She looked back at Etienne. Juliet had to admit, they worked well together on their spying missions. He treated her with some form of respect, at least. The only time he had given her trouble was after he’d drunk too much brandy one night, and tried to kiss her. She’d kicked him in the crotch, and given him a black eye for his trouble.
The other officers assumed that she was Etienne’s woman, a rumor that Etienne certainly enjoyed and did nothing to dissuade. At first, Juliet had thought to put a stop to such nonsense, but grudgingly realized that it could serve her well to have such a thing taken as truth.
Though she knew Etienne was dead serious about marrying her one day, he would eventually have to accept defeat when she continued to refuse him. Though Etienne was correct in thinking himself a good catch—he came from an old, wealthy family and was incredibly handsome—he was not the man for Juliet. She doubted her true soul-mate existed. After all, what man would want a woman who wore scandalously tight breeches, rode a horse better than half the French cavalry, and was skilled at swordplay?
Basilio shook his head and stepped sideways, his ears forward, and brought her back to the present. Etienne’s horse cantered up beside her.
“Perhaps we have company, hm?” Etienne said, looking out across the empty valley.
Juliet pulled out the telescope and held it to her eye. “I don’t see anything.” She scanned the valley again, then went back to a movement in the surrounding trees. She looked and waited for something to show itself.
Then she saw them.
“British scouting party, a thousand yards!” she said as the six Redcoats bolted from the trees, their horses charging, the men yelling their battle cry.
Juliet looked over her shoulder at the steep, craggy trail far behind them. They would never make it back up there in time, and they couldn’t make it past the British advancing toward them.
“Split up!” Etienne yelled, turning his mount sharply toward the British left flank and grabbing his pistol from his belt.
Juliet mirrored his movements, heading for the right flank. She held the reins with one hand and grabbed her pistol with the other, cocking it with her thumb. She charged toward the British, opening her mouth and bellowing her own challenge.
The two outside British soldiers stopped short and quickly dismounted by the trees. They knelt down, loaded their muskets, and fired. Juliet pulled her horse right and felt the rush of the musket ball fly past her face. She looked across at Etienne, who still charged on. These were old tricks any cavalryman had used hundreds of times. She knew they could kill three enemy soldiers each. They had done it before.
The four other mounted British galloped toward them, curved sabres drawn and glinting in the sunlight. Juliet leveled her pistol at the one closest to her and fired at his chest. She was a fairly accurate shot from the saddle, and once again, the bullet found its mark. The soldier flew back off his saddle and bounced on the ground, rolling to the side and stopping in a tangle of arms and legs. Juliet galloped past him, looking down and feeling a brief swell of victory as she saw the inert body. One dead, five to go.
Another British soldier came hurtling toward her, and she yanked her horse to the left, pulling out her curved sabre to sideswipe him. The man raised a pistol and she heard the shot, and jolted forward as her horse crumpled on its knees. She hit the ground hard, rolling out of the way of the huge animal as it fell.
Dammit! Now she was trapped on the ground, and too far away from the trees to take cover there. She crouched behind the struggling animal, seeing the blood bubble in its mouth as death came to claim it.
“Lady Blade!” the officer shouted. “Lady Blade, surrender!”
The slap of recognition hit her and Juliet looked up in shock. It was the man who had haunted her thoughts—the handsome British officer, Captain Adams.
She stood, her razor-sharp, curved sabre extended in challenge. “I will not surrender, Captain Adams!” she yelled. “Fight me if you dare.”
Slowly, Adams dismounted and drew his own sabre from its scabbard. His eyes were dangerous, but he seemed reluctant to make the first move. “You should come peacefully, Miss Reed.”
“You should know by now that I never go anywhere peacefully, Captain,” she shot back, then charged him.
The clash of steel on steel rang loudly as their blades met. Adams moved back, parrying her stroke with a flash of surprise on his face. He matched her quick moves, but it was taking an effort. Still feeling his leg wound, she guessed.
She nicked his wrist and saw the blood seep over his hand. His eyes flickered shock, then anger. Captain Adams came at her with a new vengeance, and Juliet spun away from the tip of his sword as it flew past her face.
Now he understood the game.
She would not let sentimentality over her physical attraction to this man keep her from doing her duty. If she did, Lady Blade would die here today, even if Juliet lived.
Just the thought of that ignited a war of emotions within her heart…anger, fear, and raw desire co-mingled like a deadly witches’ brew. Carver Adams was the most dangerous man she’d ever met, for he had the power to destroy her carefully honed defences like no one else ever had.
Angrily, Juliet sliced the blade through the air, nearly making contact with his shoulder.
Dammit, where was Etienne?
She didn’t have time to look around for her compatriot now, but she could hear sound of his own battle with the British soldiers where he fought across the field.
She brought her sabre up again and blocked Adams’ overhead blow, then twisted to the side.
“Surrender!” Adams ordered. “I do not wish to hurt you.”
Juliet held the sabre out in challenge. She was getting tired, and so was he. Her chest heaved with every breath, and her arms ached from swinging the blade at her enemy, but she would not give up. If she died here today, under this British officer’s blade, then so be it. But she would never give up.
“I beg you to surrender, madam,” he said, again.
“Perhaps you should be the one surrendering to me,” Juliet shot back.
“I’ve already done that once, and I try never to repeat myself,” he countered, his eyes sparking with challenge. “You never know, you might enjoy such a thing.”
“Enjoy what?” she demanded.
“Surrendering to me.”
Juliet gulped at the heated insinuation, for it instantly struck a nerve in her heart. Was he aware of her secret and shameful desire for him? Even worse, was he taunting her about it?
“Stop talking and fight, you idiot.” She charged at him.
Adams blocked her attack, wincing as he was forced to put his full weight on his wounded leg. Then he surprised Juliet by rushing her and raising the sabre high over his head.
Juliet sidestepped him, but Adams quickly repeated the move, the force of the blow jarring her arms and shoulders. She tried to bring the blade up to strike back but Adams parried and knocked the sabre out of her hand. Juliet fell back with the force of the swing and hit the ground, hard. She tried to get to her feet but the tip of his blade was suddenly at her throat, not touching it, but hovering a half-inch away.
She waited, panting.
Would he deliver the killing blow?
Juliet slowly raised her eyes to his, and what she saw there seemed much more daunting than she imagined. His eyes blazed down at her, not with malice, but with carnal male heat. He had complete power over her, now….
She had lost this battle between them, and yet, she felt it had only just begun.
“What are you going to do with me?” she demanded.
Her words were heavy with meaning, and he didn’t seem to miss the innuendo. As if unable to help himself, the Englishman’s gaze raked over her body. “I have orders to take you back to our camp, madam,” he said, finally. “Do I have your parole?”
Parole—the agreement by a captured soldier that they wouldn’t try to escape.
A smart soldier would most lik
ely offer parole. But Juliet knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it. The soldier in her want to escape, and the red-blooded woman in her would be desperate to as well. Captain Adams had already proven himself a very dangerous man, whose powerful sexual aura had all but turned Juliet’s world upside down.
“No, Captain,” she said, finally. “No parole.”
He growled angrily, shaking his head. “I do not understand you, madam. You seem to enjoy making things as difficult as you can. No parole, then. Hackett, get her on her feet, and bind her hands behind her back.”
Another soldier approached and took hold of her arms, bringing her to a standing position while Adams kept the sabre pointed at her. He reached out with his hand toward the belt of her breeches. She inhaled a sharp breath.
Did he mean to undress her here, in front of his men?
But Juliet’s fears were unfounded. Captain Adams merely eased the telescope from her belt. But there was something taunting about the masculine gleam in his eye.
“I thank you for taking such good care of my telescope,” he said. “And my dagger, too, I see.”
Again he reached out toward her waist, and Juliet had to bite her lip in order to fight the heated images in her mind, for she realized that she wanted him to touch her. He slowly unfastened the sheath at her waist. He circled it around his own waist and buckled it, all the while holding her gaze with his piercing green eyes.
Anger boiled inside her—but it was directed more at herself than this wickedly attractive Englishman.
She mentally shook herself, and turned her thoughts to her partner, Etienne. Was he safely out of sight?
Her heart sank as she saw him, lying on the ground, not four-hundred yards away. Two British soldiers stood over him, seemingly trying to pick him up. The remaining soldier lay unmoving some six-hundred yards away, crumpled in a heap, his horse standing quietly beside him, eating grass.
Juliet felt her stomach clench as she saw Etienne’s left arm drenched in dark, crimson blood as the soldiers carried him toward her.
“Casualties, Lieutenant?” Adams questioned as his men rested Etienne on the ground. Her comrade seemed unconscious.
“I’m afraid we lost Private Smythe, sir,” Lieutenant Pitt replied, panting, his face smeared with blood from a dripping slash above his right eye. “This French major is wounded. Devil of a fighter, sir, but we have to get him back to camp.”
“Do you think he’ll live ’til then?” Adams asked.
“If we can stop the flow of blood, he may, indeed.”
Adams unfastened the red sash from around his waist and tossed it at Pitt. “Use this to bind the wound. Use your own too, if you have to.” He turned to Juliet. “What’s his name?”
“Major Etienne Ganot, 5th Imperial Hussars,” Juliet replied.
Etienne opened his eyes briefly, and she saw his pain, but the familiar strength there, too. He was one of the toughest officers she knew. He would live, if only to prove to the British that they couldn’t kill him.
Etienne closed his eyes again and groaned as the British lieutenant gingerly wrapped the sash around his wounded arm. Pitt tied it in a sturdy knot, then took off his own sash and used that as well.
Etienne’s face was ashen, his breathing shallow as they heaved him onto his horse and he struggled to sit upright, his face contorted in agony. He swayed and fell forward, holding onto the horse’s neck with his right arm. The British soldiers tied him to the saddle so he wouldn’t fall off.
Sergeant Hackett approached with one of the dead soldier’s horses and gestured toward Juliet.
“The sergeant and I will help you into the saddle, madam.” Adams ordered.
Juliet met his gaze defiantly as he took hold of her upper arm and steered her to the waiting horse. Sergeant Hackett placed her foot in the stirrup and Adams’ hands closed around her waist.
As he gripped her firmly, Juliet was painfully and instantly aware of his strong hands moving and manipulating her body as he lifted her up. Why was this man’s touch so wickedly distracting to her? she wondered.
Etienne had helped her into the saddle many times before, and Juliet had never reacted to her partner’s touch like this. It didn’t make any sense! Angrily, she swung her other leg over the horse’s back and settled into the saddle. She would be damned if she gave them any satisfaction by struggling and causing herself needless injury.
The remaining British soldiers mounted their horses and waited for Captain Adams to lead them out of the valley.
Adams tied the reins of Juliet’s horse to his saddle, while Lieutenant Pitt led Etienne’s mount. Another soldier led the horse that carried the slumped dead bodies of the two British men that Juliet and Etienne had killed.
She turned to take a last look at her own gray stallion lying dead on the blood-stained grass. Basilio had been a gift from Colonel Arnaud as a reward for completing an important mission. Juliet turned her head to the front, refusing to become sentimental over the death of an animal. But the heavy feeling in her gut told her she was going to miss her trusted mount much more than she wanted to admit.
She stared at the back of Captain Adams’ head, wishing that her glare could bore holes through his skull. She would escape from this man. She did not yet know how, but she would find an opportunity when they reached the camp.
There was no mistaking it now—there was an undeniable heat between her and the handsome English Captain. She would find a way to use the attraction to her advantage. And though he had managed to capture Lady Blade, he was, after all, only a man.
Juliet would use her feminine wiles to lure Adams into a dangerous trap…and when he was at his weakest, she would flee.
Chapter 5
Damn the woman! Carver thought to himself as they rode through the valley back to camp.
Lady Blade had lived up to her reputation, fighting like a tiger. She was a formidable opponent, small and quick, always dashing out of the way of her enemy’s blows, and swinging the sabre like a seasoned veteran.
The little spy was as dangerous as she was beautiful.
He glanced at the slumped form of the French major and hoped the man would live, so that they could question him as well. If Dr. Farris was able to mend him, they’d trade him back to the French for one of their own British officers of equal rank.
He looked back at Lady Blade for a moment. She rode the horse well, even with her hands tied behind her back, and he remembered her superior horsemanship on the magnificent gray stallion.
Her gaze met his.
Even though she was now a prisoner, her fiery blue eyes challenged him.
Soon, they reached the British camp. As Carver’s men rode through, the soldiers hooted and whistled as they saw the fierce, beautiful woman dressed in a French cavalry uniform, her hands bound.
“Quiet!” Carver commanded, glaring at the soldiers who leered up at the stunning French spy. “I will have quiet as I escort my prisoners!”
A hush fell over the camp as the procession moved down the long line of small canvas tents, their flaps billowing in the wind, some men poking their heads out of their quarters to see what all the fuss was about.
Soon, they reached Dr. Farris’ tent, which was busy with the usual number of sick and injured men. The less serious cases sat around outside, clutching small, bloody wounds, sharing a pipe or a drink until their turn was called. They looked up with interest at Carver and his men, stopping to take a second look at the beautiful female prisoner.
He halted his horse and dismounted, his other men following suit. A young private led his horse away, while Carver turned his attention to the wounded major.
“Pitt, Hackett, get him down and inside to Dr. Farris, quickly,” Carver ordered. He reached up to assist Lady Blade. She swung her leg over the top of the horse’s back and he eased her down. With her feet on the ground, she stepped away from him, watching Carver’s men lift Major Ganot off the horse.
“If he is to die, Captain,” she began, “I want to be wit
h him. He will not die alone in an English tent. Surely, you would grant him that courtesy.”
Carver studied her. Was she trying to arrange an opportunity for escape?
“I will see what I can do, but no promises. Besides, our doctor is very good. If he can be saved, Dr. Farris will find a way. That’s him, there.”
Carver watched Dr. Farris poke his head out of the tent and glance at the wounded Frenchman on the ground. He waved them in, and the soldiers lifted the unconscious officer and carried him into the tent.
Susanna came hurrying out, her canvas apron bloody, her hair falling in dishevelled wisps around her face. She scurried over to Carver, stopping and wiping the sheen of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.
“We’re going to need more brandy, Captain, for the Frenchman. ’Ave ye got any?” Her eyes went briefly to Lady Blade, then back to Carver.
Carver shook his head. “Ask Major Nye.”
Susanna nodded and hurried down the line of white canvas tents, her skirts kicking up around her heels, and disappeared out of sight.
He turned to Juliet and motioned for her to walk with him. His men followed close behind in escort.
There was no sound but the crunching of their boots on the dirt as they walked to the spymaster’s tent. The curious soldiers stared at Carver’s prisoner, and although his fierce glare kept them quiet, he could feel malice thicken the air like smoke from an artillery gun.
The sight of such a beautiful woman would undoubtedly make their blood boil with thoughts of lust. It was going to be quite a job protecting her from them, and protecting them from her.
And, truth be told, protecting these men from Carver, himself. Though he knew how dangerous such a sentiment was, he could not shake the feeling that Lady Blade was now, somehow, his. And he would be damned if he would let any of these letches near her.
Finally, they stopped next to a small tent in the middle of the line. It stood next to Carver’s own.
“This will serve as the prisoner’s tent,” Carver said. “We will post a twenty-four-hour guard here to watch her, rotating the shifts. Please see to it, Lieutenant.”
The Duke's Defiant Bride (Brides of Mayfair Book 4) Page 4
