A Reckless Beauty (13 page)

She looked up into Valentine’s face, his tired eyes. She’d wondered how this so strong, enigmatic man might look in an unguarded moment. And now she knew. He looked incredibly sad, and terribly human.

“So many good men, all of them gone, Fanny. It’s as Wellington says. Next to a battle lost, the saddest thing is a battle won. Damn Bonaparte for not staying where we put him, and damn us for not keeping him there.”

“Will we chase him now? Will you and Rian chase him?”

Valentine shook his head. “The French are in disarray. Wellington’s assigning others, thank God, to urge any stragglers on their way. It’s over, Fanny, reduced to a rout now that Bonaparte has left the field. His
Grande Armeé
is defeated for the last time. Strange, isn’t it? Ney told the French king he’d deliver Bonaparte to him in a cage when he deserted his Emperor for a space. And it’s probably Ney’s incompetence against Blücher at Ligny, letting him escape, that provided that cage. Not that the Allies won’t hang Ney in any event, if they catch him.”

“I hope we hang them all,” Fanny said, meaning every word. She looked down on the battlefield, saw women and even children walking among the dead and wounded, sometimes stopping, falling to their knees, dropping their heads into their hands, weeping. Riderless horses wandered aimlessly, others writhed on the ground in pain. Occasional sharp gunshots made her flinch, as the horses were put out of their misery. Thousands. So many thousands of men, seemingly cast down on the expansive battlefield like broken toys dropped from a child’s careless hand. “I’m just so glad it’s over. Can we go back to Brussels now? Please? Just as soon as we find Rian.”

Valentine tore his own gaze from the gruesome tableau spread out below them. “You haven’t seen him?”

Fanny’s fatigue disappeared as her heart skipped a beat. “Seen him? No. Not yet.”

Valentine slipped an arm around her shoulders and led her over to the main tent. “He’ll be in here, with the other aides,” he told her, throwing back the flap and ushering her inside the dimness ahead of him.

But Rian wasn’t there.

“Lieutenant Battenly,” Valentine called out, seeing the chubby, red-cheeked aide who had been with Rian the night of Lady Richmond’s ball. “Lieutenant Becket—where is he, if you please?”

Charles Battenly got slowly to his feet, cradling his left arm, which was contained in a rude sling. “We’ve won, haven’t we, sir? Isn’t it grand? But Lieutenant Becket? I haven’t seen him, sir, not since I stupidly fell off my horse and got pushed in here, out of the way. He’d gone to take a message to the Prince of Orange, but…he hasn’t returned? That was…but I saw him ride off hours ago, my lord. He should be—by God, sir!”

Fanny was already halfway out of the tent, running for Molly, Valentine hard on her heels. He watched as she levered herself neatly up and into the saddle, then mounted Shadow and pointed to the West. She shouldn’t go with him, he knew that, just as he knew she’d follow him unless he ordered her tied to the nearest tree.

They moved on, following the ridges, slowly heading down into the area approaching Reille.

There had been no real fighting in the quadrant they were approaching, not for several hours, which was a good thing, as the Prince of Orange had been wounded and taken from the field. Rian should have returned to headquarters long since. Not that he was about to share his thoughts with Fanny. “Stay behind me,” he ordered sharply. “There could be French stragglers. Desperate men who’d kill for our horses.”

The clouds were back, bringing a murky dusk with them, and so their progress was necessarily slow. They didn’t speak, didn’t dare disturb the unnatural silence that slipped over the countryside once they were less than a half mile from the main battlefield.

Brede would hold up one gloved hand from time to time, motioning for Fanny to remain where she was as he dismounted and searched inside deserted houses, barns, small cow sheds. But nothing. There was no sign of Rian Becket.

As he’d climb back into the saddle Fanny would look at him, her eyes wide with fright, her lips clamped tightly between her teeth. And he’d shake his head. And they’d move on.

Perhaps Rian had been injured and taken up into one of the wagons heading back toward Brussels. That was one hopeful answer. But there were other, less hopeful possibilities. So they rode on, following the route that would keep a courier safely behind the concealing hills and ridges as he raced orders to the generals and carried information back to Wellington.

And then, at last, Molly’s ears pricked and she gave a soft ruffling sound in her throat.

“Molly senses Jupiter somewhere,” she told Valentine, bringing her mount up beside his. Her heart was pounding so hard in her own ears that she didn’t know if she was whispering or shouting. “Somewhere close.”

Valentine nodded, a finger to his lips, silently cursing the rapidly falling darkness. The mare sensed something, that much was definite. But whether it was Rian’s horse or some French stragglers, he couldn’t know. He raised his hand again, warning her to remain where she was, and moved on cautiously, toward the cow shed, whose outline he could see about fifty feet ahead of them.

Fanny was having none of it. She was positive Rian was nearby, probably wounded. Prudently hiding, impatiently waiting for someone to come find him. She put her heels sharply into Molly’s sides and shot forward, heading straight for the cow shed, dismounting only ten feet away and then running around to the open front of the shed even as Brede, a pistol in each hand, tried to catch up to her.

“Rian? Rian, it’s me. Fanny. Where are you?”

And nothing. No one answered her.

Valentine took her arm and roughly pushed her behind him. Then the two of them slowly advanced into the almost complete darkness, stepping cautiously over the straw-strewn mud floor until he cursed shortly under his breath and moved to his left, to check on a shape he could still distinguish in that darkness.

Fanny had seen it, too, and collapsed to her knees on the straw beside the fallen horse. “Jupiter. Oh, Jupiter,” she said quietly, putting out a hand to touch the horse’s cheek.

Jupiter’s visible eye rolled wildly and the horse struggled to rise, only to fall back against the ground.

Valentine was also kneeling beside the horse now, running an assessing gaze over the animal’s side. “Shot. Gut shot,” he said shortly. “There’s nothing we can do except put the poor thing out of its pain.”

“Oh, God, Brede,” Fanny said, leaning forward until her forehead was pressed against the bay’s cheek. “Where’s Rian? He’d never leave Jupiter like this. He wouldn’t. Not willingly.”

Valentine got to his feet and searched the remainder of the small three-sided cow shed. He found a saber, most probably Rian’s own, and kept his back to Fanny as he kicked straw over it, concealing the weapon, the bloody weapon, from her view.

He’d removed Rian Becket from the 13th, thinking he’d be safer on Wellington’s staff. Had he instead sent the eager young man to his death?

Valentine slipped one pistol back inside his greatcoat pocket and cocked the other one. “Go outside, Fanny, and hold on to the horse’s bridles. We can’t have them running off when they hear the shot.”

“No, wait! Maybe we can do something,” she begged, looking up at him, her eyes wet with tears. “Maybe Rian went for help and…and…”

Valentine knelt beside the horse’s head. He couldn’t make this easier for her, but he’d be damned if he’d have her here to see what he must do. “Now, Fanny. Rian would have done the same as we’re doing, if he could have.”

“I know. Oh, God, I know….” She pressed a kiss against Jupiter’s cheek, and then used the backs of her hands to wipe at her wet cheeks as she stood up, stumbled out of the cow shed. She took hold of the two bridles and stepped between the horses, speaking softly to them both in the crushing silence that seemed to bear down on her from every direction.

Waited for the sound of the shot.

“It’s all right, my pretty ones. Nothing to worry about, nothing to fear. Nothing to—” She flinched at the sharp report of the pistol, holding tight as both horses pulled up their heads. “
Shh.
Nothing to worry…Oh, God, Rian, where are you?”

Valentine emerged from the cow shed, the now empty pistol still in his hand. He was tired. So incredibly tired. “Are you all right, Fanny?”

“I will be, when we find Rian,” she told him, handing him the reins to his mount. “He can’t be far, can he?”

Valentine put his hands on her shoulders, holding her in place. “Fanny, we’ll never find him anymore tonight. It’s too dark, and there could still be some French in the area, doing their best to avoid our soldiers, and that shot may have alerted them to our presence. We’ll have enough trouble trying to make it back to our main encampment.”

“Headquarters? But…but Rian’s out here somewhere. His horse gone. Possibly even wounded. I’m not going back to any encampment. You can,” she said, her upper lip curling. “If you’re afraid of the dark. If I can’t move on, then I’m staying here until morning.”

“Fanny, for the love of God, use your head. Rian’s not here. His horse has been shot out from under him, not in the field, but most probably right here, inside that damn shed behind us. What does that tell you?”

“Nothing,” she said, her chin trembling. “It tells me nothing. Why should it tell me anything?”

Valentine turned his head away for a moment, took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. Turned to look at her once more. “He was being followed. Chased. He rode his horse into the cow shed to hide, wait out of sight until whoever was out there passed him by. That was good, solid thinking. But they didn’t pass him by, Fanny. They found him. Inside the shed, trapped in a corner like a mouse. They fired on him. That’s how Jupiter was shot. A wound like that, into his underbelly? For whatever reason, Jupiter was already down when he was shot.”

“Then…then where is Rian?” Fanny asked, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to control her breathing, her racing heartbeat. “If he was cornered, if Jupiter was shot, then where’s Rian? Where’s his…where’s his body?”

“I don’t know, sweetings. I don’t know. They took him, for some reason. Maybe to use as a shield or a hostage until they were free of our lines. It’s madness now, all up and down the countryside. The French running, us chasing them. But after that, Fanny, once clear of here, they’d have no use for him anymore, would they? His sword is in the shed. I hid it from you until I could think of something to do, something to say that might explain what happened. But there’s nothing to do, Fanny, and nothing else to say. There’s blood on the sword. Whoever they were, Rian fought them. But…but he didn’t win. If he had, he’d have put Jupiter out of his pain, and he’d still have his sword. You know that and I know that. I’m so sorry.”

“No,” Fanny said quietly, then drew in a ragged breath and began pounding her fists against Valentine’s chest. “No…no…
no!
You’re wrong! You’re wrong! Damn you, Brede,
you’re wrong!
” She collapsed against his strength. “Please…please say you’re wrong. Please…”

Valentine held her as her entire body trembled with her sobs, but then pressed her face close against his chest as he thought he heard movement in the trees and dense bushes surrounding the cow shed. The report of the pistol. Fanny’s anguished cries. They had roused something…or somebody. Why in
hell
had he let her come along with him?

He roughly pushed her toward the cow shed even as he grabbed the reins of both horses and pulled them after him, into the darkness of the shed. He might be repeating Rian’s mistake, but the cow shed offered the only real protection in the area.

Fanny didn’t fight him. In truth, she didn’t do much of anything. She was too shocked, too caught up in her grief, to even realize what Valentine had done, or what his actions meant. She just took herself to the far end of the shed, away from the body of Rian’s horse, and sat down, her back to the corner, and curled into herself, both physically and mentally.

Valentine loosely tied the horses to the center post of the shed, praying they wouldn’t spook at the sight of the dead bay or the smell of fresh blood. He pulled the still-loaded pistol from beneath his cloak even as he rooted in the straw for Rian’s sword.

Then he went down on his knees in front of Fanny and lifted her chin with his hand. “Stay here,” he whispered, then squeezed at her chin until the resultant pain forced her to look up at him, acknowledge him. “Fanny, sweetings, pay attention. Start counting. Slowly—one…two…three. If I’m not back by the time you reach five hundred, or if you hear shots, get on your horse here, inside the shed, and then set her at a full gallop back the way we came. Leave Shadow here—but you go.
Fanny,
” he repeated in a fierce undertone. “Do you understand me?”

She blinked up at him. “Rian’s dead, Brede,” she told him. “Why didn’t I know? Why didn’t I sense it?”

“Enough, Fanny,” he told her shortly, giving her chin another sharp squeeze. “Time to think about yourself. Do you want to die here?”

She gave a sharp shake of her head, freeing her face from his painful grasp. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? “I don’t care….”

“No? Well, I by damn
do
care where and when I die, and it won’t be here, and it won’t be now.”

How she hated him. “How can you be so heartless?”

Valentine leaned in closer to her. He had to rouse her, even if that meant rousing her anger. “My heart doesn’t enter into what I do, Fanny. I
survive,
and that’s enough.”

She closed her eyes against the intensity of his gaze. “It’s not enough for me, Brede. And it shouldn’t be enough for you.”

Valentine’s head snapped back as if she’d slapped him. He picked up Rian’s sword and moved silently toward the open end of the cow shed. He stopped, listened and then stepped out into the night. He did not look back at Fanny.

His back to the shed, he moved to his right, pushing into the chest-high brush and trees, planning to circle the structure, once, then again a good ten paces deeper into the brush. Then once more, securing a perimeter a solid thirty feet around where Fanny sat in the corner of the shed. One way or another, nothing could be allowed to remain alive inside that perimeter.