Once a Soldier

by Mary Jo Putney

  Laughing, the sergeant leaned from his saddle and pulled his brother up onto the horse with a fierce hug. “I hardly recognize you, Albano! When we leave our horses in the stables, can you feed and bed them down while I take my friends inside? We’ve all had a long journey.”

  “Oh, yes!” Grinning ear to ear, Albano bounced on his brother’s leg as they rode their horses halfway around the castle to the stables behind.

  Will was glad to dismount, and he looked forward to sleeping in a real bed in a real building. After tending to his horse, he slung his saddlebags over one arm and took his carbine in the other hand; it was not something one left in a stable. Then they all headed inside, the sergeant leading the way.

  The Olivieras occupied a ground-level apartment with an entrance opposite the stables. Since Albano was outside, the door hadn’t been locked and Gilberto led the way into a sizable hall. Half a dozen candlesticks with glass chimneys were set on the table, but only one was lit. The candle produced hardly enough light to reveal heavy doors in each of the three walls, and a barely visible stairwell in the shadowed far-right corner.

  Gilberto strode across the room to fling open the door in the left-hand wall, revealing a large, well-lit kitchen. He called, “Mamá, I’m home!” as if he’d been gone for the day rather than years.

  His announcement triggered a response that made the earlier reunions Will had witnessed pale in comparison. A mob of Olivieras poured into the kitchen and boiled around him in noisy waves. There were ancient aunts and grandparents and a couple of knee-hugging toddlers. A woman who must be his mother gave an earsplitting, wordless scream of joy when she embraced her son as if she’d never let him go.

  Others echoed his mother’s scream. If Will hadn’t known better, he’d have thought a massacre was in progress. A large gray-muzzled dog joined in, barking frantically as he stropped Gilberto’s legs, almost knocking him over. The Olivieras were a handsome lot. One young woman who was probably a sister was so beautiful that Murphy just stared at her, his jaw slack.

  The delirious happiness in the room was as exhausting as it was exhilarating. Murphy followed Gilberto into the apartment, his gaze still on the girl, but Will stayed back in the hall. He’d wait until the tumult subsided before introducing himself.

  He strolled across the room to stretch his legs, admiring the intricate patterns of the tile floor. He had not known how beautiful tile could be until he came to the Peninsula. But the furnishings were spartan. Apart from the refectory table, there was only a pair of creaky-looking chairs that might collapse if he tried to sit down.

  The tile medallion in the center of the hall floor had a coat of arms, likely that of the country or the ruling family. He was admiring the artistry when he heard swift footsteps from the stairs. When the steps ended, he looked up—and saw that the candlelight illuminated the barrel of a rifle pointed at his chest from the shadows. “Drop the gun!” a voice snapped in the Gabrileño dialect. “Very, very carefully.” The command was repeated in French.

  Will said peaceably in Gabrileño, “I mean no harm. Sergeant Oliviera has returned to his family, and I’m a British officer who accompanied him.” He let his saddlebags fall to the stone floor and slowly leaned over to set the carbine on top.

  “You’re certainly not local,” the voice growled. “Say something in English.”

  “As you wish,” he said in English. “If you allow me to remove my greatcoat, I can show you my uniform.”

  The rifle barrel didn’t waver. “Take the coat off slowly,” the voice said in crisp English. “If you move your hand toward a weapon, I’ll shoot you.”

  Not making any sudden moves, Will peeled off the greatcoat. His uniform was shabby and mended in places, but unmistakably British red. “My name is William Masterson and I’m from Oxfordshire.”

  After a taut silence, the rifle was lowered and a magnificent Amazon stepped from the shadows. Now that Will didn’t have a weapon pointing at him, he realized that the rich, low voice belonged to a female.

  Tiny sparks of energy tingled through him and long-dormant parts of his body began sizzling to life. He stared, entranced. The Amazon was close to six feet tall and she had the fair complexion of a Northerner. Even swaddled in a dark, ankle-length robe, she was strikingly attractive, with strong, regular features, a braid of warm brown hair falling down her back, and dangerous hazel-gold eyes.

  And she handled the rifle with the ease of an expert. Not just an Amazon warrior, but the Amazon queen in person. He drew a slow, deep breath before saying, “I gather you’re English also?”

  “Athena Markham of no particular place, but yes, English.” Her low voice had a well-educated accent. “Sorry I was so threatening, but it’s been a difficult year, and the screaming sounded like an attack.”

  “I thought the same thing.” He glanced to the door that led into the Olivieras’ apartment. The noise had abated some. “I’m grateful you held your fire.”

  “Learning how to shoot is easier than learning when not to.” She studied his uniform. “A major in the Fifty-second Foot. As part of the Light Battalion, you’ve probably seen just about every major battle in the Peninsular Wars.”

  “Yes, and more skirmishes than I can remember,” he agreed. “With Napoleon defeated, I’m heading for home, and San Gabriel is on my route. You live here?”

  “For the last five years.” Her eyes glinted. “And you’re the largest man I’ve seen in all those years.”

  Will laughed. “The Gabrileños I’ve met tend to be wiry and compact. I feel like Gulliver in Lilliput.”

  “I’ve felt like that since I arrived. I’m sure I’m the tallest woman in San Gabriel.”

  “Are you a palace guard?” he asked half seriously.

  “No, Lady Athena is my companion,” a light female voice said in English with only a faint trace of accent. “Or my governess. Or the acting regent of San Gabriel.”

  A petite, strikingly pretty young girl with dark hair and eyes stepped from the stairwell behind Athena Markham, a pistol gripped in both hands. Unlike her companion, she didn’t look skilled with firearms, but she did look determined. Luckily, the weapon was pointing downward.

  “I told you to stay away and be prepared to run,” Miss Markham said, sounding unsurprised that she hadn’t been obeyed.

  The girl raised her chin. “And leave you to face danger alone? I must be brave!”

  Making a guess, Will asked, “Are you Her Royal Highness Princess Maria Sofia?”

  “I am,” the girl said grandly. “I did not hear what all the noise is about. It appears that no one is murdering the Olivieras.”

  “They are celebrating the return of their oldest son, Sergeant Gilberto Oliviera,” Will explained. “His arrival was unexpected.”

  “Gilberto is home? It is right that we celebrate!” The princess set her pistol on the refectory table so quickly that it skidded across the top as she darted inside the Olivieras’ apartment. Mercifully, the weapon didn’t fire.

  Will watched her disappear into the happy turmoil. “I feel very old and very boringly British.”

  “I know exactly how you feel, Major Masterson.” Miss Markham—Lady Athena?—smiled as she lit one of the extra candlesticks on the sideboard. After collecting the princess’s pistol, she said, “You need a bed for the night, I assume, and I would love to hear the latest news. Come upstairs to the family floor and I’ll find you a room. If you’re not too tired, I’ll also ply you with wine and cheese as long as you’ll tell me what’s happening in the outside world.”

  “I’ll happily accept both bed and board,” he said as he lifted his saddlebags and carbine. In England, her suggestion would have been considered improper. Here it was recognition that they were both adults, a long way from home, who just happened to be male and female.

  So Will told himself as he followed Miss Markham up two flights of stairs to the family quarters. He also told himself that a gentleman wouldn’t be so blatantly admiring of the way her strong, suppl
e body moved under her heavy robe, or the way the wavering candlelight caressed hidden curves.

  Luckily, she couldn’t see how ungentlemanly he was being.

  When she reached the correct floor, she led him down a passage to the left. She passed several doors to open the one at the end. As she stepped inside, she said, “The castle has very few servants now because their labor is needed elsewhere, but the room should be clean. There may be a little dust, but this guest room has the best view.”

  She used her candlestick to light the lamp on the desk. Again, the furniture was sparse with only a shabby canopy bed, a wardrobe, a desk, two wooden chairs, and a washstand, but under their feet was another splendid tile floor.

  She checked the pitcher on the washstand to confirm there was water inside. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. San Gabriel may be in a poor way, but the traditions of hospitality are strong.”

  Will set his saddlebags on the floor. “No need to apologize. This is the best accommodation I’ve seen in months.” He crossed to the window and gazed out at the valley. He was high enough to be above the mist, which was a pale fluffy coverlet over the valley. Above, a handful of stars and a quarter moon brightened the sky. “I look forward to seeing the valley by daylight.”

  “When you’ve had a chance to settle in, wine awaits in the family sitting room, which is the door opposite the stairs. I’ll collect some food to go with it.”

  “And then questions. In both directions.” He hung his greatcoat on a wooden peg. “I’ll join you soon. May I assume that the Olivieras will find accommodations for my batman, Sergeant Murphy?”

  “You may. Though it’s an open question whether anyone down there actually gets any sleep tonight.” She smiled and pulled the door closed behind her. The light of his candle caught a shimmer of auburn highlights sliding down her braid.

  He checked the old wardrobe, which had a sturdy lock and key. That should keep his guns away from any curious children. He set his saddlebags and carbine inside, then locked the door. After washing his face and combing his overlong hair, he considered lying down on the bed for a few minutes, then decided against it because he’d fall dead asleep. Best to find Miss Markham and start that conversation, for he had many questions of his own for his magnificent hostess.

  Chapter 5

  Athena descended to the castle kitchen and collected a basket of bread, cheese, and other foods that required no preparation. As she added olives and almonds to her basket, she heard musical instruments being added to the Olivieras’ festivities.

  So much happiness was infectious and she smiled as she returned upstairs. The sitting room had been used for small family gatherings for centuries, she suspected, and the wooden furniture had been shaped by the bodies of uncounted Alcantaras and their friends. Unlike the grand public rooms a floor below, it was relaxed and welcoming.

  Shaken by her meeting with Major Masterson, she concentrated very hard on slicing cheese and sausage and bread. A simple meal, but the wine needed no apologies.

  She had just finished laying out plates and napkins when the major entered the room. He looked so solid and handsome and English that she wanted to hug him.

  She hadn’t realized how hungry she was for the sight of a countryman. Here on the Peninsula, it had been years since she’d seen such a fine strapping fellow. Even in England, there weren’t many men she had to look up to.

  Even more compelling than those impressive broad shoulders was the humor and intelligence in his eyes. She hoped he’d stay for at least a few days.

  Knowing she shouldn’t stare, she lowered her gaze and poured two goblets of red wine. “I imagine you need this even more than food. Unless you’re so accustomed to having guns pointed at you that your nerves are untouched.”

  “Anyone who claims not to be upset after staring down the barrel of a rifle is lying.” His brows rose when he took his first sip of the wine. “But Sergeant Oliviera wasn’t lying when he said the wine was exceptional.”

  Not wanting to think about the future of wine production in San Gabriel, Athena set out the platters of food. “I haven’t much to offer, but this wine does go well with the local cheeses and sausage.”

  “Ambrosia.” He took a seat and transferred samples of everything to his plate. “I’ll try not to act like a starving wolf. It’s been a long day.”

  As the major bit enthusiastically into the bread and cheese, Athena took the opposite chair. “My first and most important question is whether King Carlos and Prince Alexandre are on their way home. Have you heard anything about them?”

  Masterson shook his head as he neatly cut a pickled onion into smaller pieces. “There was no word before we left Toulouse. Their fate is a mystery, though the man who sent me here is investigating what became of them. It doesn’t look good.”

  “I was afraid of that,” she said, wishing her pessimism had been misplaced. “Most people don’t know that San Gabriel exists, so who sent you? And why?”

  “I was asked to visit by a British Army intelligence officer who was concerned about conditions here.”

  “I’m glad to know that someone is concerned for San Gabriel,” Athena said tartly. “What does he want you to do?”

  “Observe how the country is faring after the ravages of the French,” Masterson said succinctly. “And if aid is needed, determine what kind.”

  She stared at him. Grave gray English eyes, not dark brown. “Someone actually wants to help? The situation is difficult, and we haven’t known where to turn.”

  “San Gabriel contributed a great deal to the fight against Napoleon, particularly given the size of the country,” Masterson explained. “War is expensive in all ways. Lives, pain, treasure. Now that Napoleon is gone, it’s time to start picking up the pieces. Since there was no fighting on British soil, we’re in better shape to help our allies.”

  “That’s a fine and noble sentiment,” she said, hopeful but a little wary. “There is no self-interest in this?”

  He smiled a little. “There is always at least some self-interest in politics. The man who sent me here fears that if San Gabriel is dangerously weakened, it might become the target of lawless guerilla bands that are at loose ends now that the war is over. Having a valued ally displaced by a bandit kingdom is not a pleasing thought.”

  Athena bit her lip. “That possibility has occurred to me. Your intelligence officer is right. With the king and the prince imprisoned or quite possibly dead, San Gabriel is vulnerable. Were you threatened by such guerilla bands as you crossed Spain?”

  “Only fools would attack a troop so well armed and disciplined, and the guerillas I’ve known were not fools. But we did hear stories of attacks on remote villages,” he said soberly. “We drove one such band away from a village west of Vitoria.”

  She shuddered as she remembered the assault of the French troops. “I’ve prayed that the mountains would protect us, but they weren’t enough to save us from Baudin.”

  “That will change when the rest of the Gabrileño troops return in a few weeks,” Masterson said reassuringly. “They are well-trained fighters and their commander, Colonel da Silva, seemed very competent. Unless you think he might institute a military coup when he returns, displacing the princess?”

  “What an appalling thought!” Athena exclaimed. “I haven’t seen Colonel da Silva in some time, but he and his family are famously loyal to crown and country. He would have had to change beyond imagining for that to happen.”

  “He didn’t seem like a man plotting to overthrow his established government,” Masterson agreed. “Speaking of his family, I promised to call on his wife when I arrived. He said they live just outside the town?”

  Athena nodded. “It’s not far. I’ll take you over tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you. After calling on her, will you have time to take me on a tour of the valley? I want to see for myself what conditions are like.”

  “I’ll be glad to. But before seeing Señora da Silva, you should make a courtesy
call on the regent.”

  “Of course. I would do so now, but I assume he has retired for the day.” He hesitated before continuing, “I gather Prince Alfonso is advanced in years and not in the best of health?”

  “Tactfully put,” she replied. “Yes, he is very old and his wits sometimes wander.” Often, in fact. “He mistakes Sofia for her mother. And me for my mother.”

  “Will Princess Maria Sofia make a good ruler if she ascends the throne?”

  The topic was one that Athena and Sofia had discussed often. Obsessed about, in fact. “Sofia is intelligent and a good judge of people, and she has a strong sense of duty. She will not flinch from her responsibilities. But her nature is gentle, and she wasn’t raised to rule, since it seemed unlikely that she would inherit the crown. She’s working hard to remedy the deficits in her knowledge and she’s very popular with the people, but she’s not ready to rule. By Gabrileño law, she can’t take the throne until she turns twenty-five, a little over a year from now. She will be better prepared by then.”

  “She is fortunate to have you.” Masterson lifted the carafe of wine and topped up both goblets. “The loaded rifle made introductions brief. What should I call you? Miss Markham, Mrs. Markham, or Lady Athena?” He gave her a smile that took her breath away. “Athena, goddess of wisdom and war. Being called Lady Athena suits you.”

  The warmth in his smile gave her a stab of painful yearning for what could never be. Her voice sharp to put more distance between them, she said, “I’m sometimes called Lady Athena because I tend to give orders. The title would be correct if I were legitimate, but since I’m not, Miss Markham will do.”

  She expected him to look shocked or disapproving, but he merely put the last piece of sausage on a slice of bread and didn’t bat an eyelash. “All babies are legitimate. What their parents did or didn’t do is irrelevant to the reality of a live, bouncing infant.”