Enemy of Mine (4 page)
W
ill watched with prideful fascination as Erva poured a tiny amount of gunpowder down a Brown Bess musket’s barrel, then tapped with the ramrod the bullet and powder. All the while a large rusty-haired Scottish sergeant, Abraham McDougal, tried to instruct her a little too late with what to do. A gigantic crowd of soldiers, too many to count—Lord, mayhap the entire British Army?—had formed around the targeting range where he and the sergeant stood close by Erva readying the musket.
Sergeant McDougal glanced back at Will. “Sir, she seems as though she knows what she’s doing.”
Will quietly chuckled. “I do believe the lady said as much.”
Erva peeked at him after she’d placed the ramrod back on the belly of the musket. Grinning, she nodded. “I did tell him.”
“You’ll have to excuse the Sergeant,” Will said. “I doubt he’s ever seen a lady with a musket before.”
“Nay, sir. This is my first time.” The Scot leaned further away from Erva. “’Tis probably my last too, sir.”
“I heard that, Sergeant,” Erva said as she aimed at the scarecrow set up almost fifty yards from where she stood.
Will couldn’t help but smile as sunbeams bounce off her un-hatted, flaxen hair, as if she had a halo. Her loose chignon whispered pale tresses across her cheeks and neck, making him wish his fingers could be those precious strands. Perhaps his lips.
She’d made the usual rounds of checking on his men seem something surreal and fantastic, even as she held a musket almost as tall as she. Erva caused a crowd wherever she went, being that she was an exotic creature in the bulwark. Oh, there were women in the camps. But not like her. She was so beautiful, especially those gigantic, dark inquisitive eyes of hers that made his lungs hurt when he stared at her too long. Further, Will’s men more than likely were astounded the lady took so much interest in their muskets.
Erva took a deep inhalation, held it, then fired. Will rushed to her side. Not that he feared anything was wrong, but it seemed a good opportunity to once again be as close as he could get to her. When the white-gray smoke cleared, he and the crowd saw the scarecrow’s head obliterated. A cheer sounded, then many huzzahed. Someone began to beat a drum. Bagpipes exploded as well. Lord, his men were smitten too.
Not that Will blamed them. As he gawked at Erva, standing tall with one hand grasped around the musket, garbed in an
aetherial-colored
dress, smiling widely and waving to the crowd, looking like a brilliant incarnate of her namesake, he realized it was more than just his body that wanted her to be close. He liked her. Her eagerness was infectious. No, it was more than that. He knew he’d been living in a self-imposed desert, dry from many emotions. But being less than a foot away from her, he thought he’d been a man dying of thirst, and with just her presence she quenched it.
Erva carefully returned the musket to Sergeant McDougal.
“She’s a right good shot, sir,” the Scotsman said.
“You can talk to me too, Sergeant.” Erva scoffed.
McDougal shook his head. “Nay.”
Erva laughed. “Why not?”
The sergeant smiled at Will. “Well, the General here has the power within him to whip me hundreds of times, even to hang me, if he deems it. But I feel more comfortable talking to him, than ye, begging yer pardon.”
Erva smacked one of his large shoulders with her ungloved hand, which Will could tell was the point of the all too clever Scotsman’s. Jealousy simmered through his hands and legs. Although he’d had only the greatest esteem for the sergeant, he thought about hitting him. Damn, he wished he could be as smooth and nonchalantly charming as McDougal.
“That’s monumentally unfair,” Erva protested, taking another limping step closer to the Highlander. “Is it simply because I’m a woman, and you think, like some Neanderthal, that women can’t shoot guns? As you can see, I’ve proved that theory wrong.”
The sergeant glanced at him, then down at Erva with a mischievous grin. “I don’t ken what a Neanderthal is. But I agree with ye. Women can shoot. My own wife shoots better than I.”
“Then why can’t you talk to me?” Erva challenged, lifting her chin so she could better glare at McDougal.
“Well, I’ll try to explain.” McDougal kept his smile while he continued. “Ye see, I ken my limitations. I’m a fighter. And a good one at that. I’ll fight until the bitter end for my general, not just because I gave my oath to, and not just because I like the general. And I do. But, ye see, my lady, General Hill is so much smarter than the lot of us. He’ll fight, aye, but he’ll ensure that we
win
. As he has all along.
“Since he’s so smart, I’m sure the general kens already how to perceive ye, where ye fit, but because I’m just a simple man, I have no clue, no idea how to wrap my head ‘round what ye are.”
“She fits no molds, Sergeant.” Will found himself saying. Out loud. Damnation. There he went again without checking himself first. And then, he did it once more. “For she is perfect as-is.”
Erva glanced at him, her eyes wide, her cheeks blooming with pink. She blinked, then looked down with a tiny grin. Will’s heart exploded in a burst of beats, like the Forty-Second Highlander Regiment of Foot’s drums. Under his ribs, a spasm of electricity ran through his body, hedging dangerously close to his groin. Again. Lord.
Helplessly he glanced at the Scotsman who stood back smiling all too knowingly. Ah, so that was the game the sergeant had played. Matchmaker. Damn, he was good at it too.
“Can’t talk to me simply because you don’t know where I fit, huh?” Erva asked.
Obviously, the Highlander could and would, but he noiselessly snickered all the same.
“And what if I...fired off at least seven rounds in a minute? Would you talk to me then?”
McDougal made an odd guttural noise. “No one, not even the General, who’s a massively good shot himself, can shoot seven rounds under a minute.”
Erva arched a blonde brow. “I wasn’t talking about shooting a Bessie.” She indicated with a tilt of her head at the musket the Highlander still held. “Do you have an Ordinance rifle, Sergeant?”
“I do.” Will offered, utterly amazed but happily so. She not only knew muskets, but also breach-loading rifles too. “I actually have it close by—”
“It’s still on display, sir,” said an eager Private from the crowd. He postured himself from the red mob proudly, bowing and saluting simultaneously, then grimacing at his combined actions. “I—er, sir, I could go and fetch the rifle, sir, for the lady.” He beamed at Erva, but ripped his gaze back to Will. “It’s still at Colonel Braddock’s quarters, where he shows it off quite regularly.”
“Aye, that it is.” Will bowed his head. He’d loaned the rifle to Braddock mainly because he wasn’t too sure where to store it himself. As well as borrowing it out to the colonel had landed the surly man in a much better mood, since he thought himself a rifleman, yet, regrettably, was myopic. “Would you mind doing the lady and me the favor of fetching it then?”
The Private’s wide smile waned, his eyes widened, then he stared at Erva. “I’d be honored,” he whispered reverently.
“What’s your name, Private?”
“Bradley O’Neal, sir. I’m in the Fifty-Third infantry.”
Will nodded, noting that the lad was not only enamored with Erva, but had his uniform in order as well as his hair tied neatly. Good boy, Will thought, and wondered about a recommendation for the Private. “Thank you, Private O’Neal. Now, let’s see how fast you are.”
O’Neal saluted first, which Will snapped back immediately, then the boy sprinted while the crowd cheered. His men hadn’t had this high of moral since...Lord, Will wondered, his men might have never been this excited. Well, except for the time he’d given them three times the rum rations on the day after they’d conquered Long Island from the Continentals.
“Ye’d load the gun yerself?” Will barely heard McDougal ask Erva over the crowds’ chanting.
Erva smacked the sergeant again. “Of course.”
“Ye’re familiar with a breach-loading rifle?” the sergeant asked.
Erva nodded confidently. “Very.”
It hit Will as hard as if he’d been thrown from a horse. Why was the lady so familiar with guns? Hell, he had only fired the Ferguson rifle a few times himself.
He stared hard at the lovely lady, speculating. Spies abounded. He knew since he had several trying to infiltrate the Continentals’ camp at that very moment. Lady Erva couldn’t be a spy, could she? What had her letters of introductions said? Why couldn’t he remember?
“So ye’re goin’ to shoot at least seven times in a minute?”
“I hope I can. I mean, I haven’t practiced shooting this particular gun in a while, but I used to be able to.”
Will swallowed. How could she have become so skilled? Granted, he’d heard of a few ladies who target practiced with muskets, but they mainly used archery as the fashion of the day dictated.
“Then I’m sure my simple mind would explode from the event.” Sergeant McDougal teased with a grin.
Still, Will felt unsettled. He had no issues with the lady being a right good shot, as McDougal would say. It was how she had gotten the opportunity to become so that was bothersome.
“But ifn my brain doesn’ split down the middle,” McDougal continued, “then I’d probably start talking to ye after.”
“It’s a deal then?” Erva smiled.
The Highlander spat in his palm and extended his hand to the lady. Erva did the same, making Will quietly laugh. They shook like two conspiratorial friends at long last reunited. At least Will hoped that the look between the two was amiable. If not, then he’d break the sergeant’s nose.
Mercy, here he was suspicious the lady a spy, yet ready to assault his sergeant over her.
He didn’t have time to sort through his thoughts, for Private O’Neal careened through the crowd, holding the rifle over his head, screaming, “Got it! Got it!”
A red and winded Colonel Braddock was hot on his heels. “I say, General, what in heaven’s name is—” Braddock cleared the crowd just then and stared at Erva. He glanced at Will with a bow and sauntered close to whisper, “The lad told me there was a lady shooting. You aren’t really going to let her, are you?”
Will nodded at O’Neal. “Will you hand the lady the rifle, please?”
The Private nearly skipped to Erva, then stammered a few noises while extending the arm to her.
“Thank you,” she said.
O’Neal might have choked a few times, bowed, and ran back into the crowd. Yes, Will liked the lad, for his own charm was similar in that he wondered one minute if he’d said too much, then the next he couldn’t find one damned word to utter. She was bewitching him, and Will wasn’t too sure if that was the purpose of her visit or if she was innocent of her enchantments.
Sergeant McDougal gave Erva a few cartridges and a powder horn.
“Anyone have a watch?” the lady asked as she examined the rifle.
Will extracted his from his waistcoat and showed it to her.
“You will time me. A minute, please.”
He loved how she ordered him about. Apparently the crowd of watching soldiers liked it too as they rumbled merrily. Except for Braddock who stood agape, staring at him then Erva.
“On my honor,” Will said, “you will have one minute, my lady.”
She beamed at him, then did the boldest thing and winked.
She
winked at him. Wasn’t he supposed to be the one doing that? Instead, he found himself tongue-tied and with probably too wide a grin aimed right at her.
“You’ll tell me when to fire?”
Will nodded, for words escaped him. Once more. Damnation.
Sergeant McDougal walked back to Will as Braddock ambled into the crowd, looking like the apocalypse might take him instead of a woman about to shoot a rifle. With a swirl of his black-green plaid, McDougal planted his feet wide and stood beside Will. Erva, even with her dainty little limp, readied for the shooting. She gave him another sunshine smile, which made Will’s heart hammer, forgetting any other thoughts about where she had gleaned how to shoot a rifle. Glancing at his watch as the second’s hand scooted around, he lifted his arm. Dropping it, he shouted, “Go!”
Erva moved quickly and efficiently, lowering the breach plug and loading a cartridge into the gun, when Sergeant McDougal interrupted his attention. “She’s the one, ye ken?”
Will glanced at his sergeant, then back at the watch. Erva got off a shot less than six seconds into the competition. It hit the scarecrow, this time in the chest. The rifle’s impact was nearly twice as damaging as the musket’s, making a large hole where a heart might have been.
“Forgive my impertinence, General, but ye’ve got to marry this one.”
Will blinked and glanced again at his sergeant.
Another shot rang out. Eighteen seconds had passed. This last shot was again in the chest, which was deteriorating fast.
“Dismiss yer mistresses, sir. Just focus on her.”
Will clenched his jaw at the mention of mistresses. Erva fired, this time less than twenty-four seconds in.
Again without censor, his mouth moved of its own accord. “The lady would never have me.”
