When he left the tent, he wanted to be alone with his churning thoughts, but of course, Mendoza was waiting to speak with him.
“Walk with me,” he said, half order, half question.
Felix fell into step beside the Spaniard.
“Is that truly what happened?”
“It is, although it was your daughter’s knife that killed Dion. I had no idea she was so capable with a blade.”
Mendoza closed his eyes. “I prayed she would never have to kill anyone. It is a curse to have a daughter be so beautiful, and at the same time intelligent and cunning.”
“She is all of those things,” Felix agreed.
“Could you help me convince her to return to Villa Blanca?” The general stopped, his tone almost pleading.
“By herself? Sir, forgive me, but I do not think being alone, after what she has experienced, would answer the purpose.”
Mendoza sighed. “Perhaps not. She needs to be married; to be a wife and a mother, not an assassin!”
“She has a very strong will, and I suspect she will refuse to do your bidding.”
“And if her good name is compromised? Will you be honorable?” Mendoza stared at him in a most uncomfortable fashion.
“She deserves better than I, sir. The Lady Catalina could have any man she wished.”
“I strongly suspect it is you she wants,” the general said dryly, not sounding entirely pleased about it.
“I would do anything for her,” he replied, unable to withhold his emotion.
To Felix’s great surprise, Mendoza grinned at him. Had he been baiting him the whole time?
“She is my heir, you know. She will be a duchess in her own right when I die. Would you care to be a duke?”
Felix would have laughed, had that idea not been so appalling. He could hear Rowley’s laughter booming from here. Ignoring the quizzical gleam in Mendoza’s eyes, Felix bowed and parted from the gentleman without offering a response.
By the time he sought to report at headquarters, most of the soldiers had joined the camp. He found Wellington in a state of fury. The commander was already writing a dispatch to the Earl of Bathurst, reporting that many of his men had succumbed to the temptation of loot and the intoxication of wine. He dictated the missive in scathing terms, calling the perpetrators the scum of the earth and declaring it was impossible to command a British army.
Felix looked at the other intelligence officers and aides de camp, who all remained quiet as the commander vented his spleen in the communication to the Secretary of War.
He went on to describe the aftermath of the battle which had kept the French from being completely routed that day.
“…an immense park of vehicles of every type, waiting to be plundered… vast quantities of ammunition and military equipment; hundreds of carriages and baggage-wagons loaded with plate, paintings and valuable property, a profusion of food and drink. Many spoils of war—all abandoned,” he growled, looking up. “I have it from Captain Browne that regular soldiers’ wives and camp followers were wearing muslins, three or four gowns one over the other, trimmed with fine lace, several pairs of earrings dangling, reticules, watches and fans also part of their costume.” He glared at each of them in turn as though they were responsible. Wellington abhorred plundering, and this was no exception. “I sent the 18th Hussars to guard the wagons. Whatever is taken will all be returned!”
Felix could think only of Catalina.
*
Reports were circulating that the French were running back to France and that Wellington had hopes to cross the border into France soon. Somewhere, deep down, Catalina was glad, but it was topped with so many layers of pain and sadness, she did not know if she would ever feel happy again. When her father suggested she return home to Villa Blanca, since they were so close, she could not find it within her to object.
She was desolate. There was no other word to describe her feelings. As if it were not bad enough to have killed a man, she had to accept that it was unlikely she would ever see Major Knight again. Oh, she could continue to follow the drum and flirt with him, but there was no future for a Spanish duchess and an English gentleman. Doing so would only delay the inevitable.
She did not know what his future held, for they had never discussed it. There had been no promise of anything on either side. No doubt, to him their association was no more than a flirtation that had been a part of his allotted task.
Unfortunately, her heart had decided to give itself away and no other would do.
Her father escorted Catalina back to Villa Blanca since it was on their way north. He told her Wellington hoped to take Pamplona and San Sebastián to keep the French from returning.
In some ways, it was a blessing to be back home, she reflected, but it was difficult not to think of Major Knight with everything she did. In two short days, he had changed her memories of every part of her childhood home. Even Toro seemed to be looking for him to be with her.
For several days, she scarcely left her bed. It was as though her body insisted upon healing itself.
Then the nightmares began to intrude. Her mind twisted the cold reality of the weeks leading up to Dion’s death with her worst fears, and she began to relive them in her sleep. Instead of being unable to wake, she soon began to dread sleep. Each night, she would scream herself awake to find she was staring into the pitch-black darkness, drenched in sweat as though fighting for her life.
The dreams varied. Sometimes she was at Dion’s mercy, his knife to her throat as he’d done with Colonel Hill. Others, she was trapped in a well or pond, near drowning… cold water poured over her head and she gasped for air.
As she fought to gain her bearings, she realized this was not a dream. She was in bed and soaking wet.
Then a movement in the moonlight caught her attention.
“Aunt Esmeralda? Is that you?”
The noise of the ceramic pitcher being set down on the washing stand was followed by a noise of disgust. Her aunt glided from the room as though she were an apparition, yet closed the door behind her with a loud click.
What was happening to her? Catalina shook her head and climbed from her bed to change her bedding and clothes for a dry ones.
Eventually, Toro helped to pull her from her melancholy.
At first, she felt dissociated from her body and was barely able to go through the motions. Toro teased her to walk her through the vineyards, which were almost ready for the harvest, every day. Life was serene and beautiful at Villa Blanca—as though the battle had never happened. So much emotion was churning through her, though, she felt unable to express any of it. It was as if nothing had happened, yet it was impossible to fit back into her old way of life. Why could she not cry? Why could she not be angry?
Days passed into weeks, and the harvest was upon them. It had always been a favorite time of year for her, with the festivals and parties that accompanied it. She did not wish to entertain on her own, but ordered the festivals to be organized for the villagers and workers who looked forward to them every year.
The grapes were especially sweet that year and there was a good harvest. Catalina did not care.
The reality, that Major Knight would no longer be aught but a memory in her life, was beginning to sink in. At first, she longed for him to appear on the terrace at the rear of the house, and even, a time or two, fooled herself into thinking him there. She knew it was just a mirage—her mind playing tricks on her.
Letters arrived faithfully from her father every few days, and he was hopeful he would be home for Christmas. “The Allies have successfully secured San Sebastian and Pamplona, and it seems as though Spain is free from French rule at last!” he wrote in early November.
“I hardly see General Wellington and your Major Knight. The English forces are centered in Pamplona and he allows us to guard the port. However, I have been considering perhaps a big celebration at Villa Blanca. What do you say to something grand, such as we used to do?”
“Wellingto
n believes the French and Napoleon will abdicate soon, and he and I have discussed hosting a ball to boost morale. Villa Blanca is a good point between our two posts, and has been sitting empty for too long. I am certain I can count on you to make it grand. I am also certain you will be itching for something to do once the harvest is over.”
Catalina folded the letter and began to wander around the garden. She was unsure how she felt about hosting a grand party for all the officers. She missed everyone, of course, and she was desperate to see Major Knight again—too desperate. Only now was she able to begin doing things without thinking of him every minute. Her resolve to be brave and forget him would dissolve the moment she saw him again. Very likely, she would throw herself at his feet and beg him never to leave, she mused in disgust. She would utterly disgrace herself.
At least she had time to consider. There was hardly a way she could deny her father and the soldiers such pleasure when they had so little to keep their spirits up, month after month and year after year in poor conditions.
She blew out a frustrated breath and looked around for Toro. Normally he was beside her, ready to go on their daily walk.
She made her way down to the stables, where he was often to be found, considering himself to be the equal of any horse. There she found him, hovering over a black retriever who had just given birth in an empty stall. Toro barked at her with urgency and she knelt down to see the puppies. Two were brindled and two were black like the mother. But there was one small, mixed puppy, black with patches of brindle, which was not moving.
The mother looked exhausted as the four fed, and Toro began barking more frantically. He was trying to get her to help! She gathered up the still puppy and began to rub it with a handful of straw. After a few minutes, she wrapped it up in a flannel she found on a nearby shelf and, hugging it to her, willed the tiny animal to breathe. She did not think she could deal with another death in her life at this moment.
Toro nudged at the small bundle as though he wanted her to do something. The concern he displayed was touching.
She heard a little squeak from between her hands and suddenly she felt a spark of hope within her breast. Kneeling down beside the mother, she carefully unswaddled the runt and held it to the mother’s teat encouraging it to suckle. It would be the only way it could live.
“Toro! What be you at now?” The head groom came in to discover what Toro was barking about. “Buenas dias, Señorita,” he said, greeting her. Noticing the puppies, he laughed. “Toro, you big devil. Now I understand why you have been running off.”
“I have not been here to keep him occupied,” Catalina remarked.
“He brought her here to protect her.” The groom chuckled.
Catalina frowned. The pup was not suckling from his mother. The groom noticed. “It is best to let it go, my lady. Even if you spend every minute bottle feeding it, it probably has something wrong with it and will not live long anyway.”
Catalina did not care. She could not bear to give up. “You are probably right, Jorge, but I will try, nevertheless. I need something besides myself to dwell on.”
“As you wish,” he said, with a sigh of regret. “I will fetch the nipples and some goat’s milk and see if he will take it.”
Catalina took the small pup back to her chambers, determined to help it live. In those few minutes, she had found a reason to look to the future with equanimity. Of a certainty, it had nothing to do with the possibility of seeing Major Knight again.
Chapter Eighteen
“You look like a cockerel without any hens,” Wellington remarked as he looked up from reading the latest set of dispatches brought in.
“I will try to appear more lively, sir.”
“I have never asked you to abstain from women. It is not healthy.”
“No, sir, but when you cannot have the one you want, a substitute will not do.”
“Why can you not have her?” Wellington asked.
“She is the daughter of a duke and Spanish to boot. What have I to offer her?”
“What has that to say to anything? You are the son of a duke.”
Felix shook his head.
“She is already living the life you lead and if I am any judge, she wants you as much as you want her. I am certain you may come to some arrangement if she does not wish to live in England, nor you in Spain or vice versa. It is not so hard to take a ship home from here, near the coast.” Currently they were billeting in a large manor house near Pamplona on the Spanish-French border while they regrouped before the army’s final push into France.
Felix had played all of these arguments in his mind hundreds of times. If she had given him one sign that her attraction for him was more than a passing fancy, he might just throw caution to the wind. But with her gone, it was as though the sun was not as bright over the camp.
“Wanting and having very rarely go together, sir.” This was an odd conversation to be having with Wellington. Not that he was impersonal, but they were so close to removing Bonaparte from his self-proclaimed throne, there was a little time for social discourse or fun these days.
Wellington gave him a wry look. “If you are satisfied with that, then perhaps you should not accompany me to Villa Blanca.”
“I beg your pardon? What business have you there?” Recollecting to whom he spoke, Felix hastily adjusted his tone. “I mean – that is, ah – is something wrong?”
Wellington looked amused. “Lady Catalina is well. You can erase that look from your face.”
“It is only natural that I be concerned. We were partners for a time and shared experiences both dangerous and emotional,” he defended himself.
Wellington laughed openly. “It just so happens that I have been corresponding with Mendoza. Villa Blanca is not above thirty miles from here and San Sebastian. It has come to my attention more than once recently that we have done nothing but work, and some leisure time would not go amiss.”
Felix’s wretched heart began to beat faster and something within him lifted—a heavy weight that had been holding him down during these past weeks.
“What did you have in mind, sir?”
“I had thought to take those who knew her well on a visit. Her father mentioned a ball or some such. Of course, I cannot remove every officer from the camp; the recent base behavior after Vitoria is still fresh in my mind.”
It was still quite fresh in Felix’s mind, for other reasons.
“Also, Colonel Hill did not have the opportunity to personally thank Lady Catalina. So you see, there are multiple reasons for this visit.”
“And do not the other officers—and the men—also deserve to have a little fun?” Felix asked.
“Of course they do! That goes without saying. We shall hold festivities for them and not announce our purpose when we leave for a few days.”
There was a knock on the door, followed by Everleigh and Owens entering the room with a recovered Colonel Hill. They were sharing a house which the grateful Spanish had insisted they occupy until they crossed the border into France.
“Has he agreed?” Everleigh asked as they took their seats around the room for their daily meeting. Soon, the other members of the staff would be arriving as well.
“Did everyone else already know of this?”
Owens snorted. “Everyone else suggested it, my friend. You are but a shadow of yourself these days.”
“Are you complaining about my work?” Felix asked, offended.
“No one has any objections about your professional capabilities, lad,” Wellington added hastily.
“Your personality could do with a little humor, however,” Everleigh added dryly.
Felix put his head back over the chair and stared at the ceiling. “So everyone has been plotting against me.”
Instead of bothering to deny it, there was a chorus of emphatic agreement, followed by a great deal of laughter.
“Why did no one say anything?”
“At first we felt it was best to let well alone.”
“Now we see it is more than a passing fancy. She is one of us, after all.”
“It would never work.” He shook his head. “I will do better to contain my grumpiness.”
The rest of the staff came in and they began their meeting. Everyone gave their individual reports, and then Wellington delivered his. When he announced the upcoming trip to Villa Blanca, all knowing eyes bored into Felix; then a cheer went up when he announced his intention to hold a celebration for all soldiers.
Once the meeting was adjourned, Everleigh and Owens made a point of slapping Felix on the shoulder in good-natured camaraderie. He still grumbled. Being called out in a group, even though they were his closest friends, still rankled. He had always thought himself able to master his emotions, but never had anything cut so deeply before.
Felix stood up, intending to leave, but Wellington stopped him. “Stay a minute, Knight.”
He could not begin to wonder what else needed to be said. Wellington had said quite enough before everyone else had joined them.
Felix sat back down in his chair and waited for Wellington to speak.
“My brother is the Ambassador for Spain, you know.”
“I did know,” Felix admitted.
“Much though I would hate to lose you, Henry needs a good staff and I cannot think of anyone better than you. You are quite comfortable with the language, and I thought perhaps it might be an attractive post for a certain lady?”
“You would do this so that I might marry Lady Catalina?” Felix could not believe his ears.
“You know I have a soft spot for a pretty lady, and she did us quite a service.” He held up his hands. “I will say, I would not fancy becoming a matchmaker in the general order of things, but if I see a way in which matters might arrange themselves without disrupting the army, then why not make it so?”
Felix was astonished. Apparently his bewilderment showed on his face.
The Dark of Knight Page 17