Dark Angel (6 page)

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 barrels 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."

"Don't listen to her, Lieutenant," Gazin insisted. "She may talk like a lady but she's the one who took my gun."

"Ah, yes." Adam turned to Hawkins, who pulled the gun from his pocket and held it out to Dumont. "I suggest you do not return it to him until he learns some of those manners Madame Rawley was talking about," Adam continued as Dumont took the gun.

Before Dumont could respond, another of his soldiers dashed up, dragging a thin boy of about eleven by the arm. The boy glared defiantly at the circle of French soldiers, then stared in bewilderment as he caught sight of Caroline. It was Pablo Ruiz, whose mother was Adela's cousin. Caroline gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Throwing rocks, he was," the soldier told Dumont, trying to restrain the squirming boy. "Hit me in the back of the head and knocked Manet to the ground. Got to make an example of him, Lieutenant. He deserves a whipping at least."

Seeing Pablo's olive skin turn ashen, Caroline felt a burst of anger. "He's only a boy," she said. "Surely you can't believe he's a threat to your men, Lieutenant."

"We can't allow these people to show us disrespect, madame," Dumont said with sudden firmness. He glanced at the soldier. "Take the boy into the tavern. I have matters to sort out here."

The soldier started to respond, then cried out in pain and outrage. While his attention was distracted, Pablo had twisted in his hold and stepped sharply on his foot.

The soldier raised his hand to strike the boy, but Adam caught his wrist in mid-air. "I'll deal with this, Dumont," Adam said, removing Pablo from the soldier's grip. "I suggest you round up your men before they become quite ungovernable."

The soldier gaped at Adam in confusion, but Gazin was quick to protest. "Damn it, Lieutenant, are you going to let a man who isn't even wearing a uniform order you about?"

"I told you to be quiet." Dumont glared at him, then looked across the courtyard. The soldiers who were loading the wagon had ceased their work and were watching the scene with curiosity. "Don't just stand there," Dumont said with the irritation of an officer who had difficulty being taken seriously by his men, "carry on." He looked back at Adam. "If I could see some proof, Captain? Purely as a formality?"

Caroline drew in her breath, but Adam merely reached into a pocket of his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "Due to my present mission I carry no official documents, but perhaps a letter from my friend Colonel Lescaut will suffice. An expression of thanks for a piece of work I recently undertook for him."

Dumont's face cleared. "That will do admirably. I know the colonel's hand."

Caroline watched Dumont take the paper, her mouth dry, her heart hammering in her throat. Adam had succeeded by bluffing thus far, but unless Colonel Lescaut's signature was expertly forged, how could he hope to deceive the lieutenant?

Adam watched Dumont, his face impassive. Pablo stood by quietly, as if he somehow understood that Adam did not represent the same threat as the soldier. Emily trembled in Caroline’s arms. Caroline stroked her hair.

Dumont read the paper through, then looked up. Caroline tensed, prepared to defend her child. "Thank you, Captain," Dumont said. "This is quite sufficient."

"I should hope so." Adam held out a peremptory hand. "If I could have my letter back? You'd better see to your men. Might I suggest you not try to cram quite so much onto the wagon? At this rate, there'll be nothing left for the next foraging party that passes through here."

Gazin drew in his breath. "So help me—"

But even as he spoke, Dumont rounded on him. "You forget yourself, Sergeant. Go and help the men with the wagon. You too," he added, gesturing toward the man who had brought Pablo. "And tell the others to leave some of the provisions. Captain St. Juste is right."

For the next half-hour, Caroline stood beside Adam while Dumont rounded up his men, who seemed surprised to see their lieutenant behaving with such authority. It was only when the soldiers had left the village that Caroline really believed it was over. Her legs felt not quite steady. Emily, who she had set on the ground beside her, clung close to her skirts.

"All right," Adam said to Pablo, "you'd better go home. Your mother must be worried."

Pablo looked up at Adam in bewilderment. Smiling, Adam gave him a slight push. Pablo backed away cautiously, then turned and tore off down the street.

Caroline looked down at the cobblestones, not daring to meet Adam's gaze. After she had greeted him with such bitterness, he had saved not only her and Emily but the whole village.

"Looks as if none of us are going anywhere tonight," Hawkins said. "I'd best go and see that the horses are fed and watered."

As Hawkins walked off, Caroline at last risked a glance at Adam. He looked tired and there was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead, but he seemed to have lost none of his confidence. Without speaking, they started back toward her cottage. Emily held on to Caroline's hand, but Caroline knew her daughter was studying Adam with curiosity. Caroline felt a knot of tension coiling in her stomach.

The streets were quieter now, though the villagers were beginning to venture out. When they neared Adela's cottage, Caroline picked up her skirt and hurried forward. The door flew open before she reached it. "You're all right," Adela exclaimed. "Thank God."

Caroline hugged her friend in relief. Emily ran toward the Soro children, who were clustered behind their mother. "Mr. Durward made the soldiers go away," she told them. "And he saved Pablo. The soldiers thought he was French, but he's not, is he, Mama?"

Emily tugged at her mother's skirt. Adela and the children looked at Adam. Caroline turned to him, uncertain how to explain his presence. She sought for some clue in his expression, but his eyes were cloudy. He swayed slightly, as if he could not keep his balance.

Concerned, Caroline moved toward him, her hand outstretched. Adam took a halting step forward. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed at her feet.

Chapter Three

"Adam!" The name burst unbidden from Caroline's lips as she flung herself down on the hard ground beside him. His eyes were closed, his skin—dear God, why hadn't she noticed how pale he was? As she bent over him and unfastened his coat, the smell of blood came sharp to her nostrils. The bandage had soaked through, staining his shirt and waistcoat a bright crimson.

"We must get him inside," Adela said, bending down next to Caroline. "Do you think we can lift him?"

But as Adela spoke, Adam stirred and opened his eyes. "A miscalculation," he said, enunciating carefully. "I thought I'd be all right for another quarter-hour. I think I can walk if you'll help me."

Caroline slid her arm under him and helped him to sit up, the need for action superseding panic. She was not deceived by his tone. Adam had spoken in just the same way twenty years ago when she found him bruised and bloody after a fight with some of the village boys. He had claimed he could walk then, but he'd collapsed after two steps and she'd had to run to his aunt for help. But now they had Adela to assist them. With the two women supporting him, Adam was able to stager the few, agonizing feet to the shelter of the cottage.

It was only when they had laid him on the blanket that a wide-eyed Juana had spread on the floor that Caroline knew, from the ache in her arms and the harshness of her breathing, what an effort it had been. Adam collapsed on the blanket and closed his eyes. The children, who had been watching in silence, stared curiously at him.

Emily tugged at her mother's sleeve. "Is he going to be all right?"

"We're going to be sure he is," Caroline said with determination. She brushed her fingers against Emily's cheek, then knelt beside Adam and began to undo the buttons on his waistcoat. A flickering pool of yellow light fell across the floor as Adela lit the oil lamp that hung from the ceiling. Adam opened his eyes again. "Hawkins can take care of it," he murmured, his voice slurred.

"Hawkins isn't here." Caroline pushed back the waistcoat and started on his shirt. "Hold still and don't be an idiot." Adam's skin was damp with perspiration and burning to the touch. It must be over an hour since his fight with Gazin. How much blood had he lost? She unknotted his cravat which he had used to bind the pad to him. The wound no longer seemed to be bleeding, but the shirt and pad clung to his side, matted with dried blood.

"Here." Adela handed Caroline a stack of cloths and an earthenware bowl filled with water. Caroline moistened a cloth and pressed it against the layers of blood-soaked fabric, her hands steady, her eyes focused on her task. She heard Adela sending the girls to the village well for more water and murmuring softly to Ramon. Adam was silent, but Caroline could feel his gaze upon her. When she tried to ease the shirt away from his skin, she felt him wince.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Better pull it all off at once," Adam advised, in the tone of a detached observer.

As she tugged the shirt free he drew a shuddering breath. "Just one more," Caroline said.

The pad, soaked through with blood, was more difficult to remove. Adam groaned, but when Caroline looked at him, he gave a faint smile. "That's the worst of it. It's not much of a wound considering all the trouble it's caused."

This, at least, appeared to be true. The wound looked shallow and reasonably clean. But it had begun to bleed again when she removed the bandage. Caroline pressed a fresh cloth against it.

"This will cleanse it," Adela said, kneeling beside Caroline and handing her a vial of vinegar. "The girls will be back with more water soon."

"My thanks for your hospitality," Adam said, switching to Spanish. "Señora—?" He looked at Caroline in inquiry.

"Adam Durward, Adela Soro," Caroline said formally, hoping she could leave it at that and not explain Adam's reasons for coming to Acquera.

"Señora Soro." Adam, lying flat on his back, managed to give the words a semblance of gallantry. "My most sincere thanks."

"You are English." Adela smiled. "You have come for Caroline?"

"That was my intention."

"I'm so glad," Adela said warmly.

"I'm pleased to know someone is," Adam murmured.

Caroline reached for the vial of vinegar. "Time for more stoicism," she told him. "This may sting."

Adam's eyes glinted with ironic amusement. "A bit drastic for a change of subject."

Caroline looked away, disturbed. There was something much too intimate about shared humor. Adam did not speak again as she cleansed his wound and she did not permit herself to think about anything but the task at hand. The girls returned, chattering and bearing a pail of fresh water. Juana gathered the little ones in the back room and told them a story, while Adela tore strips of cloth for a new bandage.

"There," Adela said, when she and Caroline had finally secured a fresh bandage over the wound. "You're an excellent patient, Señor Durward."