Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) (22 page)

Rage caught fire in the pit of his stomach, its slow-burning
tongues licking into his breast. Fingers balled into fists. Matthew felt a rush
of pleasure at the memory of finishing her attacker, chased by a wave of guilt.
“I should have come with you.”

Ty's expression was unreadable in the dim light. “You had
matters of your own to attend.”

He should have followed her from the dining room, made her
stay. Or let the party be damned and taken her home himself. Bitterness welled
up ten-fold at the memory of his conversation with Caroline. “Nothing worth
staying for.”

Sitting forward, Ty's face moved further into the
candlelight. His look was grim and questioning. Matthew knew he was about to be
interrogated. “When did you discover Caroline would be there?”

He knew what Ty was really asking, if he had allowed Kate to
attend, knowing Caroline would be there, too. He was asking if the night they
had suffered was owing to selfishness. Matthew shrugged. “When I set foot in
the parlor.” It was the truth. An unwelcome surprise, but Wellington could not
have known the trouble it would stir. The invitation was addressed to '
Lord
& Lady
', just like all the others.

Looking satisfied, Ty sat back. “Matters settled between you
two?”

“I have asked her for a divorce. I did not receive a
satisfactory reply.” He stretched a jaw that stiffened at the memory, “But I do
not need her permission.” He didn't want to talk about Caroline, or think of
her. There was nothing more urgent right now than seeing Kate. “Your report can
wait until this afternoon. Take a moment for yourself, and brief me after
breakfast. My concern for Miss Foster won't keep.”

“I know where she is.” Ty's information stopped his hand at
the flap. “Where she
may
be. She asked me not to say anything.”

Matthew turned, searching his old friend's face. “Then why
are you?”

Ty smiled, ducking the essence of the question. “That was
hours ago. She cannot reasonably expect me to keep her confidence so long.”

“She has known you long enough to be forewarned. That is a
fair assumption,” he teased. If Ty was not willing to admit why he had given
Kate up, Matthew would not press him. He suspected they both knew the truth,
and he was grateful. He took a step toward the door, but Ty's voice caught him
again.

“Matthew.” There was something somber in his tone that gave
Matthew pause. “You are my brother. I have known you far longer than I have
Miss Foster, but she means just as much.” Ty blew out the candle and stood up.
“Remember what I said: She is an original. Treat her that way.”

*          *          *

She should put him out of his misery.

She took a breath, shouting down from the top of the wall. “I know you
saw me the first time you walked by.”

Matthew jerked to a stop, glancing left and then right
ahead
of
him. He had already passed the ladder three times. There was no chance his eyes
had missed her the
first
time, even where she sat at the top of the
scaffolding. He was terrible at pretending, she chuckled. His feigned surprise
might have been believable, except that her voice had clearly come from
behind
him
,
and Matthew was not deaf.

He turned and craned his neck, finding her with no trouble at all. “Miss
Foster. There you are.”

She swallowed a laugh, leaned over the edge on hands and knees and burned
him with a suspicious glare. “Ty told you where to find me.”

Matthew rubbed his jaw, planted fists on his hips and glanced around at
nothing. “I neither confirm nor deny from whence I obtained my intelligence.”

She sighed for effect. “Just come up here.”

“At once, sir!”

She could not see him scaling the ladder, but his voice warmed her head
to foot. The tension which had built inside her during the night melted away.

Matthew grunted, groaned and wriggled his way onto the watch-tower's
platform.
His wound
. How could she forget? She cooed sympathetically.
“Would you like me to look at your side?”

“No.” He folded up, crossing arms with a resistance that surprised her.

Kate pointed. “There's blood on your shirt.”

“Deserter, I imagine.” He stared out past the wall and shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. “That's fresh blood, General. I know the
difference.” It was not her first day in the field. “Would you like me to look
at you or not?”

“Not here,” he amended softly. “I came for you Kate. I do not need tending.”

Her heart skipped at the sound of her name, her
given
name on his
lips. She remembered his hanged-man expression at Caroline's side, the grave
lines of his face when he had appeared on the road. Cocking her head, she
looked him over slowly. “I wouldn't say that.”

“Meaning what?”

“I don't know.” What should she say? Should she ask about the surprise of
his wife's presence, or console the misery fixed to his face at dinner? Should
she pry at his nearly spending the night away from camp? Her guts twisted up,
leaving her completely out of sorts. Was any of it her business? Suddenly, she
wished it was.

She pulled in a breath, drawing up her courage. “Last night was torture
for you. That is no secret. The division between you and your wife...” She
shrugged, turning eyes toward the horizon. “Whatever happened last night, I
suppose I want to hear that you are well.”

“I find myself improving.” The warmth in his murmur was so palpable that
it might have been a touch. It snapped her eyes back to him. Matthew stared,
until she felt a need to break the contact. Then he looked away first.

Taking him in profile, she turned something over in her mind, a
realization she had not come to until she and Ty were safely back at camp. “You
never wrote for a doctor.”

“No.” His head shook slowly. “I perjured myself to you on that count.” He
smiled. “Willingly.”

“Why?” The question had nagged at her for hours, but no answer she had
constructed made any sense.

He looked at her now, face set in determined lines. “Because I do not
feel the need of one. My men have improved under your care, your madcap ideas.”
He pinched her sleeve, shaking it gently. “I cannot in good conscience trade
that for leeches.”

Pride warmed her to the core, but it was fleeting. He had showed his hand
to the Field Marshal, thanks to Greene. “You will have to trade it, now.”

Matthew grinned. “How long have you served with the army, Miss Foster? I
have not received the winter provisions I requested two years past.”

There was truth in his jest, but she had seen the Field Marshal's resolve
when he said the regiment would have a proper doctor. Her hopes were pinned now
on serving whomever that might be. Hopefully, a man more Addison than Astley.
“I am grateful for your faith in me, General. No one has ever had so much of
it, I think.” Doctor Addison had taken a risk on his belief in her, but it was
under the guise of keeping her as a nurse. Matthew had acted with no such
excuse.

He was silent, arms wrapping one knee to his chest. She wished he would
not drift away at moments like this. She could practically feel the cork
sliding back into the bottle. Kate floundered for something to hold him there
with her. “You risked yourself, admitting to the Field Marshal what you'd done.
General –”

“Miss Foster.” His eyes snapped to hers, and Matthew cut her off with
surprising force. “I climbed that rickety leg-breaker to come up here and make
certain
you
are unhurt. Anything else is irrelevant just now.”

Swallowing, she nodded, heart at war yet again. It happened with more and
more frequency lately. She fought the urge to cry; over joy, over
disappointment, or loneliness. Kate hardly knew what brought it on anymore. She
just knew that Matthew was a common factor. She longed for the even-keeled,
taciturn Kate of days past.

“We hardly spoke, on the road. Are you all right?”

She tried to brush away his question, feeling at risk of losing her
composure. “Major Burrell has already told you what occurred.”

“I'm not interested in a field report, Kate. I don't want to hear facts.”

“Then what
would
you like to hear? That I feel guilty? I don't.
They would have –” She pushed away the memory of their stink, their
spittle-covered lips curved and leering. “They would have killed me. And Major
Burrell. I'm just angry at having to suffer the memory of it.”

He was watching her carefully. “Have you ever killed a man before?”

Kate closed her eyes, remembering. “During the siege of Rodrigo. We took
cover in a farmhouse. I must have struck a few with my musket, but it was
chaos. Even if I'd been able to see through the powder smoke...aim and fire,
ram another ball home. It was all a blur.” She opened her eyes and glanced at
him. “Not like this. Not so close.”

He seemed to measure her with his eyes. “I have never much tolerated
women in the service. It fosters discontent among the men and burdens them with
inappropriate responsibility. Thin resources are divided more thinly, and the
army moves like a three legged horse.”

She could not believe he would insult her so casually, not after
everything that had happened. Kate got to her knees, a hand on her hip and a
finger spearing at Matthew's chest. “I take profound offense at the idea –”

His index finger bridged her lips, preventing her finishing the tirade.
She could not have continued if she'd wanted to. Its warm line across her mouth
stole her thoughts.

“I am
willing
to admit – particularly where you are concerned,
Miss Foster, that perhaps I have been wrong.” His lips twitched, and Kate
realized she'd been had. Matthew had got her goat, and he knew it. She sat back
down and folded arms across her chest. It irked her when Matthew got under her
skin; even more so when she let him.

He was uncomfortable with the silence. She saw it in the way he unbent,
then bent his leg again, peppering her with sidelong glances. He cleared his
throat. “Miss Foster –”

“Shh.” She stifled a giggle.

“I beg your pardon?” It was his turn to look vexed. His confusion was
worth a grin.

She reached out her fingers. “Shh. Hold my hand. Here it comes.”

He looked around them, confused. “What?”

She pointed to the land out ahead of them, closed her eyes, opened them
again, and laughed under Matthew's furrowed brow. “It's hard to decide whether
to look or to keep my eyes shut.” The fingertips of her left hand pressed
against her eye. “I love the way the light glows through my eyelids, sort of
dusky and pink, and a moment later the warmth touches my face.”

The sun crested the low ridge to the east. Bronze and then golden, it
spilled over the trees, flooding the valley with light. Shadows were chased
away ahead of its wave, until she had to turn her face away, shielding it from
the sun's brilliance.

She squeezed his fingers. “It's a little selfish, indulging so when I am
needed elsewhere. But when I watch the light come over the horizon, painting
hills and houses, I know that God has not forgotten us.”

Matthew pressed his other hand to her knuckles, sheltering her fingers
between his own. “I know he has not forgotten
you
, Miss Foster. I
remember you to him far too often for it.”

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

14 May,
1815 – Quatre Bras

Fann,

How I wish you were here now. There is almost no price too high in
order to have your advice. Something has happened, after the events with the
deserters, and I hardly know what to do.

When I told you that I had studiously avoided General Webb after he
was shot, I was being entirely honest. I had begun to feel something I dared
not entertain.

At times I swear he feels the same, and others I cannot read him a
bit. Though he is married, he is conflicted. Perhaps that is the confusion I
sense, and it has nothing to do with me at all.

Since the attack on the road, I have had to admit that I cannot put
him from me, even if I wished to. Instead I have resolved to be his friend and
confidant, to enjoy his company as much as I am allowed. Is that sinful? Am I
simply finding a way to indulge myself under the guise of something nobler?

I am drowning, Fann, with no direction to strike out for land...

Kate wrung out the rag and pressed it to her skin, wincing at the steam against
her flesh. She wiped away the last of the blood from her arms and neck. Her
last patient had been a drunkard. It had hardly been a surprise when his gut
ache turned into a spasm, forcing blood from his mouth and nose. Hooking her
soiled dress with a foot, she tossed it into the corner. Hardly a surprise, and
hardly pleasant. One look down his throat was all it had taken to diagnose torn
veins strained by years of drink. It was a miracle he had not choked on the
clotting ooze. Not that it mattered much, she thought, wriggling into a clean
shift. She would be amazed if he lasted to the end of the week and was sorry to
see him suffer that long.

A hand darted in through the flap, disembodied fingers snapping. “What
are you about in there!”

Stifling a laugh, Kate finished her
buttons. “Come in here!”

Ty strolled in regally, everything
in place save for the lingering red welt over his cheek where his stitches had
been.

Kate widened her eyes for effect at
his entrance. “My goodness. I haven't seen so much as the back of your head in
days. Where have you been?”

“Playing soldier,” he mumbled
absently. Neck craning, his eyes searched every corner of her tent, top to
bottom. “That sneezing powder you concocted for me...that was first rate.” He
moved to her worktable, picking up a bottle and shaking it. “What do you have
that would make a man appear dead?” He threw a glance over his shoulder. “Not
actually
dead.”

“Romeo and Juliet dead?” she asked.

“Exactly!” He poked a finger at her,
still fiddling with the things on her table.

“I'll see what I can do,” she
offered uneasily. Sometimes she wondered about Tyler. “Is that why you are here
interrupting my mid-day respite?”

He dropped her pestle back into its
mortar and turned around. “No, by the by. The general has arranged an...
amusement, for the midday meal. I am certain that you do
not
wish to
miss it.”

The way his brows wiggled was not
encouraging. “Is it a drunken animal? I have seen enough of those to last –”

“Better,” Ty cut in. “The regiment's
morale is of
chief
concern to General Webb,” he announced theatrically.
“He has ordered –” Ty paused, correcting himself, “firmly
requested
that
Captain Greene compose and recite a poem. For the benefit of the men, of
course.”

“Of course.” Kate doubled over,
snorting.
This she had to see
. Matthew had assured her that he could not
make Greene apologize for his behavior at the officers' dinner. Apparently he
had been doing some thinking on the matter. She snatched her shawl from the
bed. “It was very kind of you to remember me.”

The mid-day meal was a rare
occurrence. Typically, the men ate breakfast on waking, fended for themselves
from their own rations until dinner, which was usually each company's
responsibility to organize. On occasion, though, if rations permitted and when
the men had been hard at drill or heavy labor, the garrison commander would
approve additional fare.

For Kate it brought mixed feelings.
The event certainly improved morale, but it always meant the loss of Porter.
Accounted as a sound cook who could prepare food in states other than raw or
burned, he was conscripted as another pair of hands. Kate got the impression by
the way he was now keeping up animated conversation with the pretty French girl
who tended the bread that he did not really mind.

Greene was already planted atop one
of the trestle tables dotting the commissary yard. He held a creased sheet of
paper in front of his face. He pretended to squint in concentration, but Kate
knew better. He was nervous. She rubbed her hands together, picking her way
closer through the crowd of men to better hear her nemesis.

...There are men behind the
wagons

Eyes of lily white

And we leave them under France's
dust

In their eternal night

In bitterest dreams I scream and
shout

For the driver to draw up slow

But the men behind the wagons

No longer care to go

Greene relaxed his arm, paper
dangling at his hip, and faced the silent camp.

It was good. Not an epic, but
honest, admitted Kate. Suddenly she felt ashamed of her eagerness to mock him,
whatever had transpired. The men began to clap, but Kate decided her good will
went only so far. She tucked fingers up into the crook of each arm and stood
still.

Greene's eyes snapped to hers over
the applause spreading through the crowd. The tight lines of his narrow face were
loosened by earnestness, and perhaps by a touch of humility. He nodded slowly,
and she responded in kind. They were far from on good terms, thought Kate, but
perhaps they understood one another a little better.

A figure over her shoulder blocked
the sun, casting its shadow out ahead of her. A familiar scent announced
Matthew's arrival even before she heard him speak. “What do you think of our
new poet?”

Turning slowly, she looked the
general over carefully. “Was this your doing?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Captain Greene penned his few
stanzas out of the goodness of his heart?”

Laughing, Matthew at least had the
decency to stare sheepishly at his boots. “Every man has an Achilles heel, Miss
Foster.”

“Even you?”

His smile vanished, and Matthew
bored into her with his fathomless gray eyes. “Especially me.”

“Webb! Miss Foster wants no part of
your wool gathering.” Ty appeared almost between them, grinning from her to
Matthew and back. Kate was glad for his interruption, for once. She could not
have uttered a single word in answer to Matthew.

Raising a brow at Ty, Matthew pinned
her with a finger. “Miss Foster made no such complaint, major.”

“Because she has manners. And if you
had any, you'd be seated in the mess already, so we could bloody well eat.” Ty
crossed his arms, leaning impatiently onto one leg.

Eager to be away from Matthew and
alone with her thoughts, Kate took three steps back. “Gentlemen.” She
half-curtsied. “I cannot stand between a man and his food.”

Ty's bow was low and dashing.
Matthew simply watched unblinking, until she finally turned her back in order
to hide her burning face.