GATHERING INFORMATION
“Dash it, Richard,” the voice said, breaking his concentration where he sat on a bench in the mess tent, mending his coat.
“What?” Richard asked, feeling his jaw set tight as he recognized the voice. Major Rowell.
“That strumpet just disappearing in the woods like that?”
Richard went white. He almost stabbed the needle he sewed with in his hand, he got such a shock. He set it aside and stared.
“Say that again,” he said quietly. “Lady Arabella is no strumpet, and you'll rue it if you call her that again.”
He saw the major's brow rise and thought he detected nerves there, before the man's expression changed to mild surprise. He felt his own heart thump, knowing himself a fool for having betrayed his feelings. He leaned against the wall, heart thumping, and swallowed hard.
“I detect a note of admiration in your voice, eh?” he chuckled. “Lass got to you.”
The fuss when he discovered her missing suggested she'd got to the major too, Richard thought to himself. Very disturbingly. “Lady Arabella warrants our protection,” was all he said.
“And I suppose that's why she went haring off into the woodlands like a flock of wolves chased at her heels?” he asked. “Because she was so solicitous of our protection?” he chuckled. “I think she'll manage very well alone. And you're a fool.”
Richard swallowed, hearing a harshness in his voice. “Why, sir?” he said tightly. The insult made his blood boil, but this was his immediate superior. He couldn't very well attack him.
“You think to trust such a doxy as her?” the man said. “Richard, she's like as not a spy. Mark my words. I should have them scouring the woods for her. Just in case you told her something stupid, eh? Like our marching orders for next week? You wouldn't have mentioned anything, would you?”
“Sir,” Richard swallowed hard again. “I take it you think I am a fool. However, I am not so foolish. No, I told her nothing. I felt pity for her plight, but I would not betray my king for aught.”
“Oh, good,” Major Rowell sounded as if he thought it amusing. “Well, I trust that to be true. Only time will tell. Now, are your men in marching order?”
“They will be,” Richard nodded, not raising his eyes from his sewing. His blood had stained the cloth a little from where he'd stabbed his finger with the needle, but it had stopped flowing now and the blotch would wash out. “I've set them to repairing their supplies.”
“I note you are an example to them,” the major said, amused. “In which case, be sure you don't set an example of being over-friendly with the locals.”
His hard stare met Richard as he looked up and he felt his breath catch in his throat. What was the man suggesting?
“Yes, sir,” he said hoarsely.
The major chuckled as he left.
As soon as he'd gone, Richard leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. He let out a slow breath. What was he going to do?
Of all the news the major brought with him, the most important was that Arabella had escaped. If he had any word of her from any of the other troops, it would probably have shown in his voice. Richard didn't believe the man would sound so annoyed if he'd managed his own way.
He sighed. Arabella was clearly safe from the English troopers then. Then again, they were far from the only dangers in these woods. He felt his hands clench into fists and consciously relaxed them. What was he thinking? He could barely concentrate or do his duty, and all for worrying about Lady Arabella – someone he hardly knew.
I just wish I knew if she was safe.
He sat up, making himself open his eyes and focus on the spare coat on his knee. He heard someone step onto the tiles.
“Sir?”
He sighed. “Yes, Stower?”
He found himself looking up into the red-cheeked, earnest face of Roderick Stower, his ensign.
“Sir? The men are ready. We've done like you said, and mended our kit. Now they want to know if we should march north? The major's getting the other lot all lined up and ready.”
Richard swore. “Yes, Stower. I'll be right there.”
He grimly packed his needle and thread into the “housewife” tin he carried with him, stuffed it into his coat and stood, the spare coat still trailing over his arm, one button loosely stitched.
Following the ensign, he walked out into the dark afternoon. He went to join his men.
“Right, lads,” he said, “we're the rearguard. We're to wait until Major Rowell and his lot head off, then Srethley's lot, then us.”
“Aye, sir.”
They all stood and started to get into line, some grunting and groaning as men will do when they have sat round a fire for some short warmth and companionship and then have their rest interrupted. Richard, feeling impatience start to grow inside him, stood under the tree and waited for them to line up.
“So, sir,” one of the men said, “Rowell's lot had a bit of a parade yesterday.”
“Parade?” Richard frowned, absently listening to the man – Alex Westering, one of the known gossips in the ranks, as they got ready.
“Yes, sir!” the man chuckled. Another man nearby let out a huffed laugh too. “A right rumpus, so I heard. By! But the major had flames coming out of his ears, he were so vexed.”
They both laughed. Richard felt a little uneasy, though he couldn't help but be rather heartened by the men's dislike of Rowell.
“Why was he vexed?” he asked, conversationally enough, though his heart was thumping.
“Well, it seemed he was giving pursuit in the woods – some vagabonds or summat – never did find out what as they were chasing,” the other man said, beating Alex to the story, who looked quite put out.
“He was ever so set on his quarry,” he elaborated, filling in before the other man – Matt or something, Richard couldn't quite recall his name – had a chance to complete the news. “That he was cursing the fellows purple so he was, for failing him.”
“What?” Richard frowned, fear coursing through him. “What was it?”
“Like we said, we dunno, sir,” the other man said dolefully. “Wish I knew.”
“Said it must be spies or something,” Alex supplied, ever hopeful of being the first with interesting news. “Why else was the fellow so cross? Anyhow,” he said, looking round as they were joined by a rank of men, “I suppose I'd best shut my trap about him, now he's there.”
They all looked round to where a red-coated man appeared at the edge of the clearing. Richard noted absently how the men all avoided him. He was known for his cruel tongue and his quick-to-punish temperament. Richard shrugged off the cold feeling that settled in his insides.
He was pursuing someone yesterday.
He swallowed hard, composing himself as Rowell rode up.
“Lieutenant. Your men are finally readied?”
Richard bridled, hearing the sarcasm in his voice. “Yes, Major.”
“Well, then. The company will follow mine. I'll go ahead. We can't be too careful in these woods. Keep twelve men back from the rest.”
“Yes, sir,” Richard nodded. The twelve men would trail his group; to take word back should the head of the column be ambushed. Richard shrugged, considering riding in it himself. He looked for his deputy, Clarkson, and found him.
“You take this lot – I'm going at the back.”
“Sir?” Clarkson stared at him, big brown eyes stretched with seeming horror at the plan.
“Yes, Clarkson. I have a feeling we need someone in the back who can talk to high command without needing to shout through the door.”
Clarkson laughed. Richard, as the son of a baron, was at least likely to be permitted into the presence of the superior officers. As for the rest of them, Richard knew, if they'd been reporting a full-scale French invasion, the high command would probably have not been interested.
“Well, sir,” Clarkson said, swallowing hard. “I'll do my best.”
“You do that, Clarkson,” Richard nodded firmly. “I'll see you later.”
“Yes, sir.”
They headed off to their respective posts.
As he stood back, waiting for his men to file ahead, Richard found himself looking around the field, distress gripping his heart. What if Arabella had been pursued? What if she was hurt, lying in these woods somewhere? What if Rowell and his lot had caught her? He swallowed hard. He looked round. Perhaps he could just slip back to where the man was billeted and check?
“Sir!” Stower came up behind him, almost making him jump. “We're off?”
“You're riding in the back with me, Stower,” Richard said grimly. “And do you think you can do something for me, something gravely important?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Anything sir.”
“Keep your mouth shut when I'm trying to concentrate.”
“Yes, sir.”
Richard sighed. He hated being short with Stower – the man was the soul of cheerfulness. Right now though, with his nerves frayed to breaking point, the last thing he needed was his cheerful conversation. Smoothing a hand down the velvet of his coat, he swung himself up into the saddle and rode forward.
The trees were dark and a strange sense of brooding seemed to hang over the woodlands. It had rained that morning and the rain dripped from the needles of the pine trees, making Richard shiver where it dripped on his skin. He sighed and reached up for his collar, wondering where Arabella was.
He sighed as memories of her flooded back. Her red lips, her brown eyes. The sweet softness of the skin of her throat. His loins ached as he thought of it, imagining the sweetness of planting little kisses down it. He sighed.
Richard, you might as well imagine flying through the sky. You are about as likely to be let near the daughter of a rebel earl as you are to do that. Now, concentrate, before you get us all killed.
He sighed again, looking around.
At his knee, Stower marched along, face taut with the effort, Richard thought grinning, of keeping himself quiet. He almost wanted to reach down and ask him something, just to see the poor man smile.
I suppose I can be a cantankerous wretch.
He sighed. He knew he was letting this matter weigh on his mind. How could he fail to think of Lady Arabella?
She has ensnared me.
He laughed, knowing he was being foolish. She was a regular woman, not some conjurer, out to lead him to his demise. All the same, he had to admit, that if Duncliffe wanted to destroy the morale of the troops utterly, all he had to do was introduce them to his daughter. They'd be hopelessly in love and stupidly picking fights with each other within two hours.
Then, he thought with a wry smile, they'd all be riding about in blessed inattention and anyone could pick them off like redcurrants off a hedge, just like me.
He straightened up and looked around, feeling a flutter of concern. At his side, Stower marched resolutely, Alex not far ahead. He had kept eleven of the men behind – all trustworthy men, all marching in a sort of lozenge shape, with him at the head. He tensed, feeling a prickle of nerves. The woods were eerily silent, the faint sigh of wind in the tallest trees the only noise.
Anyone could be hiding in there.
He shivered. Was that what Arabella had thought, riding west all on her own? He shook his head at himself. What had he been thinking, letting her ride back alone?
“I had to,” he murmured under his breath, not knowing he spoke aloud.
“Sir?”
He jumped as Alex stopped beside his horse, looking up at him with a confused expression.
“What, Westering?” he asked, more harshly than he'd meant to.
“Just wondered what you'd said, sir,” the man said, frowning. “I thought you said we'll halt here.”
Richard sighed. “No, Westering, I didn't. If I am ever insane enough to order twelve men to halt in the middle of hostile territory to rest their legs, please take me to the surgeon's tent and tell the man to let the pressure off my brains.”
“Yes, sir.”
Richard sighed. Alex was a trustworthy man, stolid and steadfast. He also had virtually no sense of humor at all. He regretted ordering Stower to silence. He glanced at the man, but his face was carefully neutral.
“Right,” he said. “Another twenty minutes and we'll join the main road. I for one will celebrate being out of these close trees.”
“Yes, sir.”
They went on ahead in silence.
Twenty minutes later they did, in fact, join the main road. They were heading north of Edinburgh, the ground sloping upward gently as they moved to elevated territory. They had heard a rumor of troops being mustered up here, near a place called Cambrooke.
I suspect this is one of the major's plans to quash insurrection before it happens. The man sees threats behind every bush. I sometimes wonder about him.
He sighed. The Borderers had been fairly well-established in the region, getting information from loyal informers, going quietly about their business, trusted by most of the local folks, until Rowell arrived. With some passionate hatred of the Scots Richard could barely understand, he had led the troops all over the place on some half-formed suspicion or another, leading them to burn storage barns and keep surveillance in towns where there was only the faintest breath of Jacobinism.
This isn't the way to make peace. It's the way to make enemies.
Richard shivered at the thought. The mere fact that Duncliffe had massacred so many of the officers was evidence of how hated they'd become. For what? Because Rowell had some tightly held hatred of the resident population?
“Beats me why we listen to him,” he sighed. They would do better to commit insubordination and save the regiment's reputation than to carry out his orders as they stood.
“What's that, sir?” Alex Westering asked, looking up at him curiously.
“I said, if Westering interrupts me when I'm thinking again, I shall box his ears,” he snarled.
Matt Peters sniggered. Stower went red, trying to contain his mirth. Alex looked offended.
“Yes, sir.”
“Cheer up, Westering,” Richard added, smiling. “Soon we'll be at the town, and then you can redeem yourself by tacking out my horse. I'm going to see if I can get the best of what's left of the rations for us.”
“Hurrah!” Matt said.
Richard laughed. As the very last of the troops to arrive, there wouldn't be much left for them. He was going to make sure the rest didn't take all the decent stuff. He thought Rowell disadvantaged his lot on purpose – maybe he thought the men would finish him off if they felt vexed enough?
After yesterday, I think Rowell wants to finish me off.
He shivered as he recalled the intense way the man had looked at Arabella. What had he done, the previous evening? Had he pursued her? Had he succeeded?
Where was Arabella? Was she safe?
He sighed and swung down off his horse as they neared the town at last. He wouldn't rest easy, he knew, until he found out.