Lady Emma's Campaign (8 page)

Emma’s heart melted with relief
when Sidney joined them, whole and unhurt. She and Serena had begun to panic when they found that they could not budge an unconscious Jim, let alone carry him to the top of the hill.

Sidney lifted Jim over his shoulder, staggering a bit. He looked back at Emma and Serena, yelled for them to follow, then ran to the top of the hill. Emma clutched Sidney’s jacket tighter beneath her arm, lifted her skirts, and forced her tired legs to move. A soldier was struck by the sword of a passing horseman a few yards away, and he turned, lurching toward her. Blood sprayed from his neck, landing in droplets across the bodice of her dress.

Emma staggered backward, tripping over the broken body of another man. Nearby, a dying horse writhed and thrashed on the ground. Pushing her hands to her ears to block out the shrieks and blasts around her, Emma clenched her eyes shut. She didn’t realize she was screaming until Serena gripped her shoulder and shook her until her teeth rattled.

“Stop, Emma. Stop!” Serena jerked her to her feet. “You must follow me. If we remain here, we will die!”

Clutching hands, the women ran up the hill together. They reached the crest, emerging from the heavy smoke. Without pausing, Serena led Emma to a wooded area. Once they were in the cover of the grove, they walked slowly, allowing their eyes to adjust to the shade and their breathing to calm. Sidney called from a cluster of trees, and they pressed through clumps of undergrowth to join him. The clearing where Jim lay was fairly well concealed, but there was no escape from the crashes and screams of the battle.

Sidney knelt over him, pushing aside his hair to assess the damage. “Are either of you hurt?” he asked when the women joined him. His gaze moved over them to assess for injuries. “What happened?”

“A horse fell in front of us, and Jim pulled us out of the way,” Serena explained. “He was hit by a musket ball.”

Guilt squirmed in Emma’s chest as she realized that Serena deliberately left out the fact that Jim had been struck as he had stopped to assist her when she had lost her balance. Her stomach lurched as she remembered the sight of him holding his head and collapsing while blood dripped between his fingers.

Serena moved to kneel on Jim’s other side, helping to remove his jacket to cushion his head.

Emma turned away. She sat on a log, certain that it would catch and snag her fine muslin skirt but knowing that her legs would no longer hold her. How had the simple task of finding Sidney become such a nightmare?

Behind her, Sidney and Serena murmured together, but Emma did not even attempt to listen. Her heartbeat continued to pound in her ears, and she grasped Sidney’s coat, shutting her eyes tight in an attempt to block out the images from the battle that continued to fill her mind.

“Emma.”

She opened her eyes. Sidney was crouching in front of her. He put his hands on her arms.

“Serena and I must find help. Can you remain with Jim?”

Alarm rose inside her as Emma glanced toward the man lying upon the ground. Serena held a bunched cloth against the wound in his head.

“Must you both go?” Emma attempted to speak through her constricting throat.

“Yes. He needs a surgeon, and there is no telling who we will meet. If he is Spanish, he will respond better to Serena, and a British surgeon will listen to me. The two of us will attract much less attention than a young Englishwoman in a lace-trimmed walking dress. You will be safest here.”

Emma looked toward Jim. Blood had painted a thick trail down the side of his face. The sight of it caused her head to swim. She shut her eyes again. How could she possibly remain here alone with him?

“Please, Emma. Jim needs you.” Sidney squeezed her shoulders, offering a smile. He gently pried her fingers from his jacket and then slipped his arms into the sleeves.

Emma inhaled and nodded. She moved to sit next to Jim, removing her gloves and tentatively pressing her hand on the cloth bundle where Serena indicated.

When Sidney and Serena had gone, Emma cast her mind about, searching for anything to take her thoughts away from the battle and the bloody man next to her. She began to notice the pain in her feet. The lace-lined kid slippers with satin ribbons that she’d chosen to complement her gown were made for indoor or fine-weather walking. She sighed as she lifted a limp ribbon and ran her finger over a mud-covered tear. Surely the cobbler did not intend his creations to be used so roughly.

Emma lifted the rags to peek at the wound upon Jim’s head and immediately wished she had not. It was quite deep, his skin peeling back from a gash directly above his forehead, and she saw the white of bone within. Her head swam, and she quickly replaced the makeshift bandage. As she did, she realized the cloth must have been torn from Serena’s petticoat. The Spanish women wore layer upon layer beneath their skirts. Emma was grateful she did not have to tear her petticoats. She didn’t have many to spare.

In an effort to distract herself, Emma assured herself that the worst was now over and imagined how the day would end. She thought how wonderful it would be in a few hours when they returned to Cádiz, and she was able to change into a fresh gown and clean slippers. If they found a carriage to take them on the same road, they would be at the ambassador’s home in time for supper. William’s anger would soon be forgotten when they returned. Emma thought about sitting in the lovely courtyard, watching the fountain with Serena while Sidney and William talked and laughed as they used to. She wondered if Sidney had ever eaten tapas.

The sound of Jim’s moan jolted her from her daydream. She tensed, pondering what she should say to him.

He stirred and shifted his weight as if to sit up. “What the devil happened?” he said in a raspy voice. His eyes opened and rolled back into his head before closing again.

Emma stifled a gasp at the man’s vulgar language. “You have been wounded, Colonel Stackhouse. Do not attempt to rise. Captain Fletcher and Serena have gone to retrieve a surgeon.”

“And they’ve left the screaming debutante warrior to guard me, eh? Splendid.”

Emma was unsure whether to take offense at the man’s words. Undoubtedly his pain caused him to lose any good humor he might have possessed. Perhaps he was not even aware of what he was saying. She resolved to forgive his rudeness. “Yes, sir. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”

“Water,” the colonel said.

Emma looked around the little clearing. The noises of the battle, though muted slightly by the trees, still crashed through the air. The fighting was not far enough distant that she dared leave the grove.

“I am not certain I shall be able to find water, sir. Perhaps if we wait until—”

“Water,” he croaked, more loudly attempting again to rise.

“You must remain still, Colonel.”

“If you did not intend to help after all, next time it would be best not to offer.”

Emma did not know what to do. Certainly he would only injure himself further should he move about. “Captain Fletcher and Serena will return soon. Perhaps they will bring some water.”

“My lady, I’m sure you do not know the first thing about battlefield medical procedures. But allow me to enlighten you.” He spoke slowly in the same raspy voice. “With a wound such as this and the amount of blood I am losing, I will not survive without water, so it is not as if I am simply asking you to enter the battleground and fetch me a refreshing beverage. If I don’t get water soon, I will die.”

Emma’s heart rose into her throat. Sidney and Serena were at this moment risking their lives for this man; she could not allow him to die when they had trusted her with his care. She swallowed and nodded, even though the colonel’s eyes were shut.

Emma placed her palm upon his chest. “I will find water, sir. But you must remain here, and do not move your head.”

She searched quickly for something to hold the bandage in place and finally lifted Jim’s hand, showing him where to press to slow the bleeding.

Emma stood and brushed at her dress nervously, then she scurried around the edge of the clearing, making sure to remain in the shadows. Pushing aside the thick bushes that caught on the train of her gown, she stepped into the trees, wondering which direction she should go. Back toward the battlefield? She discounted the idea immediately. It would be far safer to remain in the cover of the trees. Her body began to tremble as she worried that she might encounter another skirmish or meet a band of renegades or any number of other dangers that might befall her.

Emma walked around a large tree, her ears strained for any sound of a stream or peril. She was an earl’s sheltered daughter and had no idea where to find water in a forest. And if she did find it, how would she bring it back to Jim? She made certain to remember her path, to ensure she could find her way back to the clearing.

She had only walked a bit farther when she heard a noise. Creeping toward it, she came upon a soldier in British regimentals. Relief swept over her. Here was someone who could help her. He sat against a log with his back to her.

Emma swallowed her nervousness at finding herself alone with a stranger.

“Pardon me, sir. I wondered if you might have some water for my companion . . .” Her voice trailed off as she rounded the log and saw that the soldier was not merely relaxing but had obviously dragged himself to this spot. His jacket was open; his shirt shredded and crimson with blood. A tangle of inner workings spilled out of a wound on his torso, despite his attempt to hold them in with his hand. A pool of blood grew on the ground beneath him. Her stomach threatened to lose its contents, and Emma clamped her hand over her mouth.

Inside her mind, a battle raged between the urge to flee and the possibility that she might be able to assist him. Emma’s legs began to tremble; her mind swam. She remained frozen in place until the man opened his eyes and reached his hand toward her.

Without a thought Emma turned and ran blindly through the trees. Any plans of remembering her direction flew from her mind. She pushed through thick branches that caught at her clothing and tangled in her hair. Attempting to climb over a fallen log, she tripped, landing upon her hands and knees and surprising a group of men who all rose to their feet when they saw her. They had been crouched around a soldier who lay upon the ground. They themselves were not soldiers, and Emma was instantly wary.

She scrambled to her feet, her pulse racing.

A man wearing a bandana around his neck took a step toward her, and Emma shrunk back. Her knees felt weak. The log was behind her and the men before her. She was trapped.

She looked at the man on the ground. He lay dead with his mouth open. Next to him was a piece of cloth with a pile of jagged red and white rocks on it. Whatever were they doing?

The man with the bandana took another step toward her, and Emma glanced at his hand. He held some sort of a tool, and Emma tried sort through her muddled mind to remember where she had seen such an instrument before, but it seemed as if her brain had ceased to function.

“Señorita,” he said, his gaze darting to the men behind him before he stepped even closer. One man grabbed the cloth with the pile of rocks, and the other moved to stand in front of the body.

Emma’s heart jolted. She recognized the instrument he held as one she’d seen carried by a dentist, and she instantly knew what had been happening. Those had not been rocks. The men were stealing the dead soldier’s teeth!

The man reached for her, grabbing her wrist.

Emma screamed.

He was startled but pulled her closer speaking rapidly in Spanish; whether he was talking to her or the men, Emma was not sure.

She hit his chest with her fist and continued to scream.

The man put his hand over her mouth but just as quickly released her when Sidney bounded from the trees brandishing a sword.

In an instant, the men bolted, and Emma collapsed in a heap upon the ground. She closed her eyes, pressing her hands over them, but could not banish the vision of the dead man with a gaping hole for a mouth or of the wounded soldier lying in the woods, entreating her for help. Her throat felt thick, and her eyes would not focus.

Sidney took her hands and helped her to stand. He turned her gently away from the body. “Emma, what on earth are you doing? What if I had not found you?” His voice trembled, obviously with suppressed fury, and the back of Emma’s eyes prickled with tears.

“Colonel Stackhouse needed water, then I saw . . .” Her stomach churned as guilt flooded over her. Why had she fled when the dying man so obviously needed comfort? If she could only go back; but by now, it was certainly too late. She was proving to be a useless rescuer. She raised her gaze to Sidney’s and saw that he was working a muscle in his jaw, just the way William had when he had found her hiding aboard his ship. Only the expression looked so much more terrible on Sidney’s bruised and whiskered face. He must be furious. The tightness in her throat threatened to choke her, and she blinked against the stinging in her eyes. “I am sorry I made you angry,” she said, hanging her head and swaying, her knees still a bit shaky. “I’ve made everything worse, haven’t I?”

“I am not angry, Emma. Not at you. Terrified, perhaps.” Sidney’s voice was low. He held on to her arms to steady her, pulling her from the clearing into the cover of trees. “Are you all right?”

Emma nodded and sniffled as she rested her head against his chest, beginning to relax. Sidney was here, and soon everything would be all right.

Even though the sounds of battle still surrounded them and she and Sidney were both filthy and nothing had gone the way it should from the moment she had walked through the prison gates, Emma found that being held in Sidney’s arms felt every bit as wonderful as she’d always imagined.

Holding Emma’s trembling body next
to his had the curious effect of calming Sidney’s unexpected surge of anger and terror.

“How did you find me?” Emma asked against his chest.

He glanced down at her blonde curls. When he and Serena had returned with a surgeon and discovered that Emma had gone, Sidney had been nearly apoplectic. He’d immediately run into the woods to search for her, anxiety nearly causing his heart to explode from his chest as he imagined her bound and flung over the saddle of an enemy soldier.

He tried to speak lightly and ease the horror she was undoubtedly still feeling. “Well, Emma, as it turns out, you are in possession of an excellent set of lungs which can take full credit for leading me to you.”

He closed his eyes, not wanting to remember how desperate he’d felt. Hearing her screams and imagining her headed toward a fate worse than death, his caution had flown, and all he could think of was reaching her. It was lucky that he’d not run into a group of enemy soldiers, as he would have been completely vulnerable, having taken no thoughts for his own safety. His rage when he’d seen the man holding Emma had scared him nearly as much as his anxiety for her. The men had made a blasted good decision when they fled because Sidney was afraid he would have skewered the lot of them otherwise.

When had he lost control over his emotions? As a soldier, he’d been trained to approach dangerous situations with restraint, make split-second decisions, and not allow his feelings to play any part in his actions on the battlefield. The torture he had endured in the prison had certainly changed him, and he feared he would never be the same.

Sidney held Emma tighter and felt his heartbeat returning to its normal rhythm, even as she continued to tremble. He’d seen a flash of something in her eyes, and for an instant, he thought her fear might have expanded to include him. His heart sank at the mere thought that he might have put some of that distress into her eyes.

“Are you quite all right now?” he asked.

Emma nodded her head against his chest, and he found himself reluctant to release her.
And blast, if she did not smell like vanilla.

“We must return or Jim and Serena will be concerned,” he stepped back, immediately feeling the loss of her warmth.

Once he was certain she was steady on her feet, Sidney surveyed the soldier on the ground, carefully positioning himself in front of Emma to block the sight from her.

“We can at least be grateful to this soldier for the use of his supplies,” Sidney said. He picked up the musket, removed the bag of musket balls and bayonet case from the man’s belt, then handed Emma the soldier’s canteen.

Emma tried to lift the knapsack that lay a few yards from the dead man, but she could not move it.

Sidney hefted it easily onto his back.

Emma’s eyes continued to dart around, and she held the canteen so tightly that her knuckles were white.

Sidney wanted to tell her they were safe now, but such a thing was far from the truth. So, silently, he led her through the underbrush, back to the clearing where the surgeon was at work sewing up Jim’s wound. The sounds of the battle continued in the distance, and Sidney was becoming more anxious to move the group farther away from the action.

When they arrived in the clearing, Serena rushed to Emma, embracing her.

“Doctor Sharpe, allow me to introduce Lady Emma Drake. Lady Emma, this is Doctor John Sharpe of the Twenty-Ninth Regiment,” Sidney said.

The surgeon and Emma exchanged greetings, and Sidney couldn’t help but think how absurd it was that social niceties were still observed in such a situation.

“How do you find him, Doctor?” Sidney stepped closer.

“He’ll have a mighty headache for a while, that’s certain. But the ball did no damage to his skull.” He produced a bandage from his haversack and wound it around Jim’s head.

“And when do you think he’ll be able to travel?” Sidney asked.

“The lot of you can stop talking about me as if I’m deaf.” Jim pushed himself up into a sitting position. His face grew even paler, but he did not lie back down.

“Here is some water, Colonel Stackhouse,” Emma said, walking closer and handing him the canteen.

Jim took it, opened the cap, and took a long drink.

The sound of an explosion nearby caused all of them to turn toward the direction of the battlefield. Jim held his hand to his head, the quick movement obviously painful.

Emma instinctively covered her ears and ducked down.

“You will want to rest, sir,” the doctor told him.

Jim ignored the man, turning instead to Sidney. “If you are ready to depart, let us put as many miles between us and that cursed prison as we can before nightfall.”

“I would not recommend travel for at least a day, Colonel,” the surgeon said. “It would serve you better to accompany me back to camp. And you, Captain. You are injured as well. Judging by the way you are holding your side, I wonder if you’ve some cracked ribs.”

Emma turned away from Jim and studied Sidney for a moment, and he determined the worried expression on her face was nearly worth the throbbing in his side. Nearly. “Just a bit sore,” Sidney said, endeavoring to stand in a manner that didn’t betray his pain.

“I’m grateful for your expertise in these matters,” Jim said to the doctor, “but I’ve my orders.”

Emma stiffened her spine, holding her head up. “It should not be long back to Cádiz, Colonel,” she said in a comforting tone. “We shall have to wait until the fighting stops, and the horses will have to move slowly, of course, so as not to jostle you and Captain Fletcher too much. Doctor, do you know where we might arrange for a carriage?”

The entire group stared at Emma, stunned by her naiveté. Jim was frozen with the canteen halfway to his mouth. In any other circumstance, Sidney might have laughed at the man’s expression.

“Emma, we cannot return to Cádiz. The French still hold it under siege,” Sidney said as gently as possible.

Emma blinked rapidly. “I am sure when we explain to them that we are merely passing through to William’s ship, they will . . .”

Sidney shook his head. “We must travel to Tarifa. We will find a ship there to take us to Cádiz by sea.”

Emma looked at each member of the party. “And how far is Tarifa?”

“Fifty miles,” Jim grunted, shifting his position and still holding his head with his hands.

“No,” Emma said, crossing her arms. “I cannot go. William must be sick with worry. I cannot travel fifty miles. Even with a good carriage, it will take us at least two days, and what if we are unable to find a suitable inn? We may be forced to lodge above an ale house or some other sort of disreputable place.” Her voice was beginning to rise in octave, and she was breathing heavily.

Jim snorted.

Serena reached for Emma’s hand and led her to a log a short distance away to sit, speaking softly to her and leaving the men to discuss their plan.

The doctor looked truly worried. “Surely you will avoid the roads and the major cities. There is not much that the French have not destroyed in their path. It will be quite dangerous this far behind enemy lines with no army for protection . . .”

“Colonel Stackhouse knows the region,” Sidney said. “Thank you again for your offer, Doctor. But we cannot remain in hopes of joining a detachment that may or may not take us to Tarifa. The colonel’s orders are clear, and I can do no other than assist him in his assignment, as well as ensure Lady Emma’s safe return to the care of her brother. Our best chance lies in secrecy. But I thank you again for the equipment you were able to procure on such short notice, sir.”

“Yes, of course, Captain. If you will excuse me.” The doctor rose and shook Sidney’s and Jim’s hands. “I have a long day ahead.” He nodded to Serena and Emma. “Señorita Alvarez, Lady Emma. A pleasure.”

Once the surgeon had left the clearing, Sidney moved to the pile of supplies. “Emma, these were the smallest boots we could find.” He offered them to her, but she did not take them.

“I am sure my own slippers will suffice a bit longer.” She eyed the boots suspiciously. “Where did you find . . . ?”

Serena took the tall boots from Sidney and set them next to Emma’s feet, motioning for her to put them on. “Come, you must wear strong boots for walking so far.”

“I will not.” Emma stood. She curled her lip. “These boots are dirty and made for a man. And it is not too far to walk to . . .” She looked from Serena to Sidney, and he could see the moment the truth of the situation settled upon her. “We are walking to Tarifa.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She sat back down upon the log, her shoulders slumped.

Serena sat next to her, raising her eyebrows at Sidney and tipping her head toward Emma, indicating for him to say something to reassure her.

Sidney crouched down to Emma’s eye level. He nodded to Serena and tried to think of encouraging words. All he could manage was, “Yes. I am sorry, Emma, but we must make the journey on foot.”

Emma studied the dirty boots, nudging one of them with her toe, and then turned toward Sidney, opening her mouth to say something. She tensed, making a sound somewhere between a choke and a sob as she looked past him with wide eyes.

Sidney jumped to his feet, pulling out his sword as he whirled to see what had frightened her.