The Sergeant's Lady

by Susanna Fraser

  “We have to try. Getting out shouldn’t be that hard as long as the guards don’t realize I slipped out of the barn. They won’t have a perimeter around the village, I shouldn’t think, just a few sentries watching the roads. We should be able to slip around them.”

  “Then we must hurry, before they notice you’re missing—but wait. I have money in my trunk.”

  “Get it.”

  She hurried to comply, taking out a little purse and a small jewelry case and slipping both into a linen bag attached to a cord. He recognized it as the kind of pocket some women wore tied around their waists beneath their dresses, accessible through a slit in the skirt. It was old-fashioned, but much more practical than the dainty reticule he would have expected her to carry.

  With a wry lift of her shoulder, she glanced sidelong at him. “If you wish to pretend you don’t know what my petticoat looks like, look away.”

  He obliged. “I’m glad you thought of the money,” he said. “We can use it to buy food.”

  “I thought we might raid the kitchen on the way out.”

  “A good idea, but we haven’t time,” he said. “I want to try to get a rifle and gear, though.”

  “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  “Not as dangerous as being without. I don’t want to defend us, or hunt for food if we can’t find anyone to sell us anything, with nothing but a pistol I’ve never used before. And we’ll need a blanket, a canteen, and flint and steel.”

  She nodded. “I trust you. Just tell me what I must do.”

  Somehow he had to make good their escape for the sake of her courage and faith in him. “For now, stay brave, walk quietly and stick to the shadows.”

  “I can do that. I wish we could help the others, though. I hate to leave them behind.”

  “So do I. But we couldn’t get everyone out—even if we could get the men out of the barn, there’s the wounded to consider—and I trust Dan. I know he seems…quiet…but he’s good at what he does.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  “Well. Let’s be on our way, then.” He walked to the window, stopping to blow out the single candle on the table by the bed, and she followed. Cautiously he peered out. The night was still. He heard no noise from the barn, so the fight Flaherty and Robertson had engineered must have run its course. They’d had the sense to stop it before it roused more Frogs from their slumber.

  Will climbed out of the window, then extended his hands to help her do the same. She was nimble and managed her skirts well, a fact he noticed with relief. They’d likely have to do their share of climbing in the next few days. Taking her hand, he led her into the darkness.

  ***

  Anna felt as though she were on a runaway horse, with no choice but to hang on and hope the beast didn’t step in a rabbit hole or gallop beneath a low-hanging branch. All she could do was trust Will and keep going. If anyone could get them out safely, he could. Above all, she must not fail him. If they were captured, she would merely fall prey to Colonel Robuchon. Will would die.

  So she held tight to his hand as they slipped through the shadows, each step cautious, testing the ground before she committed her weight. She couldn’t step on a twig. She mustn’t turn her ankle.

  He halted and drew her against him to whisper in her ear. “The gear is in the square there.” She looked and saw two bored sentries, with a single torch for light, guarding the wagons. “Stay here,” he continued. “If they catch me, you’ll see. If they do, go. Slip out, swing around the edge of the village past the sentries, then find the road and walk until you get to the next village or farm. Ask them to hide you. Bribe them.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t get caught.”

  “I’ll do my best. But promise you’ll go if I do.”

  “I promise.” She clung hard to his hand for a moment before forcing herself to let go. “Be careful,” she whispered.

  He disappeared into the shadows.

  Anna concentrated on her breathing, forcing herself to slowly inhale and exhale. Otherwise she might give in to the panic that had been gnawing at her from the moment Colonel Robuchon had got her alone. She could not see or hear Will and had no idea of his progress. But the sentries still stood quiet and drowsy. Anna willed them blind, deaf and stupid.

  At least it was a dark night. The stars overhead dazzled, but there was no moon. That should improve Will’s odds. He was Will to her now, she realized, and she couldn’t imagine ever thinking of him as Sergeant Atkins again.

  After an unbearably long interval, he reappeared. With difficulty she resisted the urge to jump at his footsteps.

  “Here,” he whispered.

  Her hand closed around a slender cylinder of wood and metal. The stock and barrel of a rifle.

  “I took two. Can you carry it?”

  “Yes. But you’ll have to shoot it.”

  She heard him smile, a small, amused exhalation. “It’s what I do best. Ready?”

  Cautiously she shifted the rifle, terrified of the noise it would make if she dropped it. She found its sling and hoisted it over her shoulder. “Yes.”

  He searched for her hand in the darkness and led her away from the square. In the dim starlight she could see that his silhouette had changed by the addition of a knapsack on his back, and he too carried a rifle.

  At the edge of the village they halted and strained their eyes in every direction, but saw no one. Still, they used even greater caution as they crept across an open field to the shelter of an olive grove.

  A stream flowed through the trees. Will sank to his knees, and Anna imitated him.

  “Drink as much as you can, and we’ll fill the canteens.” Still he whispered, but more loudly than he had in the village. “I got two of those, too.”

  “Good.” She took the canteen he offered, removed the stopper and held it under the water. The stream was fast-flowing, colder against her fingers than she expected. She took a long drink, then lowered the canteen to fill it again.

  “We’ll follow the stream south for awhile, then turn east,” he said.

  “East? But our army is south.”

  “Exactly. So when they realize we’re missing, most of the searchers will go south. East improves our odds.”

  “Of course.” How foolish of her not to have realized it.

  “We won’t run—too much of a chance one of us would fall and sprain an ankle in the dark—but we’ll walk fast. We’ll find someplace to rest in the morning, and we can plan more then. For now we need our breath to walk.”

  “Of course,” she repeated.

  “But if you’re hurt or can’t keep up, tell me. Understand?”

  He spoke as a man accustomed to command, and it reassured her. She was out of her depth, and it was a relief to place herself in his capable hands. “Yes.”

  “Let’s go.”

  He stood and she followed, tugging at the canteen strap until she found a way to carry it without it banging against her hip at every stride. The rifle was more difficult to manage. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but its length made its weight awkward, and she couldn’t find a comfortable balance for it. Obviously its sling hadn’t been designed with slender female shoulders or full female bosoms in mind. She alternated between unslinging it and carrying it in her hands and, when that grew too burdensome, slipping it back over her shoulder and enduring that discomfort for a time.

  After about an hour, they reached a point where the stream was shallow enough to ford dry-footed by stepping from rock to rock. They set out east across rocky, open ground. Will maintained a steady pace. Each time Anna considered asking for a rest, he beat her to it and ordered a halt, just long enough to catch their breath and swallow some water.

  She had never walked so far before. But she found herself capable of greater endurance than she had expected. Through the night she pushed on through exhaustion, sore feet and aching shoulders.

  When the sky began to lighten, Will led them up a steep slope and found a narrow track near the top of a ridg
e. As dawn advanced, Anna surveyed the valley below. It was empty country, and she wondered how long it would be before they got a chance at any food. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

  Will turned and favored her with a lopsided smile. “When we stop, we’ll check this pack. I hope its owner is the sort who hoards a bit of bread against emergencies.”

  “It’s not yours?”

  “No, ma’am. At least, I’ll be stunned if it is. I didn’t have time to look, and I didn’t want to risk the noise, so I took the first I found.”

  “I see.”

  They walked doggedly on, following the track until they reached a wide spot where patches of grass grew between boulders. Will sat on a flat rock facing west, where they could spot approaching pursuers, and beckoned for Anna to join him.

  She sat at his side, unstoppered her canteen and took a long drink.

  “Be careful, ma’am,” he said. “If they come after us, it may be a long time before we can re-water safely.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She wished he’d stop calling her “ma’am” all the time. He hadn’t done so immediately after he rescued her, and surely they could dispense with formality under their circumstances.

  “I’m thirsty, too. And I didn’t think to tell you. You did so well at a forced march that it’s easy to forget you don’t have a soldier’s training, ma’am.”

  She basked in his praise, but there was that word again.

  Will reached for the knapsack. “Let’s see what we have.” He unstrapped the rolled-up blanket atop it, then delved into the pack. On top lay a deck of cards. “How are you at picquet?”

  She laughed. She was exhausted and terrified, but it was far better to banter about cards than to give way to her weaknesses. “Terrible,” she confessed. “My uncle always told me I must never gamble at cards, or I’d find myself gone from an heiress to a pauper before my first Season was over.”

  “Then we’ll play for penny stakes, ma’am.”

  She sighed. “Must you call me ma’am? My name is Anna.”

  He met her eyes frankly. “I must. Ma’am. Out here, if we break one rule, it’d be too easy to break them all.”

  The memory of their dance and kiss suddenly seemed a tangible thing, a barrier between them. His touch had been delightful, and as she looked at him, the pleasure of the memory outweighed the terrors that had befallen her since. He was right.

  “I understand,” she said. “Sergeant.”

  In a strained silence, Will returned his attention to the knapsack, revealing a tin cup and plate and a box of soap. Next, a spare shirt. He held it up. It was very small, and he pulled a face. “You could wear it.”

  “Perhaps I’ll make a turban,” she said lightly. “I didn’t think to bring a hat, and I’d rather not sunburn.”

  He grinned, good humor restored. He reached into the compartment again. “Aha!” He revealed a wedge of hard cheese the size of his fist.

  “Hurrah!”

  He broke it in half, put half back and split the remainder between them. “We should save some.”

  She nodded and took a bite. On her empty stomach it tasted ambrosial. When they had finished, they got up and kept walking. Anna’s eyes were dry and her mind hazy from her sleepless night, and she trudged along half in a stupor. She scanned the countryside ahead of them, longing for sight of a village or farm. But Will kept looking back along the road to the west. While they were still high in the hills she heard him exhale sharply. “There.”

  She turned, blinked, and saw horsemen in the distance, cantering across the dusty countryside. “They’re coming.”

  Chapter Nine

  Anna stared at the French horsemen, still tiny figures in the distance. She counted only four and hoped that meant going east rather than south had worked. Four against two. Four against one, really.

  “What do we do?” she asked.

  “Take cover and hope they don’t see us.” Will scrambled behind a large boulder and pulled her after him.

  “And if they do?”

  “I shoot them.” He watched them approach, his face still.

  “All four of them?”

  “Maybe. I can take two shots quickly, one per rifle, but then it’ll take me about a minute to reload one.”

  He put the pistol into her hands. It was heavier than it looked. She held it away from her as though it stank. She had never fired a gun.

  “It’s primed,” he said. “All you have to do is cock it and squeeze the trigger. Don’t shoot unless they’re upon us before I can reload, and then only at close range—else you’ll waste the shot. Understand?”

  She stared at the pistol. It looked gigantic in her small hands.

  “Mrs. Arrington, look at me.” She turned her head and met his steady amber eyes. “You fought Colonel Robuchon, and you marched through the night as well as any rifleman. I have no doubt that you can fire this pistol—damn!”

  They were spotted. The French riders, now about three hundred yards away, pointed toward them and wheeled their horses about.

  Her heart pounded, and through a haze she watched Will raise the first rifle, steady it—and wait. What was he doing? Surely they were in range, and he needed to act quickly to have time to reload. But he waited, cloaked in a strange calm, as the horsemen rode nearer. Anna’s breath raced, but his was steady.

  At last he fired. The flash of the gunpowder and the noise of the shot dazed her. The lead rider toppled from his mount and lay still. Lightning-fast, Will set the first rifle down, picked up the second, and fired it with equal success. Anna felt horrified awe at how steadily he went about his deadly work. It was worse than in yesterday’s battle, now that she could see his targets.

  He began to reload in a flurry of quick motions.

  The remaining troopers halted at the bottom of the slope, which was too steep for their horses. “Wait,” one of them cried in French. “If you surrender, the lady will not be harmed.”

  They made no such promise for Will, and Anna knew she would never be safe under Colonel Robuchon’s power. “No,” she called.

  “So be it.” They surveyed the steep slope before them, dismounted and charged toward them at a scrambling run.

  Anna looked wildly at Will. He wasn’t finished, and even then he would have only the one shot.

  With shaking hands she cocked the pistol’s hammer, raised it and waited. Her heart galloped and a dizzy wave of nausea rushed through her. When the Frenchmen were not five feet away, she fired at what she thought was the leader’s heart, but her arm jerked as she squeezed the trigger. Her shot hit his throat. He fell at her feet but lived, bloody and horrible, gasping for gurgling breaths.

  The loud report of a rifle sounded in her already ringing ears, and their final attacker fell dead. His detachment gone, Will stood beside her, wild-eyed and breathing hard. The stench of blood and gunpowder smoke hung in the air.

  She looked down at the man she had shot. So young he was, no more than twenty, and sweet-faced. Perhaps she could dig the ball out. She could tear strips from her petticoat to make bandages. She sank to her knees.

  Dimly her mind registered the sounds of Will reloading again. When he was done, he gently nudged her aside. She watched, transfixed, as Frenchman and Englishman engaged in a wordless communion. After a moment Will lifted the rifle and raised his eyebrows questioningly. The French boy swallowed, closed his eyes and nodded.

  Will pointed the rifle straight at his chest.

  “Merci,” the soldier gasped.

  Will fired. Anna knelt, paralyzed in horror, then leaned forward and retched.

  Chapter Ten

  Quickly Will stripped the two fallen hussars of their pistols, powder and shot. He hoped Mrs. Arrington realized it had been a mercy to kill the wounded man. His wound had been mortal, but slowly and painfully so. Far better to make a quick end. The lad had understood. Will never would’ve done it if he hadn’t been sure.

  But there was no time for explanations. He had no way to know wh
ether these men had been the only ones about, or whether reinforcements were already on their way. They had to flee.

  “Mrs. Arrington.”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Ma’am, we have to leave. There may be others near who heard the shots. Come help me move the bodies.”

  She got to her feet and stared at him. Her face was pale and set. “Why move them?”

  “If we roll them off the side of the hill, anyone who finds them might not think to look up here.” All four of the troopers’ horses had scattered, and Will hoped they wouldn’t make too much haste back to their stables and thereby prompt the French to send more riders in this direction.

  “Oh.” She joined him then, and together they dragged the limp burdens to the edge of the slope and rolled them off. She bent to retch again when they were done, and he held her lest she tumble after the bodies. She knelt passive and weary within the circle of his arms. Silently he handed her his canteen. She took it, rinsed her mouth, spat and took a long drink before returning it to him.

  He tightened his embrace, hoping to offer her at least a moment’s comfort and encouragement. After a brief hesitation she set one of her hands atop his and leaned back until her head rested against his shoulder. His breath caught as his awareness of her as a woman came flaring back to life. He felt the first stirrings of arousal, and he clenched his jaw, willing it to subside. If she felt that after all she had just endured, surely she would despise him, and he wouldn’t blame her.

  Carefully he broke the embrace, got to his feet and helped her stand. “We should go,” he said.

  She nodded. Together they gathered their gear and left the scene of the skirmish behind, continuing to wend their way along the steep hillside toward the east.

  “When will we turn south?” she asked in a tight yet conversational voice.

  “Tomorrow morning, I think.”

  “Do you think they’ll keep sending more men after us?”

  “I’m not sure. I wouldn’t, but it all depends how much they want us back.”