Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1)

by Baird Wells

  “That is the least exciting part.” Kate leaned in closer to the bed. “He has just performed the very surgery your ladyship would undergo. It was a completely unremarkable procedure, and he claims she has no complications.”

  He glanced over the handbill again, skeptical. “Do you believe that?”

  Her nod was firm. “I do. Langenbeck has significantly better outcomes than his colleagues.”

  His mother looked small and delicate in the center of the bed, pale and no doubt exhausted by the late hour. “It will hurt?”

  “Yes. Though he can offer you laudanum, and the operation itself will go very fast.”

  His mother's eyes clouded with hesitation, and Matthew felt the commander in him take over. “You will see him at the first opportunity. I will write to him now and make arrangements.”

  Had he expected that approach to work?

  Predictably, she balked and pulled her hand away. “You cannot simply order me to do something, Matthew. We are talking of cutting out an organ, not marching to the barracks.”

  He was only making things worse. With a glance he pleaded for Kate to save him. She caught his meaning; he knew it when she moved to sit beside his mother on the bed.

  “It is very painful and there are all sorts of risks, along with a very excellent chance you will fully recover.” She scooped up his mother's hand again, pressing it firmly. “If you decide against surgery, you will die from this disease. Have you watched someone die from cancerous maladies? They suffer every day with the pain you will feel under the knife just once. For them, there is no relief in sight. Just death.”

  His mother pooled against the pillows, defeated but also looking relieved. He guessed she was glad, in a strange way, to have the decision made for her. “Very well. Send for your surgeon. We will see what can be done.”

  Slumping over the bed, Matthew rested his head at her breast, and his mother ruffled fingers through his hair. Hope washed away a measure of the sick tension in his gut, and for the first time in years, he offered up something like a prayer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  He did not recall truly sleeping after he had left his mother's room. Kate had not either, he was certain, already hearing her voice from the hall when he woke. If she was fatigued now, it did not show. Silky chestnut waves were neatly braided, blue eyes bright over a ready smile, and not a hint of exhaustion. Stifling a yawn into his sleeve, Matthew admitted a stinging amount of jealousy, certain he was not half as composed.

  They left at midday, the square in front of the townhouse busy with people sharing curious looks at Kate's appearance. Either she did not realize or did not care, greeting each open stare with a smile and nod, or a wave. He would trade some of his military efficiency any day for even an ounce of her unflappable spirit. He laughed. Perhaps then he'd be better equipped to deal with her the rest of the time.

  He lifted Kate's bag with the intention of securing it, finding it straining at the seams and heavier than he recalled the night before. He held it up and shook it at her. “Did you pilfer the tea service?”

  She rolled her eyes, grinning, and bounced into Nelson's saddle. “Your mother sent me away with not one but two silk gowns. It would have been four but I convinced her that would be a burden to poor Nelson here. I have no idea where she thought I would wear them.”

  He smiled, all-too-familiar with his mother's brand of henpecking. “But you accepted them.”

  “Of course. And she does not need to know that I plan on cutting them up into bandages.”

  “Shocking.” He took immense delight at her expression any time he teased her so, amusement with a hint of annoyance.

  “I can only imagine.” Kate tossed him a sharp look, then looked again, brows furrowed. She leaned across Bremen so quickly that he started, shifting his horse. Her knuckle rubbed up his cheek, in broad daylight and in front of every pedestrian. It ran a current through his body that he tried to ignore. “Is that stubble on your face?” she gasped.

  “Thomas forgot to pack my strop and razor.” He had felt self-conscious about his disheveled state all morning, and Kate's pointed attention was not helping.

  “Hmm.” Kate's smile was faint and achingly unreadable. Matthew hated how often he was left scratching his head after one of their exchanges. She granted him one more glance over her shoulder, fueling his confusion, before wheeling Nelson out into the square's bustling crowd.

  Weaving between the streams of people, wagons, and one very persistent lady of comfort, he caught up with Kate at the bulwark, just above the bridge from town. “You ride with some experience, Miss Foster.”

  “I wager you would give me a good run,” she admitted, without a glance.

  “You imagine so?”

  “We could find out...” Kate drew Nelson up short at the end of the bridge.

  Matthew grinned. Her challenge sounded like just the thing to still his nerves. He pointed to the fanned branches peeking from atop a ridge, a few hundred yards across the field before them. “A guinea says I beat you to that elm.”

  Kate gasped, laughing at his terms. “Robbery!”

  “And another if I overtake you before the brook.”

  She sniffed and rolled a shoulder. “I sincerely doubt I have such an exorbitant sum in my possession. My pay goes to Fann for safe keeping. When I receive it.”

  Matthew took devilish pleasure in her admission. If she lacked coin, they could bargain with something else, making the wager that much more interesting. “Oh, we can alter the terms,” he teased. “You best me overall, a guinea. Overtake me at the stream, two guineas.”

  Kate's eyes narrowed to sharp blue slits. Matthew realized they had arrived at the moment she knew him well enough to be suspicious. “And if you best me?”

  “You lodge no complaints, of any kind, for a week.”

  “Three days.” Kate held up fingers as emphasis.

  “This is my half of the wager, Miss Foster. Four days.”

  “Three. Three days.”

  She had a way of negotiating that grated his nerves to no end, bargaining ruthlessly with not a decent card in her hand. The most grating bit was how often she won. “Very well,” he ground out. “Three days.”

  “Hah!” She raised an arm in triumph. “Agreed. If you pass me at the half-way?”

  “Ah.” Matthew let his smile draw slowly, watching a little anxiety dawn on her face. “There is the alteration. Whether you win or no, if I match you at the brook, it's a favor to be named at a time of my choosing.”

  Kate chewed her lip, shifting in the saddle. She hated the idea of losing, but Matthew knew she hated the idea of not playing even more. Her back straightened, boots adjusting in the stirrups, and Matthew saw he had won her over. Kate stuck out her hand. “I accept.”

  He smiled, raising his right arm and stretching forward in the saddle. As his fingertips brushed hers, Kate spurred Nelson with a yip, tearing past him off the bridge.

  “Dammit all.” He muttered the curse into her dust trail, giving Bremen two good digs with his boot heels. He grinned, realizing he should have known better than to trust her. Squeezing Bremen's flanks with his knees, he arched low over the horse's neck. Tracing her path with his eyes, he studied the terrain, tugging Bremen's reins to bring him around a rocky mound. He did not have to beat her, just match her at the creek. He had known at the outset that he would not pass her; Bremen just wasn't that kind of horse. But he was good for a short burst, enough to bring them even. He had no doubt she would win, but one guinea was worth having Kate in his pocket for later. He just had to beat her to the checkpoint.

  Only a handful of strides from the creek, Kate began glancing at him over her shoulder, urging Nelson harder. He was an endurance horse, and Matthew had ridden him enough to know he could go for miles, but not a bit faster in his pace. He had intentionally held Bremen back until Kate overextended. Neck and neck, he gave her a wink, earning a head shake in return. Two quick spurs, and Bremen's hooves plunged into the water first,
spraying Matthew's face. Kate passed by in a single gallop, and Matthew kept just enough speed, to the base of the ridge, to give her the illusion of a contest.

  She had dismounted by the time he trotted up the bank, leaning against the elm's gnarled trunk with boots crossed in front of her. Kate brushed reckless auburn waves from her face and smiled, chest heaving against the pewter buttons of her coat.

  Matthew started to raise a leg over his saddle. In an effort to remain an honest man, he thought better of it and stayed put. Instead, he lifted his hat in salute. “Miss Foster, congratulations.”

  Kate's arms crossed, resting over her breasts. “You knew from the beginning you couldn't win.”

  “I never assume defeat until a thing is well and done,” he said, imitating her coyness.

  “Oh well. I took your devil's deal.” She got up with all the grace of a conquering queen. “Besides, I get my guinea now and defer my lashes till later.”

  “Later,” he shot back, enjoying her flagging triumph, “but not forever.”

  Kate didn't answer. She was bent under Nelson, holding his leg. “Oh no.” He fussed, stomping sideways, and whinnied. “He's taken a stone, poor boy. Now I feel awful.”

  Matthew leaned down, squinting for a better look. “He's been prone to it since Portugal. Trod down on something so hard I thought he was lamed. He's come through it, but that left foot is sometimes tender. He'll be right as ever, in a week or so.”

  She brushed at Nelson's muzzle. “Should we take him back to town?”

  Matthew squinted into the distance, then shook his head. “He can manage a slow pace just fine. I'd prefer John looking after him, and not that man child tending my mother's horses. And that means...” He patted Bremen's neck.

  She took an uneasy step back. It was nice to see Kate unbalanced for a change. “I can walk.”

  “Undoubtedly. I'm so confident of it that there's no need for us arrive at the garrison past midnight, for you to prove the point.” He reached out a hand. “Mount up.”

  * * *

  Matthew tugged her arm, lifting her easily into the saddle. It was impossible to ignore the feel of him against her. He could have been boorish and ugly as toad and she still would have been acutely aware of their bodies touching. But he wasn't, a little voice protested. She tried very hard to ignore that voice, recalling that on the ride back from the farm she had hardly noticed Matthew at all. Because you were too busy being afraid he'd strangle you, she recalled. That, and a near-brush with death which had left her with a multitude of things to reflect upon, not one of them having to do with the general's cologne.

  Cradled now by his muscled thighs, pressed against him back-to-front, Kate appreciated that at least his coat was between them.

  Matthew's breath hissed between his lips. “Let's hold a moment.” He snapped Bremen to heel. “It really is unseasonably hot this afternoon.” Pushing her shoulder, he leaned her forward an inch or two, and Kate realized he was unbuttoning his coat.

  Oh well.

  He rolled it into a bundle, jostling against her buttocks and hips while turning to stuff it into his pack. She stiffened with the impossible effort of trying not to touch him.

  “Are you all right, Miss Foster?”

  “Mmhm.” It was hot out in the open, beaten by a sun just passing mid-day. The fact was impressed upon her by a dampness already growing between her back and the wall of his chest, plastering their shirts to one another. She tried sitting up, putting some space between them.

  “What are you doing?” he snapped.

  “Sitting.”

  “Your head is bumping my chin. Repeatedly.” Matthew's hands curled around her waist, hauling her back till her head cradled into his shoulder. “There. Much better.”

  Resigned to their configuration, Kate relaxed into the sway of Matthew's body. “I do not think we should enter the garrison like this.”

  “Why ever not?” God bless him, he was honestly curious.

  She laughed, throwing up her hands. “It just looks...” Could he really not grasp her meaning? The way they were dressed, being gone all night and returning on the horse together...Kate felt the potential for gossip, but could hardly put it into words. Propriety of one sort was not as important as another, but she was having trouble articulating the difference.

  “I have to earn the respect of the men, just like you. Civilians in camp are ordered by rank, same as the army. Camp women, true camp women fall at the bottom. The Astleys, the Forths and Greenes tolerate me because I figure slightly higher. And I do it by never trading in favors or preference. The second your men feel I am not earning my place right along with them, especially by your hand,” she shrugged, “I lose their confidence. And respect.”

  He was quiet behind her, thoughtful for a moment. Kate felt it in the tension of his shoulders against hers. “I had never thought of it in that manner.”

  She nodded, knowing it had likely never occurred to him. “We cannot come back like this.”

  Matthew jabbed her in the ribs. “Miss Foster, have you seen yourself? You are dressed like a drummer boy at Sunday service.”

  “You look like the quarter master on a French privateer.” She refused to let him hear her smile.

  He chuckled above her ear. “Then it's fortunate we've been thrown together.”

  This was the place where she would usually dig in, giving Matthew no quarter for his teasing. Kate looked around them, not a thing in sight but copses of trees dotting the hills all the way to the riverbank, and realized it was her decision how long the rest of their trip felt.

  She laughed, relaxing further against him. “I suppose it is.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  28 April, 1815 – Quatre Bras

  Dear Fann,

  We are on the third day of boiling sheets, squaring off against a particularly tenacious crop of lice. The river is a good distance off, and the men Webb has selected to haul water have each had some of this month's pay taken for drunkenness. Disgruntled soldiers are not productive soldiers. I pray you wish me luck.

  I have waited so long to write that I have forgotten much of what has passed these last few weeks. If I share with you what I can recall, I am certain you will never believe it.

  General Webb has taken me to Brussels, to treat his mother. Are you surprised? I certainly was taken with shock.

  Her ailment was beyond my skill, but she has been treated by capable hands and is recovering! My joy is partly at having a hand in arranging the treatment, and also because I found the woman strangely agreeable. Intelligent, a bit acid and forthright. More mercenary than assassin. I like her.

  Now for my second revelation: To my astonishment, I like him, too. Perhaps you cannot account for it. Does my change of heart seem sudden? I would have agreed with you until recently, when I put half a morning's thought into the matter. Hindsight is a late-blooming wisdom. He allowed me to stay when we lost Addison, defended me against Astley and took the very great risk of granting me autonomy – more so now than ever. None of that absolves him of barking after me like a hound some days, but I confess it makes his behavior more endearing...

  Urgent. Kate scoffed, stuffing the dispatches into her pocket, deciding there would be no peace until they were in agreement about the definition of the word. General Webb wrote constantly, about everything. It was driving her mad. Kate was convinced the army was not crippled by syphilis or drunkenness near so much as bureaucracy. By the time a runner had brought the fourth hastily scrawled note about why the bandages were stored in carts, or an overdue inventory of the surgeon's chest, she was bristling. There were patients to see, whole scores of them. Porter was more than capable of managing the general's assignments, but his first and most important job was to act as her second set of hands.

  Kate hailed the first passing soldier. “Where is the general this afternoon?”

  He hooked a thumb toward the crumbling field-stone wall just beyond the garrison's fortifications. “Musket drills.”


  Perfect. That meant the general was not too far away, and he was not going anywhere. She tucked up her bun, preparing to do battle, and started across the camp.

  At the gate she stopped, her frustration checked by the scene out in the fields. Columns of red and gray clad soldiers trailed off along the plateau, sprouting up from the high grass until they resembled toy figures with muskets clapped to their shoulders. Every time an order was barked across the lines, their guns snapped up, down, or forward with precision.

  Astride his beautiful gray, Matthew trotted their length, wind billowing his short blue cape. A navy wool coat covered him below the hips, but from there buff trousers hugged his legs to the top of high black boots, revealing every grip and nudge of his thighs against the horse's flank. Pursing her lips, Kate stifled an appreciative smile, taking him in until he had covered most of the ground back towards the gate. She was frustrated with him, she chided, and determined not to be distracted.

  Leaning against the gate, she waited until he trotted to a stop before her, lifting a cocked hat. A shadow from its brim masked his pensive gaze and made the line of his mouth oddly sensual.

  She must be especially tired.

  Bremen nudged her shoulder, snorting moist heat through the fabric of her dress. Laughing, she stroked a hand over his coarse muzzle, and he snuggled deeper into her palm.

  “Bremen, you traitor!” Matthew slid down from the saddle, boots striking the ground with practice, and patted the horse's flank. “His loyalties are always changeable if apples are involved, but this is just unabashed preference.”

  “Can you blame him?” Her wink went unremarked while Matthew studied her from under his hat. His aid came up behind her, grasping the reins, and Kate got in one last scratch behind the ear before Bremen loped away.

  Arms crossed, Matthew leaned his weight onto one leg and looked past her toward the garrison. There were probably statues of him like that somewhere. Kate swallowed her amusement. He nodded toward the field. “Did you come out to see the maneuvers?”