Chapter 28
Murphy’s Laws of Combat #21a and 21b:
“No combat-ready unit has ever passed inspection. No inspection-ready unit has ever passed combat.”
The sunlight glowed gray and misty, the air cold and still. Rig studied Mel as she rode beside him. She sat head up, eyes closed, her face a pale mask. He frowned and slid his sleeve back to check his watch. He wore it high on his wrist so no one would see it. Struggling to focus, he saw the green-lit numbers showed 3:23. After she’d discovered Emily, he’d coaxed Mel back on her horse and ridden away. The ground was frozen and there were no rocks to cover Emily. A blanket weighted down with tree branches was the best he could do. She’d calmed down but had said nothing for the entire morning.
A mile downhill, a sprawling city poked up through the thick ground fog. Lugo, their destination, lay at the foot of the mountains they were leaving. Lights from campfires covered the plains outside its walls. A portion of the army had settled down after their long march, the tail of the column trudged past them to find open ground.
How many times during the day had he felt sure that the horses, or the two of them, would collapse and not get up? That the blackness would swallow them forever? Rig took several deep breaths to clear his head.
Once they reached the city, they would have to find Mel’s uncle and shelter. He had little idea of how to go about that and didn’t have the energy to think it through. In Iraq you took what was in front of you, and often the buildings were empty. Not here. An army filled the town.
Though large, Lugo looked like all the other towns they’d passed through, with high city walls, white-washed buildings, and red-or blue tile roofs. The streets were lined with sleeping men and women. The echo of their horses’ hooves striking cobblestones made no impression on the exhausted masses. How in the hell would he find Mel’s uncle here? Just as they neared the main plaza, someone called out.
“Miss Graham!” Mrs. Nancy Carstairs hopped around mud puddles toward them clutching her skirts high.
“Gracious,” Nancy said without energy, “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you two again.” The dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes. Mel nodded in her direction and waited. “Your uncle asked me to look for you, Miss Graham. He was ever so relieved to hear you were safe, but still concerned about you.” She peered at Mel and Rig. “But here you are.”
Rig leaned down. “Mrs. Carstairs, where is Colonel Graham?”
She turned pink and took a step back, obviously remembering the sight of him in his skivvies. “I-I couldn’t say, Captain. He organized the supplies here and then left for Guitrizat midday.”
Rig swore under his breath. Not again! The man couldn’t stay put long enough to actually see his niece? “Well, thank you. I have to find shelter for Miss Graham.”
“Oh, Colonel Graham has that all arranged.”
“He does?” He heard the relief in his own voice. As exhausted as they were, he wasn’t sure whether Mel or he would fall off their horses first.
“Colonel Graham secured rooms in a house down the street. My husband and I are there. I’ll show you the way.”
Rig turned to Mel, expecting her to brighten with the news, but she simply stared at her hands. Damn.
“Lead on, Mrs. Carstairs.” She scurried down the street ahead of them.
They stopped in front of an ornate, two-story house sporting red double doors and black iron bars over the windows. Someone had money, Rig concluded. Mrs. Carstairs knocked on the door. A thin, dark woman opened the door and frowned hard at them all. Mrs. Carstairs struggled through Spanish phrases to indicate that Mel and he were her boarders.
The woman angrily answered in Spanish, complaining what an imposition it all was. Rig dismounted and spoke to her, using formal Spanish. With a fluttering reply, the woman introduced herself as the wife of Don Alejandro Alverez, the mayor of the town. She gestured to a side alley, saying there was a stable in the back of the house for the horses. Without waiting for a response, she shut the door.
Wide-eyed, Mrs. Carstairs turned to Rig. “What did you say? Colonel Graham had spoken to Mrs., I mean Se?ora Alverez, yesterday, but I was afraid she had decided to refuse.”
“I told her I’d pay for their gracious hospitality.” He gathered his last strength with a deep breath. “Mrs. Carstairs, please help Miss Graham to her room.”
Sleepwalkers showed more expression than Mel as Mrs. Carstairs helped her into the house. Both women’s movements were jerky like puppets held up by too few strings.
He collected the reins and led the horses along the side of the house to the stable. The pain of walking created bright flashes of red behind his eyes, nearly blinding him in the last light of the day. He lit a lantern in the stables and bedded the horses, making sure the two had adequate food and water. He did a header into the straw when his leg gave out. He lay there for a time, gathering the will to stand and return to the house. The image of zombie-like Mel being led into the house gave him the will to move.
Rig dragged the rucksack and the two packs into the house, the tube sacks over his shoulder. Se?ora Alverez met him at the door and took him upstairs, indicating two doors, her eyes tracking the oddly tied sacks as Rig struggled passed. She said supper would be at eight and accepted the gold coin he laid in her palm.
Mel stood in the middle of one of two rooms, her gloves half off, staring at the flame of the lamp next to her bed. The rooms were still cold, but far warmer than outdoors. Rig closed the curtains in her room.
He stood by her and said, “You need sleep.” She barely nodded. He removed her gloves, rubbing her cold hands. He took off her poncho and the camo coat. Still, she hardly responded. He sat her down on the bed and removed her boots, rubbing her feet for a short while. His energy gone, he left her slumped on the bed.
Rig dragged the packs and coin sacks into the adjoining room, floorboards creaking. He hungrily eyed his bed. Undoing the buttons on his green wool pelisse and coat under it, he scratched his ribs vigorously, and sighed in relief. The wool clothing was impossible. Down to his linen shirt, he still hadn’t heard any movement from Mel’s room, no creaking floorboards or bed. He found her where he’d left her, sitting on the bed staring at the floor. He leaned against her doorway and waited for her to look up. When she didn’t, Rig said, “You need to get into bed.”
She nodded again without looking at him.
He didn’t know what to say or do. He walked over, sitting down beside her, putting his hand on her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mel.”
She looked up at him with an empty expression. It hurt to meet her eyes, usually so alive, dancing silver green. All he could do was take her in his arms and hold her. She grabbed him like a life vest in a flood and began to cry, softly at first, then harder until she was gulping for air. All the pain and horrors of the last nine days came pouring out.
He sat on the bed with her balanced on his uninjured thigh. She clung to him so tightly, he couldn’t hold them both upright. He fell over in the bed with her still clutching him. They both smelled of horse, sweat, and smoke. She felt so small as he rubbed her back. Her hand gripped the open front of his shirt. As she cried, her fingers followed his warmth and slipped under his shirt.
The jolt as her fingers touched his bare skin made him suck in a breath. He stilled, unable to think. She didn’t seem to notice as her hand sought comfort caressing his chest. He endured the exquisite torture until her sobbing stilled and she fell asleep in his arms. His good leg was numb, but his chest burned where her hand lay. He hurt for her, wishing he could leech away all the pain and horror, leave her clean.
Rig stared at the lace patterns on the plastered wall where the moonlight shone through the curtains. There were cracks in the plaster, like his composure, his control. Even in his exhaustion, he wanted this woman. Desire like steam pressure built in his head and groin. This is crazy. He couldn’t have her, and he shouldn’t because of the mission, because he was leaving. Everything’s gotten so out-of-focus, so weird. He couldn’t be anything to her. That realization struck him as a new agony. He would be gone in the most absolute way possible.
I have to get out of this room. Yet, she felt so good, so right pressed against him. She needed him now, as he’d needed her, but he didn’t want to hurt her. His thoughts were melting, his eyes wouldn’t stay open. I’ve got to get her to her uncle. Get home. I’ve got to deliver Graham, by damn.
Rig shook his head. Snap out of it, before you are babbling idiot. Get to your own bed! He gave up gritting his teeth over the situation, and eased her down on the bed,
He laid a pillow under her head, and covered her with blankets. He took the lamp and turned to go but couldn’t resist pausing to take one last look at her.
Her tears had created tracks on her face. Her cheeks and forehead were mottled by windburns and crying. Her hair lay in knots, but her mouth was now relaxed, lips chapped by the cold. He noted it all, wondering all the while how she could still be so damned beautiful, so regal. After a long while, he staggered out of her room and collapsed on his bed.
~ ~ ~
In the morning, when Melissa made the top of the stairs, she found the captain sitting on his bed dressed, bags packed, bandaged leg out straight in front of him.
He looked at her for a moment and seemed to relax. In a controlled voice, he said, “Where the hell have you been?”
Melissa stood back at his bedroom door, pursing her lips. “Is this a morning greeting among your kind?” The sunlight through the hall window cast deep shadows on her face.
“My kind?” He motioned to her bedroom. “I wake up to find you gone. I had breakfast with the mayor’s wife staring at me, asking me where you were. I had no idea where to look for you. It’s eleven, for Christ’s sake.”
“I apologize, Captain, but there is no cause to curse. There were things to be done.”
“Damn it, Mel. We have to go. We are better than halfway to La Corunna and your uncle keeps scuttling ahead of us. We can’t waste time messing around.”
“Ye scunner’s manners and foul mouth won’t charm me into being plain, will it?”
He stood on his good leg, then awkwardly eased his other under him to stand on both feet. “Every minute here is one more chance for someone to discover I’m a fraud.” Rig shouldered the coin sacks and limped toward the stairs. He didn’t look back to see if she’d followed. When he hadn’t found her this morning, he realized he didn’t have any idea of what should be done now other than head for the coast and Mel’s uncle.
He reached the horses, which he’d already laboriously saddled, and set both packs on Mel’s roan. He slung the two tube-like sacks strung together across the front of Chief’s saddle.
Joining him, she shook her head, eyeing the sacks. “We can’t leave now.”
Rig rolled his good shoulder to relieve the tightness. “Why?”
She gazed at his chest for a few moments and then gave him a determined look. “We must stay with the army.”
“I can’t continue to pretend to be a British officer. Speed is our only hope.”
The noise of a column of infantry marching by in the street out front filled the silence between them with drumming feet, metal clanking, and raised voices. There were cheers and hat waving. Mel glanced out of the stables as clouds hid the sun again, dulling the colors of the parade outside. “General Moore has finally arrived with the Reserve Division.”
When Rig remained silent, she turned and set her hands on her hips. “Captain, I visited friends, tried to find Ensign Hershey, to tell him about Emily, his wife.” She paused, took a shuttering breath, and said, “He is among the wounded, hopefully being taken back to La Corunna.”
“So, are you ready to go?”
“Captain, I apologize for leaving you. I didn’t think I’d be gone so long.”
With a scowl, the captain cocked his head. “So, are you ready to go now?”
With a huff, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head at him. “Can ye be that deaf? I said we canna go now. The horses need rest after so many days of hard use. Look at them!” She waved a hand at their drooping mounts and then pointed back-and-forth between them. “Look at us! We too need the rest.”
“We can’t just ‘rest’ here. We have to find your uncle soon, or I’ll end up trying to explain why I can’t tell the difference between a captain’s uniform and a general’s.”
“My uncle can go no farther than the sea.”
Rig rubbed his forehead, asking for patience. “Mel, if anyone becomes curious about me. If anyone from the Ninety-Fifth sees me wandering around with you, and not my unit, questions will be asked, questions I can’t answer. Then where will we be?”
“Tis my point. Ye and I must appear to belong, not run off like shirkers. That will raise questions—and then the English too will be a chasing ye.”
“Okay, so what do you propose we do and still get to your uncle sometime before I’m exposed?”
Mel gave a small smile. “What is this ‘okay’ ye throw aboot when forced to agree with me?”
He scowled. “I’m not agreeing with you. It just means ‘all right, I hear you,’ Okay?”
She sat on a bench on the end not buried in horse furniture. “The commander of the First Battalion, Ninety-Fifth Rifles, is Major Thomas Beckwith, and he is aware of your presence.”
“And just how did he discover that?” Rig leaned forward, and she leaned away. “You told him?”
“Nay, I dina ha to.” She sprung up and stomped her foot. “Ye rin fir the spurtle whan the pat’s bilin owre.”
Rig gave her a chiding glance at her indecipherable Scots. So, she’d been talking with her kinsmen during the morning, falling back into Braid Scots.
She huffed impatiently, but said, “Aye, once my friends knew I’d returned and was aboot, word traveled. Your fight at the bridge has been widely shared.” Mel rubbed her hands together, her breath fogging the space between her and Rig. “Major Beckwith found me. He expects ye to report this afternoon. He’s never met captain Sparhawk. Ye can request to escort me to my uncle with his permission.”
“Just like that?” After chuckling, which obviously annoyed Mel, Rig said, “And of course, the major will happily excuse me from active service while the battalion faces enemy action—just to see you safely to your uncle.”
A perplexed expression flitted across her face, and then she frowned. “Aye, that’s the right of it. With your wounds, you’re in no condition to command anything, much less a company.” She gave him a warm glance, saying with a half-smile, “Much less me, if it comes to that.”
Rig shook his head at her playful words. He was glad to see her lively demeanor return. Her resilience amazed him.
He tried to remain logical. “It’s one thing to be wounded and relieved of duty, and quite another to be then told to escort a woman to her uncle days away.” Rig threw up his hands. “This isn’t an army, it’s a social club.”
“Captain, there are military and social forms to be followed.” She approached him but hesitated when he turned to face her. “It is far better to travel with army permission to La Corunna than sneak away, having to avoid the army entire at every turn.”
“Staying here is just begging to be caught.”
“It is not so difficult. Ye are an experienced soldier. Ye can deceive the English as easily as ye did the French.”
“I pretended to be Spanish, and spent only a few minutes in their company. The British will have the time to check my stories. Soldiers and officers have wanted to every time we’ve met them.”
“Please, Captain, trust me, this is our best hope. The army knows Captain Sparhawk is in Lugo.” She placed her hand on Rig’s sleeve, igniting memories of her touch last night. Rig forced himself to concentrate on her words. “If we left, it would appear you are running away with me.” The set of her mouth said ‘running away’ would be viewed as an immoral dalliance. “Major Beckwith, or worse, my uncle, would label ye a deserter and send troops after us.”
Rig studied Mel in the dim light that found its way into the stables. The pressure of her fingers on his arm derailed his fears. He wasn’t in command anymore. She was right.
He was weary, and he hurt. He had trusted her before and was glad of it. He would trust her again, even if it didn’t make sense to him. She knew this world. He didn’t.
“Okay.” Rig quirked his mouth. “Yes, that means I’m forced to agree with you, General.” He smiled, but slowly slid his arm out from under her hand and began unsaddling the roan. Over his shoulder he said, “You are in command. I’m out of my depth here. I’ll go see this Major Beckwith but be prepared to run if we have to.”
“Captain, we won’t. According to Captain Sparhawk, no one knows him, being newly arrived from Canada. He says he had no family in England before he obtained his commission. Happily, he was close to your height.”
“I guess we’ll see what happens. When I get back, you can tell me about being a captain in the British Army.” He handed her one pack off the roan, threw the coin sacks on his good shoulder, and hefted the other pack one-armed.
She turned up the corner of her mouth, creating a dimple. “Well, ye should fit the army like a coat. Ye are as contentious and bolshie as any British officer.”
They entered the major’s house, and with brief thanks to the Spanish family gathered in the parlor, made their way to their rooms. Rig pushed open his door. He’d just slept twelve hours and now three hours later was dead on his feet again.
“Captain?” She stood in the hallway waiting.
“Yes, Miss Graham.” He set the packs and sacks down inside the doorway of his room. A number of things had changed between them in the last three days, but he wasn’t able to say exactly how.
She smiled at his formal address. “I want to thank ye for your courtesy last night.”
“My courtesy? Is that what you think it was?”
With a troubled expression, she stepped closer, speaking with her English inflection. “I know I have put you in harm’s way. You have risked everything for me. I would not blame you if you hated me. Even so, you were a comfort and gentleman last night, when I needed you to be.” She felt her cheeks heat.
Rig stilled. Seeing his gaze go cold, Mel stepped back. He picked up his sword and scabbard, clipping it to his belt. “Mel, last night, I wasn’t being a gentleman and it wasn’t courtesy.” As he brushed by her and down the stairs, he said, “I’m going to see Major Beckwith. Be prepared to run.”