Once a Soldier

by Mary Jo Putney

  So be it. They could be friendly and speak English for a week or two, and then he’d leave and she’d never see him again. Not ever. So enjoy his company, and give thanks for his presence.

  With an internal sigh at her foolishness, she poured wine. When she handed him a glass, he clinked it against hers. “To San Gabriel!”

  “To San Gabriel, and someday England!” Though heaven only knew if she’d ever make it back there. She sipped appreciatively as she gazed at the fields and terraces and the distant glint of the river. “It’s a luxury to relax and enjoy a beautiful day. Most of my time recently has been spent jumping from one crisis to another. Dealing with trees and missing the forest.”

  “Metaphorically speaking,” he said with a wave at the mostly treeless valley.

  “Metaphorical trees,” she agreed. “But touring the valley has reminded me of just how much needs to be done. We barely made it through last winter. If more fields aren’t planted soon, next winter might be even worse.”

  Will cut a slice of cheese and laid it on a piece of bread. After swallowing a bite, he asked, “If you could wave a magic wand, what would you ask for?”

  “Money and men,” she said promptly. “Money for seed and equipment and to pay laborers hired to do the work.” She frowned as she considered other needs. “I’d also wish for really good vine stock to replant the vineyards. There will be few grapes harvested this year, and if we don’t start planting, the future will be no better.”

  “I assume the French drank or carried off most of the wine,” Will said. “How much is left for the Gabrileños? Clearly, it’s vital for morale.”

  “Actually, the French didn’t get much of our wine, but most of what’s left isn’t accessible,” Athena said. “The local vintners have always stored wine in the caves because the temperatures are so steady. A troop of French cavalry was on the verge of capturing the two main storage caves when an avalanche sealed them off.”

  Will’s eyes widened. “I’m guessing that wasn’t an accident. Or else the patron saint of your valley is very, very good at his job!”

  Athena chuckled. “You’re right, it was no accident. Sofia and I were visiting the Benedictine convent when we heard the warning bells from Santo Espirito. I had a spyglass with me and I could see the French pouring into the valley from the west. They moved at amazing speed. They’d obviously planned the invasion and sent in spies to learn the lay of the land because the cavalry troop was heading right for the storage caves. The convent wasn’t far off, so Sofia and I were able to get there first.”

  Will stared at her, appalled. “The two of you thought you could take on a troop of French cavalry?”

  “Not directly, of course. But a violent storm earlier in the summer had washed away the soil around a group of boulders above the storage caves. The vintners had been arguing about whether the hillside could be stabilized, or if it would be necessary to move the wine barrels into new caves, which would be a huge job. I’d inspected the damaged area a fortnight or so earlier and I knew it was unstable.” Athena smiled wickedly. “So with the help of the horses, some levers, and the basic laws of physics, Sofia and I triggered a landslide.”

  “You’re an intrepid pair,” he said admiringly. “Then what? I assume you raced off at top speed.”

  “Exactly. We took shelter in a small cave higher up and hid for several days. That’s why Sofia wasn’t taken by Baudin as her father and brother were.” Athena made a face. “Baudin was enraged that she escaped, but he couldn’t take the time to search for her because he was retreating from Wellington’s army.”

  “I suppose he declared Prince Alfonso to be regent because he wanted to leave the country weakened,” Will commented.

  “Perhaps. No one disputed the appointment since there was no other senior member of royal family available and Sofia is too young to rule.” Athena shook her head. “We were all too busy recovering from the damage Baudin caused to think about his motives. At least we could take pleasure in depriving the French of their loot, but, of course, the caves are sealed off from us, too. I’m sure they can be dug open, and I think that most of the wine barrels will have survived, but it will be a huge job. Once again, we need laborers and the ability to pay them.”

  “If people run out of wine, I’m sure you’d get many volunteers to clear the debris, but there are other priorities,” he agreed. “What is most important?”

  Between them, they’d polished off all the food and half the bottle of wine. Athena shook out the cloths, wiped the knife blade clean, and returned everything but the wine and wineglasses to her saddlebag.

  “The answer to that depends on what kind of help is available,” she replied. “Now that you’ve surveyed the valley, what do you think is doable? Despite your Colonel Duval, I have trouble believing that the British government that never gave Lord Wellington sufficient resources to fight a war will contribute anything to help a tiny country most Britons have never heard of.” Her mouth twisted. “Even if they want to help, heaven only knows how long it would take for effective aid to arrive.”

  “I have some ideas,” Will said, unperturbed by her pessimism. “An old school friend of mine, Justin Ballard, lives in Porto. He runs his family’s wine-shipping business and I think he’d be willing to help you out.”

  “Ballard Port, the Scottish company?” she asked, surprised. “Everyone has heard of them.”

  “His family has been in the business for several generations,” Will said. “The port business has been badly disrupted by so much war in the region, and it’s been frustrating for Ballard because he hasn’t enough to do. I’m sure he’d be happy to send grape vine cuttings and the men to plant them, and he could do it quickly.”

  “That would be wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I’m sure it would even be the right varieties of grapes. But who would pay for it?”

  “I will,” he said calmly.

  She gasped. “As you observed earlier, supporting a whole country is a very expensive proposition.”

  He shrugged. “I’m comfortably off and I haven’t had much chance to spend money while in the army. I can afford to pay for some practical help for San Gabriel.”

  He was completely serious, she saw. “I don’t know when, if ever, the royal treasury will be able to repay you,” she said uncertainly.

  “I’m too cautious to lend anything I can’t afford to lose, so I don’t. This is a gift to a gallant country.” Seeing her doubtful expression, he grinned. “Christian charity?”

  She took a deep breath. “I have no official authority here, but nonetheless, on behalf of San Gabriel, I accept! How long do you think it will take to contact Mr. Ballard and get a response?”

  “Perhaps a week? Porto is much closer than Toulouse and I suspect there are many men in the city who are eager for work. Plus, Justin is very efficient.” Will’s brow furrowed. “I just had another thought. Does your river run down into the Douro? I’m no expert, but to me the wine tastes very like the expensive wines from the upper Douro.”

  “Yes, the San Gabriel River is a tributary of the Douro and the soil and climate here are much the same.”

  “Have the local wines ever been sent down to Porto for export? When the vineyards are restored, that could be profitable if transportation is practical.”

  “The river isn’t navigable and the land route over the mountains into Portugal is too difficult for large-scale shipping. Gabrileño wine is consumed locally or sent east into Spain.” She split the last of the wine between them, corked the bottle, and stashed it in her saddlebag. “It’s a pity there’s no reasonable transportation. Our wines keep well so they’d be ideal for export. On good years, there are sizable surpluses so the vintners add brandy to the excess and it keeps even longer.”

  “Could the river channel be improved to become navigable?” Will asked. “It used to be impossible to sail up the Douro farther than the Cachão da Valeira Gorge, but the waterfall and overhangs were blasted open twenty years ago so boats could co
ntinue up the river. Now there are vineyards almost all the way to Spain and wine production has increased dramatically. Perhaps the same could be done for San Gabriel River.”

  “Uncle Carlos may have considered improving the river, though if he did, I heard nothing about it,” Athena said thoughtfully. “San Gabriel has been a sleepy, isolated, and content little country for a very long time. But Uncle Carlos realized that the world is changing, and his country must also. That’s a major reason he sent troops to fight Bonaparte. The young men who return will have new ideas and know a broader world.” Her voice broke for a moment. “Now he’ll never see that.”

  “It’s too soon to assume that he and his son are dead,” Will said quietly. “But if they are, San Gabriel will go on, so the future must be considered.”

  “You’re right, of course. Will you have time to survey the river to see if improvements can be made without it being prohibitively expensive? If work could be started soon, perhaps the river could be sailed about the time the vineyards are reestablished.”

  “I’ll ask Ballard if he has time to come up here himself,” Will replied. “He can take a look at the river channel. His family was involved in improving the Douro so he would know something about what is involved.” Will lifted his glass in an informal toast. “Plus, I’m sure he’d be interested in your wines. If the storage caves can be opened up and the wine is still good, you might be able to sell some sooner rather than later if the shipping problems can be solved.”

  “What a wonderful possibility! Bless you, Will.” With the first optimism she’d felt in months, Athena leaned over to brush a light kiss on his cheek, but he turned his head and her lips landed on his. He tasted of wine and sunshine, warmth and kindness—and something much deeper and more dangerous.

  The kiss deepened, and her world turned upside down.

  Chapter 9

  Athena’s wineglass tumbled to the grass as shock and desire flooded her senses. She felt Will’s large hand behind her head, cradling her neck and drawing her closer. She surrendered to the moment, hungry for his warmth and tenderness. As the kiss deepened, his arms came around her in an embrace that fitted her against his broad chest. It would be easy, so easy, to fall into this man and lose herself and her fears and worries....

  Will shifted, murmuring, “You are so lovely. . . .”

  His words broke the spell and Athena pulled away, angry with herself and her lack of control. “I won’t be your mistress,” she said tightly. “Or is that the price of the aid you’ve offered?”

  He looked as startled as if she’d slapped him. Then he began to laugh. “And here I was trying so hard to behave like a gentleman. I suppose it wasn’t very gentlemanly to kiss you, though you started it, you know.”

  “So I did.” She wiped damp palms on her riding skirt. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did. Unless you actually do want me to lie with you in return for your aid to San Gabriel?”

  “What would you say if the two things were linked?” he asked with interest. He turned toward her, his chest looking impossibly broad in his scarlet army coat. A wave of brown hair fell over his forehead and one arm stretched along the back of the bench. Even though he wasn’t touching her, she was acutely aware of his physical presence and nearness. Mere inches away....

  She edged back as far away as the bench would permit, which wasn’t very far. Though smoky desire had dissipated, a sense of connection remained. Which was absurd, since twenty-four hours earlier, they hadn’t even met.

  Wanting to put more emotional distance between them, she said ironically, “An intriguing question, Major Masterson. Would I sacrifice my honor to help my adopted country? But since I was born in dishonor, it might not be a fair question.”

  His dark brows arched. “Nonsense. You know my views on what is considered legitimacy. Let me add that I have no desire to acquire an unwilling mistress.”

  “A surprising number of men lack your scruples,” she said dryly. “But it’s clear I overreacted. All you wanted was a kiss, not a mistress.”

  “Did I say that?” he said with a slow smile that lit his whole face. “I’m neither blind nor stupid, so of course I would love to lie with you. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment we met. But anything that might be between us is separate from what must be done in San Gabriel.”

  Her return smile was sad. “How can there be anything between us when you’ll be gone so soon? You’re anxious to return home, while I am committed to staying here indefinitely. I’m no innocent just emerged from the schoolroom, but I’m nowhere near reckless and worldly enough to lie with a virtual stranger. We haven’t the time for more than the first levels of friendship.”

  “That is . . . not necessarily true.” His gaze held hers, his gray eyes turning serious. “Though I yearn for my home, some things are more important. Becoming better acquainted with you is one such thing.”

  She stared at him. “You’re a most unusual man, Major Masterson.”

  “I’ve been told that before,” he said sadly. “It’s never a compliment.”

  She had to smile. “Now I know you’re teasing.”

  “Possibly,” he agreed; his expression sober, but his eyes amused. “If I’m forgiven for the kiss, will you call me Will again? I prefer to be on first name terms with you.”

  “Very well, Will.” She preferred that as well. “For whatever time you’re here, we can be friends. After you leave . . .” She shrugged. “In my experience, men are not such good letter writers as women, and it’s a long way from San Gabriel to Oxfordshire.”

  “I’m a rather decent letter writer, actually.” His gaze intensified. “Friends. And who knows? Perhaps we can become more than friends.”

  She felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her. He could not possibly mean what he seemed to be implying. Returning to irony, she said, “What are the relationship possibilities?” She held up her left hand and ticked off one finger. “Friendship is the broadest category and can range from mild acquaintance to deep, enduring loyalty. I think we are already mild friends?”

  “If we weren’t more than mild friends already, we wouldn’t be having this extremely interesting discussion,” he agreed.

  She ticked off another finger. “We could become enemies.”

  “I will not allow that,” he said firmly. “I have had enough of enemies.”

  “One does not always have a choice.” She tapped her middle finger. “The opposite of love or hate, which is indifference.”

  “It is much too late for indifference,” Will said seriously. “I believe I mentioned my immediate interest in kissing you.”

  “Do you always want to kiss women who aim rifles at you?” she asked curiously.

  “No, you’re the only one,” he said. “Though if the truth be known, women seldom greet me with weaponry.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” She studied her hand. “Two fingers left for listing relationships, and those remaining are deeply implausible.”

  “But these are the most interesting possibilities!” he exclaimed.

  “‘Interesting’ doesn’t mean good.” She ticked her ring finger. “We could have an affair. That will not happen for any number of reasons, most of which you can imagine.”

  “Which leaves another possibility,” he said, his voice soft.

  She closed her hand into a fist. “You can’t possibly be interested in marriage! You scarcely know me.”

  “That’s true, as is the reverse. If we get to know each other better, one or both of us might decide we’d never suit.”

  She stared at him, feeling as if time had stopped. She was sharply aware of the sweeping valley and mild breeze, the sunshine warming them both, his tanned complexion.

  The bleak impossibility of what he was saying. “Forgive me if I’m misunderstanding, but are you actually proposing courtship?”

  “Indeed I am. A courtship of two wary but wise adults.” He hesitated before continuing, “It’s possible I am too old and jaded
to ever be fit for marriage again.”

  “You’re not that old,” she said firmly.

  He smiled a little. “Perhaps not. But I have seen too much of the world and made too many mistakes.”

  “I often feel the same,” she said. “Perhaps that is why I interest you?”

  “Very likely. I have trouble imagining myself making conversation with the typical well-bred young lady back in England.”

  “No more than I could converse with an English country gentleman, the sort who cherishes delicate females,” she said wryly. “Which is one of several reasons I’ve sworn never to marry.”

  “‘Never’ is a very long time. We change with age. Things that seemed implausible can come to seem desirable.”

  “True in theory, but I’m settling happily into eccentric spinsterhood,” she retorted. “I doubt I’d change my mind.”

  “But you do concede the possibility of changing your mind.” He smiled. “I can work with that.”

  She couldn’t resist smiling back. “You’re very persistent, Will. But you haven’t much time to change my mind.”

  “True,” he said thoughtfully. “Are you willing to experiment? My brother’s wife is full of interesting thoughts and theories. She said that courting couples meet under such artificial circumstances and see so little of each other that it’s far too easy to choose one’s life partner very badly.”

  “Was she mistaken in your brother?” Athena asked, surprised.

  “No, but they didn’t meet under artificial social conditions,” Will explained. “Kiri met Mac after she’d narrowly escaped engaging herself to a man she met conventionally. It would have been a very bad match for her, so she now advocates avoiding conventional courtships.”