The Sergeant's Lady (14 page)

For a moment time seemed to stand still. Then with a roar the two leading men charged, followed by three of their compatriots. Will threw himself between them and Anna, but the two leaders tackled him and wrestled him to the ground. As he thrashed and fought, he heard her scream.

He twisted aside, just dodging a knife plunging toward his throat, but his luck couldn’t last long.

He heard the last thing he expected—a fresh crackle of musketry. One of his attackers went limp and fell back, and the other sprang to his feet and fled. Gulping in grateful breaths, Will scrambled to his feet and saw a different group of Spaniards charging toward them. Anna’s captors too released her and fled.

She ran to him, and he crushed her against his chest as she wound her arms around his neck. Most of their rescuers rushed past them, pursuing the bandits, but one, a stocky, dark-skinned man carrying an antique musket, stopped and surveyed them. Will and Anna drew apart, though he kept his arm around her waist. He couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go yet.

“Ingleses?”
their rescuer asked.

Will nodded.

“You’re far from your army,” the man said, still speaking Spanish.

It was more a question than a comment, and Will weighed how to reply. He didn’t want to tell the real story, at least not all of it. These men had saved their lives, and he was inclined to trust them. But still he thought it better to offer a commonplace explanation for their presence, something not worth remembering after they had gone.

“I fell ill a few weeks ago,” he said, searching for the correct Spanish words. “My regiment left me behind, with my wife to nurse me. Now we return.”

Anna started faintly, but recovered, smiling up at him with proprietary affection.

“Of course,” the man said, “but how did you come to be riding a French horse?”

“We ran into one of their patrols,” Will said, truthfully enough. “That’s how we got the horse and the pistols.”

The man relaxed. “I am sorry to question you, but we want nothing to do with spies or deserters.”

“I understand.”

“But an English soldier on his way back to his regiment is very welcome, especially an English soldier who killed Rodríguez.” He nodded toward the man Anna had shot. “His band robbed and killed and raped, and he did not care if his victims were French or English or Spanish. But now that he is dead, my men will see to his followers, and we can live in safety again. So I owe you my thanks, Sergeant.”

“You owe my wife your thanks. She fired the shot that felled him.”

The man’s eyes widened, and he looked at Anna with new respect. “Señora! We will dance in your honor tonight.”

Anna looked dismayed at the prospect. “If you wish to honor us,” Will said, “nothing would be better than a good meal and a safe, quiet place to sleep tonight. We’ve had a long journey, and our food ran out this morning.”

“Then you must stay at my home tonight, and if the young ones wish to dance, they can do it by themselves.” He spread his hands in welcome. “My name is Pedro Vásquez. My men are few, but we protect our own from Rodríguez and do what we can to drive out the French.”

“You saved our lives,” Anna said in her easy, fluent Spanish. “We cannot thank you enough.”

“Yes,” Will agreed. He shook Vásquez’s hand and introduced himself.

Vásquez’s men began to return, a few leading bound captives. He repeated the story Will had given him and explained that the
ingleses
would stay with him and his family that night. As they prepared to go, Will sat on a rock and reloaded all their guns while Anna methodically stripped the horse’s saddle of blankets and gear, batting at the flies that had begun to swarm.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

She raised her eyebrows. “But I do. Your wife wouldn’t be a pampered creature who shirked her share of the work.”

“I suppose she wouldn’t,” he agreed, not quite meeting her eyes.

“I don’t mind. I was never very missish.” She tugged the saddle blanket free. “Poor fellow. So good-natured a horse deserved a better life. This heaven of yours—does it have room for lovely green fields far away from muskets and cannon?”

“‘He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,’”
Will quoted. “Maybe so.”

She smiled, full of warmth and sweetness, and Will remembered that he’d told her he loved her. He regretted his words, now that they had survived. It was no less true now. But he had no business loving her, and he couldn’t decide if it would be worse if she returned his love or flung it back in his face.

She bundled their gear up in the two blankets and came to his side. Setting down the pistol he had just reloaded, he held out a hand to her. She clasped it. “Will, I—” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “If you had died…”

“But I didn’t,” he said. “We’re safe, and tonight we’ll have a proper meal and a place to sleep.”

“Together.”

Her voice was low and longing, and answering hunger shot through him. But before he could respond, Vásquez called to them, and they left the scene of the skirmish behind. After about a quarter of an hour they reached a rushing stream, and the band scattered, with a few of the strongest young men in charge of the captive bandits. As Vásquez led Will and Anna along the stream’s bank, Will spotted a hare about a hundred yards away. “For dinner?” he asked.

“If you can shoot him, at that range.”

It wasn’t a long shot for a good marksman with a rifle, though it would’ve been beyond Vásquez’s ancient musket. Will brought down the hare and ran to retrieve it.

Soon they rounded a bend in the stream, and a small stone cottage, with a smaller shed behind it, came into view. Two large dogs lolled at its doorstep, a nanny goat grazed beside the shed, and a few chickens pecked at the grass. In keeping with its master, the home was worn and simple, but tidy and in as good repair as any Will had seen in Portugal or Spain.

A woman with a baby braced on her hip stood in the doorway. Two girls aged about ten and seven darted from behind their mother and ran to greet them, calling,
“Papá! Papá!”

“Ah, María, Luisa,” he said, embracing them. “My daughters. And my home. It is small, but we make the most of it.”

“I can see that,” Will said. “And we thank you for your welcome.”

As Vásquez explained to his wife and daughters who Will and Anna were and introduced them to his formidable watchdogs, Will made friendly overtures to the little girls, whose curiosity warred with their shyness. Señora Vásquez took one look at Anna and pronounced her exhausted. She led her inside, leaving Will with Vásquez and his daughters. Will smiled as Anna disappeared through the shadowy doorway. They were safe, their hosts had accepted them as husband and wife, and in a few short hours it would be dark.

Teresa Vásquez reminded Anna of Helen. She had the same no-nonsense expertise that enabled her to see when a grown woman needed mothering.

Anna found herself ensconced on a low wooden bench near the cottage’s hearth, with Señora Vásquez’s baby in her lap. The little boy, who was six months old and had the largest, most solemn dark eyes Anna had ever seen, regarded her with calm curiosity but occasionally seized handfuls of her hair.

“You sit there, señora, and mind Pepe,” Señora Vásquez said. “I will cook.”

“Please, let me help,” Anna said.

“No, you killed Rodríguez, you are our guest, and you are tired. Besides, someone must keep Pepe from crawling into the fire, and with the girls out with the men, that must be you, Señora
Aht-keens
—bah, these English names.”

Anna felt odd answering to Atkins in any case. “Please call me Anna.”

“Then you must call me Teresa.” She took out a board and knife and began cleaning the hare. “Pepe likes you,” she commented. “You have no children yet?”

Anna shook her head, her eyes fixed on the top of the baby’s head.

“But you have not been married long, I think, from the way your husband looks at you.”

Anna flushed. Were they so transparent? “No. But Will is my second husband. I came here two years ago with…another man.” Best to keep her lie as near to the truth as possible.

“Ah. I doubt you remained a widow for long, so far from home, with so many of your countrymen and so few of your countrywomen.”

“We’re not allowed to. We must remarry immediately or go straight home.” Anna knew the rules for enlisted men’s wives. Almost all of them remarried, since it was a rare soldier’s wife who had the means to support herself and her children, or a family eager to welcome her back.

“So you are a new widow and a new bride all at once. That must be strange.”

She smoothed the baby’s thick black hair. “It is, but…my first marriage was unhappy.”

“I think you like your new husband very well, though.”

“I do.” She could not meet Teresa’s eyes, lest her own expression betray how heartbreaking this pretense was. “I do. But it’s all so new. I’m not used to kindness from a husband.”

“You will learn. At least it will be a pleasant lesson.”

Anna blushed and smiled. She felt she had revealed too much, so she turned the conversation to Teresa. As they chatted easily about Teresa’s family and her domestic concerns, Anna looked around the cottage. The single room was spotlessly tidy and better-furnished than most peasant homes she had seen on the Peninsula. The bench and table where she sat were solid and well-constructed, and the other chairs and chests scattered about the room looked the same. Ample strings of onions and garlic dangled from the ceiling near the hearth. One end of the room was curtained off, and by noting what furniture was missing, Anna concluded that was where husband, wife and baby slept—there was a small bed for the two little girls along the opposite wall.

With the hare spitted and set to roast before the fire, Teresa sliced two thick pieces of brown bread, spread them with honey and handed them to Anna. “I must feed the baby and put him down for his nap,” she said. “The hare will take time to cook, so this is for you and your husband, for now.”

Anna thanked her and left the cottage in search of Will. She found him seated under a tree, stripped to his shirtsleeves and cleaning their weapons. She paused a few yards away and watched as he removed the flint from one of the pistols, inspected it and began to hone it. He was absorbed in his work, and the intent, contented way he worked over their lethal little arsenal gave her a chill despite the afternoon heat.

After a moment he sensed her presence and looked up. “What is it?”

“Nothing, really. Only, I realize now whom you remind me of, when you’re shooting or taking care of a gun.”

“Who?”

“My brother’s wife, when she draws or paints.”

He looked down at the pistol, then up at her. “Your brother’s wife?”

She groped for an explanation. “Lucy is an artist, you see, far beyond anything I can do. I learned to sketch and paint watercolors, like most young ladies. I could draw you, and make a fair likeness. Anyone who knew you would say, ‘Yes, that’s Will Atkins. That’s his nose, that’s how his hair falls over his forehead—’” he reached up to brush it back, “—but if Lucy drew you, she’d get your very soul onto the page. I can’t do that no matter how much I—no matter how important someone is to me.”

He blinked at her stream of words. “And I’m like her?”

“Yes. She has that exact same look when she works, or even when she cleans her brushes or prepares a canvas, that you had just now or when you’re about to make a shot. You’re an artist, too.”

He frowned. “A deadly sort of art.”

She joined him, offering one of the slices of bread. “Teresa sent a nuncheon.” She sank down to sit beside him on the grass. “It frightens me,” she said, “just how much easier it was to shoot someone today than it was yesterday.”

“That’s the way of it, unfortunately. Or, maybe fortunately. Otherwise soldiers would run mad.”

She nodded and took a bite of her bread, savoring the rich honey and the nutty taste of the bread.

“You didn’t save the last shot for yourself,” he commented.

All through the short, desperate fight, Anna had wondered what she should do with that shot. Perhaps death
would
have been better than the existence she would have endured as the bandits’ captive. But when Will’s pistol misfired and the leader had been ready to kill him, there had been only one thing to do.

“I couldn’t let him shoot you while I had the power to stop him.”

He stroked her cheek, and she swayed closer to him. “Thank you.”

“I’m not sure I could’ve done it, in any case. To chose certain death over a chance at life, no matter how dreadful…”

“I don’t think I could, either. And I’m glad you didn’t.”

He kissed her softly, and Anna melted against him. Will said he loved her, and she wasn’t sure whether to rejoice or be terrified. She couldn’t delude herself any longer that they could enjoy a temporary passion and then return to their own places in the world as though nothing had happened. But she didn’t want to give up what they had or what might yet happen between them before they returned to the army. She wished she could bring herself to say she loved him, too. She had tried twice and choked on the words both times. She thought she loved him—she had never felt so deeply before—but she had thought she was in love with Sebastian and been terribly wrong. Even though she knew Will was different, so much the better man, words of love died in her throat.

So she tried to show him through her kiss. They clung to each other, forgetting everything but their growing hunger.

“A veces mi papá besa a mi mamá así cuando piensan que Luisa y yo no estamos mirando.”

They jumped guiltily apart. María, the older Vásquez girl, watched them from a few yards away.

“If you do not mean to eat that bread, I shall,” she continued, still in her own language. “It is wrong to waste food.”

Will’s lips twitched, and Anna hid a smile behind her hand. “Yes,” Will agreed soberly. “And if you sit with us and share it, you can be sure that none goes to waste.”

María sat down opposite them, smoothing her rough skirts with great dignity, and they broke their bread and shared it with her.

***

There was barely room enough for all of them at the Vásquez table at dinner. Will and Anna sat hip to hip, and under cover of the table they twined their ankles together. As they ate their simple meal of roast hare, fresh herbs and thick, garlicky bread soup, they bumped elbows, brushed fingers and exchanged glances that grew more heated as the meal continued.

At Pedro’s urging, Will told tales of battles he’d fought—Vimeiro, Corunna, Fuentes de Oñoro, countless skirmishes—suitably expurgated for youthful ears, since María and Luisa hung on his every word. Throughout the evening his body hummed with awareness of Anna, and he watched the deepening twilight at the cottage windows with anticipation.

Their brush with death had routed Will’s vows of good behavior. Some half-savage part of his nature had taken command, and he burned with the need to claim his woman, the woman he had been fighting for from the first moment he saw her, the woman who today had fought for him, too. Dinner couldn’t end soon enough.

When at last the meal was over, and all the dishes cleaned and stored away, Teresa called to her daughters. “Girls! You must sleep in the shed, for Mama and Papa will take your bed so that our guests may have ours.”

The girls capered in their enthusiasm for such an adventure while Will and Anna protested that
they
should be the ones who slept outside. Pedro and Teresa would not hear of it—make their guests, their allies, sleep with the beasts? No, the
inglés
soldier and his valiant wife must have the best they could offer. Pedro pulled the cradle out of the sleeping alcove and set it by the low bed at the other end of the room. Teresa whispered in Anna’s ear, then all but shoved them behind the curtain.

“What was that about?” Will asked.

“Teresa assuring me that all of them are sound sleepers, even the baby. I suppose we’re rather transparent.” She sounded abashed, but she swayed toward him.

He caught her and covered her mouth in a rough kiss, snaking his hands around to the small of her back to pull her against him. His cock was already hard, and he wanted her to feel it. She arched against him, her arms wound about his neck, her tongue in an eager duel with his.

He stepped backward toward the bed, pulling her with him, and caught her by the waist as he lifted her and fell back onto the mattress.

It rustled noisily under their weight, and the ropes supporting it gave a mighty creak.

They lay silent in each other’s arms for a long moment. “Oh, dear,” Anna murmured.

“Indeed,” he replied, his savagery considerably dampened. “Not like this.”

She shook her head. “No. I—I want this, I want
you
, but I’d feel as though we were performing on a stage.”

Will had no illusions that carnal acts required complete privacy. The army often camped in the open. The best a man who married or took up with a camp follower could do was hope that his comrades were sound sleepers. But a lady like Anna deserved better than a semi-public coupling on the noisiest bed Will had ever lain upon.

“I wish we’d argued harder to sleep in the shed,” he said.

“So do I.” She sighed, rolled away from him and sat up, accompanied by further rustles and squeaks from the bed. “I don’t want to sleep in my dress.”

“Nor I in my uniform.”

She slid to her feet. “Help me with my buttons?”

“Of course.” He stood behind her and went to work, slowly, with kisses that began at the nape of her neck and trailed onto her bared shoulders. She leaned back against him with a gasp, and his desire began to build again. He determined to find a way to pleasure her without making too much noise on that dreadful bed.

He kissed her neck once more before releasing her. Without speaking or touching, they stripped, he to his shirt and she to her shift.

Will slid beneath the blanket. The mattress rustled noisily as Anna joined him. He drew her into his arms and kissed her, running his hand up to cup her breast through her shift. Freed from her stays, it was soft and heavy in his hand. Her nipple hardened against his palm, and he deepened the kiss as he caressed her. Anna whimpered and writhed against him, and the mattress rustled in response.

“Shh. Be still,” he whispered.

“You’re torturing me.” Her breathing grew ragged.

“You’re the one who wanted to take your dress off for the night.” But he lifted his hand to her face and stroked her cheek. “Do you want me to stop?”

She took his face in her elegant, smooth-skinned lady’s hands and kissed him.

“Shh,” he whispered again as he ever so slowly eased her from her side to her back.

He leaned over her and kissed her lips briefly before embarking upon an exploration of her face. He kissed her nose, her cheekbones, her forehead, nuzzled along her arched eyebrows. Her unbound hair fell past her shoulders, and he ran his hands through it and buried his face in the silken length.

Anna sighed, and Will could feel the effort it took her to keep the sigh from turning into a moan, how stiffly she held her body to only twitch rather than writhe and arch. It inflamed him. He’d spoken truly the night before when he’d told her that knowing she wanted him only made his hunger for her stronger.

He fanned her hair across the bed and turned his attention to her neck, kissing down her throat to dip his tongue into the hollow of her collarbone. He caressed her breasts again and rejoiced in her gasp when he slid his hand beneath the low neckline of her shift to stroke her bare skin. Slowly and gently he worked her breast free and bent to take it in his mouth.

“Will!” she whispered. All at once her hands were in his hair, fiercely gripping, and he replied with a harder suck, almost a bite. Her breath came fast, and his heart raced.

He skimmed one hand down to the hem of her shift. When he raised it, began to slowly trail his hand up her inner thigh, she did whimper, very softly, as her legs fell apart. He lifted his head from her breast. “Shh,” he warned, then kissed her.

When he reached the curls at the juncture of her thighs he had to choke back a groan of his own. God, how he wanted to be inside her! But not here, not now, not like this. Her breath came in panting gasps as he explored her hidden folds, so slippery with desire. It amazed him to be wanted so by someone like
her
, and he felt a moment’s dismay at his boldness. But it didn’t stop him from sliding one finger, then two, deep inside her in mimicry of the act he truly longed for.

“Will! My
God
.” But she made it a whisper, and stayed still enough not to rustle the mattress, though she trembled from head to toe.

With his thumb he sought out the hard nubbin at the top of her cleft and stroked it as he thrust in and out. She was already on the brink, and within seconds she came, her breath quickening as he covered her mouth with kisses lest she cry out.