So now the oxcarts full of wounded trundled back toward the army. George had a place of honor in the lead wagon, but he had no role in commanding the convoy. Reynolds and Timperley shared that responsibility. But with Lieutenant O’Brian dead, George was now the company’s senior lieutenant, that much closer to purchasing a captaincy, if only he could scrape together the funds. That thought provided his only consolation on the tedious journey. His head and side still ached, though Timperley assured him he would feel like new within a few weeks.
His musings on promotion were interrupted by running footsteps and shouts—no, whoops of joy—from the riflemen sent ahead to scout their path.
“It’s our people, come to fetch us home!” one shouted.
A huzzah echoed down the convoy, and George peered over the front of the wagon.
Three riders crested the hill and revealed themselves as a dragoon officer George didn’t recognize, Captain Matheson—and Sergeant Atkins, on a Spanish-bred dappled gray, fine enough for any officer. The company’s cheers grew louder as the riders executed a triumphal gallop around the convoy, and a troop of dragoons appeared at the top of the hill.
The officers and Atkins reined to a halt at the front of the convoy, and Reynolds and the two scouts saluted them.
“We were all set to rescue you from the Frogs,” Captain Matheson said. “Atkins and Major Gordon here will be disappointed. They’ve been arguing over who has the most right to kill Colonel Robuchon—Mrs. Arrington is the major’s cousin.”
“We’ll have to hope for a future battle, Sergeant,” the major said.
“Indeed, sir.” Atkins swung down from the saddle and handed the reins to Major Gordon, patting the mare’s silvery neck. “Thank you for the horse. She’s a sweet goer.”
“You needn’t return her now—you’re welcome to keep her till we’re back in camp.”
“Thank you, sir, but I’ll march with my company.”
The men cheered this simple utterance, and George sighed. Must Atkins make such a show of everything?
Major Gordon and Captain Matheson began questioning Reynolds and Timperley about their captivity and release. After a moment the captain noticed George and spoke to him kindly, and he forgot his grievances for the moment.
***
Dan, Juana and Will sat a little apart from the rest of the company at dinner. Will held the baby while Juana ate. Little Anita was getting nicely plump, and he admired and praised her as long as he could. All the better to delay their questions.
Dan and Juana, unfortunately, were no fools.
“So you got her back safely,” Dan said.
“Yes. She’s with her cousin’s wife now—Mrs. Gordon, the one who helped with Anita.”
“Were you in time?” Juana asked.
He blinked in confusion.
“In time to save her from the colonel,” she elaborated.
He shuddered at the recollection. “I was, but only just.”
“Gracias a Dios,” she said. “You did right to help her, Will.”
“I hope he didn’t trouble you, Juana,” he said. “I worried over that—they had to know you were the one who gave the word.”
Juana shook her head, and her eyes twinkled. “He gave me no trouble at all.”
“He would’ve had to come through all of us to get to her,” Dan said. “But it didn’t come to that because Mr. Timperley kept him well dosed with laudanum after they found him that next morning. It was Juana’s idea.”
“He was not yet in his right senses when they left,” she added.
“Pelletier was in command, thank God.” Dan took a swig of ale. “A decent man. If it weren’t for him, I’m sure it would’ve been the worse for Juana, and maybe you and the lady wouldn’t have made it away. I’m sure Robuchon would’ve sent more men after you.”
“We did have to kill four hussars the next morning,” Will said, bouncing the baby, who was beginning to fuss.
Juana took her, deftly bared a breast while using the child’s head as a screen, and settled her to feed. Will took up the tin bowl and mug he had ignored while dandling the baby and began his own meal of thin beef stew washed down with ale.
“How did you kill four with two rifles?” Dan asked.
“We had Robuchon’s pistol, too,” he answered between bites. “Anna—Mrs. Arrington shot one of the men while I reloaded.” Maybe they wouldn’t notice his slip. Surely Dan would be too distracted by imagining how the skirmish must have played out, and Juana’s attention was all for her baby.
Or so he had thought. She turned toward him, eyes sharp, brows drawn together. “And does she call you ‘Will’ now?”
He was too fairly caught to attempt denial. “There was no one else to hear, and ‘Sergeant Atkins’ and ‘Mrs. Arrington’ are mouthfuls compared to ‘Will’ and ‘Anna.’”
Dan rolled his eyes. “But not compared to ‘sergeant’ and ‘ma’am,’ and with no one else to hear, you couldn’t confuse each other with some other sergeant and lady.”
Juana nodded. “And now that you are back, you forget how you ought to speak of her.”
“Fair enough,” he snapped. Let it end here. No more questions about Anna. Mrs. Arrington. Her.
No such luck. Dan scraped the last of his stew from the bowl and took a final deep swallow of ale before setting them down, the better to lean forward and fix Will with a searching look. “Just what other rules did the two of you break out there?”
Will waited a heartbeat or two. Better not to speak too quickly or be too forceful in his denials. “Well, I had to help her with her buttons once,” he said calmly. “That was damned awkward, but otherwise we were proper as could be.” He rounded his eyes, daring Dan to question his word.
Dan snorted. “Really? All alone in the wilderness, with no one to make you mind your manners?”
“You think so little of my manners that you believe they’d disappear the instant there’s not dozens of people around to mind them for me?”
“In this case? Yes. I’ve seen how you look at her, remember. You were alone with her for what, four nights?”
“We were trying to get back to the army as fast as we could,” he said. “For the first day or two we didn’t even have enough to eat.” All of which was true. “Nothing happened,” he said, as he thought of Anna in his arms, of the feel of her lovely full breasts in his hands, of her on top of him, riding him, her tongue tracing the paths of his scars. He shifted in hopes of concealing his body’s reaction to his memories.
“Leave him alone, Dan,” Juana said. Will stared at her, surprised to have a defender. “Even if something did happen, you cannot expect him to speak of it.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But nothing happened.”
Dan’s expression remained dubious. “If you say so, Will.”
***
Moving at the slow pace dictated by the creaking oxcarts, it took them three full days to make it back to the village of San Miguel. The morning after their return, Captain Matheson pulled Will aside.
“We’ve found Mrs. Arrington’s trunk among the baggage,” Captain Matheson said. “I thought you might like to be the one who returns it, so you can see how she fares.”
He knew it would be wiser to avoid Anna, but refusing such a natural and kindly meant offer would look odd. “I would. Thank you, sir.”
“I’ve made inquiries. She’s staying in that house on the hill in the olive grove.” He pointed out a substantial stone cottage. “Take two men with you to carry the trunk. No need to rush. This looks set to be a quiet day.”
And so half an hour later he was climbing the hill, followed by Robertson and Flaherty, who grumbled good-naturedly over the weight of the trunk and the steepness of the path.
Maybe she would be out paying calls. That would be safest. He could leave the trunk at the house along with a message conveying his good wishes. Then when the wounded convoy left again under a new escort in a few days, she would go with it, and that would be that. He wouldn�
�t forget her—never that—but he could go back to living the life he was meant for. In time he hoped she wouldn’t overwhelm his every dream and almost his every idle thought.
He heard light, quick footsteps coming up the path behind them.
“Sergeant Atkins?”
It was her, her voice just as curious and friendly as it should be for what their association ought to be. He halted and turned toward her. Flaherty and Robertson followed his lead, setting the trunk down and wiping their sweaty brows.
She was not fifteen feet away and getting closer by the second. Mrs. Gordon was with her, but Will had eyes only for Anna. She wore mourning black, though the broad-brimmed straw hat perched jauntily upon her head—the hat Teresa Vásquez had given her—struck an incongruous note. Except for her flushed cheeks she was pale, but she looked perfectly lovely, her eyes bright, a smile playing about her lips.
He tipped his cap. “Good morning, Mrs. Arrington, Mrs. Gordon. We found your trunk among the baggage from the convoy, ma’am.”
“Thank you for returning it so promptly.”
They spoke the proper commonplaces in the proper tone. Will only hoped Mrs. Gordon and the lads weren’t paying attention to how they looked at each other. Anna’s face shone with nervous joy, and he was sure his expression betrayed the same eager longing.
“I can’t vouch for the contents, ma’am,” he said. “I hope the Frogs didn’t disturb them too much.”
“At least I’ll have a trunk,” she said cheerfully. “Why don’t you come with us? We’ll show you where to go.”
They resumed their climb up the hill. Robertson and Flaherty remained silent, and Mrs. Gordon made only occasional remarks. He and Anna kept up a conversation, though he thought—hoped—nothing in it sounded out of the ordinary. She inquired after Dan, Juana and the baby, and asked how those she knew among the wounded were doing. She asked how he had liked Dulcinea, and they talked of the differences between Spanish and English horses.
“I’ve been practicing with my pistol,” she said as they emerged from the olive grove into the farmhouse’s garden.
“I thought so.” To her lifted eyebrows, he replied, “You smell of gunpowder.”
She smiled ruefully. “I suppose I must. Helen says I’m becoming a tolerable shot.”
“You’re very good for a beginner,” Mrs. Gordon said. “Anna, my dear, I’m going to go see how the children are faring while you show these men where to put your trunk, but I’ll speak to Felipa and ask that she prepare refreshments for them in the kitchen.”
Will thanked her, and Robertson and Flaherty echoed him. But it rankled a little to be so efficiently put back in his place.
Anna led them into the house. “It’s this way,” she said, opening a door on the left. “No stairs.”
She led them through a formal parlor into a smaller room fitted up as a bedchamber. Crossing to the single large window, she opened its shutters to let in the morning sunshine. “You can set it there,” she said, indicating a space alongside the bed.
“This is a good billet,” Will said as the lads maneuvered the trunk to the spot she had indicated.
“Yes, aren’t we lucky? I don’t even have to share this room.” Their eyes met, and she continued to toy with the shutters, drawing them almost closed but leaving them unlatched with an air of studied carelessness.
His heart pounded, but he made no sign. He could easily slip away unnoticed in the night and come here. He shouldn’t. It would only prolong the agony of their inevitable parting. But his glance flicked to the narrow bed, and he thought of the two of them together under that simple white coverlet.
Anna followed his gaze. Their eyes met again, and he was transfixed by her parted lips. Suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room.
Their silent interplay passed in a few seconds. Flaherty and Robertson broke the spell as they set the trunk down with a thump.
“Gently, lads,” Will chided.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “There’s nothing fragile in there.” She stepped away from the window and dismissed them all with a brisk nod. “The kitchen is on the other side of the house, at the back. Felipa’s pastries are delicious.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, echoed by the lads. They showed themselves out, and he dared not look back.
Chapter Seventeen
That night Will’s gift for sleep deserted him. Sometime after midnight, when everyone around him snored, he slipped out of his bedroll and crept through the still night up the hill through the olive grove. No one challenged him, for the sentries were all posted much further out, and his path took him far from the village’s taverns.
He hesitated for an instant on the edge of the grove, but the cottage was silent. No dog barked, and no lights burned at the windows. Slowly he walked around the back of the house, past the kitchen, past the door leading out to the barn and outbuildings.
There was her window, its shutters unmistakably ajar. He drew them all the way open and hoisted himself onto the windowsill. “Anna?” he whispered.
The instant his feet touched the floor she was in his arms, pulling his head down to hers and covering his mouth with kisses. “I’d almost given up,” she whispered, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her body against his. “I thought you didn’t mean to come.”
He caressed her back, the fine lawn of her nightdress catching on his callused fingertips. “I couldn’t stay away.” His hands settled at her hips. How had he thought one night could be enough, that he could ignore her presence so nearby?
Kissing her all the while, he spun her about until her back was to the wall. Someday he hoped to have the chance to prove to her that he knew how to love a woman patiently, but for now he couldn’t. With one hand he caressed her breasts through the thin fabric, hearing her gasp with pleasure and feeling her nipples harden under his palm, while with the other he undid his trouser buttons.
He seized fistfuls of white lawn and pulled her nightdress up. She clutched frantically at his shoulders, and her whispered cries drove him on.
He lifted her by the hips. Though he was sure she’d never been in this position before, she had the instinct for it, wrapping her legs around him and gripping his shoulder with one hand for balance.
The other hand she laid against his cheek. Through the window, a beam of moonlight lit their faces. She was so beautiful, with her black hair tumbling over her shoulders, her face aglow with passion. He kept his eyes open and fixed on hers as he entered her.
Maybe he couldn’t help rushing, but she was ready, hot and slick and welcoming. Her eyes widened, and she brushed her lips against his. “Will.”
“Anna. My lady.”
He thrust and she matched his rhythm, rocking against him. Resting their foreheads against each other, they mingled their heated breaths. Only at the very end did Anna fling her head back as she came with a choked cry. A few strokes more and he reached his own climax, spending himself deep within her as she clung to him, her face pressed against his neck.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She lifted her head to meet his eyes again. “You’re sorry? Will, you must stop apologizing at these moments. You make me quite anxious.”
He set her gently back on her feet. “But I always mean to take my time and make it perfect for you.”
She shook her head. “Every night I’ve thought of you, and tonight I’ve lain awake for hours listening for you. I was in just as much of a hurry as you were.” She reached for his hand. “Come to bed.”
He complied. “Next time, I promise you we’ll make it there first.”
She slid under the coverlet and beckoned to him. “Next time?”
“Let me take my shoes off,” he said and did so, shedding his jacket and trousers for good measure, before joining her.
There was barely room for two on the narrow bed, and he sighed with bliss as he wrapped his arms about her and she nestled against him. “Next time,” he said. “I’ve heard we’re to stay here for at
least another fortnight. If you’re here—and you want me here—I can’t resist you, Anna.”
She caressed his face. “Nor I, you.”
“The convoy leaves again in two days, though,” he said. “I thought you’d probably go with it.” And his rational mind, what was left of it, knew she should. But he hoped against hope that she would not.
“Two days? Much too soon. There will be other chances.” She snuggled yet closer. “As long as our regiments camp together, I stay.”
He shifted to kiss her. “Are you sure? I know you long for your home, and—this is heaven, to be with you like this, but it only prolongs the end.”
“Absolutely sure. I’d rather prolong it as long as I can. And besides—” her whisper took on a light, teasing tone, “—I want to know what it’s like when you don’t feel the need to apologize for being too hasty.”
He grinned. “I’ll do my best to oblige my lady.”
“I shall look forward to it with great anticipation,” she said with dignity, “though, really, I like it this way. Wild during, gentle after. It’s…delightful.” She closed her eyes and kissed the tip of the scar at his collarbone, her tongue flicking his skin. “I think I am something of a wanton.”
She didn’t sound too concerned about it, but he drew back and searched her face anyway. “Don’t call yourself that,” he said.
“Says the man who just, ah, took me against that wall,” she pointed out.
“Anna. I don’t care what Sebastian said. Enjoying the pleasures of the flesh does not make you a wanton or a whore or anything else he called you. Not unless you plan to start sharing those pleasures with all and sundry.”
“Good God, no. No one but you, Will. I promise.”
His heart lurched, and he covered her face with kisses. But he made himself draw away and shake his head. “Don’t promise that,” he said. “Remember how you told me you wanted me to go home after the war and have a family?”
“Of course.”
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