Conall: The 93rd Highlanders, Book Two (17 page)

“
She’ll know
where they’ve gone,” Douglas said with absolute certainty. “Iain
and I have used Marine for intelligence before. Somehow she knows
everything that goes on in every camp, the Russians
included.”

“
Avril
first,” Graeme insisted.

“
Fine,”
Douglas said. “Meet me at my lodgings. I’ve got to get Iain. She
likes him better.”

Graeme didn’t bother to
answer as he turned the horse and thundered toward
Avril.

She saw him coming. She
stood there in the yard, a pitcher in her hand, several men
surrounding her as she poured them drinks. When she saw the horse
she raised her hand to shield her eyes to the sun to see who was
coming. He stopped the horse and slid off, striding toward her,
trying to keep the worry from his face. She started to smile and
walk to him, but she stopped, her face blanching.

“
Is he dead?”
she asked. She lowered her arm and the pitcher fell to the ground
at her side. “There’s been no fighting,” she insisted frantically,
backing away from him. “I’ve heard no fighting. Is he dead?” She
stumbled and dropped to her knees, catching herself on her hands
before she fell to the ground.

Graeme reached for her
and she took his hand. He saw no reason not to tell her the whole
truth. “No,” he said. “But I’ve got to go get him. He’s gone to
storm the Russian works with the Zouaves.”

“
I forced him
to go,” she said woodenly. “He went because of what I said. Our
last words were harsh.”

Graeme pulled her to her
feet. “He went for his own reasons, whatever they are. You didn’t
make him do anything. He’s too stubborn. He did exactly what he
wanted to do.”

“
That’s a
lie,” she said.

By now they’d attracted
an audience as the men who had been gathered in front of her hut
came closer and listened in unabashed curiosity. “We’ve got to go
inside,” Graeme told her. “I have to get my things to go get
him.”

“
He’ll kill
you too,” she said dully. “It’s what I’ve feared all
along.”

Graeme didn’t let her say
anything else. He dragged her over to her door and shoved her
inside. Then he turned to glare at the men milling around. “Go,” he
barked at them. “There’ll be no more for you here today.” Some
protested, but most simply turned and walked away.

“
I’ve got to
go,” he told her as he pulled on his trews and riding boots. He
grabbed his dirk and strapped it on. “I’ll bring him
back.”

“
Every time?”
she asked, sitting on her cot and staring at her lap, where she
picked at her black wool skirt. “I’ve been a fool,” she said,
wiping her cheeks. “A fool to love you both, and a fool to think I
could walk away and forget you.” She stood up slowly, like an old
woman, and finally met his gaze. Hers was sad but resolute. “How
will you find him?”

“
Douglas
knows a Frenchwoman, a
cantiniere
, who may know which
direction they’ve taken.” He stopped and faced her, ready to make
his goodbyes. “If it were you, I’d have to go, too,” he tried to
explain. “I’m not making a choice, you understand?”

She nodded. “I know. I
feel the same.” She reached out and squeezed his arm. “What’s her
name?”

“
Who?” he
asked, confused.

“
The
Frenchwoman,” she clarified. “When you’ve gone, I’m going to find
my way over to the French camp. I want to be there when you get
back with him.”

“
I’ll bring
him here,” Graeme told her.

She just shook her head
and he understood her unspoken words. If Conall didn’t survive the
assault, then he wouldn’t be able to bring him back. “Marine,” he
told her, remembering what Douglas had said. “Her name is Marine.
That’s all I know.”

She nodded. “Come back
with him,” she whispered brokenly.

He dragged her into his
arms. “I’m going to bring him back,” he whispered against her lips.
“And then we are going to have a serious talk about the
future.”

The wild, desperate kiss
she gave him in parting was all the answer he needed.

Graeme waited about ten
feet behind Douglas, letting him and Iain argue with the
Frenchwoman. She was younger than he’d expected, not even
twenty-five if he had to guess. She wore the Zouave regimental
uniform, altered slightly with an overskirt, and a woolen cap on
her head, her dark hair peeking out. She was tiny, petite and curvy
and mad as a hornet. She kept gesturing hither and yon, as the
French did when they spoke. She was speaking French, which both
Douglas and Iain seemed familiar with, which surprised Graeme. He
spoke French thanks to his father and his studies, so easily
followed the conversation.

“
I can’t tell
you,” Marine said with a firm shake of her head and a slashing
motion with her hand. “If they wanted you to know, you
would.”

“
But we do,”
Iain told her, exasperated. His tall blond Viking looks contrasted
sharply with the petite Frenchwoman and Douglas’s red hair and
beard. “Canrobert came to Raglan and told him about it, with your
Zouaves, I tell you. Young Conall was there and attached himself
with the general’s blessings. Some foolishness about a Ninety Third
Highlander scaring the bejeesus out of the Russians
again.”

She scoffed loudly. “Then
young Conall is a fool and must accept the consequences. As if one
of you could fight better than a Zouave.” She pounded her chest to
prove her point.

“
Young Conall
is my brother,” Douglas said through clenched teeth. “I’d rather he
not pay for his foolishness with his life.”

Marine placed her hand
sympathetically on Douglas’s arm. “I know the pain of watching a
younger brother make bad choices,” she consoled him. “But you must
let him make them, all the same, and hope you do not suffer my fate
of being left behind to answer for his death.”

“
Marine,
please,” Douglas begged, grabbing hold of her shoulders. “Tell us
how to find them. Don’t make me mourn him, don’t make me break my
promise to my mother to keep him safe.”

Graeme stepped forward
and spoke in French, shocking her. “Please,” he begged. “It was a
stupid lovers’ quarrel that drove him to such madness. He’s not a
Zouave, he’s not one of you, and we all know how hard it is to walk
in cold and fight alongside brothers who’ve been together so long.
He can hold his own in a fight with us, but with your men, I fear
for him.”

She eyed Graeme
critically. “The quarrel was with you?” she asked
bluntly.

Graeme nodded stiffly.
“Yes. And his woman, Avril.”

She held up three fingers
with a raised brow and Graeme nodded, knowing she understood. The
French always understood that sort of thing. She spared a glance
for Douglas and Iain that was mysterious and then pinned Graeme
with her stare. “You’ll go rushing off like a bull, charging where
you aren’t wanted, destroying everything in your path. It is the
English way. All our plans will be for naught,” she said in perfect
English with a charming French accent.

“
I am no
bull,” Graeme assured her.

She laughed. “I beg to
differ,” she said suggestively. Douglas frowned fiercely at her
words.

“
Marine, the
longer this takes, the higher the chances I’ll be bringing my
brother’s dead body back,” he told her harshly. “What do you want
for the information? Is that what this is about? Money?
Trade?”

Marine looked highly
affronted. “You are the bull,” she accused Douglas. “You insult me
and expect me to do you favors. I have done you enough favors.” She
turned to walk off but Iain grabbed her by the arm and stopped her.
He dropped to his knees in front of her and she reared back, eyes
wide with shock.

“
Please,
Marine,” he said earnestly. “If I can stop such a senseless,
foolish death, I will. I’ll do anything. I’ll beg, plead, dance
like a monkey on a string for you. You know how hard it is for me
to do this.”

Graeme followed suit,
dropping to his knees. “I will give you everything I own,” he said.
“Everything I have if you will help us.”

Marine turned and gave
Douglas a defiant look. “You,” she said. She pointed at the ground.
“I want you to beg.”

Without a word, Douglas
dropped to his knees. “Please, Marine,” he said. “Help me save my
brother’s life.”

She nodded and then waved
them forward. “Come,” she said. “I will take you to your brother
and my men.”

Conall tried to remember
a worse decision he’d made, but he couldn’t think of a single one
as he crouched in the shadow of a hill waiting to storm the
Russians on the other side. The Zouaves around him were grinning
from ear to ear, but all he felt was sick to his stomach. As though
to mock him, the bullet wound in his shoulder from Balaclava began
to ache in the cold. What the hell was he doing here? Not just
here, waiting to make some foolish grand gesture with a misbegotten
attack, but in the Crimea. As if he gave a good goddamn about
Nikolas and Sevastopol. Let the Russians have the hellish
place.

The fortifications at the
White Works, named after the white clay used to build them, glowed
on the left flank of Sevastopol. All the men with Conall knew the
Russians had completed the works recently, placing fortified gun
emplacements and earthworks along the flank, with a full complement
of soldiers to man them. The crazy Zouaves were just waiting for
full night to fall before creeping over the earthworks and striking
at the heart of the encampment hidden behind them. They’d done this
many times in response to similar Russian attacks against the
British and French trenches.

The French whispers
floated around him unheeded as he thought of Avril and Graeme. Did
they know he was gone, or did they think he was sulking? Probably
the latter, given their opinion of him. He let the hurt wash over
him again. Clearly their feelings for him didn’t run as deep as his
for them. They hadn’t even talked about what had happened between
him and Graeme last night. Was that it? Was that the real reason
Avril wouldn’t marry him, because she saw him as less than a man
now that she’d seen Graeme fuck him? She’d seemed to like it plenty
last night. He knew he had. And so had Graeme. But had it all been
for Avril last night? Had Graeme finally fucked him for her
benefit, and not because he’d really wanted to? The two of them had
been happy together before Conall came back between
them.

He shook his head with a
huff of annoyance and the Frenchman next to him gave him an odd
look. Conall glared at him and he glanced nervously away. Conall’s
size seemed to make even the Zouaves uneasy. He’d like to see them
with Graeme in their midst. They’d hide their heads and scurry
away. He laughed at the image and got more odd looks.

He tried to push aside
the negative thoughts he’d been thinking. It was those sorts of
ideas that had led to this foolishness. Now that his head was
clearer he knew this wasn’t the way to prove his manhood to Avril
and Graeme. Even he had to admit joining this foolhardy attack had
been childish and ill thought out, but pride and responsibility
wouldn’t allow him to retreat. He’d given his word. He had a
position to cover, a Zouave who needed him to watch his back. There
was no going back on his word.

The Zouave in charge of
the small contingent of men raised his hand and the others around
him fell silent. Conall watched as, as soon as he had everyone’s
attention, he began to lower his fingers one by one, counting down.
All the men grabbed sword and rifle and crouched, awaiting the
final signal. Conall got into position with them, his last thoughts
of Avril and Graeme and what a fool he was.

The world was exploding
just over the next rise as Graeme, Douglas and Iain ran quickly
behind Marine, their heads down. Marine signaled to the right and
Iain cut first, Douglas following. Graeme ran past Marine and gave
her a grateful look. She saluted him and then ran back in the other
direction, away from the fighting. He was glad. His focus would
have been divided had she entered the fray with them, trying to
protect her and find Conall at the same time.

When they rolled over the
rise, staying as low as possible to avoid gunfire, it was to find
chaos. The Zouave were retreating, carrying dead and wounded with
them under heavy fire from the Russians. Taking up positions on the
hill, Graeme, Douglas and Iain set up suppressing fire, shooting at
the bright flares of gunfire coming from behind the earthworks.
Graeme searched in vain for a scarlet tunic and kilt among the
retreating French, hoping to find Conall carrying the wounded
instead of being carried.

His breath came out in a
choked gasp as he finally saw what he was seeking. Conall ran away
from the works, crouched low, carrying at least two Zouave. One
appeared to be dead, slung over his shoulder. The other he had his
arm wrapped around, and though the Frenchman was trying to run,
Conall all but carried him. Immediately all three men on the hill
began firing behind him, covering him as he ran.