by Gayle Wilson
This was the part of the plan that worried him the most, although he couldn’t see any way around it. Having her out of his sight for any length of time, even if she were in disguise and hidden among the camp followers, seemed dangerous.
“Malford will stay as close to you as he can. So will I, of course. There may be some occasion, however—”
“I know,” she interrupted.
They had been over this a dozen times. He had tried to think of anything that might go wrong, until he was anticipating problems that would, in all likelihood, never happen. He nodded to Malford, who lifted the bar and then opened the kitchen door. The alley behind the house was dark and seemed deserted. Moving as silently as ghosts, the three of them slipped out of the house, leaving the door ajar behind them.
Sebastian would have to return before dawn. His absence during the morning’s departure would be too conspicuous.
He could only hope no one would notice that Harry’s batman was missing. Or notice when he rejoined them later tomorrow, as soon as the duke’s party met with the units that would accompany them into France.
Sebastian led the way down the narrow, twisting passage, keeping to the shadows of the building.
Their footsteps seemed to echo too loudly. When they reached the end of the alley, he realized that his hand had been resting on the hilt of his sword throughout the journey.
Considering the stillness around them, he began to believe he wouldn’t be called upon to use it. He had no premonition of danger. No cold finger touched the back of his neck. He felt none of those intangible warnings that had served him so well in the past.
From this point, they had only a few streets to traverse before they reached the stables. Malford would ride Harry’s horse, and Sebastian would ride double, carrying the girl.
Earlier this afternoon the batman had gone out to visit the encampment, which lay only a mile or so outside the city. Aided by the money Sebastian had provided, he had had no trouble in arranging a seat for Pilar in one of the numerous carts and wagons carrying the baggage.
Everything had gone according to plan. And there was no reason to believe that it wouldn’t the rest of the way.
Taking a quick look up and down the street, he ran lightly across it and into the concealing shadows of the adjacent alley. He was aware by the sound of their footsteps that Pilar and Malford had followed him.
When she reached the other side, the girl stopped behind him, her quickened breathing audible in the darkness. He waited until he heard the sounds of the batman’s arrival a second or two later.
He had already lifted his foot to take the next step when he heard the distinctive snick of a blade being withdrawn from its scabbard. It was a sound like no other, unmistakable to someone who had heard it as many times as he.
He turned, eyes straining against the darkness. He could see nothing, but just as their own footsteps had probably betrayed them, he could now hear those of whoever pursued them.
With a sweep of his arm he shoved the girl behind him, and in almost the same motion, drew his own sword. He heard Malford do the same.
Then, standing breathless in the midnight blackness that surrounded them, they listened to the rapid approach of their assailants. Despite the fact that he knew Delgado was in Paris, Sebastian couldn’t deny the chill at the thought that his enemy might be out there, screened by the night.
The girl between them, he and Malford faced in opposite directions, swords drawn. Both of them had been in this kind of situation before, protecting a wounded comrade in the middle of a battlefield. At least in this case, there was a wall at their backs. One less direction to watch for the enemy’s approach.
And when they finally came, pouring in from either end of the alley, uncaring of the noise they made, there were far more of them than Sebastian had anticipated. At least five or six, he guessed, forcing himself to stand his ground, despite the flood of adrenaline that demanded he advance to meet their charge.
Their only chance against such one-sided odds was to hold this position as long as they could, using the wall to their advantage. And of course, to dispatch each attacker as quickly as possible.
And perhaps to pray, he added as, eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw the first of them materialize before him, his blade raised to strike. Sebastian parried the blow, disengaging as quickly as he could to thrust his sword at the nearly invisible target. Surprisingly, the man gasped, his forward momentum checked as he ran into that blind jab.
Behind him he could hear steel striking steel as Malford fought. He had no idea whether or not the man had any skill. If not, he thought, parrying and feinting almost mechanically now, he would find out soon enough.
It seemed to go on forever. They had been lucky at first in that he had quickly dispatched one of his attackers, and Malford had somehow had success against another. The odds were too great for that luck to continue. Sebastian didn’t have time to glance to his right to confirm whether Malford was also being forced to fend off the combined attack of two opponents. It was all he could do to successfully ward off the blows aimed at him.
And he was beginning to tire. His arm was incredibly heavy, each movement of the sword an effort. If it hadn’t been for his awareness of the girl behind him and the equally heavy breathing of his adversaries, he might well have succumbed to that exhaustion. They were tiring as rapidly as he was, he told himself. If he could only hold on…
He heard an outcry, an English profanity, and knew it must therefore have come from the batman. Malford staggered backward, bumping into his arm and disrupting the now mindless rhythm of parry and thrust he and his opponents had established.
Pushing Malford with his shoulder, Sebastian tried to help the batman regain his balance. On some level, he acknowledged that if Malford went down, they were done for. There was no way he could fight off the ones who were left and protect the girl by himself.
Knowing that didn’t prevent the next stroke of his sword, while he was still half supporting the weight of the man at his side. There wasn’t breath enough to ask if he were all right. Nor a second to glance at him. There was nothing left in his world now but the girl at his back and the flash and fire of the two blades, which came at him almost simultaneously, striking sparks from his in the darkness.
And then, terrifyingly, he realized he could no longer feel Pilar behind him. He had been aware that the batman must be attempting to right himself because he was no longer leaning against Sebastian. Perhaps Pilar had moved from her protected position in a misguided attempt to help Malford.
That hopeful image lasted until he heard a sword clatter onto the cobblestones and realized, despairing, that it did not belong to either of his opponents. He renewed his attack against them, will and not strength driving the motion of his arm, which was so fatigued he could no longer feel it.
He was fighting, as he had done often enough before, in a mindless haze of exhaustion. At the same time he was attempting to move to his right. To locate and defend his comrades.
Then, almost like a miracle, he heard a shout that seemed to come from the alley they had just left. The same one that ran behind the house currently occupied by the duke. Apparently the noise of the fight had aroused his household.
Charging his opponents with the last of his strength, Sebastian drove them far enough back that he could risk a glance to the side. The cook was running across the street toward them, brandishing above his head what looked for all the world like an ax.
At the same time, out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian caught a flash of white. He identified it only after his gaze had returned to his own adversaries. Pilar’s blouse. Which meant…
She was wielding the sword the batman had dropped. She was trying to wage a fight against the same swordsman who had brought Malford down.
Knowing there wasn’t a second to lose, he tried a trick Dare had taught him. He retreated as much as he could with the wall at his back, exposing himself recklessly as if he were at the end of h
is stamina.
Emboldened, the more skilled of the two opponents immediately closed in for the kill. As the man extended his sword, aiming for his heart, Sebastian moved with a speed that belied his weariness, ducking and going in under it.
It was a dangerous tactic. And this time it came dangerously close to getting him killed. The blade pricked his shoulder, but his own thrust was straight and deep.
He even heard the rush of blood and air as he pulled his sword free, turning his attention to the remaining man. By that time the cook had reached them, breathing as loud as if he had been fighting with them the whole time.
The weapon he had brought impacted against the head of the swordsman Pilar had been fighting, the sound like a hammer striking a ripe melon. Although Sebastian didn’t have time to draw breath in relief, a weight lifted from his heart, and with it, new vigor flowed through his veins.
Without distraction now, his total concentration devoted to his opponent for the first time in the fight, he was able to get in under his guard with the next series of feints. The man cried out, the noise distressingly loud in the sleeping neighborhood. Then he stumbled backward, falling against the wall on the opposite side of the alley before sliding down it.
Panting, held upright by his sword, which he had allowed to lower until its tip rested on the stones of the street, Sebastian realized it was finally over. He closed his mouth, attempting to control his breathing as he turned. Both Pilar and the cook were bending over Malford, but at least the batman was sitting up, leaning back against the wall.
“How bad is it?” he asked, gasping the words.
In spite of his genuine concern for Harry’s man, he was equally concerned for the impact of Malford’s injury on the plan they had made to get Pilar out of Madrid.
“Turned my ankle on one of the uneven stones, Captain Sinclair. Dropped the sword before I could catch my balance, and the bastard rushed me. Begging your pardon, my lady,” Malford said, looking up at Pilar, who was still stooping beside him.
Sebastian glanced at the cook, trying to gauge his reaction. He might wish Malford hadn’t referred to Pilar by that title, but it was hard to fault the man for not thinking right now about the possible danger in doing so. And after all, the cook had come charging to their rescue, hardly the actions of a man who was planning to betray them.
“I know this one,” Pilar said, looking at one of the bodies.
“Julián’s man?” he asked, although he supposed that was obvious.
“Yes, but not one of my father’s.”
He wondered if that were significant. Or if it was simply that those who still maintained any loyalty to the real conde had chosen not to try to find his daughter and drag her back.
“Maybe the others have all left,” he said.
“I hope,” she said softly.
He was too far away to read her expression, but even in the darkness he could tell that her head had lifted, and that her face was turned toward him.
“How did they find us?” she asked after a moment.
“Some of them may have been in on the attack on Harry. They would have known enough from that to track me here. They’ve probably been watching the house, waiting for something like tonight’s expedition.”
He had always been aware of the possibility that the house was being watched. That’s why he had been so furtive about leaving. That and the fact that he didn’t want to risk waking anyone in the duke’s party and having to answer awkward questions from his commander.
“What now?” she asked.
“That depends on Malford.”
“Nothing to worry about here,” the batman said, using the support of the cook’s arm to lift himself to his feet. “Bound to be tender, I suppose,” he continued, hopping gingerly on one foot. “If it’s swollen tomorrow that will give me an excuse to ride in the carts.”
Which would keep him nearer to Pilar, Sebastian realized. Given tonight’s attack, that would be reassuring.
“Then we shall hope for massive swelling and discoloration,” Sebastian said. “At least severe enough to keep you off your feet until we reach Bordeaux.”
The cook held out his hand to Pilar. Taking it without hesitation, she also got to her feet. When she had, she leaned forward, pressing a kiss against his rounded cheek.
“Gracias,” she said, “Muchas gracias.”
The man shook his head, and then ducked it in embarrassment. Pilar twisted a ring off her finger and, taking his hand, she opened the thick fingers and laid it in his palm.
“It was my father’s,” she said, still speaking in Spanish.
“I can’t take your father’s ring, my lady.”
She folded his fingers around the band of gold. “I want you to have it. He would want you to have it for saving his daughter’s life. If you hadn’t come when you did..”
Recognizing the bitter truth of that, Sebastian sheathed his sword, closing the distance between them. He draped Malford’s arm around his shoulder.
“We need to go,” he reminded her.
“Vaya con Dios,” the cook said, the words seeming almost a blessing. And God, of course, would know how much they needed one.
Chapter Seven
A week later
Bordeaux, France
“To Paris, your grace?”
“Briefly. And then on to England. It will mean only a slight delay in the reunion with your brothers, Captain Sinclair. We’ll still be back to London before the month is out, I assure you.”
Sebastian couldn’t begin to explain what he had felt on hearing that destination. This should be the very thing he had wished for. Only a few days ago, it would have been.
After all, Julián Delgado was in Paris, and Wellington had just presented him with the perfect opportunity to do what he had sworn over Harry’s body he would do.
Now, however, he had made another vow. A promise that must surely, on his honor, be given equal weight.
It was possible, of course, that it was not his honor that balked at the thought of abandoning his plan to get Pilar out of the reach of the newly created conde. Perhaps it was something else, something new and fragile that had slowly grown in the days since he had abducted her.
“I haven’t forgotten that Delgado is there,” the duke said, when Sebastian didn’t respond. “If you feel that you’ll be unable to contain your animosity…”
He let the sentence trail, obviously expecting Sebastian’s assurance that he would never allow his personal feelings to impinge on doing his duty. The only problem with making that assurance was that he wasn’t certain he would be able to carry through with it.
He couldn’t take Pilar to Paris. Not only would it be impossible to hide her as he had among the larger force with which they had traveled from Madrid, it would put her much too close to her guardian. As reliable as Malford was, Sebastian couldn’t entrust her entirely to the care of Wetherly’s batman, not in port and certainly not aboard a crowded troop ship.
Malford would do his best to look after her, but as an enlisted man, he wouldn’t have the standing to protect her from the more despicable elements of the British army, the ones Wellington had once referred to as “the scum of the earth.”
Despite the caliber of the men he had personally served with, after the past three years Sebastian was well aware that there were a number of another kind within the ranks. Men who would, at the first opportunity, seek to take advantage of any unprotected woman. Especially one so exquisitely tempting as Pilar.
Which was hardly the kind of thinking he should be engaging in, he acknowledged. Not about a woman to whom he had sworn to provide protection.
Protection was the crux of the problem. He had promised to protect her, and that meant from both her guardian and from the entire British army if necessary.
Forgive me, Harry, he prayed silently.
“Actually, your grace..” he began.
He was reluctant to destroy whatever goodwill the duke might still feel for him after his nea
r dereliction of duty during the past few days. He knew Wellington had put that down to grief over Wetherly’s death, but if he refused to go to Paris…
There really was no other option, he decided. At least not that he could see.
“On reflection, I think it might be better if I were not in the same city with Delgado. My conviction that he murdered Lord Wetherly hasn’t lessened, I assure you. If anything, it has strengthened with the passage of time.”
“Indeed?” Wellington said, seeming surprised by the comment. His lips pursed as they always did when he was thinking, and his eyes focused keenly on Sebastian’s face. “I confess that I’m surprised, Captain Sinclair. Are you requesting to be relieved of your duties?”
“Only this one, your grace. I believe you may be satisfied that I have never shirked my more difficult obligations. This, however…I would be very grateful if you could find some way—”
“If you don’t wish to come with me to Paris, you need say no more,” the duke said sharply.
It was obvious both from his tone and his closed expression that he was displeased. His gaze had already fallen to the ever-present papers on his desk. And the additional request Sebastian was about to make would not, he believed, restore him to his commander’s good graces.
“If I may, your grace—”
The blue eyes came up, quite cold. “There’s something else, Captain Sinclair?”
“Harry’s batman. I wonder if I might have permission to keep him here with me in Bordeaux. I would assume that with his master gone…”
“Thinking of taking him into service, are you?”
As plausible a lie as any, Sebastian supposed. “With your permission.”
“A far more honorable obligation than some you seem to feel.”
As Wellington’s reproofs went, this one was mild. He hated, however, to end his career in his commander’s disfavor.