Falconer's Heart

by Janice Bennett

  Riki nodded, her nerves racing. “When do we go?”

  Belmont shook his head. “That will depend on a great deal.” A slight smile at her eagerness just touched his lips.

  When he emerged from the British headquarters a little over an hour later, though, his expression was grim. Riki, who had waited near the horses, hurried across to meet him.

  “What is the news?”

  “You were right about the date. The assault is on for tonight.”

  Riki’s throat suddenly felt dry. “Then—”

  “I’m leaving at once. I must know if Warwick is there.”

  “And just what do you intend to do? Climb the walls or fortifications or whatever they have right along with the army?” she demanded.

  He looked down at her, his expression somber. “If I have to.”

  Riki swallowed, fighting back a wave of fear. “Then I’m going with you.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “You will do no such thing!” Belmont rounded on Riki, his expression explosive.

  “Of course I will. You think you can slip in there and kill my cousin without my knowing. I won’t stand for it!”

  “So you’ll risk your life for a traitor.”

  “We’ve been through this before.” She spoke through clenched teeth, not permitting her frustration—or fear—to show. “Gil, you don’t even know if you can do anything. Let me ride up with you. We’ll stay behind the action, wait and see what happens. You can tell whoever is in charge that it is imperative you see any prisoners. Then if the town is taken, we can enter safely and search for David.”

  A wry smile barely touched his lips. “You have a very simplified notion of how war works, my dear. Very well, if you think you can stand the sight of that much carnage, you may come with me to the British camp. But under no circumstances will you enter Badajoz!”

  “Then promise me you won’t kill David if you find him. Promise!”

  He took her hands, his expression grim. “I swear to you, if I find him alive I’ll bring him to you.”

  Riki met his unwavering regard and could only wonder at the emotions that raged behind his sparkling eyes. He had been in battle himself, taking active part, not just a mere onlooker. Was it the horrors he remembered now or that thrilling surge of adrenaline that overcame caution and made an ordinary man charge bravely toward death? And Belmont was no ordinary man.

  She dropped her gaze, feeling as if she had trespassed into the privacy of his soul. She wanted to share it but it must be at his offering. “Bring him to me,” she agreed.

  They left their baggage at Elvas and rode in silence with a lieutenant, who carried messages to Sir Thomas Picton, who was in charge of the assault. Sir Thomas had made his camp with the Third Division on the far side of Badajoz, and dusk already obscured the landscape as they worked their way around to the south toward the Albuera road. Nothing, though, not even the approaching darkness, could hide the scarred and ravaged landscape that bore its mute testimony to the heavy bombardment from the French defense. Even a river had been dammed so that it formed a vast, impassable lake.

  Riki shivered in sudden foreboding. The distant, sporadic gunfire provided the perfect musical score for the setting.

  The city looked exactly like an ancient fortress, formidable—impregnable—standing on a slight hill in the midst of flat land. Toward the eastern end, a craggy castle rose high on a towering rock, a symbol of defiance to those mere mortals who dared to breach its walls.

  In its great shadow lay the British camp, and Riki caught her breath. Trenches slashed across the fields, heavy artillery pointed at the walls. A second city seemed to spread out before her, consisting of a hodgepodge of tents, wagons and horses. Everywhere men swarmed, moving solemnly about their deadly business. Riki raised her eyes to the barren gray walls above and wondered if even that great stronghold could long endure this mustering onslaught.

  According to history it didn’t. This was the night of April sixth, the night the British at last scaled the walls. But would all that be changed? Were the French fortifications all that much stronger because they had been warned of the British strategy? Was David even now within those walls, telling the commanders where the British would strike first and how best to repel their attack?

  If the French were forewarned, how much deadlier would be this assault. The British plan was to move up under cover of darkness and scale the walls where they couldn’t be seen. What if the French didn’t need to see them?

  Tension tied her stomach in knots. Could one man—one she had loved as a brother since childhood—destroy history with a simple warning spoken at the wrong moment?

  The young lieutenant who served as their guide took them directly to Sir Thomas’ tent. Riki, who had once again donned Hillary’s clothing for safety’s sake, remained with the horses while Belmont went inside to present his authorization and explain his request. He emerged shortly and, from the rigidity of his stance, she feared their request had been denied.

  “Gil?” She swung down from the saddle and hurried over to clasp his hands. “What happened?”

  He shook his head and managed a slight smile. “Nothing. All is well. You are to wait here until I come for you. You’ll be safe in Sir Thomas’ tent.”

  “And what of you?” Her foreboding grew.

  With one finger, he gently stroked her cheek. “I want to see the preparations.”

  “Can’t I—”

  “No.” He cut off her request. “I want you here, away from it all.” He drew her a step closer and stroked her hair back from her face. “You would see much that would distress you terribly. You also will remain here because the French continue to shoot, as you may hear, at irregular intervals. I can’t risk your being hurt.”

  Suddenly it became extremely difficult to breathe. “Why?” she whispered.

  He dropped a light kiss on the top of her curls. “Then who would there be to argue with me?” He released her abruptly and gave her a slight shove. “Inside with you. I’ll come back and report if anything is about to happen.”

  She glared at his back as he disappeared into the darkness, moving carefully among the clustered tents and numerous campfires.

  Waiting throughout the early hours of the night quickly proved unbearable. Between the pervading aura of excitement and the constant activity, Riki couldn’t bring herself to sit still. She paced about the narrow confines of the tent, peeking out regularly in the hopes of catching a glimpse of Belmont’s sturdy figure.

  Suddenly a distant explosion, followed by rapid gunfire, shattered the night and she ran outside. She could see nothing, she was too far away. Impulsively she started forward, desperate to know what had occurred.

  Before she had taken twenty steps, she saw Belmont and broke into a run. “What is happening?” she cried, anxiety quavering in her voice.

  He put an arm about her shoulders and led her inexorably back toward the tent. “The assault has begun. Somehow the French either saw the preparations or they were forewarned.”

  Riki stopped dead and looked up at him. “David?”

  “I don’t know. But I intend to find out.” Every line of his rugged face bespoke his grim determination, the cold, murderous hatred in his heart for his ex-assistant who had betrayed the trust Belmont placed in him.

  A falcon swooping to his kill, Riki thought. A cold, hard lump of fear formed in her breast. “Stay here,” she begged.

  He looked back the way he had come, where innumerable flashes of gunpowder now illuminated the dark façade of the castle.

  “There’s nothing you can do to help. They will take the town tonight.” She put more assurance into those words than she felt.

  They stood where they were, watching from that considerable distance, waiting because they could do nothing else. His strong hand gripped hers painfully, his tension never lessening. Was he reliving battles from the dark recesses of his memories? He had been wounded, he had known the searing pain of a bullet. Her thankfulness that
he was not taking part in this engagement left her weak.

  Then the firing slowed, the cannonading became less constant. Belmont stiffened and started walking with Riki hurrying at his side.

  The camp was not empty. Groans and occasional cries reached them from the wounded who had been carried to their tents. Women—wives, camp followers—busied themselves heating water over the fires, tearing linen into strips for more bandages than had been prepared. Everywhere the putrid smells of blood, smoke and untold miseries reeked. Belmont’s hand tightened on Riki’s and they strode on, drawn by the necessity of knowing what had occurred. Then through the darkness came a trio of soldiers, two staggering as they supported their limp comrade between them.

  Belmont hailed them. “What’s the news?”

  “We’ve breached the wall, sir,” the nearest gasped. “Won’t be long now,” he added as they passed.

  “Then we do take the town!” Riki breathed, and realized with a sense of shock that she’d identified completely with the British. She had only been here for less than three months. How could David, who had lived among these people for over two years, turn against them?

  Belmont’s stride lengthened and she had to run to keep up. The next soldier they encountered confirmed the report, adding that the bastions on the western end of the town were now overrun by the British.

  A shout rose in the distance, rippling back through the camp as weary voices joined in triumph. The castle had been taken.

  Belmont halted, his expression torn. “You’re going back to the tent,” he finally said.

  “And you?”

  He drew an unsteady breath. “I’m going up as far as I can. As soon as it’s permitted, I’ll enter the town and see what I can learn of Warwick.”

  “The fighting hasn’t stopped,” she pointed out unnecessarily, as rifle shots could still be heard, though neither as frequent nor as loud. “It’s in the streets of the city now.”

  His hand cupped the back of her head as he stooped to kiss her quickly. “I’ll be careful. Go now.” He watched as she turned and walked slowly back the way they had come.

  Ten steps later, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. Already Belmont was vanishing from sight. That was something she had no intention of permitting him to do. She slipped stealthily after him. Fortunately it didn’t occur to him that she would disobey his order—he focused his attention entirely upon the last remnants of the battle that would not be easily abandoned, and paid her no heed.

  As the first creepings of dawn lightened the sky, silence reigned at last. Wellington, Riki heard from a passing soldier, had entered the town, and the last French forces had thrown down their weapons, though the gates remained blocked. Riki huddled amid the gathering soldiers, waiting for decisions to be made. When at last the British broke up into patrols to enter the city, Sir Thomas Picton permitted Belmont, in the company of a battle-weary lieutenant, to begin his search.

  Fighting back her fears, Riki mounted the assault ladder in the wake of the others. God, how I hate heights! She closed her eyes, clinging to the wooden rungs in much the same manner as she had clung to the rocky cliff face not all that long ago. At least now there was no accompanying thunderstorm to add to her horrors.

  Step by precarious step, she climbed then at last scrambled over the breached wall after Belmont’s escort. She slipped to the rear of his small entourage, keeping far enough back that he wouldn’t notice her yet close enough to the party for safety’s sake.

  Badajoz did not appear to be a place for anyone not in a British uniform. Riki shivered and moved a step nearer the others. The streets appeared to be deserted except for scarlet coats or an occasional French soldier being forced against a wall. The small party with Belmont moved quickly, driven by an urgency that left Riki taut with nerves.

  So far the British soldiers were held under strict control. But once the French troops were rounded up and marched out under guard, the British would be turned loose to sack the town and release the bloodlust built up throughout the long, dark hours of the siege. Riki narrowed the distance between herself and Belmont once again.

  “Can anyone escape?” Belmont’s voice reached her.

  “Not easily, m’lord,” the lieutenant answered.

  “But it is possible?”

  “For a few men, yes. They’d only have to steal uniforms and no one would question them. A good many Spaniards may slip out before it’s fully light. They won’t want to remain and be thought French collaborators.”

  They followed the walls, and the carnage of bodies that met her horrified gaze left Riki ill. She averted her eyes but the stench was overpowering. She had never thought her stomach particularly weak but she now fully sympathized with Belmont’s declaration that this would be no sight for her. For the first time she could understand Belmont’s deadly fury with her cousin. But there had been too much death already this night.

  Rifle shots and shouts broke out ahead, where several French soldiers sought to fight their way to possible escape. Belmont and his guard rushed forward and Riki followed.

  Belmont stopped short and Riki almost collided with him. As she drew back, she caught his sharp intake of breath. The next moment, she too saw David.

  Two French officers gripped his arms. One raised his rifle and fired at their party, and a British private standing beside Belmont fell. The two officers with David dodged down a side street, little more than an alleyway, and Belmont dragged a pistol from his coat pocket and took aim. Riki grabbed his arm.

  “Don’t!” she screamed.

  He ignored her. The pistol flashed and the sound exploded in her ears. An answering shot came from the alley and Belmont threw himself against Riki, knocking her to safety beside a stone wall, then collapsed on top of her as his three guards dashed in pursuit.

  Riki struggled free of Belmont’s weight and rolled his solid body slightly so that she could rise to her knees. “Gil?”

  He didn’t move. She caught hold of him and stared in horror as the pale morning light showed blood oozing between her fingers and spreading rapidly over the side of his coat.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Gil!” The cry tore from Riki. She reached for his face and her hand came away covered in blood from where his forehead had struck the stone wall. She looked about, frantic.

  More shots sounded from down that alleyway where their guards had disappeared. This was no place to be. If they were mistaken for residents of Badajoz, perhaps French sympathizers…

  It was too dreadful to consider. They’d be shot or worse. She grasped Belmont’s shoulders and struggled to drag him toward the sheltered recess of a doorway, but she couldn’t budge him more than an inch or two. Her attempts started his wound bleeding dreadfully.

  “Gil!” She shouted his name, mostly a plea for him to regain consciousness. Only once before could she remember feeling so completely helpless. But then it had been her falcon, not her beloved Belmont, whose life had been at stake.

  Tears slipped unheeded down her cheeks as the full realization of her love for this strong, capable man flooded through her. Why couldn’t she help him now, aid him as he had so many times aided her? Why can’t I be stronger?

  Six soldiers under the command of a sergeant marched briskly toward them. Riki half stood in relief, but before she could speak the men saw her. Raising his bayonet, the sergeant advanced, a deadly gleam in his eye that caused Riki to fall back and clutch Belmont’s inert form protectively in her arms.

  “Don’t!” she managed, and knew it was a feeble attempt. The man kept coming, the blood-streaked point of his weapon looming ever closer, and she screamed, “He’s been wounded, we need help!”

  That brought the sergeant to a halt, and his men behind him. “Who are you?” he demanded, suspicious.

  “This is Viscount Belmont. He’s been shot and I can’t move him. He needs a doctor.” She cradled Belmont’s head in her lap.

  The sergeant considered for a moment, obviously disappointed at b
eing denied his prey, then nodded. “Right then. Heave to, lads.” He gestured for two of his men to pick up the unconscious viscount.

  “He’s bleeding terribly!” Riki looked about, then on inspiration dragged free Belmont’s neckcloth and folded it into a pad, which she pressed against his side. She tore off her own but found it too short to go about the viscount’s rib cage. “Give me yours,” she ordered a private who stood by, and the man, after a brief glance at his sergeant, complied with a crumpled-looking handkerchief that appeared as if it hadn’t seen a washtub in months.

  It added the necessary length, though, and as the men lifted Belmont, she was able to secure the bandage about him. The sergeant resumed his patrol with four soldiers, leaving the other two for Riki to command. Keeping close to their sides, she let them lead the way out of Badajoz by the easiest route, through a gate that had been partially cleared. Belmont looked so dreadfully pale, as if his lifeblood drained inexorably away…

  She dashed tears from her eyes to clear her blurred vision and stumbled along with the men over the uneven road. She no longer saw the maimed bodies lying where they had fallen, nor smelled the sulfurous stench of powder mingled with the untold horrors of death. Only Belmont mattered—that he wouldn’t have been hit if he hadn’t thrust her to safety, that she loved him so desperately she would make him live, for her own life would be an unbearable emptiness without him.

  Soldiers streamed past in an unending line, casting glazed, incurious glances at them. Solemn processions such as this were all too common. Ahead of them, beside them, even following behind, she could see other fallen gallants being carried by their comrades from the battle site back to camp. Some would receive medical attention, others were beyond help. Riki could only pray Belmont was not of the latter’s number.

  There seemed almost as much activity in the trenches beyond the walls as there had been during the fighting. Sorting the wounded from the dead, she supposed. She clasped Belmont’s dangling hand and found it distressingly cold.