Jane Feather - [V Series]

by Violet

  Julian shot her a look of total disbelief. Her anxious returning gaze was candid and ingenuous. She really didn’t understand what she was doing to him? Where had she come from? How could anyone possibly reach adulthood so devoid of a sense of ordinary social responsibility? He took a deep breath and attempted a lesson that he felt was doomed to failure.

  “Your compensations, my dear Tamsyn, are certainly pleasant, but that is not the point. You can’t manipulate people and events to your own ends and then calmly offer your body and its admittedly manifold charms and expect that to make everything all right.”

  “But it’s only for six months.”

  Total failure! He shook his head and gave up. “There’s no point talking about it. I’m stuck with the situation, and I’ll do what I contracted to do. If we can get through the next six months with simple civility, I’ll consider it a major achievement.”

  Tamsyn fell in beside him and rode in thoughtful silence until they reached the village. It seemed obvious to her that six months of the colonel’s time … a mere hiatus in his life … wouldn’t have a far-reaching effect on his future, whereas in the scheme of her own life, those six months could mean everything. It was obvious to her, but totally lost on the colonel.

  The village folk crowded out of their cottages when the procession entered the pueblo, bisected by the mountain path as its single street. Ragged children ran onto the path, shouting and waving, black-clad women stood in doorways, shawls drawn over their mouths and noses, black eyes watchful above. Men appeared in the gateways to small malodorous farmyards where scrawny chickens scratched in the dirt fighting for scraps with grubby goats.

  A stream trickled down the mountainside into the middle of the pueblo where a rough dam had been built, forming a deep pool to provide the village’s water supply.

  Tamsyn hailed a man rather more prosperous looking than the others, standing in the doorway of a relatively substantial cottage. “He’s the village elder,” she explained. “It’s his barn and byre we can use … for a consideration, of course.”

  Gabriel dismounted and went over to him.

  “He won’t negotiate with me,” Tamsyn explained to the colonel, “because I’m dressed like a woman. If I’d been dressed as a partisan, he would have treated me as an equal.”

  Julian merely raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

  “At least a riding habit is easier to wear than a dress,” Tamsyn persevered, trying to elicit some conversational response. “I’m wearing britches underneath, so it feels almost normal. But it’s still a disadvantage in situations like this.”

  “Get used to it,” he advised as he’d done once before, choosing to respond to her light observations as if they were complaints. “Women don’t act like men in English society … or not if they wish to be accepted.”

  Tamsyn gave up trying to conciliate. “The baron considered Cecile to be his equal in everything,” she said fiercely.

  Julian looked politely incredulous. “Then he was a very unusual man.” He swung to the ground and lifted Tamsyn down before she could leap with her usual agility from Cesar’s great height. He closed his mind to the feel of her body in his hands, to the scent of her skin, which made his head spin with voluptuous memory.

  “Women also allow men to assist them with certain actions, like mounting and dismounting, alighting from carriages, and taking their seats,” he informed her with the air of a conscientious tutor, setting her firmly on her feet.

  “Oh, pah!” Tamsyn said disgustedly. “There’s nothing the matter with my legs.”

  “No, but you must learn to pretend that you go along with the myth of the gentler sex and show that you appreciate the little gentlemanly courtesies.”

  Tamsyn’s expression was one of acute distaste, and Julian began to enjoy himself. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to forget the whole thing,” he added nonchalantly.

  Tamsyn stuck her tongue out at him in a childish gesture that somehow expressed exactly how she felt. The colonel laughed, infuriating her even more, and strolled over to where Gabriel and the farmer were concluding their negotiations. He stood slapping his gloves into the palm of one hand, looking around the village, assessing its strategic advantages.

  “If we post pickets at either end of the street, we should be safe from marauders approaching conventionally.”

  “Aye, but there’s always the way down from above,” Gabriel said, glancing up at the mountainside towering above the village. “We’ll need to guard the byre itself. I’ll take the first watch with three of the men. You take the second … if it’s all right with you,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

  “Who’s likely to know what we’re carrying?”

  “No one or everyone.” Gabriel frowned. “Word spreads like wildfire in these passes, colonel. And there are eyes everywhere. They may not know what we’ve got, but they’ll know by now that it’s worth defending, and presumably, therefore, worth stealing.”

  “Well, let’s make camp as we can.” Julian turned back to the mule train and saw that Josefa and Tamsyn were already carrying supplies into the barnyard, Tamsyn kicking aside the skirts of her riding habit with an irritable mutter. Suddenly she stopped, dumped her burden onto the ground, and swiftly unhooked the skirt of her habit, stepping out of it with visible relief, revealing her lower limbs clad in soft leather britches. She glanced across at him with a hint of defiance as she bundled the skirt under her arm.

  He chose to pretend he hadn’t noticed, strolling back to the mule train.

  Tamsyn and Josefa occupied themselves lighting a fire in the barnyard and preparing food. Julian, busy with the men bestowing the treasure and organizing its defense, was surprised how willingly Tamsyn assumed domestic responsibilities. He’d expected her to be working with the men, leaving the female side of the operations to Josefa. But the two women chatted cheerfully over the fire, and soon the heady aroma of coffee rose on the evening air.

  He went over to them. “Something smells good.”

  “Polenta,” Tamsyn said, looking up from the pot she was stirring with a great wooden spoon. “There’s a cask of wine to be broached. Would you do it? The men’ll be thirsty.… Oh, it’s all right, Gabriel’s doing it.”

  Josefa muttered something as she shook a pan of mushrooms over the fire, and Tamsyn glanced quickly at her. “Oh, dear.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, Josefa’s afraid Gabriel’s going to enjoy himself this evening. She says it’s been at least a month since he let himself go with a cask of wine, and he’s got good company for it.”

  “He wouldn’t drink himself stupid with that treasure to guard, surely?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t ever drink himself stupid,” Tamsyn said. “Just aggressive. If you get on the wrong side of him. The treasure will be as safe with Gabriel drunk as sober, I assure you.”

  “He wants to take the first watch.”

  “Then he is intending to get soused,” Tamsyn said with conviction. “He plans it so that he’ll be able to sleep it off and be good as new in the morning. Stir this, will you? It mustn’t stick. I have to find the outhouse.”

  Julian found the spoon thrust unceremoniously into his hand as Tamsyn skipped hastily over the cobbles in the direction of the pueblo’s communal outhouse on the outskirts of the village.

  Gabriel came over with two tankards of red wine. “Drink, Colonel? Santa Maria, but I’ve a thirst on me tonight.”

  “Thanks.” Julian took the tankard. “And I gather you intend to slake it.”

  Gabriel looked over to where Josefa, still muttering, was slicing onions. “The old woman’s been talking, eh? Well, it does a man good once in a while. I’d invite you to join me, Colonel, but you’ll need your sleep in the first watch, and I’ll need mine in the second.” He chuckled hugely and drained his tankard with one interminable swallow.

  “It’s not really my style,” Julian said. “If those villains of yours pass out, we’ll be in poor shape to defend ourselves.�
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  “Oh, I’ll not be drinking with them,” Gabriel said. “They’ll have a glass or two with supper, but they’ll keep themselves sober or feel my whip at their backs, and they know it. No,” he said happily, “I’ve discovered some friends in the village. A little dice, a little card play … relaxes a man.”

  Julian raised an eyebrow but offered no contradiction to this. The evening would bring what it would bring.

  After supper a group of men drifted in from the village, rolling another cask of wine between them. They greeted Gabriel with much backslapping and shoulder punching before they settled down in a corner of the barnyard to play dice on an upturned rain barrel.

  Tamsyn came back from the stream with Josefa, where they’d been cleaning the supper bowls and trenchers. “He’s well away,” she commented, stowing the dishes in a saddlebag with a deft domestic efficiency that again surprised Julian. Josefa was still muttering, casting black looks at the men in the corner of the yard. Then she shook out a blanket and spread it on the cobbles, hauled a saddlebag onto the blanket as a pillow, and promptly lay down, drawing her various shawls, mantillas, and cloak around her.

  Tamsyn chuckled, whispering, “She’ll not let him out of her sight when he’s started on this road. Not that he appreciates it. He’ll curse her up hill and down dale if she interferes.”

  Julian glanced up at the velvet-black sky with its dazzling panorama of stars. The air was chill now, a fresh breeze coming down from the mountain peaks. “You’d better get some sleep in the hayloft.”

  “What about you?” Tamsyn hefted a roll of blankets onto her shoulder. It dwarfed her diminutive figure, yet she carried it with ease.

  “I’ll bed down somewhere,” he said dismissively.

  “But I could make up a bed for both of us in the loft,” she said, her teeth flashing in the darkness as she smiled invitingly. “It’ll be cozy in the hay.”

  “For God’s sake, girl, what does it take to get through to you?” he demanded in a fierce undertone. “Get up into the loft and get some sleep. I’m going to have a word with Gabriel.”

  He turned away from her hurt gaze, which reminded him absurdly of a kicked puppy, and strolled over to the now noisy group. Gabriel looked up, his eyes bleary but his expression jovial. “Anything I can do for you, Colonel?”

  Julian shook his head and pulled out his watch. “I’ll relieve you at two.”

  “Och, aye, that’ll be grand,” the giant said serenely, attempting a wink but managing a squint instead. “I’ll be a rich man long afore then.” He rolled the dice and chuckled at the three sixes they gave him. “Can’t do a thing wrong tonight.” There was a guffaw from the men surrounding him, and the village elder refreshed Gabriel’s tankard of wine from a stone jar he held between his feet. Fortifying it with the rough, stomach-burning brandy of the region, Julian assumed. A mixture that would put an ordinary man under the table after a couple of swigs.

  He cast a glance around the yard. Gabriel had positioned his sentries sensibly enough. One of them was stationed at the rear, commanding the foot of the goat track that wound down from the heights. He had a pitch torch at his feet, a rifle between his knees, and was smoking a noxious pipe. The other two were stationed at either end of the village, guarding the main path. Gabriel had seated himself so that he faced both the entrance to the yard and the byre where the treasure was stored.

  But the man couldn’t see straight!

  Julian decided he’d keep his own watch during Gabriel’s tour. He’d had many a sleepless night during the four years of the Peninsular campaign—one more wouldn’t hurt him. He turned toward the barn.

  “Keep the bairn close to you,” Gabriel called after him, and his voice was less thick than it had been.

  Julian glanced back. Gabriel nodded significantly at him. Drunk or sober, his little girl’s safety was clearly still uppermost in his mind.

  Julian raised a hand in acknowledgment and went into the barn. The other three outriders were sleeping on the floor, snoring in the straw until it was time to take their watch. He sat in a corner of the barn, close to the ladder to the hayloft, drew his cloak tight around him, and prepared to wait until Tamsyn was safely asleep.

  After half an hour he judged it safe to go up to the loft. Temptation should by now be deeply asleep. He climbed the ladder softly. Tamsyn had spread the blankets and was curled in a comfortable nest of hay. Moonlight fell through the round window, silvering her pale hair, and her deep, even breathing filled the small fragrant chamber.

  Julian tiptoed to the window. It looked down on the yard, and he could clearly see Gabriel and his fellow drinkers. It looked a peaceful, convivial scene.

  He glanced back at the sleeper. Only her silvery hair was visible in the straw and blanket nest. How could such a wild and unusual girl expect to make her way in English society; expect to persuade some stiff-necked Cornish family, overly conscious of lineage and position, to take her to their bosom? It was always possible she was mistaken about her mother’s social position, and her family were simply landed gentry or country squires. If so, she might have a better chance of winning them over. But to turn this bastard brigand into an English aristocrat was the stuff of a lunatic dream. It would take a damn sight longer than six months to achieve such a miracle. And it would need more of a miracle worker than he believed himself to be. But he hadn’t guaranteed success, he reminded himself. Then again, he couldn’t tolerate failure. He never had been able to.

  Grimly, he turned back to his observation of the yard. He didn’t know how long he’d been staring down at the glowing embers of the fire and the flickering torchlight around the dice players when he caught sight of the dark shadow flitting behind the byre. He blinked, wondering if it was a trick of the shifting light, and then Gabriel bellowed, leaping to his feet, sending the rainbutt crashing and rolling onto the cobbles. A cudgel appeared in his hand from nowhere, swinging in a deadly arc.

  Julian was already sliding down the ladder, his pistol in his hand, when Tamsyn sat bolt upright, wide-awake, listening intently to the confusion below.

  The three outriders still slept in the hay at the foot of the ladder, and Julian kicked at them impatiently, trying to rouse them. The only result was a deeper snore and a muttered protest. His foot caught on something, and a stone jar like the one he’d seen in the yard rolled along the floor. He picked it up and sniffed. The jar had contained brandy and something else; a white, powdery residue coated the bottom. Gabriel had forbidden them to drink after supper, but obviously someone had provided them with liquor, carefully spiked.

  He raced into the yard. Gabriel was surrounded by the men he’d been drinking with, wielding his cudgel and bellowing some bloodthirsty Highland war cry as they came at him, moonlight glinting on steel.

  Julian drew his curved cavalry sword and leaped into the fray. Clearly the threat they’d had to worry about came from within the village. He could see the dark shape of the other sentry on the ground, presumably dispatched by the black shadow he’d noticed from the loft, and he guessed the two at the entrances of the village had been taken from the rear as well. But if they’d been intending to put Gabriel out of commission with the same draft they’d given the outriders, they’d miscalculated.

  The man was a lion, still roaring his war cry. His eyes shone red in the light of the torches they’d been playing by, and he greeted Julian’s arrival with a ferocious snarl that Julian correctly interpreted as “Welcome to the fight.”

  The men began to fall back as the two wielded cudgel and sword; then suddenly Tamsyn was in their midst. She grabbed one of the flaming-pitch torches and drove it into the face of a man flourishing a wicked serrated knife. He covered his face with a shriek and the knife clattered to the cobbles. She dived to the ground, snatching up the knife. And then the men were running from the courtyard, pursued by Gabriel and Julian and an irate Josefa, who, Julian realized incredulously, was wielding a broomstick to painful effect.

  “Madre de Dios,” G
abriel said as they slammed shut the gates to the yard. He wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm and grinned. “I do believe they thought to get me drunk.” He laughed uproariously, his massive shoulders shaking with mirth.

  “They were spiking the wine with more than brandy,” Julian said. “Those three”—he gestured with his head toward the barn—“are out for the count.”

  “Pedro’s got a bump on his head the size of an apple, but he’s alive.” Tamsyn had run with Josefa to examine the stricken sentry. “What about the two in the village?”

  “Let’s hope they’ll be no worse,” Julian said, frowning at her. “That was a foolhardy trick with the torch. You could have set fire to the barn.”

  “I was careful,” she retorted. “And it worked.”

  “Yes, I grant you that. But it was still foolhardy.”

  Tamsyn shrugged. “In an emergency you use what tools are available.”

  Julian couldn’t fault this logic. He knew he’d have done the same himself. He turned to Gabriel with an abrupt change of subject. “We’d better hole up here until dawn and then make a break for it.”

  “Aye.” Gabriel nodded. “We’ll pick up the other two as we leave. Let’s get these others sobered up. We’d do well to show all the force we can on the way out, although I doubt they’ll be too anxious for a repeat engagement. Woman, make more coffee.”

  Josefa, without a word, dropped her broomstick and went to the still-glowing embers of the fire.

  “Help me load up the mules.” Julian beckoned Tamsyn, who came over with alacrity, her eyes sparkling in the firelight, her body thrumming with energy in the aftermath of excitement. “I want to be ready to go the minute the sky starts to lighten.”

  “They won’t give us any more trouble,” Tamsyn said confidently. “A tribe of shameful incompetents.” She grinned. “The baron would never have taken them into his band. His raids never failed.”

  Julian chose to refrain from comment.

  Two hours later they stormed out of the yard, Julian with drawn sword at the head of the column, Gabriel bringing up the rear on his charger, waving his broadsword and bellowing his war cry. Tamsyn drove the laden mules between them, cracking a mule whip with gleeful ferocity, the three less than fully conscious outriders swaying in their saddles but still brandishing weapons.