered spot from the wind and soaked up the meagre warmth of the sun. Although Devlin never talked of his work, he had always spent the evening with her, sharing amusing anecdotes of his day. Sometimes it was just the two of them talking together. At other times, they would be surrounded by f
riends and then the stories would turn into lively discussions with ribald laughter. And of course, the earl, famous for his ability to lift jaded spirits after a hard march, had always managed to arrange a dance at the shortest of notice.

  The other evening she’d shared the guilt that sometimes assailed her for pestering to travel to the Peninsula with Devlin, and yet — hadn’t Dev told her, he should have said "no" but didn’t want to? Had she mistaken the assumption that Vidal had understood?

  * * * *

  The sound of Juan’s return, his hasty conversation with the others, and his curt demand she stop sulking and keep up today, stiffened her spine. For a moment there she’d considered sitting down and staying put until hunger and cold took her away from a world suddenly barren of people she could trust.

  Like a mantra the names churned in an endless circle within her mind.

  Juan? Vidal? Consuela? And—

  Tears burned behind her eyes. Who had betrayed Dev? Had anyone? Or were Vidal and Lord Dundas wrong? What had Vidal said the night they’d talked beside the fire?

  “The viscount knows the traitor’s identity.” When she’d asked, Vidal swore he had no idea, and said the Viscount refused to share the information.

  And Juan? Why had her unintended barb infuriated him so? Did he mean to pass her and Vidal over to the French?

  He’d certainly managed to dispel any thoughts about Vidal’s brief display of desire for her. So many questions, and no way of discovering the truth.

  Without warning, the ground beneath her feet crumbled and she found herself tumbling back down the track she’d recently laboured up.

  Stones, large and small rolled with her; like a magic carpet they carried her faster and faster down the incline. She tumbled over and over, too fast to focus on anything to grab hold of or use to stop her fall. If this was her destiny, she prayed the end would come quickly.

  The leather boot that filled her vision and stopped her ungainly descent was as shocking as her initial tumble. The agony of her fall increased on impact with the boot and knocked all her breath from her body; for a moment she lay too stunned to take in the latest incident.