by Tracy Grant
Chapter Two
This was play-acting, Caroline told herself, and Emily's life and her own might depend on it. There was no room for fear or rancor or, God help her, passion. Adam was holding her crudely, an arrogant officer fondling his peasant mistress, and his rough grip was nothing like the skillful touch which had once sent her senses spinning. Caroline did not want to look into his eyes, but she knew she must if she was to make the charade convincing. As his hands moved to the neck of her gown, she raised her head and looked him full in the face.
His gaze was as cold and impersonal as his touch, but as she met his eyes his expression altered. His hands stilled, clenching convulsively on the fabric of her dress, and an emotion somewhere between pain and longing flickered across his face. For a moment he stared down at her. Then, very slowly, he lifted one hand and traced the line of her jaw. His fingers were rough and callused, but his touch was startlingly gentle. Caroline tilted her head, pressing her face against his hand.
Another volley of shots, rising above the tumult in the street outside, shattered the moment. Adam jerked her to him, his hand sliding inside her gown to close on her breast. Caroline gasped at the intimacy of his touch. Then the door was flung open with a crack that sounded as if it had shattered both hinges. Her face pressed against the soft cambric of Adam's shirt, Caroline could see nothing, but she heard a coarse laugh and an exclamation in French, though the words were not anything her governess had taught her.
"I believe it is customary," said Adam, in withering, perfectly accented French, "to knock before entering the presence of a superior officer."
There was a sharp, astonished gasp, followed by a moment of silence and then by a cautious, questioning, "Sir?"
"I," Adam informed the intruder, in tones that dripped with icy contempt, "am Captain St. Juste of the Lancers. May I ask who you are?"
"Laclos, sir, of the Guard. Ah—"
"Here now, what's the trouble?" demanded a second voice, louder, rougher, and accompanied by heavy footsteps.
"He says he's a captain," Laclos explained. "Captain St. Juste, of the Lancers."
"Oh, he does, does he?" The door was slammed shut, muffling the chaos in the street. "And might I ask what you happen to be doing out of uniform—sir?" the second man added in a tone which made it more an insult than an expression of respect.
Adam's hands slid to Caroline's shoulders in a grip that was solid and strangely reassuring. "There is some military business which is best conducted out of uniform. I am sure I do not need to elaborate."
Laclos drew in his breath, but his companion chuckled and Caroline did not find the sound pleasant. "What business would that be, Captain?" the second man inquired. "Investigating the local harlots, perhaps?"
"Gazin," Laclos muttered, plainly uncomfortable, "perhaps we should—"
"Shut up," Gazin barked. "Who's the wench?" he demanded, his voice suddenly sharp. "She doesn't look Spanish."
Adam, Caroline knew, had been hoping to keep her face hidden, but now there was no help for it. "Of course not," she said in French, turning round and indicating that the very suggestion insulted her. "I am English and I was not born in such a hovel as this."
Both the Frenchmen were taken aback. They were much as she had imagined them: Laclos no more than twenty, tall and rangy with a shock of dark hair; Gazin several years older, short and heavily built, his hair sparse but several days' growth of beard clinging to his face. Both wore patched trousers and coats of white and green, so stained and begrimed that the colors were almost indistinguishable. A battered shako sat unsteadily on Laclos's tousled hair. Gazin was bareheaded, and he held a pistol negligently in his right hand.
It was Gazin who recovered first. "Ah," he said, with evident satisfaction. "I thought as much. What about him?" he demanded, waving the pistol in Adam's direction. "Is he English, too? If you know what's good for you, you'll tell us the truth, woman."
"English?" Caroline laughed in disbelief. "You must be joking, m'sieur. Does he sound English?"
"I think," said Adam, putting a possessive arm around Caroline's waist and pulling her back to rest against him, "that I made it clear I wish to be left alone. And if you and your friends know what's good for you, you'll be gone from this village as quickly and quietly as possible. I won't hesitate to report any inappropriate conduct. General Villatte's aide, Colonel Lescaut, is a friend of mine."
Laclos shifted his weight uneasily and edged toward the door, but Gazin blocked his way. "No one's going anywhere just yet," he said, waving the pistol again. Even at this distance, Caroline could smell the harsh liquor on his breath. "Suppose the lady tells us what an Englishwoman is doing behind the lines?" he added, settling his massive shoulders against the closed door.
Caroline felt Adam's pulse quicken, but he seemed to sense that further speech from him would only antagonize Gazin. "Isn't it obvious?" she said. "Like many other military wives, I followed the drum. After my husband was killed at Burgos, I—" she glanced up at Adam, a smile playing about her lips "—I acquired another protector."
"Makes sense, Gazin," Laclos muttered. "Let's—"
No, I tell you," Gazin barked. He was looking at Adam. "Nice of you to see to the lady's comfort, Captain, but it seems a strange place for an officer to take his pleasure. Plenty of whores in Burgos or Palencia, and the surroundings are a damn' sight more agreeable."
"A point," Adam conceded. "But this one has—shall we say—quite exceptional talents."
"Does she?" Gazin's eyes roamed over Caroline in a way that made the worn merino of her dress seem scant protection. The noise from the street had not abated and Caroline tried not to think about what might be happening to Adela and the children. She wondered how much Emily was able to hear. Mercifully, she did not understand French, but the tone of the voices would be enough to terrify her. Thank God for Hawkins.
"Not," said Adam, his tone venomous once again, "that it is the least concern of yours. I believe I told you to get out. I believe I also mentioned that Colonel Lescaut is a friend of mine."
"Gazin," Laclos said, gripping his friend's arm.
"Quiet, you damn' fool. He can talk all he wants about his rank—of which we've no proof—and his fine friends and his mysterious special mission, but I fancy his superior officer wouldn't be any too pleased to learn he'd been haring about out of uniform, just to visit his lady friend."
"But Colonel Lescaut—"
"Damn Colonel Lescaut. Damn them all." Gazin spat onto the mud floor with contempt. "Those fool officers drag us to this God-forsaken country and can't even keep us properly fed. The least this one can do is share his whore with us."
It happened so suddenly that Caroline scarcely had time to be frightened. Gazin moved forward, his eyes fixed greedily upon her, and the next thing she knew Adam had thrust her behind him and lunged at the Frenchman. In one swift, economical movement the pistol was sent flying and Gazin wasknocked backward.
Adam knew he had only a few seconds' respite. There was no time to reach for the pistol, no time to glance back at Caroline, no time to see if Laclos meant to come to his friend's aid. Gazin staggered against the door, recovered his balance, and struck out with unbridled fury.
Gazin was a skilled fighter and surprisingly light on his feet for a man of his size. His pent-up and very understandable fury at years of brutal fighting, harsh living, and scant food informed his every move. Adam recovered from a blow to his side and ducked beneath Gazin's arm in time to avoid being pinned against the table. His eyes fixed on his opponent, he heard Hawkins rush into the room.
Trying to maneuver Gazin into a more favorable position, Adam backed toward the firepit. He heard a grunt of pain from Laclos, followed by the sound of a boot colliding with metal. The pistol skidded across the floor and came to rest near the smoldering remnants of the fire, not three feet from Adam. Even as Adam measured the distance, Gazin saw it too and hurled himself forward.
Adam seized the opening with relief. He had Gazin just where he wanted hi
m. He grasped Gazin's shoulder and delivered a blow to his jaw that knocked him off his feet. Cursing fluently, Gazin fell to the floor, his head hitting one of the stones that ringed the fire, just as Adam had intended.
Gazin lay still, eyes closed, his breathing slow and shallow. Adam watched him for a moment, then, satisfied that his opponent had lost consciousness, turned to retrieve the pistol. But as he moved, he felt a sudden, searing pain between his ribs. Gazin had lunged upward and jabbed a knife into his side.
The pain could not be avoided forever but it could be held at bay until the essentials were taken care of. Adam seized hold of Gazin's wrist and jerked the knife free, then twisted sharply, throwing Gazin off balance. With a surprised cry, Gazin fell backward again, but this time he caught himself on one hand and made a lightning-quick dive for the gun.
Adam had not expected it. His reflexes were slowed and his back was to the gun and Gazin would probably have been able to beat him to the weapon. But when Adam spun around, he saw that Gazin had frozen, one hand stretched out on the dirt where the gun had been lying moments before. Caroline was standing in the shadows on the far side of the fire, the pistol held in both hands.
The sudden quiet told Adam that Hawkins and Laclos had ceased fighting as well. "Put the knife down, m'sieur," Carline said quietly. "Then get out of my house. You and your friend."
Gazin gave a contemptuous laugh which ended abruptly as Caroline's finger tightened on the trigger. For the first time Adam saw real fear in the man's eyes. A soldier knew all too well what damage a well-placed bullet could do. Gazin dropped the knife and scrambled to his feet. Then, his eyes fixed on Caroline, he began to back toward the door, the thud of his footsteps the only sound in the room. When he reached the door he looked at Adam. "You're a lucky man, Captain. Pity you can't always have your woman about to save you."
Adam made no response. Now that the immediate need for action had ceased he felt the familiar nausea which always gripped him in the wake of a fight. Gazin cast a final look at Caroline, a mixture of anger, apprehension, and lust. Then he pulled open the door and backed into the noisy street.
When the door had closed behind Gazin, Adam looked across the room at Laclos who was standing very still, his shako knocked from his head, his eyes wide with alarm. The quiet in the room was broken by Hawkins, who was covered with dust but otherwise appeared to have come through the skirmish unscathed. He picked up the shako and handed it to Laclos. "You heard the lady. Get out."
As if released from paralysis, Laclos seized the shako and hurried to the door. "Just a minute," Adam said as Laclos fumbled with the latch.' "How many of you are there?"
Laclos regarded him with evident alarm. "Fifteen, sir." He hesitated, as if debating whether to plead for clemency, then glanced back at the gun and bolted from the room.
As the door banged shut, Adam drew a breath. Relieved to find that the pain had receded somewhat, he turned back to Caroline. Her eyes were wary but composed and the hands that held the pistol were steady. There was no sign of the panic or shock that she would once have displayed at such a situation. Adam felt a stab of regret for the loss of the joyous, unthinking girl she had been, and at the same time realized that the changes the past five years had wrought in Caroline were not all for the worse.
"I may well owe you my life," Adam said. "'Thank you' seems quite inadequate, but there's no time to say more. If I judge Gazin rightly, he'll round up some friends and come back for revenge. Besides, if the rest of the patrol are anything like him, I don't care to think of the villagers being at their mercy. It's time Captain St. Juste had a word with their commanding officer."
Caroline, who had barely had time to realize that the danger was past, felt a moment of alarm. No foraging parties had visited Acquera since she and Emily had arrived, but Adela had given her a vivid picture of the horrors to be faced. She stepped forward. "You can't go anywhere until that wound is bandaged." The wound was on Adam's right side, away from the light of the window, and it was difficult to judge the extent of the damage.
"It's only a scratch," Adam assured her. "Believe me, I've been wounded enough times to know what's serious and what isn't. If you can spare me a cloth of some sort I shall do very well. Then you'd better get Emily. The two of you will have to come with us, it won't be safe in the cottage. Hawkins, have a look at the street and see how the land lies."
Once again gripped by the calm that had sustained her through the scene with the French soldiers, Caroline took a towel from the chest in the corner which held her few dishes. She gave it to Adam and set the gun down on the table, then hurried into the back room. Emily was sitting on the pallet where she slept, arms clasped about her knees, eyes fixed on the door. At Caroline's entrance she ran forward and hugged her mother's legs.
"It's all right, querida," Caroline said, stroking her daughter's hair. "There are French soldiers in the village, but Mr. Durward has a plan to make us safe. You can help by being very quiet, no matter what he says."
Emily nodded. She had, Caroline feared, a quite unwarranted faith in her mother's ability to protect her.
By the time they returned to the outer room, Adam was standing near the door conferring with Hawkins. He must have contrived a bandage, for the cloth was gone, but his coat, which he had put on again, concealed the wound. "Hawkins and I will walk on either side of you," he told Caroline. "I don't anticipate trouble." He looked down at Emily and smiled. "Quite an adventure, isn't it? A lot of grown men acting like foolish boys."
An answering smile lit Emily's dark eyes. Caroline moved forward and lifted Emily into her arms, breaking the contact between Adam and her daughter. If Adam noticed her abrupt intervention he gave no sign of it. He opened the door and glanced out, then nodded and walked into the street. Holding tightly to Emily, Caroline moved after him.
Bright light and rapid movement assaulted her senses. The air was thick with the sound of French voices bawling orders and Spanish voices protesting, with the smell of gunpowder and spilt wine. Dust flew in her eyes and filled her nostrils. Emily's arms tightened convulsively about her neck. Caroline gathered her closer, one hand behind her head, as if she could shield Emily from the scene round them. Every instinct screamed that they should run away, not walk into this chaos.
There was a sudden firm touch at her waist. Caroline realized Adam had put an arm around her. "Steady," he said, guiding her forward. "It looks worse than it is."
The pressure of his arm was solid and reassuring, but his hand felt hot, almost feverish. Caroline looked quickly at him, wondering if the wound was causing him more trouble than he had admitted. Adam smiled. At that smile, Caroline felt a strange confidence surge through her. Eyes fixed straight ahead, she moved forward within the shelter of his arm, aware of Emily's trembling and the pounding of her own heart. They were engulfed by noise and confusion. The sound of footsteps, the neighing of horses, and the crash of heavy objects being thrown against the cobblestones blended in a nightmarish din. Frightened animals darted across the road, dark streaks of movement. Villagers stumbled by, but Caroline could scarcely recognize faces. If she let herself think about anything but putting one foot in front of the other she would lose what self-control she had left.
When they reached Adela's cottage, Caroline turned her gaze from the road. The door was shut and there was no sign of Adela and the children. It wasn't so bad, Adela had once told Caroline, describing previous raids, as long as one cooperated with the soldiers and some semblance of order remained. Of course, it was worse if one was a woman alone. Suppose another Gazin had found his way to Adela's cottage? Caroline hesitated, wanting to see if Adela was all right, but Adam urged her forward.
At last they reached the square where the street widened, merging with the courtyard of Señor Mendoza's tavern. A wagon was drawn up before the tavern, already half-filled with sacks and barrels and crates. Two soldiers were loading it with provisions that had been dumped haphazardly on the ground, and two others were wheeling more barre
ls out of the tavern door, while Señor Mendoza alternately protested and conciliated. One of the barrels had been smashed and was spilling good red wine onto the grimy cobblestones. A little farther off a thin man in the uniform of an officer stood talking to another of the soldiers. The soldier was turned away, but as they drew closer Caroline felt her blood chill and her throat tighten. It was Gazin.
"Only to be expected," Adam murmured. He gave her shoulders a slight squeeze, then strode forward with an unquestioning air of authority. "You, sir," he said, addressing the officer and ignoring Gazin. "You're in charge here?"
"That's him." Gazin rounded on Adam, his eyes filled with hatred and fury. "And that's the woman." He gestured toward Caroline. "She tried to kill me."
Caroline tightened her arms round Emily, who shrank against her. Hawkins moved closer to them.
"Captain St. Juste of the Lancers," Adam said, before the officer could ask for his credentials. "Might I know who has charge of this sorry excuse for a patrol?"
"Dumont," the officer said automatically. "Lieutenant." He was young, scarcely older than Laclos, with straw-colored hair and pale blue eyes that were not quite focused. Caroline suspected he had been sampling the contents of Señor Mendoza's cellar.
Dumont cleared his throat, as if unsure how to proceed. Adam intervened again. "Your men are out of control, Liuetenant. This one”—he gestured toward Gazin—“threatened this lady with the grossest indignities. When I tried to defend her, he drew a knife on me. And he had the impertinence to question my authority."
"I've a right to question what I can't see, haven't I?" Gazin demanded. "We've no proof he's a captain. We haven't even any proof he's a soldier."
Adam continued to look at Dumont and ignore Gazin. "Is this the way your men are accustomed to address you, Lieutenant?"
"That's enough, Gazin," Dumont said sharply. He looked back at Adam. "The fact remains, sir, that we have no proof of your identity. And the lady—I believe she is English?"
Adam was right, Caroline realized. Their only hope of victory lay in confrontation. "I never denied it," she said, walking forward. "My husband's death left me stranded here. Captain St. Juste has been kind enough to see to my comfort. I can only thank God that he happened to be with me when this monster burst into my cottage. Your men require a lesson in manners, Lieutenant."
