LoveBetrayed (6 page)

“Yes, well, I really came in search of you, although it’s
true Randal was looking for Ashbury. James wants to see you. We go into French
territory tonight. His lordship requires reconnaissance. We are to make a stand
at Fuentes de Oñoro, I believe, on the banks of the Dos Casas.”

“That little village on the hill?” Daniel asked, surprised.
“It certainly isn’t the most defensible position.”

“Perhaps not, but the French must pass through to reach
Almeida. We shall see that they do not. Although, quite frankly, I don’t give a
damn. After the battle last year, Almeida is a crumbling collection of rubble.
Why on earth anyone wants it is beyond me.”

“Losing Almeida would be a huge blow to Napoleon, and you
know it. With Almeida, we liberate Portugal from the French. They would be on
the retreat. We only need to hold them off at Fuentes de Oñoro for a few days,”
Daniel said. “They haven’t the supplies to last any longer than that.”

“Good.” They stood in silence watching the bustle in the
camp for a minute or two. When Tarrant spoke again, it was with quiet
reflection. “When I spoke to some of them, thought about being with them…I felt
something again. I liked it. I liked feeling again. Is that part of it, too?”

Daniel just nodded, mute in his anguish. He loved Harry. He
did. But it was the kind of love that couldn’t live outside this time and this
place. The irony was vicious and cruel. This place he hated so much, this war
that was slowly killing him inside, had given him the most precious gift he’d
ever received. He already felt the loss of Harry and what they had like a
gaping wound in his chest. That loss would defeat him when nothing else the war
had thrown at him could. He’d been a fool to begin this, and now he was a fool
because he wouldn’t end it. He couldn’t. How could he survive without Harry?
Without feeling again, without forgetting? Is this how James felt now that
Daniel no longer sought his company?

“I’m glad.” Tarrant looked away from the camp and faced
Daniel. “We deserve it,” he said softly. “I deserve it. I play my role here and
I do as I’m told. James has me trained quite well. And I hate myself for all of
it. I want them to see something in me I don’t see anymore. When I’m with them,
I hate myself less.”

Daniel was speechless again. He wanted to tell Tarrant that
he understood. That he’d felt the same way, before Harry. But the words stuck
in his throat because to say it meant admitting that when Harry left he’d be
back in that place, and there wouldn’t be a way to fix it again, because only
Harry could. The incredible stupidity of what he’d done to himself that fateful
night in the woods struck him and had him reeling.

“Tarrant,” Daniel said, not sure what response was expected
of him. But the other man was already moving out of earshot, disappearing into
the camp. They were ghosts haunting the same ground, he and Tarrant, leading
the innocent astray.

Daniel shook off his melancholy thoughts. But the shadow of
them persisted, dogging his footsteps as he slipped through the trees around
the camp like a wraith. He was haunted by the reality that Harry might not
leave here. Daniel would not lose him to England, but to death. And that would
be a loss he’d never recover from. He was a besotted idiot, and surely disaster
awaited the outcome of this unfortunate love.

Fuentes de Oñoro, Spain

May 4, 1811

Harry needed to see Daniel. He hadn’t seen him before they’d
marched for Fuentes de Oñoro. Simon had stopped by for just a moment to say
James had sent Daniel out to reconnoiter the area prior to their arrival. He’d
made a point of saying Daniel had sent him. It was something, he supposed.
Daniel had known he’d wonder and worry. But he needed to see him, after the
fighting yesterday. He hadn’t been in the thick of it, but he’d heard it, seen
the casualties and the wounded.

Christ, he hated the fighting.

There was a futility to it here. Why this little, ancient
city, with its narrow lanes and rock walls? What in the bloody hell were they
fighting to keep this little piece of ground for? And yet, when the battle had
raged back and forth through the streets of the town Harry had been infected by
the lust for battle, by the cries of the soldiers and the screams of the horses
ringing in the air as they fought for each little inch of worthless ground.

He rubbed his forehead just above his right eye. It was
throbbing. He needed sleep. And a drink. And Daniel. Where the bloody hell was
he? He was supposed to find Harry. That was what he did. He should be here by
now.

“Ashbury.” Harry turned to see Captain Randal striding
toward him. “Prepare the men. We must cover the flank with the Seventh
Division. The French will attack by morning.”

Harry stared at him in disbelief. “Just us and the Seventh?”

“The entire cavalry.” Randal brushed past him, already on
his way to more pressing business.

“But, sir,” Harry protested, “that’s still not enough men.”

“It’s not our decision, lieutenant,” Randal barked over his
shoulder. “Orders from his lordship. Prepare the men.”

Harry put on a good face in front of the men, but he had a
bad feeling about the coming engagement. He tried to shake it off. After all,
it was war. How could a man have a good feeling about going into battle? But
there was more, a premonition of disaster looming on the horizon. He felt very
small and very mortal. This wasn’t what he’d wanted, to be a soldier in a war
he didn’t understand. But he’d met Daniel here. Even if he died in the morning
at the end of a French bayonet, he couldn’t regret that.

“Sir, there’s a gent over by the stream asked me to send you
over,” a soldier said in a thick low-country accent. “Not army,” he added
suspiciously. “Looks foreign.”

Harry’s heart sped up. “No worries, soldier,” he said,
clapping the man on the shoulder. “He’s one of ours. Special orders, you know.”

The soldier spat on the ground. “One of them secret men, you
mean. Don’t trust ‘em.”

The venom in his tone took Harry aback. “Why not?”

“Sneaking around like that, what’s to keep them from giving
away our secrets too?” He walked off with a disdainful sniff before Harry could
defend Daniel and what he did. The idea that Daniel would turn traitor was
offensive and insulting. Was this what Daniel had to deal with around the camp?
How had Harry missed that? It was too late to give that fellow a good
thrashing, but he could apologize to Daniel for not seeing the attitude the
regular soldiers had toward him sooner.

It was hard not to run to the stream to find Daniel. When he
got there he saw several men on the banks, simply sitting among the brush there
or chatting with one another. He scanned the area and saw a shadow farther
down, just on the outer edge of the light cast by the campfires. Once he saw
it, the man faded back, and Harry knew it was Daniel. As nonchalantly as
possible he walked in that direction. No one paid him much attention. They had
their own cares and worries tonight.

When he topped a small rise he saw Daniel below him standing
on the bank of the stream. “Daniel,” he said quietly, not wanting to surprise
him. Daniel turned and gave him a smile.

“Harry,” Daniel said. “Come here. I’ve only got a few
minutes.”

Harry hurried down, slipping on some thick weeds. “I’m sorry
it took so long to get here, then. Why are you in such a hurry?”

Daniel took Harry’s hand in his and stared at it for a
moment before squeezing it. “I have an informant on the French lines. He won’t
talk to anyone else.”

“You are easy to talk to, as long as he doesn’t expect a
great deal of conversation on your end.” Harry tried to laugh, but it was
strained. “I believe I have discovered over the last few days that I am more a
lover than a fighter. I don’t want this battle tomorrow.”

“I can’t stop it.” Daniel’s voice was full of regret, and
the look he gave Harry was anguished, his grip on Harry’s hand almost painful.
“I wish I could. I can only try to mitigate the damage.”

“How?”

“Tonight I go in search of information about their attack
tomorrow. I spent most of today determining they will attack here first. I have
no idea if his lordship and his generals will use that information wisely. From
the looks of the defenses here, they are not.” He shook his head. “I’m going to
try to find out how many men the French will send. They held back today in the
village, though they had higher casualties. That may mean they’ll throw the
bulk of their forces at us. The officers in charge know this as well, but they
are determined to cut off all roads to Almeida. It’s stretching our forces too
thin here on the flank.”

“I don’t think your information will change what is to come,
Daniel,” Harry said with an eerie sense of premonition again. “The stage is
set.”

“I have to try,” Daniel whispered harshly. “Dammit, Harry, I
have to try.” He cupped Harry’s cheek. “Promise me you won’t do anything
stupid. You damn officers are always doing something grossly heroic and idiotic
in these situations. Be a coward. Run.”

Harry laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “That is the worst
advice I’ve ever heard,” he chastised Daniel. “‘Cowards die a thousand
deaths’,” he quoted, finally understanding Shakespeare’s meaning.

“Damn Julius Caesar and Shakespeare too,” Daniel said with
venom. “They are not here.” He grabbed Harry’s face between both hands, pulling
Harry down until their foreheads touched. “I could not live if you died
tomorrow, knowing I might have stopped it.”

“You cannot stop it,” Harry said with a fatalism he’d never
felt before. “You never could. It’s out of our hands.” He tenderly rested his
hands on Daniel’s shoulders. “You must know I meant what I said. I love you.”

“Don’t make deathbed confessions yet,” Daniel whispered. He
ran his thumbs across Harry’s cheekbones as if he was memorizing his face.
“Tell me again tomorrow night.”

He kissed Harry with a desperation that Harry understood and
met with his own. He wrapped his arms around Daniel and held him tightly,
trying to imprint the feel of his body against him. He wanted to remember this
tomorrow if death came to take him.

Daniel broke the kiss with a jerk of his head and stumbled
back a step, letting go of Harry. “I have to go,” he said with a catch in his
voice. “Promise me, Harry. Promise me you won’t do anything foolish.”

“I can’t,” Harry said honestly. “Foolishness sits too easily
on my shoulders, you know that. I can only promise to try my damndest to
survive.”

“This entire affair is foolish,” Daniel said, walking
backward away from Harry. “It has been from the start. What were we thinking,
Harry? What have we done to ourselves?”

Harry shook his head, at a loss for words. Daniel was right.
It was supremely foolish to fall in love at war. “I didn’t mean to,” he
whispered. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“We never mean to do it,” Daniel said. “And yet it happens
just the same.” And with those words he faded into the night.

He hadn’t told Harry he loved him. Harry tried not to let
that bother him as he trudged through the brush back to camp.

* * * * *

Harry paused to take a breath, gasping as he spun his horse
around. The French cavalry was all around them. Damn them for leaving the
British line too thin here on the flank. The Seventh Division was cut off. He
deflected a French dragoon’s sword, knocking the man out of his saddle to the
ground. Spurring his horse forward, he engaged another French cavalry officer
attempting to break through the infantry line. The Frenchman spun away and
immediately Harry felt a hard blow against his back. It knocked the wind out of
him and he tottered precariously in his saddle. Then a horse slammed into him
from the side and, still reeling from the blow to his back, he tumbled to the
ground. The sounds of the battle—the shouts and cries of wounded men, the
scream of horses, the sickening slice of blades on flesh—faded, as if he had
cotton batting in his ears. He choked on the dust and his eyes watered and he
felt his first real moment of panic since they’d charged the French line. The
boom of artillery had him shaking his head to clear his mind. Before he could
regain his senses he was yanked out from under the hooves of his panicking
horse. A blow to the chin had him reeling again and he was vaguely aware of
someone shouting and dragging him along, through the dust and thunder of the
melee around them.

He was dumped unceremoniously on the ground. He felt the wet
scratch of the brush on his bare hands as he crawled to his hands and knees.
Suddenly there was a popping sound and he heard a furious voice growling at
him. “…you stupid, fucking little prig.”

He rolled to his back, arms up to defend himself, and to his
shock saw a dusty Sir Barnabas James wearing a rifleman’s uniform, crouched
behind a tree, rifle at the ready as he watched the battle not twenty feet from
where they hid among the trees.

“What…what are you doing?” he managed to gasp. He realized
then that he still hadn’t recovered from the blow that had nearly knocked him
from the saddle.

“You don’t engage the enemy with your back,” James said
angrily. “This is why you bloody little officers keep dying over here. If
they’d only train you the way they train the infantry you’d last longer.”

“I’ve got to get back,” he said, coughing as he tried to
stand. “Thank you.”

James was standing in front of him then, and Harry wasn’t
sure how he’d gotten up so fast. Unexpectedly James put a foot to his chest and
kicked him back into the dirt, knocking the wind out of him again.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” James said through clenched teeth. “I
gave him my word you’d not die out here, and I’m not going to let your
overwhelming stupidity and foolishly noble heroics make a liar out of me.” He
made a furious sound in the back of his throat and then kicked Harry in the
side hard enough to force a grunt out of him. Harry grabbed his throbbing side.
“I wish I could shove your worthless hide out there and let a French bullet
take care of you for me. You are worse than worthless. You little bastard.”

James turned and dropped to a crouch again, looking around
the tree. “They have the Seventh surrounded. Wellington is an idiot and an ass
and he’ll rue this day. It galls me to turn valuable information over to him,
information my agents have gathered at the cost of their lives, and have it
ignored.”

“The French keep pulling back,” Harry said breathlessly. His
ribs were aching from James’ kick. “The cavalry is leading the Seventh back
across the plain to a safer position. The French artillery units are afraid of
us. When we charge they scatter. I’ve got to get back to my horse. Every man is
needed.”

“Every man is going to die,” James said flatly. “Haven’t you
figured that out? You are all expendable. Wellington needs the Seventh
returned. The infantry is what’s important here. You are merely a decoy to
distract the French.” He turned a puzzled look to Harry. “What the hell are
they doing now?”

Harry crawled over cautiously, expecting another assault,
but James just continued to watch the action on the plain in front of them. He
looked out and was as confused as James for a moment. Then James began to
laugh. “By God, they’re going to charge the artillery battery. Can they truly be
that suicidal?”

Harry watched in horror as the Fourteenth Light Dragoons
charged a French artillery company, just as James had said. They were mowed
down by the French guns, and Harry saw his friends fall and felt it like a
wound to his chest. “I should be there,” he cried out angrily. “What the hell
is wrong with you?”

He grabbed James, taking the other man by surprise. Spinning
him around Harry punched him. James stumbled back a step and Harry followed
him, ramming his shoulder into James’ midsection and slamming him back against
a tree. James brought his arms up, breaking Harry’s hold and then he backhanded
Harry across the face. Harry lost his balance and tripped, falling down yet
again.

“Is that really the best you’ve got?” James taunted him.

Harry groaned as he wiped the back of his hand across his
mouth, feeling the warm stickiness of blood on his lip. “Yes, actually, I’m
afraid it is,” he admitted ruefully. “I’m not much of a scrapper. So could we
please stop doing that?”

James laughed. “I’ll have to add that to your faults—liar,
coward, fool, weakling.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry asked, allowing his
exasperation to show. “I never lied to you. Are you mad? Is that what this is
about? Dragging me off in the middle of a battle?”

“I told you, I made a promise,” James said coldly. “I am a
man of my word, no matter how much it galls me.”

“You promised to keep me safe,” Harry said slowly, trying to
rein in his anger and distress. “To Daniel?”

“I can’t think of anyone else around here who cares if you
live or die,” James said sarcastically.

“You’re in love with him,” Harry said. “I suppose that
should surprise me, but it doesn’t.”

“You are a very lucky man, Ashbury,” James said. He reached
down and yanked Harry up with a hand on his upper arm. He shoved Harry ahead of
him. “There are very few people I give a damn about, and even fewer I would do
this for.”