“I’m sure he will,” Carver agreed.
When Major Nye heard about Lady Blade, he’d no doubt want to know why she hadn’t been captured. A beautiful French spy would be quite a feather in the spymaster’s cap.
Carver had an unmistakeable sense that he hadn’t seen the last of Lady Blade. In fact, he was certain their association had only just begun.
* * *
Juliet poured hot water down the short barrel of the flintlock pistol and swished it in a circle. She turned the pistol upside down and splashed the water on the ground, stepping out of the way of the messy mixture, which pooled in a grey, opaque puddle in the dirt. She repeated this process until she was satisfied that the barrel was clean, wiped down the cock and frizzen, and stood the pistol upside down against the wall of the barracks to dry.
She sat down on an upturned barrel and looked out over the busy garrison, the setting sun glowing burnt orange on the horizon.
The warm summer night air hovered around her, carrying the smells of roasting beef, garlic, and spices, and the sound of gravel crunching under soldiers’ boots. Crickets began to chirp, some close and some far away in the surrounding countryside. Juliet breathed in the refreshing night air and tried to push away her irritable mood.
It had only been a few hours since their return to the French garrison. She had given her report to Colonel Arnaud, and her superior had listened quietly, his sharp, commanding eyes conveying disappointment.
Arnaud had wanted the English captain to trade for one of their own prisoners. But Lady Blade had lost him. At least Arnuad had been pleased with the other information she’d brought back. Locations of English camps, estimates of artillery, cavalry, and ground troops. Captain Carver Adams had no idea just how close she’d been to him a few days before.
Juliet and her men had been observing Captain Adams’ camp for two days, watching their movements, deliveries of ammunition wagons, the English soldiers drinking and singing long into the night. She and her men had crept through the scraggly brush on the north side of the camp, at one point getting so close, they could smell the stink of them on the wind.
And today, they’d had the bad luck of stumbling upon Captain Adams’ small band of English soldiers in the hills.
Juliet and her men were on their way back to the garrison, their mission complete. Then, the bastards had killed young Louis.
She wiped her face, keeping her head down, and pulled out the telescope that Colonel Arnaud had allowed her to keep as a reward. She opened and closed it rhythmically, staring at the polished brass until the aching pain in her heart subsided.
She would be strong. For Mama and Papa. It was the only way she could honor their memory.
This was not the life Mama would have wanted for her. Mama had wanted her duaghter to marry a scholarly man, like her father, someone who would understand Juliet’s educated mind. Marguerite LaCroix had married an Englishman, Gilford Reed, and settled with him in a small coastal town in Portugal. Juliet’s idyllic childhood had been filled with artists, poets, and musicians. Under her father’s tutelage, Juliet had studied several languages. She spoke perfect English, French, German, and Spanish, and could read Aristotle in Latin. She excelled in astronomy, in mathematics, philosophy and history. Now, she used all these skills in her work as a spy.
Her father had died of consumption only a year before Mama had been killed—murdered by a drunken band of English soldiers. After that, Juliet had turned against her father’s countrymen and sworn revenge upon them.
Juliet looked down at the toes of her boots, and scraped the dust off them with each sole. It made little difference in the fading light. She looked down at her stained, dirty trousers and jacket, and remembered vaguely what it felt like to wear a dress. She hadn’t worn a dress in years….
Though it was the last thing she wanted, her mind turned to the English soldier, Captain Adams. She regarded his telescope in her hands and felt the sheath that held his dagger, hanging about her waist. She was glad that she’d taken such prized possessions from an enemy soldier.
The handsome Englishman had greatly annoyed her with his comments about husbands and needlework and ballrooms. As if she had time to think about any of those trappings! Such trivial things belonged to another world—one in which she had no part and likely never would.
Yet there was something about the man that unsettled her much more than she wanted to admit. His shrewd green eyes seemed to burn through her defences to her very core. Certainly, other men had flirted with her and even proposed marriage to her before, but when Captain Adams had asked her to save him a dance, the world—and the war—had all but stopped.
Now, the man haunted her thoughts. He was incredibly attractive, to be sure—piercing green eyes, sandy blond hair, and a body well-muscled from battle. He was the type of man who radiated strength, but more than that, a palpable aura of wicked danger surrounded him.
She had no doubt that Captain Adams could handle himself quite easily in any situation that might confront him. She had to admit, she liked that about him. It was incredibly attractive to a woman such as she—one who fought alongside soldiers day in and day out, some of whom were skilled at war, and some who were not.
But he was an English soldier, and she should feel only disdain for him. Yet, the well-practiced emotion wouldn’t come. Instead, she was surprised to admit how much the Englishman kindled her womanly desire. Perhaps she’d been fighting in this war too long. It was unlike her to be affected so strongly by a good-looking man—especially when that man was an enemy soldier.
She closed the telescope with a slap against her thigh. Damn him for affecting her like this… She hoped he died of his puny leg wound.
“Juliet.”
She glanced up, startled by the nearness of a male voice in the darkening summer night.
“Etienne, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Why, will you kill me, Lady Blade?” Her comrade folded his arms across his wide chest and peered down at her. Major Etienne Ganot, the dashing French Hussar officer, had worked with her on many exploring missions behind enemy lines.
Etienne rested his weight on one foot and used the other to idly move the dirt around on the ground in front of him. “So, what did Colonel Arnaud say about losing your English prisoner?”
Juliet met Etienne’s mocking blue eyes. “He was disappointed, of course, but more than happy with the information that I brought him, Major.”
“Oh, Major, is it, now?” Etienne chuckled. “You must be very displeased with me about something. And after all we’ve meant to each other.”
“We’ve meant something to each other?” She was tired of Etienne’s silly games. She looked over his head at the purple skyline.
“Oh, now you’ve wounded me. My heart is broken,” he drawled.
“You have a heart?” Juliet asked. “When did you make that discovery?”
“Juliet, darling—is that any way to speak to your future husband?” he asked, raising a brow. “Not that it matters. Love is not a necessary ingredient to a successful marriage. In fact, most marriages do better without it.”
Juliet gave a brittle smile. “Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? I have already refused several proposals from you.”
“I know, but I choose to ignore such statements,” he answered. “I need a strong woman to give me sons, Juliet. I can think of no other woman more suited to be my wife than you. And there is no other man more suited to be your husband than me. You see how simple it is?” He stood up, shaking the dust from his jacket. “After the war, we shall return to my chateau in the Loire Valley and begin our lives anew. And we will be very happy together.”
Juliet shook her head. “I do not wish to be anyone’s wife, Etienne.”
He shrugged, unperturbed. “Whatever you say. Just remember, when the war is over and you have nowhere to go, and no way of supporting yourself, my offer might seem much more attractive.”
Juliet watched with irr
itation as Etienne returned to his tent. She could never marry a man like him, for even though they had been on many dangerous missions together behind enemy lines, the fact remained that he didn’t know the first thing about her.
That was how she preferred things. She had erected an impenetrable wall around her heart after her mother’s death, and it had protected her quite well.
Until she’d briefly taken Captain Adams as her prisoner.
No one had been more shocked than Juliet when her carefully constructed walls had no effect on him.
Perhaps it was simply bad timing—she’d been exhausted from three days of gathering intelligence out in the field. Yet, she’d been through worse in this war, and her defences always stood strong. Why had they weakened in the presence of one handsome Englishman?
Lady Blade could not afford to be weak—not now, not ever.
Damn that bastard.
Chapter 3
Damn that bastard.
Carver grit his teeth as the surgeon pulled the needle through the outer layers of skin and drew the thread taught. His thigh throbbed from the pain, and Dr. Farris’s stitchery was adding insult to injury. It had taken the white-haired doctor long enough to see him, and when Farris had begun, it seemed he’d used the dullest needle and the thickest thread in the whole of the British army.
There had been another skirmish with the French to the south of the camp that afternoon, and a few of the British infantrymen had been seriously wounded. Carver silently admonished himself for being so selfish. There were many other men who hadn’t been as lucky as he had today. It was just the pain making him irritable.
Dr. Farris tied the knot and wiped his bloody hands on a towel, which was stained a rusty brown from the blood of so many others.
“There ye be, son, as good as new, though ye almost ruined me stitchin’ from Almeida.” The little man winked at him and pointed at the flap of the tent. “Now get out an’ tell the next one to move his arse in ’ere.”
Carver sat up and painfully swung his legs off the wooden table. The tent flap opened and he looked up to see Dr. Farris’s daughter, Susanna, duck in carrying a heavy load of newly washed linens.
Wisps of her ginger-colored hair fell out of her bun as usual, and her pale blue eyes looked tired, but she favored Carver with a quick, bright smile that lit up the plainness of her face and made her pretty.
She had been working as her father’s nurse for a little over a year since her mother’s death back in Yorkshire, and though she was one of the only eligible females in the camp, the soldiers left her alone. On more than one occasion, Dr. Farris threatened to sew up any man the wrong way if they were caught dallying with his daughter.
“Ye all right, Captain Adams?” Susanna asked, setting the linens down on the supply table and bustling over to him, her face frowning with concern. “Me father sew ye up nice, did he? Ye knows I makes smaller stitches than he, on account o’ me little fingers. Ye should wait for me next time, Captain. I’ll take better care o’ ye.”
“Quiet, girl!” Dr. Farris shouted. “I’ll have no such talk from me own daughter, nor from me nurse. Now ’elp the captain out the door and get the next lad in here. Ye can sew him up if it makes ye feel better.”
Susanna put Carver’s arm around her shoulders and helped him to the doorway. “Ye come back tomorrow, Captain Adams, an’ I’ll change the bandage.”
“Thank you, Susanna,” Carver said. He hobbled toward the open tent flap and called out to the waiting soldiers, “Who’s next to be stitched up? Step lively, lads—the longer you wait, the duller the needle gets.”
The old doctor chuckled. “Are ye tryin’ to ruin me business, Captain? And ye, one of me best customers.”
“So true, Doctor, so true.” Carver said. He limped outside into the darkening summer night, and watched the next wounded soldier hop on one foot into the surgical tent.
“Captain Adams,” Lieutenant Pitt shouted, trotting across the grass toward Carver. “Leg doing better, sir?”
“I’m fine, Pitt,” Carver said, trying to ignore the ache in his thigh. “I’ll be back in battle before you know it.”
“Good to hear, sir. Because Major Nye wants to see you on a matter of some importance.”
“You told him about our run-in with Lady Blade?” Carver asked.
“I did, sir,” Pitt confirmed. They walked slowly toward the major’s tent near the middle of camp.
“What did he say?”
“You were right—he was very much intrigued. But he has some questions for you.”
In a few moments, they were inside the spymaster’s tent.
“Captain Adams,” the major said, rising from his desk. He offered his hand. “May I congratulate you on your victory today.”
“Forgive me, Major,” Carver began, “But it’s Sergeant Hackett who deserves the congratulations. He is the one who returned with the rescue party to liberate me from the French.”
Major Nye’s eyes sparked with interest. “Yes, the little French band you encountered…tell me more about them. Lieutenant Pitt tells me you were briefly taken captive by the notorious spy, Lady Blade, herself. Is that true?”
“It is, sir,” Carver replied. “At least, she said that was her name.”
Major Nye looked impressed. “Even among my vast connections, there are many who thought she was simply a folk legend. But it seems Lady Blade is as real as you and me. Did she wear a French uniform?”
“She did, sir.”
“That’s very smart of her,” Nye said. “Though the French army doesn’t officially allow women in their ranks, there is an accepted rule that we all follow. If you are wearing a military uniform, you cannot be accused of spying. I must say, it’s always worked out well for me, personally. Now, tell me about the skirmish.”
Carver relayed the details to the major. When he got to the part about losing Wellington’s telescope, Major Nye frowned uncomfortably.
“Yes, about that. Unfortunately, it was not just any telescope, Captain. It was a gift intended for Wellington from one of our informants. It contains sensitive documents hidden inside, regarding French troop numbers and movements for their next offensive. I’m afraid there’s nothing for it but to go after her and try to recover the telescope…and Lady Blade, as well.”
“Lady Blade, sir?” Carver asked. “She’s most likely inside the French garrison at Algora.”
Major Nye gave a nod. “Exactly. But you won’t let that stop you, eh, Adams?”
Carver fought to hold his tongue. He was being sent on a fool’s mission. It would be almost impossible to get Lady Blade out of the fort. However, she might be gone by the time he and his men reached it.
Even if he and his men were successful and recaptured Lady Blade, the beautiful spy would be a distraction to him and a threat to his mission. Carver knew he would regret crossing paths with her. For though his soldier’s instincts balked at this mission, the red-blooded man in him was chomping at the bit to see her again.
Bloody hell.
Carver’s jaw set in a hard line. “When do I leave, sir?”
“As soon as possible,” the major replied. “What does Dr. Farris say about your leg?”
“It’ll be better in a few days. But I’d be ready to leave tomorrow, if necessary.”
“I don’t blame you for losing Lady Blade, Carver,” Nye said. “You were wounded and outnumbered. Couldn’t be helped. But these events could affect Wellington’s entire campaign. If the French were to gain this information, the war could take a turn for the worse.”
Carver swore under his breath. If only Lady Blade hadn’t taken the telescope from him. He was beginning to regret that he’d ever met her. Yet another part of him knew that was a lie.
Nye continued, “You and your men are the only ones hereabouts who can identify her. I can’t send anyone else. And even if I could, I wouldn’t trust them to successfully execute this mission.”
“Any idea how we’re going to get into the garrison
?” Carver asked.
“None at all,” Major Nye said, easily. “We’ll have a bit of brandy and work it out, eh?”
As Carver joined him at the table, his thoughts turned to Lady Blade, and the expression that would be on her face when she saw him once more.
Chapter 4
Juliet closed the telescope and sheathed it in her belt. Raising her hand, she shaded her eyes and carefully scanned the valley below.
The sharp cry of a hawk echoed across the Spanish hills as the bird rose high in the air, looking for food. Nothing else in the valley moved except the hot wind and the leaves on the trees.
“Any English down there?” Etienne asked as his black stallion impatiently tossed its head.
“Not that I can see, and the redcoats aren’t very good at hiding.”
“No Grasshoppers?” he said. That was the French nickname for the British Riflemen. The dark green jackets they wore and their habit of lying low and then hopping up to surprise their enemies made them seem like quick, deadly insects.
“None,” Juliet stated. “You aren’t afraid of a few English Riflemen are you, Major?”
He feigned injury. “Me? Most certainly not. I eat Grasshoppers as a delicacy. Now, if we can avoid the Partisans, we’ll be able to cross the valley and reach the rendezvous point by morning.”
Juliet turned her sure-footed gray stallion, Basilio, toward the slope and began the descent into the hot, dry valley. Etienne followed behind her, his horse communicating with hers in whinnies and neighs. Their horses were two of the fastest in the whole French army, corn-fed and far superior to the average cavalry horse.
The valley was quiet, except for the sounds of their horses’ hooves thudding on the dry grass, birds chirping in the surrounding trees, the clink and jingle of bits and bridles, and the creak of the saddles. It gave a false sense of peacefulness, and Juliet was tempted to close her eyes and pretend that the fleeting tranquillity was real.
The Duke's Defiant Bride (Brides of Mayfair Book 4) Page 3
