Lady Emma's Campaign (15 page)

Sidney lifted his gaze and was astounded to find nothing of censure in her expression. Only compassion and a hint of sorrow.

“I understand far better than you know the effects left on the mind by ill treatment.” Her voice was soft. She shifted to sit on the ground, her legs bent and her arms wrapped around her knees. “I do not know if William ever told you about our father.”

Sidney cringed inwardly. He did not want to think of that horrible man who had hurt Emma. “Only a very little.”

“I cannot blame him for avoiding the subject. The earl was a cruel man.” Emma’s gaze moved, focusing on a point over Sidney’s shoulder, but she seemed to be looking into her mind’s eye, remembering the past. “He was especially violent to my mother. And at times his mistreatment extended to me. My brothers were much older than I and rarely visited. William, of course, had no choice. He was sent to sea when he was ten years old—as the second son, my father had little use for him.”

“Leaving you and your mother alone with your father.”

Emma nodded. “When he drank, he became very angry. Mama and I would hide when he came home late, hoping he would fall asleep before he found us.” Her eyes filled with an expression of pain that tore at his heart. “Sometimes he did. But others . . .” Taking a breath, she let it out slowly.

Sidney took her hands again. “You do not have to continue.”

Emma shook her head. “I am not telling you this to elicit your pity. It is important for you to know that I do understand.” He felt her steel herself and take another calming breath. “Father would scream insults at my mother, horrible things. His voice seemed to shake the entire house. As he yelled, he struck her, often until she fell into unconsciousness. And then, if he was still angry, he would turn his attention to me.” As she said this last sentence, her chin began to tremble, but she did not break down.

How had these women survived? Sidney had suffered merely a few months of beating, but Emma and her mother had endured for years. The earl had died when she was fourteen.

Emma’s hands grasped his more firmly, as if she were clinging to
him
to prevent herself from being overcome by memories. “I became very afraid of people. Particularly men. At times, when I unexpectedly heard the steward’s or the butler’s voice or even my brothers’, I began to panic. I could not breathe; my heart raced. I felt as though I was looking down a long tunnel, and I lost feeling in my arms and legs. There were times I even fainted.”

She had described it perfectly. The loss of control, the paralyzing fear. Relief poured over him like a warm liquid. She did know exactly how he’d felt. The knowledge that he was not alone lit a flame of hope inside him. “And how did you overcome it, Emma? What did you do when you had an attack like this?”

“My mother held me and spoke softly. She reminded me to breathe. And she soothed me until I regained control. But often I did not feel well for days after.”

“And have the spells stopped?”

“They have decreased considerably, but no. They have not stopped completely.” She adjusted her position, tucking her legs under her, and focused her gaze back on his face. “Telling someone, maybe understanding why you have these attacks might help. I think your fear comes from spending time in a small, cold cell, yes?”

Sidney shook his head. “It is much worse than that. Lieutenant Trenchard devised a torture called le creux. A pit covered with a grate, where I could not fully stand. I sat on the ground with my legs pulled up against my chest. There was no room to straighten them. Rain filled the pit, sometimes up to my chin, and the hot sun burned my skin until it blistered and bled. When I was released after a week, it took days for my legs to bear my weight. When the lieutenant was frustrated with my unwillingness to provide him with information about that blasted coin, he sent me back into le creux.”

“How many times?” Emma asked. Her voice shook.

“Twice. Each time for a week.”

“Sidney, I am so sorry.” She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. Her face was pale and her eyes wide. Why had he told her this? It was not the type of thing for a lady’s ears. Sidney shifted his position to enfold her in his arms, resting her head against his chest. He hoped he provided as much reassurance to her as he drew from her warmth.

“I should not have told you.” His chin brushed over her hair, catching the fine strands in his whiskers.

Emma shifted, pulling back to look at him. “Why? Because I am a woman and must be sheltered from the ugly truth of what happens outside of a civilized parlor?” Her lips twisted into a teasing smile, and just like that, the somber mood was broken. “It is too late for such a precaution, Captain.”

Sidney allowed himself a smile as well. It was a relief to tell someone and even more to have her understand. It was as if he had been carrying a heavy stone upon his shoulders, and somehow this petite woman had been the one with the strength to lift it off.

He stood, pulling her up with him. “We have an hour’s march back to the others, then another hour, at least, to bring them here. Are you up to it?”

“Absolutely,” she said, smiling, but he noticed that her eyes were weary.

They walked back down the hillside in a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Crossing the stream, they followed it back up the steep slope to the bluff where the others waited.

Sidney had been right. The march took much longer with Jim. The colonel didn’t complain but leaned heavily upon Sidney or Enrique the entire journey. It was twilight when they arrived at the site.

Sidney directed Enrique to start a fire and set about preparing a meal. Serena filled the canteen at the stream, bringing it to Jim. Sidney eased the colonel onto the ground outside the cave. He rolled his shoulders and pressed his hands against his back to stretch, then turned to find Emma.

She sat upon the ground, leaning against a rock, her eyes closed. She must have fallen asleep where she’d collapsed after the long march. Sidney lifted off her pack and laid her head down gently upon the haversack. Her soft hair spilled over the pack, and he moved as much of her hair off the dirt as possible. He spread a blanket over her, and she pulled it closer, a soft sigh escaping her lips. For some reason, the small sound caused his heart to melt.

He wondered if he should remove her boots and gloves but thought it was a job more appropriately left to Serena. Her eyelashes rested upon her cheeks in soft brown crescents, and Sidney resisted the urge to find another excuse to touch her hair. On impulse, he leaned to press a kiss upon her forehead, and she shifted, exposing a tear in the palm of her glove. He drew it partially off her hand to check for any damage to her skin, relieved that there was none. When he folded the glove back, he felt something beneath her sleeve. Moving closer, he saw that it was the jade bracelet he had given her.

The sight of it elicited a feeling that he could not name. His pulse jumped, and a warm tingling spread from his chest throughout his body. The idea that she had thought of him during the long months while he was at sea—that, at least to Emma, he was not forgotten—filled him with contentedness, as if somebody had removed his insides and replaced them with sunshine.

He leaned back on his heels, studying her as she slept, wishing that she was not lying upon the hard ground with a ripped glove and her hair in the dirt. Another surge of protectiveness arose inside him stronger than any feelings of duty, self-preservation, or even the welfare of the other members of his party. He knew with a certainty he would do anything within his ability to ensure that nothing happened to Emma.

Emma woke to the sound
of rain and hushed voices. She looked around the small cave and vaguely remembered Serena helping her stumble inside sometime the night before. With her fingers, she attempted to tame her hair into some semblance of its former style while her eyes adjusted to the muted light that shone through the clouds and spread through the narrow opening. She stretched and wrapped her blanket around her then joined Serena at the cave entrance.

Serena was talking to Sidney, who had not entered but sat close enough beneath the rocks that he remained dry.

Serena’s cheeks were wet, and she wiped at them with her fingers.

Emma’s heart plummeted. What had happened? She glanced at the other side of the cave and saw the shadowed forms of Enrique and Jim still sleeping.

Emma put her arm around Serena’s shoulders, directing a questioning look at Sidney.

“Jim will not wake,” Sidney told her.

Serena’s shoulders shook.

Dread settled heavily into Emma’s stomach. “What do we do?”

Sidney furrowed his fingers through his hair, and Emma did her best not to allow herself to be distracted by the wayward lock that fell upon his forehead. It was not the time to dwell upon Sidney’s appearance. His rumpled clothing and day’s growth of whiskers made him look like a dashing, swashbuckling rogue.

“Our options are rather limited,” he said. “We could wander around these hills in a southerly direction and hope to reach Tarifa eventually, but the chances that we would not be discovered by the enemy are slim.” Sidney breathed out heavily. His jaw was tense, and there were lines around his eyes and on the sides of his mouth. “Our food supply will not last longer than a few more days, and without some sort of medicine or a skilled doctor’s treatment, I do not think Jim will survive.”

“What about the
guerillas
in the hills?” Emma asked. “Would they not help us?”

Sidney seemed to consider the question for a moment then shrugged. “I hope that would be the case, but their camps are hidden, they do not answer to any authority, and I have no idea how to contact them.”

Serena moved away, presumably to check on Jim.

Emma scooted closer to Sidney. The mist of rain carried on the air was cool upon her face, and she pulled the blanket tighter around her. “What are your thoughts?” She reached out of the blanket and took hold of his cold hand. His long fingers tightened around hers. She hadn’t realized her gloves were missing until she felt his skin sending a tingle over her palm and a blush over her cheeks.

Sidney rubbed the thumbnail of his other hand over his bottom lip, thinking. “We cannot leave Jim here, and if we do not find him help, he will certainly die. If I did not have you and Serena to worry about, I would consider appealing to the first company of French soldiers that we could find.”

“You would risk recapture?”

“As I said, our options are limited. The French have typically acted honorably toward British officers. Lieutenant Trenchard was an unfortunate exception.” Sidney squinted his eyes. “But, I cannot guarantee that you women would be treated well. And I’ll not wager upon your safety.”

Emma pondered his words. Would Sidney really risk Jim’s life to keep them from mistreatment in a French camp?

“There must be another option,” Emma said. “Can we not find a village and appeal to the residents?”

Sidney studied her before answering. “That may be our only recourse. However, the road we saw yesterday is the only one Enrique knows of, and it could at this very moment be overrun with an army.”

“Or, it could be empty. And it must lead somewhere.” Emma raised her brows. “But how will we get Jim there?”

***

The rain continued to fall as Emma and Serena divided up the men’s gear. The women were determined to lighten the loads as Sidney and Enrique would be carrying Jim. Sidney found two long, relatively straight poles, and using the greatcoat and his own jacket, he began to fashion a litter.

Emma convinced Serena and Enrique to help her move Jim to the entrance of the cave. The three of them slid him quite easily across the floor using the blanket, and Emma was grateful Sidney would not have to come inside to fetch him.

They ate a quick breakfast of oatcakes and salt pork, and since the weather seemed no closer to clearing, the group set off in the rain, each carrying a heavier load than they’d arrived with.

In only a matter of minutes, they were completely drenched. Emma and Serena took turns carrying the musket and wiping the rain off Jim’s face. They walked slowly, slipping on the mud and wet rocks as they made their way down the hill. Their vision was limited, and they were forced to stop often to rest.

Emma could not think of a time when she had been more miserable. Her clothes were heavy and stuck to her. Water dripped down her face and back and into her boots. The haversack she carried was impossibly heavy, and the musket was awkward. She had slipped and fallen in the mud more times than she could count, tearing her skirts and bruising her elbows as she tried to hold up the musket. The only thing that kept her from collapsing in defeat was the knowledge that Sidney was counting on her and that he had faith in her. She wouldn’t let him down.

When they reached the spot where they’d crossed the day before, they saw that the stream had swollen and the tree was underwater. Sidney did not bother to use the bridge at all, marching straight through the water, holding his end of the litter above his head, which forced Enrique to do the same. The rest of the group followed. Emma did not even balk at the idea of walking through the water. Had it been only two days ago that the mere suggestion filled her with such terror?

He led them around the base of the hill instead of up toward the bluff. It was nearly three hours from when they’d set off that Sidney called a halt. He laid Jim down next to a large tree that afforded a bit of protection from the rain and told the group to wait while he and Enrique scouted ahead.

Emma did her best not to crumple to the ground. She held on to the musket—which Sidney had not bothered to take with him, as it was wet—and sat next to Serena, who was tending to Jim.

“How is he?” Emma asked.

“Very hot,” Serena replied.

“Do not worry. Sidney will find someone to care for him.” Emma twisted her hair to squeeze the water from it, knowing that she must look like a drowned rat.

When Sidney and Enrique returned declaring that the way was clear, they took up their loads and continued their march, finding and following the muddy road in the direction from which the soldiers had come the day before.

Finally, Sidney stopped, and Emma peered ahead through the sheets of rain to see what he was looking at.

In the mist, Emma could only just make out a small farm nestled in the hills. Relief poured over her. Certainly someone inside would assist them. Sidney led them closer, and the rest of the farm became clear. A barn stood next to the house, built from the same whitewashed stone and topped with a red tile roof. The buildings both opened into a square courtyard. The other two sides were surrounded by a low white wall, broken only by an arch above the entrance gate.

Sidney and Enrique set Jim carefully beneath a cluster of trees and sank down next to him. Emma and Serena followed their lead. Sidney cleaned the musket, using a dry cloth from his pack. He loaded the weapon as they watched the farm. The wooden doors of the gates were open, and there was no sign of movement in the courtyard or any of the buildings. This did not seem surprising to Emma because of the pouring rain.

Sidney seemed to draw the same conclusion. He rose and looked first at Jim, then Serena, and then Emma. His eyes darted to Enrique for a moment before returning to Emma.

He motioned with his head for her to join him. “If anyone is inside, they will be more sympathetic if you accompany me.”

The idea that she could be inside a warm, dry house prevailed over any nervousness Emma felt at whether the inhabitants would be friendly.

Sidney, however, clenched his jaw and covered the steel of the musket with his cloth to keep it as dry as possible.

Emma stayed behind him as he pushed the gate open and called to the house loudly in Spanish. When there was no answer, he and Emma crossed the courtyard and stepped up to the wooden door. The door was ajar, and Sidney knocked on it, announcing them again, and then pushed it open, cocked his weapon, and stepped inside.

Emma entered closely behind him, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. At first, her mind couldn’t understand what she was seeing. The entire house was in disarray, furniture broken and overturned. Pools of dark blood dotted the wooden floor and splattered upon the white walls. Emma froze as she stared into a face. A man with bloody eye sockets lay upon the floor, his body ripped apart. Emma’s gaze moved from him to another: a woman, her face like wax, half-dressed with torn clothes and bloody wounds lay next to the man, her body arranged in a vulgar pose.

Sidney turned quickly. “Emma, do not come in here!”

But it was too late. Although she had only glimpsed the scene for an instant, her legs weakened, and her head felt light. She stumbled out the door, falling to her knees in the mud next to the house, and her stomach heaved its contents. Sidney placed his hand upon her shoulder, but she shook her head, pulling away. She did not want comfort; all she could think of was getting away from this place, away from the images that were burned into her mind.

She staggered to her feet and ran through the courtyard to the barn. Tripping across the floor, she didn’t even see where she was going. She collapsed in a dark corner, pulling her legs against her chest and sobbing.

Sidney’s voice carried from the doorway. “Emma . . .” She heard his footsteps and felt his hand on her shoulder. “Emma, I am so sorry.” But she shook her head, unable to articulate her thoughts. She only wanted to be alone. And apparently Sidney understood and squeezed her shoulder gently before he left her to her tears.

It was just too much to bear. On the battlefield, she had been terrified and heartbroken at the ferocious way men harmed one another. Seeing soldiers die had been difficult enough, but this was a family. She imagined that they were kind people, going about their day, perhaps preparing for dinner when . . . She jolted, trying to shake the thoughts from her head. How could she possibly endure another moment in this country? What kind of people murdered innocent families in their home? Her sobs were accompanied by keening cries that hurt her throat, but she didn’t care.

When Serena had told her story, Emma had compassion for her. She thought she understood the depths of the horror her friend had felt when the army had attacked. But truly, Emma could not begin to understand what Serena had endured or what all the people of the country had suffered. She had comforted Serena, telling her everything would be all right, and she had thought it was true. But how could anything ever be all right again?

All she had wanted to do was find Sidney. But she didn’t think she would survive one more moment in Spain. Not when such depravity and cruelty were around every corner.

As she continued to weep, she felt a hand upon her arm.
Sidney must have sent Serena
, she thought and lifted her eyes, but instead of Serena, the face before her belonged to a child. He spoke to her in Spanish, and though she did not understand what he said, she realized he was trying to comfort her.

The boy was very small. Emma had little experience with children and could not guess his age. Who was he? Was this his house? His parents? Emma bit back another wave of tears.

He asked her a question, and his large brown eyes looked into her face, waiting for an answer.

Emma took a deep breath, knowing she needed to calm herself before talking, or she would frighten him. “I am sorry. I do not understand.” She placed her palm upon her chest. “My name is Emma.”

The boy looked at her, his eyes squinting in confusion.

“Emma,” she said again.

His face lit up, and he placed his hand upon his own chest. “Nico.”

“Hola, Nico.”

“Hola, Emma.” His dark eyes looked at her with an innocence that touched her heart.

She reached into her haversack and handed Nico an oatcake, which he immediately began to devour. He must be hungry. How long had he been in this barn? When he finished, she gave him her last piece of salt pork. The two of them looked up as a shadow crossed the barn entrance. Nico scooted closer, and she put an arm around him as Serena entered the room.

“Do not be afraid,” Emma said, though she knew he could not understand her. “Serena, will you talk to Nico? I do not know if this is his house or how long he has been here. Will you tell him that he is safe?”

Serena’s eyebrows rose. She sat next to them and spoke with Nico. She listened, occasionally asking a question. “Nico asked if the bad soldiers are gone. I told him yes. He said his mother told him to hide in the barn and not to come out until she came for him. He wants to know where his parents are and if he can go to his house now.” Serena’s voice cracked, as she spoke. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

Emma knew that her friend was remembering the horror she’d felt as she hid in a small chapel, not knowing what was happening outside. Her throat constricted. “Will you tell him that we are going to stay in the barn?” Emma put both arms around Nico. “And I think we need to tell him about his parents.”

Serena nodded. She spoke softly to Nico, and Emma felt his shoulders begin to shake. She lifted him into her lap, and even though she was soaked, he buried his face against her as he cried for his parents.

Emma wept with him, her heart aching for this small boy who had lost everything. She stroked his dark hair, speaking to him in a comforting voice, knowing her words didn’t mean anything to him, but hopefully her tone conveyed reassurance.

As she held him and rocked back and forth, Emma felt all of the despair that had threatened to overwhelm her replaced by a determination to keep Nico safe. He needed her, he seemed to trust her, and he had no one else. A renewed sense of purpose helped to center her mind, and she began to think about what she would need to do to care for him.