She remembered to rub more dirt into her skin before gathering up her laundry and rising from the riverbank. It would protect her complexion, and with any luck discourage most of the leering men. She also rubbed her throbbing back, trying to ease the stitch that had formed in her side, and turned to seek her bivouac once more.
As Vevina ambled back to the tents along the quiet riverbank, she began to feel her spirits lift. Perhaps it was just the prospect of Christmas, and then New Year’s which cheered her. Her very skin seemed to sing with the sensation that her family's luck was finally about to change.
Suddenly she felt rough hands grab her from behind. Sergeant Hawkes stepped in front of her menacingly, his piggy eyes glinting in delight. He boldly began to fondle her breasts under the thin covering of her shirt. The smell of garlic, sweat and foul rotting teeth choked her.
“Well, now, too good for the likes of us, are we? We’ll see about that when it comes time to discipline the men today. You give me a bit of what I’m after, and I’ll look the other way when that useless ‘usband of youren makes another stupid mistake. But if you don’t, I swear you’ll be tied to a cripple by the time they finish floggin’ ‘im,” the odious man threatened.
Panic welled up inside Vevina. She didn’t want Wilfred to be victimized by this petty tyrant yet again. But she certainly couldn’t bring herself to submit to him, and his even more foul-smelling comrade now pinning her arms behind her back.
She tried to quell her rising nausea as she managed to rasp out, “You’re choking me! How can I give you an answer, if you don’t treat me proper?”
Vevina forced herself to give what she hoped looked like an enticing smile while her mind raced in desperation. Apparently her gritted teeth worked well enough to convince the sergeant that he had won.
At a nod from Hawkes, the man behind her relaxed his hold. It was just long enough for Vevina to stamp on his foot hard with the heel of her boot. She then elbowed him violently in his gut.
A split second later she was tearing away off into the woods, leaving Hawkes cursing but following hard behind. The earth shook beneath her with his pounding footfalls.
Fleet as a deer, Vevina swerved and ducked as she ran deeper into the shelter of the trees, but every pine needle or cone that crackled or crunched underfoot betrayed her course. She scanned her knowledge of the area as she fled; hardly daring to breathe for fear it might slow her down.
The windswept trees along this stretch of the encampment were too short to climb, too bare to conceal her. She knew there was only sparse scrub on the eastern side of the camp, and she didn’t rate her chances on open ground.
Vevina tried to double back towards the tents, longing for the safety of the campsite and the other women. Suddenly she stumbled, falling hard against the jagged tree roots with a yelp of anguish.
Hawkes thudded toward her in five long strides while she struggled to drag herself up out of the dirt. He snatched at Vevina and dragged her backwards by her hair.
“Got you now, damn you, and I’m going to have you,” he sneered, as he forced her down onto the ground and smashed his fist into her jaw.
She could feel herself beginning to black out, and shouted, “Help me!” before he silenced her with a knife to her throat.
“One more word, Missy, and you’ll be the latest victim of a French skirmisher, understand?” For effect, he ran the thin blade across her shoulder.
Vevina could feel warm blood trickling down her chest. God, I’m going to die, she thought. She called out one last time and struggled furiously. Her blouse shredded in her assailant’s hands.
At his eyes widening wth lust, she let out a growl of outrage and fought even harder. She got another blinding fist in her face, then Hawkes pounced.
She waited an agonizing moment for the dagger to fall. Suddenly the oppressive weight was plucked off her struggling form. She could hear the sounds of two men fighting.
She looked up desperately through her curtain of auburn hair and the encroaching darkness which dimmed her vision. Certain that it was not her brother Wilfred protecting her honor, she tried to crawl away. The blood ran down her chest almost to her waist, and her head throbbed wildly as her jaw began to swell. The smell began to suffocate her, metal and rust and human mortality.
Vevina felt herself caught from behind, and made a last attempt to escape. "No!" she cried as she felt hands upon her body once more.
Arms of steel pinned her to an unyielding chest decorated with black facings and fine gold braid. A cultured voice soothed, “It’s all right, Miss. You’re safe now.”
Her hair was pushed back from her face gently, and the man’s arms tightened around her as he stared into her violet eyes for what seemed an eternity. Her eyes dimming, she tried to struggle, but despite her efforts, felt herself going limp.
“Don’t worry, I’ll look after you,” Vevina heard the thrilling voice say, as she finally lost consciousness.
Chapter Two
Vevina woke many hours later with a start. Her eyes darted left and right in a panic. She peered into the darkness, then heaved a sigh of relief.
She was safe. Hawkes was nowhere to be seen.
The thick wadding on her shoulder she caught sight of when she turned her head to look around told her that someone had taken the trouble to tend to her injuries. She smelled the liniment many of the men used for bruises, and let the herbal scent take her back to her lovely home, her doting nurse and mother, who had never been too busy to tend to her many bumps and scrapes as a girl.
She gave a small sniff, and allowed herself the small luxury of stretching her full length on the comfortable straw mattress. It was such a relief after all the backbreaking work she had done as a camp follower. For just a few blissful moments she was able to forget her desperate circumstances and imagine she was back at Joyce Manor, about to be served a cup of piping hot chocolate so thick and rich she could almost stand her spoon up in it.
But the noises of the army camp soon reminded her that she was a long way from home. And chocolate like that was from another world, a lifetime ago. Someone else's life. Lady Vevina Joyce's.
She was Viv James now. She would do well to remember if she and her brother Wilfred were ever going to stay alive.
Vevina opened her eyes to her stark reality. She needed to survey her situation in a more clearheaded manner. She observed she was on a well-stuffed straw pallet, in a tent which seemed very large and, astonishingly, didn’t leak despite the light patter of rain she heard falling upon it. But how had she got there, and what had happened?
Vevina remembered Hawkes' attack. At once the memories came flooding back. She had to get back to Wilfred, make sure he was all right, cook his supper...
Judging from the darkness outside the tent, she must have been away for hours. Her brother would be panicking by now, her messmates worried.
Vevina struggled to sit up. Her head swam painfully, and her arm didn’t seem to be working very well. She fell back upon the pillow with a thud, trying to gather her reeling senses so she could make another attempt to go back to her bivouac.
She had just succeeded in staying upright long enough to try to swing her legs over the side of the cot when the flap of the tent was lifted.
She cringed as a male figure entered, and lit a candle on a small table nearby. She couldn’t see the man’s face in the shadow, but it certainly wasn't Hawkes. He was far too tall and muscular. The voice she heard was cultivated, deep and masculine.
“You’re awake. Good. I’ve brought you some broth. It’s all you’ll be able to manage until the swelling goes down. I have to admit, you gave us all a scare, my girl. You’ve lost a great deal of blood. The doctor says you’ll recover fully in time if the wound doesn’t become putrid. So we need to build you back up and help you get well.”
Vevina felt a thrill of what-desire, fear? The voice certainly seemed familiar. She knew it was that of her rescuer from the hideous Hawkes. Somewhere in the back of her memory, she
was sure she had heard it before.
Home in Ireland, perhaps? she thought with elation. She quickly subdued that emotion with a reminder that the last thing she or Wilfred needed was for someone to recognize them. If only she could see the man’s face.
But he had his back to the candles. Even when he moved closer and sat down on the mattress to cradle her head against his shoulder to help her drink the broth, she could only make out the firm jaw and straight, hawk-like nose. His jet-black hair curled softly down to his shoulders, and was tied back with a simple ebony silk ribbon. He wore no wig, and his shoulders were broad, one decorated with a golden aiguillette. He smelled wonderful, sandalwood soap and a light musky fragrance, all male.
“Here, try to eat,” he coaxed as he offered her another spoonful. “You must try to get better soon. We’ll be on the march in a few days, and you’ll need all your strength then.”
Vevina finished the last of the broth dutifully, and lay back as the cold air chilled her. It was only then she realized she was completely naked to the waist apart from her left shoulder swathed in the clean bandage which she'd taken note of earlier. She cowered away from him under the rough blankets.
“I’m sorry,” the stranger apologized. “But we had no choice. You were bleeding badly. I had to dress the wound, and your shirt seemed the handiest thing at the time. It was in shreds anyway. I do have your laundry, by the way, but it’s not yet dry. You may use one of my shirts if you wish. The chamber pot is over in that corner,” he told her, before relapsing into an embarrassed silence.
“Thank you,” Vevina whispered, though it cost her a great deal of effort. “You’ve been very kind. You have no need to feel chagrined. I wasn’t questioning your behavior or care towards me. I was only a bit cold.”
“Oh, dear,” the man murmured, as he quickly brought her a shirt, which he carefully helped her to put on. He tucked the blankets around her more snugly, and put his greatcoat over the bedclothes as well.
“There, that should warm you up a bit. How do you feel now after the food?” the elusively familiar stranger asked gently.
“Better. Am I very bad?” Vevina forced herself to inquire.
The man gave a barely perceptible nod in the dark. “It’s bad enough, but at least nothing is broken. To be frank, my dear, you’re lucky he didn’t kill you. Is he your um- well, husband, Madame?”
“No, he is my husband’s sergeant.”
“I see." He sounded relieved. "Apart from your obvious charms, why did he pick on you?”
Vevina hesitated, blushing. “He’s been victimizing my husband, Private James. We're genteelly brought up, but reduced circumstances forced Will to enlist. He is a good shot, the best, but as for cleaning, polishing, well, he’s unused to such things.”
“No doubt,” the stranger said, the contempt in his voice unmistakable.
“I do apologize,” her companion defended himself upon seeing Vevina’s quizzical look, “but it irritates me no end. I’ve seen it all before, and it sickens me. The fortune-hunting swain gets hold of the wife’s dowry, and gambles it all away. He drags himself down into poverty, wife and children with him, and usually abandons them shortly afterward.”
“How dare you!” Vevina hissed, trying to sit up.
She felt his hand on her breast under the great coat as he insisted, “Lie still, or the wound will open again. I’m sorry if I upset you, but it’s near the truth, is it not?”
“It couldn’t be further from the truth in our case,” she defended herself and Will stoutly.
“My apologies, then. But you're so lovely, I can’t help wondering how you’ve ended up in such a God-forsaken place.”
The tall stranger vanished completely into the shadows once more. She could tell from the sound of the canvas flap rising and falling that he had left the tent. She sighed in relief, glad to be alone with her swirling thoughts. Why was he taking so much trouble over her? And why did he seem so familiar? If only she could see his face….
But there was no other candle that she could see, and she was so weak she didn't dare try to get out of bed for fear of landing in an ignominious, half-naked heap on the ground.
When he returned a short time later, he brought an unopened bottle of brandy with him, and two glasses. He held one glass up questioningly.
Vevina shook her head. She had just closed her eyes again when she felt a hand reach out to stroke her cheek, and toy with one of her auburn curls.
“I feel I’ve seen you somewhere before. Where are you from?”
"London," she lied.
He shook his head. “Then I doubt we met there. Perhaps you just represent an unattainable image of loveliness from my past, back home in Ireland.”
Vevina shifted uncomfortably at the mention of her homeland. Had her accent betrayed her already?
She felt suffocated by the lie, all the deception she had been forced to resort to in order to protect herself and her brother, but what other choice did she have. It was a matter of life and death, and not just because of the war.
She was alarmed at the very thought of this kind stranger recognizing her, perhaps turning her in to the authorities.
His warm fingers stroking her skin with feather-light touches was also disturbing her breathing.
Her panic knew no bounds as the stranger lifted the candle to get a better look at her. She was too ill to run, and had no idea where she was. She wouldn't even be able to war Wilfred….
As he lifted the candle, the strange officer revealed his own features for the first time.
Her eyes locked briefly with his midnight blue orbs before she gasped and bounded out of the bed in a single movement born of sheer terror. It couldn’t be!
“Stop! Wait! You’ll kill yourself if you don’t lie down!” Vevina heard him shout.
Rock hard arms grasped her fiercely to his solid chest, forcing the breath from her lungs.
“Calm down! I promise not to hurt you! You’re married, I know! I respect that. Your husband’s been sent for, but the messenger told me Private James is on picquet duty at the moment. Please, calm yourself,” he soothed.
Vevina began to relax, convinced that she must have made a mistake, been seeing things in her confusion. This man had been nothing but kind to her…
The officer finally let her go, and placed her back down on the bed.
Vevina’s mind swirled dazedly, and for a moment she wondered if she had reopened her wound.
Her rescuer feared the same, for he pushed the shirt gently to one side and checked her dressing.
“You’re all right. It’s still closed, and the skin looks pink and fresh. But you gave me a scare. Why did you look at me like that?” he demanded.
Vevina could only shrug and turn her face away.
The persistent stranger took her chin gently in his warm fingers, and forced her to look into his incredible eyes again. Eyes which repelled, but also, oddly, attracted her in spite of her fear and loathing.
He interpreted her glance at once. “You have no need to fear now. You’re safe from Hawkes, and I have need of educated people around me. If I find your husband worthy, I’ll give you both suitable employment. And the next time the Provosts come checking for looters, I'll be sure they have Hawkes for the gallows.”
“Why are you helping me?” Vevina whispered, stunned by his warmth and gentleness, a far cry from what she had experienced the last time she had seen a similar face.
Her companion shrugged one shoulder. “Fate has caused our paths to cross. I saved your life. I’m responsible for you. You apparently need more help than simply that. I know I’ve met you somewhere before. Such beauty is fairly unforgettable, even if it is marred temporarily by dirt and a bruised jaw. My memory will come back, and then we can talk further about who you are, and how you come to be here.
"But for the present, you're in my tent, as my guest. No one, not even the king himself, will lay a finger on you while I’m here.”
The best Vevina could manage was
a tremulous, "Thank you, sir."
The tall major patted her cheek. “Now go to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. I look forward to us having that little talk.”
He brushed her forehead lightly with his lips before taking the candle away, leaving Vevina alone in the darkness with her terrifying thoughts.
It couldn't be… He knew her, but didn't recognize her yet. It couldn't be him…
But surely they had to be related…. Brothers, certainly.
Which meant he could never know the truth. She had to get away…
She struggled to get free of the covers and out of the bed for a brief moment, but the shock of seeing the Major's face had been too much for her. Merciful unconsiousness claimed her once more.
Chapter Three
Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series) Page 2
