Falconer's Heart

by Janice Bennett

  “I couldn’t tell.” His voice still sounded exhausted. “I don’t think so.”

  “Then he won’t try to hide. That should make it easier. We’ve got to find him as soon as possible, for the sake of the British war effort. When—and how—I take him back to our time we can discuss after that. Now I’m certain he’ll remain on the Peninsula, where all his war-gaming interest has been centered.”

  “Where else might he go?” Belmont roused himself.

  “Russia—but I don’t think it’s likely.”

  Belmont considered. “No,” he said at last. “There weren’t any signs in his gaming room that he’d studied that campaign enough to be of any use.”

  “He hasn’t. We can safely count on Napoleon being defeated there—and on David remaining here to assist the field marshals.”

  “The next major battle—” Belmont broke off. “Not until late July, is it?”

  Riki nodded, recalling the labels on the glass domes with an effort.

  “At Salamanca,” Belmont continued. “That gives us a little over three months in which to find Warwick.”

  “There will probably be minor skirmishes in a variety of places.” Riki chewed her lip, thoughtful. “I imagine the French will keep him as near the center of the action as possible.”

  “Then that is where we will head—provided Sir Thomas’ scouts don’t pick up any trace of him.” He drew a deep breath, resting from the effort of talking. “I believe we will do best to be in the thick of things ourselves, and if there’s any whisper of trouble elsewhere to get there as quickly as we can.”

  “I don’t like it, Gil.” She tightened her hold on his hand. “I never wanted you put in such danger.”

  He managed a creditable grin. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Not one more word of the limited time they could share passed between them. They would make the most of what they had, Riki vowed, and spent every possible moment at his side.

  The following day he got out of bed for a little while and ate a regular meal. After that his strength returned rapidly, though his wound progressed at a slower rate. About them the army remained restless, not yet moving on. The severely wounded were evacuated back to Elvas, the dead were buried and search parties were sent forth by Wellington to harry the retreating French troops who had escaped before Badajoz fell.

  Belmont returned to their tent after one of his information-gathering strolls one evening with the news that they would depart at dawn, riding with one of these parties as escort.

  Riki, bending over a stewpot that hung in the fire, set down her wooden spoon and regarded him with considerable alarm. “You’re not well enough yet.”

  He eased himself down beside her. “What is this? Rabbit? Menchen is a resourceful devil, isn’t he?”

  “Yes he is, and quit changing the subject.” She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure it’s safe for you to ride?”

  He covered her fingers with his, pressing them none too gently. “I can’t sit around here waiting while your cousin tells Marshal Marmont how to carry the day at Salamanca. We must follow as quickly as possible.”

  “But which way? To Marmont’s headquarters in Valladolid?”

  Belmont shook his head, his eyes gleaming. “The marshal was reported in Sabugal on the eighth, five days ago.”

  “And you were wounded only seven days ago.”

  But she made no further protest. Marmont’s current location was their logical goal, and Belmont was not one to lie abed. If anything the sheer frustration of inactivity would be more harmful to him than riding. “Shall I have Menchen pack for you?”

  Belmont nodded absently, his mind apparently already on the difficulties of the journey ahead.

  Riki couldn’t be satisfied, though. Throughout the remainder of the evening she kept a close eye on him. He betrayed no outward signs of pain but he moved with care and tiny lines remained etched on his face.

  He left the tent while she prepared for bed. When he reentered, she was ready for him. “I want a look at your side.”

  He met her gaze steadily. “It’s healing well enough.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that, if you don’t mind. Take off your coat.”

  “A gentleman might be pardoned for thinking that a provocative command.”

  “If you’re hoping to embarrass me, you can forget it.” She strode up to him and eased the smooth woolen cloth off his shoulders. He slid his arms from the sleeves, and she draped it over the foot of the cot.

  He removed his neckcloth, hesitated, then pulled off his fine lawn shirt with only a wince and cast it aside over his coat. He faced her, a challenge lighting his dark, brooding eyes. “Well, doctor?”

  She dragged her gaze from the black hairs that liberally covered his broad chest and stomach. Damn the man! There wasn’t a thing wrong with his muscle structure. Quite to the contrary, in fact. She unfastened the bandage with undue force and exposed the wound that slashed across his lower ribs. By the light of the lantern that hung from one of the tent supports, she examined it, gently touching the edges. It looked better than she’d expected—a long way from being completely healed, but neither did it seem in immediate danger of tearing open again. He’d bear a ragged scar later.

  “Verdict?”

  She turned away and busied herself finding new lint with which to cover it. If she kept looking at him, she’d forget his weakened state and the ordeal that faced them on the morrow. The possibility of what might happen—of what they mustn’t share this night—flooded through her mind, and her hands trembled as she knotted the new bandage about him.

  She hadn’t even kissed him—not the way she longed to, at least—for so very long… Unable to stop herself, she trailed her fingers up his side, knowing she wanted so much more. Once they left this camp, how many opportunities would they have?

  “Riki?”

  The huskiness of his voice broke the last of her control. She slid her arms around his back to hold him tight and buried her face in the dark tangle of hairs that covered his chest. Deeply, she breathed in the scent of the coarse soap that mingled with the mustiness that was so uniquely him. Her lips moved, kissing him as she had longed to, and his body tensed.

  He gripped her shoulders and held her away from him, his expression tortured. “Don’t, Riki. I want you too much already.”

  “Your side—?” Alarmed, she glanced at the bandage.

  “No, that’s well enough. For your sake. If I kiss you now I won’t be able to stop.”

  A slow smile of relief and anticipation played about her lips. “Who’s asking you to?” She caressed the backs of his hands with her fingers.

  He groaned. “Riki, you can’t know—”

  “Oh, can’t I?” She slid her hands up his bare chest and over his shoulders, feeling the tautness of those lean muscles. She wanted him with a yearning that went beyond the merely physical.

  “You’re in my care!” The protest sounded weak. “A gentleman cannot take advantage of a lady—”

  “Who’s taking advantage of whom?” Her lips found his throat.

  “Riki—”

  She silenced any further objections by dragging his head down until she could reach his mouth with hers. His resistance crumbled and he swept her into a crushing embrace that made conscious thought extraneous. Her shift went the way of his shirt and coat, and it was not long before they sought the comforts of the cot.

  * * * * *

  They departed in the early-morning light, with Riki astride her bay gelding, huddling in her pelisse in the dawn chill. Belmont, at her side, sat stiff and erect in his saddle, only the slightest bulge against his side betraying the bandage that Riki had tied as thick and tight as possible. She wasn’t really worried, though. He had proved to her last night just how strong and fit he really was.

  The remembered glow of love washed over her, leaving her warm and tingling. It didn’t seem possible any man could have been so perfect, so exactly anticipating her every de
sire, so gently yet thoroughly fulfilling her every need. That she had done the same for him before they had at last fallen asleep, arms and legs still entangled, had been obvious.

  He glanced at her and the grimness of his expression faded beneath the smoldering passion that lit his eyes. Last night was one neither of them would ever forget. She wondered, not the least bit irrelevantly, what sort of camp they would make that evening.

  Their party started forward and Menchen, who had waited with them, dropped back to the rear with their baggage. Riki dragged her thoughts back to the task at hand. David was undoubtedly on his way to Marshal Marmont, and now so were they.

  The thirty mounted soldiers with whom they rode traveled swiftly—too swiftly as far as Riki was concerned. Belmont remained silent, only the tension of his jaw and the pallor of his skin beneath its weathered tan betraying his pain. She should have left him alone last night to rest—yet she couldn’t be sorry. She kept her horse close to his, casting anxious glances in his direction, though she knew he would scorn any suggestion that they stop to rest.

  Over the next couple of days, very few words passed between them. There wasn’t the need. Belmont seemed content to have her at his side, as if her mere presence sustained him. At night she slept near him but never close enough. She had to content herself with the clasp of his hand and a memory that kept her awake and yearning for repetition.

  In the early afternoon of the third day, the commander of the troops reined to an abrupt halt. Riki shielded her eyes and gazed ahead along the road. A cloud of dust formed in the distance and the indistinct form of a horseman began to take shape. The outriders were returning with their reports.

  “Stragglers, sir!” the first cried as he came within hailing distance. “A mile ahead, in a village!”

  “Right then.” The commander signaled the neat double line of cavalry behind him, and they proceeded forward at a brisk distance-covering trot that would leave the horses rested enough for a charge if that proved necessary.

  Around them the pines grew more thickly and the forest closed in. Riki peered through the trees but could see little except the dense mat of underbrush. Everything felt so still, so silent…

  Stragglers. She shivered. They might well be riding into a skirmish. Unless…

  She glanced at Belmont’s grim face. “Do you think David…?” She let her voice trail off.

  He shook his head. “He has a week’s start on us.”

  “But we’ve covered a great deal of ground, and you said yourself this is the most likely direction for him to take.”

  He threw her a smile of such warmth that her heart seemed to turn over. “My little optimist,” he murmured.

  They soon glimpsed the “village”, which proved to be a euphemistic name for a collection of crude dwellings and dilapidated buildings. It lay a short distance up a cart track, which cut off from the main road at a sharp angle. Overhanging trees all but obscured their view.

  Riki eyed it uneasily. What would French troops be doing here? The scouts must have panicked after spotting a few injured soldiers who had been left behind by their fleeing comrades. If only David might be there…

  A shot rang out from the trees on their left. More answered from the right, almost drowning out the commander’s shouted orders to reform. Rifles and pistols seemed to be firing from everywhere.

  Riki’s horse reared. Dozens of mounted French troops charged out through the sheltering pines and undergrowth. Her gelding spun about and Riki found herself facing more of the attacking French cavalry who had circled around to their rear.

  She grabbed her reins as close to the bit as she could reach and dragged her panicked mount’s head about, digging in her heels to reinforce her order. Belmont, she saw, was on the ground, shooting, using his trembling horse as a shield. Menchen came up on his side, and within moments produced shot and powder to reload for the viscount.

  The forest, which had proved such excellent cover for the French, now hampered their attack, limiting their movements. In minutes the British had them on the run. Belmont swung onto his horse’s back and spurred it forward, joining the patrol in their frantic pursuit of their enemy into the village. Feeling somewhat like unnecessary baggage being dragged along, Riki followed, loath to let Belmont out of her sight.

  They galloped headlong onto the narrow main street and a fresh volley of shots greeted them. A British soldier fell almost at her side, and Riki reined her gelding to a stop and swung out of her saddle. The wounded man needed attention, to be gotten out from under the horses’ hooves. Menchen, she saw at a glance, remained with Belmont.

  Her mind relieved on that account, she concentrated on the fallen soldier. With a few short tugs, she succeeded in loosening his neckcloth, which she formed into a pad to stop the flow of blood from his arm. The man, still conscious, took it from her and staggered to his feet, freeing her to go on.

  She did, slowly, looking about her with a determination that barely overcame her nausea at the bloody carnage that met her gaze. Many of the wounded, she knew instinctively, were beyond her help. But there were others…

  She wasn’t alone. With a wave of relief, she recognized the patrol’s “doctor”, a lieutenant who had assisted with the wounded at the last battle. He looked up from where he kneeled beside a fallen soldier and gestured to her. She hurried to his side, only too glad to obey the orders of someone more knowledgeable than she.

  The shots continued as the French tried to repel the British intruders, and the sulfurous odor of powder filled the air. Riki crouched low, following the lieutenant, helping him to drag injured men to the comparative safety of doorways. Doggedly she kept at her work, too tired to think, knowing only that she couldn’t do enough good and that she couldn’t stop.

  A single shot rang out nearby, startling her. It must have been silent for several moments, she realized, and she hadn’t even noticed. Another shot answered the last, then stillness engulfed the village. Riderless horses, gathered together like the gregarious animals they were, stamped restlessly at the far end of the narrow street. One by one the French threw down their guns to their weary British captors.

  Where was Belmont? Riki looked about, frantic for a sight of him. It wasn’t his broad, sturdy figure that caught her eye, though, but a taller, more lightly built man. His fair hair caught the westering sun as he limped, half supported by a fair-haired girl, into a tavern.

  David, with Marie Marley. Riki hesitated, knowing she should follow them yet desperate to find Belmont.

  “Riki!” His well-beloved steady steps came up behind her.

  With a half-moan, half-sob, she spun about and threw herself into his arms, hugging as much of him as she could manage. His sharp intake of breath made her release him at once. “Your wound—I’m sorry, Gil. Are you all right?”

  He nodded, though a long gash across his cheek seeped fresh blood.

  She would deal with that later. “He’s in there.” She took his arm and started for the tavern.

  “Who? You mean—?”

  She was no longer dragging him. He marched ahead, his longer stride easily outdistancing her. She ran to overtake him.

  They weren’t even hiding. David lay sprawled in a chair, his injured leg raised onto a table. Marie bent over it, cutting back the buckskin of his riding breeches to reveal a nasty, searing tear in the flesh just above his left knee.

  Belmont stopped only feet away from them, his freshly reloaded pistol in his hand. David looked up, met that deadly gaze, and the blood drained from his face.

  “I ought to kill you.” Belmont’s voice was almost unrecognizable, a cold thread of deadly steel.

  David thrust out his chin and a spark of indignation lit his eyes. For a moment it almost replaced the unbearable pain reflected in his face. “That’s hardly the way to greet the hero of Badajoz.”

  “Hero?” Belmont’s lip curled. “I suppose the French couldn’t make enough of you after your assistance.”

  “Non!” Marie Marley
straightened up, placing herself between Belmont and David. “Until the arrival of your patrol we were their prisoners.”

  Belmont thrust her aside. “You don’t really expect me to believe such humbug do you? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t shoot you here and now.”

  “You promised me!” Riki cried, but he paid her no heed.

  “I told you what I was about in my note. You got it, Riki, didn’t you?” David directed a pain-filled glance at her.

  “I did.” She bit her lip. “All you said was that you had unfinished business here in Spain.”

  A slight, ironic smile just touched his lips. “Et tu, Riki? I was trying to set matters to rights.”

  “I am sure the French were very grateful.”

  “Damn it, Belmont!” David broke off as a shudder ran through him. “Because of what I let slip, the French got off easier at Ciudad Rodrigo than they should have. That meant there were more troops available to defend Badajoz. I had to repair that damage—equalize things—or we—the British—would have lost a battle we should have won.”

  “And precisely how do you claim to have done this?”

  David drew an unsteady breath. “We blew up a gate and created complete chaos.”

  Belmont straightened. “Are you trying to pretend you didn’t help the French?”

  David’s gaze rested on his wounded leg, on the ragged, torn skin and the blood that soaked his clothes. “Obviously you don’t believe it, but I didn’t.”

  “If it were your intention to help the British, you could have done that from outside the walls.”

  David shook his head. “You didn’t spend enough time in my gaming room, Belmont. The siege was conducted well. It was the French defense that had to be altered. And for that I had to be inside.”

  “So you asked a French spy to help you?”

  “Methinks I detect a note of skepticism,” David murmured with a faint attempt at humor. “Yes, I did. Only someone already helping the French could have induced them to let me enter the city walls.”