CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
EVA’S HEART SLAMMED against her ribcage. She knelt by the fallen soldier and opened his coat. The bullet went straight through his forehead. “He’s dead.” She looked at the major. “I hesitate to ask the penalty for killing a fellow warrior of the crown.”
Blackwood holstered his pistol, his mouth set in a grim line. “He was a deserter, although ’tis best if we don’t speak of it.”
Jacqueline helped her brother to his feet. He held his jaw, eyes smarting with pain.
“Let me see it,” Eva said. He was trying to act tough, but she worried about a broken jawbone.
He pulled his hand away and revealed a gash on his chin. She wiped away the blood. A couple stitches and it would heal well enough. “The scar will provide an exciting war story,” she teased.
Julian’s eyes actually brightened at that, probably already weaving a grand tale.
“You saved our lives, sir.” Sister Beatrice was still shaking, both hands pressed against her chest. She dropped to a seat on the downed tree with a very unladylike grunt.
“And you saved mine.” He gave Eva his full attention. “I only ask you help me mount my horse, so I may make my way back to my regiment.”
She hesitated. How could she in good conscience release him? He’d be ordered back to combat American soldiers. Yet, after saving Jacqueline, how could she deny him his request?
Tilting his head, he perused her and the others, who were probably thinking the same thing. He gave them a wry smile. “My injuries will likely remove me from command. I shall not be fighting anytime soon. I’ll barely be able to stay astride a horse as it is.” Blackwood shrugged and rolled to his knees, wincing. “I have little choice but to try.”
“Well, there’s only one way we’ll know for sure.” Jacqueline retrieved the horse’s reins. “Julian, you and Eva are the strongest, perhaps you should help him to his feet?”
Eva hooked her elbow under the soldier’s upper arm and Julian imitated her. “Sister Beatrice, will you support the injured leg?” She addressed the man. “Are you ready?”
He nodded, lips flat with pain. Once upright, Blackwood grimaced and swayed.
Eva tightened her grip. “Keep your hold strong, Julian.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The nun gently lowered the wounded limb. “How will he mount?”
“Like this,” he grunted. Placing his arm on the pommel, he shifted his weight to the injured leg just long enough to allow him to thrust his other boot into the stirrup. He mounted smoothly from there.
Beatrice pressed her hands together, pleased. “Well! That was much easier than I expected.”
No sooner had she said that than the man started to wilt.
“Grab him!” Jacqueline cried.
Eva clutched his jacket and tugged him upright while from the other side of the horse, Julian braced his hands on his hip and shoved. She glanced at Beatrice, wondering how to best phrase her thoughts. “Sister, I think you should ride behind him to keep the major steady.”
They would also move at a quicker pace. The elder nun could only walk so fast. Obviously, they’d have to escort the soldier back to his camp. He wouldn’t make it, otherwise.
Sister Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Me? Ride astride a horse? I could never...it would be...I could not.”
Eva wrapped her hands around the old nun’s. “Sister, you must. You’re strong enough to hold him in place. I know your knees pain you. Give them some ease, at least for a while.” It was her legs Beatrice was likely worried about. A religious dress and tunic were not made to accommodate much in width. They would ride up.
The old nun pondered Eva’s logic. Uncertainty and trepidation flickered across her face.
“Look, Sister Beatrice.” Jacqueline pointed to the coats tied to the back of the saddle. “We can blanket your legs with these.”
Smart girl.
Jacqueline’s idea bolstered Beatrice’s decision. “Fine, then. I shall do it. Julian, turn your head.”
He was directed to the opposite side, assigned the task of keeping the steed still; both so the sister could mount as well as to keep the major seated. Finding a stump to make it easier, Eva and Jacqueline wrestled and pulled until Sister Beatrice was finally in position behind him. They secured two coats so they draped over her legs.
“Well!” Sister Beatrice’s face was flushed, from either embarrassment or exertion, it was hard to tell. With Eva shouldering her rump and Jacqueline guiding her exposed leg, it was probably both. “I admit, I’m a trifle nervous,” she said.
Blackwood gathered the reins. “I’ll do my best to avoid becoming a nuisance. Ferret is very-well trained and unlikely to bolt. Even so, we’ll continue slowly for our safety as well as his.”
At Eva’s urging, Beatrice reached her hands around the major’s waist. The nun paused a moment to get herself settled. “This isn’t as horrible as I expected. In fact, it’s quite a bit warmer.” She said, blushing profusely.
Blackwood’s face reddened and he gave a choked cough.
“Let’s proceed.” Jacqueline took charge. “Julian and I will hold the major’s boots to keep him balanced and astride.”
Julian shrugged into the remaining coat the deserter had pilfered, a soft buckskin with a fur-lined collar, which he flipped up to cover his ears. He huffed out a nervous breath. “I guess we’re off to Villeré.” He looked to the northeast, where campfire smoke drifted with the wind. “I wonder how we’ll be received.”
There was no guessing. Eva could at least hide behind her veil. A knot of worry tightened in her stomach when her gaze rested on Jacqueline who was obviously vulnerable and exposed.
At thirteen she was even more at risk for abuse, especially from men like that deserter. With her dark, coffee-colored hair, gray, almond-shaped eyes and full, easy smile, she was already transitioning from lovely to beautiful. In a few years, she’d be stunning.
Eva’s gaze shifted to Julian, so ready to be a man. He could very well be forced into the army by the British, as was their want. It was one of the foremost reasons the United States declared war against England. Too many American merchant vessels were ransacked, their crews pressed into service with the Royal Navy.
Anxiety and fear churned and clawed a hot acidic path up her throat. If she’d insisted the children stay at the convent, they’d only have sneaked out and followed her. It had become exceedingly obvious the only way to prevent them from getting into trouble, was to keep them with her, even though it didn’t guarantee good behavior in the slightest.
The ground was uneven and pitted with ditches and holes, the American army’s pitiful attempt to slow enemy troops. The major managed to stay fairly upright, although each jolt drew a slight wince. He glanced down at Julian. “From your conversations, I’ve learned your given name is Julian, and your little sister’s name is Jacqueline.”
“Two minutes,” Jacqueline said from the other side of the horse.
Blackwood gave her a puzzled look. “I beg your pardon?”
“He is only two minutes older than me, and I’ll have you know I’m thirteen.”
Julian puffed out his chest and grinned, enjoying the opportunity to nettle her a bit. “It still makes me older, little sister.”
“Pfft.”
Julian shifted the conversation before Jacqueline’s temper got the best of her. “Have you always wanted to be a Dragoon?”
The man didn’t immediately answer but stared at his hands holding the reins.
“Major Blackwood? Did you?”
He expelled a lungful of air. “No, but I’m content with my choice.”
“Was your father a Dragoon? Is that why you joined?”
The officer let out a short sardonic laugh. “No, definitely not. Truth be told, I did it to get away from him because I didn’t want to follow in his footsteps.”
This got Jacqueline’s attention, and by default, her imagination. “Why ever not? Was he a criminal? Not all criminals are bad through and through. We are friends with a pirate, although he isn’t a pirate anymore. He actually saved Julian’s life nearly at the expense of his own.”
Eva’s eyebrows jumped. Now there was a story she’d love to hear.
The major’s thoughts ran along the same path, either that or he wanted to nudge the conversation in another direction. “Saved by a pirate?” He gave Jacqueline a dubious expression. “That sounds rather unlikely.”
Julian’s eyes danced with excitement. “Captain Gampo truly did! I was nine--“
“Eight,” Jacqueline corrected. “It was summer. We only just turned thirteen last month.”
Julian rolled his eyes. “Fine. I was hiding under the captain’s bed with his charts and found a stiletto. I heard the clash of swords and decided to help. He was fighting off Captain Brendan with a long sword, a saber. I attacked, surprising Captain Brendan. Instinct made him adjust his swing toward me, and Gampo flung his body between me and the blade.”
Blackwood smirked. “That doesn’t sound like a pirate.”
No, it didn’t. A small flicker of warmth sparked in Eva’s chest.
Julian’s voice turned more somber. “If he hadn’t, the sword would have taken off my head.”
The major looked impressed. “That was quite brave for an eight-year-old.”
Jacqueline snorted. “It was quite stupid.”
Julian didn’t argue. His own guilt drawing the corners of his mouth down.
“Are you married?” Jacqueline asked.
Blackwood jumped at the sudden change in conversation. “No.” He pressed his lips together as if annoyed the answer was startled out of him.
The girl focused her attention on guiding the horse around a large hole, but the corners of her mouth were tipped up.
He frowned, although his eyes twinkled with amusement. “You are quite talkative for such a young girl. In England, children are taught to be seen, but not heard.”
“I’d like to visit London, someday. Although I cannot promise to remain silent the entire time,” Jacqueline replied. The expression on her face led Eva to the conclusion the girl likely wouldn’t even try. The nice thing about the veil was that it did a wonderful job hiding smiles.
This time, the Major chuckled. “It would be a terrible shame if you did.” The saddle creaked as he shifted in his seat. He winced. “Should any of you ever find yourself in London, it would be my honor to have you as guests.”
Julian frowned. “You’d invite your enemies into your home?”
Blackwood stiffened. “You’re not my enemy.” He gestured to his wounded thigh. “I owe you a deep debt of gratitude for saving my life. If ever I can be of assistance, I hope you grant me the opportunity.”
That opportunity might come earlier rather than later, depending on their reception at the British headquarters.
Sister Beatrice piped up, echoing Eva’s concerns. “Your aid in keeping these children out of harm’s way would be payment enough.”
“Is your house big enough for us if we do come visit?” Julian asked.
“Quite.”
“How would we ever find you?” Jacqueline asked.
“It shouldn’t be too hard,” he said dryly.
“I think I should like to marry an English aristocrat,” Jacqueline mused. She brightened. “Perhaps when I’m eighteen, I can marry you.”
The major barked out a preposterous laugh. “That is highly unlikely.” He glanced at the young girl and abruptly bit his tongue.
Eva caught the shadow that flickered across the girl’s face at his response and her heart shrank. Jacqueline’s cheeks colored and she moved away from the horse to skirt a puddle, taking her time to return.
Blackwood shot her a sideways glance, before clearing his throat and continuing. “However I’m sure by then your beauty will blossom so gloriously every gentleman in town will be begging for your hand.”
Jacqueline’s shoulders dropped the slightest amount before they straightened again. She didn’t say another word.
It wasn’t difficult to read the young girl’s posture. She’d retreated to a place where Eva had spent plenty of time over the past few years. The man might have just as well said, “By then, your beauty might blossom, but now, I don’t see you as very pretty.”
In the distance, Villeré’s house eased from the mist, a charcoal outline against a dreary gray backdrop. Eva tensed and her pulse quickened as several soldiers stepped from the fog and stopped. They were too far away to make out faces, but close enough to notice their raised weapons.
“Halt!”
The voice froze everyone into stillness. A lieutenant came forward and raked his gaze over Blackwood’s epithets. “Name and regiment, Major, sir?” he asked.
He answered in a curt authoritative tone. “Major Ethan Blackwood, Her Grace’s Light Dragoons, 14th.” He waved to Eva and the children. “These are civilian members of a medical detachment from the Ursuline convent.”
By now, the rest of the watch had surrounded them. “You’ll be accompanied to the Lieutenant Corporal of your regiment for formal identification,” the soldier said crisply. Four of them flanked the horse.
Eva released her hold on the bridle and moved next to Jacqueline, who stood frozen and wide-eyed. Julian’s expression wavered between fear and gritty bravado, but he stayed on the other side of the Major’s mount. Beatrice remained strangely silent, perhaps waiting until her words fell on more influential ears.
She just hoped the major would find a way to protect Julian.
Blackwood nodded, then “The women and children?”
The captain gestured for them to move along the lane with Ferret. “General Hampton will determine what’s to be done with them.”
Jacqueline cast a worried glance at her brother. What would the British do with the boy? Would they treat him as a hostile prisoner and confine him or press him into the service of one of their officers?
Her fears somewhat eased with Blackwood’s next statement.
“I should like the boy to first care for my mount, I have a leg wound.” The Major lifted the coat covering his blood-soaked thigh. Eva let out a sigh of relief.
The captain shrugged and gestured with his rifle for Julian to fall in next to Ferret. Hopefully the Major would be able to see after him and keep him safe. They continued down the lane toward the main house. Near and far, dark specks dotted the landscape in a regular pattern of squares, looking very much like haystacks until they got closer. A sickening blanket of dread descended upon Eva’s shoulders as she looked out over hundreds and hundreds of tents spread out over acres of Villeré fields.
Drago had understood the overwhelming odds against them when he’d seen the armada amassing in Negril Bay. Until now, she hadn’t been able to comprehend the terrifying magnitude of their numbers. Still, he came to New Orleans to warn his friends. Then he’d stayed and thrown his lot in with them. A bleaker thought made her stomach harden. The chance of his survival was tiny. They were a fledgling country fighting the strongest military force of their age.
This was not his war. This was not his land.
There was no patriotic fever burning in his chest for freedom and victory. He was, as Jean Lafitte had so elegantly pointed out, a pirate, after all.