Valiant Soldier, Beautiful Enemy

by Diane Gaston

  He frowned. “Do I cause trouble for you with your neighbours, as well?”

  She smiled again. “Non, Gabriel. Here a widow is allowed lovers. They might think I am wise to bed you. Most of my neighbours like the money the English bring. My aunt likes English money, too, but she would never say so.”

  They talked of inconsequentials through the rest of the meal and the cleaning up afterwards. The sky was not quite dark.

  Emmaline wiped her hands on the towel. “I am tired tonight. Do you mind if we sleep early?”

  “Whatever you wish, Emmaline.” Gabe was not about to make anything more uncomfortable for her.

  Their lovemaking that night was bittersweet, slow and filled with emotion, as if both of them realised how fragile it could be to love each other.

  The words ‘With my body I thee worship’ repeated in Gabe’s mind as his eyes drank in her beauty and his fingers memorised the feel of her. He wanted to erase the tension between them that her aunt’s arrival had caused. He wanted to convince her with his body that he needed her in his life.

  They reached the pinnacle of pleasure in a slow climb this night, but finally writhed together in its acute glory. No night-time sharing of confidences this time. They merely held each other in silence.

  Perhaps in the morning, with the hope of dawn, he could make love to her again and bare his soul to her as they lay next to each other in tangled linens.

  Gabe drifted off into disturbed dreams. He was a child again, cast out of doors, alone in a storm, no one near to hear his calls, no one to shelter him. Lightning flashed in his dream and its clap of thunder jarred him awake, his heart pounding.

  The sound came again.

  Emmaline sat up. The sound repeated. It was not thunder, but something hitting the window, which was open only a crack.

  “Someone is out there.” She scrambled out of the bed, a sheet wrapped around her.

  She lifted the sash and looked out the window.

  “Maman!” a voice called in a loud whisper. “Maman!”

  “Mon Dieu,” she cried. “It is Claude.” She grabbed her nightdress and put it on. “My son is here.”

  Chapter Four

  Emmaline dashed out, not even bothering to put on a robe. She ran down the stairs, threw open the front door and hugged her only child, who now stood a head taller than she.

  He lifted her off her feet and crossed the threshold. “Maman!” He spoke in French. “I am here.”

  Her feet touched the floor again and she stepped back to look at him. In the unlit room she could see little more than a shadow, a shadow that looked so much like her late husband that it made her gasp.

  “Let me light a candle so I can see you.” She pulled him further into the room. “Why are you here? Have you come home to me?”

  “No, Maman.” It seemed as if his voice had deepened the few months he’d been away. “You must tell no one, but the army is nearby. Close enough for me to come see you. I cannot stay long. I must return before dawn.”

  She lit a taper from the dying coals in the kitchen stove and moved around the room lighting candles. “Do you need food? Something to drink?”

  “Whatever is quickly prepared.” He sank down on her sofa.

  In the light she could see his hair, as dark as her own, pulled back in a queue. His face had matured a bit, even to the point of a thin moustache above his lip. He did, indeed, look as Remy must have looked in his youth. Claude wore the blue coat of his uniform with the gray overalls that the soldiers wore to keep their white trousers clean. He would have been able to slip through the streets unseen.

  “Do not light too many candles,” he told her. “No one must know I am here.”

  She blew out the one she’d just lit. “I’ll bring you some wine.” There was wine left in the bottle she and Gabriel had shared. She poured it into a glass for Claude and brought it to him.

  Gabriel! She had forgotten. She hoped he did not show himself.

  He drank half of it quickly. “Thank you, Maman.”

  She sat opposite him and reached out to touch his face. “I’ll prepare your food, but please tell me first if you are well. Tell me why you are so close by.”

  He took another sip. “I cannot tell you why we are close by, but I am very well. They have allowed me to join the cavalry, Maman. I am a cuirassier. That is a great privilege.”

  Claude had loved horses from the time he could toddle across a room. When they had travelled with his father, Claude was happiest riding with his father on his horse. Poor Coco, the mare, had been lost to them after Badajoz, another heartbreak for Claude.

  Here in Brussels, Emmaline could never afford to keep a horse, but Claude had befriended Mr Engles, who ran a stables nearby. Claude performed whatever chores the man would give him, anything to be with the horses. Eventually Mr Engles began to pay him and Claude saved every franc until he could purchase a horse of his own. Named Coco. Claude rode Coco away to Napoleon’s army, and most likely having Coco was why Claude was allowed to join the cuirassiers.

  “I am not surprised.” She smiled at her son. “You probably ride better than most of them.”

  Would being in the cavalry keep him safer than the infantry? She prayed it was so.

  He finished the wine. “They are veterans of the war and I have learned much from them.”

  Learned how to fight and kill, she thought. But had they taught him how to face men wanting to kill him?

  She took his glass and stood. “I will bring you more. And some food.”

  He rose and followed her to the kitchen, but suddenly froze. “What is this, Maman?”

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw him pointing to Gabriel’s red coat, hanging over the chair.

  “An English soldier’s coat?” His voice cracked. He gaped at her in disbelief. After a moment his face flushed with colour. “You have an English soldier here?” He looked around, as if the man would step out from behind a curtain.

  “Claude, I can explain—”

  “Where is he? In your bed?” His voice squeaked again.

  Before she could say another word, he dashed to the stairs and leaped up them four at a time.

  She ran after him. “Claude. Wait!”

  “Show yourself,” Claude shouted in French. “Show yourself, you dog.”

  From the bottom of the stairs, Emmaline glimpsed Gabriel in his shirt and trousers, standing in the doorway of her bedchamber. Claude charged him and they disappeared into the room. As she hurried up the stairs she heard something crash to the floor.

  “I’ll kill you!” Claude yelled.

  Emmaline reached the doorway. From the light of a candle Gabriel must have lit, she could see Claude trying to strike him and Gabriel, larger and stronger, holding him off.

  “I’ll kill you!” Claude cried again, his arms flailing. He sounded like a wounded child.

  “Stop it, Claude.” She tried to pull him away from Gabriel. “Someone will hear you. They will discover you are here.”

  He immediately stopped, but glared at her, his chin trembling. “He knows I am here. He is the enemy.”

  “Non, non, Claude.” Emmaline faced him. “Do you know who this is? Do you?”

  He spat. “An Englishman in your bed. How could you do such a thing?” He took two breaths before charging Gabriel again. “Did you force her?”

  Gabriel again held him off.

  Emmaline jumped between them. “He did not force me, Claude. He is our rescuer. Do you not remember him?”

  Claude backed away, looking puzzled.

  “This is the captain who kept us safe in Badajoz.” She tried to keep her voice down.

  “Claude—” Gabriel started.

  Claude leaned forwards, pointing his finger at him. “Do not say a word! There is nothing you can say to me, you English dog!”

  Emmaline pushed him back. “Calm yourself, Claude. We will go downstairs and talk about this.”

 
He looked as if he was about to cry. “This is traitorous, Maman.”

  “I cannot be a traitor to Napoleon. I am not in his army. You are.” She seized his arm and yanked him towards the door. “Come downstairs.” She turned to Gabriel and spoke in English, “Will you come, too?”

  Gabriel nodded.

  He did not follow immediately, though. Emmaline took advantage and spoke to Claude. “You must remain calm and quiet. If someone hears you yelling and fighting, you will be discovered.”

  “Do not be a fool, Maman,” he countered. “ He will turn me in. I am already lost.”

  “He is Gabriel Deane, a good man who will do what is right.”

  A part of her wanted Gabriel to take her son prisoner. At least Claude would stay alive, but she’d been a soldier’s wife too long not to understand that Claude would find being a prisoner worse than death.

  Claude sat down on the sofa and she sat down next to him, leaving the chair opposite the sofa for Gabriel.

  He entered. “Shall I pour wine?”

  “Oui, Gabriel. Merci.” She forgot to switch to English.

  He brought the glasses and the wine and placed them on the table, pouring the first and handing it to Claude.

  Claude kept his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Take it, Claude,” Emmaline said in French.

  He rolled his eyes, but did as she said. Gabriel handed the next glass to Emmaline before pouring one for himself.

  “Tell Claude I have no intention of hurting you in any way. That—that I have the highest esteem for you,” Gabriel said.

  Emmaline translated.

  Claude closed his eyes as if he wished not to hear. “I cannot speak with him about you, Maman. Ask him what he will do with me.”

  She turned to Gabriel. “Claude believes you will take him prisoner, but I beg you will let him go.”

  His brow furrowed. “This is asking a great deal of me, Emmaline. My duty—”

  Her throat tightened. “Please, Gabriel. Please allow him to leave.”

  He glanced away, as if thinking.

  “What are you saying?” Claude asked her in French.

  She gestured for him to be quiet. “Gabriel?”

  He rubbed his face. “For you, Emmaline, but only if he swears he has not been gathering information for Napoleon.”

  She turned to Claude. “Have you come to Brussels for any other reason than to see me?”

  He looked surprised. “Non, Maman. What other reason could there be?”

  “To find out about the English?”

  He gave her a withering glance. “I cannot learn anything in the dark. And I must return before light or be branded a deserter.” His expression reminded her of when he’d been five years old. “I wanted to see you before—before the battle.”

  She grasped his hand. He averted his gaze.

  She turned to Gabriel. “He only came to see me.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Very well. I’ll do as you desire.”

  She squeezed Claude’s hand. “Gabriel will allow you to go.”

  He blinked in surprise. “Then I must leave posthaste.”

  “I will pack you some food.” She rose, shaking inside at the thought of saying goodbye to her son, not knowing if he would ever return to her.

  She wrapped bread and cheese in a cloth and, with tears pricking her eyes, brought it to him.

  He took the package in his hand. “We must blow out the candles.”

  She blew out the nearest one and started to move to the others, but Gabriel said, “I’ll do it.”

  Claude walked towards the door.

  “Claude.” Emmaline’s throat was tight with emotion. Her son put his arms around her and held her close. “Please be careful,” she said. “Come back to me.”

  “I will, Maman.” His voice sounded raspy and very young. “Do not worry.” He held her even tighter.

  A moment later he was gone, fading into the night like a wisp of smoke.

  She covered her face with her hands.

  And felt strong arms embracing her again. She turned around and let Gabriel’s embrace envelop her. “I am so afraid for him. So afraid I will lose him.” She sobbed.

  “I know,” he murmured. “I know.”

  When her sobs turned to shudders, he picked her up in his arms and carried her upstairs, laying her on the bed and holding her against him.

  When she quieted she said, “I fear I’ll never see him again.”

  “I know,” he murmured again.

  Gabe rose with the first glimmer of dawn, but he’d hardly slept.

  The ring remained hidden in his uniform pocket, along with all his hopes for the future. He’d lain awake most of the night, debating whether to ask her to marry him that morning. Was there any chance at all she’d say yes?

  She’d defended him with her son, he’d realised, and with her aunt. That heartened him. He was certain he could convince Madame Laval that an English man could be as good for her niece as a Frenchman. And he could show Claude he was nothing like the men who’d killed his father and almost raped his mother.

  If he had enough time.

  But time was a commodity Gabe no longer possessed. Claude’s visit meant the French were near and were not likely to be waiting for the Allied Army and the Prussians to meet them on French soil. If the French were marching into Belgium, the battle was imminent.

  He pulled on his clothing and glanced at Emmaline, looking so beautiful in sleep it took his breath away.

  He understood why soldiers married on the eve of battle. Merely gazing at her made him desire to pledge his fidelity for ever. For the first time, surviving a battle really meant something to him—he wanted to survive to be with her for ever. And if it was his lot to die in battle, as his wife she would receive all his worldly goods. Either way he could provide her with a secure life.

  Gabe picked up his boots and carried them below stairs so his footsteps would not wake her. In the kitchen, he lit the stove and put the kettle on. He made some of the Belgian coffee that he’d become accustomed to. He brought the coffee pot to the dining table. After pouring a cup, he leaned back in the chair, against his coat that still hung there. He reached in to the inside pocket and removed the small velvet box. Opening it, he gazed at the ring, imagining it upon Emmaline’s finger.

  If he did not propose to her this morning, he might not get a second chance.

  He closed his fingers around the velvet box and heard her step on the stairway. He stood and quickly shoved the box in his trouser pocket.

  “You are awake already.” She sounded weary and tense. “I will make you breakfast.”

  “No, sit.” He pulled out her chair. “I will serve you today.”

  “Non, Gabriel, it is for a woman to do.” She took his arm, as if to prevent him from entering the kitchen.

  He faced her, placing his hands at her waist and leaning his forehead against hers. They stood silent that way, Gabriel savouring her scent, her heat, the softness of her skin.

  “Today I will cook for you,” he said again, easing her into her chair, stroking a stray lock of hair off her forehead.

  He walked into the kitchen and cracked the eggs into the pan. He glanced back at her.

  She sat with her elbows on the table, her face in her hands. Thinking of her son, he thought. Worrying over him. Missing him.

  When Gabe had been a boy, returning from visiting his uncle on the farm, he’d sometimes wondered if his family had noticed he’d been gone. It often seemed as if they greeted him the same as they would if he’d been gone an hour.

  He shook his head and attended to the eggs. This was time to think of Emmaline, not himself.

  He poured her coffee and placed her eggs on a plate, adding bread, butter and jam. She looked up as he approached, putting a smile on her face. As he sat opposite her, he felt the ring in his pocket, reminding him of his decision.

  Later, he would ask her, after she
finished eating.

  “This is very good.” She looked at him and he could tell she was trying to be cheerful.

  Their conversation was forced, all the ease between them these past weeks gone. They talked mostly of the food, as if they were two strangers seated together at a dinner party. When finished, Gabe gathered the dishes and carried them back into the kitchen.