Dark Angel (18 page)

Caroline seemed undaunted by her surroundings. She unfastened her cloak, pushed it back from her shoulders, and drank the harsh red wine the innkeeper served them as if it were the finest claret. There was laughter in her eyes and Adam felt an answering laughter welling up inside him. Emily traced the initials carved in the tabletop and made up stories about the people who had put them there, calling on the adults for assistance. It was obviously a game she and Caroline had played before. Hawkins proved to be adept at it, and Adam found himself entering into it with enthusiasm as well. It seemed a long time since he had allowed his imagination to run free.

They ate bowls of stew, liberally laced with garlic, perhaps to compensate for the shreds of dry, toughened meat, and lingered about the table, talking and laughing and enjoying the most peaceful evening they had spent since the start of their journey. Adam was leaning back against the wall, studying Caroline's pointed chin and winged eyebrows and the wisps of hair which clung to her face, when, above the babble of voices, he heard the sound of a fist connecting with flesh and bone.

"That'll teach you, you miserable little coward."

Adam looked round to see a burly, bearded man hurl these words at a thin youth in his early twenties who was doubled over with pain from a blow to the stomach. The youth straightened up with an effort but the bearded man delivered a cut to the jaw that sent the younger man crashing to the floor. He landed not five feet from where Adam was sitting, cracking his head against the crude brick floor. For a moment he appeared to be stunned. Then he opened his eyes and stared straight at Adam, a look of pleading on his long face. "Señor—"

The bearded man was advancing again, the light of battle in his eyes, his fist drawn back to attack. If there was anything Adam hated more than wanton violence, it was the sight of the weak being persecuted. As Caroline drew in her breath, he pushed himself to his feet, moved between victim and attacker, and aimed a blow at the bearded man's belly.

The bearded man gave a grunt of pain and surprise. The noisy room went suddenly still, as if in expectation of entertainment. "Only trying to even up the odds," Adam said. "Your friend appeared to be outnumbered."

"Outnumbered?" the bearded man bellowed. "I'll teach you about outnumbered, you damned interfering bastard." With a cry of rage, he launched himself at Adam.

As he dodged out of his assailant's path and aimed a counter blow, Adam heard a roar go up about him, followed by the crash of overturned benches and the joyous cries of men who had been spoiling for a fight. There was no help for it. They were in for a regular brawl.

A scruffy man at a nearby table sprang to his feet and hit the bearded man between the shoulders. The bearded man whirled on him, giving Adam a moment's respite. Narrowly avoiding a stray blow from a heavyset man who seemed too drunk to know whom he was fighting, Adam glanced about for the youth who had been the bearded man's first victim. There was no sign of him. Hawkins, Caroline, and Emily were crouched behind their table. When Adam met his eyes, Hawkins gave a brief nod and the three of them began to inch about the edge of the room toward the door.

They would make for the stable. Adam had only to extricate himself and follow them. But though the bearded man was temporarily out of sight, extricating himself was no easy task. The entire room seemed to have sprung to life. Adam was caught in a buffeting sea of unwashed bodies. It was difficult to tell who was on which side. Most of the men seemed to be cheerfully pummeling anyone handy. Though he could not see across the room, Adam knew where the door was. He pushed his way toward it, dodging and ducking when he could, using his fists when necessary. He had just caught sight of the lintel, when he saw the bearded man pushing his way through the crowd toward him.

Only two more men and an overturned bench stood between Adam and the door. He elbowed his way between the men— earning a string of curses and a blow to the ribs—and jumped over the bench, only to find the door blocked. Adam met the eyes of the man who stood there and realized with a shock of surprise that it was the youth who had first appealed for his help.

There was nothing helpless about the young man's stance or the flinty look in his eyes. For an instant they stared at each other. Then Adam moved forward and heard the bearded man, who was still trapped in the crowd, shout, "Stop him, you fool."

With the swift instinct of a seasoned fighter, the young man reached beneath his loose vest. The lamplight glanced off the metal of a blade. Adam whirled round, seized the bench he had jumped over, and hurled it at the young man as he lunged forward. The impact knocked the youth to the floor for the second time in minutes. This time Adam did not offer assistance. Hearing a cry of rage from the bearded man, he pushed open the door and stumbled out into the still night air.

As he ran round the side of the inn toward the stable, Adam heard nothing but the roar of the river and the clatter of his own feet. The men were not following. Like the bandits by the Carrión. The thought came unbidden and he pushed it aside. He had reached the crude wooden shed which served as a stable. Inside he found Hawkins and Caroline saddling the horses, assisted by the stableboy.

Emily, perched on a hay bale, greeted Adam with an excited cry. Caroline looked up and met his eyes, her own filled with relief. Hawkins continued adjusting Baron's saddle girth. He and Adam had been in too many similar situations for him to betray concern.

Within minutes they were ready to leave. Adam pressed some coins into the stableboy's hand, checked to see that the inn-yard was still empty, then nodded to the others. Even Emily did not speak as they made their way out of the village. They galloped across a mile or so of open country, but there was no sign of pursuit. Adam turned off the main road and headed for the lights of a farm that looked large enough to offer shelter. Leaving Hawkins with Caroline and Emily, he approached the house alone and on foot.

A shaft of moonlight slipped from behind the clouds and illumined the house. It had two chimneys, and a climbing vine softened its stone walls, but the moonlight showed broken shutters on the windows and tiles missing from the roof. Adam rapped loudly on the wooden door. A long silence followed. He heard a faint creak and thought someone was peering at him through the shutters. Then suddenly the door was pulled open. A man appeared, taller than Adam, with shoulders which spanned the width of the doorway.

"What do you want?" His voice was commanding, but it cracked on the last word. For all his height, his face showed him to be no more than fifteen.

"My brother and sister and I have lost our way," Adam said. "My sister and her child are dropping from exhaustion. I don't think they can make it to the next village. I would be most grateful if we could seek shelter in your barn for the night. I would of course be willing to pay you for your trouble."

The boy's face lit up at the mention of money. But he hesitated, his eyes filled with doubt. He shifted his position, and Adam saw shadowy figures grouped about a table in the room behind him. "Perhaps I could speak to one of your parents," Adam suggested.

"My mother's dead and my father's away. I'm looking after my sisters and grandmother," the boy said proudly. "Father put the farm in my care. He and my brothers are fighting the English."

"Then they must be brave men," Adam said, echoing the words he had used with Emily earlier in the day. It was true. There were brave men on both sides.

The boy gave a cautious smile, but he continued to hesitate. There was a stir of movement behind him. "Francisco? What is it?" A girl who looked to be a year or so older than Francisco pushed him aside and looked at Adam in inquiry. "Señor? You are seeking shelter?"

Adam repeated his story. When he offered to pay for their lodgings, a look of relief crossed the girl's face. "But of course you must stay," she said. "I will make up a pallet for the lady and her child by the kitchen fire and there will be blankets for you and your brother in the barn."

"Dolores—" the boy protested.

"Don't be foolish, Francisco," Dolores said. "Father wouldn't want us to turn them away. Besides, we need the money." She looked apologetically at Adam. "I'm sorry, Señor. But one must think of such things."

Adam smiled at her. "So one must," he agreed.

While Dolores prepared the bedding, Adam returned to the stand of trees where he had left the others. Caroline and Hawkins were quiet and tense but Emily was running round a tree trunk, eyes bright from their adventure.

"Try to look sleepy," Adam told her. "I said you were dropping with exhaustion."

Emily grinned and flopped her head to one side.

"Is it all right?" Caroline's voice was taught with strain.

Adam nodded. "They've agreed to shelter us. But mind what you say. They're French sympathizers."

Caroline's eyes widened.

"You may not have met many in Acquera, but they're all over the country," Adam told her. "You'll find they're remarkably like the rest of us."

Though Francisco still eyed them with suspicion, Dolores and her sister and grandmother greeted them warmly when they reached the house. Caroline was given the best seat near the fire and Emily was given a precious glass of goat's milk to drink. Even Francisco unbent a little when he showed Adam and Hawkins to the barn.

When he and Hawkins had unsaddled the horses, Adam finally had leisure to think about what had happened. The fight had been planned. He was sure of it. He dropped down on a pile of straw and began to remove his boots. The two men had deliberately set out not only to cause a brawl but to embroil him in it. Why? To steal his purse? It seemed an elaborate way to go about it.

Adam pulled off one boot and massaged his aching foot, then tugged at the second one. He thought again of the shots on the riverbank. Two mysterious attacks in as many days. He would be tempted to think they were connected, if there were any reason for it. He worked the second boot off his foot. As he did so, he felt a hard ridge beneath the lining. The dispatch. He swore and dropped the boot.

"Wound troubling you?" Hawkins, unburdened by such reflections, had already removed his own boots and coat and was lying in the straw with one of the blankets drawn over him.

"No, I just feel like a bloody fool." Adam explained how the fight had developed after Hawkins left the tavern. "If I'm right, it was those same two men who fired on us yesterday."

Hawkins's brows drew together. He was sitting up now, arms wrapped round his blanket-covered knees. "Not that I'm objecting, mind," he said, "but why? We hardly look wealthy and for once we aren't carrying anything that might interest the French." He met Adam's gaze suddenly. In the dim light from the single lamp Francisco had given them, Adam saw his eyes narrow. "Or are we?"

Adam drew his feet up onto the straw and leaned against the rough-hewn wall behind him. "Victor Soro was carrying an intercepted dispatch to British Headquarters. I agreed to take it for him so he'd have time to visit his family."

"Damn’ quiet about it, weren't you?"

"Caroline has enough to worry about and I don't want Emily to know. I didn't have a chance to tell you."

"It's all right." Hawkins waved a hand. "It may be a blow to my self-regard but I'm man enough to take it. Did the other
guerrilleros
know Soro gave you the dispatch?"

"Victor could have told them after we left. I suspect one of them is less than devoted to his cause."

Hawkins frowned. "You think one of the
guerrilleros
sent word to the French and the French managed to pick up our trail in the space of less than a day?"

"I doubt it," Adam said. "But he might have had time to alert some friends near the encampment."

"So the bearded man and the skinny fellow are working on their own?" Hawkins pulled a loose straw from his hair.

"More or less. They must know the French will pay them handsomely for the dispatch if they can recover it."

"All right. Their friend the traitorous
guerrillero
tells them there's money to be made and they gallop off after us and just happen to be on the hill when we cross the Carrión."

"We stopped to buy bread," Adam reminded him.

Hawkins's eyes widened. "Damnation."

"My sentiments exactly. The men knew our general direction. They must have asked questions at the surrounding villages and managed to pick up our trail. Then they were able to get to the Carrión ahead of us—presumably they're traveling lighter. They knew roughly where we'd have to cross the river. They were lucky. We weren't."

"Clever bastards, aren't they? If they managed all that, it would have been easy enough for them to find us again today. God knows we stopped to talk to enough people." A brown and white goat, perhaps wakened by the voices and light, wandered over and pressed its face against Hawkins, Hawkins scratched it behind the ears. "So. Do we try to outrun them?"

"I'm not sure we can. But they haven't given chase after either attack. I suspect they're afraid to risk a direct confrontation."

"Do we try to avoid being seen?"

"On the contrary. We greet anyone we happen across with great affability and drop hints that our way lies north, toward Zamora. It may not deceive our friends, but it's worth a try." Adam hesitated, staring at the wavering flame of the lamp that hung on the wall beside him. "I'd rather not tell Caroline. There's nothing she can do and it would only give her one more cause for concern."

"Right you are," Hawkins agreed. "Besides, if we tell her, ten to one young Emily will guess something's amiss."

There was nothing more to be said. It was hardly the first time they'd faced such a situation. Save that in the past there had not been Caroline and Emily to think of. Hawkins gave the goat a final pat. Adam stood, picked up a blanket, and turned down the lamp. He had set out to get Caroline and her child to safety and now he had placed them in fresh danger. Not exactly the stuff of heroes, but little good would come of dwelling on it.

Adam wrapped himself in the blanket and lay down in the musty straw. He had an image of Caroline on the ride from the village, her face glowing in the moonlight, her eyes bright from the cold and the danger. And then he saw Caroline as a girl, galloping through wooded countryside, her hair streaming free, her skirts bunched up so she could ride astride. It had been a hot summer day just before he returned for his last year at Oxford. They had been racing and she had been a little ahead, so he had seen her fall to the ground when her horse took a jump badly.