Saving Time

Chapter 15

Murphy’s Laws of Combat #21:

“When you have secured the area, make sure the enemy knows it too.”

“Ochane!”

Melissa flounced over to sit on the log, hand holding her bad arm. She felt her face prickle as it did when she was humiliated. She slipped on her skirt under the cape, tying it off and laying the cape around her coat, the colored rain cover he called a poncho tugged over that.

“Captain, ye may be utterly ignorant of Society’s propriety and preferences, but I refuse to continue this haver. You will have ample opportunities to view Society’s beauties when we reach the army.”

She pointed to the horses. “We are wasting time with this nonsense.” Saying that, she turned and walked to the nearest horse, untying its restraints and led it back to the stacked horse furniture. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye as he continued to watch her. Could he honestly deem her a beauty?

Not blasted likely!

Tis all gammon. More as like, he found solace in tormenting her. Regardless of his fulsome words, he most likely still deemed her compromised by her near rape, less than worthy, and the source of his current misfortunes.

~ ~ ~

Rig shook his head with a chuckle as he untied the other two horses. “The women I know don’t debate such compliments, even if they doubted the man’s sincerity.”

He was enjoying the odd-ball conversation, which surprised him. Aggravated, Melissa Graham was a kick to watch. Her direct and open ripostes, odd words, the intriguing variety of expressions that played across her face were more than entertaining, very revealing. She remained the only example of a nineteenth century woman he”d met.

Mel had blinked at his blunt observation. She clearly doubted his veracity. He was glad she was clueless about her own beauty. It meant she wasn’t using it to charm or seduce him. Rig mentally derailed that thought but couldn’t help grinning. He wanted to keep her talking.

“Accepting excessive flummery may be modish in your world, Captain,” she huffed in a British inflection, “but tolerating such encomium is not the fashion for me.” She turned around and handed him the bridles and watched as he set them in the horses’ mouths. She couldn’t do it one handed.

“Encomium?” Rig said, chuckling.

Over her shoulder, she shot, “Extravagant praise, shameless flattery.”

His eyes narrowed as his face grew still, but she continued to tie up the bridles, obviously not intimidated by his pique. When she said nothing more, he gave a deep sigh and motioned for them to retrieve the saddles and blankets.

“Well, so much for that. Someday you’ll have to detail what is considered beautiful. Now, tell me about the road and terrain and towns between Astorga and La Corunna.”

He asked innumerable questions as they saddled the horses. He was still asking questions when they’d finished, and he tied down her arm again.

The captain slipped his little book out of his pocket, then looked up at her. “You say Cacabellos has the only bridge across the Rio Cúa along the army’s line of march after Astroga? No other bridges?”

“Aye.” Melissa ran a stick through the fire pit, making sure it was out, and then dumped more snow on it. “Tis the only bridge for leagues and there are no fords, not in the mountains.”

They were ready to leave, and she found the captain’s continuing questions tiring. He claimed to be finishing a hasty ‘area study’ he’d started yesterday in the barn but wanted to hear about every village and tree from here to the bay of La Corunna. ‘Hasty’ indeed. She repeatedly had to dredge up details from her memory of the Army’s march from La Corunna two months ago.

He stood by his gray charger, head down as he wrote. Without looking up, he asked, “And the Spanish civilians in the vicinity? Are they friendly?”

“Some are, but a quid few are no.”

“A quid few?”

Melissa walked her roan over to the log and stepped up on it. “A good many doubt our motives for helping them, see the British as invaders, they do, and are reluctant to aid us,” she said, frustrated by the fact. “It angers our soldiers, which leads to depredations.” She closed her eyes remembering.

She opened them with a sigh and watched as the captain approached her. The setting sun cast his features in gold and orange. To keep from being lost in the vision, she mounted her roan from the fallen log.

“Others hide from us,” Melissa continued as she settled in the saddle, “and as the Army’s situation becomes more desperate, Spaniards will attack our soldiers, particularly any stragglers, such as we.” She wanted to be fair to the locals, but she found it difficult. She paused as the captain wrote more notes in his little book, then looked up at her, nodding for her to finish. “Now that we are retreating, they don’t want the advancing French to hear that they’ve helped the English.”

“Sounds like Iraq, like Afghanistan.” A weary expression crossed his face, making Melissa wonder at the cause. Was Iraq a country? He said no more but put the metal pencil and little book in his breast pocket.

He walked the parameter of the site, peering over the top of the framing slopes in all four corners of the compass. Finished, he gathered the other two horses. “I think we should have your arm free at the end of our ride tonight, with just the sling, to help circulation and healing.”

He reached into his pack on the bay and retrieved a small jar with a blue lid. He studied it for a moment, and then glanced at her thoughtfully, giving her a chill of apprehension. He came to some conclusion and slowly stepped up onto the log, favoring his bad leg. Eye-level with her sitting in the saddle, he said, “If your shoulder starts to hurt, let me know.”

Still aggravated with his comments and endless questions, she rolled her eyes. “It pains me now.”

The captain gave her a grin while he opened the jar. “Then let me know if it starts to hurt more. I’ll give you a Vicodin when done here.” Bracing himself with one hand holding the jar balancing on her saddle, he dipped his finger in the jar and removed a glob of something resembling animal fat. The opaque jar had a paper label glued to its face. The largest words were, Vaseline Healing Jelly—with eucalyptus and lanoline.

She recognized eucalyptus, but lanoline? Melissa leaned back when he eyed her with the lard-ladened finger. “What are ye aboot?”

“It’s going to be very cold, wet, and windy tonight. This’ll protect your face from frost bite and wind burn.”

She leaned away when he moved his hand closer. “Wind burning? You mean chaffing?”

“Look at my face, at the reddened skin. I can feel where it’s chapped.” He put the jelly on his forehead, cheeks, and nose, finishing with his chin and lips. “It’ll keep your face warm too.” Finished, he fingered a dab and looked at her expectantly.

She stared at the cloudy substance on his fingers. Another miraculous medicine or just a lard facial? His knowledge of medicines and weapons left her in awe of him—when she wasn’t angry with his rude manners and indecent questions. “Captain, I am quite capable of applying that balm as you did if you feel it will help.”

“Oh, I don’t know. This is a special medication. If it’s applied incorrectly, well”— he made a face— “it wouldn’t be good.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want to take that chance one-handed?”

She studied his expression, uncertain whether he was handing her more tripe and turnips. She detested his superior attitude, particularly when he knew she remained nervous with his future knowledge, medicines, and mechanicals from the times to come. His small smile made that plain as he raised his hand again.

She didn’t move, but watched those brown fingers come closer to her face. She spoke quickly, anything to distract herself from the exquisite agitation created by his nearness, from 21st century magic he had literally at his fingertips.

“First you pester me with questions about women with the army, describe me as ‘hot,’ torment me with your ‘area study,’ and now you feel the need to wipe that, that colorless marmalade on my face.” She pursed her lips. “Do we really have time for this?”

He nodded. His gold-flecked brown eyes sparkled with humor inches away and then their gaze wandered over her face. A small, but disturbingly tender smile danced on his lips. “Both the ‘area study,’ and the ‘marmalade’ are necessary if we’re going to get through this in one piece. We have to make it to the bridge at Cacabellos before the French minkers.”

His hand hovered above her forehead, sparking a strange anticipation in her. What was he waiting for?

“In planning a mission, being aware of the area you’re going to travel through is critical. Special Forces like mine can spend weeks studying a mission.” His voice was quiet, his fingers light as he smeared the jelly over her forehead, thinning it and spreading it in from one temple to the other. Melissa hadn’t realized how tight her head was until he began massaging her brow. He didn’t hurry, watching his own fingers intently. She could feel her muscles relax under the gentle pressure.

“Soldiers need to know every contour of the land,” he said as he spread the clear jelly, “every hollow.” His thumb slid along one cheek, then the other, his fingers gently holding her jaw. The tang of the substance filled her nostrils.

“To increase our chances of success, we need to understand the people in the region, their needs and wants.” His fingers slid along the side of her jaw as though he was stroking a kitten. “And their fears, their expected responses to our presence.”

His touch created a warm tingling that seemed to reverberate through her entire body. With his thumb and forefinger, he applied the jelly to each side of her nose. His eyes followed their slow slide down the bridge to the tip. It tickled in the most disquieting way. Time stopped. All she could feel were his soothing fingers and his warm breath on her face. Then he looked at her mouth and she instinctively gazed at his, dazed by the bubbling sensation in her middle.

“An area study wouldn’t be complete without discerning the sensitive areas to be found during the mission.” His thumb rubbed across her chin, and her mouth parted in response to the pressure. “And any possible collaboration.”

His thumb came up to her lips and hesitated. She looked up into his eyes, whiskey bright, lit by the same fire that now heated her blood. He slowly ran his thumb across her lower lip from one corner to the other. Her breath caught at the lightning strikes of sensation jumping from her lips to her stomach. The strange, smoky sensations that pooled there were pleasurable but demanding. As his thumb smoothed the gel over her upper lip, she inhaled a shuddering breath, her body unable to remain still under such stimulation. She wanted to do something but couldn’t think what.

His thumb came to rest on her lower lip. They gazed at each other for an eternity. His mouth parted, mirroring hers, his breath ruffling her hair, a delicate caress in the cold air smelling of apricots. Her hand reached up of its own accord for his lips.

The roan abruptly stepped away from the log, snorting.

The captain’s hand shot from her lip to the cantle of the saddle, but he still fell into the gap created between the sidling horse and the log, landing heavily on his bad leg. The other two horses became alert, turning their heads to the east.

Holding on to the saddle, head down, the captain’s entire body seemed to vibrate. Melissa looked at him, trying to catch her breath, trying to focus. “Captain, what happened?”

He hissed, “I was being stupid—again, that’s what.”

“Not that, Captain. What just hap—” Her horse tossed his head again, nickering. Melissa froze. “There are other horses near, upwind.”

He looked to the east at the bare slope the horses were facing. They all listened for a moment, but Melissa didn’t hear anything. Grimacing, the captain hobbled to the other two horses, and brought them to her, handing her the reins. With cool efficiency, he unwrapped his rifle and pulled back on a bolt with a loud clack. He pocketed a metal case like the one attached to the bottom of the rifle and eyed the sun low in the west. He set his floppy hat over his wool cap, low on his head.

“If you see anyone appear, take off as fast as you can down the draw,” he whispered, pointing with his head to the south. “Leave the pack horse. Head west.” He threw off his great coat and slung it over his saddle next to the cape. “I’ll catch up with you.”

Before she could ask how he’d accomplish that or why he’d taken off the great coat, he turned and slowly limped up the slope, hand on his thigh, head bent low. Some meters from the crest, he dropped down into the dead grass and snow, and then crawled until he could just see over the lip of the rise by a low bush. He raised his weapon and peered through the spyglass set on its top. Melissa waited nervously for the sharp report of the rifle, but it didn’t come. He remained motionless, watching for what?

Abruptly, she realized how his body seemed to blend into the brown and white slope, his clothes perfectly matching the colors of the dead grass and low brush, even his hat. His body seemed to disappear among the patches of snow as he continued his silent reconnaissance. Another magic.

The wind sighed in the continuing silence, its chilling pressure making her aware of the balm protecting her face, aware of how her skin still prickled from his touch. As she gazed at him, she shivered and asked herself, “What just happened?”