Jane Feather - Violet

“And I suppose it doesn't occur to you that one has something to do with the other?” Julian said acidly.

“I am responsible for my own actions,” Tamsyn said impatiently. “And my own safety, Gabriel, you're being an old woman.”

“El Baron left your safety in my hands.” There was a mulish set to the giant's mouth. “And if y'are going off on this frolic on your own, little girl, then I'll keep faith with your father as I see fit.” He glared at St. Simon. “So, English Colonel, any harm comes to one hair of her head, and I'll cleave your head from your shoulders.”

Tamsyn raised her eyes heavenward. “No harm is going to come to me in the English headquarters, Gabriel.”

“No, that I'll guarantee,” Julian said, deciding to ignore Gabriel's extremely unfriendly threat. “For as long as she's a guest of headquarters. But if she steps outside Elvas, then it's out of my hands. I'm no nursemaid.”

“And I don't need one,” Tamsyn snapped. “Or a bodyguard. Do be off now, Gabriel. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back.”

“And I've your word you'll not move from Elvas until I return?” He glowered, clearly very unhappy.

“You have it.” She leaned over and lightly brushed his cheek with her fingertips, her smile soft, her eyes warm. “Don't fret, now. I'll be quite safe, and you know this has to be done.”

Gabriel sighed. “If you say so, little girl.” He wheeled his charger and cantered away, raising a hand in farewell.

“Poor Gabriel, he really doesn't want to go,” Tamsyn said, still with that fond smile. “He can't bear to let me out of his sight, not since…” She stopped, her eyes clouding, the smile vanishing.

“Since…?” Julian prompted.

Tamsyn shrugged. “History, milord colonel.” She shaded her eyes, gazing across the plain to the walls of Badajos. The ground beneath them was shaking now with the bombardment, and the whine of shells from the returning French fire could clearly be heard.

“Where's he going?”

Again she shrugged. “Just to fetch something. We're getting dose.”

It seemed that Violette had said all she intended to about Gabriel's mysterious journey. He nodded. “We're concentrating the bombardment on the bastions of Santa Maria and La Trinidad.”

“How soon does Wellington expect Soult to get here from Cadiz?”

“You are well informed,” he said with an ironic raised eyebrow. The impending arrival of the French marshal to relieve Badajos was one of Wellington's main anxieties.

“Of course. I fight this war, too, Colonel.”

“You fight for your own gain,” he said bluntly.

Her eyes flashed. “As does your army, sir. Only the partisans fight simply for their country, and I fight with them.”

“You deny you sell your services?” he demanded. She gave him a look of supreme contempt. “To those who can afford them, I sell them. To those who can't, I give them. Sound business principles, milord colonel. And war is business, as you damn well know. Men get rich in wartime.”

“Profiteers,” he stated in disgust.

“And what are you in it for, English milord?” she asked with the same contempt. “Nothing as vulgar as wealth, of course. So what is it? Glory… honor… rank?”

Julian made no response. It was true he pursued all those goals, but he fought for the honor of his country, for loyalty and patriotism. He wasn't going to explain such concepts to a mercenary who would only mock them.

They were skirting the trenches now outside the walls, and the sound of the bombardment was deafening. Tamsyn's Arab was skittish, tossing his head, lifting his feet high, seeming to pick his way with delicacy over the soft, rain-soaked ground,· The· cavalry horses, on the other hand, were untroubled by the noise and the uneven terrain and plodded steadily on.

When a shell burst a few feet from them, throwing up a spume of mud, Cesar whinnied in high-pitched fright and plunged sideways. Julian automatically reached for Tamsyn's bridle to steady the animal.

“Take your hand off!” she commanded with such ferocity his hand dropped immediately. Expertly, she brought the animal under control, speaking to him softly in Spanish, and when he was quiet, turned again to the colonel, her eyes spurting flame. “How dare you presume to touch my bridle?”

“I'm sorry.” He was genuinely taken aback by her fury. “I'm used to riding with my sister. She's not a natural rider, and I have to be on the alert all the time.”

“Well, I am not your sister,” she declared, still furious.

“Fortunately, in the circumstances,” he murmured, unable to help himself, a wicked glimmer in his eye.

Tamsyn glared at him for a minute, then went into a peal of laughter. “How right you are, Colonel. There are some vices too heinous even for mercenary bandits. “

His amusement, misplaced as it was, died as quickly as it had arisen. “We will not speak of that incident again, if you please,” he said with an awkward formality.

Tamsyn glanced sideways at his set face, and a mischievous smile twitched her mouth. “You'd not wish your commander in chief to know you'd been dallying with a prisoner, I daresay.”

“No, damn you, I would not!” he snapped.

“And you wouldn't wish it to occur again?” she mused. “How unflattering of you, Colonel. I confess I would enjoy a repetition.”

“Forgive my bluntness, but I would not,” he stated flatly, turning his horse aside. “Sergeant, you and the men may leave us here and return to the brigade. I intend to cross the river by the east pontoon.”

“Right you are, sir.” The sergeant barked an order to the troop behind him, and they cantered off toward the city of tents forming the army's encampment between the Guadiana and the siege works. The colonel and his companion rode along the river bank toward one of the pontoon bridges connecting the siege workings with headquarters at Elvas.

Tamsyn nodded to herself. Somehow she didn't think the colonel was telling the truth. How could anyone, having once enjoyed that explosion of ecstasy, not hanker for more. Cecile's voice spoke in her memory, soft with sensual laughter, telling her daughter that lovemaking was an appetite that grew whereon it fed. Tamsyn could hear the baron's answering chuckle, see his dark hawk's eyes fixed on her mother's face as if he would devour her.

A familiar wave of sorrow washed over her. She didn't resist it, simply waited for it to recede. The grief was for her own loss, since it was not possible to imagine two such joined souls as separated, even in death.

They crossed the pontoon into the small town of Elvas, the guards coming to attention as the colonel passed. The cobbled streets were thronged with soldiers in the green tunics of riflemen or the scarlet of infantry and cavalry; aide-de-camps hurried between command posts; laden commissary drays lumbered through town on their way to supply the troops in the trenches. Cesar shied as a mangy dog darted out of an alley pursued by a tribe of ragged urchins.

“That animal is too high-strung for his own good,” Julian observed as Tamsyn soothed the horse.

“He's not accustomed to towns,” she said, reacting with asperity to this criticism of her beloved Cesar. “He's not used to being surrounded by people. But he'll carry me without flagging for a hundred miles along a mountain track, and he'd outrun any beast you have in your stables, and over any terrain, milord colonel.”

“Doubtless.” He contented himself with the dry observation, wishing she wouldn't call him that, it had such a sardonic ring to it.

He turned his horse aside into the stable yard at the rear of Wellington's headquarters. “Presumably that sensitive beast will behave himself with the grooms here?”