“When you disappeared over the ledge—” Her voice broke on the last word as she stuck one foot in her stirrup and swung a leg over. “I mean, you could have died. There are rocks at the base of those cliffs, surging waves, and—”
“At least we know our enemy can’t climb that cliff, not without a rope secured to the top.” He thrust his knees into his destrier’s flanks and galloped away.
With another huff and several curses under her breath, she nudged her horse and followed him in hard pursuit. He’d frightened her with his fall. Frightened her terribly. His life could have been snuffed out then and there, gone in the blink of an eye, and he’d just brushed her concern aside as if his life didn’t matter. Well, his life mattered to her. With the war raging, he could perish at any time and she’d never see him again. Her heart ached, all heavy and hard in her chest.
Not good. Not good at all.
The ride home was made in complete silence, as if a standoff had arisen between them and when they finally galloped into camp, the sun had begun its descent, slowly sinking behind the hills. Darkness reigned, all but the campfires around the encampment glowing and guiding their way.
Next to the stables, she slowed and bounded from her saddle. She handed the reins to the stable lad who hurried forward. She thanked him.
Harry thumped to the ground, gripped her shoulder and grumbled, “Inside. Now. It’s getting late.”
“The darkness can’t hurt me, whereas falling down a cliff face can.” A fling of her arms before she stormed along the gravelly pathway, past dozens of soldiers who’d pulled up logs to the crackling warmth of the fire. On the top of the hill, the thick stone walls of St. Vincent’s rose like an impenetrable fortress in the dark, light glowing from torches either side of the gatehouse and at each corner of the crenellated curtain walls.
Captain Poole stood next to the inner courtyard stables with the reins of two saddled horses in hand. He motioned for Harry to join him and she wasn’t sure what to do. Go with Harry? Stay here and wait for him to return to her? She needed to ensure Harry visited the infirmary, that his wound was tended to. She opted to wait since Poole clearly wished for a private word with Harry and hopefully their conversation wouldn’t take too long. The two men spoke in hushed tones, Harry glancing at her once, twice, then he nodded at Poole and loped back to her.
Gripping her shoulders, he kept his stern expression in place. “Jamie, I need to ride out immediately with Poole and might be gone for two or three days. Something urgent has arisen.”
“Riding to where?”
“I can’t disclose that information.”
“Which means you’re riding to the front line.”
He neither confirmed nor denied her words, but instead said, “I need you to speak to Julia for me. Tell her I’ll be away, an unexpected trip. Tell her…” He eyed his feet, frowned and shook his head as if he wasn’t quite sure what he wished to say.
“Tell her what?” she prompted when he remained quiet.
“That I’m sorry. That’s all. Tell her I’m sorry.” He bounded back to Poole, accepted the reins of one of the horses and heaved into the saddle.
The two men nudged their horses and rode out, dust billowing as they bolted into the dark. The guardsman called for the portcullis to be lowered for the night and the clunky sound of chains echoed within the stone-arched entrance gate and reverberated across the inner courtyard.
Her heart clanged with the same clunky echo.
Chapter 7
Harry rode hard through the night. Every moment counted for him and Poole. There could be no delay in reaching the pass where a scout had thought he’d seen additional French troops marching toward it from farther along the hills. If the scout was right, then the troops were headed directly toward Masséna’s encampment. They needed to verify the possible sighting.
Poole pounded along beside him, his gaze fierce as they raced across the rough terrain, in and around ravines and up steep and craggy hills. “Masséna clearly isn’t willing to give up his hold on what land he’s already taken for Napoleon.”
“Napoleon wants all of Portugal, not that we’ll let that damned Corsican take it.” He feared what he and Poole would find at the pass. Their fighting numbers were even at present, sitting at fourteen thousand each side, but if more soldiers had been sent by Napoleon to join Masséna’s contingent then they’d be outnumbered. Being outnumbered would make their oncoming battle with their enemy more difficult to fight, although that wouldn’t stop Wellington from issuing the order for them to go into battle. They’d won wars with less men than their enemy before. They’d simply have to do so again.
Unfortunately it was also a battle that would take him far away from Julia. More thoughts of her swarmed through his mind, as they always did when he was separated from her. He feared what she’d think since he’d left without even speaking to her, but there simply hadn’t been any time.
As daylight finally broke on the far horizon, he shook his head. Gray cloud smothered the sky as a storm brewed. By midday that gray cloud had darkened to an ominous black. They rode on though, even as thunder rumbled with forked lightning flashing here and there. The wind howled as it rose and the heavens appeared ready to open. By mid-afternoon he and Poole pulled their mounts to a halt underneath a tree and he waited as his friend foraged in his saddlebags. Poole pulled out two thick woolen coats and tossed him one since he’d packed enough provisions for both of them.
After thanking Poole, he shrugged into the coat, his wounded arm throbbing at the move. Not much he could do about that, not until he had more time on his hands to tend to the injury. He buttoned the front of his coat and flicked the collar up.
With no time to rest, he nudged his horse out from under the tree and tucked his head close to his mount’s neck. The rain hit, sleeting into him and Poole. They galloped across the rough terrain. Water streamed down the hills, sending loose dirt into a muddy river underfoot that slowed their pace. As they reached the gorge before the pass, he heaved his horse up next to a stream swollen into a raging river, the current twisting and turning dangerously. That stream was the one they needed to cross, the only way to reach their destination. Over the whistling wind he yelled, “We can’t turn back now. I’ll go first.”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
Harry urged his horse down the bank and plowed through. Waves surged around his destrier’s flanks and he encouraged his horse to continue, patting its neck until he reached the other side. He nudged his mount up the bank and waved to Poole. “Make it quick.”
“Coming.” Poole splashed through after him, the water rushing past, all manner of bracken dumping up and down in the waves. His friend steered his horse to one side, going deeper but thankfully missing the jagged end of a log that would have thrown him from his saddle if it had hit him. His mount found his hooved feet again and heaved up the embankment, his horse’s tail swishing and flicking a spray of water as Poole came in beside him. “That was too close for comfort,” Poole uttered.
“Mine as well. Let’s continue on.” Soaked through yet determined to see his duty done, he spurred his horse on, Poole riding hard on his heels.
They galloped up the craggy hill to the cliff face overlooking the pass. It was hard going to get to the top of the rise, but they made it. Under a lone pine tree he dismounted, his boots sinking into thick mud. A heavy mist swirled as he secured his horse to a low branch, Poole doing the same, then the two of them crept to the very peak, got down onto their bellies and scrambled through bushes to the rocky edge.
More thundering rain. It pummeled into them, the bushes only offering a touch of buffering against the devil of the storm. In the pass far below, the rain swept the misty fog away and there, directly underneath the overhang of the cliffs stood thousands of soldiers from the French Empire taking shelter. A gust blew through, the line of men stretching all the way to the bend six-hundred feet distant. So many soldiers. Three thousand at least, and when added to the fourteen
thousand at Masséna’s camp, their enemy would sit at seventeen thousand strong.
Poole held a telescope to his eye as he searched ahead at the beginning of the line. “Bloody hell,” he breathed. “Junot leads this additional regiment of soldiers, and I can see Masséna. He’s riding in, a dozen men at his side.”
“Let me see.” He accepted the telescope from Poole and lifted the scope to his eye. One low growl escaped him as he too spied Napoleon’s two leading commanders greeting each other. “Confound it.”
“Wellington will be furious.”
Their commander would be more than furious, particularly when two French commanders meant a dual attack would be forthcoming, but at least forewarned was forearmed. Heaving a foggy breath, he tried to keep his elbows steady underneath him, his scope still trained on the French, but his arm wound throbbed and he shook from head to foot in the icy cold. “We need to inform Wellington immediately.”
“Agreed, we need to report our findings directly to him at Pero Negro.” Poole held out his hand for the telescope and he passed it across. “We’ll ride there first, before we return to St. Vincent’s.”
They both shuffled back out of the bushes and heaved to their feet.
In the gorge, the river he and Poole had just crossed had broken its banks, the water tearing earth away as it gushed downstream. The French stood behind them, and an impassable river in front. Of all the blasted bad luck. Fisting his hands, Harry gritted his teeth as rain snaked down his back underneath his drenched coat. “Curse it all. We might have a little trouble getting off this blasted cliff, my friend.”
Chapter 8
Gritty-eyed, Julia stretched and pushed her hands out from underneath the warmth of her bedcovers. Yet another day had dawned after another restless night spent waiting for Harry to return from his mission. Five endlessly long days had now passed. What kind of mission took this amount of time? Or had something happened to him? It had rained solidly for the first three days after he’d left, then they’d had gray skies with drizzle the past two. Maybe the weather was delaying his return? Oh my, she couldn’t halt her worry, or that he was infiltrating her dreams each and every night.
The door creaked open and Una peered in. “Good. You’re awake.”
“Come in.” She tossed the covers aside and scooted out.
“I bring good news.” Una smiled, her eyes lighting up.
Her heart did a flip-flop before it leaped. “Tell me Major Trentbury is back.”
“Major Trentbury is back, along with Captain Poole. They got stuck near the front line for longer than they’d hoped. Bad weather kept them hemmed in but once the rain eased and the river became passable, they rode to Pero Negro to meet with Wellington. They’re here right now in the war room with the other officers.”
“I need to see him.” She needed to calm her fears and see for herself that he was all right. She collected a pair of woolen stockings from her wardrobe. It had been chilly outside after all the bad weather they’d had and she would need the added warmth. “I feared he would never return.”
“No’ much longer now, my dear.” Una squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
Bouncing onto one foot, she scrunched up the hosiery leg and shoved her toes in. A switch to her other foot and she jiggled the stockings up.
“I believe a pretty gown is in order.” Una rummaged about in her wardrobe and selected a blue-green day gown with a high waist. The healer smoothed the fabric and held it out. “This color always looks wonderful on you.”
“It’s one of my favorites too. Thank you.” She lifted her ivory cotton nightgown over her head, tossed it aside and slid her arms into the gown’s long sleeves and got smothered in the soft fabric as she eased the gown over her head. The layers of blue-green slithered down her body and brushed the polished floorboards. With shaky fingers, she tied the ribbon underneath her breasts and lifted a brow at Una. “How did he look? Be honest.”
“He came through the front door looking rather weary.”
“If he rode to Pero Negro to speak to Wellington then he could have sent word along the signal stations to me that he was all right.” She brushed her hair. “I wonder why he didn’t?”
“Never mind why, my dear, only be happy that he has returned.” Una pinched her cheeks. “There that’s better. You needed some more color.”
“I wonder how much longer Father will be gone.” At least her father had sent word to her and Una about his delay, that he needed to remain at Sobral to attend to a few other jobs.
“One of the guardsmen brought me an updated message from your father this morning. He’ll be back by the end of the week. Come, let’s no’ tarry any longer.” Una clasped her hand and tugged her from her room.
She hurried along the passageway with Una and they climbed the stairs leading to the war room. Outside the war room door stood a guard on duty. She crossed to him. “Please, I need to speak to Major Trentbury. Only for a minute. Could you fetch him for me?”
“Of course, Miss Chalmers.” The guard stepped inside the room and closed the door.
She waited, shuffling her slippered feet, her fingers twisted in her skirts, Una standing beside her and offering her an abundance of support.
The guard finally reappeared, but not with Harry.
“Is he coming?” she asked.
“No, miss.” The guard clasped his hands behind his back, resuming his position. “The major said to inform you that he is busy.”
“Busy?” Shocked, her mouth flapped open. “Did you tell him it was me who asked to see him?”
“I did, Miss Chalmers.”
Disbelief rolled through her. Harry had left abruptly. He hadn’t sent her a message through the signal stations when he’d reached Pero Negro. He had declined the chance to speak to her just now. What did it all mean? Other than that he was sending her a message, a very strong one—that she wasn’t worth one blasted minute of his time.
Anger sizzled in her blood and she curled her hands into fists.
How dare he ignore her and treat her so badly.
All she’d wanted to do was make certain he was all right.
Pain pummeled through her.
Chapter 9
That night Harry tossed back a third glass of brandy following his meeting with the officers in the war room, a meeting which had lasted all day as plans had been devised. He clinked the empty goblet on his oak mantelpiece in his chamber, his fire glowing and casting flickering light into the shadowed corners.
For the dozenth time, he again thumped on his connecting door with Julia. Not being able to speak to her on his return had unsettled him, particularly when he’d had to turn her away from outside the war room. “Julia, I understand you’re angry that I left on my mission so abruptly.”
No answer.
“Julia!” He rapped harder since he hadn’t uncovered an opening for the connecting door on his side as yet. The blasted latch remained concealed and unidentifiable, although he’d caught rustlings as she’d move about and knew she was there and that she’d heard him. “Damnation. Answer me.”
“I’m not talking to you.” A snappy answer, her voice close, directly on the other side of the wooden panels.
“I need to see you.”
“Only on your time and when it suits you, apparently.” A huff. “Surely, sir, you could’ve sent me a message through the signal stations when you reached Pero Negro.”
“What I needed to say to you was private and personal, not for all of the guardsmen between here and Pero Negro to hear.”
“You could have sent a message which I could have deciphered. You needn’t have given away anything that you didn’t wish to. For all I knew, you might never have returned from your secret mission. You could have been caught by our enemy then been slaughtered and damn you, I hate that I couldn’t sleep more than an hour or two each night while you were away. I detest you, despise you, and if I never see your handsome face again, I’ll be extremely happy.”
His heart l
urched at her words, fierce and impassioned words.
He stroked the panels, wishing he were stroking her instead.
“I beg your forgiveness, Julia. I...” He had no excuse for his abominable behavior. If their positions had been reversed and it had been her that had been called away on such a dangerous mission, then he would have moved heaven and earth to find her.
“Five days, Harry.” She thumped the wall just as he had. “I hate how tangled my emotions have now become regarding you.”
“Again, all I can do is apologize.” Leaning his forehead on the wooden panels, he growled under his breath then he lifted his head and everything swayed, his next words slightly slurred from his heavy consumption of alcohol. “I n-need more brandy.”
“Why I never.” A gasp. “Are you drunk?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t lie to her.
He shoved his fingers through his damp hair, his skin hot and moist with sweat.
“I don’t feel w-well.”
“Your words are becoming more slurred with every sentence you speak.”
“I’m not sure what’s wrong with me.” While he and Poole had been stuck on the craggy hill after crossing the river, which had become completely impassable for almost three days, he’d unstrapped the binding Jamie had knotted over his wound and allowed Poole to take a look at it. In the drenching rain the captain had done his best with a needle and thread. Poole had even given him some laudanum from his supplies for the throbbing pain, although the opiate was brutal stuff and always clouded his senses. Allowing any form of incapacity while their enemy was so close wasn’t acceptable. He’d pocketed the vial but hadn’t partaken of it as yet. Temptation though warred within him now. Should he swig the dratted medication which always made his head spin and caused disturbing dreams to plague him when under the influence of it? Or should he leave it and suffer the pain which was duly his to suffer anyway?
His chamber door creaked open and Jamie—not Julia unfortunately—peeked around the corner, the lad’s cap stuffed on his head and his suspenders hanging loose over a white tunic and brown breeches. “What do you want?” he muttered to the boy.
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