by Lynn Bryant
She felt his hands moving down her body under the linen nightgown and then he lifted his head. “No,” he said softly. “Not like this, love. You’re skin and bones and in no fit state for me to be seducing you. Although it is very tempting. Come on, back into bed before Brian walks in on us and dies of shock. We have plenty of time. But if you’re not too tired, I would like to know what the hell happened.”
He kissed her again very gently and lifted her back into the bunk. Roseen shifted over to the far side. “Will it shock him if you join me?” she asked. “You are right, Hugh, I know. I just want to hold you.”
He looked at her and then laughed, got up and went to lock the cabin door. Returning, he slid under the blankets beside her and drew her close, her head on his shoulder.
“You have no idea how many nights I dreamed about this,” he said.
“Yes, I do,” Roseen said in matter-of-fact tones and he looked down, appearing startled, and then laughed aloud.
“I’d forgotten how outspoken you are,” he said. “All right, Miss Crellin. Tell me.”
“About the press gang?”
“Start earlier. Start with the night I found you kissing some lanky streak of piss in a red coat on the evening I intended to ask you to be my wife.”
The raw pain in his voice broke Roseen’s heart anew and she buried her face in the rough cloth of his shirt, feeling tears behind her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Hugh, if I could go back and change any one thing that I’ve done…”
“Change it now, Roseen. Just tell me the truth.”
“I was kissing him goodbye. I’d just told him about you…that I’d met somebody new and that I intended to accept if you offered for me. And he asked if he could kiss me goodbye.”
He sat very still for a long time and Roseen was afraid to speak. She was slightly reassured by the fact that he made no attempt to move away from her but continued to hold her close. Finally he stirred.
“I’m so sorry, love.”
“You’re sorry? For what? Hugh, you did nothing wrong! It was me…”
“Of course I did something wrong, I was an idiot! I should have waited. I should have calmed down and gone back and given you the chance to speak to me instead of storming off like a sulky brat. If I’d listened to Isaac and Voirry and waited, none of this would ever have happened to you. We’d have been married and you’d have been safe.”
Roseen gave a watery chuckle against his chest. “You’re not responsible for the actions of a press gang, Captain.”
“Actually, love, I often am,” Hugh said wryly. “But I keep a very close check on what my press gang are doing, and I insist that they’re sober enough to tell a lad from a lassie. Do you feel well enough to tell me the rest?”
“Hugh, lying here like this with you I can do anything.”
It sounded ridiculously sentimental and Roseen was laughing at herself but he bent and kissed her, pulling her closer. “You may laugh, my chree, but just at the moment that is exactly what I need to hear. Tell me.”
Roseen did so, giving an account of the night of the reception at Castle Rushen and of the miserable months that followed. He lay quietly listening, asking an occasional question, and only when she told him about Gelling’s assault on her did she feel his body tense in her arms. He twisted his head to look down at her.
“Did he hurt you, Roseen?”
“A little although I think I hurt him more. I was more frightened than hurt. My father spoke to him, warned him to stay away from me.” Roseen shivered. “A horrible man.”
“When I catch up with him, I’m going to dump the bastard off Ramsey Quay in the middle of winter and I will not be asking him if he can swim first!” Hugh said grimly.
Roseen gave a watery chuckle. “He’ll have forgotten all about it by then,” she said.
“A nice cold bath will serve as a useful reminder. But he’ll keep. Tell me the rest, lass, let’s get it over with.”
When the story was finally told Roseen lay still in his arms, listening to the beat of his heart under her ear. She wondered what he was thinking. Eventually he said:
“I could have lost you.”
The words brought more silly tears to her eyes. “I thought I had lost you, Hugh. And even now…”
“What?”
Roseen took a deep breath. “Everybody on Mann is going to know what happened to me, Hugh. It’s a small place, you know how they gossip. My poor father must have gone through hell over this. And when I go home there isn’t a man on the island who would marry a girl who has spent three weeks on an impress frigate in the company of sixty pressed men. They’re all going to assume that I lost my virtue to one or more of them whether it was by choice or not.”
She felt him flinch in her arms. “I don’t give a damn what anybody else thinks,” he said quietly. “I wanted to marry you then. I still do. If you’ll have me.”
“Hugh…you are the most remarkable man.” Roseen was crying properly now. “Aren’t you even going to ask?”
“You’ll tell me what you want me to know in your own time. Now if you wish. It makes no difference to how I feel about you or what I want from you. I’m not stupid, lass, of course I’m wondering. But in your own time…”
“It’s all right, Hugh, there’s no need to be that tactful,” Roseen said, laughing through her tears. “It’s why I didn’t tell them who I was straight away. One of the marines took care of me and he said I should wait until we reached a ship and I could tell the captain. He didn’t trust Paget or Wilson. After that of course, we were all ill. But nobody hurt me.”
His arms tightened about her. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because it will save me killing somebody I’m probably not supposed to kill. I wish those lads had made it, Roseen, I’d like to thank them for taking care of my girl. And I will find that marine at some point, I owe him. For the rest…you need to sleep, you must be exhausted. I’m going to write to your father today to let him know that you’re safe. And that we’re going to be married. Under the circumstances I think he’ll forgive me if I don’t wait for his permission. But there’s no rush for any of it. I’m going to dress and do my job for a while. Get some sleep, my chree, I’ll bring you some breakfast later.”
***
The small town of Koge was a seaport on the coast of the Bay of Koge some twenty four miles to the southwest of Copenhagen. With a natural harbour, it was a thriving little market town with a fine collection of half-timbered houses and medieval buildings. It had a large market square with an impressive sixteenth century town hall and several attractive churches and Paul, marching through at the head of his regiment, thought that its cosy air of prosperity reminded him a little of Melton Mowbray, the small market town near to his home. The style of building was completely different but the sense of small town life, unchanged for a century, made him suddenly nostalgic.
In the flurry of preparing to march with Wellesley’s light brigade he had struggled to decide what to tell his officers about his situation. It was tempting to say nothing and wait for further news but Paul decided that would not be fair. By now all his officers and a lot of his men would be aware that he was potentially facing disciplinary action and he did not want them going into battle with any uncertainty.
He called them together on the night before they were due to march in the big dining room at the inn and told them in few words, what had happened. They listened in silence. When he had done, Paul took a deep breath and summoned a smile.
“We don’t know,” he said. “But none of this affects any one of you. The responsibility was mine and they know it. Those of you who helped that night have my gratitude - and that of the men whose lives you saved. That’s what matters here - that and being ready to fight if we need to. When I know what is going to happen, I’ll tell you, I promise. They won’t do anything until this campaign is decided, I suspect.”
“Of course they won’t,” Captain Kit Young said with heavy sarcasm. “They’ll bloody well let you go o
ut there and risk your life for them wearing that uniform, won’t they? I’m sorry, sir. But you’d have thought Wellesley…”
“Wellesley will do his best for me,” Paul said. “It’s not fair to blame him, Kit, he spoke up for me.”
“Aye, it’s the bloody navy,” Captain Withers said. “Trying to cover their arses; it’s a disgrace that they let that happen and didn’t do anything about it.”
Paul was warmed by their anger. Several of these men had reason to resent his promotion over them and he was touched at their unquestioning support. He smiled again, this time with less effort.
“For now, we go on as always. We follow orders and do our job. If they decide to court martial me, you’ll need a new temporary commander. It’ll be you, Johnny, and I doubt anybody would argue with that. Wellesley certainly won’t and I’ve written to Colonel Johnstone telling him what happened and that I’ll be handing command to you if necessary.”
“Yes, sir. And thank you. I’m really hoping it isn’t necessary.”
“So am I,” Paul said. “Are they all ready to march?”
“Yes, sir. Only - may I have a word?”
Paul nodded and led the way upstairs. His room was large, overlooking the garden and there was a private parlour with a connecting door which he had been using as a sitting room and office. He closed the door and waved Captain Wheeler to a seat, going to collect wine and two glasses.
“You all right?” Wheeler asked.
Paul shook his head tiredly. “No. I’m permanently on edge, waiting for the axe to fall. I wish they’d bloody get it over with. But I’ll be better on the march. Is everything all right with the lads, I’ve barely seen them for a few days?”
“Yes, sir. They’ve been very good, I’m proud of them. There’s just a minor problem.”
“Which is?”
“Lieutenant Kent has approached me asking permission to marry.”
Paul froze in the act of pouring the wine and stared at his light company captain. “I beg your pardon.”
“Marry, sir. Jack Kent wants to get married.”
“And he has chosen this week to announce it? We’ll be out of here in a couple of months, couldn’t he wait? It’s not like he can do anything about it just now.” Paul finished pouring and handed a glass to Wheeler. “Who is she? I’m surprised he can afford it, has he private means?”
“Yes, although he’s not wealthy. But I think there’s a small estate and he gets an allowance. But you’ve misunderstood, sir. The girl he wants to marry is Miss Nilsson. The pastor’s daughter.”
Paul stared. He suddenly realised his mouth was hanging open and closed it. “Captain, I met Miss Nilsson for the first time just over a week ago and I am fairly sure that it is less than that for Mr Kent. I am all in favour of true love, but is this not rather sudden?”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you?”
“Anyway, she has to be too young for him. What is she - twelve? Tell him no. I’m reliably informed there is a very pleasant establishment in Roskilde if he’s got the urge; when we’ve seen off the Danes I’ll give him a night off.”
Wheeler took a sip of the wine. “Oh I doubt he needs to scratch that particular urge at the local brothel, sir,” he said evenly. “And she’s sixteen.”
Paul stared at him then took a very long drink of the wine. “Tell me no,” he said.
“I’m afraid yes, sir.”
“Does her father know?”
“I believe so. He is apparently very distressed but under the circumstances he will give his consent and marry them as soon as possible. It appears that the young couple were found in the pastor’s hay barn by his housekeeper. I am given to understand that it was not the first time, merely the first time they have been caught.”
“Does he want to marry her?”
“He says yes. Tells me he’s in love with her.”
“I am unexpectedly feeling very old,” Paul said. “Somebody should tell the silly young bastard that particular feeling is not called love at all. And you can wipe that grin off your face, Wheeler, my behaviour around women may be at times truly appalling but I’ve never been confused about it.”
“No, sir. And you have been very restrained recently; it has caused comment.”
“They comment anywhere within my hearing, I will punch them.” Paul sighed. “He’s your lieutenant, Johnny, if you give permission I’ve nothing to say about it. I’ll need to speak to poor Nilsson, he must be devastated, but it will have to wait until this is over.”
“I’ve told Kent that. He’s worried she might be pregnant.”
“It is very likely that she is pregnant. It is a usual consequence, I have personal experience of it. Thank you for letting me know, Johnny. Finish your wine and we’ll get some sleep, we’ve an early start.”
Information had reached Wellesley that General Castenschiold’s forces were gathered around Roskilde and Lejre, while General Oxholm continued through the south, desperately trying to raise more militia. With the harvest underway and many of the local population probably untouched by the siege around Copenhagen, Paul wondered how difficult it would be. He suspected that even those aware of the invasion might well feel that defending their home and family was the more immediate need.
Wellesley marched his 6000 reserves out towards Roskilde and finding that the Danish had moved on towards Koge he formed a line designed to protect Cathcart’s besieging army from any Danish advance.
The majority of the brigade were light infantry trained and Paul felt very at home with them. He knew a few of the officers from his early training at Shorncliffe and he felt a bond with both officers and men of these regiments although he had not fought alongside them before. Getting to know some of them on the short march he wished he was able to enjoy this without the shadow of the Flight hanging over him.
The 110th took up a position in the centre of the line, with the Highlanders on one side and the 52nd on the other.
“Any idea of their numbers?” Carl asked as they settled for the night. Wellesley had cautiously authorised fires and hot food which Paul knew meant that he was in no fear of a surprise attack. Paul shook his head.
“No. He’s been sending out scouts from the rifles and they’re reporting that they’ve moved back towards Koge. Possibly awaiting more troops.”
“Are there any more?” Johnny asked, reaching for the camp kettle to pour tea.
Paul shrugged. “If there are, they’ll be untrained and inexperienced. Probably ill equipped as well, Colonel Beckwith was telling me that a couple of wagons of weapons and ammunition were intercepted. This has the potential to be a slaughter.”
He looked along the lines at his men, sitting or lying around camp fires in their bedrolls. There was a smell of stewed mutton and pipe smoke. Further back he could see Jenson feeding the horses and Paul could hear him speaking quietly to them. He had decided at the last minute to bring the two hired horses. Some of the officers from other regiments had shipped their own horses along with the cavalry and Paul had wondered if he should have done the same. He had decided against it; it promised to be a short campaign and he disliked taking his horses to sea unless there was a good reason.
He had hired the two horses from the inn on impulse when he had realised that Wellesley was going to expect him to act as an unofficial ADC and since he had them, he had brought them with him. Jenson could not manage a long march with his wooden leg and Paul hated leaving him behind. There were times, Paul knew, when his orderly’s immense competence made people forget his disability, but Paul never forgot. He had been there when the leg was amputated, holding the boy down and smelling the metallic warmth of his blood, feeling it soaking his hands.
That had been five years ago and since then, Paul had probably spent more time with Jenson than with his wife. He knew that many officers would have laughed at the idea that he had hired a horse so that his orderly could ride, but he hated being without Jenson with his sharp wit and laconic Liverpool accent. And since Jens
on must ride, Paul rode too, very aware of the amusement of his men at the sight of him trying to push his fat, placid mare into something other than a slow ambling walk. Luna was probably the laziest horse he had ever ridden and he had developed an immense fondness for her.
There was a flurry of activity early the following morning, and Paul left his men to pack up and rode up to find Wellesley with a map spread out over a fallen tree trunk. There was a fresh breeze and his chief was irritably trying to hold the map still while several other senior officers scrabbled awkwardly to help him. Paul dismounted, handing Luna’s reins to Jenson and came forward just as Major-General Linsingen, the Swedish commander of Wellesley’s King’s German Legion troops, ducked hastily back from Wellesley’s flapping hand to avoid losing an eye.
“Oh for God’s sake, this is ridiculous!” Wellesley snapped. “Captain Stanhope, will you come and hold this? Major Campbell, take the other side!” The blue eyes alighted on Paul. “And what the devil are you doing away from your battalion without permission? Come over here and help me with this!”
Paul suppressed a grin and moved to smooth out the map. “Is that the right way up, sir?” he asked, mostly to be irritating. “Should we turn it round…?
“Hold it still before I shoot you!” Wellesley said. “It doesn’t matter which way up it is, in this damned country!”
Paul unrolled the flapping corner and held it down. He looked at his chief sympathetically. “Has Castenschiold dodged us again?”
“I should have stayed in Ireland!” Wellesley said bitterly. With the map finally pinned down, albeit the wrong way up, he moved around the tree trunk, keeping an eye on his commanders in case one of them released it, and bent over it again. He did not speak. Linsingen was watching him with an expression of doubt. Campbell met Paul’s eyes and looked away hastily, trying not to laugh. Young Stanhope looked as though he was about to say something. Paul caught his eye and shook his head warningly. He had taken a liking to Wellesley’s newest ADC and had no desire to see him verbally disembowelled because Wellesley had not slept enough and refused to eat breakfast.
