“Can I help you, Lieutenant?”
He looked like he was going to expire of heart failure right there. Deborah put her knitting aside and got up.
“No, ma’am. I just…I mean, I wanted…” The hand that had been partially hidden by the folds of the greatcoat whipped out with a fistful of pansies in it. “Here, these are for you,” he blurted.
“Oh!” Relief, surprise, delight. “They’re lovely. Let me find something to put them in. Thank you.”
“Pleasure, ma’am.” He fled in a rush of blushes.
Dumbfounded, Deborah looked at the bunch of flowers in her hand. She shrugged and went to find a vase.
Chapter 13
It was Christmas Eve. Deborah finished lunch, her current work in the clinic, and the muffler she knitted. Everything that had to be done was done. Now, she toyed with the scraps from her cloak. She’d spread the material out in the study on the table that had formerly sported maps and dispatches. Paper pattern pieces for a waistcoat lay on the blue wool, carefully interlocked for optimal use of the material. The lining awaited its turn, but is would be trickier since the piece was smaller.
Deborah hummed Christmas carols to herself as she stepped over Scamp and around the table. She tried to be extra careful, since Scamp’s proclivity for plopping himself directly underfoot had already led to one tail-stomping episode that morning. He’d done justice to the knuckle bone the soft-hearted cook had bestowed on him earlier and was now softly snoring. Bending down, she gave his ears a quick scratch.
The pattern pieces were falling into place. More importantly, the pieces of her life had fallen into place last night as she sleeplessly stared at the ceiling.
The problem of Christopher Marshall simmered in her brain for days while she deliberately tried not to think about it. Last night it arrived, done to perfection and ready to enjoy.
She would have to be careful, very careful, or risk becoming a moth flying into the flame. Perhaps that danger formed part of the attraction; she didn’t know if he was a foolish infatuation for her. She would have to deal with those consequences in the future.
The shears crunched through the wool when a forced cough sounded in the doorway. Sgt. Thomson stood there, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, m’um. Ain’t intrudin’, am Ah?”
“Of course not, Mr. Thomson, come in. It’s been several days since I saw you. I know you’ve been busy.”
Scamp heard the familiar voice and awoke with the speed and vigor only the young of any species can muster.
Thomson reached down with his empty hand, trying to pet the pup as he jumped around. “’Eydee ho, my fine lad. Ah’ve got something for ya,” he looked up at Deborah, “wi’ yer permission, of course, m’um.”
Intrigued, Deborah put down her shears. “Why, yes, Mr. Thomson. What is it?”
Thomson knelt down beside the ecstatic dog. “Well, Ah’ve been thinking. The lad, ‘ere, ‘as been running around like a little ‘eathen, ‘e ‘as. So’s Ah made a collar and leash outta some scrap leather we ‘ad. After all, it be Christmas.” He opened his hand to show two strips of braided leather, one long, one short. The shorter one, a collar, had a well-worn, but lovingly polished buckle on it. The longer had a loop for attaching it to the collar.
“Oh Mr. Thomson, they’re beautiful.” She touched one of the handmade strips. “So carefully crafted.” A British soldier had given her a present. Gulping back the emotions, she continued, “That was thoughtful of you.” She took the collar from his hand to look more closely at it.
He blushed and grinned. “Ah likes t’ little nipper an’ Ah done some work wit’ dogs, so Ah’s thinkin’ you might let me work wit’ ‘im, trainin’ an’ t’ like.”
“Do you think you could? I mean, you want to? He is a bit of a barbarian, if a sweet one.”
My pleasure, m’um.”
“Here,” she shoved the collar at him, “You do the honor of putting it on him.”
“Ay, m’um. Now ‘old ‘im, ‘E’s not gonna like this at first, but ‘e’ll get used to it, right quick.” He showed her how to adjust it to fit properly.
As predicted, Scamp pawed at his new accoutrement. Thomson slipped the loop of the leash onto the collar and offered it to Deborah. “’Ere, take ‘im out for a bit of a brisk walk an’ ‘e’ll soon forget to fret on it.”
“Come with us. You can show me what to do with him.”
Mr. Thomson began by running Scamp around the outside of the house. By the time they returned, Deborah could see that Scamp had forgotten his irritation in the sheer joy of the run.
Thomson blew out a breath and grinned; “Now we can go for a proper walk.”
**
“’Od’s blood, he was tired.
And cold.
And saddle sore.
And acutely aware of his own mortality.
His father would be proud of him. Throughout his twenty-six years, his father had been trying to inculcate that elemental fact into his son’s thick skull.
Well, a sniper’s bullet close enough to brush his week-old beard had certainly brought the lesson home. Kit rubbed his cheek where the memory of hot lead streaking by before burying itself in the tree behind him still lingered.
His father would approve of the end result, even if he might not think too highly of the means.
An officer rode up next to him. “That was a damn lucky miss, sir.” Lt. Bradley nodded at Kit’s questing hand.
“Um.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but doesn’t it seem rather strange?”
Kit looked sideways at the younger man but made no response.
“I mean, sir, you were a perfect target with the campfire and all. The sergeants seem to think that all the muskets were accounted for, so it wasn’t one of ours. But, it wasn’t an ambush, either. Just one shot—at you.”
The camp jumped into chaos. Men scrambled for their guns. Someone, Kit never saw who, pulled him to the ground. One of the sergeants had a patrol headed out in the general direction of the shot even before Kit could get back to his feet. The dispassionate part of his brain made a mental note to compliment the man.
Kit ordered a square in the center of the camp. If an ambush was in the offing, the box of men could defend against an attack from any quadrant. The inside and outside ranks, firing alternately, could keep up an almost continuous fire.
But there was nothing to fire at. The only hint of movement was the increasingly distant sound of the patrol. Kit waited.
When the sergeant returned, the men just scratched their heads. It was an accepted battle tactic, to pick off the officers; but there was no battle, not then, not later.
“Sir, the one set of boot prints behind the large tree and the droppings of a single horse a ways further on...?”
Kit looked at Bradley. “Precisely, Lieutenant. I’ve spent the past few miles contemplating exactly that.” Suddenly Kit was very glad that Camden and the camp lay just ahead of them. He had one errand to do in town and then he would be home.
**
Deborah saw the first troops coming up the road. “Mr. Thomson, they’re back!”
“Aye, m’um, so they be.” He cocked a knowing eye at the lines of men. “An’ in tolerably good shape. Ah don’ think to see t’ Colonel, though.”
Saluting, he hailed Lt. Bradley in the lead. “All in one piece, sir?”
Bradley reined in his horse and sketched an absent-minded salute that continued up to remove his hat. “Good day to you, ma’am. We’re all present and accounted for, with only a few bumps and bruises to show for our pains.” He noticed Deborah scanning the company. “The Colonel stopped in town. He should be along soon.”
She smiled up at him but was alarmed at the thought that he might think she was sweet on his commanding officer. That wouldn’t do. “It’s good to see you again. You have no injuries?”
His eyes brightened at her interest as he tugged at the bridle of his fractious horse. The pas
sing troops were kicking up dust and the horse probably wanted nothing more than to get to his nice warm barn and a pile of hay. “No, ma’am. I’m perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern.”
She smiled again. He seemed so young and eager, even though he was probably older than she was. And so innocently self-centered. “Wonderful. Do any of your men need medical attention?’
“Only O’Toole. He went off in the middle of the night to take a…um, uh, that is to say, for one reason or another, and twisted his ankle. Been wailing like a baby over it, too.”
“I’ll see to it. Did you have any…engagements?”
“’Od’s blood, we chased…”
A bird flew by, starting the already-edgy horse. Bradley ruefully controlled him. “Better see to the men just now. I’m sure to see you at the dinner table.”
She waved as he bowed in the saddle and continued on to his duties.
**
Marshall rode into camp just behind his troops. His present had been ready to go. He was pleased with it. They were perfect, not too much, not too little. He was on his way mercifully quickly because standing in the store brought back memories of other stores and other gifts heedlessly bought to curry favor with one mistress or another. He purchased this gift with the sole purpose of making Deborah smile. On the road from town, he found himself grinning idiotically in anticipation, the fatigues and the irritations forgotten.
He saw Deborah at the side of the road. She waved to Bradley like a long-lost lover and then walked off with Thomson. They were snuggled together, hand in hand, oblivious to the rest of the world. She was behaving like some of the most notorious lightskirts in London, and Kit certainly knew about them.
“How dare she!” he muttered as he spurred his horse down the road. How dare she, when he had not so much as looked at another woman in weeks?
Why, even just days before he’d left, Claudia had come to his room one evening. He’d answered the knock at his door, and she’d slipped into his room before he could either close the door or stop her. It was quite obvious, after the first startled moment, that she had little on under the wrapper she wore.
“Claudia! What are you doing…”
“What do you think, darling? Oliver has already drunk himself senseless,” she sneered in disgust, but immediately brightened. “And that means we have all the time in the world.” She closed the few paces between them. Rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat, she walked her fingers up the front of his shirt.
Thinking back on it, he excused himself as being only human. His body reacted as any man’s body would when a beautiful woman offered herself to him. He was only human.
Once he would have taken her up on her very generous offer. Once he would have stripped them both and reveled in the erotic pleasures Claudia practiced so well. Once…
Oh, but not this time! This time he was virtuous and withheld himself for something better. He’d even tried to be tactful.
“Claudia,” he captured her prowling hands. “It’s very late, and I’m exhausted. I have to be up early tomorrow. You are…delightful but not tonight.”
“What do you mean, ‘not tonight’? Since when have you been too tired for pleasure? Even if it is late, we could do something quick to help you get to sleep in a few minutes, humm?” She tried to wriggle her hands free.
“No, I’m sorry.”
“I’m sure you can…” He tightened his hold on her fingers. “Ouch!”
He watched the understanding of the finality of his answer grow in her face. Fast on its heels came rage. “Why you miserable bastard! It’s that colonial whore, isn’t it? I’ll make you regret ever having…Agh!” She cringed under the crushing pressure on her hands.
“If…you…cause…a…scene, now or later, I will cause you to regret it like nothing you have regretted in your entire life. I will not be coerced. Do you understand?”
She nodded. Pain stilled her voice, but he could read the fear in her eyes. The pressure on her hands decreased, but he didn’t release her.
His voice softened. He knew that if Claudia left with vengeance on her mind, anything could and would happen. “My dear, I’m tired. Bone tired. I couldn’t do you justice, and you are a demanding taskmistress in certain situations.” He glanced meaningfully at the bed and lightly touched her cheek. “I’m afraid the army is my only mistress at the moment. You understand, don’t you?”
“I don’t like it,” she pouted, “but I do understand.”
“Thank you, I knew you would.” He opened the door and checked the hallway. “It’s clear. Good night.”
He closed the door behind her, thinking how inane his excuses had sounded. However, they worked and that’s what counted.
He’d felt very virtuous that night. Now he just felt like a fool.
**
“That’s right, m’um. ‘Aul ‘im back when ‘e trots off like that.” Thomson watched her perform the maneuver. “Good, good.”
Deborah looked up from her efforts and grinned. As she did, Marshall approached. “Oh, look!” She waved. “The Colonel is back.” He didn’t return the salute, and she cocked her head, wondering if he was all right. Drawing near, she saw his black expression. “Something is terribly wrong,” she whispered to Thomson.
“Aye, ‘is lordship’s got a bee in ‘is bonnet fer sure.”
She snickered at his sarcastic title and walked over to Marshall. Thomson followed a bit more slowly, but Scamp yipped and tugged at the leash. What he lacked in good dog manners he made up for with enthusiasm.
“Colonel, how did your mission go?”
“Sir!” Thomson saluted.
Marshall reined in his horse. For a moment, he sat motionless, looking down at them. “Mr. Thomson, don’t you have duties? If you don’t have a work detail, I’m sure I can find something for you to do.”
Deborah, who had been lifting her hand to pet the horse, stiffened. The cold, clipped tone shocked her. Mr. Thomson didn’t have anything to do at the moment. Marshall had never been petty or vicious in her presence; hard, demanding, yes, but not this despicable arrogance. Vaguely, she heard Thomson’s “Yes, sir” and felt, rather than saw, his retreat.
Stepping back, she lowered her hand. She looked up at his face, his smug, domineering face. His British face. With that, she remembered how she got here and why she was still here. He’s British, she admonished herself.
Scamp tugged at the leash, claws scraping in the dirt for purchase. “Sit, Scamp.” She jerked the leash with more force than necessary and immediately regretted it. Scamp hadn’t done anything wrong. He couldn’t understand that one of his friends was being cruel to another of his friends. She petted him to make amends. “Good boy.” A tail wag told her she was forgiven.
The man on horseback continued to loom. She looked up at him again. “Good day to you, Colonel. Scamp and I will continue our lessons as best we can without our teacher.” She turned. “Heel, Scamp.”
She went a few paces, muttering softly, “Was I really waiting for this scoundrel like he was the most precious person in the world to me?” Behind her, she heard the creak of saddle leather from a rapid dismount. Deborah knew she’d be his next target. He can’t do anything in front of his men, she thought. Veering toward the nearest bunch of soldiers, she repeated, “Heel, Scamp,” and increased her pace.
Two more steps and he caught her gently by the elbow. His grip was gentle but inextricable.
She tossed her head and stopped. Nothing but distain poured through her as she glared first at his face and then at the hand detaining her. “We have nothing else to discuss, Colonel. Please release my arm.” She looked coldly down at his hand and then up to his face, but he held firmly.
“No, Deborah, listen…”
“I didn’t give you leave to use my name. Please refrain from doing so.” I can play the grande dame when I have to, she thought. The British aren’t the only ones.
He ground his teeth and shook his head as if to clear it. “Mistre
ss Morgan, I need to talk to you.”
Eyes flashing, she snapped, “The only thing I wish to hear from you is that you’re not going to prevent me from going home!” Staring off into the distance, she spotted a very interested, and not too far distant, trio of men. Her back straightened at the eavesdroppers.
Marshall caught her inattention and the reason for it. “Let’s go somewhere we don’t have a significant number of God’s children for company.”
“You realize that there is some debate in certain religious circles as to whether or not British soldiers are God’s children?”
He snickered.
“However,” she continued, “Without commenting on the outcome of that debate, I have no wish for an audience for this conversation.”
Marshall passed his horse off to a nearby soldier, with instructions for its care, and escorted her out of camp. The hand on her arm tightened, assuring her he would brook no resistance. They walked in silence until they were out of the sight and hearing of the interested spectators.
Leaves crunched underfoot. His pace slowed near a fallen tree trunk under a canopy of bare branches. He led her over and motioned for her to sit. For a moment, he stood before her, hands on his hips, staring at her shoes. “First, I want to apologize.”
Deborah straightened. This was the last thing she expected. When he took a deep fortifying breath, it struck her that apologizing was something very unusual and difficult for him.
“Snapping at you and Thomson was uncalled-for. I’m sorry. The only thing I can say is…I thought… he looked like he was…Hell’s teeth, I saw you two smiling at each other and touching, and I thought…I thought…” His voice faded away.
After a moment, she said quietly, “Mr. Thomson had made Scamp a collar and leash. He has some experience with dogs, and he was showing me how to begin training him. He’s a very nice person, but that’s all there was to it.”
She studied the bark on the tree trunk, and Marshall watched a cloud float behind a branch.
“Made an ass of myself, didn’t I?”
“I won’t argue the point, but I don’t think it’s fatal. Apology accepted.” Her smile had a wry twist to it.
“What’s wrong? Do I have to grovel more?”
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