“I confess I was thinking about the bright sunny day ahead.”
“You mean the sun-scorching, dry and dusty ride ahead?”
She laughed. “Yes, but I would never put it so inelegantly.”
“No, you are quite the hardened soldier, used to the elements.”
Catalina was certain he was making fun of her, but she chose to accept it as a compliment. Her eyes strayed over to the trees. Many of the men had retired some distance for privacy, but she noticed Dion and Lieutenant Colonel Roberts deep in conversation.
“Do you see what I see?” she asked Major Knight, who, she discovered, was watching keenly despite having a lazy look beneath his eyes.
“Señorita, I have done nothing but watch these past twenty minutes.”
“Is there anything to worry about?”
“Have you noticed them speaking before?” he asked, as though interrogating her.
Her first impulse was to retort rudely, but she paused and considered. They were to be professional, she recalled.
“Now I come to think on it, I have seen them speaking once or twice, but it was always in a social situation.”
“You mean, as one of your court,” he said knowingly.
She nodded reluctantly. It sounded so shameful when he pointed it out.
“There’s no need to pout, Señorita.” He came to his feet in a swift motion like a lithe feline, and held his hand out to her.
She accepted his hand, wishing she could wear trousers and have the ability to move freely as the men did. His touch caused her to feel things, and she resented it. If he could remain ambivalent to her touch, then so would she.
Reluctantly, she prepared to mount again. Even though she was used to hours on horseback, it was still a strain on her body. The foot soldiers had to walk hours every day, often without proper boots, or rations to give them energy. Whenever she thought of whining, thinking of them made her grateful.
“Again the long face, Señorita?” Major Knight remarked, standing before her. “Are you so reluctant to ride again? I am certain room can be made for you in one of the carriages.”
She shook her head. “It is not that at all.”
He tilted his head and seemed to see straight through her. Instead of thrusting her up into the saddle in the conventional manner, he surprised her by putting his hands on her waist as she lifted one foot for his assistance. He lifted her up and they were nearly level, he was so much taller than she. Their eyes met and then he turned away. So much about this man disturbed her, but she could not become distracted. They had a traitor to catch.
Chapter Five
After over forty miles of travel, Felix estimated, they crossed the River Douro via a ford below at the town of Toro. The enemy had destroyed the bridge and the river here ran deep and swift. A little downstream was a place fordable by cavalry, although the horses were forced by the strong current to swim diagonally and gain the opposite bank some yards below the entry point. Felix was exceedingly thankful to have himself on one side of Catalina and a burly sergeant on the other. Toro itself stood high on a cliff above the river, but the country before them was level and verdant with fine champagne vineyards. After a long march, it was in this pleasant country that Wellington decided to stop for the night, at the village of Miranda de Duoro.
Everyone began to set up camp as if by memory. After a long, hard day in the saddle, the main thing on everyone’s mind was food and sleep. The men led the horses to the water’s edge to drink, and many of the soldiers took the opportunity to wash themselves, Felix included. Never before had he given much thought to a lady following the drum, except that there had always been camp followers. Some of the officers brought their wives, but most ladies stayed in nearby cities in lodgings or hostelries.
As the men were leaving, Felix saw Lady Catalina and three other women heading down to the river. Most of the men watched the ladies walk past, some subtly and some not, doubtless wishing they could be like David and wash Bathsheba at her bath. He shook his head. Even he was not immune, but he would not be taken in by this temptress. Losing one’s head over a woman was dangerous at any time, but often deadly at war. It was surely some kind of punishment for past sins that he had been placed in her company for this assignment.
He did not linger at the water and watch the ladies bathe, but he stayed nearby to watch out for other soldiers who might not have his sense of decency and strength of will. Even though a blanket was held up to shield them, it would not be difficult for those determined to watch.
When the ladies had completed their ablutions, they climbed up the hill and he began to escort them back. Lady Catalina cast him an amused glance as though she believed he had been loitering.
“I will not be accused of sins I did not commit,” he said, guessing at her thoughts.
“You would be the first man to show such restraint.”
“Are baths a frequent source of amusement, then?”
She gave a Gallic shrug. “There is little I can do to prevent it other than remain dirty, which I refuse to do. I do not put on a show, as you assume.”
“I beg your pardon. I should not tease you so.”
Several tents had been erected and two dozen fires were roaring by the time they had climbed back up to the camp.
They parted company and he did not see her again until it was time to eat. Surprisingly, she was standing at the table with some of the cooks, helping serve bowls of stew, dough boys and mugs of ale. She was garbed in a plain, dark cotton dress with an apron covering it, her hair twisted into a simple plait. She had never looked more beautiful to him.
Once everyone had been served, Lady Catalina approached the campfire where he was sitting with a few of the other officers. They began to stand, but she waved them back down and sat next to him to eat her own meal.
There was something enchanting about being outdoors with a fire, far away from the city. The smell of burning wood and the crackle of the flames, with the river roaring in the background, was seductive to a soldier, and for this one night, it was easy to forget what their true purpose was. There was no artifice in any of them at this moment.
Some of the men left for their beds and one or two others left to seek card games or alternative entertainment. It was companionable sitting next to the lady, and he felt more disarmed by her in this setting than he did in any ballroom.
He glanced sideways at her as she sat next to him in a relaxed pose, the orange flames casting an angelic glow on her face. For a moment, he allowed himself to think of a settled life such as his brothers had chosen. He did not know if he could do it. Certainly, a few weeks of it sounded heavenly, but he knew he could not sustain the docile life of a gentleman farmer, or similar, for long.
“You did well today, Señorita,” he said quietly, trying to interrupt his disturbing thoughts.
“You doubted I could keep pace?”
“Not at all. I knew you could keep pace—my sister could outride most men. It is the steady resolve with which you accomplished it that impressed me.”
“This has been my life for eight years, now.” She took a stick that had been placed by the fire for kindling and begin to play with it by twirling its tip in the flames.
“Do you ever wish to settle and lead a calm, quiet life?”
“I am not certain what such a life would be like, in all honesty, but I do wish for peace.”
He gave a nod of agreement. “I would not like it if the fighting were this near to my home. Pray this war resolves soon. If Wellington’s plan works, it will be so.”
“What of your dreams? Do you wish for this calm, docile life that you speak of?” she asked.
A short laugh escaped his lips. “I do not think I am capable of such a thing. All three of my brothers have married this past year. At least, I assume the third brother will have married by now. It was quite a shock to go home and witness the change in them.”
“What will you do when the war ends?”
“I imagine I
will work in the diplomatic service. My brother has been pressing me to do so for some time.”
A piece of log broke in half, sending sparks flying into the air. They watched the shower of light descend. Lady Catalina shivered, running her hands up and down her arms. As he watched, she covered a yawn and then laughed.
“I think it is time for me to retire.”
He leapt to his feet and helped her to rise. “Which tent is yours?”
“This way,” she said, and led him to the edge of the camp, greeting others as they passed. Felix kissed her hand as he bade her goodnight, for the benefit of those nearby, then waited while she went inside.
Instead of walking back through the camp, he went to the perimeter to think and scout a little. The day with Lady Catalina had been pleasant. She had not chattered incessantly or demanded special treatment. He had expected a spoiled shrew. Perhaps this would not be as tedious as he had imagined. She was definitely headstrong and opinionated, and he only hoped, if there was danger, that she would be able to yield and trust him. His eyes and feet were on alert in the darkness, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. There were soldiers sent to guard the perimeter, of course, but this turn about the encampment was a habit, something he always did before he could retire.
He passed a rowdy group who had very likely exceeded their rations of drink for the night. So far, they were jovial as they told stories and played a dice game.
Further on, there was a line of soldiers bivouacked into a natural crevice, covered by rough blankets and with their packs beneath their heads.
At the next corner, a quiet, contemplative-looking group sat drinking around the fire. He raised his hand to them as he passed by.
When he drew near to his own tent, next to the commander’s, he could hear the familiar voice speaking with Colonel Hill and Lieutenant Colonel Roberts. Normally, he would have been in such a meeting, but he had been tasked with escorting Lady Catalina.
As he moved forward to the command tent, he heard a sound of movement and saw a slight shift of light within the shadows.
He froze as if turned to ice and narrowed his gaze upon the movement, reaching for the dagger in his coat at the same time. Where were the guards?
It was very dark at the side of the tent, the only light being the flicker of the dying campfires. Slowly, Felix began to move forward like a lion stalking its prey, years of practice serving him well. He could sense the moment whoever it was realized they were about to be caught. He leapt the last few feet and tackled the figure, throwing his arms around their chest and holding their upper arms immobile.
With a groan from the other, the pair hit the ground as the person fought back, flailing their lower arms in an attempt to injure Felix. He wrapped his legs around the intruder’s, and they rolled a few times, the flash of a blade in the other man’s hand causing Felix to tense.
The man was big and fit and in all probability, another soldier, used to fighting for his life. Felix held a dagger in his hand, but did not want to use it. At such close quarters it would be too easy to kill, and he wanted him alive.
People came from the tent when they heard the commotion and his captive tried desperately to escape. Writhing and butting with his head, for all the world like an enraged ram, he tried to throw Felix away from him.
“Enough!” Felix shouted, noticing Wellington and Hill standing before the command tent, guns cocked and pointed at them both. It was too risky for either to shoot and Felix knew he was on his own until he could subdue the man. Eventually, the man would tire. Felix could wait a little while, though his muscles burned with exertion. The intruder tried to roll away from the light. In that moment, he was able to free his hand enough to plunge a dagger into Felix’s thigh, causing him to grit his teeth in pain. That was the final straw. Felix took his own chance and let go of the man’s arm long enough to thrust the pommel of his dagger into his assailant’s temple. Immediately, the man slumped in his arms.
“What the devil happened, Knight?” Wellington asked when he and Hill came over to survey the disorder.
Felix removed his neckcloth and wrapped it around his bleeding thigh while Hill rolled the unconscious attacker over.
“I caught him listening outside your tent.”
“Dion. As you suspected,” Wellington remarked. “If only this would put an end to it. It is my belief, however, we have but caught the bait.”
*
“I want this kept quiet,” she heard a voice say. Catalina immediately became alert, though she did not move in her bed.
“What do you intend to do with him?” her papa’s voice asked.
“Wring every ounce of information out of him first. I want to know who is giving him orders.”
Something must have happened with Dion, she thought furiously, her eyes tightly closed while she pretended to sleep. General Wellington was speaking to her father in their tent, so it must be serious.
“I would like you to speak with him first, when he regains consciousness. My immediate concern is Knight. We have no surgeon with us at present and I need to ascertain how deep his wound is.”
“Catalina can sew. You should take her.”
“I hate to wake a sleeping beauty, but he might very well need her.”
“I will wake her and we will both meet you at your tent. I must consider what to say to Dion so I do not kill him myself.”
“They become like sons to us, and the betrayal is deeper because it harms not just ourselves but our countries,” Wellington said sympathetically.
Her father murmured something and she heard the rustle of the tent flap. She could hear Papa muttering as he dressed before he came through the curtain that divided the tent. He shook her arm a little.
“Catalina, you must wake. Your major has been injured and might need your sewing skills.”
She did not pretend to be asleep any longer. “What has happened, Papa?”
“He caught Dion listening outside Wellington’s tent. They fought and Dion stabbed Knight, but he was still able to overcome Dion. I do not know how, but he is unconscious.”
“Will he be hanged or shot?”
“I do not know. We must hurry.”
He left her to dress and she quickly threw on the plain gown she had been wearing earlier because she could tie it at the sides. Maria was sleeping in another tent with other servants. It was a very fortunate thing at the moment, for she had an affection for Dion. Catalina gathered up her sewing kit and items she thought she might need, and hurried out of the tent with her father.
As they crossed the camp to where the British officers’ tents were pitched, all was eerily quiet. The camp fires still smoked a little and a few embers still glowed. Dew had already begun to settle and the air was crisp. Other than the occasional animal crying out in the distance, the only sounds were their boots crunching across the ground and the river flowing along beside the camp. She wrapped her shawl around her tightly and shivered with fear as well as cold, for she was afraid of how she might find Major Knight.
A guard opened the tent for them and they ducked inside. Bound hand and foot, Dion was laying on the floor, eyes closed and groaning. It took great strength of will for her not to spit in his face.
“This way, my lady,” Wellington said, directing her to the rear behind a curtain. Major Knight was lying on Wellington’s own cot, watching her warily. He was propped up and a little pale, but appeared fully alert.
“You did not mention you were also a surgeon,” he quipped.
“I am not, but I am the best you have for now.” She walked closer and placed her sewing kit on the bed beside his bandaged leg. His leg and what remained of his breeches were stained heavily with dark crimson from the blood loss. “How deep is it?”
“I have not removed the bandage to see. It feels wretched, but any cut does.”
A batman brought in a basin of steaming water and Wellington searched through a trunk and handed her a bottle of spirits. The same batman placed a stool behind her
and she sank down on to it. Opening her small sewing kit, she placed everything out in a neat row and threaded a needle.
“Beckerman will assist you,” Wellington remarked before escaping to the front of the tent where her father and Dion waited.
Wellington’s knowing Beckerman brought strips of cloth for bandages, then he stood beside her ready to assist.
“Shall we view the damage?” Catalina looked Knight in the eye, hoping he did not see how nervous she was. She had stitched many minor wounds, but she was very afraid of what she would find once the tourniquet was removed.
Knight’s hand reached out and touched her arm and gave it an encouraging squeeze. The knot was tight and Beckerman reached forward and cut it before she had to ask. She began to wonder if he should not be the one doing this.
Fresh dark blood began to ooze from a deep crevice in his large, muscular thigh. Quickly, she covered it with a fleece cloth before taking some of the water and beginning to rinse it until it was clean enough to determine what needed to be done. It was a very deep cut and she would only be able to get one stitch in at a time before the wound filled again.
“Spirits, my lady?” the batman asked in a suggesting tone, holding out the bottle. Catalina was a bit taken aback by the gruff German accent.
“Would you like some before I begin?” she asked Major Knight.
“I’ve already had plenty.” He slurred the words a little.
“I meant to cleanse the wound, my lady,” the batman corrected.
She frowned.
“We clean wounds with spirits,” Major Knight explained. “It seems to reduce infection.” He shrugged. “Some Scottish doctor made that up, very likely, but who am I to question such madness?”
Catalina was skeptical, but she knew some healers used herbs and even fire to treat such lacerations. She stepped back and let the batman pour a strong-smelling liquid into the wound. Major Knight grabbed the edge of the cot and blew out several deep breaths, his face contorted with pain.
The Dark of Knight Page 5