The Wedding Journey

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His Magic Touch "You know I'm not a miracle worker," Jesse said. "Oh, I think you are," Nell said, sighing. "Could you scratch my right shoulder blade?" He did, and she sighed again. "A little lower. Oh, lovely." He made great progress on the area around her neck, marveling at the lightness of her bones and the softness of her back. A hospital steward had remarked to him that Elinore Mason had such a fragile air about her. You're so right, Jesse thought, as he expertly manipulated her shoulders through her nightgown. He knew the resiliency of the human body as well as any surgeon, but he still felt reluctant to press too hard. Even if he were permitted to grow old and cranky with her, he would always wonder how she preserved that gentleness. What is it about women? he asked himself. Or at least, what is it about this woman?

The Wedding Journey Carla Kelly

A SIGNET BOOK

SIGNET Published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A. Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R ORL, England Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia Penguin Books Canada Ltd. 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 Penguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: Harmondsworth, Middlesex. England First published by Signet, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc. First Printing, December 2002 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Copyright © Carla Kelly, 2002 All rights reserved

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"This book is lovingly dedicated to the surgeons in Wellington's Marching Hospitals"

One must always get over heavy ground as lightly as possible." —Sir Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington

Prologue Captain Jesse Cameron Randall, assistant surgeon of Marching Hospital Number Eight, was no lover of paperwork, but he had no trouble declining an invitation from his brother officers to drink up the dead ration that always signaled the beginning of a retreat. Even using the argument that the bottles would be an encumbrance, it struck him as unseemly to polish off the liquor and wine belonging to officers who had died during the

campaign. Somehow, toasting "Glorious War" and then downing the booze of dead men smacked of more hypocrisy than he cared to tote about. Besides, everyone would be required to give a toast. Yes, he was shy, but more than that, his quiet toast of "Do no harm," had dampened other such gatherings. Do no harm. Eight years ago in 1804, with another company of practitioners, he had recited the Hippocratic Oath in the cathedral adjacent to the University of Milan. It was his own toast to death, and after all these years, he had drunk his fill of it. He preferred to stay under Number Eight's canvas and finish his reports. Thinking of hypocrisy, he smiled to himself, and knew he was the biggest hypocrite in Wellington's Peninsular army. Paperwork be damned; he wanted to keep Nell Mason in view. Elinore Ophelia Mason, to be accurate, he amended, a grandiose name for the compact young lady preparing a plaster at the other end of the tent. He loved her. Even the occasional glance in her direction was balm in Gilead, here on the outskirts of boring, disgusting, irritating Burgos. He knew it was love; he never doubted it. Rain had thundered down for three days now, dratted rain. Somewhere in normally parched Spain, he was certain there were farmers lighting candles in gratitude. He took no pleasure in it, not after a frantic camp follower had rushed into Number Eight yesterday, carrying her toddler, blue and suffocated from falling in the mud and unable to right herself. He had tried for an hour to resuscitate the little one, long after the chief surgeon, Major Sheffield, gave his shoulder a shake. He hated the mud. The only bright spot in the whole, dismal affair was his relief that Nell didn't see him fail. Her own mother was ill with camp fever. By the time she learned of the incident from Dan O'Leary, chief hospital steward, the baby had already been taken to the dead tent. She had cried anyway.

Jess put down his dip pen. Rain had first called his attention to Nell Mason seven years ago in Canada, his first posting with the division. In autumn on a rainy day much like this one, he had watched two children digging in the mud by their tent. Tired from duty in the fever tent, it had taken him awhile to realize that they were trying to spade out a trench around the family tent to keep the rain out. Major Sheffield had come over to stand beside him, and swore. "Blast and damn! Why can't Bertie Mason look after his own?" In a moment he had summoned two privates from Number Eight to dig the trench. The boy was frankly embarrassed and ducked his head. The girl gathered her soaking cloak around her and picked her way to stand beside Sheffield, inclining her head toward him for a small moment and then hurrying away. "You wait, now," Sheffield had told him as they removed their cloaks later in their tent. "Tomorrow there will be a little something just inside the tent." Sure enough, when he had opened the tent flap in the morning, he stared down at a blue bead, which he handed to Sheffield. With a smile, the chief surgeon took out a strand of similar beads from an inside pocket, unknotted the string, and added it. "She is scrupulous about paying for help," he had said, then held up the little necklace to the light. "When I feel all puffed up, I like to pull this out and think about the widow's mite. Help'um when you can, lad. No one else will." That was his introduction to the Masons and endless camp gossip about Bertram and Audrey Mason, two sillies with no more income than a captain of foot, who lived precariously one step ahead of their creditors. In that hypocrisy peculiar to the officer corps, he had watched officers' wives ignore Audrey Mason, and admonish their children not to play with Will or Nell. Even now, eight years and a continent later, he remembered

when the blue beads ran out. He had left the butt end of a roast, crispy-cooked, outside the Masons' tent, something hardly worth mentioning. In the morning, Nell had come to Number Eight in tears, brushing past him to stand before his superior, who knelt beside her. "I have no more beads, sir," she had whispered to Sheffield while Jesse eavesdropped shamelessly. The starkness of that memory made him pick up the pen again to continue the death report. Then he put it down, not sure, even after eight years, which was the lesser of two evils. In his own youth, or ignorance, he had almost told the Chief to give her back the beads, so the game could begin again. A closer look told him volumes about the character of the little girl standing so close to Sheffield. The matter was deeply real to her. The realization of just how much the Mason children needed the surgeons' little favors came like a slap. As he watched, Sheffield had eased himself onto a stool and took Nell on his lap. "I have a better idea," he told her. "You can come to work for me. We're always in need of a good sweeping out, and Will could carry rubbish to the burn pit." She nodded, the shame gone, but replaced by hesitation. "I might be afraid," she said. "No need, lass," the Chief had told her. "You and Will may only come here when I say so." He seemed to understand her hesitation. "I need your help! So does our good king." Jesse had watched in amusement then as she seriously considered Sheffield's adroit appeal to her patriotism. "You are certain?" "Never more so. You must come when either I or Captain Randall here call you."

She had nodded and left the tent then. Sheffield held up his hand, ready to ward off an argument. "Jesse, don't tell me they'll be seeing life in the rough in Number Eight! They will be warm here and dry, and we always have food, even when Bertie Mason gambles away his pay." "But ..." Sheffield only shook his hand, the gesture as clear as yesterday to Jess as he sat staring at the papers in front of him. "No arguments! A marching hospital is not a bad place to grow up. You might, too. Stranger things have happened."

Chapter One I must ask you, Chief, if I grew up, he thought, returning to his paperwork. He stirred the ink, cursed the titans of red tape, and glanced down the tent to Nell Mason, eighteen now, as she warmed a bit of plaster on the portable hob. Two parts each of powdered lead monoxide, pork lard, and olive oil, he thought, and one part Nell Mason. He got up and walked the length of the tent to observe as she efficiently rolled the plaster pill around the hob with a wooden spatula until it was the right consistency. She flipped it onto the little slab of marble, then flattened it onto the two layers of gauze that he obligingly anchored with his fingers. Two strokes measured the precise thickness. She looked at him then. "Should I?" "Of course," he told her. "Private Hornsby would be dashed disappointed if I applied that plaster, Nell. He might decline and die."

She laughed. "Doctor, no one dies from a plaster!" He smiled, and watched as she sat on a stool by the lucky private. Carefully she drew the edges of the wound together, then applied the little plaster down its length. While she held the plaster in place as it hardened, she kept up a soothing conversation with the private, which rendered him speechless with shyness. When the little plaster was hard and firmly in place to Nell's satisfaction, she stood up, and remained there a moment, her hands together. Jess smiled. The private practically writhed like a puppy under her calm gaze. When she could see nothing else to do, she twitched up the blanket a little higher around the man's shoulders, then returned to her perch by the medicine chest. He hadn't been around to watch her turn from a fetching little girl into a lovely woman. Before another month was out in Canada, Jess found himself on a frigate bound for Jamaica with a portion of the division. The rest of Picton's Third had been posted to Portugal after Boney started taking such an interest in the place. Like the others in Jamaica, Jess chafed to follow the action. The call came finally. He went home to Dumfries briefly, grateful to be free of the feverish islands after four years. He happily became reacquainted with his parents, admired the family estates, kilted up and danced a jig with his older brothers and their pretty wives. He couldn't tell them why he liked his army life, so different from their own quiet ways; they never expected much eloquence from him, so it hardly mattered. His arrival in Lisbon couldn't have been better timed. Wellington and his army were chafing behind the lines of Torres Vedras, eager for spring and another chance at the French. There was the inevitable typhus to contend with, and what David Sheffield always called "stupid wounds" from an army careless and tired of inaction.

And there was Nell Mason again. He had thought of her now and then in Jamaica. Sheffield had given him a blue bead from his stash when he left Canada for Jamaica, with the mild reminder to look at it occasionally and remember to help others. He had met Sheffield in Lisbon, and spent a pleasant evening drinking port and catching up on division news. "Will and Nell?" he asked finally. Sheffield leaned back and shook his head when the waiter offered more port. "Will's at Cambridge." "What? Surely Bertie Mason never came out of an alcoholic stupor and noticed that he had a son with brains?" "Alas, no. Bertie's parents told their son that they would educate Will, perhaps in the hope that he might amount to something." He stared at the port remaining in his glass. "He won't disappoint them." He sighed. "Nell cried to see him go." "Surely she's married by now? Or maybe not. She's but sixteen, eh?" "Aye, lad. No, she's not married, even though she is the prettiest little thing." "Why ever not, then?" Jess remembered her earnest blue eyes, and the intense way she swept the tent, as though the fate of nations depended upon it. Charming in that way of eleven-year-olds, but he couldn't really see her as grown up. "Would you want Bertie Mason for a father-in-law?" "Good God, no," Jess said fervently. "Poor Nell." "You understand." Sheffield leaned back with a sigh. "Now you're going to ask me if she still sweeps out the hospital tent." "I suppose I am," he said, amused. "She does more," Sheffield said simply. "At Talavera, I had such

need of her." "God, no!" Still in Scotland, peacefully fishing his father's favorite stream, he had heard of Talavera: three days of heat and death, with fires licking at the wounded. "The assistant surgeon who replaced you froze and couldn't do a damned thing," Sheffield said, his eyes stern with the memory. "Dan O'Leary—you remember my steward?—edged him aside and took over, and Nell took Dan's place with me." Jess was quiet for a long moment. "It's so irregular." "It's damned irregular!" End of outburst. Looking slightly embarrassed, Sheffield, stared down again. He spoke after a long moment. "We've been training her to do Dan's little jobs, and he's been assisting me. I know you're here now, but I want Dan to help both of us. He has the gift, lad, same as you." It was a compliment of blinding proportions, unlooked for, and in Jess's opinion, undeserved, but he knew better than to protest. Savor the moment, Jesse, he told himself with a smile. You know that Sheffield will be on you first thing in the morning for some infraction or other. Or maybe not, he thought, as he looked at his mentor. Maybe I did grow up. He thought about the earnest little girl he remembered. And maybe I should allow Elinore Ophelia Mason the same opportunity. Sheffield was right, he had discovered the next morning, when he entered the little church housing Marching Hospital Number Eight. There was Dan O'Leary grinning at him, hair as red as ever, Irish eyes bright with good humor, looking six years older, but none the worse for wear. And there was Nell grown up, smiling at him and coming forward with her hand outstretched. She gave him a firm handshake; as he looked into her blue eyes, he knew he would never love another.

It was that simple. His university training in Milan, that mother of universities, had taught him to be skeptical and to trust nothing he could not prove. But here was Nell standing before him, not much taller than before, but with a womanly shape now, possessing an indefinable something even medical training could not explain. He knew that he could never leave her again. It was more than the way she looked, and he knew it, even as he admired the beautiful woman before him. She was quiet, but everything about her was confident and capable. Her own lovely character sparkled before him, and it spoke louder than words. He knew how good this woman was, because he knew the child inside her. So the matter stood for two years: the triumph of Bus-saco, then back to the lines of Torres Vedras, through grubby sieges at Badajoz, that damned town, the storming of the walls at Ciudad Rodrigo, then on to the brilliance of Salamanca. He looked, he admired, but looming behind Nell like a cloud was Bertie Mason, all smiles and trouble, and Jess's own shyness. He admitted it. He chafed at his shyness. Even more, he chafed at his inability to find a moment for Nell and no one else. When he chose his life's work, he knew that he would be busy, but he hadn't counted on Napoleon's genius for stirring up Europe. There was no balance in his world of war, and Jess knew he needed time he would never have to convince Nell of his devotion. He decided that war was no place to woo. Not that he didn't seriously consider courtship with Eli-nore, despite the terrors of Bernie Mason as a potential father-in-law. He even went so far one day early in the Burgos siege, when he had a free fifteen minutes, as to park himself in front of the mirror for an assessment. He knew he had enough height to please ladies fond of tall men. His hair was that shade of red the people were prone to call handsome, because it was dark instead of carrot-colored. What a relief not to be mistaken for a root

crop, he thought, and smiled to himself. He frowned in the mirror next, wondering why an ordinarily merciful God had chosen him to have curly hair, which was such a bother on campaign because his comb always went right to the bottom of his trunk and stayed there, resisting all discovery. His face was just a face. He had grown up among thin-lipped, tight-nosed folk, Scots frugal physically as well as economically. One of the first things he had noticed about Spain was the full lips of the Spanish beauties, whether flower girl or marquesa. Ever the anatomist, he admired the deepset, dark eyes of men and women alike, and the effect of a nose with character. Ah, well. At least his teeth were all his own, with none of the gaps he saw in the local population. He knew his mother would credit that to oats for breakfast. The mirror was small, but he backed away from it and turned sidways. He patted his waist, noting that it was especially easy to maintain a flat stomach during a siege. No one was well-fed on either side of the walls of Burgos, except the regimental quartermaster. Suspicious, that. He sat down again in front of the mirror. His father and brothers were all lean men, too; he had no reason to fear that he would someday run to fat and make his wife uncomfortable. With growing impatience—and the realization that it was almost time to administer powders to the fever patient in cot three—he stared at himself. You, sir, who are so eloquent when describing diagnoses and prognoses, tighten up like a clam when a healthy female is within at least a three-hundred-yard radius. You, sir, who can deliver babies, and deal with private female functions without a blush or murmur, turn into a bumbler when a disease-free lady even glances in your direction. Too bad you never learned a remedy for shyness at the University of Milan. He turned away from the mirror in disgust.

And now it was Burgos in late autumn, only one tantalizing river away from the French Pyrenees, but too far. They would begin a retreat soon and retrace their steps of summer through Salamanca, and back to Portugal. He did not fancy it, but he fancied Burgos even less, and the dismal little village close by where the regiment was quartered. Here Number Eight waited with its military cover for the retreat. He looked up from his paperwork to see David Sheffield glaring down at him. "Yes, I'm wasting time," he said. "There is something about reports, especially this one." He gestured at the paper in front of him, the one describing the death of the toddler yesterday. Sheffield rested his hand on Jess's shoulder for a brief moment. "Just finish it, Jess," he said gently. He did as Sheffield directed, his heart heavy, then looked around the tent, soothing himself with the order he saw. As a reward, he gave himself permission to seek out Nell Mason with his eyes. She was scraping lint with Dan O'Leary, no one's favorite job. The lint would be stretched into long rolls and sandwiched between sheets of paper, ready for use at the next battle. The lint clung to everything; Jess was sure he could taste it in his food, lurking among slabs of dreary beef and great whacking hunks of squash. Nell must have sensed he was looking at her, because she turned his way and nodded. "Join us?" she teased, holding up a fistful of lint. He could see it in her dark hair. "In a word, no." He smiled at her. "You know how I love my paperwork." They both laughed. Then he stopped, put down his pen, and rose, every nerve on edge, because Major William Bones had entered the tent. A chair scraped behind him, and he knew that Dan was on his feet, too, not out of deference but caution.

He also knew that Dan stood for the same reason. There was something about the way the major looked at Nell Mason that set off warning bells jangling inside his head. He had never really voiced the matter with Dan; it was something they understood. Curious about instinct: every man who came into the tent unconsciously sought out Nell Mason with his eyes. In their hard world of bad water, poor quarters, seething latrines, and terror around the next hill, beauty was as rare as roses in January. After his return to the regiment, Jess learned quickly that most men wanted to look and admire. With Bones it was different. "It's like he takes her clothes off with his eyes" was the only comment Dan O'Leary had ever made about the matter. And I don't? Jess had thought at the time, and wasted a useless evening contemplating the sin of hypocrisy. Even his overactive conscience had to yield to the fact that Major Bones was an ugly customer. I have cleaned up after your too-frequent floggings, he thought, even as he watched the man now. No telling what you would do to a woman, given enough rage or spite. So he stood up, keeping himself between the major and Nell, even as Daniel did. "Afternoon, gentlemen. Miss Mason." Jess winced. Anyone else saying that would sound perfectly unexceptionable, except that Dan O'Leary was no gentleman, which rendered the salutation condescending, even cruel. "Major, may we help you?" he forced himself to say. "How many of my men in your hospital?" "Three, sir," he replied, relieved to turn to medicine. "Jenks there with a chest wound. It's healing now, but it's slow." He could have said so much more about the hours and hours after Salamanca at the private's bedside, patiently reinflating his chest when his lungs collapsed, but he did not. "Holmes' boils are about to head. I think he'll be able to put on his trousers again in a few days. I am going to discharge Lewiston tomorrow."

"Make it now," Bones said. He stalked over to Holmes and flung back the blanket to look at the chafing boils on his thighs. "Get your pants on, Private." Bones grinned at Jess. "I expect when Granny Sheffield gets back from Officers Call, he'll have news for all of you. We're retreating," Jesse held his breath as the major took a long look at Nell, then brushed past her—she tried to step back, but he was too close— to stand over Jenks. The private looked up at him with terrified eyes. "Jenks, I think you're a dead man. Too bad, but there you are." "Major, there's no call for that," Jess said. "We will take care of him." "Oh, you will? Going to keep that ox cart from bumping him all over creation? Unlike you, little man, I am a realist." You're a sadist, Jess thought. Jenks began to hyperventilate, taking greater and greater gulps of air into his sorely tried lungs. Daniel hurried toward the small bellows hanging on the closest tent post. Nell seemed rooted to the ground, and he knew then how great her own terror was. Bones laughed. He went to brush past Nell again, but she moved away. He stopped, standing too close, but not touching her. "Miss Mason, I hear your mother is ill. Pity, considering how busy our dear Bertie will be soon. Who's to look after you?" "We will, Major. How dare you bully my staff." Jess said it quietly enough, and almost surprised himself with the menace behind his words. It was enough menace to distract Bones from Nell, who had gone as white as a new bandage. Jess took a deep breath as Bones walked the length of the tent to where he still stood beside his desk. "I don't care for your tone, Captain," he said when they were practically toe-to-toe.

Don't imagine for a moment that I won't stare you down, Jess thought. How dare you? After a long moment—Jess wasn't sure he was even breathing—the major turned away. "Hurry up, Holmes!" he shouted to the man struggling into his trousers. "Lewiston, help him, you sorry sod!" He turned back quickly, swung his hand, and tipped over the inkwell on the reports. "Watch yourself, Surgeon." After another long look at Nell, who was helping Daniel with the bellows, he left the tent. Swearing under his breath, Jess ran to Jenks' cot and held his hands while his steward continued to work the bellows. Nell ran to fetch a cool cloth. She dipped it in vinegar, their only antiseptic, and wiped it across the terrified soldier's forehead as he struggled to breathe. "It's all right, Private, we know what to do," Jess said, keeping his voice soft. "You just have to know by now that we will never abandon you." As they labored over Jenks, some of the other patients began to murmur to each other; one or two tried to rise. "As you were, men," Jess said calmly. "As you were." In a few moments, they were quiet again. Soon Private Jenks was breathing regularly, his eyes closed, exhausted from the effort. Jess could feel two pairs of eyes on his, and he looked from Nell to Daniel, and back to Nell again, finding his own reassurance in her steady gaze. Well, Hippocrates, he asked himself as he gestured for Dan to remove the bellows, did you ever feel uncomfortable when people thought you knew what you were doing? He stood over Jenks a few minutes longer, then returned to clean up the mess on his desk. To his gratification, Nell came to help. She moved quickly and surely around the table, moving books to keep them safe, and deftly pouring the ink that had pooled on the top sheet back into

the bottle and saving the rest of the report underneath. How long have you been cleaning up after us? he thought, even though he knew the answer. He smiled at her as she worked, oblivious to his attention. A chuckle made him glance over at the soldier lying on the nearest cot. As he watched, and felt his face redden, the man gave him a slow wink. Oh, Lord, I am a cloth head, he thought, but managed a weak smile at the whole row of invalids. To his dismay, one of them raised up on his only elbow and gestured with his head. "Hey, Doc, if that ugly customer shows his phiz in here again, bring him my way and I'll puke on him." The other men laughed, and Jess had to laugh, too. "Promise?" he asked, then sat down at the desk again. He was smiling as he picked up his pen again, at least until Nell sat down suddenly beside him, and pulled the stool up close to his knees. "Are you all right, my dear?" he asked quietly, jolted into sobriety again by the fear in her eyes. She looked at him for a long moment, as if willing him to understand what she was going to say, so she wouldn't have to speak out loud. He did understand. "He wasn't far off the mark, was he?" She shook her head. "He ... he comes around our tent now and then." Again the silence, longer this time, until her uneasiness was almost palpable. "Papa owes him money." It was on the tip of his tongue to reply that charming Bertie Mason probably owed everyone in the Peninsula. He inclined his head toward her instead, and she moved in closer, as though seeking comfort. "Tell me, Nell." "He looks at me, just looks at me! I don't think he even blinks. And then he reminds Papa how much money he owes, and he leaves." She leaned even closer, until he could smell the vinegar

on her hands. "Mama tells me it's nothing, but Mama never did like to face unpleasantness." You've had to face it for her almost since you were in leading strings, he thought, you and Will. Now Will's enjoying Cambridge, and you are here in the mud still. Keep it professional, Jesse, he told himself, especially with that whole row of pikers straining to hear. I swear they are worse than my old aunts! "Life's not easy here, is it, Nell?" he commented, amazed at his own vacuity. His reward was a quizzical look, and then a slight smile. "It's all I know, Captain," she said. She laughed softly, but he swore he heard uneasiness in it. "Do you mean there is someplace without heat and dust?" "Dundee," he replied promptly, then touched her hand lightly, hoping no one, including Nell, noticed. "How is your mother?" Nell frowned, but did not move her hand. "Major Sheffield bled her this morning, but I do not believe she is any better." She rose. "I need to go, if you can spare me." Never in a million years, Nell, my love, he thought. "Of course, my dear," he said, rising, too, for Sheffield had entered the tent, followed by a familiar figure. "Let me send Daniel with you. If you need something more, please ask." He sent them both off, then turned his attention to his superiors. "Tell me, sirs, are the rumors only that?" Colonel James McGrigor, spare of limb, tall of frame, and devoid of meaningful hair, extended his hand and Jess shook it, always amazed at the formality of the man. We have stood, shoes deep in blood after Fuentes de Onoro, operating side by side, and still you hold out your hand. Now comes the bow, eh? It did, the stiff little bow, looking slightly silly from a man so tall and thin. And so shy. Jess knew better than to look at him longer

than necessary, even if he was Sir Arthur's inspector-general of hospitals, and deserving of all attention. "Lad, nae rumor bu' fact," he said. Despite himself, Jesse had to hold back a smile, remembering the first time Nell had watched one of the great McGrigor's inspections. "But, sir, I cannot understand what he says! Where is he from!" "Scotland, like me," he had told her, "but Glasgow, where they swallow half the words." He nodded to McGrigor, who turned away, and hands behind his back, walked up and down the rows of cots. Jesse could tell he was counting, and it chilled him. "How soon?" he asked Sheffield, who stood beside him. "Hard to say." The Chief shrugged. "One more river to France, but it's too far. Back we go to the lines." He leaned closer. "I hear you had a visit from Major Bones." "Does anything move faster than talk from a hospital?" "I doubt it. You know, Jess, it is one of the mysteries of life that good men like Fitzroy-Somerset lose arms, or worse, but the Major Boneses among us never even get a runny nose." They waited together until McGrigor finished walking up and down. He paused before them finally, and nodded, then left. "I will see you in Torres Vedras," he said over his shoulder. "Carry on, men." Sheffield looked at Jess. "He wanted me to thank you for your reports. 'No one's as thorough,' he told me." "Well, guess who taught me?" Jess said with a grin that widened as Sheffield's own color rose in his face. "All right, jefe, do we start to pack?"

Chapter Two They began to pack, but only after Jess's least favorite hospital duty: releasing soldiers who weren't quite ready. I need just a few more days on this one, and that one, he wanted to say. He sent them off to their companies instead, and wondered how soon he would find them drooping along the line of march. Ten men remained. Sheffield did keep back two of the healthier ones to help with the packing, and it was accomplished quickly. What he could barely cram into his allotted two panniers at the beginning of the Salamanca campaign now fit in a medium-sized box, with the ubiquitous lint packed in here and there to keep his medicine bottles from rattling. He had high hopes for this retreat, considering how orderly the plan sounded. Sheffield was less sanguine, even as he read over his notes again, taken in haste during Wellington's officers call. "I think it generous of Sir Arthur to hold back on the marching hospitals and send us off one at a time, but only if no one gets confused," he said. "It won't happen," Jesse assured him. "Don't you trust our friends in the Third Division? Aren't we all veterans?" Sheffield seemed on the verge of a comment when Daniel threw back the tent flap and came inside, shaking the rain off his cloak. He looked at Jess. "I don't know what to do," he said simply, discouragement high in his voice. "Please come." "I thought Mrs. Mason was improving," Sheffield said, getting to his feet again with a sigh. "I took a good pint of blood off her this morning. What could have happened?" Daniel held out his hand, as if to stop the chief surgeon. "Begging

your pardon, sir, but Nell asked for the captain here. She told me you were to go to your cot, put up your feet, and rub eucalyptus oil on your chest, to cut your cough." He turned to look at Jess then. "Mrs. Mason specifically asked for you, too, sir." Sheffield sat down again, but he was smiling. "Who would think Nell would turn into a tyrant! Did you, Jess? Well, I will do as you suggest, Dan." He looked at Jesse. "Hurry on, now, and answer the lady's summons. Maybe it's only a matter of another little bleeding for Mrs. Mason." Jess pulled his cloak tighter with one hand and took a firmer grip on his medical sack, a shapeless leather bag that had quickly replaced the elegant case—a gift from his mother—he had brought from home when he came to Spain. Through the rain he looked toward the damaged ramparts of Burgos, seen at a greater distance, now that they were quartered in one of the little towns nearby. Damn this siege, he thought. Maybe it is time for me to take up a practice in Dundee. He and Daniel walked in silence for most of the distance to the officers' quarters. At least the Masons weren't in a tent. For some reason—surely not because he was thinking of his wife or daughter's comfort—Bertie had managed to snag an abandoned casucha. Jess knew where it was, but had never been there. He was no cardplayer, so he was never invited to join a game. Besides that, he was as low on funds as most of Wellington's army. Even beyond that, when did a surgeon have a moment for cards? Nell met them at the door, relief palpable on her face. Jess sighed inwardly, recognizing that look, and steeling himself against it. I can't give you a miracle, my dear, he thought. Don't look at me as though I just came from turning water to wine at Cana. "Hey, now, my dear," he told her as she stepped aside so he could enter. "The Chief said your mother was looking good this

morning. What can we do now?" "Pray, do something," she said. He wanted to run his finger over that frown line between her eyes and make it go away. He followed her down the short hallway, then paused at the door to take a deep breath. In the smoky glow of a cheap tallow candle, he saw a woman dying. Audrey Mason's eyes were sunk deep in her head, her breathing was spookily irregular. He couldn't be sure from the shadows in the room, but it looked like her blood had already started to pool, leaving her face drained of color, but her arms mottled. "She wouldn't eat anything today," Nell said, standing next to him as he pulled back the coverlet to take a better look at her mother. He looked, then tucked the coverlet back in place, not eager for a longer look at the woman's rickety thin body. You're a long way from home, Mrs. Mason, he thought. He leaned his shoulder against Nell, wanting the touch of her; there was nothing he could do for her mother. "I'll go find your father, Nell. Any idea where he might be?" She wouldn't look at him. "Someplace where there is a card game, and you hear men laughing." Her voice sounded unusually hard to his ears. The easiest thing in the world was to put his arm around her, which he did. Jess turned to Dan, who stood in the doorway. "Can you find Captain Mason?" "Go, too, daughter." Jess looked down at the bed in surprise. Audrey Mason's eyes were open. It must have taken an enormous effort to speak, because drops of sweat formed a fine and dignified line across her forehead. It filled him with sadness that she had to die so far from England. He looked at the dying woman, deeply aware that

he had always thought her frivolous and somewhat stupid for staying with the worthless Bertie Mason. I fear I never saw you, Mrs. Mason, he thought. I do not think Hippocrates would be so proud of me right now. He followed Nell from the room. Daniel stood at the door, distracted, saddened. "Do you know, Nell, she made the best ash cakes," he said simply. Nell's eyes filled with tears. Jess sighed and laid another stripe on his own back. I never knew that woman, he thought. Daniel mentions ash cakes—how homely is that!— and he is exactly right. On a whim, he took Nell by the hand. "What happened, Nell?" he asked, his voice low. "The Chief said she was much better this morning." He did not let go of her hand, and she made no move to pull away. "She and Papa had a row this morning," she told him. She looked at his face, then quickly away. "He was badgering her to give up her little gold locket. The officers in the 28th Foot were auctioning off a dead man's property, and he wanted some better epaulets." "She's still wearing the locket," he said when she stopped talking. He could tell she was listening to her mother's irregular breathing. He deliberately began to run his fingers over her knuckles, trying to distract her. She gave him a long, slow look, and he felt his own respirations behaving strangely. Oh, who is distracted? he asked himself. "She told him it was my legacy," Nell continued. "My legacy! The last piece of jewelry she had not given to Papa for some reason or other." He knew the reasons. "This upset her?" She shook her head. "It upset him! Oh, Captain, he stood by her bed and berated her for selfishness. He accused her of staying

with him because he was a meal chit and . . . and . . . oh, I can tell you anything ... a warm bed. Only that wasn't what he said." She was crying now, tears of frustration and helplessness. "What a wicked thing to say!" She accepted the handkerchief he held out to her. "All these years of following him from garrison to garrison. All the hardship, to accuse her like that! She gave up so much for him, and all he could see was her selfishness." She dried her eyes then. "What must you think of us?" she said simply. "He left, after slamming the door really hard." She shrugged. "It was his usual response. At least Will wasn't there to slap and berate." He took her other hand. "He does not beat you, does he?" "No, no. These days he just looks aggrieved and wonders why I've never attracted a wealthy officer who would pay Papa's debts to marry me. Or why I couldn't have been a boy like Will, and make my fortune somewhere. Just words, Captain." "Sometimes words are worse." She nodded, and freed both her hands from his. "They're killing my mother. She turned her face to the wall when he stormed out. She is dying, isn't she?" "Yes, she is." Then she surprised him beyond his wildest imagination by reaching out and touching his face. "I know how you hate to admit that, Captain," she said. "It's the job," he replied, his voice shaky. She has been watching me! he thought. "I've watched you after a battle," she said, confirming his thoughts. "You sit at your desk, or by a cot so quietly." She managed a little smile. "The Chief tells me not to bother you, then." "He ... he does?"

She nodded, then looked up when Daniel came back into the room. Nell rose and went for her cloak. She stood still a moment after Daniel put the cloak around her shoulders. That look of humiliation came back into her expressive face. "Tell us, Nell," he said. "You know we care." "Mama told me that Major Bones came by this morning just after I went to the hospital tent," she said. "He reminded her that Papa owes him a dreadful amount of money." She paused, unable to look at either man, as the color rose in her face. "He has a way to cancel that debt?" Daniel asked. She nodded, then looked from Daniel to him. "I need friends," she said simply. "Come, Dan. Let us find my father." She touched Jess's arm. "I think she doesn't want me to be here right now." He understood, and also understood her hesitation. It didn't surprise him that she came back to the door of the sickroom and opened it. She stood there a long moment. She leaned against the door. "Mama was so beautiful," she said. "I have a miniature of her." "I'll stay with her, my dear," he replied. "Daniel, don't let Nell out of your sight." "Wouldn't dream of it, sir." He was relieved when they left, so great was his anger. He stood in the little room until his anger passed, but he could not get beyond the great disgust that filled him to think that there was a biped on the earth who would threaten a dying woman with her own daughter. He knew that in these last eight of his twenty-nine years that he had seen men at their worst and their best, but that much depravity appalled him. How long has Major Bones been letting feeble Bertie get deeper and deeper in debt, with Nell as his goal? The thought made his stomach surge, as not even amputation did.

For some inexplicable reason, he thought of his own mother, a gracious woman living a life secure in the knowledge of her husband's protection and love. Jess looked toward the sickroom door. "Audrey Mason, I have misjudged you all these years. Somehow in your chaotic life, you raised a lady, with precious little help." There was nothing to do but go into the sickroom now and pull up a chair by the bed. He sat there in the gloom, contemplating the folly of medicine in general, and the foolishness of physicians in particular, especially those who thought they could heal the sick. "But not if the sick don't want to be healed, eh, Mrs. Mason?" he said softly. She surprised him by opening her eyes. He reached for her hand. She seemed perfectly comprehending. "Mrs. Mason, I sent Nell and Daniel to find Captain Mason." She thought about that. "Then you will have two sillies on your hands." He had to smile at her words, even though he could tell it cost her to say so much. What do you want to hear from me, he asked himself. This is no time for drawing room wit, even if I had any. He was silent a moment, then, "My dear, I have been remiss all these years in not complimenting you on your excellent children." It was the right thing to say, to his gratification. "They are fine, are they not?" she said, and there was no mistaking her pride, even in her circumstance. "Nell tells us that Will does famously at Pembroke." She almost beamed at him. "Were you a Cambridge man, too?" "University of Milan, ma'am. The Transmontane College." She was silent then, as though the business of breathing occupied her exclusively. He leaned forward to raise the pillows behind

her, but she shook her head. "I don't want an extra fifteen minutes of Burgos," she said then, her voice most distinct. "I can appreciate that," he said, "but you know, we are retreating." "I am tired of retreating, Captain. Hold my hand. "He did, marveling at the fragility of her bones. Nell had that same fragile air about her. "Nell would want you to stay here," he reminded her. "I cannot protect her any longer," Audrey Mason replied. "I think her own father is going to give her to a fellow officer to repay a debt. What can I do about that?" So Nell had not guessed wrong. "Such things aren't allowed to happen," he told her, but it sounded feeble to his own ears. She gave him a look that could have flayed away his flesh. "I know what people think of the Masons, Captain. They wouldn't care under ordinary circumstances, and during a retreat, they are concerned only about themselves." He also could not deny the truth of what she was saying, as much as he disliked it. "What do you want me to do?" he asked instead. "Protect her," the woman said. "Promise me." I can't even keep Major Bones from dumping ink on my reports, and you want to trust me with your daughter, he thought. Oh, Mrs. Mason, you really don't know how to choose men, do you? "I depend on you, Captain. I don't think you are like all the others." She closed her eyes. While she struggled to breathe, he struggled to think what to say. It was as though someone was trying to hand him the greatest desire of his life, and he was pushing away the gift with both hands. He couldn't understand himself.

She got her breathing under control. He dabbed at the line of perspiration on her forehead. "I wish I had some ice," he said. She smiled without opening her eyes. "I remember ice in Canada," she said, then, "Captain, could you not see your way to love her?" The curious juxtaposition of thoughts jolted him with its strange jumble of the profound and the mundane. "I love her right now," he replied quickly. "Ma'am, I will do all I can for your daughter." It was that simple. The woman opened her eyes. "I can't feel my feet." Panic filled her voice now. "Just hold on, Mrs. Mason," he told her, touched by what was happening, moved by his enemy death, even as death began to press down. Be gentle, you demon, he thought. "Do not lie to her. Make no promises you cannot keep." He could tell she yearned to tell him more, but death was gliding up her body. "You can relax now," he said, his voice soft. "I will do as you say." The fear seemed to leave her. Her breathing became quieter and quieter. She surrendered to death as he watched. She had extracted a promise from him, and he felt the binding force of it as if he were standing before a tribunal. "I will not fail you," he whispered. He was not a religious man by any means, but he traced the sign of the cross on her forehead. One long breath, then another. She exhaled, and did not breathe in again. Her hand relaxed in his. He released her hand and leaned back in the chair, pulling out his timepiece to ascertain the time of death for the records. Damned reports and forms, he thought. He put down the watch and just contemplated the woman before him.

Something was gone that had been there before. No instructor had ever attempted to explain the phenomenon, because there was nothing scientific about it. "There you are, but where are you now?" he asked. It had to be a better place than scruffy Burgos. He closed her eyes with a gentle hand. Out of habit, he put two fingers on her wrist. He expected no pulse, and there was none. He remembered the first time he had pronounced death. Someone had sent a runner to the Trans-montane College, and his maestro had sent him. The victim was a street vendor crushed between horse and cart. Jess recalled with a wry smile how he had followed through with every possible confirmation of morbidity, terrified that the man would suddenly sit up in the morgue and demand to know what foolish medical student had consigned him there prematurely. He placed the dead woman's hands together across her stomach. On second thought, he pressed against her chest to exhale any remaining air that sometimes startled the unwary. It came, and he pressed again until he couldn't hear anything else. No need for Nell to be jolted unnecessarily when she returned. He heard voices then in the street, just beyond the outside door. No telling what kind of a scene Bertie Mason would make. He stood up and took another look at Audrey Mason, old beyond her years for the harsh life she had led, but timeless now. As he looked, the glimmer of her locket caught his attention. Without even thinking, he slid the clasp around the dead woman's neck, released the locking mechanism—praise God for dexterous surgeon's fingers!— and pocketed the necklace as the door was thrown open. He didn't even draw another breath before Captain Ber-trand Mason's rather imposing bulk filled the doorway to the sickroom. He watched, hoping his face was impassive. "Is she ... is she . . . gone?”

Jess hated euphomisms. She's right there, you twit, he wanted to say. "She died about ten minutes ago, Captain," he said instead. "And I wasn't here?" He wasn't sure when he had heard anything that sounded more tragic, unless it was on the stage in Edinburgh one time. "Well, no, you weren't," he said, not even minding the sharp look that Mason gave him. "Please accept my condolences, Captain." Mason nodded. He seemed to realize that his audience was not appreciative of overblown anguish. He went quietly enough to the bedside and stood there for a long moment. "Didn't she have a gold locket around her neck?" he asked finally. My God, Jess thought. My God. If I had placed shillings on her eyes, they would be in his pocket now. As he stood there in dismay, Nell came to stand beside him. Without giving it a thought, he put his arm around her waist. To his utter stupefaction, the darling woman slipped her arm around his waist. "I'm so sorry, Nell," he whispered into her hair. She shook her head. "Was it peaceful?" "Yes." She leaned her face into his shoulder, and he could feel her crying, rather than hear it. He encircled her with his other arm, marveling how well she fit within his orbit. She was far from the first person he had comforted after a death, but never had he meant it more. "She was a good mother, wasn't she?" he asked. Nell nodded. "She read to us and drew pictures, and she always hoped for something better," she said when she could speak. "I don't suppose anyone ever knew except Will and me, but it was so." "I am certain it was so," he replied. Nell, all I saw was the frivolous woman who elevated the artful sigh and the pitiful look

to a fine art, and whose crochets set you and your brother early onto a life of work and worry, he thought. I've been wrong before. This is obviously one of life's lessons. Bertie Mason must have heard them whispering in the doorway, because he heaved a huge sigh of his own, dropped to his knees by the deathbed, and sobbed in good earnest. "Audrey, how will I manage without you?" he cried out. He misjudged his audience. Her face stony now, Nell pulled away and went into the front room. Jess stood another moment in the doorway. As he watched, the captain continued to sob—at least his shoulders were shaking—and began to pat around the bedclothes. Jess touched the locket and necklace in his pocket. Sorry, Bertie, but you're too late, he thought. He closed the door quietly, noticing with his well-honed sense of irony that Bertie was silent immediately, and joined the other two in the front room. Without a word, he took the necklace from his pocket and dropped it in Nell's lap. She gasped, then looked around quickly. "Oh, thank you," she whispered. "Hide it," he ordered. She slid it into her apron pocket just as the front door opened and Major Bones came in without knocking. She took a deep breath, and Jess put his hand on her shoulder. "Major," he said, keeping his voice even. From habit, Dan had risen to put himself between the major and Nell. "Is there something that you want?" His question seemed to catch Bones off guard, so he pressed his advantage. "Miss Mason is not without friends, Major." There was no disguising the look of utter loathing that Bones threw his way. It didn't last long, but Jess felt it right down to his wool socks. "What a vast relief that is to me, Captain," Bones said, biting off

each word. "I would be distressed if during the general chaos of retreat that Miss Mason found herself on her own without protection." "It won't happen," Jess assured him. "Then her mother still lives?" Bones asked. The sickroom door opened, and Bertie Mason leaned against the frame. "William, she has passed from this life into what I am hopeful is a better life," he said. I'll say, Jess thought. You're not in it. Nell rose. "Because of this, Major, you will understand if my father and I wish to be alone at this time to make plans. Don't let us keep you from whatever pressing business falls under your scrutiny." "Oh, is that it?" he asked. "I believe it is, sir." Nell held out her hand to the major, and Jess was impressed to see that it did not tremble. "Anything you might wish to discuss with my father can wait for another day. Good night, Major Bones." He had no choice but to leave. Bones admonished Bertie to be a man when he started to sob again, and threw Jess another furious glance before stalking from the room. I believe I have an enemy, Jess thought. Well, there is a first time for everything.

Chapter Three Jesse assured Nell that the medical corps would find an

army-issue coffin for her mother. It wasn't strictly regulation, but he had no doubts that Sheffield would approve. Bertie shook his head. "I cannot think that a common coffin is worthy of my excellent wife. I will find something better if I must search all day tomorrow." "Papa, we are beginning a retreat tomorrow," Nell reminded him. Bertie looked at her sorrowfully. "It is the least I can do for your mother." When did you ever do anything but the least for her? Jess thought. You expected so much and did so little, I wonder that you can summon the courage to glance into your shaving mirror each morning. But men like you never see that, do you? "Papa, we haven't money for such a coffin. Army issue will do just as well," Nell said, with a firm voice. Jess recognized the tone from years past when Nell was much younger and took charge in situations where a parent should have led. This time Bertie would not be put off. "I will borrow what I need from Major Bones," he told his daughter. "Five pounds should do it." "Papa, that is five more pounds you must pay him back!" Nell burst out, and Jess heard the panic in her voice. Bertie was oblivious. "Nell, I am wounded," he said. "How can you think so lightly of your own dear mother? Besides, Bones' terms are never onerous." The captain looked at Jess. "You may leave now, sir." He pulled on his cloak again. "I will only be a few minutes, Nell. I should find the major." He left without another word. Jess looked at Nell. "Will he be back tonight?" She was too ashamed to look at him. "It is highly unlikely, Captain. Someone will offer him a drink, and then another."

"Then I will stay." To his relief, she didn't argue. She managed a ghost of a smile. "Captain, I will have no reputation at all," she said. She looked toward the door, as if all the officers' wives stood there pointing fingers. "Not that the Masons ever had the encumbrance of a reputation. Please stay." Her voice faltered. "I do not really want to be alone tonight." A word to Daniel sent him out the door. He returned with Number Eight's orderlies and a stretcher. By then, Jess and Nell, who insisted on helping, over his protests, had prepared Mrs. Mason. Her hands were folded across her middle and bound lightly with a linen strip. While Nell gently smoothed down her mother's nightgown over her feet, he bound them together at ankles and knees, then tied a bandage around her face to keep her jaw closed against any rigor. I wonder if I could prepare my own mother for a coffin, he thought, and marveled at Nell's quiet strength. When they were done, Nell ran her hand down her mother's arm. "No more headache, Mama," she said softly. "Or palpitations, or grocer's bills, or mud, or letters that never came." She looked at him. "Must she go to the dead tent?" He hated to tell her yes, but he had no choice. "I'm sorry, my dear, but those are regulations. The bedding must go with her, too." She nodded, and went quietly into the front room, where she sat on the packing cases and pallet that constituted the Mason family's sofa. She sat with her knees drawn up to her body, and her arms around them. She looked at him when he sat down beside her. "Do you think anyone is ever ready for death?" "I know I am not," he said frankly. Daniel touched her shoulder then, and nodded to the stretcher

bearers to go ahead. "I have a nice peaceful corner for her in the tent," Daniel told her. "She'll have her bedding all around her, too, Nell." The Chief was so right about you, Dan, Jess thought, as he watched Nell relax. I just get scientific and probably stuffy, but you have made death into a grouchy uncle that we have to humor, because that's what relatives do. "Thank you, Dan," he said. The steward smiled and stood between Nell and the inner room, shielding her eyes from the bearers as they gathered up Mrs. Mason. He kept up a simple conversation so she had to pay attention to him. In another moment, they were quietly out the door. Jess sat in silence. There was so much he wanted to say. Dear one, I have promised your mother I would take care of you, he wanted to tell her, but he knew this was not the time. And there was Major Bones, maybe even right now calling in his loans to Bertie Mason. He is probably right now promising poor, befuddled Bertie that he's the one to take care of you. He took a sideways glance at Nell, still tucked close, with her head resting on her knees now. Still he sat in silence, not moving closer to her. In a few minutes she went into her room, coming back with pillow and threadbare blanket. "I do not know how you will be comfortable there tonight," she said, uncertainty high in her voice. "I will be even less comfortable in my tent, worrying about you here alone," he replied, taking the bedding from her. For some reason his words seemed to make enormous sense to her. She nodded. "Good night then, sir," she said. "Tomorrow will be a busy day, will it not?" She went to her own room, where the door only hung on by a leather strap.

Always acute of hearing, he lay on the packing crates, hands behind his head, listening as she rustled out of her dress. Her shoes hit the floor next, and then he heard the sound of a brush through long hair and the faint crackle of electricity. If we were married, Nell, I could brush your hair, he thought. We could sit on the end of the bed and talk about the day. He slept then; it was a more comforting picture than his usual last thoughts of fever and delirium, and who he would find alive in the morning. He couldn't have slept long. He was still lying on his back, his hands behind his head. The rain had finally stopped, and he could hear Nell crying. She was being quiet about it, but there was no mistake. He lay there, wondering what to do. He had almost decided to do nothing, convinced that solitude was often best—but he knew better. He thought of Maestro della Suave, his excellent teacher of anatomy, who used to sit for hours beside a pallet in the poor ward that other physicians and students had passed with no more interest than the Pharisee on the road to Jericho. He got up and went to Nell. "Move over," he told her. "I'm too tired to sit up, but I would be a poor surgeon if I let myself listen to you cry." She gave him no argument. In another moment he held her close, one arm around her waist, as she burrowed into him like a small child. He didn't have to say anything; all he needed to do was think of his own mother, warm and safe in Scotland, oblivious to his own difficult life because in her goodness she could not really imagine armies. Mother, what would you do if I sent Nell to you? You always wanted a daughter. He knew the answer to that, and it made him smile. The night was chilly, and he was thankful for her warmth. When her sobs subsided, she slept. He knew he could leave her then and return to the packing crate pallet, but it was his turn to reject

the solitude of a single bed. He breathed deep of Nell's hair, and closed his eyes in complete comfort. He woke up early to the sound of rain. For the smallest moment he wondered where he was, until the gentle rest-fulness of Nell against his back reminded him. He lay there with a smile on his face. How strange this is, he told himself. Here I am in a tumbledown shack, there is a retreat about to begin, and it has rained so much that I am wondering when Noah will knock on the door and ask for two of something. There is a captain probably drunk somewhere who is about as useful as tits on a boar, and a bastard who is quite ready to ruin this pleasant lady I am currently lying back-to-back with. And I am a happy man. Are all Scots so certifiable? No wonder the English do not allow us to have our own Parliament. As much as he hated to leave Nell's warmth, he thought it prudent to retire to the other room. After years of sharing a tent with other surgeons, he knew how to leave a room quietly without disturbing someone who had been on duty all night. In another moment he was lying on the packing crates, certain he would not sleep. When he woke, the rain had stopped again and Daniel O'Leary was shaking his shoulder. "Captain Randall! You have to hear this!" He sat up, wide awake, as his training took over. "What is it, Dan?" He dragged out his timepiece. " Ton my word, it's nearly eight of the clock. Where do I need to be?" The hospital steward shook his head. "Oh, Captain, it's where I've been! The Chief sent me directly here to tell you, and to warn Nell." "Warn me about what?" Nell stood there in her bare feet, doing up the last button on her dress. Her hair was uncombed, but she had a brush in her other hand.

Jess patted the packing crate, but she just stood there. "Did my father ever return?" she asked. He shook his head, then looked at Daniel again. "Did you find him?" "I heard him," the steward said, his voice grim. "Oh, Nell." He turned back to Jess, as if unable to bear looking at her. "The Chief sent me after breakfast to bleed Major Tomlinson of the Fifth Foot." Jess couldn't help a smile. "Ah, yes! He does this before every retreat." "And all special occasions, Captain," Dan said. "Didn't you once say that if he added Jewish holidays to his special occasions, he would have no blood left?" "In my lighter, more frivolous days," he replied, wondering what Nell was thinking of him. "But that is of no consequence. What is the matter?" "It's Major Bones, isn't it?" Nell asked quietly. The hospital steward nodded. "I wish you would sit down." She did as he suggested, sitting next to Jesse and pulling his blanket over to cover her bare feet. "Did he call in those infamous loans?" Dan nodded again. He looked at Jesse. "Sir, Captain Tomlinson was sitting outside under his tent fly." He glanced at Nell, his look apologetic. "I ... I suppose Captain Mason spent the night there, but I could hear him inside the tent, talking to Bones." His face darkened, and he started to say something, but shook his head instead. "Tell us all, Daniel," Jess said. "Nell, he told your father he had to pay the ninety-five pounds

now, before the retreat." Nell gasped. "Dan! That is even more than I thought he owed!" she said. "How will I find even the tiniest part of such a sum?" Jess took her hand. "Let's hear it all, Nell." Dan pulled up a stool. "Your father started to cry, and confess that he did not have it. He pleaded to repay him when we reached the lines of Torres Vedras." "As though he would have it there," Nell said, her voice bitter. "That can't have convinced Major Bones of anything." Dan shook his head. "Of course it did not." He shifted his weight on the stool, and it protested. Jess noticed that he could not look Nell in the eye. Here it comes, he thought. "Tell us." Dan was a moment in speaking, and even then he looked at Jess. "Sir, he said he would take Nell in exchange for the debt. Just like he was dealing in cattle!" he burst out. He lowered his voice, but he still could not bring himself to look at Nell, who had gone as white as a winding cloth. "Sir, he promised to marry Nell after the retreat." "But not before," Jess said, amazed at his own calmness. "Even though we have chaplains aplenty in this army, and there is a priest behind every bush in Spain." They were all silent. Nell pressed up against him, and he put his arm around her. Puny comfort, he thought, going over his own resources in his mind. We have not been paid in four months. I wonder if I have even ten pounds to my name? He thought about the family money gathering interest in Edinburgh so far away. "What did Bertie say to that?" he asked. Dan shifted again, and this time he looked at Nell. "To his credit,

your father said it was an infamous bargain, and that no Christian gentleman would even consider it." "Thank God," Nell said. Dan frowned, then he glanced at Jess with a wry smile. "Captain, there I was, listening so hard that I forgot how much I had bled Captain Tomlinson. He's more than usually pale, and I do not think he will want to get off his cot anytime soon." "Then it will be a typical day in his career," Jess said dryly. "Did he dismiss you?" "I wasn't about to leave!" Dan declared, and had the grace to blush. "I hope you won't tell the Chief, but I told Captain Tomlinson that I needed to take his pulse for five minutes straight now, to make sure that all his bodily humors hadn't leeched out." "Hippocrates would be honored," Jess said, with the ghost of a smile. "At least you did not get out a rattle and dance around him like an aborigine. All right, Dan, spill the rest of this. There has to be more, or you wouldn't look so glum." "There's more." He looked Nell in the eye this time. "Oh, Nell, the major offered to find him a grand coffin for your mother. Said he thought he could locate a coffin suitable for a lady." He sighed and looked down at his hands. "That was all it took." How strange are the workings of guilt, Jess thought. When Audrey Mason is gone beyond his reach—or his regret, I suppose —he thinks to honor her. He had been in Spain too long to doubt the next step. Bones will pay some starving paisano to dig up a coffin and dump out its occupant. He had seen it before. "We must stop him," he said. "Major Bones?" she asked. "Can we take this to General Wellesley?" He could hear no confidence in her voice now. Well, Captain

Randall, he thought, you had better see how convincing an actor you are. He took a deep breath. "No, my dear, I think Sir Arthur will not have time to bother with us today, even if we could find him, which I doubt. Bones would only deny he had ever loaned him money." He gave her a hug. "No, my dear, we have to make your father a better offer." You are quick with the comforting platitude, Jesse told himself sourly as he walked through the rain a few minutes later, shoulders hunched, to the marching hospital. He glanced at Dan, grateful that the steward chose not to comment. They had left Nell with a dubious look on her face, but packing anyhow. He knew she didn't want them around; a glance around Audrey Mason's bedchamber as she lay dying had pointed out more eloquently than words that the Masons had very little substance between them and ruin. He wondered that Nell could have much dignity left, not after her mother's death, her father's various stupidities, and Major Bones' plans. She had seemed calm enough. It is entirely possible that I may still be underestimating her, he told himself. "It seems unfair," he said at last to Dan as they slogged along. "Why is it that good people invariably seem to come out on the slimy side of the pond, while wretched specimens like Major Bones rise to the top like someone three days dead?" Dan's answer was slow in coming, and when it did, it was not a comment on his inane observation. "How are we going to find ninety-five pounds?" He stopped. "Did I mention that the major told Captain Mason that he had until six o'clock?" To his credit, Major Sheffield didn't fly into the boughs when Jess told him the situation. His grip got a little tighter around the bellows he was working for Private Jenks, and he blinked his eyes a few times, but there was no outburst beyond a string of profanity that made Jess stare. "Chief, I wish I knew what to do."

"Empty out your pockets, lad," Sheffield said briskly, handing the bellows to Dan, who continued the slow, careful motion. "By God, I am inclined to dump every soldier in here upside down until he coughs up whatever shilling he is hoarding. Hear that, lads?" It would have been difficult not to. "Oh, Chief, we can't ask our patients to pony up," Jess said. "We can," Sheffield insisted. "Lads, listen to me. This is the only marching hospital in the whole army with someone as wonderful as Nell Mason in it. Her mother died last night, and she needs help with funeral expenses." "Sir, I disremember when most of us were last paid," one of the men called, even as he sat up and reached for his trousers at the end of his cot. His searching turned up a coin, which he held up for Jess. "Not much, is it, sir? Ah, but she's a fine one." She is, indeed, Jess thought as he circulated down the few rows of men who still remained, touched that they would willingly surrender what remained of their money— a pence here, a shilling there—when His Majesty saw fit to pay them so little in the first place. Each offering was given with an air of apology, the giver wishing the gift was greater. "You would call these men a rabble, eh, Sir Arthur?" he said softly to himself as he transferred the coins to the sole unbroken emesis basin. While he had been collecting from his patients, Sheffield must have gone to their shared tent. He returned holding out an unmated stocking. "Eleven pounds, Jesse," he said, and poured the coin into the basin. "We're up to fifteen, then, sir," Jess said. "A far cry from ninety-five," was all Sheffield said. He went to sit by Private Jenks again. Jess went to his tent, relieved at least to see that the rain had stopped, and attempted to perform magic on

the footlocker whose contents he knew too well. He surprised himself. "Well, loaves and fishes," he said out loud as he lifted out his one remaining good shirt— "good" defined a shirt with all its buttons and no obvious bloodstains—and dress uniform to reveal a leather pouch he had entirely forgotten. Eagerly he dumped the contents onto his cot and counted out fifteen pounds. True son of glen and loch, he had never been a wasteful man, but as he lay back on his cot, he felt only discouragement. Thirty pounds! Sixty-five more loomed as huge a treasure as all of Cortez's Aztec gold and Balboa's pearls thrown in for good measure. "Sir?" He sat up, on edge immediately. "What is it, Dan?" he asked, wondering if there would ever be a time in his life when he would not be on alert, nerves straining toward whatever it was that waited in the marching hospital. His steward held out two pounds. Jess took it. "We're up to thirty-two pounds now," he said. "Dan, thirty-two pounds or three hundred! It's all the same, isn't it?" Seeing the look on his steward's face, Jess regretted his words the moment he had said them. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "You are all trying so hard for Nell, and I am whining about it. I wish I knew what to do." Jess indicated the camp stool by his cot, and Dan sat down. "You have something else to say, don't you?" he asked when a minute passed in silence. Dan nodded. "It's really simple, sir. I'm amazed you haven't thought of it." He blushed and looked down at his hands. "Maybe it's because you're so polite and all." "What, call out Bones and duel with him, scalpels at ten paces?" Jess asked, amused in spite of himself.

The hospital steward allowed himself a smile. "No, I mean really." Jess sighed. "You'd better enlighten me, Dan. I'm fresh out of clever ideas." Dan leaned forward. "We could collect ninety-five pounds from somewhere, but who's to say that Major Bones wouldn't offer Captain Mason another twenty or thirty pounds to be Nell's protector?" he spit out the word as though it tasted bad. "I mean, we have no idea what kind of resources Bones has, and you know Captain Mason's weakness." "All too well. I still don't know where you're venturing, Dan, so hurry up. I know we should both be in hospital." "If you married Nell, there is not a thing the major could do, is there?" Jess stared at the hospital steward, who had spoken as calmly as though he were stating that gauge .05 gut was better than gauge 1.0 for suturing a leg wound. I never would have thought of that, he told himself, but what a simple thing! "I ... I doubt you could get Miss Mason to agree," he managed to say. Dan shrugged. "Do you at least think it is a good idea?" "Well, yes! Of course! It would certainly solve the problem, wouldn't it?" And make me the happiest man on all six continents, significant islands, and major peninsulas, he thought. He couldn't help but smile, until he began to doubt. "There is probably no possible way that Miss Mason would agree to such a harebrained scheme, O'Leary." The other man shrugged again. "If you'll excuse me saying so, Captain, other than the fact that you are a little shy, there's really nothing about you that would disgust her. I mean, you don't have any particular noxious habits that I'm aware of, and I've been sharing a tent with you and the Chief for three years now. I'm not

even sure you snore." He knew O'Leary had thrown that in to lighten his mood, and he smiled obligingly, even as reason prevailed. "She will never agree to such a thing." "I say she will, Captain, begging your pardon," O'Leary insisted. "There's nobody around to help her but us in the marching hospital, sir, especially now, with a retreat on." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "And if that damned Bones takes her and ruins her, what choice does she have then?" Such plain speaking called for an equally honest answer. He looked at the thirty-two pounds on the table between them, and it seemed to shrivel up like apricots under a Spanish sun. "She doesn't have a choice either way, Dan." "Captain, do you think she would even know what to do with a choice?" It was true. He got off his cot and went to the tent opening to stand there and gaze at the organized confusion as the regiment prepared to pull out. Although he would never do it, he knew that he was perfectly free to fork a horse and accompany the 12th Light Artillery passing now. He could resign his commission this minute, return to the Portuguese lines, take the first transport home, and have his shingle hung out in Dundee by the end of next month. He had a lifetime of choices ahead of him, and Nell had none. "So it's me or Major Bones?" "I think so, Captain," Dan said. "I mean, I like Nell, but she is a lady and I will never be a gentleman. The Chief is fond of her, but I know he sees her as a daughter, or ... or maybe a favorite niece. You could at least like her, couldn't you, sir?" Oh, could he. Dan, I guess you haven't noticed how I watch her, and do everything I can to get near her in the hospital tent, he

thought. You certainly can't see my dreams, thank God. "I could at least like her," he said, still watching the passing artillery. "I could do that, and it would certainly stop Major Bones." Dan made a face. "Of course, that would mean Captain Mason for a father-in-law." "I'm sure if we put our minds to it, we could think of worse fates, Dan," he said. He watched the gunners dismount and put their shoulders to the wheel of the ten-pounder mired in the sludge, then glanced beyond them at a familiar figure hurrying toward the marching hospital, dodging one of Wellington's aides-de-camp riding too fast and splattering mud. Nell, you should be home in my house in Dundee, warm and comfortable, with nothing more to worry about than planning dinner with the cook, he thought. Damn this war. "Nell," he said softly. "Yes, sir, Nell. I do think you should consider a wedding, even though we are a little busy right now," O'Leary concluded in a masterpiece of understatement. Beyond my patients, she has been my chiefest concern these three years, he thought. "Yes, we are a little busy, Dan, but I think you may have something here. Do wish me all success."

Chapter Four The proposal didn't begin auspiciously. He came into the tent at the same time Nell entered from the opposite end. Her agitation was obvious, and he watched in consternation as Sheffield sat her down beside him. Still wrapped tight in her old cloak, she covered her face with her hands, and Jess's heart went out to her. For

once, he didn't ask himself if he would be inflicting more pain by a stupid offer of marriage, coming at her like a plummeting meteor. I think I can help, Nell, he told himself. He started toward her, only to be stopped by one of the other hospital stewards, a harried-looking man named Al-cott who usually managed to vanish during crises. As it was, the man all but plucked at his sleeve like a peevish child to get his attention. "You're still here, Alcott?" he asked, half in jest. "I suppose we have nothing to fear, then." "Captain, two of the patients have gone missing." "Oh, I must say this is a rare good time to go missing, Alcott," he said. "Perhaps you've miscounted?" The man shook his head. "They are missing." He pointed to two empty cots, and Jess sighed. "Harper and Wilkie." Oh, Hippocrates, even you would not want them back, Jess thought as he stifled a groan. Harper and Wilkie, two privates from the Subsistence Department, were slackers of the first order. Harper had been rescued in a drunken fog after a headfirst plunge into a latrine, and Wilkie was recovering from a knife wound inflicted by a local citizen who came home too soon and found the private banging his wife. "Perhaps they have rejoined Subsistence," he said, hoping he didn't sound too eager. Of the two, he would miss Wilkie more. The knife wound had proved interesting in the extreme, slicing as it did through his stomach lining, but not entirely healing. The sight of the open wound was distressing, but not particularly dangerous, and it fascinated Jess to watch the workings of Wilkie's stomach. "Should I go in search of them, Captain?" The steward plucked at his sleeve again as Jess was looking at Nell in her distress. "Captain?"

"By all means, Alcott," he said. With any luck, we will not find them, he told himself. My blushes, Hippocrates. "Do it now. I will attend in the tent." He came close to Sheffield and Nell. "What happened, Nell?" That she was afraid would have been obvious to a one-eyed man with cataracts. There was no serenity or calmness about her, and he wondered how hard it must be to live continually on the edge of ruin. She tried to speak, then shook her head. "Oh, I can't," she managed to say, then looked at Sheffield. "She was packing out her mother's household effects when Major Bones' batman came and took them from her," Sheffield said, his own voice more agitated than Jess could remember. "He said Bones had told him to take her luggage to his tent." "I just left everything else there in the house and bolted out the door," she said, picking up the narrative, but unable to look at him. "I mean, all I have is this dress and apron." She patted the apron pocket. "And Mama's necklace. I can't go back. I daren't." She took a huge breath then, as though to steady herself, and looked at him, if only briefly. It was long enough for him to see the shame in her eyes. "Captain Randall, I do hate being at the mercy of men!" "I doubt you are alone in your sex in that," he replied. Oh, this is a fine beginning for wooing, he thought, instant wooing, at that. He hesitated only briefly, then took her hand. Her fingers were cold and she was shaking, so he increased the firmness of his grip, and covered her hand with his other one. She responded with a firmer grip of her own. "Major Sheffield tells me you have been raising money," she said. "I have only thirty-two pounds, and we've exhausted our resources," he told her.

"There's another ten pounds in the hospital funds." Sheffield said. "I will authorize its use." "Forty-two pounds is still not enough," Jess said. He loosened his grip on her, and was nearly overwhelmed with emotion when she increased hers. At this moment, she is as dependent as a baby, he thought. "Even if we were by some miracle to raise the sum, we have no idea what more money Bones has. I fear he could trump us without even flickering an eyelid." He was sure that a lesser woman would have dissolved in tears. Nell did not. If anything, his bracing words stiffened her back. "What do you recommend I do, sir?" she asked, her voice calm now. "I am open to any suggestion, no matter how farfetched." This was his moment. His heart pounded so loud under his waistcoat that he knew the passing artillery could hear it. "Marry me, Nell. Bones can't touch you then." Sheffield burst into laughter. "Oh, bold stroke, Jesse," he exclaimed. "Nell, it's crazy, but I must agree. Nell?" The silence continued. Jess was almost afraid to look at her. She had not withdrawn her hand from his, but he was clutching hers so tightly that he wasn't sure she could. He looked at her then, to find himself amazed that a pale face could go even paler. The color seemed gone even from her lips. As he watched, her color gradually returned. With it came a relaxation of her fingers in his hand. To his ineffable, unspeakable pleasure, she inclined her head toward his. "You can't possibly love me on such short notice," she said, and there was no mistaking the amusement in her voice. It was as though he had diverted her momentarily from the more awful crisis looming, and she was savoring the respite, however transitory it might be. Now what? he asked himself. If you say you have loved her these

two years, chances are she will not believe you. After all, you have done nothing to show her any affection: no flowers, no chocolates, no lingering drawing room visits, no teasing notes. You have only handed her emesis basins, and accepted gut reeled off suturing spools. The only notes were receipts for medicines you have taught her to compound. Flowers? When did you last see a flower that had not been trampled by gun carriages or the cavalry? No, I dare not say how long I have loved you, he thought. You would think me a lunatic, and surely no woman craves a lunatic for a bedfellow. "Nell, I must admit that the idea for this proposal is of quite recent origin," he said, and that was true enough. "But do you know, it's not such a bad idea." He could have groaned out loud. How do other men propose, he asked himself. Surely not in a hospital tent with people listening, and guns rumbling by outside, and, for all he knew, a lecher bent on ruin with his ear to the canvas. Here I am telling this darling, this angel, that it's not a bad ideal To his amazement, Nell still did not withdraw her hand from his. Granted, she was shaking her head, but there was something in her eyes now besides despair. "I suppose you will tell me that I'm a real game goer, and that you like me a lot," she said. "Well, I do," he said, simply. It was vacuous in the extreme, but something told him it was right. "It would be the protection you need right now." The expression in her eyes told him that just for a moment, she truly had forgotten about the threat of Major Bones. "Wellington left this morning, didn't he?" she asked. "I believe he did, Nell, along with his staff." "We already know there are no officers' wives in this corps who care particularly what happens to Audrey Mason's daughter."

"I fear that is so." "Things do have a way of getting lost or coming up missing during a retreat." She shivered, and he felt the same cold chill. With everyone concerned for his own regiment, and looking over his shoulder for Souham or Soult, no one would ever wonder what had become of Elinore Mason— until Major Bones ruined her. "Again you are right." She appealed to the Chief. "Major Sheffield, is this a good idea?" she asked. "Completely," the surgeon said, and Jess closed his eyes in relief. "I am certain that Captain Randall would agree that should you change your mind by the time we reach the Portuguese lines, he would accept an annulment. Right, Jess?" Never, he thought. Not in a whole year of Sundays. "Certainly, sir. You can depend upon it," he lied. "I will do it then," she said in a rush, as if afraid too much thought would allow common sense to triumph. Her face clouded over then. "But aren't there banns to cry, or a special license? Can you find a minister? You're not even Protestant, are you?" He didn't have any answers to her rapid questions except the last one. "No, I'm not," he replied. "Did you ever meet a more inconsiderate Scot from the land of porridge and John Knox?" She smiled at that. "No, I did not. Why should I worry about something like dogma at a time like this?" She shook her head in wonder. "Dear me, do you realize I am behaving in a far more ramshackle way than even my parents would have contemplated?" She looked at the Chief again, and there was no mistaking her pleading glance. "Can't we think of anything else?" Jess held his breath, then let it out slowly as Sheffield's silence

lengthened. "I suppose I am no bargain, Nell," he began. "Nonsense," Sheffield said. "You're an excellent surgeon!" "That's not the issue," he said quietly. "Perhaps not," Sheffield replied. He turned to Nell. "My dear, I have no idea what kind of a husband he will prove to be, but let me assure you, at the moment he is damned useful and you are in a bad spot." She looked from one man to the other. Tears welled in her eyes and Jess felt his heart turn over. Suddenly she was eleven again, and had no more blue beads left to give. "You'll have to trust me, Nell," he told her, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. "I will abide by whatever you say when we reach the Portuguese border, and make it right, but you need me now." "I do," she said after another long moment. She looked across the hospital tent. "I wish there would be a time in my life when I did not have to depend upon the goodwill of others. Do you ever wish life was fair?" "All the time," he answered. He kissed her hand before she could take it from his arm. "I would have gone to the University of Edinburgh with the Protestants. By God, Nell, if life were fair, none of my patients would ever die." He hadn't meant to sound vehement, but her question bit deep all of a sudden. I am a dog, he thought as the tears spilled onto her cheeks. I will not be surprised if she slaps me, turns on her heel, and marches out of here. She did not. Her expression softened then. "I never considered that," she said. She squared her shoulder then, and the movement touched him deeper than anything else she could have done just then. "Lead on, Chief. Let us find a chaplain." She tucked her arm through Sheffield's, and made no comment when the chief surgeon blew his nose loudly and muttered something about dust

in the air. With a wave, he saw them off: Sheffield with a firm grip upon Nell Mason and a light enough step to avoid the increasing traffic streaming past the hospital. He stood at the tent's opening and watched them, Nell so graceful even though her cloak was old and patched. She raised the hem of her dress in a fruitless attempt to keep it out of the mud, and he stared at her ankles, so trim even in much-darned stockings. Oh, Mother, I am marrying a woman with nothing more than the dress she stands in, he thought. Her father is a scamp and her mother was a fool. She has not one of those accomplishments that should be the birthright of any lady I marry, but by all the saints, I couldn't have done better. Mother, I know you will come to love her. Thank you, Major Bones, you bastard. Jenks was asleep and breathing more steadily than he had since Bones' harsh visit the day before, so Jess remained in the tent opening. He had seen retreats enough to not fear now when the regiment seemed to untangle itself from a thousand knots and pull out. He waved at the brother officers he was acquainted with, nodding at their words of "See you behind the lines, Surgeon!" and calling back comments of his own. The road was quiet then for a time, and then the next regiment moved up, to bivouac under the trees nearer the river. He knew they could remain there a few hours, or all night, to be followed by another regiment, and then it would be the marching hospital's turn to move out under the protection of the division's last regiment. "Where is she?" He wondered if he had been dozing on his feet, a skill learned early at the University of Milan. Major Bones stood beside him. He must have been dozing, because the man had obviously dismounted from the horse that was practically chewing on Jess's

sleeve. He pulled his arm away. "Who?" he asked, and felt instantly stupid. "Bertie Mason's daughter, you chinch," Bones said, biting off each word. "My batman went to help her pack, and she bolted like a hare, he told me. I can't imagine why she would be here, either, but I can't find her anywhere else." "She said your batman snatched away her belongings and frightened her." Bones muttered an oath, turned away, and mounted his horse, crowding it forward until Jess was forced to step back. "You are a puny little man," he said. "A woman would be crazy to look to you for protection." "People do unusual things when they are desperate," he said quietly. Bones grinned at that. "I'll agree," he said. "You should have seen Bertie Mason an hour ago, scurrying around trying to borrow money off everyone he knows! The trouble is, everyone knows Bertie too well. Now he has given up the notion of looking for money and hared himself away in the sutler's tent for gin. It's an ugly sight." "Bones, you are a bully," Jess said. He waited for the horse to knock him flat, but the major only laughed. "I certainly am, Captain Puke Basin." He leaned over in the saddle until Jess could smell the reek of gin on him, too. "I get what I want, which is more than you ever will." Dan called to him from inside the tent, and he turned away. "I'll find her, Captain," Bones called. "Just give me a week with her, and she'll be a happy woman. She'll crawl after me begging for more, something you could never hope for, eh?" Jess shuddered. I've seen what men like you do to helpless

women, especially if they are poor and have no protection. I wonder that the Spanish call men like you allies, after you and your like take a village in all the ways you can imagine. Jenks must have heard the major's voice, because he was hyperventilating again. It took all of Jess's patience with the bellows, and a greater dose of laudanum than he cared to give to calm the soldier this time. "I would really rather use our hospital funds to find a Sicilian willing to pull Major Bones' liver and lights out through his rectum," he murmured to Dan. Sorry, Hippocrates, but once in a while I would like to do some harm. He knew that Bones must be watching the hospital tent, even though he could not see him. He hoped that Nell and Sheffield would not return from their search for a chaplain. To his relief, an hour later a boy from the village came into the tent. Dan noticed him and gestured him forward. With a terrified glance at the men on the cots, he ran into the tent, threw a message down in front of Jess, and ran out again. "Do you suppose he has heard rumors about how bad hospital food is?" Dan joked. "I wish I knew enough Spanish to tell him that we haven't lost more than ten or twelve muddy little boys in a day or two!" The message was written in Latin on Sheffield's receipt pad. Jess wondered if the chief surgeon was enjoying the intrigue of the whole affair. He had to admire Sheffield's flair, and feel not a little proud that the man knew he could write Jess in Latin. Safe from enemy hands, he thought. He read it, then looked at Dan. "You're in charge for a few minutes. I'm to take my medical satchel and leave as though intent upon an errand of mercy to Marching Hospital Number Three. Wish I had a wedding ring for Nell." And I wish I were taller, and braver, and certainly better-looking. He ran back to his tent and grabbed his satchel, pausing before

his mirror to run his fingers through his hair and wish he had taken the time earlier to shave. At least he was wearing one of his better shirts. Well, I have all my hair, he thought, and he took another look. My teeth are mine. I can only hope that she won't mind being married to someone who looks so ... so earnest. There wasn't another word for his expression that he could think of. Perhaps it was better than diligent or dutiful, he told himself as he shouldered his satchel and set out. He knew Bones was watching. He stopped in the road, then turned back and summoned the stretcher bearers. Now I'll just have to find someone to load on this for the return trip, he thought. Tent already folded and packed, the wounded on wagons, Number Three was ready to pull out. He didn't bother to look over his shoulder for Bones, but went directly to Colonel Ipswich, a surgeon he had respected for years. "Sir?" he asked. "Can you direct me to Major Sheffield?" "I'll do better than that," the surgeon said, and indicated the dead tent, where the able-bodied were even now loosening the tent pegs. "There are some of us who heard about your proposal, Captain, and have put a wager on whether you will overcome your charming shyness enough to say yes." Jess laughed. "I am surprised you are not offering condolences that Bertie Mason will be my father-in-law." The other surgeon winked. "As to that, rumor has it that Captain Randall is well juiced enough to keep Bertie in the style he would like to become accustomed to." He came closer. "I hear it is your present poverty, and everyone else's, which seems to be bringing about this wedding, eh? I say you're carrying a good deed too far. Won't your parents be chagrined to learn that their promising son married a woman practically standing in her shimmy? Lord, my parents would die of shock."

He was about to reply—what he wasn't sure—when he saw Nell Mason, her face white, in the shadow of the dead tent, listening to their conversation. As he watched in horror, she swallowed a couple times, as though trying to keep her composure, then looked at Colonel Ipswich. "It only has to be to the Portuguese border, Colonel Ipswich," she said. "That's as far as anyone's charity needs to extend." Jess could hardly bear the hurt in her eyes as she stared at him. "Obviously I was not blessed with parents as fastidious as yours. You're free to change your mind." He didn't know what to say; couldn't think of anything to ameliorate either Ipswich's remarks, or whatever Nell was imagining about him. "I wouldn't dream of changing my mind," he said. He winced a little at how firm the words came out. Were they directed more to her or to Ipswich? He wasn't sure himself. He only knew how much he loved Nell Mason, and, at the moment, how little she would believe that if he told her. Not that he could, not a man as shy as he. Not with Colonel Ipswich— how could he ever have thought him a good man?—hanging on every word. "Just let me do this." He came closer to her, concerned that she could look so pale. "Please, Nell. There simply isn't any other way that we can think of to offer you protection from Bones." She was about to reply, when Major Sheffield came to the door of the dead tent and gestured to them. "I think we had better hurry this, Jess." He lowered his voice. "The chaplain is in a hurry to leave, and this tent has to come down." Without thinking, he took Nell's hand and pulled her into the tent with him. She offered no resistance, and his heart rose a little. He looked around, grateful that the bodies had already been removed. With a small feeling of relief, he recognized the chaplain, a man who had sat with him now and then through two years of shocking days of battle and long nights in the Peninsula. Jess

liked him because he was calm, and never engaged in theological debate, unlike some of his brethren who considered Jesse Randall an especially tempting target. "Mr. Fair-cloth," he said, and held out his hand. "A special occasion, eh?" "It is, indeed," Faircloth replied matter-of-factly, as though he spoke from the comforts of a parish sitting room in the country. "Nice to have a pleasant occasion." He looked at Nell. "Are you sure you will have this one, Miss Mason?" he asked not unkindly. "I believe he is famous in this army for being the shyest man in Picton's Division." "I will have this man," she replied quietly, and Jess felt his heart stir. "Mr. Faircloth, you know I am not a Protestant," he began. "Nor are you a particularly good Catholic, if memory serves me," the chaplain said, a smile taking what sting there was out of his words. "We will overlook that detail in the interests of expediency. Here now lad, get yourself over to this side of the future Mrs. Randall. Bear her up, if you will. She looks a little frightened." He smiled. "As to that I am not sure which of you looks more frightened! Hang on to each other now. Since I have your attention, I always like to give a few words of advice." His smile broadened, even as the rear of the tent dropped with a whoosh and Nell moved closer. "I'm certain you will not remember him, but perhaps Major Sheffield here will remind you later." And so they were married. For all that the service was in English, and much shorter than weddings of his own faith, Jess Randall knew he would recall little of the contents, beyond his own quiet "yes," and Nell's, hers even quieter. He held his breath for the few seconds that she paused, then let it out with a rush when she agreed. He had no ring, so shook his head when Mr. Faircloth came to

that portion of the ceremony. "It will have to wait for Portugal," he said. "Not necessarily." His chief surgeon came forward. He fumbled at the thin chain about his neck, pulling it out from his shirtfront, after loosening his neckcloth. "After all these years," he began, his voice unsteady, "I have finally found an excellent use for this little thing." Sheffield removed the ring that Jess knew had never been off his neck in the years he had known the chief surgeon. Sheffield had made few references to the wife who had not survived beyond the first year of his duty in India with the much younger, untried Wellington. "Oh, sir," he began, but Sheffield silenced him with a look. Tears filled his eyes as his chief, with steady fingers, extracted the ring from the chain. "What say you, Millie?" Sheffield asked softly. "Did I find a good enough cause?" He smiled and handed the ring to Jess. "Put it on her finger, lad. When she wore it, Millie wasn't any older than Nell is now. It might even fit. They are much the same size." He turned to Nell, who was sobbing in good earnest. "Oh, hush now, my dear. You might even look back on this as a happy occasion." Jess took the ring that his superior held out to him, willing his hand to be as rock steady. Without another word, he slid the ring onto Nell's finger. Quickly he kissed her cheek and then nodded to Sheffield. "I think it almost fits." The older man kissed Nell, too. He took her hand, and touched the ring as she sniffed back more tears. "We'll wind a little string around the back. Jess can have it altered when you get to Lisbon." The chaplain seemed to be having a problem with his nose that required his face be engulfed in a large handkerchief. "Drat this

pollen," he murmured. Jess didn't think it was the time or the place to mention that the weed and grass season was long over in north Spain. "I could give you something for that, except that my medicines are all packed, Mr. Faircloth." The chaplain blew his nose again more briskly, then shook his head. "It will pass." He cleared his throat and consulted his well-worn book again. "Oh, my stars, I have not concluded." He looked over his shoulder, where soldiers were rolling back the tent. "A little quiet back there, please!" When the men stopped working, and after a battery of light artillery passed, he took both of their hands in his. "Now I pronounce you husband and wife for the period of your mortal lives." He said some more, but heavy artillery was passing. Unsure of himself again, and feeling more shy than a roomful of shy people, he merely watched as the chaplain signed his name to the marriage lines, and then held out the paper to Major Ipswich for a witness signature. It went next to Sheffield, who signed his name with a flourish. "That will do," Sheffield said. He gave Nell another kiss, then turned and left the tent without another word. The chaplain waved the paper for a moment until the ink dried, then handed it to Nell. "Put it in a safe place," he admonished. He kissed her cheek, too. "Cheer up, lass! This might be the best thing that ever happened to both of you!" He turned then to whisk the cross and altar cloth off the packing crate, open it, and stow them inside, along with his prayer book. In another moment he had stripped off his stole and chasuble, folded them with an efficiency that told Jess he had been a long time with the army, and arranged them in their appointed places. Jess came closer. "You're sure that was entirely legal?" he asked,

his voice low. The chaplain beamed at him. "Oh, you Catholics! Just because we are not awash in incense, dizzy with Latin, and weary with hours and hours on our feet doesn't mean it won't take!" "Well, I ..." Jess came closer. "I know there were no banns, and there is no special license." "Hush, lad," the chaplain said. "There are certain expediencies available to members of the clergy engaged in the pursuit of war." "Oh?" Jess asked. He didn't mean it to sound skeptical. "Ye of little faith," Faircloth scolded. "I think it's good for forty or fifty years at least." He winked at Jess. "After that, I'm not sure. Good luck to you both." He turned to Nell. "My dear, make sure he does what you say." He shook Jess's hand. "This may be the smartest single act you ever committed." Faircloth gave him a push toward Nell. "Give her a better kiss than that beggarly peck, Captain. She'll think you're not serious." He was serious. He was equally aware that to express himself in words was impossible. Even if, in his supreme shyness, he stammered out his love for her, considering the speed of the wedding, he knew she would not believe him. But there she was, her cheeks wiped clean of tears, but her beautiful eyes still brimming with emotion. He had stood close to her before, but not this close. He couldn't trust himself to say anything, but he put his arms around her and kissed her. He didn't know what he expected. He knew his own distrust of strong emotion in front of others, something trained into him at Milan, and through years of war and his own shyness. None of it mattered right then as he enjoyed the softness of her lips, and the small sighing sound that escaped her lips as her arms went around him.

He wished the moment could have lasted longer, but Nell leaped away from him in surprise when the side of the dead tent came down with a rush of canvas. The chaplain uttered a most unclerical expression heard commonly enough in the army, but probably not in a typical Anglican parish. "You soldiers have no sense of aesthetics!" the man exclaimed, which only brought laughter from the laborers. Jess took Nell's hand then and led her from the tent. He couldn't think of a single thing to say, but the matter was taken from him by a shout for help from the direction of the quartermaster's compound. He only stood still a moment in surprise as Colonel Mumford, quartermaster general of Picton's Division, waved to him frantically. "I say, Randall! Hurry over here! We have a bit of a problem! Oh, do hurry! I think I shall faint!" Hippocrates, I will wager that you never had to deal with a man milliner like our dear quartermaster, he thought. He tugged Nell along with him toward the quartermaster, who stood wringing his pudgy hands. His face was alarmingly red, but Jess had heard from Sheffield of the enormous quantity of brandy the QM always seemed to have in stock, even when no other officer could find a bottle. Drunkards are devotedly to be ignored, he thought, even though his training took over and he ran toward the man. What lay before them in front of the quartermaster made Nell gasp, and Jess to recoil briefly, before he went down on his knees beside the prostrate man lying on his side. The soldier's hands were clutched around a knife in his stomach. Jess carefully moved him onto his back, then sat back on his heels in amazement as he stared at Private Wilkie, he who had gone missing earlier in the day. As the quartermaster moaned, turned away, and threw himself into a folding chair, the private opened his eyes and gave a long, slow wink. While the QM fanned himself vigorously with one of

his numerous order books, Wilkie whispered to Jess, "Sir, me and Harper have solved your money problem. If you can get me to Number Eight before the QM takes a good look, we'll solve your problem." Why is none of this registering, Jess thought as he stared at Wilkie, surprisingly cheerful, despite a knife deep in his gut. Gingerly he pulled back the private's blood-drenched shirt. Wilkie's hand clutched the blade. He groaned out loud, which set the quartermaster to uttering anxious twitterings of his own. Jess leaned closer over the wound. "Private, you need to let go of that blade." Jess's eyes widened in surprise as Wilkie chuckled. "It was Harper's idea, and wasn't it a good one?" "What on earth . . ." Wilkie moved his hand away, and Jess stared at the blade, which, from all appearances, had been carefully inserted into the mouth of the little fistula that formed Wilkie's amazing wound. "Cow's blood, sir," the private said, his voice low in a conspiratorial whisper. "They're slaugh-tering'm out back for the retreat." "What have you done?" Jess asked in a fierce whisper of his own, even as the quartermaster began to whimper and call for smelling salts. Wilkie continued to grin at him. "Sir, I have the other fifty pounds! You don't need to do anything drastic!"

Chapter Five "Nell, see what you can do for the quartermaster," he said, then looked up to see that Nell was already at the man's side. He

turned his attention back to Wilkie. "You are a disgrace to your uniform," he snapped, keeping his voice low. "Where is Harper?" "He'll be here directly, I am sure," the private said, then groaned again for good effect. "The QM 'ere—Lord love him—sent 'arry inside the tent to find some cotton wadding for me wound." Hippocrates, I wouldn't trust 'arry in a roomful of Jesuits, Jess thought sourly. "Harper!" he bellowed. "Show yourself!" He glanced at Nell, who gave him a reproachful look, and returned her attention to the quartermaster. In a moment Private Harper came out of the quartermaster's tent, his hands full of cotton wadding, with a righteous look on his face. "Captain, remember how you never could get any of this stuff from the quartermaster? He has rolls of it." As Jess glowered at the private, he couldn't help ask himself if he was more irritated at Harper, or the quartermaster. He turned his attention to Private Wilkie, who began to writhe about as a small crowd gathered. "Do give him room," Jess ordered. "Surely all of you have something better to do." Oh, Lord, I am encouraging these two thieves, he thought as he carefully grasped the knife, gave it a yank, and played along. The knife came away quite easily, as he knew it would, because it barely rested inside Wilkie's curious abdominal fistula. The quartermaster shrieked, which only earned the man a hard stare from Nell. Well, Hippocrates, did you ever fall among thieves? he asked himself as he daubed at the wound, allowing the cotton wadding to soak up the cow's blood that had pooled so dramatically under Wilkie. Hating himself for such malpractice, Jess directed Harper to hold his hand tight over Wilkie's spurious wound while he dug in his medicine satchel, extracted a good length of bandage, and wrapped it quickly in place. "That should do until I get him back to the hospital," he told the quartermaster. "You won't mind if I take along this wadding, will you? I thought

not." It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Harper to make another rapid reconnaissance of the QM's tent to look for laudanum and new scalpels, but he resisted. Instead, he motioned for his stretcher bearers, and wondered what else the enterprising private had liberated from the QM's too-abundant stores. While the bearers were loading Wilkie onto the stretcher— Wilkie had been so obliging as to fake a swoon—Jess looked at the quartermaster. A rapid glance told him there was nothing wrong with the man except an overactive imagination. How much have you been cheating this army? he thought, after taking the man's pulse. "What on earth happened here?" he asked, not because he wanted to know, but because the QM might be suspicious if he didn't ask. "The private ran in front of my tent as though Soult himself was on his ass," he said. "I had just sat down to eat my beefsteak." He looked around. "Where is it?" Probably down the front of 'arry 'arper's uniform blouse, Jess thought sourly. "I didn't know anyone had any beefsteak left," he said. "You were fortunate, indeed." The QM realized his mistake. "Well, yes, rather," he stammered, and chose not to continue that line of conversation. "Shouldn't you hurry on to tend that poor sod?" Jesse nodded and gestured to Nell, who fell into step beside him. She was looking so forlorn and puzzled that he clapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "Don't worry, Mrs. Randall. There's not a thing wrong with Wilkie." He whispered to her what the man had done. She started to laugh. It was a delightful sound, and so unexpected right then that a wagoneer stopped to stare, and then grinned as he turned back to his less-than-cooperative mule.

"Why would he do such a thing?" she asked. He was pleased when she put her own arm around his waist so she could match his stride easier. "I haven't the slightest notion," he replied. "Wilkie and Harper constitute two members of a malingerer's army ever bent on mischief." Even as he said that, he felt the stirring of an idea so awful that he dismissed it immediately. Jess didn't think Bones was following them, and truth to tell, he didn't care. He had walked with Nell before, but only on an errand, or as part of some duty. This was different. He relaxed his grip on her shoulders, just to see if she would loose her hold on him. To his pleasure, she did not. She seemed content to walk beside him. When they returned to Number Eight, Major Sheffield was in the tent they shared, packing his own effects. Dan O'Leary, looking more indignant than fifty overworked hospital stewards, glared at Private Wilkie. Lying on the stretcher with his hand clasped around the bloody wound, Wilkie grinned at him. "Explain yourself, Private," he said as he pulled up a stool beside him. Before Wilkie could speak, Harper pulled four little brown vials out of his sleeve and set them in a row beside Jess. "I believe you've been wanting this, sir," he said. O'Leary seemed to forget his pique in an instant. "Laudanum!" he exclaimed as he looked over Jesse's shoulder. Hippocrates, I can use this, Jess thought as he stared at the bottles. He looked up at the private as the man pulled a slim canvas case from his uniform blouse, where Jess had suspected a beefsteak resided. Harper undid the ties with a flourish, and Jess stared at a row of scalpels. They practically glowed, gleaming steel catching a glimpse of the watery sun to blink back at him in that wicked way of scalpels.

"I can't possibly take these," he protested. "I just couldn't," he said, ashamed at how feeble his protestation sounded. Harper only shrugged and retied the strings. "Sir, you want me to take them back so the QM can sell them to some Spaniard who will sell 'um to the French? Begging your pardon, sir, but that's not a good idea." "No, it isn't," Jess agreed, amazed at how little his conscience was already bothering him. I will become as depraved as 'arry, 'ippocrates, he thought, with some amusement. "Oh, hell, I'll keep the scalpels. Use 'um on you, Harper, and give you a high voice." His amusement vanished when Harper reached inside his pants. "Ain't it amazing what a good distraction will get?" Jess stared, speechless, as the private groped around in his roomy pants—Nell looked away—and pulled out a handful of coins. He sprinkled them like golden rain onto Wilkie's stretcher, then looked at Nell. "There you are, Miss Mason. Didn't I hear the surgeon here tell us to empty our budgets this morning to keep 'im from a desperate act?" He winked at her. "Wilkie and I was thinking creatively." "I'm . . . I'm afraid he already had to do the desperate act," Nell said, her voice subdued. "I know you meant well." "Meant well?" Jesse burst out. "He's a damned thief! My God, Private, one word from me and you're with the provost marshal from now until Portugal!" "If you can find him, sir, begging your pardon," Harper said. "We're on retreat." Jess looked hard at the private. There was nothing of that irritating kind of subservience in his voice that he had become accustomed to from the man. "Explain yourself, Private," he snapped, lowering his voice, because he could hear Jenks starting to hyperventilate, three cots over. "Go to him, Dan," he said,

tired all of a sudden. Harper crouched beside Wilkie's stretcher. "Pardon me, sir, but it takes a thief to know a thief. Wilkie and me, we've watched you skimp on everything here, and we've seen you and the Chief fill out QM reqs by the wad." No denying that, Jess thought. "There was no call for this." I am a weak man, indeed, he thought as Harper continued to press his point. Why am I not scooping up those guineas and rushing back to our QM with my apologies? He sighed. "I heard you say only this morning, sir, that the army would be better off if someone tied the QM to an anvil and dropped 'im in the river," Harper concluded. "I did," Jess said wryly. "And now you've picked a lock in the QM's tent and liberated what you feel is rightfully ours." Harper grinned and poked Wilkie on the stretcher. "Told you our darlin' surgeon here was a bright one! Trust me, sir, he won't even miss this." "Trust you?" he exclaimed. "I'm not in my dotage, Harper!" "No, indeed, sir," the private agreed. "You can't be more than thirty." Jess sighed again and stared long and hard at the private. I am arguing with a thief and a scoundrel who robbed another thief and a scoundrel, he told himself. And the deuce of it is, I actually think he did this out of the goodness of his heart. "How much did you take, Harper?" he asked finally. The private knew surrender when he heard it, obviously. He smiled, and Jess was hard put to resist smiling back. "Sir, you said Miss Mason here needed fifty-two pounds." He looked at Wilkie. "We thought maybe sixty pounds would grease her through a bad spot, supposin' that old Bones had a few more pounds to up the

ante over Captain Mason. Beggin' your pardon, Miss Mason, but your da is a little lean on scruples." "And you're not?" Jess said, unable to resist. "I know what I am," Harper said simply. "She needed our help, didn't she? Hold out your apron, Miss Mason. This is yours." When she only looked at him, the private seemed less sure of himself. "We're too late?" he asked, then turned his attention to Jess. "She's still here." "She's my wife, Private," he said. "While you were robbing the QM, I married her to keep Bones away." Oh, God, he thought, that's not even true. I married her because I have loved her these two years and more probably. He knew he couldn't say that. He knew it would sound even stranger than his public reason. He didn't want to interpret the look Nell gave him; he hadn't the heart. As she deflated before his eyes, he knew he was a worse thief than Harper, because he had robbed her of her dignity. Silence filled the tent, broken only by Jenks' ragged breathing and the steady whoosh of the bellows. He didn't know what to say. Nell spoke, but it wasn't to him. "I'll take your money, Private Harper," she said, and he could hear she was on the ragged edge of tears. "I'll give it to my father." Her voice faltered then. "No, I'll find Major Bones and give it to him. No telling what my father would do with sixty pounds." No, he thought, no. "Private, I'll find Bones. Nell, you're my responsibility now." He wanted her to look him in the eye, but she was too ashamed. "Nell, please, it isn't quite what you think." He touched her arm. "Nell, I mean it." She had withdrawn from him. It wasn't a physical gesture; she did not flinch when he touched her. He kept the pressure on her arm, but she was in another place deep inside herself. "Nell. It'll be all right. I promise," he told her. He meant it with all his heart, but

he wondered how many other promises had been broken in her life. And this is one more, he thought. Oh, Hippocrates, why couldn't I have been an architect or the man who sells gelato on street corners? He took the money from Harper. "Wilkie, when I get back I'm going to sew up that fistula of yours before it gets you in more trouble. Harper, during this retreat you had better be on your best behavior. No lock pickings, no stealing, no creativity!" He got up and went to the tent opening. To his surprise, Nell followed him. "I'm sorry I could not think of something else, Captain," she began. She looked down at the ground. "Mama . . . Mama always used to say what a good contriver I was, and I ..." He put his finger to her lips. "Don't, Nell," he said softly. "Maybe you've had to do too much contriving for someone your age." Her face was so sad that he wondered if he was right to speak. "Maybe neither of us thought when we woke up this morning that we'd be married by suppertime, but since we are, you can share your worries with me." It was the most he had ever said to her at once. Even though it sounded stupid to his ears, Nell raised her head and looked at him as though she had never considered such a thing. "Do you really mean that?" she asked quickly. "With all my heart." He touched her cheek. "And now I'd better find your father and then Major Bones." She shook her head. "He will only spend it before he gets to Bones." "I must disagree, Nell," he told her. "It is more than likely that we are all charting a course toward each other. "He took out his timepiece. "Didn't the good major give your father until six o'clock? When I find your father, I will find Bones." He saw the fear in her eyes. "Nell, don't worry so much! It appears to me that

thanks to my larcenous patients we have quite neutralized Bones." "I pray you are right," she said finally. "Do this for me: take along Harper." "I wouldn't take him across the street!" To his dismay, Nell's eyes welled with tears. She swallowed, and dabbed at her eyes with her apron. "Didn't the chaplain tell you to do what I say?" she asked. Jess sighed inwardly. Hippocrates, I am less than an hour married, and already she has run out the heavy guns, he thought. "Very well, but only because I cannot deal with tears!" He looked at Harper, reached deep within himself for some patience, and gestured at the man. "Private, you are to accompany me to find Captain Mason." "That's right sensible of you, Captain, if you don't mind me saying so," the private said. And if I did? Jess asked himself wearily. "Oh, come along." Harper saluted in so haphazard a fashion that Jess could only be grateful that no one stood on parade. "I believe you must be the poorest excuse for a soldier in all the armies in Spain," he declared. His mutterings didn't seem to daunt the private, who merely beamed at him as though he had been paid a compliment by Wellington himself. "Aye, sir, but I am very big, where you, if you will beg my pardon, are not." He thought he would have no trouble finding Mason. Bones had said this morning that the captain would be drinking. If the man followed the pattern that Jess had observed during long years with the division, he would be drunk by noon, then remorseful by afternoon. By six o'clock, Jess reckoned, Mason would be low,

indeed. His pattern was to come crawling home then. Audrey Mason's remains were already coffined. Accompanied by his escort, Jess went first to the burying field. Under the watchful eyes of a provost sergeant, two French prisoners were digging pits for the recent deaths in the command. He thought of Jenks then, barely breathing back in the hospital tent, and wondered if he should requisition a coffin for the retreat. Mason was not at the burying field, which hardly surprised Jess. Father-in-law, you are a coward, he thought. You treated your wife poorly when she lived, and you cannot face her now that she is dead. He found his father-in-law in his ramshackle house, sitting on a stool that was the only thing remaining. Jess knew that Nell had retrieved nothing from the place because she had fled from it with the clothes on her back, but it was picked clean. Mason, his face more vacant than usual, appeared lost in thought, but Jess knew that thinking was not his strong suit. It must be an alcoholic haze. Indicating with his head for Harper to remain outside, he went in through the open door and stood in front of the man on the stool. "I have ninety pounds for you, Captain," he said, "but I'm going to wait here and give it to Major Bones." He knew he shouldn't continue, but he did. "You're a pitiful excuse for a soldier, and a worse father." He dropped the money in Mason's lap. He couldn't remember when he had ever said anything so unkind, but his words barely seemed to register. Captain Mason merely nodded, and stared straight ahead. "I also married your daughter so Bones couldn't get his hands on her." His bald words penetrated then. Captain Mason looked at him, his face incredulous and then heavy with relief. "Thank God," he said fervently, and Jess actually thought he meant it. Jess thought of all the unpleasant things he could say. He could

remind Mason that he had been bailed out yet again, and not required to be accountable. He could have scolded, chided, and humiliated Mason as he had heard others do, but he did not have the heart. Instead, he put his hand on the captain's shoulder and gave it a little shake. "I will take good care of her, sir," he said softly. "You need not worry about her again." If you ever did, he thought as he watched Mason's face. I am pretending that you care what happens to her. No matter what happens to you or me, I never need to have on my conscience that I kicked you when you were already prostrate. It's not something that is going to lie between me and Nell at nights, if we ever progress to that point. "What brings you here, Randall?" He didn't have to look around to know it was Major Bones, but he looked anyway. Harper stood behind the major, shrugging his shoulders. He couldn't help himself; the man frightened him and repulsed him at the same time. For a brief moment he tightened his grip on Mason's shoulder, then looked down at his father-in-law when the captain touched his hand with his own, as if in reassurance. "It's all right, Captain," Mason said under his breath. "I've been here before." With a visible effort, as though he were the most tired man on earth, Mason raised his face to the major. "Well, Major, is this our day of reckoning?" "Call it what you want, Mason," the major said. "I know you don't have any money, and I mean to take care of your daughter. You can go, Randall. Surely there's a bedpan somewhere to empty. Tell Nell Mason I have her clothes and other effects in with my equipage." He started to make some reply, but Mason interrupted him, his tone apologetic.

"Major, I have the money here." He hefted the bag once, almost longingly, and Jess wondered if he was thinking of all the drinks and good times it would contain, if he kept it. "Take it, sir. Thank you for the loan, and thank you for your kind consideration for my daughter, but she doesn't need you now." Jess wanted to laugh at the astonishment on Bones' face, but the moment was too highly charged. The major took the money in the handkerchief, staring at it as though he expected pus to ooze from the folds. "My God," Bones exclaimed, breathing the word in a way that made the hair stand on Jess's neck. "She still needs an escort, Mason, now that your wife is dead. I aim to be that man." "You're too late, Major," Captain Mason said calmly. There was nothing of defeat in his voice now; Jess could hardly recognize his tone. "Captain Randall here married my dear one this afternoon." Jess wished he had leisure to analyze the finality and triumph in Captain Mason's voice. What a weak man you are, he marveled to himself. I can almost think that you truly are giving a thought to Elinore now, when it is too late. "By God, you're joking," Bones said, his voice more a growl than human speech. "Not at all. When he thought—as I am certain everyone in our division thought—that Bertie Mason would not come through again, he married my girl," Mason said. "You're too late." Jess had cause to reflect, in the coming weeks, on the mischief three words could do. As he heard them coming in undisguised relief from Captain Mason, he knew that Major Bones' cup of bile—already full—ran over. He waited for Bones to slap him down to a bleeding nubbin. Bones did nothing, even though the small room seemed almost to

swell with his anger. He stared at the money handkerchief in his hand, and then at Jess. The tension was so palpable that Harper left his post by the door and came into the room. "Captain Randall, you will regret this." What will you do to me? Jess thought wearily. There are some rules in our society, rough as it is, and even you have to abide by them. "I love her," he said quietly. "1 always have." Bones smiled then, and it was an awful sight. "Hold that thought," he replied, his voice low and filled with menace. He left the room quietly, his face a study in control. The men in the room each heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, that was better than I thought, Jess," Mason said finally. He stood there a long moment, as if wondering what to do. "I believe your company needs you," Jess reminded him gently. "Oh, yes." He extended his hand. "Do take good care of my daughter," he said, and then shook his head, as if realizing how fatuous he sounded. "It will be the first time anyone has done so. What a novelty for her." He made no effort to hide the shame in his voice. His eyes on the ground, Captain Mason left the house. Jess walked back to the marching hospital in silence, Harper trailing along behind. The chief surgeon was in Number Eight. The last carton of supplies was tied with twine almost as carefully as though something was in it that would do any good. "We'll be fine if we meet with no emergencies, Jess," he said, his voice cheerful. "I am devoutly, fervently wishing for a retreat as boring as nature and war will allow. Do I ask too much?" Jess smiled. "We can dream." He looked at his wife, who sat by Jenks' cot, her hand in his. "Ho, Jenks," he called. "You'll make me jealous." He was rewarded with a blush from Elinore, and the sketch of a smile from the man who labored to breathe. He made his rounds, and regretfully dismissed six more patients.

He did not think Jenks would last out the week on a retreat. Two patients might improve—those two sitting up in their cots—if the rain would let up, and they could rest frequently. Restorative jellies would be nice, as well, he thought, and porridge with cream and the occasional egg. Oh, Hippocrates, did ever a surgeon blather on to you as I am doing now? "What is our order of march?" he asked Sheffield. The Chief looked up from the roster in his hand. "The Thirteenth Foot is moving out now, and the Tenth is coming behind them." He looked closer at the roster in the failing light. "By morning, we will be escorted by our own favorite Eleventh." "Good," Jess said fervently, thinking of his particular friends in that regiment, trusted men who watched his back when he was too busy to care for his own safety at Bussaco and Fuentes, and then Salamanca. Just knowing they would be marching with the Eleventh gave him his first peaceful moment since he said "I do" in the dead tent. Sheffield came closer. "Dan and I will sleep here in the hospital tonight. You and Nell can have the tent." He couldn't resist a smile at his mentor. "Chief, it's going to be a long time before Elinore and I share a cot." Sheffield's reply didn't surprise him, but it did make him wish that through all these years of war and worry, he had been able to know the man better. "Jesse, would it surprise you to know that sometimes there is nothing finer than simply holding the hand of a lovely woman, or talking to her? I think you're going to learn a lot from Nell." "More than she will learn from me?" he joked, touched at Sheffield's interest. The chief surgeon smiled back. "You really have no notion of how obvious your own integrity is, do you? Oh, don't blush Jess.

It's true." He came close enough to put his arm around Jess. "The only thing Nell needs to learn from you is that you will never let her down." "I won't, you know," he said quickly. "See that you don't. *** "He usually liked that moment in a marching hospital before the lights went dim, when all the patients had been tended and everything had been put in order. He stood a long moment before Jenks' cot. Dan already sat there, ready for the first watch. Jess touched his shoulder, and left the tent. He stood at the entrance to the sleeping tent for a long moment, wondering why he felt so uneasy, even during this twilight moment that usually brought him the most pleasure. He reckoned finally that there wasn't much that Major Bones could do to him. Surely he had his own responsibilities on the retreat. Elinore sat on the cot where the chief surgeon usually slept. His eyes went to the blue beads in her lap, and he sat down across from her on his own cot. "Did the Chief give those to you? He saved them all these years, and re-strung them." Her eyes glistened with tears. "He said he would get me a better wedding present when we were all safe behind the lines again, Captain." She let the beads click through her fingers. "I was awfully young then, wasn't I?" You've never been allowed to be young, my love, he thought. "Yes, you were. Elinore, you can call me Jesse or Jess now." "I will, eventually," she said. He was too tired to comment, and maybe a little irritated with himself. Silly you, he thought. You're married a few hours under strange circumstances, and you think it will be Jess right off, no

matter how many years she's known you? He took off his shoes and lay down on the cot. There was so much he wanted to say to the lovely lady sharing the tent with him, but his eyes closed and he slept instead. He slept soundly all night, only dimly aware of Elinore sleeping on the other cot, and then aware of nothing until the Thirteenth pulled out, and the Tenth pulled in. Or was it the Eleventh? Amazing how his tired mind could hear the rattle of chains and tack, the creak of leather, the suck and pull of heavy wheels rolling through mud, then filter it out. He woke just as the sun was coming up. He glanced at Elinore curled up in the other cot, her breathing even and deep, then lay back to enjoy the moment of silence. Silence. In one motion he was on his feet and out of the tent. The chief surgeon and Dan were ahead of him, standing by the opening to the marching hospital, staring as he was staring. "Where are they?" he asked finally, his voice hoarse from sleep. "Where is the Eleventh?" Sheffield said nothing for a long moment. His face appeared to drain of all color as he stared at the empty road, and the vacant clearing across it. "Dan, get me the roster," he said. His voice sounded unfamiliar to Jess. In another moment he held the retreat order in his hands. He read it again as Jess stood beside him, hardly breathing, then balled up the paper and lobbed it into the middle of the road, where it quickly absorbed water from last night's rain, and sank in a wagon wheel rut. "Damned foolish of me," he said finally, sounding more tired than if he had spent the day and night in surgery. "I must be getting old. I forgot that Major Bones was in charge of the order of march," he said. "Jess, I fear we have been abandoned."

Chapter Six No one seemed to know what to say; maybe what had happened was too big for words. I must be awfully naive, Jess thought when his mind began to work again. It's beyond me to think that a brother officer and an Englishman would do something so wicked. Nell stood beside him, leaning against his shoulder and probably not even aware of it. Her face paled as she took in the emptiness around the marching hospital. "It was Bones, wasn't it?" she said at last, and her voice sounded unfamiliar in its shock. He nodded, unable to trust his own voice. "I am so sorry," she said, then turned away from him and Sheffield. The shame in her voice lashed at his heart. As he watched, miserable, she moved closer to the road and stood there, apart from them, as the sky lightened. When the sun had cleared the low mountains, he could see, strewn across the soggy road, remnants of clothing, some shards of crockery, and a few bare sticks that might have been furniture, all driven into the mud by gun carriages, wagons, marching men, and horses' hooves. He only had to wonder for a minute what it was, because Elinore started to sob. She raised her skirt as though she was going to plunge into the quagmire after the pitiful fragments. He started for her, but she stopped. He stood there, stymied by his own indecisiveness. He did not know whether he should go to Elinore, or leave her alone at the road's edge. A great lot of good I have been doing her since our wedding, he thought as the Chief walked to the road and clasped an arm around his wife's shoulder.

"Clever of him, and so simple really," Sheffield said, his tone both bracing and conversational, perhaps to put Eli-nore at rest. "It couldn't have been hard, especially in the dark, to let each regiment think it was being followed by another that would escort us. Clever." The Chief kissed Elinore's forehead. "My dear, you knew his measure far better than the rest of us, didn't you? Well, good riddance to him is what I say." Elinore sighed. To Jess's dismay, he could see nothing of the cheerful lady who served so faithfully in the marching hospital. He came closer to hear what she said against the chief surgeon's chest. "Do you think we Masons are going to be bad luck forever, Chief?" He thought then that Dan O'Leary must have given him a push forward, but he couldn't be sure. He cursed his own shyness, but found his voice. "You're a Randall now, Elinore," he said when he got over his surprise at suddenly standing so close to his wife. "A Randall," he repeated. The Chief stepped back and pointed Elinore in his direction. With so much encouragement, he had no qualms about taking her hand. "We Randalls have nothing but bonny luck. It's written on our crest, Elinore: 'Luck follows love.' " "There you are then, dearie," Sheffield said. He smiled at them both and then nodded to Daniel. "Come, lad! We'd better prepare our patients for travel." He nodded to Jess. "I'm appointing you to figure out how we're going to get out of here." He winked. "Since you have all that luck, Captain Randall, eh?" If his chief had told him to sprout wings and fly to the lines of Torres Vedras, he could not have been more surprised. Anger followed: How dare he give me the impossible task, Hippocrates? Shame tread on anger's heels when he glanced down at the fear in his wife's eyes. Humility traipsed along behind them both, eyes cast down as always. He thought of everything he had promised when he swore Hippocrates' stupid oath. Nowhere did anything

explain this situation, but the burden was his. So be it. First things first; even Jenks and his labored breathing could wait for a moment. He draped his arm around Elinore's slight shoulders and stooped a little to whisper in her ear. "Elinore, I don't want you to doubt that I can do this," he whispered. "I can tell you not to worry, but I know you will. I insist, however, that you don't go into agonies about arriving at a solution by yourself. Let me do that now." She seemed to understand what he meant. "What can I do to help?" she whispered back, after a moment's thought, her cheek still close to his, her lips near his ear this time. Give her something to do. "Under my cot I have a cotton satchel like this leather one I carry my medicine in," he told her. "Get in my trunk and figure out what I should transfer to the satchel. We're all going to be traveling light." She nodded and went into the sleeping tent, leaving him with the larger problem. He wanted to follow her, sit on his cot, and wait for Sheffield to take charge. He wanted to feel sorry for himself, but a larger thought intruded and would not leave. Obviously he thinks I can make order out of this mess, he told himself. Perhaps I can. Thoughtfully, he walked around the marching hospital, looking for a solution. Bones had left nothing behind that would be of any use, except the tent and all the cots inside. And that was it, pure and simple. "Well, now," he said out loud. He was back in his tent in a moment. Elinore looked up in surprise. She held up one of his shirts. "These are all disgraceful," she scolded. "Didn't you ever go to a party in Lisbon? I know why I am shabby, but why are you so shabby?" He had the grace to feel a twinge of embarrassment. "I'd really rather flop on my cot with a good book, Elinore," he told her.

"Even in Lisbon. Oh, especially in Lisbon." He grinned at her. "And now you're regretting your marriage to such a boring man, I vow." She said nothing, returning no answer beyond a blush. She looked so darling there with his shirts in her hands that he wanted to touch her in places anatomical and see if she reacted as his lecturer on partes delta femina predicted. He did not doubt that he had the touch, which brought a blush to his own face. Back to the problem, or rather, its solution. "Elinore, come with me now. I need an interpreter." She asked no questions, but dropped the shirts on his cot and followed him from the tent. He told himself that he took her hand to hurry her along, but he knew he just wanted to feel that much of her. It was a short walk through muddy streets to the alcalde's headquarters. He didn't know what it was constructed of, but the whole structure seemed to be peeling. A sharp rap on the door brought the alcalde himself, looking impatient and ready to be disagreeable, rather like a burdened relative who has been praying for his houseguests to leave, and feeling no patience for the stragglers remaining. Before he had a chance to close the door on them, Jess greeted him in Spanish and asked to come inside. "We are allies," he reminded the Spaniard pointedly, and it gained them entrance, although not the offer of a seat or a glass of wine. Never mind; he didn't require niceties. He had explained the whole matter to Elinore on the walk. He looked at her, and she began at once. She had a lovely accent, and Jess found himself doubly impressed. Who, he reasoned, would ever turn down such a sweet-faced lady? It appeared to be a hard bargain. Elinore stated her case, and

listened to the return flow from the alcalde. She inclined her head toward Jess. "He says he will give you a wagon for the tents and cots, but not a single horse. He says he has none to spare." "He's a liar," Jess whispered back. "What good is a wagon without horses?" She returned to the bargaining. Don't promise him too much, Jess thought. "He will not budge beyond a wagon. In fact, he wants to know what is stopping him from taking the whole lot after we leave? He reminds us that the French are just waiting behind the walls of Burgos for us to leave." "Please tell the old wind satchel that we are still allies— in case he has forgotten—and that I promise to put a torch to the tent and the cots, rather than give them up." She turned her charm upon the alcalde again, but even Jess could tell that the man had no other offer to make. Without bothering to wait for her translation, he told her to take the man's offer. "And tell him to bring the wagon to the marching hospital right away." "We still don't have any horses, Captain," she reminded him when they left. He tightened his grip on her fingers. "My dear, I am about to engage in real skullduggery. Please look away. It is probably too much to ask you to stop your ears. Harper!" he called as they neared the tent. "I want you now!" I can't believe I am about to do this, he thought as the private threw back the tent flap and gave another of his patently slovenly salutes. "Harper, you are to find me two horses. I don't care how you do it. If you squirreled away any of the QM's money when I wasn't watching, use that. If your pockets are as to let as mine, just get me horses. Take Wilkie." He thought a moment. "In fact, you may exchange him for horses."

Harper laughed. "Who'd want'im? Sir, you told me I was never to do anything underhanded again," he reminded Jess virtuously. "What a fool I was, Private," Jess replied. "Overlook it, please. Now, do it." With a grin of absolute understanding, Harper sloped off. Jess took Elinore's hand again and went back to his tent. As she watched, he picked out the best shirt and trousers among his tatters, one book of surgery in Italian that he could not bear to part with, a pair of shoes, and his comb and toothbrush. He crammed them in the canvas satchel and picked up his overcoat. "You will take your rosary," she said, putting it in the satchel. "I am not much of a Catholic," he told her. "You might want it," she said calmly. "And this bay rum." "Oh, my dear, I don't need that," he said in protest. "I like it." Oh, you do? he asked himself. I had no idea. "Very well. I hate to disappoint the ladies." The alcalde's men brought the wagon and immediately began to dismantle the tent. Jess could hardly hide his disappointment at the wagon, a miserable affair with wobbly wheels and only room for two stretchers. The axles and wheels were entirely of wood and looked drier than bones. (Oh, dreadful word.) Well, it will not be a silent retreat from Number Eight of the Peninsular Royal Medical Corps, he thought. After some discussion, he and Dan lowered the stretcher bearing Jenks into the wagon bed. The second stretcher barely fit, and was occupied by three patients who had only room to sit up, rump to rump, and lean back against the rough wood. "Chief, can you squeeze yourself in the wagon bed, too?" he asked.

"I should probably walk and let Elinore ride," Sheffield protested, but he made no more objection when Jess insisted. Jess watched him climb carefully into the wagon, wondering to himself when the Chief got old. It must have been during the siege, he decided, only I was too busy to notice. Best he should ride. There they sat as the sun rose higher. The alcalde's servants, who had always seemed so slow-moving when urged on any errand or effort during the siege, moved with startling speed. In a flash the tent was down, the ropes and pegs stowed in a canvas bag, and the cots folded. As they carried away the tent, other townspeople came out to point at the wagon and laugh out loud. "We do seem to be lacking any form of locomotion," Sheffield commented, "but how nice to provide a moment of comic relief for our stalwart allies. Do you suppose Noah felt this way inside the ark before it started to rain?" Jess felt his face grow hot. He wondered if Harper, with Wilkie in tow, had decided to find his own route to the Portuguese border, one that didn't involve the hindrance of the wounded. The Chief cleared his throat rather louder than was necessary, and Jess was just glancing his way when the guns went off. Elinore shrieked and crowded herself close to him as the ground shook, and a mound of black smoke coming from the cemetery wreathed upward in the sky. After a startled pause, the villagers who had gathered ran away. When the road was clear, Harper and Wilkie came riding over the small crest on horseback, Harper with black powder on his face and a grin. He waved to Jess. "Lord love us, I still think a diversion is the best medicine for what ails us, Captain. Lend me a hand now, sir." Lend he did, asking no questions as he helped the soldiers hitch up the horse, one quite geriatric and the other taking mincing steps to show its dislike of the smoke and noise. It was a beautiful dun, with an elegant saddle, and it took vast exception to being

yoked to a wagon. Elinore stood at the edge of the road, her eyes on the great mushroom of smoke, then hurried to his side as soon as he stepped back. Harper moved faster than Jess had ever seen before. "Uh, are these animals soon to be missed?" Jesse asked finally. He tossed the reins up to Wilkie, who with a grimace and a grunt, had climbed into the wagon. In another moment they were underway. Harper fell into step beside him. "Not sure, sir, but Wilkie and I thought it best to set off a little alarm; you know, something to clear the streets of riffraff." Jess stopped then, and waited for Dan O'Leary to hand him his medical satchel. O'Leary shouldered his other bag and shook his head when Jess tried to take it. There was another explosion and then another. "My word, Harper!" Jess declared. "Did you always harbor a secret wish to be part of the artillery? I think even Sir Arthur would be impressed." The private shook his head, his face serious. "That's the French, Captain. They must think we have a ruddy arsenal. D'ye think we could step out a little smarter now?" It was a snail's pace. Jess had the oddest sensation of revisiting a childish nightmare of being eight feet tall and trying to move fast on meringue feet, but making no headway as a monster thundered behind. He expected at any moment to see Souham's famous hussars top the rise behind them and come pelting down, screaming that strange, warbling cry of theirs which never quite served to mask the zipping sound when saber came from scabbard. He resisted the urge to look over his shoulder, mainly because Elinore was watching him with anxious eyes. Conversation seemed the best idea. "Tell me, Harper," he began, keeping his voice as prosaic as possible. "I know I wasn't going to ask, but I am curious where these horses came from, especially that dun, who appears to have an exalted lineage."

Harper was a long time in answering. "Sir, let me say it this way: we had no idea how close the French were. I thought they'd stay inside the walls another day." He leaned closer. "And you know, sir? They're pretty sloppy when they think nobody British is around." He looked back at the pretty horse struggling against the yoke. "I think one of the Frogs is 'opping mad, don't you?" Jess opened his mouth to say something, but shook his head instead. Elinore patted his arm. "Perhaps it's time for things to get better." They didn't. Jenks died around two o'clock in the afternoon, worn out from trying to breathe, and the rains began again, further slowing their pace. As Sheffield took a final check of the dead man's pulse, Jess went through his usual list, remembering with excruciating detail every remedy he had ever attempted on Jenks, and asking himself if there were something more he could have done. When he could not think of one more treatment that would have made a difference, there was nothing to do but cover Jenks' face and keep going. Elinore continued to earn his admiration. Despite the mud that tugged at her dress hem and the cold rain on her face, she burrowed deeper in her cloak, gripped his hand, and kept moving. He thought of the ladies his mother had trooped through the estate on his last visit to Scotland, all with incomes, bright faces, and accomplishments. He nudged his wife's shoulder. "Elinore, can you sketch?" "No." "Knot a fringe?" "No!" "Speak Italian?" She smiled. "No. I think my Spanish is useful to you, however, considering that all you can say is hello, and how are the missus

and children." She stopped in the road, and he stopped, too, mainly because he had no desire to turn loose of her. "See here, Captain, are you comparing me to ladies you have known?" She's a bright one, Hippocrates, he thought, but we already knew that. "Yes, I am, Elinore, and you're coming out rather well." To his dismay, her eyes filled with sudden tears. "One dress and a borrowed cloak, and you can say that?" "I can say that. Do mind that puddle, Elinore. I'd hate for you to get your shoes muddy!" He laughed and stepped out of the way when she took a swing at him with the cloth bag of bandages and plasters she carried. Yes, I can say that, he thought, feeling far too cheerful for someone who had just lost a patient, wasn't totally sure where he was, and who, for all he knew, was only a hill or two ahead of the French. Things are looking up, he told himself. Maybe it's time for the luck of the Randalls. Bedraggled and sore-footed, they came to the village of Santos as the watery, poor excuse for a sun started to set. He knew that Elinore was flagging; not that she walked any slower, but that she stopped talking, as though needing all her energy to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. If only the rain would stop, he grumbled in silent frustration. The damp had wicked all the way up his wife's dress to her waist, and he knew she must be colder than all of them. It was Santos, because he remembered that the steeple on the church had been toppled by one army or the other. While he did not recall a particularly friendly citizenry on the way up to Burgos in August, his experience told him that eventually the villagers would scrounge up food from somewhere, and a bed or two. He would have Elinore announce in Spanish that he was a surgeon, and promise a clinic before they left in the morning.

They must have just missed Vespers, which surprised Jess, because he thought his timepiece was accurate. He looked around. The village seemed almost deserted. With a chill, he noticed that as the wagon creaked by each house, lights went out within. "I don't like this," he whispered to Elinore. "Walk closer to me." "I suppose they are tired of feeding the British," she said. Somehow—how he did not know, considering his open nature— he knew that was not the answer, not this night. "Chief, do you think we should avoid this town?" he asked. Sheffield swore an oath from inside the wagon. "Jess, I think you must truly work harder to overcome your somewhat retiring disposition! What could be more harmless than two surgeons? Besides that, our patients here—remember them?—need a bed and some broth. Wilkie, stop our gallant steeds there in the plaza. Elinore, turn loose of that timid fellow of yours and announce to the citizens that the surgeons have arrived." "Of course I will," Elinore replied. She released her tight grip on his arm. "He doesn't mean to be a grouch," she told Jesse. And I don't mean to be suspicious, he thought, even as he let her leave his side and walk closer to the wagon. He wanted to call her back, but he did not feel up to another outburst from the chief surgeon. Who, I must admit, Hippocrates, has been at this military doctoring business far longer than I have, he thought. Still, am I the only one noticing that candles and lamps are going out in the houses around us? He looked around and his unease increased to see dark forms gathering on each narrow street they passed. No one spoke, and he hoped they chose not to follow. He looked at the wagon, wanting to say something. I am too timid, he thought. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the wagon stopped; they were in

the plaza. "It is awfully dark," he ventured as Sheffield, with Harper's assistance, clambered awkwardly down from the high-sided cart. "It is November!" Sheffield hissed, but in a low voice that made Jess wonder if the mood of the village was now on him, too. The Chief gestured for Elinore. "Come, my dear, lend me your arm. I am stiff with sitting." He glared at Jess. "Nell and I will bravely go find the alcalde and ask his assistance." He paused. "We would invite your husband, Nell, but he is too shy. He may tend to the wounded." Experience told him that there was no reasoning with Sheffield when he was in a black mood. Instead, he nodded to Harper. "Private, I am in his black book. Give me a hand up into ..." "No." He stopped, startled. He made to say something stern for once, but Harper was not looking at him. The soldier stared over his shoulder into the center of the plaza. "No, please," Harper said again, and there was no overlooking the pain and pleading in his voice, a far cry from his usual wheedling tone. Jess turned around to see a flash. He winced and instinctively braced himself for the explosion, which reverberated in the square, surrounded as it was by buildings. His stomach dropped below his shoes when Elinore screamed. "Oh, God, no," he said, and ran toward his wife, who stood grasping the chief surgeon. He heard Harper shouting at him to wait, but he could not. Not until he was only a few feet from the two of them did he see the neatly drilled hole in the exact middle of Sheffield's forehead. What happened next happened fast. Sheffield dropped first to his knees and then facedown in the mud, dragging Elinore with him. Sobbing out loud and calling his name, she tried to turn him over

as she struggled to rise into a sitting position. He did not see the two men who came out of the plaza's gloom, probably because his eyes were still dazzled by the flash and report of the musket. They grabbed his arms as Elinore shrieked at them in Spanish, the sound of her terror utterly foreign to his ears. He looked down to feel the muzzle of a pistol jammed just above his belt. He braced himself again, wishing simultaneously for a priest, and for more time, more time. His life did not flash before his eyes; he knew that the breath he drew next would be his last, and he would be as dead as Jenks in the wagon. He closed his eyes, dreading the flash more than the ball that he knew would eviscerate him. Click. Another click. Elinore gasped, and then she was pleading with the men who held him, even as she crawled toward him. "I love you," he whispered, but she did not seem to hear him above her own voice. She was telling them he was a doctor, saying it over and over, first in Spanish, then English, then French, as if seeking, in her desperation, to find the common language of chaos. No one seemed to listen. The pistol clicked once more against his belly, then the pressure on his stomach ceased as the weapon was withdrawn. He took an experimental breath, and then another. His eyes dull now, he watched as the pistol flashed back in a wicked swing. It came forward against his head, and he remembered no more.

Chapter Seven Elinore held her breath in horror as her husband hung in the grip of the men who held him, then dropped insensibly to the ground

when they let him go. "I tell you, he is a doctor!" she screamed. "And so is this man you have killed!" To her unutterable relief, someone finally seemed to understand. As she watched, crouched there on her hands and knees, a woman ran forward and spoke rapidly to the men who stood so close around Jesse. She gestured, she spoke, and then the men murmured to each other and backed away. One of them turned Jesse over, and wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand. He hardly looked in Elinore's direction. She tried to stand, but her legs felt like jelly. Harper came to her then, pulling her to her feet and steadying her until she found her balance. She wanted to tell him thank you, but he was looking beyond her to Sheffield, who would never move again. "Gor, miss," Harper said, his voice subdued. "I doubt he knew what hit him. What do you suppose is the matter with these people? If they're supposed to be allies, pray God we never run into the Frogs on this retreat." "Something must have happened here," she said. "Oh, please turn the Chief over. At least get his face out of the mud." Elinore, you goose, she chided herself, why should that possibly matter now? But it did. While Harper did as he was told, Elinore approached the woman who had come from the darkness, and who now held a bloody cloth to Jesse's temple. "I do not know that you will forgive us for this," she said in Spanish. "The old man was a doctor, too?" "A surgeon, and you in this village have killed him. For shame," she murmured, declining to say one more word. She knelt by her husband's head and raised him to rest in her lap. Elinore felt his head cautiously. To her relief, she felt no grating bones, no jagged edges. She gathered him close, numb at what happened in less than five minutes. She sat there in the dark plaza, wet to the bone, and more alone than at any point in her life.

Then Dan O'Leary knelt beside her, his hand on her shoulder. Like her, his other hand went to Jesse's head, only his probings were more expert. "He can probably use a suture or two," he said calmly, his voice so prosaic that she felt the cloud on her heart lift. "I'll wave this under his nose, and we'll see if he chooses to rejoin. . . ." He paused, and shook his head, then gave her an apologetic look. "I was going to say, 'rejoin the human race,' but I'm not so sure they've progressed that far in this village." Dan held the vial under Jesse's nose. In another moment he was groaning and trying to move away from the pungent odor. His eyelids fluttered open, and he stared as though trying to focus his gaze. "Chief?" Elinore shook her head. "Oh, Jess," she whispered, and held him closer to her. "One moment he was grumbling to me, and the next . . . Oh, Jess." He closed his eyes again, and she thought in a panic that he had gone under and left her alone again. "Please stay here, Jess!" she pleaded with him. "Dan, do something!" Dan took Jess's face gently in his hands. "Captain? Do you hear me?" "I do." "Do you know where you are?" Jesse was silent for a moment, his eyes still closed. "Not heaven, I'll wager." He shivered. "Too cold for hell. I'll bite, Dan. Where?" Dan smiled at him, the worried look gone from his eyes. "It's not the last line to a quip, sir. I just wanted to know if you were lucid." "I wish I weren't." Don't we all, Elinore thought, and looked around. The circle of

men seemed smaller, or perhaps they were just standing farther away now, in itself a comforting sign. The woman remained where she was. Elinore realized that she had never stopped talking. Jess must have noticed it, too. He frowned up at her. "Elinore, tell her . . . stop. My head . . ." "Por favor," Elinore said. "Por favor, senora. Le duele la cabeza." It seemed like a polite hint to Elinore, but the woman did not stop importuning. She tugged at Elinore's dress now, not mindful of the mud, and came even closer to Jesse, even though he had closed his eyes again and turned his face toward Elinore's breast, as if wanting to block out everything. She held him close, watched the woman, and then tried to make sense of what she was saying so persistently. Gradually her mind calmed, and she began to understand. She looked around for Dan, who had returned to the wagon and with Harper and Wilkie's help was lifting out the wounded men. She could not help but see the body of her dear surgeon, who lay so still in her line of sight. "You have made a terrible mistake," she said out loud. "Eh, my dear, I hope you're not referring to me," Jesse said. "Even though I did promise you the Randall luck." "So you did," she replied, and didn't know what else to say. Long ago I taught myself not to have any expectations, she thought. I shan't start now, no matter what he promises. I wonder if we will leave this village alive. She called to Dan, who came to her side as soon as the patients were leaning against the fountain in the plaza's center. "Dan, would you go with this woman? She is saying something about her daughter. I think there is a baby."

"Never my strong suit," Dan said. He looked at the woman, who had transferred her pleading gaze to him now. "Let us bargain with her first, Nell. Tell her I will go as soon as these men are safe under a roof." "You will go now." Elinore looked down in surprise. Jesse was trying to struggle into a sitting position. She helped him up. He looked at Dan until his eyes focused. "I never bargain with desperate people," he said simply. "Go with her. We'll see how persuasive Harper can be with our patients. Call him over, Elinore. It's time he became a force for good." Carefully Elinore explained to the woman that she should take Daniel with her. Don't argue, she pleaded silently as the woman hesitated. My Spanish can't stand up to much nuance. She held her breath while a variety of emotions—principal among them anxiety—crossed the woman's face. Finally she nodded. Elinore released her breath slowly as the woman started off at a trot down one of the dark streets. Dan watched her go, then looked at Jesse, a question in his eyes and some considerable trepidation. "Just observe. I have taught you that." He paused, then his words came out more crisp. "So did the Chief." "But I have never ..." Jesse shook his head, then groaned. "Observe, then tell me. Go on." When Dan followed the woman, Jesse leaned against Nell's shoulder, as though his neck was not strong enough to support his head. "Call Harper over here, my dear. Prop me against the fountain, too, and see what you can do for our men." A thousand objections came to her mind. Let me do something for you, she wanted to tell him. Instead, she indicated for Harper to help her move Jesse. He did better than that. As she watched,

the big man gently plucked her husband off her lap and carried him to the fountain, when he leaned him against the tiles. She hurried after him, gathering up his leather medicine satchel where he had dropped it when the men grabbed him. She propped it on one side of him, and the bandages and plasters on the other side. He smiled at her, his eyes less confused. "Wilkie will stay here with us. You take Harper and see if you can find a place for the night. Surely there is a priest." With Harper—face so serious now—hovering over her like a man with a mission, Elinore took her courage in both hands and approached the circle of men. In a moment she was in the center of it, speaking as carefully as she could, almost willing them to understand her. To their credit, the men were trying to understand her as hard as she was desperate to be understood. "We are all that remains of a British hospital, and we were left behind through an error," she concluded. "Please help me find a place for our wounded." She thought a moment, piecing through her Spanish grammar like a beggar at a rag bag. "If you can do this, my husband the surgeon will hold a clinic in the morning for any of you who are sick." And if you do not, our retreat will end right here, hardly before it began, she told herself. The men were silent for a long moment, and Harper looked about, as if gauging their chances for a hasty withdrawal. She touched his arm and whispered, "That is the way they are, Private. Be patient." She thought of all the tradesmen she had argued with on her mother's behalf from her youngest years, and the quiet women with gold hoops in their ears who washed the soldiers' clothes and sometimes bedded them. She knew they would think, then talk among themselves, then act. "We will help you, senora," one of the men said finally. With a few words, he indicated that she should follow them back to the fountain. Despite the mud and damp that weighed down her skirts, and a weariness so deep that there was no name for it, she

thought she could have skipped across the plaza. In another moment, Jesse was directing them through her to find the men blankets, and feed them soup, if there was any. "Y usted, senor?" asked the spokesman. "Elinore, please tell him I must stay here until Dan returns. Can you ask him to take the Chief into the church?" She did as he requested, and two men picked up Sheffield and moved him from her sight. Everyone worked quickly, and soon the plaza was nearly deserted. "I hope I can find my patients in this rabbit warren," Jesse murmured to her. He looked over at the man who was sitting now on the fountain's rim. "Alcalde?" He shook his head, and looked at Elinore. "Please tell him our alcalde is dead." His expression hardened. "We were visited by the British earlier." Elinore stared at him. "Surely you mean the French." "I do not, senora." He shrugged, but there was no lessening of the bitterness in his eyes. "I think our priest is with the alcalde's family." "I ... I don't understand," she began. "He can explain it to you. He speaks a little English, 1 think." That will be welcome, she thought. Even though her breath came in little frosty puffs, her back was wet with perspiration from the exertion of speaking even her imperfect Spanish. She prepared to compose another sentence to ask for a blanket for Jesse and some food, when she saw Dan hurrying toward them. She stood up from her own perch on the fountain's rim. "Dan, thank goodness! Now you can help me with Jesse." Dan didn't even look at her. He knelt in front of her husband, touching his face to make sure he was awake. "Sir, we have a problem."

She wasn't even sure he was awake, but Jesse managed a faint chuckle. "Dan, we have enough problems right now." "Here's another," the steward insisted. "The woman's daughter has been in labor over twenty-one hours—that's veinte y un, isn't it, Elinore?—and I can't figure out where the baby is." "Oops," Jesse said, and Elinore wondered only briefly at his mental state. "Which means that little nino must be lying crosswise. They do that, Dan, but only at highly inopportune times, I think. A dry presentation?" Dan nodded. "I think the mother said it had been ten hours since the water broke." "Worse and worse." It pained her to watch how slowly he turned his head in her direction. "Elinore, help me to my feet. Dan, I trust you can find this place again." "Of course, sir." Elinore looked at them both in disbelief. "Jesse! You can hardly turn your head!" She might as well have said nothing, for all the attention either man paid her. She looked at Harper, and he shrugged. She knew she was defeated. After a glance from Dan, Harper slung the bag of medicines on his shoulder and eased his other arm around the surgeon. A few shaky steps, a pause, and a few more steps saw them across the plaza. By the time they reached the narrow street, Jesse walked with minimal assistance. Elinore hurried to catch up with them, her fear lessening as a Spaniard from the plaza accompanied her, carrying a lamp high now. They walked silently until they reached a house that was better lit than those on either side. "Your husband is a stubborn man, no?" he said. "He is, indeed," she replied, wondering why she had never really

noticed that about Jesse Randall before. Do men change when they become husbands? she asked herself. Has he always been this way? Why didn't I notice? The door opened. She went inside, grateful for the warmth. The man who had escorted her remained in the doorway. He bowed to her. Every man a king, her father had once said. "Thank you," she said. "Por nada," he replied, and bowed again. "I will remain outside, senora, if you have need of me." He smiled at her then. "I can look for the priest later, if you wish. He can tell you what a difficult day this has been in our little village, for you and for us." A woman screamed then, the sound a combination of pain and exhaustion that went to Elinore's heart. And there will be my husband, she thought. "I must help now," she told the man, and held out her hand. "Thank you." She took a deep breath and followed the sound down the hall. A quick glance around her suggested a house belonging to people of means. She hurried up the low steps to the second floor, where Harper stood outside a closed door, his face ashen, his arms wrapped around himself. She touched his arm. "Oh, miss, how does he do it?" "I do not know, Private." She took another deep breath and entered the room. Her husband stood just barely upright, leaning against the mattress. As she watched, he leaned forward until his ear rested against the distended belly of a young woman as ghostly white as Harper. She started to whimper, but Jesse grasped her hand at the wrist and began to gently massage her forearm. In another moment she was silent. He leaned away when he finished, and Dan guided him to the chair by the bed. He did not release the woman's hand. Elinore

knew she should have gone to his side so she could translate, but she was transfixed in the doorway by the scene in front of her. I have watched this man for years, and it is as though I have never seen him before, she marveled to herself. She stood in the doorway and watched suffering of the rawest kind of a woman trying to give birth to a baby that could not be born, and her husband held her arm and calmed her with the force of his presence. She had never seen anything like it. She had to let him know she was there. "Jesse," she said. "What can I do?" She knew she wanted to run away from the struggle ahead; she also knew she would rather die than disappoint this husband of almost two days. He looked around at the sound of her voice, quiet as it was, and smiled at her. Oh, please don't look at me with relief, she thought in terror. Don't look as though you expect me to be of any earthly use. "Thank God you're here, Elinore," he said, and there was no denying the relief in his voice. "Dan, you and Harper find our hospital patients and tend to them. We will join you as soon as we can." She expected some argument from Dan, but he offered none. A glance at his stricken face told her that he had no stomach for what lay ahead. She heard the door close behind him, and in the silence, footsteps on the stairs. The woman laboring on the bed began to writhe then, and tense herself, then try to dig her bare heels into the mattress as the contractions overwhelmed her. Elinore noticed the woman from the plaza, wrapping her arms around what must be her daughter, breathing along with her. The woman's cries were fainter now. "She's so tired," Jesse said. And what about you? Elinore wanted to shout. Have you not

been through enough this evening? A man we both love is dead, and here you are, perhaps caring for the daughter of his murderer, for all we know? Someone had bound up the laceration on his temple, probably Dan, and she winced to see how swollen it was. When the contraction eased and the exhausted woman lay panting, Elinore tentatively reached out and rested her hand on the woman's arm. Jesse removed his hand and leaned back in the chair, his eyes closed. "Can you do anything for her?" she asked. "I think so." He opened his eyes and leaned carefully forward, trying not to move his head. "Will you tell Sonia's mother—this is Sonia Ramos—that I am going to try to turn the baby?" He looked at her and Elinore saw the fight in his eyes, even though one of them was quite black now from the blow. "That baby is still breathing, and, by God, we're going to give it a chance." She leaned close to him. "Can they both live?" "I don't hold out much hope for that, but I would say we are overdue for some good luck, wouldn't you?" "I have never heard you refer to medicine as luck," she said. "Then I have been a magnificent actor," he replied. "I wonder that Kemble and Keane have not beaten a path to my surgery before now. Translate for me, Elinore, while I see if I can get water to wash off some of this mud. Do you think there might even be a clean shirt in all of Santos?" It was then that Elinore noticed others in the room, servants, apparently, who stood by a large basin with steam rising from it. "I will help you first," she said, and got to her feet. She unbuttoned his muddy, bloodstained shirt, lamented its destruction briefly, considering what else he had to wear, and tossed it aside. She spoke to the servants, washed her husband's upper body. The cloths they handed her were hot, but from his

sigh, she knew he needed them. She took great care around his face, pausing while Sonia suffered through another racking contraction. "Look at me, Jesse," she ordered when Sonia was silent again, her eyes huge in her white face. He did as she said, and she wiped his face clean. When she finished, one of the servants produced a shirt that was too long in the sleeves, but clean. Elinore rolled back the sleeves. "There," she said. "Wash yourself now." "Me?" she asked, startled. "Yes. Elinore, I hate to tell you this, but if my hand and forearm won't fit, you'll have to do this." I can't, she wanted to say, even as she rolled up her sleeves well past her elbows and plunged her arms into the same warm water. She had a faraway memory of her mother assuring her that she would meet a man one day who would marry her despite her lack of dowry, and hers would be a life of ease. Poor Mama, she thought as she dried her arms and tried to keep her mind free of what lay ahead. Did I ever believe her? She glanced at the surgeon, hoping he would not notice her covert look, because she knew she would feel shy. I wish there was someone I could ask: does any woman ever really know her husband? I thought he was just a mild-mannered man who would see me safely to the Portuguese border, she told herself. I think now that he is rather indomitable. Who would have thought it? Willing herself to be calm, she mentally lined up all the words in Spanish that she knew, and tried to explain to Sonia and her mother what would happen. She resorted finally to pantomime, and would have cringed at the look that came into their eyes, except that Jesse was watching, and it was not in her to

disappoint him. Under his direction, she and Sonia's mother tugged her down close to the end of the bed. Jesse indicated that the servants add more wood to the brazier. He sat in silence for a moment on a stool at the end of the bed, his eyes closed and his hand to his temple. She thought he was praying. He opened his eyes finally and looked sideways at her. "Moments like this, my dear, I wish I had gone into the import-export business, like my wee brother Bob." She laughed— she couldn't help herself—and Sonia's mother gave her a hard stare. He sat out another of Sonia's useless contractions, then rose up enough to pull back the woman's nightgown, pull down her legs until they dangled off the end of the bed, and directed the servants to hold her shoulders. "Roll my sleeve up again," he commanded Elinore. "Here I go." She closed her eyes and prayed that he would be successful, not so much that her heart ached for Sonia, so exhausted and so terrified, but that she, Elinore Randall, would not have to push her hand inside the mystery of a woman's body and try to sort out the confusion within. Jesse probably knows more about women than I ever will, she thought, and I am a woman. Teeth clenched, she watched as her husband, his own face set in a grim mask, gently insinuated his hand inside the woman on the bed. His face was turned toward her, and she had a good look at his expression, which went from expressionless to extremely interested. It was a look she recognized, the look he wore when examining intriguing cases. "What have you found?" she whispered. "One good thing. The baby's lying transverse, yes, but it is facedown. I wouldn't give Sonia a chance if it were faceup. I know there is a mouth somewhere. Yes!"

She almost winced to think that he had hooked a finger in the baby's mouth, but knew he had when he smiled. "He's gumming me, lass," he told her. "Hang onto Sonia right there, and push with the heel of your hand when I tell you, please." She joined the girl's mother and the servant, and gripped Sonia around the middle. Sonia was screaming helplessly now, a woman staring at death, but too tired to resist its blandishments. She went limp. "Find her pulse, Elinore," he said urgently. She reached for Sonia's neck, and there it was. She nodded. "Push now and rotate your hand as I pull down," he ordered. She did as he said and felt the baby move. "Keep at it. Ah, there." He pulled out his arm, and she was by him at once with a towel to wipe off the blood and fluid. Sonia began to moan again. He patted her leg and pantomimed that the mother and servant should pull her up slightly from the end of the bed. When they did, he raised the woman's knees, took a towel from Elinore, and slid it under Sonia's hips. "Now we wait," he said, "but I think not for long." He leaned forward suddenly and rested his forehead on Sonia's upraised knee, his eyes closed. He stayed that way until Sonia tensed for another contraction, and grunted in surprise when she realized that something was actually happening this time. Sonia's daughter was born a few minutes later, angry at the indignities heaped upon her in a cruel world, and gulping great breaths. A huge bruise had already formed in the corner of her mouth, but her slimy legs jerked and her hands waved about, as if conducting some grand chorus to survival and tenacity. "Welcome to Santos," Jesse said as he held up the wriggling lump in both hands. "I'm sorry I called you a he." As the baby squalled even louder than Sonia's mother was crying, Jesse tucked her against his chest and with his little finger gave her mouth a

professional swab. He laughed out loud when she made water on him. "Take that, you surgeon, eh? Let me separate you from the tie that binds and give you to your mother without delay. Elinore? Do I see a blanket by that brazier?" She couldn't believe him. He was so animated, so alive with the pleasure of holding that hard-fought-for infant, that he seemed to be unaware of his own pain. "I'll be damned," she said softly. "I will never understand the medical profession." He couldn't possibly have heard her over the wails of the child, the prayers of the new grandmother, or the exhausted tears of the mother, but he looked her way quickly, and winked at her with his good eye. After he cut the cord, he gave Sonia a little tug and then a push that expelled the afterbirth onto the towel under her. Her heart full, Elinore held out a blanket, wrapped it quickly around the child. Sonia's daughter was quiet now, looking around and blinking as though she couldn't believe the muddle she had landed herself in. Welcome to war and Spain, Elinore thought and felt the tears behind her own eyes. You've been dragged here by a rather tenacious man. As soon as he handed her the baby, Jesse moved Sonia's foot a little and rested his head on the mattress. "Just a little rest, that's all," he murmured. Before Elinore walked around the bed to relinquish the baby, she leaned forward and kissed Jesse's forehead. "My goodness" was all she could think of to say. She held the baby tight to her and looked down at her husband. He was breathing deeply and evenly; she had never seen anyone fall asleep as fast as that. She bent forward again to kiss him, but hesitated, her lips right next to his cheek. I'd hate to wake someone who deserves a rest, she thought and raised herself up. To her complete gratification, he opened the only eye available to him. "Don't waste them, Elinore," he said. "Some Scot you will be."

Without a word she kissed him again, then carried the baby to Sonia, who tried to hold out her arms, but was too spent to do more than open her hands and gesture. Carefully, Elinore placed the baby close to Sonia's side and draped her arm around the infant. She watched in deep appreciation as Sonia's arm tightened. Someone tugged at her skirt. She looked back, a smile on her face, to see Jesse's wonderfully dexterous fingers wrapped around the fabric of her dress. She smiled and watched him sleep, resting her hand on his head.

Chapter Eight When he woke a few minutes later, he wouldn't leave the room. He did allow Elinore to lead him over to a low bench at the wall, where he leaned back and closed his eyes. "I'm going to stay right here and watch for a while," he told her before he bowed his head forward and slept. She sat beside him and pulled his head onto her shoulder. "I'll watch for you," she whispered. She watched—hard put to keep her own eyes open—and listened to the low murmurs of the women around the bed as they tended to the new mother in timeless fashion. Sonia slept, too, even as one of the older women helped the infant find her mother's breast. Sonia's eyes flickered open as her child tugged at her, then closed again with a sigh of contentment. How resilient women are, Elinore thought with admiration. Sonia may fool my husband by surviving, but I am not so sure she will surprise me. She looked at her husband, wishing he could sleep for hours and hours, but knowing that any sound of distress from Sonia or her small daughter would bring him wide awake. Maybe they will

both live, she thought. Perhaps our luck has turned. That only led to the view in her mind of the Chief lying facedown in the plaza, dead for no good reason. She was starting to breathe evenly again when she noticed the priest standing in the doorway. He was so quiet, and the room so dim that she wondered briefly if he was real or the imagination of her tired brain. But no, Harper stood behind him, his eyes on Jesse with such a proprietary look that Elinore knew her husband had a bodyguard now, whether he wanted one or not. She nodded toward the priest, so he would know she was awake. He came into the room then, and made the sign of the cross over mother and baby, who both slept. He listened to Sonia's mother, who spoke too rapidly for Elinore to follow and then gestured in Jesse's direction. Just let him sleep, please, she thought. Surely whatever more bad news you have can wait until morning. No luck. The priest sat down beside her, but he kept his voice low. To her relief, he spoke in English. "Your husband has worked a miracle here, no?" "Yes, I rather think he has, too," she replied softly. If I say nothing else, perhaps he will go away, Elinore thought, even as she remembered the determination in her husband's face as he struggled to save the mother and the baby, and knew without question what he would expect of her. "Do you need him now?" "Yes. Will you wake him? The alcalde's family . . ." his voice trailed off. "It is a difficult thing." "Well, then." She gently touched her husband's face. "Captain, there is a priest here who says you are needed." They had not far to go, luckily, because he was not steady on his feet, whether from exhaustion or pain, she could not tell. She walked beside him, ready to put out her hand, but aware of Harper hovering even closer, ready, she knew, to pick him up and

carry him if he should falter. I am amazed, she thought, wondering how only yesterday she had thought the private a malingerer and a cheat, hopeless of remedy. Well, he is still a thief, she reminded herself, thinking of the money he filched from the quartermaster. I wish you had stolen more, she thought. We could probably use it. The alcalde's house looked like the others in the village, with a nearly blank wall coming right down to the street, and a door massive but plain. A climbing plant, long through its growing season and limp now in autumn's rain, still clung to the plaster and brick, looking as bedraggled as she felt. The door opened before the priest knocked, and Elinore stepped back involuntarily at the wailing that spilled out into the dark street. "The alcalde was killed by a British soldier this afternoon," he told her, and she could tell he was striving to keep his voice neutral. "He accused him of holding back the village's food from the commissary requisition and shot him when he denied it." "British?" She wished she could block out the anguish that seemed to spread across the narrow street like a plague of Egypt. "Yes, senora, our allies." The priest turned to help her husband cross the threshold, but his words were for her. "Now can you understand your reception?" I never can understand why good men die, she thought, but nodded anyway, because she knew the priest expected it. "I can do nothing for the alcalde, then?" Jesse asked. "Not unless you can raise the dead," said the priest. "Then why ..." "This way, senor." With Elinore on one side of her husband and Harper on the other, they followed the priest past the room where she could see a man

laid out on a table and surrounded by wailing women. The priest paused outside a closed door and knocked. The door opened on more tears to Elinor's dismay. She looked at her husband. His face was calm. I would be such a disappointment to you if you only knew what a coward I am, she thought. The priest indicated that Harper wait in the hall. She would gladly have hung back, too, except he ushered her forward along with her husband. "The British have brought such shame to our village," the priest whispered. "This is the alcalde's daughter. After the officer shot our alcalde, he committed a terrible act upon her." "My God!" Jesse exclaimed. "What was the matter with that man?" "Perhaps you can tell us," the priest replied, and Elinore knew that the bitterness in his voice was not a trick of her hearing. "Perhaps she will talk to you, although I doubt it. I do think you should try to tend to her wounds." A girl who looked scarcely fifteen huddled on the bed, then gasped and tried to burrow under the bedcovers as Jesse came closer. Elinore hurried to her side. "Please, my dear, my husband is a surgeon," she said in Spanish. "Will you let him help you?" The girl shook her head vigorously, her hands trembling and her teeth practically clacking in her mouth. Her face was swollen and bruised, as though someone had struck her. She looked at the woman in black standing beside the bed, who also shook her head. The woman came closer, and in a voice low with anger, began speaking so fast that Elinore could only look to the priest for help. "She says that you British have done enough and you should all be killed by the French." Jesse nodded. "You can assure her, Father, that she will probably

have her wish fulfilled before too many more days." He looked around, and gestured for Elinore to bring him a stool, which she placed beside the bed, despite a low-voiced objection from the older woman. With a sigh, he sat down. "Tell her that I am too tired to move because I have just delivered Sonia Ramos' baby. Sit down there on the bed, Elinore. Father, tell this child that if she wants to tell my wife what happened, she will listen. I am going to close my eyes. I hope she does not think me rude, but I have had my own share of troubles in Santos." The priest spoke, and the heavy weight in the room seemed to lift. The girl lay curled on her side in a tight ball, her eyes dull and puffy from crying. Elinore kept her hands tight in her lap and then she asked herself, what would I want someone to do for me? Careful not to startle the girl, she went to the basin near the door. She dipped in a cloth hanging by the basin, wrung it out, and returned to the girl. Ignoring the woman in black who glared at her, she sat by the girl and wiped her face. Elinore felt useless and foolish at the same time, but she gently dabbed the cloth under her eyes and across her forehead, and then even more gently by the bruise near her mouth. "There now, my dear," she murmured in English. "I always feel better when someone does that for me. Tea would help, but I do not have any. Here, let me wipe under your neck. It's so easy to perspire there, especially when your hair is long." She touched the girl's hair, then smoothed it back from her face. "You have such beautiful hair," she said in Spanish. To her surprise, the girl raised her chin slightly, then straightened out her legs a little. Encouraged, Elinore began to rub her back, moving closer until she knew the girl must feel the warmth from her own body. She stopped and moved to pull the blanket higher on her shoulder, wanting nothing more than to crawl in beside her and sleep a week or more. "Oh, my dear, please tell me what happened."

Elinore looked at the priest when the girl began to speak. As the words gushed out, the priest waited—-his face a study in pain and humiliation-—then translated. "She thought it would be like always, when you British retreat, always taking more food and leaving chits that are so hard to redeem." He listened intently. "A regiment had come through earlier, and there was little more to spare. Her father explained that quite carefully, then turned to go into his store. The tall man shot him in the back." "My God," Jesse said. He sat up quickly, winced, then leaned against Elinore. The girl began to cry again. Elinore wiped her face. "The same man pushed her into the store, struck her when she struggled, threw her down on the floor and raped her," the priest continued, his voice toneless now, shocked, as though Spain had not been at war for ten years and such atrocities only happened over the next mountain, or beyond the river. "I'm so sorry," Elinore murmured. She took hold of the girl's hand. "Maybe you will feel a little better, now that you have told me." "There is one thing more," the girl whispered. The priest frowned. "What else can there be, my dear?" he asked, his voice gentle. Her breath coming in gasps, the girl reached up the sleeve of her dress and pulled out a small sheet of paper before she burst into tears again. "Oh, my dear, please! It is a commissary chit," Elinore said as she glanced at the paper. "I... I don't understand." She handed it to Jesse, who took it, and struggled to sit up again in the face of the girl's increasing distress. The girl grasped the front of Elinore's dress, her eyes frightful. "He told me it was a chit for my services," she said in Spanish. "I

could redeem it for only one peso because I wasn't very good. He stuffed it in my mouth. Ay de mi!" Elinore felt her face drain of all color. "Only a monster would do such a thing," she replied, when she could speak. She looked at the commissary requisition in Jesse's hand. "Surely he did not sign his name?" He stared at the paper in his lap as though he could not believe it, then dropped it on the floor. "Major Bones," he said when he could speak. "Major Bones." While the girl sobbed in Elinore's arms now, the priest told the part of the story he knew. "When we found her and her father, she told us that the man who . . . who . . . did this awful deed said that stragglers were following behind him, and that we should shoot them on sight." He could not look at Elinore. "We thought he meant you." He threw up his hands. "What did you do to him to make him so angry?" I am the cause of this misery, Elinore thought in horror. As her stomach plummeted into her shoes, she looked at Jesse and saw her expression mirrored in his. And you know I am, don't you? There could be no other conclusion, not with such a look on his face. I doubt a man will ever repent of marriage as fast as you will, she told herself. And the devil of it is—considering your kind nature—I hardly blame you. "We did have a disagreement," Jesse said, his voice shocked and hollow to her ears. "We thought he had already taken out his revenge on us. Didn't we, Elinore?" She cringed inside at his carefully chosen words, and nodded. Looking at him was out of the question. She clung to the girl, who was sobbing in deeper earnest now. If I cry, too, Elinore thought, no one will know. The tears slid down her own face. "Pobrecita, pobrecita," she murmured, hardly sure whether she crooned to the dead man's daughter, or to her own bruised spirit.

Finally, the girl lay limp and exhausted in Elinore's arms, and made no demure when Elinore gently laid her back down and covered her with the blanket. She drew into a ball again, but did not open her eyes. "I doubt she will be inclined to let me examine her," Jesse said. "Perhaps not tonight," she said timidly, not sure what to say in the face of her enormous guilt. "Even if she did, I do not know what I could do for her," he replied, his voice low, but intense. "Should I tell her that maybe in nine months she might have a fond remembrance of Major Bones, eh? Or that every time a man looks at her just a moment too long, she will get chills and a sick feeling?" "Oh, please, don't!" Elinore begged. He was silent for a long moment. "Welcome to the war, Elinore. This is a side of it I would prefer to deny," he said at last. "Help me up, please. I'm sorry to be a burden to you, but I doubt I can stand by myself." You are not half the burden to me that I must be to you, she told herself. She helped him to his feet, held him there until he nodded, then walked with him to the door. In the hall, Harper leaped up from the bench where he was dozing and took hold of Jesse. "Do you know where Dan and our patients are?" he asked. "In the church with . . . with Major Sheffield." "Take me there." Elinore winced. Not us, but me, was all she heard. She stood where she was as the two men left the house. "Where do I go?" she said aloud to the painting of Christ looking sorrowfully at her and pointing to his bleeding heart. She looked away.

There was nothing for her to do but follow. She stood a moment by the open door that led into the room where the women were keening over the body of the alcalde. One of the women noticed her, got up quickly, and closed the door in her face. "There is no love for the British in this house. Come with me." She looked around to see the priest by the door that opened to the outside. "I told them I would wait for you," he said. I doubt they missed me, she thought. "Thank you." She walked with him in silence back to the plaza, feeling her own weariness right down to her muddy shoes. Her dress and petticoats had dried, but now they were stiff with mud. She looked down at the bloodstains on her dress. Poor Chief, she thought. The church was not large; nothing about Santos indicated much wealth. As they walked inside and she waited for the priest to dip his fingers in the holy water, she thought of the cathedral in Salamanca, and earlier the one in Madrid that she and her mother had visited after the battles, ornate affairs bearing the weight of centuries of gold and silver from the Indies, with massive Stations of the Cross. Here the Stations were merely numbered on the walls, the few statues modest. "We are not a town with any distinction," he said, interpreting her gaze correctly. He laughed softly. "Not a single conquistador ever returned to Santos with a huge purse and a guilty conscience." His face grew serious again. He touched her arm, pointed down the side aisle, and led her to a much smaller chapel niched in the wall. She stopped in the doorway, then willed herself to enter. Two bodies lay on rude tables, nearly filling the small space. Chief Surgeon David Sheffield's face was clean, and his hands folded carefully together. His eyes were closed, but by some quirk of

nature or biology, his brows still seemed arched in surprise at the unexpectedness of his destruction. The hole in his forehead where the ball had entered looked like a third eye. She was compelled to stare at it, and then at the white cloth behind his head where blood was already turning to rust. "Such a small hole," she murmured. "Ay de mi." A young priest stood against the wall. The sleeves of his cassock were still rolled up, and he held a cloth. "Thank you for caring for him," she said in Spanish. He nodded and came closer to stand beside the body on the other side of the table. He touched Sheffield's fingers with the cloth. "He has such fine hands, senora." She looked down at the elegant length of his fingers, so still now, and thought of all care he had administered in the eight years she had known him. "He was a very good surgeon," she said, and hesitated only a moment before she touched Sheffield's hands, cold as marble now. As she did so, she noticed the little ring she wore, the one he had given Jesse to put on her finger in the dead tent. Without a qualm she removed it and placed it on Sheffield's little finger. She could only slide it past the first knuckle, but she knew that nothing would jostle it from his hand now, not where he was going. "Better you should have it back," she told him, then leaned close to kiss his cheek. I cannot linger here, she thought, then turned her attention to the other table where Private Jenks lay. She almost dreaded to look at his expression, but as she gazed at him in the half light, she felt her heart stop its racing. "You're so peaceful now," she said out loud in English. "What a relief you must have now to be free of that dreadful breathing bellows. Did we do you more harm than good?" "I wonder that, too." She closed her eyes in shame. "Oh, Captain, I didn't mean it like

that," she said without even turning around, cursing herself for compounding her felony, and wishing he made more noise when coming into a room. "No, Elinore, that's not it. Oh, for heaven's sake look at me!" She turned around quickly, surprised at his impatience. It was not a quality she knew in him. "Sir, I ..." He waved his hand to stop her. "Never mind. It's just that you've become afflicted with the chief malady among the staff at Number Eight." He leaned against the trestle that held the chief surgeon, his hand resting familiarly on his mentor's arm. "I was trained in Milan to think and think again." He ran his hand lightly over Sheffield's arm, as if trying to massage him into life. "My maestro told me, 'Signore, if you do not trust your treatment, and keep trusting it, you might as well wash windows.' So I say to you, my dear, welcome to the club." She let out her breath in a small sigh, relieved that at least he did not accuse her. She did not want to look at Jenks again, so she kept her eyes on Jesse as he gave the chief surgeon a final pat and came closer to her in the small space of the chapel. He looked toward the small altar. "I confess to you—and isn't this a good place?—that I wish I could do an autopsy on Jenks. I'd give a lot to look at his lungs." He turned his head toward her, and she could see all the effort that took. "Now what do you think of me?" Don't blunder here, Elinore, she thought. You're in enough trouble. "I would call you a surgeon," she replied simply. "And . . . and I think Sonia Ramos would, too." She could tell by the flicker in his eyes that he didn't expect that answer. He was a moment in replying. "Thank you for reminding me of her. I needed that right now." Shy again, she was spared the embarrassment of a reply when

Harper entered the chapel. "Ready, sir?" he asked. Jesse nodded. "The others?" Elinore asked. "They are well, considering. The only one suffering any pain is Dan O'Leary," Jess replied. "He thinks he failed me with Sonia Ramos. I told him, of course he did not, and that it was the very devil of a presentation, but I suppose he must agonize for a while over it." He looked at the young priest, who still stood in silence. "Our friend here also has a good touch. We will leave our patients with him and Dan tonight." He smiled at Harper. "And, of course, Private Wilkie, who has from somewhere already procured an entire ham. What a thieving rascal he is." She couldn't help but smile, even in that place of the forever-silent men. "Well, never mind. He may actually prove useful. The older priest—I believe he is called Father Esteban—tells us we have been directed to return to the Ramos house. Come, Elinore, start me in motion." She touched his arm, and he began to move. She got no farther than Sheffield's body, where she paused again. "I loved him," she said. "You were loved, too," he replied. "He told me once— I think it was after Talavera, when we were groggy from amputating—that you were the daughter he wished he and Millie had found the time to conceive." He went to the body himself, and tugged out a gold chain around Sheffield's neck. "Look here. He did not give you back all your beads. We'll leave it with him." She eyed the one blue bead on the chain, and burst into tears again. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, which felt gritty across her face, and could think of nothing to say. With Harper grasping Jesse's arm, they left the small chapel, their footsteps echoing in the empty space of the larger chapel. Jesse

made them stop in the middle, where he made the sign of the cross as he faced the altar. Elinore had never seen him do that before. He must have known she was staring at him, because he managed a smile in her direction. "Elinore, I am a terrible Catholic. I admit it, but you'll agree that we're alive because of someone's grace." Father Esteban led them back to the Ramos house. "You will stay here tonight," he told them. "Tomorrow we will bury the men, and then you will have to leave. I do not know where the French are, but someone from this village will be watching to warn us." The servants had prepared a pallet in a small room off the kitchen for Harper, but he insisted on placing it in the hall at the top of the stairs. Jesse tried to object, but Harper wouldn't hear of it. "I am a soldier, Captain," he replied. "That will come as a surprise to your commanding officer, once we reach Portugal," Jesse said, but offered no more objections. He opened the door to Sonia's room and stood there a moment. Elinore joined him, letting out a small sigh to see Sonia asleep with her hand under her cheek. Her baby slept in a cradle beside the bed. "Beautiful," Jesse said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. "Thank God there was some redemption in this sorry day. Is there a patron saint for idiots?" "Do you think it is the same one for army surgeons?" she joked, and was rewarded with a lopsided smile and a little jab in her ribs. Father Esteban motioned them toward another doorway. "Here you are. Senora Ramos' mother is already asleep, but she told me to make sure you came back here. I will be here early. We must bury your dead as soon as possible." He put his fingers to his lips and started for the stairs. Elinore stopped him, coming close. "Father, perhaps this is a

delicate question, but is there a father for Sonia's baby?" He smiled at her. "Of course! There have not been too many immaculate conceptions in Spain in recent years." Jesse laughed out loud. "Father, I thought I was the only heretic here!" "War has made a heretic of me," the priest said simply. He made a small sign of the cross on Jesse's forehead. "Go to sleep. In the morning we will conduct our sad business, and I have a favor to ask you. No. No. The asking can wait. You need to sleep now. Take him, senora." He turned to go, then looked back when he was at the stairs. "Senora, you are to leave your dress outside the door tonight. The maid will clean it." "I will be so grateful," Elinore said. "But you have not answered my question. Where is the baby's father?" "He rides with the guerillas." Father Esteban shrugged. "Beyond that, I cannot say. Good night to you both." She had no time to be shy over being alone with her husband, or even time to inventory her vast storehouse of guilt over the death of the alcalde and the ruin of his daughter. Jesse had already removed his shoes. Eyes closed, he unbuttoned his shirt and shucked it onto the floor. He tried to unbutton his trousers, and finally just stood by the bed, his arms at his sides, defeated by exhaustion. Elinore unbuttoned his trousers and pulled them down. He rested his hand on her shoulder while he stepped out of his pants. More amused than shy now, Elinore gave him a little push and watched him sag onto the bed, wearing his smallclothes. The coverlets had been turned down. There was only one pillow, but it was wide, plump and inviting. With a sigh he rested his head on the pillow and tried to swing his legs onto the mattress. When he had no success, Elinore obliged him. He was asleep before she

raised the blanket to cover him. Elinore removed her apron, dress and petticoats and set them outside the door. For good measure, she put her muddy shoes outside, too. Turn them all into beautiful clothes, she thought ... I would not mind that. She had no brush, so she pulled out her few remaining pins and ran her fingers through her hair, all the while looking around the room and wondering where she could sleep. The room was small, with nothing but a bed, a chair, a rug, and a tiny altar in one corner. The fire had glowed itself down to embers now, and the cedar fragrance was an unbelievable comfort to her tired brain. She was starting to shiver, standing there in her shimmy. There was nowhere to sleep but the bed. After a long moment, she crawled under the covers with him, giving him a timid push to move him closer to the other side, and then a firm one when he seemed not to respond. She lay as still as she could, but her feet were cold, and the mattress an. old one. She felt herself sliding toward her husband, whose only reaction was to haul her in tight against him and keep her there with one arm. He was warm, but not feverish, she decided. Elinore relaxed and then cautiously moved her cold feet against his legs. He uttered some objection in a language she didn't recognize, but his complaint didn't cause him to pull away. His arm draped over her seemed heavy at first, and unnatural, and then warm and oddly comforting. As she sank deeper into the mattress, Elinore found herself faced with a new emotion, one she had not expected to feel in this tangled, terrible day. I am tired and I must be wrong, she thought as her eyes closed. We are in a dreadful situation. How is it that I feel safe? Jesse woke hours later, not because of any pain of his own, but because of some instinct he had acquired beginning with his university days in Milan. Moonlight poured in the window. Elinore lay close to him, with her hair spread across the pillow

they shared. She had curled herself into solid sleep, conforming her body to his, and resting the bottoms of her feet against his shins. He smiled, thinking of worse fates for himself in the years ahead than to be her personal warming pan. His arm rested across her side, his elbow comfortable between that juncture of her waist and hip. He raised up slightly and smiled again. Her one hand that he could see was relaxed in sleep, the fingers curling over the thumb like a baby's hand. It was light enough in the room to see the veins in her wrist. He admired the lovely swell of her breasts. Oh, Hippocrates, was ever anatomy so well represented? he asked himself. I know better than most men that she is a conglomerate of skin, blood, tissue, bones, muscles and nerves, but only look how nicely arranged. He got up slowly, hoping not to disturb her, and trying to keep his head as level as possible. To his relief, she did not waken, but flopped onto her other side. Her shimmy rode up to her hips, and he enjoyed the view. Cautiously, he touched his temple. The swelling had gone down a little. He felt the laceration, crusted over now. Hippocrates, I am disinclined to suture myself. Perhaps Daniel can do the honors in the morning, or perhaps I can get by with a well-placed plaster. Very well, sir; call me a coward. He groped under the bed for the crock and relieved himself as quietly as he could. In the silent room it sounded to him like Angel Falls in Venezuela, but Elinore did not stir. He found his trousers then and pulled them on. He considered the shirt, but did not think Sonia Ramos would object to his smallclothes. He nearly stumbled over Harper in the hall. The private sat up, more alert than Jess would have thought possible in a man so unfamiliar with the art of warfare, no matter how long his particular enlistment. "Go back to sleep, Private. I am going to check on Senora Ramos."

The door was open slightly, and he peered inside. Sonia still lay on her side, but the baby was curled close to her now, nursing with steady pulls. A man sat on the stool close to her bed, one hand resting on the baby's head and the other on Sonia's head. He looked around, then stood up quickly. Sonia opened her eyes and spoke to him. Jess recognized the word for surgeon, and the man sat down again. He wanted to ask him how he got past Harper, then noticed the open window. He walked to the window and looked down. A horse was tethered below, tied to a tree that must have served as Senor Ramos' route. Why is this, he wondered. "We have all become careful," the man said, as if in answer to his thoughts. Jess nodded. "Your English is so good." Ramos shrugged. "If you English in your arrogance will not learn Spanish, what am I to do?" There is much truth to that, Jesse thought, considering his brother officers who merely raised their voices and spoke slower, and then wondered why nothing happened. "Indeed," he murmured. "I believe you are right." The man kissed Sonia, and rose, only to kneel before Jesse, take his hand, and kiss it. "Thank you for the lives of my wife and daughter." As startled as he was, Jess had the good sense not to jerk back his hand. He helped Ramos to his feet, then put his hands on the other man's arms. "I am glad I was here to help," he said simply. "If I have learned anything from war, it is to cherish life." "I am in your debt." Jesse shook his head. "I was only doing what I promised Hippocrates I would do."

"Then, he is a good man, too. Please tell him for me," Ramos said fervently. You hear that, Hippocrates? Another ringing endorsement. "I will." He turned to Sonia, who indicated that he put the baby back in her cradle. He took the infant from her with pleasure, enjoying the way babies newly birthed contracted into a small space, even though they had the world to stretch out in now. He held her close to his chest for a moment, feeling the steady rhythm of her. "You were determined to live, weren't you, my dear?" he asked, and then put her on her side in the cradle. He wanted to hold her longer, because he liked that utterly unique fragrance of newborns, but it was late. He turned back to Sonia. "Con su permiso," almost exhausted his Spanish, but she understood his motions, and lay on her back. He kneaded her abdomen gently, pleased that her womb was already contracting. "Esta bien, senora," concluded his repertoire. He started for the door, but Ramos stopped him. "I think you should know that the rather elegant horse hitched to your wagon is the favorite mount of Souham himself," he said, naming the general who had assumed command after Marmont was injured at Salamanca. "Look in the saddlebags and then consider the wisdom of keeping the horse." "How do you . . ." he began, then considered the nature of Ramos' current trade. "Perhaps I shall do that in the morning, senor. Go with God." He left them together then, and went back to his own bed, to stand a while on the chilly tiles to admire Elinore, whose shimmy had slipped entirely off her shoulder and exposed one lovely breast. When he thought he could trust himself, he climbed in beside her, and had the pleasure of putting his cold feet on her legs. She mumbled something and settled against him in such a way that he thought it best to turn his back to her.

He contemplated the variety of things he wanted to do with his wife, and allowed himself the luxury of imagining a week or two with time to devote to her alone. Time! He had never had any, not since the University of Milan declared him a surgeon and he plighted his troth with the Medical Corps. I wonder what it would be like to have time, he asked himself. It is your fault, Hippocrates. I cannot fathom such a turn of events. He slept.

Chapter Nine Elinore woke to find Jesse gone. She lay still, disinclined to move, then inched over into the spot he had vacated. It was still warm. She wondered if she had dreamed of Jesse running his hand over her hip in the night, and felt her face go red at the thought of it, especially considering that her shimmy had worked its way up to her waist. Well, what of it? she asked herself. I think we have more serious matters to deal with today. She inched over a little farther, and heard paper crinkle. She moved away and picked up a note he must have left on the bed. "My dear, please join me in the chapel after you look in on Sonia Ramos," she read to herself. "Her husband was here last night. I suppose London ladies would swoon to see a real guerilla, but frankly, he appeared to be in need of a bath." She laughed, pleased to know that he still possessed a sense of humor. "Perhaps that is just me, though. You know I am the division officer of hygiene." Indeed you are, she thought as she got up. She pulled her shimmy over her head so she could wash as much of herself as she could in the basin of water that he had obviously already used. She looked closer. At least there were no whiskers in the basin. I do have my standards of hygiene, too, Captain, she thought.

The water, though used, was still warm. Someone had thoughtfully provided a cup of soft soap, which smelled of summer herbs. She washed quickly, dried herself on a slightly damp towel, pulled on her wrinkled shimmy again, and looked outside the door to see if a miracle had taken place. She was not disappointed. Even though it was her same dress and useful apron, they were clean. Her lace-up shoes were still sturdy and brown, but minus the mud. And blessing of blessings, some kind soul in the Ramos household had left her a comb. She dressed and did her hair up in a tidy knot on her head, using a bit of string she salvaged from the medical satchel with plasters and bandages she carried. Elinore opened the window to look out on a morning where the sun shone, even though the brisk air reminded her that it was November. She sat on the sill for a moment, wondering how it would feel to stay in one place from now until the end of her life. She tried to think of life in Scotland as the wife of a respected surgeon, living in a large house, then discarded the idea because she could not imagine such a turn of events. All my life I have followed the drum, she reminded herself. I have lived in tents, and ru-ined buildings, argued with bill collectors for my mother and father, and spent very little time acquiring any useful female skills. I know I am not what is known as an accomplished lady. I would be a fool to think that anywhere I lived, people would not be able to tell this at once. Can I converse on genteel topics at dinner parties? No. Do I have even an inkling what is fashionable in London or Paris right now? No. What about lofty intellectual skills? None I am aware of. But there was a worse matter that goaded at her heart as she looked across the Spanish landscape she knew so well. Perhaps the captain truly does blame me for what happened to the alcalde and his daughter, she thought as the horror of yesterday returned full measure. If I had agreed to Major Bones' demands, the

alcalde would still be alive, his daughter undisturbed, and the chief surgeon would not be lying so still in the church. She wrapped her arms tighter about herself to ward off the chill of her thoughts, even as another part of her brain clamored for attention. Be fair, Elinore, she thought. If you had gone with Major Bones, you would be ruined. The retreat would have gone smoothly for Number Eight, but there likely would have been no stop at Santos. Sonia Ramos and her baby would have died in agony. Be fair and admit to yourself that you have no way of knowing what good or evil can rise out of any situation. She knew herself well enough to also admit that she was a practical woman. I am married to a good man who felt sorry for me, she reminded herself. It could be that he does blame me for what happened to the alcalde and his daughter. If I am to find out —and somehow my standing in his eyes matters to me—I must ask him. She leaned her head against the sill and thought of all the times her mother complained to her about her father, but, to her knowledge, never confronted him about his many disservices and marital misdemeanors. Sitting in the windowsill, and looking out on the beautiful morning, Elinore wondered if things between them would have been different had Audrey Mason ever spoken up. "Surely I can do this," she said out loud as she went to the door and pulled on her shoes. The reality is that I am married to this man who has at least promised me his protection to the Portuguese border, she reasoned with herself. We will probably part company there, because surely he knows already what a sad bargain I am. Even so, there is no need for him to think ill of me. I must ask him how he feels, even if I'm not precisely certain how to go about it. She opened the door, but stood still, unwilling to move. She knew it was going to be another trying day, and she knew in her heart she had suffered a lifetime of trying days and wanted no more.

She squared her shoulders, smoothed down her apron, and closed the door quietly behind her. Sonia Ramos was sitting up in her bed and taking a definite interest in her daughter, who was being washed by her grandmama in a copper basin pulled close to the warmth of the brazier. Elinore smiled at the baby's noisy protests and the vigorous way she pumped her legs and waved her arms about. If the captain were less of a surgeon, neither of you would be here this morning, she thought, and looked at Sonia, her heart full of wonder at his skill. Off and on since she was a young girl, she had seen him quietly at work in the marching hospital, never calling attention to himself, seldom talking to her. She knew the other officers teased him about his shyness. Captain, I don't suppose you cut a great figure on the dance floor or astound the ladies with your repartee, she thought, but you astound where it matters, don't you? She stood by the squalling baby as Sonia's mother took her from the bath and set her on a towel on the bed, enjoying the moment, at once so ordinary and yet miraculous. I will have to ask you, Captain, if you ever get tired of seeing this miracle. I don't think I could. "Do you have any children, senora?" She looked around in surprise. "Me?" she asked in Spanish. "Oh, I have been married but two days." For no discernible reason, her face felt hot. She bent over the infant, lying on Sonia's bed now, and wrapped the towel more tightly around her. The other women in the room—it seemed like hundreds, rather than just a maid or two—put their hands to their mouths in that polite Spanish way and laughed behind them. Elinore put her hands to her face in unconscious imitation and smiled back at them in an agony of embarrassment that made her realize quite forcefully that Jesse Randall was not the only shy one.

She busied herself drying the baby's hair, and then moved her closer to Sonia, who held out a diaper. When the baby was dressed, and nuzzling at her mama's breast, Elinore watched them for a moment, her heart full. "I have to leave now," she said finally. Sonia raised up, which caused the little one to flail her arms and root around. "We are forever in your husband's debt," she said, reaching for Elinore's hand. Then whisk us safely to the Portuguese border, Elinore thought as she leaned into Sonia's embrace. Teach me how to talk to that husband, who must be regretting my acquisition on such short notice. "He was glad to help," she murmured. "We will not forget," Sonia replied firmly. "How could we?" She found her cloak—someone had brushed it cleaner— retrieved her medicine satchel, accepted the hunk of bread and cheese that the maid handed her, and left the Ramos home. The people of Santos were going about their business in streets that no longer looked sinister, now that morning had come. Some nodded and smiled to her, and she realized that news probably traveled as quickly in a village as in a typical regiment. I am such a simpleton, she thought. Give me a sunny day, and I feel I can conquer nations. The feeling lasted as far as the church, which looked even smaller in the morning light. She saw two men digging graves at the edge of the cemetery behind the church, then stood where she was and watched as Harper and Wilkie carried out a body wrapped only in a blanket. "Oh, Major Sheffield, why did it have to end this way? Why couldn't you be exempt from war?" she asked out loud. She came closer, noticing that Sheffield was barefoot now, even his socks gone. With a question in her eyes, she looked at Jesse, who had followed the body outdoors. He came to stand beside her. "It's one hundred and fifty miles to

the Portuguese border," he reminded her. "We may need his boots more than he will." He took her arm, and moved away from the others. "After they are buried, I have something to show you. It's something I learned last night from Sonia's husband." She nodded, then hoped for one irrational moment that he would keep his arm on her hand. To her delight, he moved it up to her shoulder, and pulled her in close to him when the soldiers put Sheffield into the grave. "They've already buried Jenks," he whispered in her ear. "Oh, Eli-nore, this is harder than anything that happened last night." Maybe you need comfort, too, she thought, and slipped her arm around his waist. "He told me once that he thought you would do ... as a surgeon," she whispered back, gratified when he stooped a little to hear her. "High praise from the crusty old boy," he replied, and she could tell he was pleased, even as he struggled to maintain his composure. She knew she could not look at the grave, not with Father Esteban praying, and Wilkie and Harper, so serious, poised there with shovels. She looked at Jesse instead, relieved to see that the swelling had greatly diminished on his temple. Dan O'Leary must have applied the plaster, which pulled the laceration together. His eye was black, to be sure, but it was partly open now. She was glad he was not a great deal taller than she was, because it was nice to stay there with her head inside the reach of his arm, pulled close to his chest. She closed her eyes and listened to his heart, and cried for Major Sheffield, best of men. She felt Jesse's lips on her hair, and then he turned his face down against hers, because he obviously did not wish to look at the sight before him, either. He released his hold on her when the grave was filled in and stepped forward to speak to the soldiers. "Private Wil-kie, find a

string and run it through Major Sheffield's boots. They'll probably fit you, and you can carry them. Corporal Harper, tell Daniel I want to talk to him." He touched Elinore's back. "Come inside with me." He sat her down at a table in a cold room off the chapel and spread out a piece of paper before her. "Last night, Sonia's husband told me that out of all the horses in Mar-mont's division, Harper managed to steal the horse of General Souham himself." She stared back, her eyes wide. "He certainly has a knack for trouble." "No doubt." Jesse sat beside her on the narrow bench. "Father Esteban can read French. What we have here is a list of all the French army in Spain. I doubt it is something of any earthshaking importance to Sir Arthur, because I think Wellington must already have this information. But look at this." He pointed to another page, closely written. "Father tells me this little page describes their proposed winter campaign." "We should take this with us, and hurry to the border," she said. "Well, yes and no," Jesse replied. "Since I command such a large army of my own here, I propose this instead, my dear. While Dan and I conduct a little clinic this morning in the village, will you copy these two pages? I want to put the originals back in Souham's saddlebags, then turn his horse loose. Let's allow the general to find his horse again, and not suspect that anyone has the information in the saddlebags, eh?" She nodded. "We'll be on foot to the border?" "Alas, yes. That other horse is so old that it probably pulled a plow for Methuselah, and the wagon is too heavy. Father Esteban thinks that farmers will give us rides along the way, and I can pay our way by holding sick call in the villages." She nodded again. "I've never minded walking."

He hesitated, and she felt her doubts returning. "That's another matter I want to discuss with you and Daniel. And here he is. Dan, sit down. I have rather a large favor to ask you, but first, I want your professional opinion." "Do you think it is worth anything, after last night?" Jesse smiled patiently. "Dan, you're exasperating, at times. Why should you know anything about childbirth, anyway? It is not our usual wartime dilemma. No, Dan, I want your professional opinion about our soldiers." Daniel's face was flushed, but he swallowed, then raised his eyes to Jesse's. "I think that Marlow could probably walk if he had to, but the other two will die." "My opinion precisely." He took a deep breath. "I am going to propose that you remain here in Santos with the men. Father Esteban assures me that the village will hide you, but I am not going to tell you it will not be dangerous. By this afternoon, I believe the French will be everywhere." He put up his hand when Daniel opened his mouth. "No, think about it for a moment. We could leave the men here, and you could come with us. They would probably survive." Daniel was silent a long moment. "We don't know that, do we?" "We do not, my friend." Jesse touched Dan's hand. "I should stay, but I feel I must get to the border with this information." He sighed. "And there is Bones." "I will stay." Dan looked at Elinore. "What about Nell?" Elinore held her breath, then let it out slowly when Jesse took her hand. "Elinore, Senora Ramos said you could remain with them. If you were working as a maid there, I doubt the French would even know you were in the village. In the spring when the army returns, I could retrieve you."

"No," she replied, her voice low. She moved her fingers in his grip, and he tightened it. "No. I can't stay here without you." "It might be safer," he argued. She shook her head. "There is no safety anywhere in this world, Captain. You know it and I know it. Consider this: my Spanish isn't very good, but yours is worse." She could not avoid the uncertainty in his eyes, and then his humor at her words. "You'll keep me out of trouble, eh?" "And you'll get me to the border." He released her hand. "I did promise that, didn't I?;' "And a lot of other things, too," she told him. She took a deep breath. "Get me a pen and paper. I have work to do." She looked at Father Esteban, who stood by the door. "I believe Father is here to remind you two that you have promised a sick call this morning, and didn't you say the French were coming? Must I remind you both that right now Major Sheffield would be looking at his watch, tapping his foot, and muttering about the slackness in the medical corps? Really, Captain! Set me a good example." I can't believe that came out of my mouth, Elinore thought as Jesse stared at her, then glanced at Dan, who was already smiling and on his feet. In another moment there was paper in front of her, and a pen and inkwell. Well-done, Elinore, she told herself, and pulled the French battle plans closer. She looked up. Jesse was still standing there, and she couldn't interpret the look on his face. As she sat still, he leaned over behind her, put both arms around her, and leaned on the table, his face close to hers. "Elinore, you're too polite. You know that Dave Sheffield would have growled at me and said, 'Captain, pull your finger out of your arse, wash your hands, and get busy.' "

She laughed, and gave him a little prod with her elbow. He still did not move, and she felt her body grow warm in places she had not expected. Goodness, but he is a distraction, she thought. "Go away now," she said. "I have to get busy and ..." She stopped when he kissed her ear, which made her feel even warmer in that cold room. "Elinore, I do believe you are a martinet," he said. "Why is it that a man doesn't learn these sad facts before he is married?" And then he was gone, following Daniel out the door and picking up his medical satchel as he went. She shook her head, dipped the pen in the inkwell, and began to copy the report. The pleasant warmth spread up to her stomach. "H'mm," she said. "Tell him to open wide and say ah." Jesse pushed up his sleeves and peered down yet another throat, this one belonging to a child held against his will by his mother. It had been a morning of bruises, sore throats, minor burns, and one boil to lance, but nothing that required his full attention. It gave him time to think of Elinore, usually so quiet and tractable, ordering him about. The funny part was, he didn't mind. He wanted to peer down the last sore throat, go back to the room where she sat copying the paper, pull her onto his lap, and see what she would do. And still I have no time, he thought. Hippocrates, this is not fair, and you know it. "Tell this little beast's mama to give him a spoonful of honey every hour, and lots of water." He waited while Father Esteban translated, and listened for his rendition of the woman's heated response. "She tells me that is what she is already doing. Can't you do better than that?" "Father, I had nothing left in my satchel when we left Burgos yesterday!" he declared. "Honey and water are probably the best remedy, anyway. No, wait, don't tell her that." He looked in his

satchel again, hoping for the appearance of some grandiose medicament that would impress the woman. At a loss, he dug deeper in his satchel. After a moment's search, all the while deeply aware of the woman's angry eyes, he came across the packet of sugar and the tea tin that he carried. I hope you're not watching, Hippocrates, he thought as he sprinkled some of the sugar with a little alum into an empty pill envelope. He handed it to the woman as he spoke to the priest. "Tell her that this is to be used quite sparingly, because it is so potent," he said, grateful that his old maestro was safely teaching in Milan, and nowhere near such heresy from his favorite student. "She is to sprinkle a pinch of it in a glass of boiled water— mind you, it must be boiled water—let it dissolve entirely, and then make sure her boy drinks it all. This must be given one half hour after the honey, or it will not be effective. Better tell her to hold his nose while he swallows, so he won't notice the taste." And pray God I am long out of town, in case she decides to dip her finger in the sugar and finds out what I have prescribed. Mercifully, the next patient—an old woman—wanted to talk about her multitude of ailments. All he needed to do was nod in sympathy, put his ear to her drooping breasts while she giggled, and tell her to get more rest and drink a glass of wine, preferably red, before bed. "Well, we did no harm, Dan," he said when Father Es-teban escorted the last patient from the makeshift surgery. He looked at the loaves of bread, cheese, and beaker of olive oil against the wall. "With that and Wilkie's ham— there had better be some left —we should make it to the next village." Dan nodded. Jesse hesitated. "I hope you do not think I am behaving badly by leaving you here." "Not at all, sir," the hospital steward replied. "If we all stay, we will probably be captured. It is also possible that the villagers

would begin to resent us even more if there are so many to feed." His voice hardened. "You must confront Major Bones when you reach the Portuguese lines. I rather think, sir, that you have given me the easier task." "Time will prove or disprove that." Dan nodded. He got up from the table and repacked his medical satchel. He cleared his throat, but did not look at Jesse. "Well?" "Captain, if you please, take very good care of Elinore," Dan said. "There is something about her." He shook his head, even as a rosy color traveled up from his neck. "I know you are married to her now, but, sir, there is something about her." Jesse held out his hand. Dan looked at him in surprise, took it gingerly, then shook it. "I didn't marry her on a whim, Daniel, I promise you I didn't." He could see the surprise in his steward's eyes. "Does she know that?" "Not yet. I am still hoping to find the right time." "Don't wait too long, Captain. Good-bye now. I will see you when Wellington returns in the spring." "Indeed you will." He couldn't trust himself to say more. Daniel seemed to have the same affliction. The steward slung his satchel across his back, gave a small salute, and left the room. "Go with God, lad," Jesse murmured. When he returned to the room where he had left Elinore, she had just finished shaking sand across the page. She looked up, and he could not ignore the trust in her eyes. Harper and Wilkie were looking expectantly at him, too. We're a strange little company now, he thought. We're a hospital with no patients, which is just as well, because my only medicine is sugar. I have two inept

soldiers who may be the biggest scoundrels in the Peninsula. And there is Elinore, who is looking at me as though I have the ability to get us alive to Portugal. Hippocrates, this was not part of the Oath. "Are we ready?" he asked, hoping that he sounded more confident than he felt. "Un momento, Capitan, por favor." Jesse looked around. Father Esteban had followed him into the room. Behind him was a tall man, probably as old as his father, but with a distinctly regal bearing. Jesse looked at his eyes, then looked away. You're a cold man, he thought. "Captain, may I acquaint you with Armand Leger?" Jesse took an involuntary step backward, even as both Harper and Wilkie moved closer. "He's French?" Jesse asked. "What are you doing, Father Esteban?" The priest held up his hand. "There is no betrayal here, my friend. Senor Leger has been hiding in our village. He is the favor I wished to speak to you about yesterday. Will you take him with you to the Portuguese border?" Jesse looked at Elinore, a question in her eyes. She rose immediately and came to stand beside him. In a moment he felt her hand in his. "I ... I don't know what to say, Father," he replied. "How is it that a Frenchman wants to get to the English lines?" "I have no love for Napoleon," the man said. His words were heavily accented, and his voice sounded rusty, as though he did not speak much in any language. "So you claim." Jesse waited for more explanation, but the man folded his arms and was silent. He looked at Father Esteban. The priest would not meet his gaze.

"This is the condition for keeping our wounded, isn't it?" Elinore asked, her voice calm. Jesse felt her tremble. Father Esteban looked at her with an expression close to relief. "I fear it must be. We are a small village. Senor Leger tells me that the French want him almost more than I think they want you. Please, senora, understand that I mean you no ill, but these are difficult times. How many fugitives can Santos keep?" Jesse could not deny the reality behind his words. "Why do the French want him?" "He will not say." Jesse could think of nothing to say. "He has us, Elinore," he stated finally. "Stuffed and trussed like a Christmas goose." "Then we will make the best of it, Captain," she replied. She smiled up at him, and the trust in her eyes made his knees weak. At the same time, that trust bit deep. He considered his words carefully in the silent room. "Senor Leger, or rather, Monsieur Leger, you may come with us, although we have no pretensions of being much of an escort—no weapons, no horses, no soldiers —I can't in good conscience burden Wilkie or Harper here with that honorific. But if we make it to the Portuguese border, you will, too." Leger bowed, and Jesse nodded. I can think that you understand English, sir, he told himself. Good, because I am about to make myself very plain. Hippocrates, stop up your ears for a moment. "This is my wife, Elinore. Let me assure you of one thing, monsieur: If you in any way frighten her or try to do her harm, I will kill you with my bare hands." Elinore gasped and looked at him, her eyes wide. He tightened his grip on her hand. "I mean it." "Jesse, did you just hear yourself?" she asked.

He smiled to hear her speak his name. "You're right, Mrs. Randall. I did promise a lot of things in that tent, didn't I?"

Chapter Ten They left Santos before the noon hour, each carrying a medical satchel, a white cloth bag with a large cross on the front. Jesse also slung the leather knapsack his mother had given him over his shoulder, unable to abandon the glass bottles and mortar and pestle of his profession, even though the bottles were empty. With no little qualm, he had left behind the handsome wooden case with the velvet-covered indentations for the tools of his trade. He had wrapped the bone saw, forceps, lancets, probe, and scalpel in a towel and stuffed them in the knapsack. "You can always have another case made," Elinore had advised him when he mourned overlong at this task. He nodded, and then felt embarrassed over his pettiness. She had nothing but the clothes she stood in, and he was suffering the loss of a velvet-lined box? He accepted the bottle of olive oil that Elinore handed him and added it to his pack. Sheffield's nearly new boots dangled from a rope around Wilkie's neck. The private had felt too proprietary about his ham to relinquish it, so it hung from his neck as well, in a small cloth bag that caused no end of excitement among the dogs of Santos. "Hey, there, you ought to give it to me, Wilkie," Harper said. "I'm a little farther away from the ground than you are." Wilkie drew himself up to his full height. "You, Private, are a cutpurse, a sneak, and a soft-soaping opportunist. I do not trust you with my ham."

Harper just rolled his eyes. "And you are more trustworthy?" "Really, gentlemen," Elinore scolded. In the satchel containing bandages and plasters, she placed the rest of the bread that Jesse and Daniel had earned at their clinic. She wrapped the cheese carefully in a cloth and added it to the satchel that used to be the chief surgeon's. She hesitated. Jesse, should I ask Monsieur Leger to carry it?" "Why not? He is probably planning to eat on this journey. Aren't you, sir?" "I do not, as a rule, carry parcels," the Frenchman said. "You will make an exception, won't you?"' Jesse asked. "I do so dislike eating in front of people." It didn't sound particularly threatening to him, but Harper gave him a look and straightened up, and Leger took the bag and slung it over his shoulder. Not glancing at any of them, he started down the road to Salamanca. Jesse watched him go. "My father took the Grand Tour of Europe once, before Napoleon, when people took such trips. He told me that without fail, every tour contained someone better left behind at a rest stop." She laughed. "Imagine touring Europe just to see things." "Would you like to do that someday?" She considered the matter, and he liked the way she pursed her lips in thought. "No, I think not," she said at last. "I think I have seen enough of Europe." He heard the wistfulness in her voice, and it touched him. He wanted to tell her about his parents and their home in Dunfermline on the Firth of Forth, and his own house in Dundee —legacy from a grandfather—waiting for him. She will think I am boasting, he told himself and said nothing. He visited the patients one last time. Marlowe was sitting up and

taking an interest in his surroundings. "I could come along, Captain," he said. "I hate to think that you have to depend on the soldiering abilities of the likes of Wilkie and Harper." Jesse sat beside him. "Corporal Marlowe, you are all kindness, but I fear you are not quite ready for a long walk. I trust that you will be helpful here in Santos." It wrenched his heart to leave his patients, even though he knew they were in Dan O'Leary's capable hands. He thought of Major Bones and the terrible deeds he had set in motion, and the pages from Souham's saddlebags that Elinore had tucked in the bit of doubled-over sacking that protected his lancets and bone saw. Hippocrates, was life so complicated in Greece? he asked as he stood still for Father Esteban to bless him, then joined the others on the long road that led to the Portuguese border. The afternoon was calm and cool as they began their retreat. Father Esteban had told them to expect no shelter this night, because they were at least a day's walk to the next village. After a mile or two, they had adjusted to each other's strides, which meant that Harper and Wilkie began in front. Armand Leger was a speck in the distance. Jesse slowed his walked to suit Elinore's smaller step, but he could not overlook her frown. "What is it, my dear?" "I am going to slow down everyone," she said. "I don't mean to." He clapped his arm around her shoulder. "Elinore, we can suit ourselves now." ''You are so certain?" she asked, her expression doubtful. He looked around elaborately. "Who is there to tell us what to do? As senior officer commanding, this is my retreat, and I like it this way." She smiled at him, and he knew there was not a more beautiful woman in all Spain. He hoped she would want to talk, but he felt shy then, as he

invariably did when he thought of her beauty and kindness, and his own inadequacies. Harper and Wilkie were talking and laughing some paces ahead, and he wanted to tell her how long he had admired her, and his plans for their future. He wanted to describe each room of his home in Dundee, from the sunny little sitting room off the large bedroom upstairs that overlooked a flower garden and an herb patch, to the room down the hall that he knew would make an excellent nursery. No, no, that would embarrass her, he thought, then smiled to himself, thinking of the rough birth only the night before. I am an idiot. Maybe I should tell her of the blue saloon downstairs and the dining room, and the room off the main floor next to the book room that would make an excellent office and dispensary for my practice. You would never have to move again, my love. He said nothing, too tied up in his thoughts. He glanced at her, and saw how she appeared to be struggling to say something to him. To his surprise, she stopped in the road. "I have to ask you something," she said in a rush. "Please do," he said, and waved on Harper and Wilkie, who had stopped, too. She shifted the satchel to her other shoulder, and looked down at the ground, for all the world a drab little figure in her brown cloak. He took in her shabbiness, and it pained him that she knew nothing better. When she would not look up, he touched her shoulder. She raised her glance as high as the middle button on his uniform. "Captain, I don't know how to say this," she began, her words coming as slowly as though each one was pulled by the roots. "All that happened yesterday is my fault." He couldn't believe his ears. "Elinore . . . ." "No. It is," she insisted. "If I had just gone with Major Bones, you know that the Chief would be alive. Number Eight would still be

protected by a regiment, and Private Jenks would be alive. Major Bones would not have killed the alcalde, and his daughter would be safe." She looked at him then, and there was no disguising the anguish in her eyes. "Why did you have to be so kind? No one else in the regiment has ever given me a thought, or cared about my mother." "Surely you did not want to go with Major Bones?" Oh, stop me, Hippocrates, he thought in desperation. I sound like a prude. "How can you think that?" She looked at the ground again, and he knew he had humiliated her. "It's just that... that . . . the wearisome Masons set something in motion, and we do not know how far those consequences will extend. I am sorry. I ... I ... suppose I just hope that you do not have too many regrets. I will do what I can to be useful, but I would never dream of holding you to any promises made in haste. Please believe me." He took her by the shoulders, and peered into her troubled face. He knew he wanted to pull her as close as he could and tell her how much he loved her, but he also knew that in her present state, she would not believe him. He wondered what would be the right thing, and feared to say anything. The distress grew on her face. Slowly, carefully, he put his arms around her, and pulled her close against his body. She started in surprise at his nearness. "Elinore, you have to understand one thing right now," he said softly, speaking into her hair. "This was not your fault." "It was!" she insisted, and he winced at the bitterness in her voice. "You and the Chief know that the Masons have always been bad luck." "And didn't I tell you that you would have Randall luck now?" It must have been the way he said it. The moment the words left his mouth, he could almost see them as animate objects, looking

back at him, covering their little mouths and chortling. "God, what a stupid thing I just said," he told her. "Here we are in the middle of nowhere with hams and cheese around our necks and olive oil, and sugar for medicine, French everywhere, and I brag about Randall luck! You must think you have married the barmiest lunatic who ever broke loose from his muzzle and chain." He knew he had stopped her destructive thought process by the wondering way she stared at him. "I should be locked up in a cage, Elinore, and only allowed out to ... to piddle in a pot and drool into a washrag." She laughed. More than that, she obviously couldn't help herself. She didn't break away from his hold on her, but leaned into him now, laughing. He didn't know if he should be alarmed or not, but he didn't hear any high-pitched edge to her laughter. He realized with a start that he had never heard her laugh like that before, a hearty sound that made him want to laugh, too. He looked at the soldiers. They were grinning, even though they couldn't have heard their exchange. It was that kind of a laugh. She laughed until she had to put her hand to her middle, then leaned away and sat herself down on a sun-warmed boulder by the road. She sat there with her legs apart and her elbows resting on her knees and looked up at him, her eyes merry. She looked worlds away from the quiet young woman who helped in the hospital tent. He came closer and laid his hand on her head for just a moment. "Don't go assigning blame, my dear," he said quietly. There wasn't much room, but he sat beside her, their rumps touching. "We have bigger challenges ahead of us." She touched his hand. "I just couldn't leave it unsaid, Captain." She hesitated, and again it was as though the words waited to tumble out. "I've lived my whole life so far with people who

never said what they felt. I don't think it made them happy. I don't want that now. If I am boorish at times, if I fumble, please know this: I want to get it right." She was looking at him so earnestly that he forgot for a moment the precariousness of their present situation. The rock was warm, she was close, and he wanted to kiss and hang the fact that Harper and Wilkie were watching. To his serious irritation, reason prevailed, and he did nothing more than nudge her a little. "You'll get it even righter if you call me Jesse now instead of Captain." She nodded, and he could almost feel her shyness. "Yes, I should." She smiled then in the familiar way she had in the hospital tent, where she would look down and smile as she turned away, a fleeting smile that had always seemed like the veriest glimpse of paradise to him. "Yes, I should do it. After all, we are married." "We are." When night overtook them, the only sign of civilization was a crude shrine where two roads intersected. Signs of the retreating army were everywhere: a discarded canteen, paper caught in a bush, the deep tracks of wagons and cannons hauled through mud that was hardening now, but only waited another rain to turn it back into sludge. A sign indicated that the nearest town wouldn't be reached until long after darkness fell. He asked the others about continuing on, but no one seemed inclined. He didn't have to ask them why. After what had happened last night, the idea of approaching another village at dusk had no appeal. Also unspoken among them was the fear that through every village, Major Bones was warning the citizens of stragglers to follow. He gave grudging credit to Harper, because the man had an eye for a good campsite. With Jesse's reluctant permission, he asked

to go ahead, and returned not fifteen minutes later. "I've found as nice a spot as anyone could wish." A quarter mile from the road was a small meadow with a spring gurgling from rocks. Through some alchemy—perhaps because the meadow was protected by a decent-sized ridge—the leaves still clung to trees. Though not vibrant green anymore, at least the grass did not crunch dry and dead underfoot. Across a small river or large stream, depending on one's way of looking at things, he supposed, they could see an estate. "Do you suppose this is their land?" Elinore asked as she unslung the two satchels she carried and removed her cloak. "I hope they do not mind." Her words told him volumes, even if she had not faltered during the long afternoon of steady walking. He knew from long experience that she did not complain, but he also knew that she generally rode with the hospital baggage train or on horseback with her mother, at least when Mason hadn't gambled away the family's horses. With a look around, she walked into the bushes, probably in need of a moment's solitude to take care of personal matters. He made a point to stand between her and others until she came out of the bushes again, smoothing down her dress. "Thank you," she said, too shy to look at him. The sun went down as the night grew cool. Wilkie suggested a fire, and Jesse pondered the matter before agreeing to a modest one. "After all, Private, I do not know if we should be more concerned about the Spanish, the French, or Major Bones," he said. "All three, Captain," Wilkie said emphatically as he cleared a circle, lined it with stones, and started a small fire. Armand Leger had been walking ahead of them all afternoon, and Jesse had forgotten about him. While Elinore was slicing

cheese and Harper peeling sticks for toasting bread, he joined them again, standing on the edge of the clearing until Jesse motioned him over. "You should not have let me walk on like that," he accused. "Oh, you speak English," Jesse said, refusing to let the man disrupt the serenity that was beginning to settle around him. "Perhaps in future you could stay closer to us." "You could walk faster if the woman did not slow you down. You should have left her in Santos. How will we ever get to the border?" Bastard, Jesse thought. "I would leave you first," he replied, turning to add more wood to the fire. He hoped Elinore had not heard, but the vigorous way she started slicing the cheese told him otherwise. "He's right, you know," she said in an angry, voice. "No, he isn't," Jesse contradicted. "I'm depending on your Spanish, and also the fact that you are a woman. Soldiers must surely be less suspicious, if there is a woman." She made no comment, but he could tell she was thinking about his words. In another minute, she began to hum as she stacked the cheese on a flat rock by the fire. When it was full dark, they sat by the fire eating bread dipped in olive oil and toasted cheese. Wilkie provided the ham. No one talked. They had not eaten since Santos, and the food went down like a six-course banquet. Elinore sat closer to the fire, expertly turning the cheese fork that Harper had made for her, careful not to set the stick blazing, or allow the cheese to drip into the fire. He moved closer to her, content to prop himself against the small boulder she sat on, and watch her graceful motions. "I haven't had cheese toasted so well since I was home in

Dunfermline," he said, accepting the piece she held out to him. "It's almost as good as my mother's." She smiled that fleeting smile he enjoyed so well, and looked at Harper. "Another, Private?" she asked, then attached the slice when he nodded. "I would have thought your mother had a cook." "She did—still does, I imagine—but it never took too much urging to get her to give Mrs. Aiken the night off and tote out the cheese and sausages." She finished toasting the cheese and held the stick out to Harper, who took it with his thanks. When no one else indicated a need for another slice, she brushed off her hands on her apron and pleased Jesse's heart by sitting beside him. She closed her eyes, and he could tell how tired she was. He also knew that she would never complain. "Do you miss Dunfermline?" she asked, her eyes still closed. "In some ways, yes, although at the moment I am hard put to think of any." "Tell me, Captain. Was it heaven to live in one place when you grew up?" He chuckled. "I didn't know any different!" He thought a moment, then felt the need of her closer. "Elinore, come closer. I'm getting chilly."' He held out his arm to her. Without any hesitation, she moved into that space he knew she inhabited so well. "I know you will think this strange, but I had a childhood you might have been familiar with." "Oh, I doubt that," she murmured, her voice a little muffled by his greatcoat. "Hear me out. My family was one of two Catholic families in the entire district. I'm sure that the McDonalds, Campbells, and

Fergussons wondered why we Randalls didn't follow Bonnie Prince Charlie after Culloden, but the Randalls are a stubborn bunch." "I would wonder, too." He shrugged. "There was a lot of land involved. Well, my brothers and I were on the outs among the neighborhood's children. I don't know what their parents thought they would catch from us, but they were determined not to find out." "I do know how that feels," she told him in a small voice. "You wonder what you have done wrong, and is it your fault." "Precisely. I think it made me shy." He grinned in the dark. "Have you noticed?" He was rewarded with a chuckle of her own and a light slap on his chest. He covered her hand with his. She did not pull away, but sighed and moved closer. He rested his chin lightly on her hair, and wondered briefly if he had ever been happier. It struck him then. "Elinore, do you realize this is the first time in ... oh, let me think . . . twelve years—twelve years!—that I have not been half listening for a call to the charity ward in Milan, or a barracks somewhere, or a battlefield, or a marching hospital." Elinore tightened her grip on him. In a moment he felt her other arm behind him as she encircled him in her warmth. "I suppose we should feel frightened or worried," she whispered into his uniform. "We're one hundred and fifty miles from the border, and I fear the Spanish are looking at us like guests who have stayed too long at a banquet and drunk all the sherry." "I suppose," he agreed, "but I am disinclined to care." He breathed deep of the wood smoke—it smelled like cedar—and the pleasant odor of sun still trapped in Elinore's hair. Her breast was soft against his chest, not so much arousing him as comforting him. She relaxed against him and in another moment

was breathing evenly. His eyes were closing when he heard horses on the other side of the river. Harper was already on his feet, and then looking at him. "Elinore, wake up," Jesse whispered. She was on her feet in a moment, too, and he wondered how soundly any of them would sleep until they were safe behind the barricades of Torres Vedres. She did not cry out or try to cling to him, but stood still, her hands clasped together, probably exercising the control she had learned since her youngest years with the British army. When they came closer, he counted ten riders, all of them armed. "Quien es?" asked the cloaked figure at the head of the column. "Somos soldados y un medico" he said, every nerve alert and aware that he stood apart from the others of Number Eight, a target as sure as the Chief had been a target. Elinore was at his side then. He wanted to push her away from the horsemen, but he pulled her close instead. "Y este es mi esposa," he said, gesturing to her, and hoping that he could be understood. Trying to appear calmer than he felt, he looked into the faces of the men. As he watched, they lost their wary edge. One of them dismounted and came toward him, to bow courteously and extend his hands to them both. "He says he was wondering about the fire on his land, and hoping that it was not the French again," Elinore whispered. "He wants to know how we came to be alone here. I will tell him we were separated from our division." She spoke to the landowner. If her language was halting, he did not seem to mind. She turned back to Jesse. "He has invited us to his estancia." She hesitated. "He wishes some advice on his old dog, who has very bad breath."

She held up her hands. "I think that is what he said! Don't you dare laugh." He didn't, even though he wanted to. "Elinore, do I need to get a more reliable translator? One that I will have to pay?" he teased. "Tell him we accept with pleasure." While the horsemen spoke among themselves, Jesse turned back to Harper and Wilkie and explained where they were going. Harper insisted upon accompanying them, relenting only when Jesse said he would be safe with Eli-nore, and besides, who was there to keep an eye on Ar-mand Leger? "I don't like it, sir," Harper stated flatly. "You're determined to be my bodyguard, aren't you, Private?" Jesse said. "Thank you for that, but I need you to remain here. I promise we will return before midnight. If we do not, you have my permission to storm the castle and take all prisoners." "Don't think I won't, sir," the private replied, and Jesse almost believed him. When he turned his attention back to the horsemen, Eli-nore was already seated behind the landowner, one arm around his waist and her hand holding onto his belt. Another man held out his hand, while someone else boosted him up behind another rider. They crossed the river, and in a matter of minutes were on a road that led to an estate. Few lights shone, and he felt a momentary uneasiness that was relieved by Elinore's laughter at something the landowner said to her. They rode through the gates. Even in the darkness illuminated only by the moon, he saw the scars of war and neglect. Dinner was held in the great hall. Beyond learning that this was the Maldonado estancia, and that two sons fought with the Duke of Santander, one of Wellington's staunch-est allies, there was

little conversation. The Maldonados preferred to eat, although Elinore did carry on a halting dialogue with Senora Maldonado that involved simple phrases on Elinore's part, and much smiling between the women. Calling them courses was generous. The Maldonados, like most of Spain's minor nobility, had suffered under Napoleon's efforts to keep Spain. The food, served on beautiful silver plates, was plain, the wine barely more than grape juice. In fact, Senor Maldonado had lifted his glass and made both a face and a toast: "To the French, who knew good wine when they came here in 1806 and cleaned out the cellars." Jesse followed Elinore's lead, assuring their hosts, when the dishes came around again, that they were full and couldn't possibly eat any more. He hated to think that they might be eating the Maldonados' food for the week. Dessert was a simple plate of almonds, probably from the groves they had walked past earlier in the afternoon. As he sat in the company of new friends, with Elinore by his side, Jesse felt a great exhaustion cover him. His temple was starting to throb again. All he wanted to do was lie down and sleep, but there was one more event, if he could believe his wife. "Uh, Senor Maldonado, uh, tiene un perro viejoV He expected a blank stare—Elinore couldn't have translated that properly—but his host smiled, put two ringers to his lips as Senora Maldonado winced, and whistled. From the gloomy interior of the next room came an enormous dog. "My stars, he was serious," Elinore whispered, her eyes wide. "Jesse, he weighs more than you do." "Well, more than you, at least," he replied, unable to take his eyes from the dog. He looked vaguely like a Saint Bernard—he had seen those in the Italian alps on holiday from medical school —but with a benign air, and all the good nature in the universe.

He reminded Jesse of an old Jew in the Milan marketplace, a mountain of a man in a black Astrakhan coat, with flowing earlocks and beard, who moved slowly or not at all, depending on the weather. The dog walked to his master and sank at his feet. Senor Maldonado beckoned to him. "Ven aca, senor." Jesse did as he was bid, unable to keep the smile off his face. Hippocrates, I hope you are busy elsewhere at the moment, he thought. This will be my first four-legged patient. He knelt by the dog, which turned his massive head slowly, and breathed on him. "Oh, my," Jesse said, when he could talk. He dabbed at his eyes. "Elinore, please tell Senor Maldonado that I see what he means." When she said nothing, he looked around to see the two women dissolved in silent laughter. Even Senor Maldonado was looking away, a smile on his face. "If it isn't too much trouble, Elinore, that is . . ." He could tell that his bride, the woman of his dreams and hopefully the mother of his children, would not prove entirely useful in the examination. After giving her a glance that should have dissolved nails, but only made her gasp and look away to study a painting, he indicated to the landowner to hold his dog's head and try to open his mouth. "Nothing simpler," Senor Maldonado said. He pried open the beast's mouth. "A su servicio," he said, and winked at Jesse. Taking a deep breath, Jesse moved closer and cautiously stuck his hand inside the cavern with teeth, all the while anticipating a sudden chomp that would end his surgical career forever, and fit him for selling matches on some street corner in Dundee. He called for a lamp, and when it was situated close at hand, took a good look. These are old, he thought, fascinated in spite of himself. He ran his fingers lightly over the worn teeth.

"Cual es su nombre?" Elinore asked. "Lobo," Senor Maldonado said. There may have been a time when the old gentleman looked like a wolf, but too many years and good meals had come and gone since then, Jesse thought. "Lobo," he said, and was rewarded with several thumps of the big dog's massive tail. "You, sir, are in dire need of a toothbrush. Oh, turn your head, por favor." He was hard put to describe what he needed, but Elinore rescued him, describing a kitchen brush for pots. Senora Maldonado finally understood. The two of them left the table and went down the hall, where Jesse heard them erupt in pent-up laughter. Senor Maldonado looked at him and shrugged. "Mu-jeres," he muttered. "You understand." He did. Oh, he did. The women returned with a new pot brush, a paste of soda and salt, and an apron for Jesse. Lobo, a most obliging patient, had no objection to keeping his mouth open while Jesse scrubbed from front to back. It might have even felt good, because Lobo wagged his tail and breathed happily and without discrimination on both his master and his private physician. He also leaned against Jesse, pressing his great weight until Senor Maldonado noticed what was going on and straightened up the dog before Jesse toppled. When he finished, Jesse blotted the great teeth with a damp cloth. "I must say that is rather fine," he said. He looked at Elinore, whose eyes were merrier than he had ever seen them before. "I may have learned a new trade, my dear, in case surgery gets slow. Do find a way to tell Senor Maldonado that I recommend he feed Lobo a generous handful of parsley with each meal. Mint would also be nice." She did as he said, obviously trying to hold back that big laugh he knew she was capable of. She kept her demeanor calm, and

Senor Maldonado nodded at her words. "He said to tell you he is most grateful, Jesse, and that he wishes— oh, my stars!—that you lived in the neighborhood all the time. He asks if you are also proficient with cattle." "Tell him no." Jesse sat back and scratched Lobo's massive head. "If you were a cat, you would purr," he told the dog. "But thank God you are not a cat. I would be in shreds and tatters right now, gargling out my life with a great hole in my throat." He looked at Elinore. "I have an idea. Let's see how grateful Senor Maldonado is. Ask him if he could take us in a wagon to the next town tomorrow." It turned out that the landowner was quite grateful, promising to have his bailiff meet them tomorrow morning. As her husband summoned his men and prepared to return them to the clearing, Senora Maldonado insisted on giving them two blankets, and more bread and cheese, as well as a sausage that Jesse thought would fit well enough in Wil-kie's bag. She also draped a woolen shawl over Elinore's shoulders. They rode back to the clearing the same way they had come. Wilkie and Leger appeared to be asleep, but Harper stood by the fire. When he was on the ground again, Jesse held out his hand to his generous host, who chose instead to grasp him in a firm hug. He spoke to Elinore. "He says to tell you that you are a most obliging man, and he hopes we have no trouble from the French. His bailiff will be here in the morning." "Gracias, senor," Jesse replied. "For nada. Vaya con dios." The horsemen left the clearing, and soon were across the river. Jesse stood close to Elinore. She turned to look at him, rose up, and kissed his cheek. "My hero," she whispered. "I could smell that dog's breath across the table. I think you're marvelous."

"I think you're a great tease," he said. "You mustn't make fun of my patients." She laughed and took one of the blankets from him. The fire had burned down to coals now. With a sigh she took out the pins and shook her hair loose. Jesse joined her by the fire. Harper had curled up next to Wilkie, and Armand Leger lay by himself, his cloak clutched around him. Jesse took the other blanket the Maldonados had given him and spread it over the Frenchman, who sat up in surprise. "Merci," he said. "Merci." "I suppose you are expecting me to share with you," Elinore whispered. "I am. It's the least you can do for an amazingly proficient animal doctor." She laughed and spread a smaller blanket by the fire and took off her shoes, then turned away from the sleeping men and unbuttoned her waist. She lay down then, and Jesse joined her, pulling the blanket over both of them. She turned to face him. "How far do you think we came today?" He thought a moment. "Probably no more than ten miles." She was silent then, and he thought she had fallen asleep. He knew his own eyes were closing when she touched his face with her fingertips, and put her lips close to his ear. "Thank you for listening to me." "M'mm." He wanted to say something profound that would melt her heart, but his brain seemed to be melting and sliding out his ears. "Jesse?" "Mmm." "Was that Randall luck? If so, I think it is odd, indeed."

He woke, hours later, to the sound of horses. Whether they were across the river or closer he could not tell. He knew he should look around, but Elinore was close against him and his hand had somehow found its way inside her unbuttoned waist. If I move, I will wake her, he thought. He lay still, enjoying her warmth and the feel of her. He listened more intently, and convinced himself it was but one rider, two at most. Senor Maldonado is a conscientious host, he thought. Let us pray, though, that he left the dog behind. Jesse's eyes began to close. Elinore sighed and burrowed closer. I must be imagining things, he reasoned, or Harper would be on his feet by now. Funny about Harper. Perhaps I have been underestimating him. He breathed in the fragrance of Elinore's hair and closed his eyes. I wonder, Hippocrates, how many others I have been underestimating. Am / in that census?

Chapter Eleven He decided in the morning that the horsemen had been his imagination. Elinore shook her head when he asked if she had heard anything. Harper frowned, and Jesse saw the concern on his face, and an even more unexpected reaction: shame. "Gor, Captain, I should have heard something. Some soldier I am." With surprising ease, Jesse resisted the urge to make one of his patented cuts at Harper's military prowess. He knew that only yesterday he would have done so, but the sight last night of Harper alert at the campsite waiting for him and Elinore to return changed his mind. "Do not trouble yourself with it," he said instead. "I could very well have imagined the entire episode. In fact, I think that likely." He knew Harper was not convinced, but

he noticed something else, too. He smiled. "We're all a bit edgy, what?" Harper smiled back. "Aye, sir," he replied. He hesitated. "Go on, man, speak." Harper looked at Elinore, who was folding the blankets, and lowered his voice. "Sir, if she gets tired, give me a sign. I can always carry her. She can't weigh much." Oh, Hippocrates, who would call me sentimental after all these years of war? Jesse thought as the tears started behind his eyelids. He touched Harper's arm and nodded. He realized with a start, that despite his closeness to the soldiers by the nature of his work, he was in deep danger at that moment of seeing this bumbling, inept scoundrel as a man. The moment was only reinforced when Harper cleared his throat again. "Captain, I know you can throw me in the stockade for what I'm going to say." Jesse looked around elaborately. "Not a stockade in sight, Private." "Captain, I know you married her on the quick," he whispered, "but I'm thinking—excuse me—that maybe ..." He stopped, looked at the ground, and gave a short laugh. "Gor, who would think I would ever blush?" He looked Jesse in the eye then, his expression kindly. "You love her, sir, don't you? We'll see that she gets to the border, no matter what." He looked down again. "Wilkie and I just wanted you to know." You're a braver man than I am, Private, Jesse thought. I haven't even the courage to look you in the eye after that statement. "Thank you," he whispered, his eyes on the tree line beyond the river. "I can't tell you what that means to me to know that." "Gor, sir, I think you just did. Like I said: she can't weight much."

Then he was gone to help Wilkie with the bedrolls and argue about the remaining ham. Jesse watched him and thought of his maestro, who had reminded him, after he hooded him at graduation, to learn something new every day. Senor Maldonado's word was good. When they finished breakfast, the bailiff arrived with a wagon. "I can't take you any farther than Torquemada," he told Elinore, who translated. "Senora, but mi jefe wants his cart off the road if the French are nearby." "We understand, senor," she replied, and favored him with her sunniest smile, which only made him blush, then tug at his collar, good Spaniard that he was. "Please tell Senor Maldonado that we are in his debt." "I didn't mean to embarrass him, but it is so easy with Spanish men," she said to Jesse as he helped her into the wagon, which was loaded with sacks of grain. She patted his cheek. "They are almost as shy as you are, Captain. Jesse." "Or you?" he teased in turn. Or me, she thought, even as she nerved herself to smile at him, too, and wonder how shy he really was. She had wakened once last night to feel his hand inside her unbuttoned waist, next to her shimmy, his fingers warm. She could tell from his breathing that he was deep in sleep, and she enjoyed the moment with its irrational sense again of safety in a world where there was no safety. Before she returned to sleep, she had lightly traced her finger down one of his fingers, and wondered if a prerequisite to matriculation in medical school demanded that all surgeons have elegant hands. She had seen them wrist-deep in blood before, or spattered with less exalted detritus from the bodies of his patients, and there he was last night, his hand pressed to her stomach, holding her close. She didn't know why it should touch

her, but it did. How long have I really been in your care? she asked herself, then dismissed the idea as profoundly stupid. She looked at his back as he seated himself beside the bailiff. He was not a tall man, or even particularly robust-looking. He took off his cap to scratch his head, and she admired the deep red of his hair, long now, and curling around his uniform collar. I should probably offer to trim that, she thought. "From the way you admire him, I think you repose more confidence in Captain Randall than I do." "Beg pardon?" She looked in surprise at the Frenchman, who sat behind her, sacks of grain between them. When he did not reply, she said, "I did not know your English was so polished, monsieur." He shrugged, and leaned back against the grain, closing his eyes. "Life is full of surprises, Madame Randall," he said, when she thought he was asleep. She debated all morning if she should tell Jesse. He will think I am too suspicious, she decided, and resigned herself to the bumpy ride. It's no crime to speak excellent English. She took another look at the man before turning her attention to the view. She did take time to mention the matter to her husband when they stopped at noon, pulling him aside. He listened carefully, inclining his head toward her. In fact, they were almost touching, and she felt again that irrational comfort. "I suppose I am being foolish," she concluded, aware of his proximity, rather than the message she carried. "I've never noticed that foolishness was one of your traits, Elinore," he replied. What are my characteristics? she wanted to ask. Tell me about myself, from your point of view. Do I look different from your perspective than I do from my own? "I just don't like to feel

suspicious," she said, almost wincing at the lameness of her words, especially when his head was touching hers now. She put her hand on his arm to steady herself, and in another moment found herself in his embrace, there in the clearing at bright noon, with everyone looking on. He didn't do anything but hold her. Not that she was planning to kiss him, she told herself, but what a pleasure to stand so close. Why am I doing this? she thought. More to the point, why is he? He offered no explanation, at least not until they realized that they were standing there with others' eyes on them, and pulled away slightly. "Better?" he asked, and she nodded. He released her, then pointed her toward the trees. "Go on, now. I'll stand here and give you a little privacy. Can't be pleasant, being the only woman in this army." She did as he said, relieving herself in the shade of a tree nearly bare of cover, but sheltering, all the same. I wonder what it is like to have a room for a commode, and perhaps even a bath. As she straightened her skirts again, she thought of her mother and the other women of the baggage train, who would gather around each other in a circle on those long crossings of the Spanish plains, facing out and spreading their skirts while one of their number took a turn inside their protection. "Oh, Mama," she murmured, even as the tears came. It was such a homely situation, but she suddenly wanted her mother. She couldn't hide the tears in her eyes when she left the trees and found the surgeon standing there, his back to her. "Thank you," she said, and she knew her voice was unsteady. "I think this is when I miss my mother most and the other women," she said, bringing up what she knew was a topic men and women left unsaid. He only looked at her, noted her tears, and regarded her with no embarrassment. "If you need to relieve yourself oftener than we stop, just let me

know," he told her as he took her arm and walked with her back to the clearing. "Don't hold back, just because you're shy." He nudged her, and she couldn't help laughing. She was still smiling when they started again. Jesse decided to walk, and Harper helped Wilkie into the wagon. "His wound's plaguing him, Mrs. Randall. Right, Wilkie?" "Bugger off," Wilkie said succinctly. "Pardon me, Mrs. Randall." He settled himself carefully beside a grain sack, tilted his cap over his eyes and was soon asleep. Or so she thought, until she noticed him raising up now and then to take a long look at Armand Leger, who glared back. Harper the slouch and cut purse, and Wilkie the malingerer and opportunist, Elinore thought, and both of you my protectors. She watched the Frenchman, who sat, his knees drawn up, staring at nothing. When he helped her into the wagon, Jesse had asked her to see if she could draw him out, but there was nothing about the man that invited conversation. He even sat with one shoulder raised, as though ready to ward off inquiry. In for a penny, she thought. "Monsieur Leger, I suppose this is not my business, but since we must exist together until the Portuguese border, why is it that you are fleeing the French? One would think. . . ." He stopped her with a stare that could have drilled through iron. "You are right, Madame Randall; my affairs are none of your business." He closed his eyes and turned away, shutting her off as surely as if he had slammed a door between them. Her cheeks burned. Count to ten, Nellie. She did. "I apologize for intruding on your affairs, monsieur," she said quietly. "I will not do it again." She glanced at Wilkie, who shrugged and composed himself for sleep as well, now that his chief reason for riding was incommunicado. The oxen were slow, but they traveled at least twice as far that day as they could have on foot. When dusk came— that time

when she began to feel uneasy, despite the presence of the other men and the bailiff and his two riders— they stopped at a village not far from Torquemada. "I am going now to Baltanas," he told her in Spanish, naming a village to the east. "I know that you wish to stay on the road to Valladolid." Jesse helped her from the wagon, and she thanked the bailiff for his assistance. They stood in the plaza, attracting a small crowd. She stood close to Jesse. No one looked particularly angry, but she could see no welcome, either. "I think they just wish we would all go away," she whispered. "I have been feeling that for two or three years now," Jesse whispered back. He took her arm formally in his. "Come, my dear. There is the church. That is always the place to begin in Spain." The priest stood at the door of his sanctuary, from the look on his face no less wary than his parishioners. "Here I go." Elinore said, and released her hold on her husband. With enthusiasm she did not feel, she introduced them, and invited the priest to summon his parish in the morning for sick call. In exchange for the services of the Royal Army's Medical Corps, their only request was a meal, a place to spend the night, and perhaps some food in the morning. When she finished, the priest invited them inside to share his evening meal of lentil soup, bread, and a small sausage shaved thin so all could have a taste. Another poor village, she thought. How they must dread it when even a remnant of the British army shows up like hungry relatives. She knew that Jesse suffered the same thoughts, from the way he refused seconds, even though she knew he must be hungry. Through her, the priest asked Jesse if he could visit an old fellow that night who was troubled with boils. "He could wait for morning, senora—please tell your husband that—but I fear it

would be like the crippled man at the Pool of Siloam. Others would rush in front, and he will never see the physician." The priest shook his head when she offered to interpret. "We will manage," he assured her. "He has lived alone for years, and pretty ladies only frighten him." Harper insisted on accompanying the two men. Her cloak tight around her, she stood on the church steps until the chill drove her inside. Wilkie had spread out his bedroll and wrapped himself in it. In a few moments, he was snoring. She wished there was a spot with some warmth in the sanctuary, but there was none. She spread out their two blankets and sat down, hoping the cold from the stones would not seep into her dress. "Mrs. Randall, may I join you?" She looked up in surprise at the Frenchman, who had said nothing more to her all afternoon. She had almost forgotten he was even there. "Yes, certainly," she said, knowing that she did not want him there and not relishing another rebuff. She could not tell if he had something to say to her, or if he was just feeling the solitude of the building. The priest had left them with no lights, and the gloom seemed to seep up the walls along with the cold. The only light came from two rows of candles burning in an alcove closer to the altar. He was hardly more than a dark shape beside her. "Madame, I am Armand Leger," he began. "Yes, I know," she replied, faintly amused, when he paused. "The name means nothing to you?" She shook her head, embarrassed at this example of her paltry education. "I did not think fame was that fleeting," he said, and he did nothing to disguise his condescension.

She felt a little spark burn inside her. "Monsieur, if you have chosen to humiliate me further, now that my husband is absent, I wish you would not. I am well aware of my own lack of accomplishments," she replied, her voice quiet. "No, no," he said quickly. He was silent a moment. "Perhaps I do not know how to speak to anyone anymore." Another pause then, "I want you to know this: I need to get to the British lines because I have no regard for my own people anymore." She knew her surprise must have registered on her face, even in the gathering gloom. He made a gesture with his hand. "Leger is only one of my names. I used to consort with kings, Madame Randall." "Oh, my." "I am a relative of the Marquis de Lafayette. You have heard of him? Pardon, madame, but I am being rude again." "Well, you are French," she said, not willing to let him get away with that. She was rewarded with a laugh. "We were cousins, and we frequented the same clubs. I liked the equality he brought back with him from the new United States of America. He and I were the chief engineers who guided the Declaration of Rights through the National Assembly in the summer of 1789." He leaned back against the wall. "I do not think there was a finer place to be than Paris, in that summer," he said simply. "The world was ours, and there was a future for everyone, and not just the aristos." "And then it all changed, did it not?" she asked. "If you are royalty yourself, monsieur, how did you survive the Terror? Wasn't Lafayette imprisoned?" "Madame, your education is not so piecemeal as you think! Indeed he was. I was safe enough in your own country as a representative of Louis Capet's government, at least, his

government before it turned on him. I thought it prudent to wait out the Terror in London. I prefer my head upon my neck." She looked at him, and he must have interpreted the look. "Madame, I am not a very brave man." "You left family, didn't you?" It was only a hunch. Elinore sucked in her breath when he leaped to his feet and strode out the door of the church. She followed him, berating herself for her unkindness. "Oh, please, sir, I did not mean to upset you," she said. He said nothing for a time, then sat down and patted the step beside him. She gathered her cloak tight and sat down. Elinore, be kind enough to not butt into his thoughts, she told herself. "My wife Amalie and daughters were forced to keep an appointment with Dr. Guillotine in La Place de la Concorde," he said finally, and there was nothing in his voice of arrogance or disdain now. "I am told that Amalie's last words before they strapped her to the board was to curse my cowardice." Elinore could think of nothing to say. She put her hand on his arm and inched a little closer. He did not pull away, and gradually she felt the tension lessen in his arm. He cleared his throat and sighed. "I returned to France only after the Directoire was formed, and do you know, I was hailed by that wicked threesome as a great old warrior, a living testament to the revolution." His laugh was bitter and made her shiver. "They hauled me out for formal occasions like an icon. No wonder! All the other old revolutionaries were dead, cannibalized by the Jacobins and Girondists when they turned on each other, and themselves." After a long pause during which she watched the sun set, he turned to her. "I have probably intimidated you into not asking the question that I know must be on your mind: Why am I sitting

here in a poor church in a poor town, in a wretched country?" "The thought did cross my mind," she murmured. "How are your arithmetical skills, my dear?" he asked. "Probably no better than my history," she admitted. "You are wise in ways I am not," he said. "In the Di-rectoire, there were three, and then there was one." "Napoleon." "Precisely. Something changed for me when he began his rampage through Europe." Leger took her hand between his own. "I could no longer lull myself with the fiction that he felt much concern for the aims of the revolution. The Declaration of Rights? Bah! In his own way, he is no better than the kings he supplanted." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Madame Randall, you are only a few years younger than my Charlotte and Eugenie, and their innocent blood cries out to me." "Monsieur," she began, and could not continue. He did not release her hand, but he turned slightly on the steps so that he was facing her. "Do you know my only consolation?" He gripped her hand tighter. "I learned from others present that day in the Place de la Concorde that Amalie died first. It is my only consolation to know that she did not have to see the terror and hear the screams of our little ones who followed her. Who went first? Were they bound together? Their necks were so small. Think of the economy." "Stop, please!" she begged him. "Oh, stop!" She threw her arms around him, holding him to her. As he cried into her hair, she wondered how many times he had conjured up that nightmare in La Place de la Concorde. She wondered if he ever closed his eyes without seeing his family so alone in the middle of thousands. And I am hurt because he is rude? she asked herself. God forgive

me. He released her finally and sat with his hands clasped together. She rested her hand on his back. "Napoleon would like nothing better than to display me in Paris. It is people like me—the old warriors from '89—who give him any legitimacy, and I refuse." "Why Spain, then?" she asked. He shrugged. "We have already established that I am a coward. It seems that I have no sense of timing, madame. I waited too long in Paris. It was impossible to sail from Calais, once the British began their blockade. Where could I run to in Europe? Napoleon owns it all. I came south because I am a cousin of Ferdinand, that pathetic Bourbon who sat on the Spanish throne, and then what does Napoleon do but move on Spain as well? And who would have thought the Spanish would rise in revolt? Make no mistake, madame: You are looking at fortune's fool." No, I am looking at a man who is desperately unhappy, she thought. Someone who is still arrogant enough to think he can bear the sins of the world. God forgive him. She leaned against his arm. She felt him draw a quavering breath, and closed her eyes, knowing that he was thinking of his little daughters. "Why did you tell me this?" she asked. "Was it because of Charlotte and Eugenie?" "Yes." Another sigh. "I confess that when I saw you and your surgeon, who so obviously adores you, I was jealous, because you have what my darlings do not. I wanted you to know, so you would be reminded how much you have. Don't take it for granted." She could hardly believe what she was hearing. "Oh, monsieur, you must be mistaken. We have been married but three days, and he married me out of charity." It was her turn. The words tumbled out as she told him about her silly parents, the debt, Major Bones, Captain Randall's impulsive proposal, the horrible

death of the Chief, brought on because of her ramshackle family, and their retreat, unprotected by the army. "Jesse tells me not to blame myself, but I cannot imagine that he would want to continue his protection of me once we are safe behind the lines." He was holding her hand this time. "If it is love, sir, it is love on very short notice," she said. He laughed softly, and she was relieved at the sound, because it told her that at least he was not thinking—-if only for a moment —of Charlotte and Eugenie. "I think you are mistaken, Madame Randall," he said finally. "I don't see how it could be any other way." "My dear, through the years I have become a great observer. If I cannot explain human nature without exposing my own hypocrisy, I can at least watch it. I have been observing your husband. Are you aware of how often he looks at you?" "Well ... no ... I ... Oh, monsieur, he is concerned for all of us!" "Or how often you look at him?" She could think of nothing to say. Leger released her hand and stood up to stretch. "I am finally too old to sit on cold church steps, even with a charming lady. Good night, my dear. Do think about what I said concerning the redoubtable Captain Randall. And the rest? Take this lesson: We know not what burdens others bear, do we?" No, we do not, she thought. She was still sitting on the step when her husband returned with the priest. He sank down onto the step beside her. The priest touched his shoulder, and went inside. "I had an interesting experience," he said finally. You did? she wanted to ask. I am beginning to wonder lately if Spain has anything but interesting experiences. "What happened?" she asked instead.

"We saw the old man. He has numerous bed sores. I only had water and soap, but I cleaned them and showed the priest what to do." He made a face. "He had been applying a local remedy containing sheep dung. Imagine! I couldn't help but wish for a little permanganate of potassium, but soap and water still trump sheep dung." He looked across the plaza. "I wonder what could drag Spain into the nineteenth century." "A miracle?" He laughed, and tucked her arm through his. "At least! Elinore, while I was cleaning the sores, the priest cooked a little parched corn for him. You won't believe this, but when it was cool enough, the priest chewed a bite, then put it in the old fellow's mouth! He's quite toothless, and relies on the priest to chew his food for him." He patted her hand. "At first it disgusted me, and then I began to wonder if I could ever be as kind as that priest, or as humble as his parishioner. Forgive the pun, but it's food for thought." How is it that such kindness and such cruelty exist side by side in this world? Elinore asked herself. She leaned against her husband, and closed her eyes when she felt his lips on her hair. I shouldn't be feeling as good as I do, considering everything. "Let me tell you what I learned tonight from Monsieur Leger," she began. She told Jesse everything except what the Frenchman had said about him. "We'll have to do all we can to get him to the border, won't we?" he said when she finished. She could tell by the way his arm had tightened around her that he was affected by the story. "I'm not so certain that is what he really needs." "He probably needs absolution worse than most of us," Jesse said frankly. He shook his head. "But who am I to say what will make a man's heart right? I try to heal bodies, don't I?"

"You do it well." "It's just puny medicine, Elinore. Up you get." He pulled her to her feet, and kept his hold on her hand as they went inside the church. He stopped, and she held her breath as he dipped his fingers in the holy water at the door and crossed himself, something she had never seen him do. "You know, I hope that someday there is room in medicine for physicians of the mind and heart." He laughed, and it sounded self-conscious to her ears. "A lunatic idea, eh? No one ever said you were married to a rational man, Elinore Randall." She thought he would come to bed, but he didn't. When she finally closed her eyes, he was standing by the altar, then kneeling by the row of candles, which gleamed a little brighter.

Chapter Twelve The next day was like the one that preceded it, and so on through a week of rain. Each day had its differences, and they stuck out like little jewels against the dark wool of long hours of walking, and hunger. At every sick call in every scabby village, Jesse knew the gratitude that comes to a surgeon who does so little that seems so much to those who have even less. The only pay they could ask for was food, but it was in scarce supply. None of them took much when it was offered, but it broke his heart to watch Elinore scarcely able to chew a slice of bread because of young ones who watched her every swallow. More than once she had given up, and handed out the bread to one of them, protesting that she was full. When he tried to remonstrate with her in private, she only cried. What could he say? They were all doing the same thing, even Wilkie, who found excuses for

handing out the sausage he carried. "Captain, it's just too heavy," he said at one stop, and gave him such a look that Jesse knew better than to comment, even if he was the officer, and according to a piece of paper, the gentleman among them. He was able to take his consolation in the little good he did. He knew it was his skill that kept them moving, and it gave him huge satisfaction to provide, even in such puny measure, for those he was coming to love. He already knew he loved Elinore, but the others began to work their way into his heart in ways he had not expected. He knew he was a man of compassion, but like others of his class and station, he knew the chasm that separated officers from soldiers. As the days passed, he began to see them as men. One thing troubled him. He continued to hear riders at night, not every night, but now and then, as though someone watched, but did not appear too concerned that they would suddenly disappear. No one else seemed to be aware of them, which made him wonder if his hearing was more acute than anyone else's or if his mind was starting to wander. He wanted to saying something to Elinore again, but decided against it. They had enough to worry about without tackling his overworked imagination. Wilkie was his greatest surprise on the retreat. One night they came to a village so poor there was no church. He found the alcalde and Elinore made the usual offer of medical help in the morning in exchange for food and lodging. He could tell it pained the alcalde to say there was no food, and unlike in other villages used to hoarding and hiding, Jesse believed him. Lodging then, Elinore had asked. Again the alcalde shook his head. Jesse winced at his embarrassment and what years of war had done to the village. There was no food, no lodging, no hope, only the wish that enemy and ally alike would vanish. After smiling at the alcalde to indicate no harm done and no offense taken, Jesse took Elinore's hand and turned toward the

road again. Wilkie began to sing a tune full of home and longing. Jesse had heard the tune before, and he knew it was from Devon, something about watching the water for sailors overdue. He gathered his wife close to him and let the wistfulness and power cover them both like a warm blanket. He could only thank the saint who protected wanderers—whoever that was-—for this glimpse into another man's heart that was as sound as his own. Harper's worth he already knew, and finally admitted it to himself the afternoon when Elinore, exhausted by struggling through mud and confined by skirts that made the effort so difficult, simply fell to her knees and stayed there. It killed his heart to see her, but he was already carrying his medical satchel, and David Sheffield's. He hurried to her side to raise her up, but Harper beat him there. In one motion he picked her up and kept walking. Elinore cried and protested, but Harper only turned to look at him and grinned. "I didn't think she weighed very much, sir," he said and kept walking. He knew he would not understand Armand Leger. The Frenchman continued to watch them all, saying little, but carrying his share of the load, and then Elinore's, when she faltered. He did not join in their chat, but at least he no longer regarded them with that irritating superior air that had characterized the early days of their acquaintance. A few days later, he had his first argument with Elinore. Upon the greater reflection that time and travel by foot allowed him, he did debate whether it was an argument. All he knew for sure was that he lost, to his ultimate relief. They had come to a more prosperous village, and the rain stopped long enough to allow them to wash the mud from their clothes, and even set up a small clinic in an empty house. They had spent a comfortable night. The two-room house had no windows, but the roof was sound, and that was an almost undreamed-of luxury. He had the satisfaction of setting a fracture

for a butcher's apprentice that earned them a sausage. An old woman came into the house lugging a wooden case that he recognized the moment she came through the door. He hurried to her side, and he lifted the box onto the table. He knew what was inside. "Elinore, would you look," he said, touching the bottles with their Latin labels and familiar contents. "Persulphate of iron, quinine sul-phatis, iodide of potassium, oh, and tincture of opium. My goodness." He understood most of what the woman was telling him, but Elinore filled in the gaps. "Her husband was the town's physician. He died last year. She wonders if you wanted to buy these medicines." With what? he thought, his delight turning to despair. He took a last look at the bottles and closed the box. "Ask her if she will take brass uniform buttons," he told Elinore. "Tell her I am singularly lacking in funds." He tried to make a joke when he saw the sadness on Elinore's face. "Ask her if she will take a draft on the Bank of England." "You're not so far gone," Elinore said. She tugged at her collar and pulled out her mother's gold necklace that he had saved from Captain Mason. In a moment she opened the clasp and held out the necklace to the old woman. "I won't let you do that," he said, and took it from her. Elinore turned on him with a fury he didn't know she possessed. "Isn't what is mine yours now? Aren't we married? Weren't you listening?" "Elinore, this is all you have left from your mother!" he said, raising his voice. "It's a necklace, Jesse," she replied, her voice steely calm. "Think what good you can do with it." She faltered a moment, then met his gaze with one as determined as his own. "And didn't you

promise the chaplain you would do what I said?" "You know he was quizzing us!" he replied in exasperation. "I don't know any such thing," she told him, her voice kinder now, more subdued, as though she knew she had overstepped some boundary, but did not wish to back down. She took the necklace, and he made no more protest when she handed it to the woman. In tight-lipped silence—he didn't know who he was angry at, but he didn't think it was Elinore—Jesse replaced the empty bottles in his medical case with the partly filled remnants from the Spanish physician's box. He wanted to take them all, but he took the most useful, because he didn't think he was strong enough to carry all the bottles now. They walked in silence for a mile or two, shoulders touching now and then, but separated by what he knew was a combination of pride and shyness. Medicine is easier than this, Hippocrates, he thought, then redefined his statement when Elinore glanced at him sideways with a little smile in her beautiful eyes. "Don't be angry with me," Elinore said, breaking the silence. "I'm not," he told her. "I'm just frustrated that I have a little fortune sitting in a bank in England, and cannot do a thing with it." She could have said all kinds of things then, but she chose to tease him. "Oh, does this mean I have married a wealthy man?" Something about what she said, maybe it was her oddly merry rejection of his money, humbled him. Here was someone who had spent her young life with less than nothing so long that it didn't seem to bother her. I doubt she even believes me, he thought. What fun it will be someday—if we live to the border— to prove her so wrong.

He could see no regret on her expressive face. I wonder what you will do, my darling, when I dig a diamond necklace out of the family vault in Dundee? he thought. He could hardly wait to find out. Elinore remained vaguely out of charity with him for that day's march, still miffed that he would think to question her exchange of a necklace for medicine. He didn't mind, because he knew there was time to make amends. And that, beyond his epiphany about friendship forged by hardship, was his greatest gift on the retreat: time. As hungry as he was, as wretched, and as worried about Number Eight, he realized that Major Bones—damn him to perdition, yes —had unwittingly provided him with time. Yes, winter was fast approaching; yes, they feared every day to meet with the French; and yes, he knew they were hurrying as fast as they could to the Portuguese border— all this paled under the reality that he had no patients to tend in the night, and no major cases to fret over and relive again and again, once they left each village in the morning. He could march along with his wife and comrades, no longer tyrannized by medicine. How odd it was that the thing he enjoyed the most could so dictate his life until his life was not his own. Was this something he had allowed to happen, or was it part of his medical calling? He knew he wanted to talk with Elinore about this curious phenomenon, but he watched her struggle and grow weary, and knew this was not the time to crow about his own independence. He decided finally that only another surgeon could fully appreciate the contradictory situation, and kept his own counsel. They came to Tordesillas, having skirted Valladolid on Leger's advice, who reminded them that the French had many allies in that fickle city. He could tell that Harper wanted to argue with him, but Jesse decided to believe the Frenchman. He could tell from Elinore's approving glance that she seconded his decision.

Leger seldom spoke to anyone except Elinore, and her approval told him that he had not erred. They avoided Valladolid and came to Tordesillas, famous for its arrogant treaty between the Peninsular rulers in 1494 that divided the little-known hemispheres beyond the horizon into fiefs of Spain and Portugal. The rain, which had held off for a few days, thundered down again, but he could see the royal tower—the property years ago of Isabel of Castile—where the treaty was signed. From the march to Burgos in the summer, he remembered other castles—some ruined, some not—in the vicinity. For Elinore's sake he wanted shelter more than usual. She had come to him red-faced and head down earlier in the afternoon to tell him that she had begun her monthly flow and could hardly walk from the cramps. She also asked if she could dig into their precious store of bandages. He gave his immediate consent, and sent her into the bushes to make the best effort she could, all the while wishing she could take care of the detail of her woman's life and then lie down with a warm bottle of water at her feet. Naturally she said nothing to the others, but when she came out of the bushes, Harper had already attached her satchel and medical bag to his own load. Jesse held his breath, but Elinore was too weary to argue, and too uncomfortable. He took her hand, and they walked into Tordesil-las in the rain. Number Eight had a stroke of luck at the church, a massive structure shabby-grand in that way of buildings constructed during Spain's Golden Age of conquistadors and wealth from the Indies, and then ignored for a few centuries as Spain declined. There were no benches in the sanctuary, but Elinore sank gratefully to the floor and drew her knees up tight against her chest. He touched her head. "I hate to ask it, but I need you to translate," he reminded her. He helped her to her feet. The priest stood close to the altar, arguing with a well-dressed

man who leaned on a cane. They came closer, uncertain. Even though his Spanish was still limited, Jesse could not detect much animosity between the men. Rather, the words had a rehearsed quality to them, as though this was not the first exchange on the same subject. He glanced at Elinore, whose puzzled expression mirrored his. The man with the cane broke off the discussion first, turning in their direction, then executing a most elegant bow. "Dama elegante" he began. To Jesse's amusement, Elinore looked behind her in surprise. "What, my dear, aren't you elegant enough in your mud?" he interrupted, teasing her in a low voice. "Silence, you!" the man ordered in English. "Obviously you do not appreciate the beauty beside you." He addressed himself to Elinore. "Please tell me that this wretched man is not your husband." Elinore laughed. "Oh, I wish I could," she said, her eyes merry, despite her exhaustion. "Senor, your English is impeccable." The man bowed again while the priest growled something low in his throat that Jesse strained to hear. "Dama, I am el Conde de Almanzor y Talavera, at your service." He put his fingers to his lips, shut his eyes in something close to ecstasy, and kissed them. "I have never seen a more beautiful lady." "Thank you," Elinore said, and looked at Jesse for help. He shrugged. She collected herself and remembered her purpose. "Father, we were left behind in General Sir Arthur Wellesley's retreat from Burgos and are on our way to Portugal. My husband here is a surgeon. If you will find us food and lodging tonight, he will be happy to hold a clinic for your town in the morning." "We have a physician here in Tordesillas," the priest said in a tone that while not unkind, dismissed them.

"May we at least stay here for the night, out of the rain? Ask him that, Elinore." Before she could reply, the count swung his cane at the priest, who stepped back nimbly, as though expecting the assault. "I believe you are demented!" the priest exclaimed. He jabbed his finger in the air in frustration, then left his own sanctuary. We must have landed in the lunatic asylum, Jesse thought. "Let's go, Elinore, before el conde here decides to take a swing at us." He took her hand. "Oh, no, no, no," the count exclaimed. "I would never do such a thing." He glared at the departing priest's back. "Never was a town blessed with such a bundle of debris in a black sack! No wonder no one has faith anymore." He came closer to Jesse. "I think he is an afrancesado, as well. You cannot trust him." "Then we should be on our way at once. Elinore, we dare not stay here." "Senor, I would offer you the hospitality of Almanzor y Talavera," the count said, before she could speak. "I cannot have you thinking that Tordesillas is inhospitable." "We have no money," Jesse said. The count clapped his hands in exasperation, and looked at Elinore. "Is your husband the most stubborn man in the British army?" "I ... I'm not really sure," Elinore replied, thrown off guard. "But see you here, sir, he will be glad to administer any medical treatment that you or your servants might require." "We are all in famous health, my dear lovely," the count replied. "I ask just one thing of you . . . Captain, is it?" "Yes. Captain Randall," Jesse said, hoping he did not sound as skeptical as he felt.

"I would like to paint your beautiful wife." "What?" he exclaimed. "Surely you are not serious?" "You do not think she is beautiful?" the count asked, his eyes wide. "Count, she is the personification of loveliness," Jesse said, and he felt his face turning red when Harper and Wilkie started to laugh. "But, Count, you will allow me to say that in her present state, my beautiful wife"—he emphasized my; he couldn't help himself, not with the way the count was looking at her—"could use a bath and a clean dress, and even more than that, a place to sleep." "Come with me, then, all of you," Conde Almanzor said, drawing his cape around him with a flourish. "You will be my guests." There seemed to be no point in arguing with the man, and Jesse felt no inclination to do so, not after another glance at Elinore's drawn face, and the way Wilkie's shoulders slumped. "Let's follow him," he said. "It can't be any worse than a night in the rain." They followed the count, who had appropriated Elinore and tucked her arm in his, through a side door to a coach that was probably new when the Bourbons came to power a century earlier. There was room for all inside. Only after a pointed look at the count was Jesse able to wrest Elinore away to sit beside him. "Proprietary, wouldn't you say?" he whispered to her while the count occupied himself with seating everyone. "I can overlook almost anything in a man who doesn't mind me with ten pounds of mud on my shoes and who promises a real bed," she whispered back. He shuddered elaborately and pulled her closer. "You are a fast piece, Mrs. Randall," he teased. "Too bad I am finding this out now, after I made all kinds of extravagant promises at Burgos."

He looked at her. The count was absolutely right; she was beautiful, even with rain on her face and her eyes so tired. Although it was a short ride, she was asleep before they reached the count's estate, her head gentle against his shoulder. He couldn't really tell in the rain and gathering darkness, but it seemed they crossed a moat. He even thought he heard the drawbridge clanking and grinding upright when they were through. He looked at Harper, who shook his head. Leger only stared out the window. Wilkie was gazing at him with such an expression of trust that Jesse felt uneasy. He told himself that although the count appeared a trifle eccentric, they had nothing to fear. The two retainers waiting by the stone entrance were as antique as the coachman, and even more deferential. Elinore will have a good night's sleep, he told himself, as the count indicated she should follow a woman he identified as his housekeeper. Elinore looked back at him once, and he wanted to follow her, except that the count was ushering them into the hall. "I wish to know where that woman is taking my wife," he said to the count. "She will tend to her every need and provide her with the best food we have to offer here in Almanzor," the count said. "I will do the same for you. Follow me, sirs." Every instinct told him no, but he saw the hunger on his men's faces, even as they seemed to mirror the wariness he knew was on his own. He wavered, disgusted with his own indecision and even, for the tiniest moment, cursing David Sheffield for dying and leaving him with the responsibility of Marching Hospital Number Eight. "Very well," he agreed reluctantly. "You will take me to her later, will you not?" Almanzor patted his shoulder. "Why don't we let her have a peaceful night's sleep for once, Captain? Surely your needs can

wait. You can see her in the morning. Do follow me. I know, strictly speaking, that this is not sherry country—our soil is too wet—but I think I have a brandy that will surprise you." He led them into a hall, and then through a series of rooms that made him wish for a long ball of twine, or at least the genius of a Theseus in the maze of the minotaur. Harper and Wilkie whispered together. They stopped finally at the door of a room that seemed like all the others. The count stood aside and motioned them inside. The pride on his face gave Jesse his first moment of relief. "Gentlemen, please accept the hospitality of Almanzor," he said. Harper's sigh was so deeply felt that Jesse could almost hear it resonate up from the stone floor. They were in a dining hall of such enormous size that Jesse wondered if whole Crusades had left from this place. Anything's possible, he thought as he looked around. After looking at row upon row of dusty banners overhead, some of them with Arabic writing, he saw the long table at the hall's end. With no further encouragement from the count, they all moved toward it. A great silver epergne stood at the table's center, but the attraction were the silver platters that flanked it. He could not remember when he had seen so much food. Or so it seemed. The count who had followed them in gestured toward it gracefully and bowed. "Be my guests, gentlemen. Pray, do not hang back." It was all Jesse could do not to sprint to the table and begin gobbling food from the nearest platter. He reached the table and stared at it in surprise and growing consternation. "What on earth . . ." he said, and stepped back. What lay on the table may have been well-prepared dishes at one time, but that was a long time ago. Deeply tarnished bowls held fruit so shriveled that he could not tell apple from plum. What

must have once been a roasted suckling pig was now an empty sack of bones from which emanated what he could only charitably call a musty aroma. Dried loaves of bread shriveled in silver baskets next to cheese curled and moldy. If there was brandy in the bottles on the table, only sediment the color of slush remained. He turned to see Armand Leger standing beside him, his face drained of all color. "Mon dieu, monsieur. We are in a madman's house," the Frenchman said.

Chapter Thirteen Think, Jesse, think, he commanded himself as he swallowed the panic that rose in his throat like bile. He stared at the food another moment, then turned around to see Harper right behind him. "Captain, I can kill him in a second," the private whispered. "No," Jesse whispered back, putting out his hand. "We don't know where Elinore is. Let me try this." He took a deep breath. Forcing himself to smile, he walked back to his host, who stood by the nearest table. "Count, your hospitality is nearly overwhelming, but I think the food has been on the table a few days too long." The count shook his head, as though admonishing a fractious child. "Captain, I had no idea the British army was so particular! Last summer some of Marshal Marmont's troops stopped here, and they were much more accommodating." I wonder under what stones you have buried them, Jesse thought, not daring to look at Harper, who was standing right beside him

now. "Actually, Count, we're so cold from marching in rain all day, that I was wondering—as a special favor to me—if you would bring us some soup instead. We can tackle this feast tomorrow night, eh?" The count clapped his hands together. "What an excellent notion!" He put his hand on Jesse's arm, and Jesse tried not to stare at the length and color of his fingernails. "My wife would call me remiss." He clapped his hands until an antiquated servant shuffled into the dining hall. "Pablo, bring some soup and bread for this army." Keep him talking, Jesse thought. "Your wife? When may we be graced with her presence, Count?" "Alas, she is quite ill, and could never visit." "Count, I am a surgeon," he reminded the man. "I would be pleased to tend to her. It is the least we can do to repay your magnificent hospitality." Top that, you old bastard. The count shook his head. "She is too ill even for you, I fear." He clacked yellow nails against yellow teeth, and Jesse shuddered. "That was why I was visiting that shabby excuse of a priest. I tell him she needs Extreme Unction, but he never listens." "Last Rites? My God, Count, let me see her!" Jesse insisted. "Surely I can make her more comfortable." "I doubt you can make her more comfortable," the count replied, laughing as though enjoying a huge joke. "You may see her in the morning. She will keep." I am not even going to think about that last remark, Jesse told himself. "I would like to see her." "Then I will oblige you," the count replied with a deep bow. "And now, I will see to your dinner. Please make yourselves comfortable until I return."

After the count left the room, humming to himself, they stared at each other. "We have wandered into a mess," Leger said at last. "How right you are," Jesse replied. A mob of thoughts careened about inside his brain, like balls pinging around a billiard table. "I don't know what to do, but I do know this: we had better do everything in our power to stay together tonight." "And tomorrow?" "Who knows? I think we will have to act very quickly." He looked around. "I haven't seen many servants, and the ones we have seen are as old as he is." "You don't need to be young to poison food," Leger observed. "Or fire a pistol." "No, you don't," Jesse agreed. "Let us insist that the count join us for soup." They waited silently, standing in a miserable little circle. Jesse ached to know where Elinore was, and if she was being well treated. What have I gotten us into, he asked himself. "We'll find her tomorrow, Chief." He looked up to see Harper regarding him with a look dangerously close to affection. He called me Chief, Jesse thought. My goodness. I had better prove myself worthy of that honorific. Dinner turned out to be surprisingly normal. The count returned with a large bowl of barley stew. Jesse couldn't readily identify the meat, and warned himself not to think too long about Marshal Marmont's troopers of last summer. They all watched the count dip from the bowl, take a few bites, pronounce the stew good, and gesture to them to follow his example. No one needed further urging. The meat turned out to be sausage. The count was the perfect host, content to pass the basket of crusty bread, and see that everyone had a generous slice of

cheese to float on top of the soup. He mourned that such a common meal had to be served at any dinner hosted by an Almanzor, but these were difficult, perilous times. "I trust you will overlook my poor hospitality, Captain," he said, pushing away his empty bowl at last. "On the contrary, Count, your food is excellent, and you are showing us every possible attention," he said. He thought a moment. What can I possibly lose by not venturing, he asked himself. "Count, considering these difficult times, I understand if you did not wish to trouble yourself with painting my wife. We can return some other time." "It is no trouble to me, Captain, none at all!" the count replied. He looked around at them all, his eyes bright. "I wasn't planning to paint her myself, you see. Tonight I am going to address a letter to Senor Francisco Goya in Madrid. He should have it in a few weeks, and if he has time in a month or so, he will be here to paint the senora." Jesse stared at the count. "Perhaps you do not understand, Count, but we are probably being followed by the French, and must continue our retreat tomorrow." "You may leave her with me, Captain." Never, he wanted to shout, then leap up and wring the man's scrawny neck. After a warning look at Harper and Wilkie, he forced himself to sit back in his chair. "I would miss her too much for that, Count. Perhaps you could make arrangements with Goya —I certainly appreciate that you have chosen him, of all painters —to come here in the spring when we return with Wellington's army." The count shook his head sadly. "It cannot be, Captain. She has to remain here." Jesse could think of nothing to say in the face of such calm

assurance. From his medical school days, he knew that arguing with a lunatic was akin to attempting to reason with a two-year-old. "This is certainly an honor for the Randalls, Count," he said finally. The Spaniard beamed at him. "I am so glad you agree!" He looked around. "On the whole, you are much easier to deal with than Marmont's soldiers. You never heard such complaint when I ... Oh, never mind. It is time I showed you to your chambers." Jesse didn't have to look at his soldiers to sense their alarm. "I have a request, Count. Please let us stay in the same room. We're rather used to each other by now." "I wouldn't dream of it!" the count declared. "Soldiers and gentlemen together!" He touched Jesse's arm, and Jesse tried not to wince when he thought of those fingernails. "We have never been so egalitarian here in Spain, sir!" "Then I insist that you quarter them in a room right next to Armand and me," Jesse said, trying to sound firm when his insides were in turmoil. "They are my men, and I will be in charge of them." Was that too much? Was it enough? he asked himself in agony as the count regarded him out of narrowed eyes. He returned the count's stare, his eyes not wavering, all the while wondering if staring at a madman was as provocative as staring at a strange dog. "I insist," he said, his voice quiet. To his relief, the count removed his hand and lowered his eyes with a self-conscious laugh. "How silly! I will do as you say, because I love the English so well." "Walk next to him, Armand," he whispered to the Frenchman. "I need a word with my men." Without a blink or hesitation, Armand stood next to the count, bowed elaborately, and extended his arm. Jesse hung back, and

Harper and Wilkie walked slowly beside him from the dining hall. "When you get in your room, barricade the door with anything you can find. You had better take turns standing guard. I'm going to try to see Elinore." "What are you going to do, Chief?" Harper whispered. "I have not a clue. Ah, Count, do tell us something about these wonderful pictures here in your gallery!" They were wonderful: a Velazquez here, an El Greco there. If he wasn't mistaken, a Tintoretto and at least two Titians languished in a darker corner. He thought he recognized a Raphael carelessly leaning against another painting on the floor. "Count, these are magnificent," he said, and he meant it. "I will be honored to have my darling Elinore painted by Goya and displayed in your gallery." The count beamed at him and blew him a kiss. Here I go, Jesse thought. "Do let me look in on her tonight, Count. I'm sure she is enjoying the best of your hospitality, but I miss her lovely face." "Of course, Captain," the count said promptly. Jesse could have dropped to his knees in relief. "But first let us quarter your men." He laughed, and Jesse felt his scalp tingle. "But we won't draw them, eh? Just quarter'um." He went off in a gale of laughter at his wit in English. Jesse forced himself to laugh along. "Count, how clever you are with English!" He leaned closer, trying not to cringe as his head touched the count's. "You must be the wittiest man in Spain." And the most diabolical, he thought. Oh, Lord, take pity on stupid people tonight, please. Both Harper and Wilkie were pale and subdued when they reached a door. The count opened it, and ushered the two men inside. Jesse could see a large bed, and a fire burning. He glanced

at the barred windows, then looked away. "Here you are, lads. Do have a pleasant night in your quarters," the count said. He fumbled with the keys at his belt, tried several, and then locked the door. Jesse looked at Leger. The Frenchman managed a small shrug. "You and Senor Leger will be here," the count said, indicating the room next door. They went inside, and Jesse noticed their medical satchels and other traveling kits lined against the wall. "You are treating us so well, Count," he said with a bow. "Anything for my allies." The count gestured grandly around him. "The king of Portugal slept here in 1494 when he came to sign the Treaty of Tordesillas." He permitted himself a small giggle behind his hand. "I can assure you the sheets have been changed at least once or twice since then!" Jesse laughed, and Leger joined in. "You have a magnificent wit," the Frenchman said. "Captain Randall, have you ever been so entertained?" "Not within recent memory." He looked at the count with what he hoped was a pleasant but firm expression. "And now, Count, please take me to my wife." "Indeed," Almanzor said promptly, as though responding to a cue. He locked Leger inside the room, and handed the lamp to Jesse, after dismissing the old servant. He was silent then, and Jesse was grateful. He concentrated on each passageway, and every staircase, but with a sinking feeling found himself hopelessly confused. The castle was a labyrinth, probably built this way on purpose centuries ago to fuddle any warlord trying to conquer it. Well, I am fuddled, diddled and scotched, Hippocrates, he thought as they traversed yet another corridor, climbed yet another set of stairs, narrower now, and obviously in an older part of the sprawling building.

He forced himself to be calm. The last staircase spiraled up inside a narrow tower. His confidence returned, because he knew he could find this structure again, provided he could get outside and walk the grounds. When the count, wheezing now, stopped at the only door and began the search for the key, he looked up and noticed a trapdoor that must lead to the roof. The chamber was circular and small, and lit only by a fire in a brazier. He could barely make out Elinore in the gloom, sound asleep in a bed with heavy curtains drawn back. I have wandered into a fairy tale, he thought in amazement. Here we are, living in modern times, except for this castle in Spain. He went to the bed to see Elinore. She stirred when he sat down beside her, but did not waken. He touched her hair, pleased to see that it was clean, and that she wore a simple nightgown. Beautiful lady, he thought, if I kiss you, will I break a spell, or make things worse? He kissed her cheek, then returned to the count. He bowed. "Count, you have taken such wonderful care of Elinore. Could I not stay with her tonight?" "Alas, no," the count replied, shaking his head. He shook a finger at Jesse. "I think you are a naughty man. She doesn't wear a wedding ring. Why should I believe that she is your wife?" "Surely she said so." "Oh, yes, yes, but who can believe a woman?" You can believe this one, he thought as he looked at Elinore. And trust her with everything you own. "She doesn't lie, Count," he said, unable to disguise the emotion in his voice. "I trust you will allow me to see her again in the morning." "Possibly. Come, come! Wouldn't you hate to wake a sleeping princess?" You, sir, are certifiable, he thought as he followed the count from

the room, down the winding stairway, and into the first of several halls. He had nothing to say to the old man, and pointedly ignored his chatter. He tried to remember where he had come, but gave it up for a bad business when he finally realized that the count was returning him to his quarters by a different route. "You shouldn't sulk," the count told him when he unlocked the door. "Good night," he called out. "What is it you English say, 'Good night, sleep tight'?" Disgusted with himself, Jesse leaned against the door. To his irritation, he looked toward. the bed to see Armand Leger smiling at him. "I do not understand why you think any of this is amusing," he snapped. "Captain, I've never seen you so down pin before." Startled, he looked closer into the gloom. "Private Harper?" "At your service, Chief," Harper replied. His little army stepped from the shadows by the tapestry. "I never did find a lock I couldn't pick, sir." Jesse laughed. "And I don't supposed you ever tried to avoid one, either, eh? Thank goodness for that." He looked around. "Where is Private Wilkie?" "I expect him along any time now, sir. He followed you and that old rip." Jesse found the nearest stool and sat on it. "I didn't hear a thing." " 'Course not, sir," Harper replied, his expression slightly offended. "Wilkie is an expert." esse shook his head. "And here I was certain you two were the most useless soldiers in the entire army. What could I have been thinking?" Harper ducked his head modestly. "Gor, Chief, that's all right.

We'll let it go." He inclined his ear toward the door. "Here 'e is now." Jesse strained his ears. He heard nothing beyond a few scratching noises in the vicinity of the lock, and then Wilkie sidled through the barely open door. While Jesse stared in dumbfounded amazement, he closed it quietly, fiddled with the lock less than a minute, then smiled. "We're locked in again now." He nodded to Jesse. "Captain, I know right where she is." "Amazing. Can you get her out in the morning?" Wilkie shrugged. "Piece a'cake, one way or t'other. It's a different lock, an older one, but well get her out." Harper grinned at his companion and clapped an arm around his shoulder. " 'E's not very humble, sir, but I like'um." "You're both rascals and scoundrels and any self-respecting officer worthy of a king's commission would slap you in irons the moment you reach the lines at Torres Vedres," Jesse said, biting off each word. He paused and considered the matter for the last time. "Thank God that you had the stupidity to cast your lot with me, instead! Men, I am in your debt," he concluded simply. "What can I do now?" Harper appeared to be considering the matter. "Begging your pardon. Chief, but all I want in future is for you to not go losing Mrs. Randall." "Agreed. I promise not to let her out of my sight." "Promise, sir?" Wilkie asked, grinning. "Cross my heart, Private." "That'll do then, Chief," Harper said generously. "Now I want you to get a good night's sleep. Wilkie and I have plans to extricate your wife."

"Uh, could I ask the nature of your strategy?" Harper shook his head. Wilkie was already at the lock, opening it silently. "Best not to know, sir." He followed Wilkie through the door, then stuck his head back in. "All you got to know is that Wilkie is also an expert at diversion." "I will be involved in her rescue, won't I?" Jesse asked. "I insist upon that." Harper beamed at him. "Chief, you'll be the hero!" He lowered his voice. "I was nearly nabbed by parson's mousetrap once. I know them women love a hero. 'Night, sir." He didn't know how he could sleep, but he did. When he woke, the sun was beginning to rise. He sat up in the bed and looked toward the window, where Leger sat, staring out at the morning. The Frenchman motioned him over and pointed out the window. "I think your wife is a very resourceful woman," he said. He joined Leger at the window. "I do believe you are right," he agreed. Elinore—it could only be Elinore—had hung a strip of red cloth out the window at the top of a narrow tower. "I think we can safely say she has no real interest in waiting a month or more to be immortalized by Francisco Goya." He heard the familiar scratching at the lock. In a moment Harper was inside the room. He had coiled a sheet over his shoulder, which on closer inspection became a rope made of cloth strips knotted together. He winked at Jesse. "I didn't learn this knot in the army, but it's gotten me out of a few bedrooms, sir." Jesse took him to the window. "Can it get Mrs. Randall out of that bedroom?" "Clever'un, your lady, sir," Harper replied, after a long look. "Let's do it better. You can get her out of that bedroom, Captain."

"Me?" "You. Wilkie and I went back there this morning. He can't pick that lock, but we have a better idea." He held up the jury-rigged rope. "You're not afraid of heights are you, Chief?" Jesse gulped. "I suppose there is not a wrong answer to that one, is there?" The plan was simple enough. Jesse arranged pillows in the bed to approximate a human body. Leger agreed to spin a tale of late-night woes, the surgeon's complete inca-pacitation, and Captain Randall's burning urge to spend a few more hours in bed to recuperate. He also agreed to distract the count. "I could kill him, Jesse," Leger said. "That's more distraction than he needs, monsieur," Jesse replied. "I know he is at least three parts lunatic, but we are allies. Such a deed might cause repercussions we are unaware of now. Please excuse me now. Apparently Harper expects me to be a hero." Jesse shouldered his medical satchel with the precious bottles and the tools of his trade and urged Leger to throw the other satchels out the window if he could. "We'll recon-noiter by the drawbridge there. Do let us hope it remains down." He hurried into the hall to find only Harper there. "I should warn you that Wilkie does love a good diversion, sir." "And I shouldn't ask, eh?" The private grinned, and started to clap him on the back, but obviously thought better of it. "We had best hurry along." They quietly traversed the halls, empty of servants. He wanted to pause for one more look at the art in Conde Almanzor's gallery, but Harper nudged him when he slowed down. They ran down the last corridor and took the spiral staircase two steps at a bound. Harper didn't even glace at the door, but continued up the

ladder and banged open the trapdoor. Jesse eyed the ladder dubiously, but there was Harper above him now, reaching down. He handed up his medical satchel first, then followed it. To his surprise, Harper was standing still on the roof, looking intently toward the wall. "Over there, sir. I told you Wilkie was a wonder." In the distance, smoke billowed from a stone building that looked like the stables. Harper gave a low, admiring whistle. "I think even Wilkie exceeded his expectations, sir. Best blaze I've seen since the time he and I ... well, I'd best keep that to myself." He made a motion to kneel on the flat roof, then grimaced. "Lord love us, Chief, I'd wager no one has swept off a pigeon dropping since the Inquisition." "A reasonable assessment, Private," Jesse said. Harper knotted a loop in the sheet. "Come here, sir. Now you get to play hero." "I was afraid you were going to say that, Harper," he replied, but held up his arms while Harper dropped the loop under his armpits. "Now, you will hold tight?" "You'll be safe as houses. Chief," Harper said. "Of course, it's a good thing you're a little fellow, if you'll pardon me." Jesse looked down. Directly below him was a small balcony that he knew opened on to Elinore's room. He had repelled down a cliff at Ronda once to set a broken leg. After a moment's ignominious swing, he found his feet and walked down the wall while Harper played out the sheet. He landed on the balcony, lost his balance, and fell into more pigeon droppings, but then Elinore threw open the window, which caught him on the side of the face. "Oh, I am sorry!" Elinore said as she pulled him in, then hugged him.

Jesse hugged her back, then tried to brush the droppings off his trousers, only to discover that some were fresher than others. He grinned at her and held out his dripping hand. "Harper said this would make me a hero. D'ye think so?" "Only if your wife were truly daffy, which I am not," she replied, belying her words by beaming at him. She handed him a towel. "Captain Randall? Mrs. Randall?" Elinore went back to the balcony and looked up. "Private Harper? He's fine, even though I just hit him with the window. Oh, I am, too." She stepped inside. "Jesse, he said there is a sudden change of plans, and that we should look into the courtyard." She turned back. "Horses!" He joined her on the balcony, and put his arm around her waist because he wanted to. She looked back at him in surprise, then thrilled his heart by leaning against him. "Is that Wilkie?" she asked, pointing. "I think so." He looked closer, which put his cheek won-drously close to hers. As usual, she smelled better than he did. "There's someone with him. I believe it is Monsieur Leger. My, but that smell of smoke is strong." Just then the sheet rope began to sway. Jesse looked up to see Harper descending. I thought we were to go back up and escape through the building, Jesse thought. He looked again at Wilkie and Leger, with horses. Elinore went back inside for her cloak and medical satchel. Soon Harper stood beside him on the balcony. "Gracias," he called, looking up, then gave the rope a tug, and stepped out of the way when it dropped. Jesse looked up, but could see no one. "I don't understand," he said. "Who is helping us?"

Harper shrugged. "Chap says he knows you, Captain. At least, I think that's what I think he said. My Spanish ain't much better than yours and his English is puny." Swiftly he tied the sheet rope to one of the iron balustrades on the balcony. "I'll let you down first, and then I'll send Mrs. Randall." He grinned and nudged Jesse. "I wish you could carry 'er down and be a really big hero, but I'm not sure my rope is up to that. Go now." Jesse snatched up his shoulder satchel again and pulled the loop over his head, fitting it snugly. By the time he reached the end of the rope, Wilkie was there with the horses. The rope was too short to see him to the ground, so he jumped, wincing at the tinkle of glass inside his shoulder satchel. The fragrance of oil of cloves rose around him as he dusted off his trousers again. He glanced inside his satchel at the bottles, and pulled out the cloves and the potassium iodide, victims of his clumsiness. "Kindly don't look up my skirt," Elinore called down, and he looked up automatically to see her begin her descent. When she reached the end, Jesse took her around the waist and pulled her down in front of him on his horse. "Handsome legs, Mrs. Randall," he said, and got a dig in the ribs for his pains. "I told you not to look." Laughing, he handed her down to Wilkie, who quickly gave her a leg up onto a horse. "Wilkie, I must congratulate you on these horses," he said. The private shook his head. "Sir, I 'ad nothing to do with these horses. And that fire? I never set it. 'Pears to me you have a guardian angel." Startled, he looked up as Harper descended. Who is that who helped Harper on the roof, he asked himself. And why aren't we

having any trouble in this courtyard? "Since we don't appear to be in control of this situation, have you any idea what is going on, Private?" he asked Wilkie. As Harper dropped to the ground, and with considerable help from Wilkie, found his way onto the remaining horse, Jesse turned to Leger. "Monsieur Leger, did the count even come to our room?" he asked. The Frenchman was obviously the only horseman among them. With a clicking sound and a graceful dip of the reins, he edged his horse close to Jesse. "He did, sir, and I listened to his ravings for a while—I never heard a more successful madman—then tied him up with a bellpull." He shrugged. "Captain, I am not as good a man as you." "He is our ally," Jesse said, but his argument sounded feeble to his own ears. "Perhaps," Leger replied. "I would not encourage too many armies as small as ours to visit Tordesillas again anytime soon. And now I suggest we leave this place." "With pleasure," Elinore said. "Jesse, did you know that . . . that dreadful man was planning to keep me here to paint my picture? Why on earth?" "He thought you were beautiful. I agree with him," he said impulsively. He could tell by her blush and the way she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes that she was pleased. "But you have just told me he was insane," she teased. "He had an eye for loveliness, Elinore, same as I do." There, think on that for a while, he thought as he spurred his horse up close to Harper, who was deeply involved in staying in the saddle. "Private, it appears to me that the hussars will never issue you a summons to join their ranks."

"I won't go if they do," Harper replied a trifle grimly. "What can you tell me about that man on the roof?" "Nothing much. I think he said he knew you from Santos. I think he said something about a baby, and then he was gone." I guess Senor Ramos meant it when he said he liked to pay his debts, Jesse thought as he moved closer to Wilkie. "Private, I do believe these horses have French saddles? Any ideas?" "Not me, Captain. They were saddled and waiting when I started for the barn." "And you didn't set the fire?" "No, sir." They rode through Tordesillas, the town quiet in the early morning. Church bells tolled, and as they crossed the plaza, the priest from last night came out and motioned for them to stop. "We see the smoke," he said. "Please assure me that the castle is on fire." Jesse stared at him. "Padre, you surprise me." Unsure of his Spanish, he motioned Elinore forward. She listened to the priest, her eyes wide. "He says that everyone in Tordesillas has been hoping that the French or the British would burn down the castle! He says we are welcome here anytime. Imagine." "Do tell him I feel some little guilt because he told me his wife needed Extreme Unction, and he wouldn't even let me see her. Perhaps I could have helped her." He looked back at the smoke that rose high over the trees now. She spoke to the priest and then listened, gasping several times during his reply. When he finished, she told him good-bye as he went back to the church, then turned to Jesse, her eyes wide. "The priest says that the count usually came once a week to ask him to the castle, because his wife was near death."

"And he wouldn't go? The people here should expect better from their clergy." "Jesse! He says she's been dead three years!" "Oh, my," he said faintly. "There are all sorts of rumors about French soldiers on patrol disappearing, and even cats and dogs gone, poof! without a trace." She shook her head, her own amazement undeniable. "Oh, he congratulated you on being so resourceful." "I hope you told him that I was the biggest idiot of the whole lot." She smiled and blew him a kiss. "I told him thank you quite prettily, Captain, and wasn't I the lucky lady?" He felt the strongest urge to lean closer to her from his saddle and kiss her, but he knew that his equestrian skills were no greater than his abilities in shinnying down a rope. He smiled instead, because the whole thing suddenly became monumentally funny to him. Here I jog along like a bag of bones, he thought, bird shit on my trousers, another black eye forming—thank goodness I am not a Cyclops, with the potential for three—with a four-day beard and smelling of cloves. He looked around. I have time on my hands, a beautiful wife who labors under the dementia that I am a hero, a two-man army of thieves and cutpurses, and a Frenchman who seems to think he is important to Napoleon. Oh, yes, we are riding horses with French saddles, which might suggest to the more rational that we could be in serious trouble. I have a guardian angel, but he has paid his debt to me now, and I think we are on our own. Perhaps now I can write wee Bob and tell him that I did take a commission in the Medical Corps for the adventure of it. He called a halt when they were out of sight of Tordesil-las, and suggested to the others that they ride to Salamanca without stopping. To his dismay, or perhaps their good fortune, Elinore

remembered something else the priest had told her. "He said that Soult is rumored to be there already, and only waiting for Souham to move south and join him." "That puts a new complexion on this retreat," he said, more to himself than the others. He hoped that someone would offer a suggestion, but they all seemed to be looking at him, as though expecting some wisdom to come bounding out of him like Athena from Zeus's brow. "I have an idea," he said, after a long pause. "We have tried villages, and our luck has been haphazard at best. Castles do not seem to agree with us, either. I suggest the convent now. Elinore, do you remember Santa Isabella?" She shook her head. "The Chief had me stay there an extra week while the army moved ahead to Burgos last August. The sisters had an orphanage, and some of the children had the croup. Ring a bell with you now?" "Why, yes, it does. It's a little west of Salamanca, isn't it?" He nodded. "Let's go." They arrived after dark, picking their way along a stony path lit only by the moon, which appeared to be in danger of disappearing behind a bank of clouds coming up quickly from the north and east. Only one lamp gleamed outside the convent walls, but Jesse knew enough of Spanish poverty to feel no alarm. Elinore gasped when he jangled the bell outside the massive gate and the sound seemed to bounce off the walls. He reached out and touched her leg. "Don't worry, my dear, I know this place." He smiled in the dark, already relishing the opportunity to show the others something of his own skill. Two of the nuns were from Italy, and it was going to be his turn to demonstrate his linguistic prowess. Hippocrates, the sin of pride is the stumbling block of physicians, eh? he told himself as he heard footsteps and waited

for the smaller gate cut in the larger one to be opened. Lorenzo the slow boy was there at the gate, peering around it at first, tugging it open when he saw how few they were, then running to call for the nuns. Sister Maria Josefina came first, tall and handsome and so Italian. She smiled to recognize him, taking his hand in hers, her beautiful Tuscan-flavored Italian tumbling out as though she had been waiting just for his arrival. "Captain Randall, you are an answer to my prayers. How did you know we needed you?" "It is not the children again, is it?" he replied in Italian. "No, we have sent them south to a safer place. Oh, sir, there are others. Do follow me, and bring your men." She peered closer. "Captain, do you have a wife now?" "I do, sister." "High time. Bellissima." He indicated the others to follow, and left Lorenzo with the horses. He had to hurry to keep up with the nun, but she was taller than he was, and had a longer stride. He almost ran with her down one corridor, the others trailing behind. She stopped and pushed open the smaller portion of another large door, this one of iron. When she spoke next, it was in French. "I have brought you help," she said in a louder voice. He felt the familiar tingle down his spine as he stared at two rows of French soldiers, some on cots, others lying on pallets. "My God, sister," he whispered. "My God."

Chapter Fourteen The shock in his voice rooted Elinore to the spot. The anguished look he gave her—one that cried "please help" without a word spoken—next set her in motion. Despite his obvious need for her, when she reached the doorway he extended both arms to prevent her from crossing the threshold. She could only look over his arm and gasp. "They're French!" she exclaimed, then pinched her nostrils shut. The odor of putrefaction was almost overwhelming, even though the room was large—it must have been the convent's refectory— and the air cool. The men lay in two rows facing each other. These are the enemy, she thought, and then, God help them. She recognized them immediately for what they were, men whose injuries were too severe for the retreating French to take with them after the battle of Salamanca in July. Only now in cold November were some of them recuperating, while others faded. She looked at them, thought of the three men left behind with Daniel O'Leary in Santos, and wondered all over again why nations fight. She made no move to follow Jesse when he and the nun began to walk slowly by the wounded men. She was speaking to him in Italian. Hands behind his back, eyes lowered as though he wanted to look everywhere but at the men, Jesse listened, nodding now and then. They turned when they reached the end of the row, and this time he looked at the men. A few more feet, and then he stopped. Elinore took her fingers from her nose, breathing slowly and evenly, concentrating on the act of breathing, rather than the ferocious stench of the body when it turns on itself. In another moment she felt her heart resume its normal pace. Her hand when she lowered it was steady. She looked at her husband again,

not surprised that he had found a stool from somewhere and seated himself beside a man who had propped himself up on one elbow and who gestured as he spoke. The man appeared near death, his cheeks sunken, but red with fever, his dark eyes so bright they almost glittered. She thought it odd that he should have the energy to gesture until she noticed the satchel with the cross on it at the foot of his cot. "Monsieur Leger, I think Jesse has found another surgeon," she said. "He has found the enemy!" Leger hissed. She stared at him, shocked. "I ... I don't think he sees it that way," she said when she found her voice. "He is a fool then." "Elinore, please bring me my shoulder bag. I left it by the door," Jesse called, raising his voice, and yet still speaking softly, in the way that surgeons did when there were patients they did not wish to disturb. She nodded and found the bag. Leger grabbed her arm. "If he treats these French soldiers, he is a traitor!" "Monsieur, he is a surgeon," she said quietly. "It is not in his power to be anything else. Let go of me." She was not sure what she would do if he did not release her, but Harper solved the problem by placing both meaty hands on the Frenchman's shoulders and giving him a shake. He put his face close to Leger's. "Let 'er go. 'Twouldn't bother me much to land you in one of them cots." Jesse was on his feet now, his face pale. "Elinore, are you all right?" In the middle of hell, he is worried about me, she thought. She

knew then that if she lived to be old, she would never forget the peculiar grace of the moment. "Stay there, my dear," she called. "It's nothing." She took in her surroundings, the nuns who had gathered by now, the French patients, and the look on her husband's face when she called him "my dear." She knew beyond doubt there was no other place in the universe for her. Leger turned on his heel and left the hall. In another moment she heard the massive door slam. Harper and Wilkie exchanged glances. "D'ye know, Wilkie, there are times I get distressed with me fellows, but I've never seen the profit in hating them all." "Private 'arper, it does seem a bit uncouth, eh?" Wilkie agreed. "Mrs. Randall, do you understand the workings of the aristocratic mind?" "I only know there is more sorrow in his life than any of us know," she said quietly. "Where I might have judged earlier, I would not presume so now." The men were silent then, and she shouldered her husband's medical bag. I do hope I live long enough to appreciate what I have learned on this retreat, she thought. Didn't Jesse promise me some Randall luck? Something tells me I am not the first woman led astray by a husband's promise. The notion made her want to smile. "Here you are, Jesse," she said. There wasn't any point in calling him Captain, or even Chief anymore, not after calling him my dear. "Monsieur Leger seems to think you are a traitor for setting foot in this room." "What a relief that I am not too concerned about his opinion," he replied. He nodded to the man on the cot. "This is Captain Philippe Barzun." He smiled. "What do I learn in a few moments but he is also a graduate of the University of Milan, although a few years before I matriculated. This is my wife," he concluded in Italian.

She smiled at the surgeon, who put a hand to his chest and managed a bow from his cot that someone contrived to be elegant. He spoke to Jesse in Italian, and she could not overlook the blush that rose to her husband's face. She raised her eyebrows at him. "He said he did not know that British woman were so beautiful, and what does she see in a surgeon?" he related. It was her turn to blush. She tried not to look as Jesse raised the blanket off the basket frame at the end of the cot to reveal a leg swollen to grotesque proportions bound in a stained bandage far too constricting. He reached in his bag for his surgical scissors, and listened to Barzun. "My dear, he wants you to take that basin down the row and toward the end. You will see several soldiers there with fever. They could use a cool cloth." "He's sending me away, isn't he?" she asked, her voice calm. The odor from the wound was overpowering, now that the blanket had been turned back. "Yes, and if he didn't, I would. Go now." She did as he said, walking to the end of the row, and sitting down between two soldiers. One of them must have been a cuirassier, because his chest armor had been upended on the table and doubled as a washbasin. The younger soldier had been burned. She looked closer at his arm. The burn had obviously been cleaned at one time, but not recently. Jaws clenched, she concentrated on wiping his face and neck. In the light of his injury, her act so puny, he still opened his eyes and smiled. "Merci" he whispered. The other soldier was grizzled, older, and bore the look of someone who has marched many miles in the service of the emperor. His injury was not obvious until she glanced down his blanketed form and noticed that one leg ended abruptly at the knee. He had obviously followed her glance. When she looked at

his face again, he shrugged. She wiped his face as well, wishing she could carry on an inconsequential chat in French, or do something, anything, that would cut off the sounds of anguish spilling out of the French surgeon now. The surgeon shrieked, and she leaped to her feet, only to see Jesse on his feet as well, trying to stand back from the pus that foamed from the infection. "Jesse.?" she called, and hated how her voice quavered. "Stay where you are, my dear," he ordered. "We have tried to do our best." Elinore looked up from the contemplation of her own trembling hands to see a nun before her, speaking in Spanish. "You have done well," she replied. "The men are well-tended." It was true. Their injuries may have been appalling, but the men were clean, and cots tidy. The nun stood before her, hands folds in front of her. "There are but two of us here now," she said. "Most of the sisters went with the older children to another convent in Portugal." Her voice hardened. "Others were killed by stragglers from both armies after suffering . . . indignities." She looked down at her own hands. "I fear that despite our vows, this has led to a certain reluctance to help either side." "I can understand that," Elinore said. "But . . . what happened to the surgeon? Was he wounded at Salamanca like the others?" The nun shook her head. "No. Three weeks ago he was helping us shift a pile of rubble left from an artillery shelling last summer. Part of the outer wall fell on him, and his leg broke in two places with the bone protruding." She reached inside her long sleeve, pulled out her rosary and fingered the beads. "We helped as best we could, but he had to set his own fracture. I fear it did not go well."

"And you have been trying to tend all the soldiers, haven't you?" "Yes." She looked at the black beads. "We are an order dedicated to teaching the young and educating the privileged daughters of Salamanca. I wish we were a nursing order. I wish . . ." She stopped, then rose in one graceful motion and left the hall, glancing neither right nor left. Elinore looked at her husband again. He had called Harper to help him, and she felt a momentary pang. Doesn't he think I am useful anymore, she asked herself. Have I ever fainted in Number Eight? Complained? Whined? Nagged? Or is that dear man trying to protect me? It was really no decision for her. She had squeezed the rag in her hand into a knot. Carefully she straightened the cloth, dipped it in the cuirassier's armor again, and made her way on steady feet back to her husband. The French surgeon lay quiet now on his back, his shoulders relaxed with relief from the draining wound. She could see it would be no better, and she knew the task ahead for her husband. She had no doubt that he would fight for the French surgeon's life, but she knew he would lose. Her glance did not waver as she looked deep into his eyes, then wiped his face. His eyes flickered when she did that, and she put her hands on his neck, holding them there, trying to communicate in a wordless way that he was not alone in this ordeal. She knew she should say something, but she knew her own shyness. Well, what of it? she asked herself, in the room that had gone so quiet. I will not let my chances pass me by anymore. That would be a shameful waste of time, especially when we do not know from day to day how much time we have. "Jesse Randall, I love you," she whispered. "I will never go so far as to say that marrying me was the wisest thing you ever did, but it was the best thing that has ever happened to me. Thank you." She wanted to kiss him then, but she knew she was too shy for

that. To her gratification, he leaned forward then and rested his cheek against hers until his lips were by her ear. "Elinore, it would astound you if I told you how long I have loved you. You might even call me a liar," he whispered. "You have never lied to me," she murmured. "I never will. I want you to take my shoulder bag, get out the bone saws when you are in another room, and wash them. Give them to Harper in a clean towel and ask Sister Maria Josefina to find me a room with thick walls. Wilkie can help Harper move Philippe's cot." She closed her eyes against what he was saying, but did not flinch. She nodded, and picked up his bag. There was plenty of hot water in the kitchen, and she scrubbed the three bone saws. The wooden handles were smooth from constant use, oiled by Jesse's hands for ten years. Ten years of this! She looked down into the soapy water and remembered how her father and some of the other officers had chuckled over poor, shy Captain Randall. You have no idea, she thought. If it is true that our guardian angel, or St. Peter, or someone beyond my paltry theology writes our deeds in a book of life, I only hope I am standing close to you, Jesse Randall, when the deeds are read out loud. I want to watch you blush, and stammer, and say it was nothing, while the rest of us plead for second chances. Harper, his face deadly serious, was waiting for her in the main hall when she came up the stairs from the kitchen. She took the bag from her shoulder and handed him the saws. "Here you are, Private." He shouldered the bag. "Mrs. Randall, doesn't he know that I am a lazy sneak thief who never thought of anyone but himself?" It was the same question she had been asking about herself for the entire retreat. "You know," she replied, after a moment's thought, "I don't think Captain Randall sees what we see in

ourselves." He shifted his feet, and she could tell he was uncomfortable with the idea. "Well, well . . . which of us is right?" he asked finally. "He is, without a doubt. Go on, now. It won't be as bad as you think." Harper nodded. "Because he thinks I can handle this?" "He knows you can. I believe that is part of his secret in dealing with us." She touched his arm and gave him a little push. In another minute Jesse came from the refectory, wiping his hands on a towel, followed by the privates carrying Philippe Barzun on his cot. She blew him a kiss, and was rewarded with a smile. Sister Maria Josefina and another nun brought dinner for the soldiers, nothing more than barley broth and dark bread to sop it with. There was a bowl for her and Wilkie, who had returned to the refectory and stood against the wall, his eyes stark. When she ate finally, he did, too. She sat on the stool in the space empty now of the French surgeon, willing the time to pass. Although she had never witnessed an amputation, she knew how fast Number Eight's surgeons could operate. Why is this taking so long? she thought. She wondered where Leger was, and toyed briefly with the idea of looking for him. The urge passed; all she wanted to do was lie down and sleep until the war was over. She dared herself to think of what life must be like in Dundee as the wife of the local surgeon, and found that she had neither the wit nor the energy to conjure up even the slightest image. Dismayed, she tried to imagine a lending library, her favorite daydream, one told her in Lisbon by a major recuperating from Vimiero. Nothing. I am just tired, she thought, just tired. As she sat staring at the wall, Wilkie began to sing. She closed her eyes in gratitude for the beautiful sound of his voice. The

heavy masonry walls of the refectory were the perfect sounding board for his clear tenor as he sang a lullaby she remembered from her own childhood. Funny how that is, she told herself as she opened her eyes and watched him, smiling at the way his brows came together when he sang, skinny, scrawny, undernourished Wilkie. When this retreat began, I wouldn't have thought Wilkie had ever even possessed such a thing as a mother. I am in better company right now than at any time in my life. I suppose Major Bones thought to punish me—punish us all. He is the fool. When Wilkie finished, she noticed Harper standing in the doorway. She hurried to him, taking in the seriousness of his expression. Poor, dear Harper, she thought. She took his hand. He clung to it, and her heart went out to him. "How can a man do what he does?" "I'm not sure." Her other arm was around him now. She felt Harper relax a little, but she did not release him from her embrace. "What happened, Private?" she asked, when she thought he could talk. "What took so long?" "He wanted a priest, so we waited for one to come from Salamanca." He tightened his grip on her. "He confessed and received—what's that called?" "Absolution?" "Yes, that. And do you know, Captain Randall did the same thing, only he asked for the priest to make his hands steady-like." He sighed. "I don't want to talk about the operation." "Then don't. Is the Frenchman still alive?" Harper nodded and released her, her words obviously reminding him why he had come to the hall. When Wilkie finished singing, he tapped his shoulder. "You're to help me move the surgeon

back in here now." He turned to Elinore. "The Chief wants him in here, and he wants another cot so he can lie down beside him. He said you're to ask Sister Josefina if she has another cot." Careful to keep the cot absolutely level, Harper and Wilkie carried the unconscious French surgeon back into the refectory. Jesse followed them. With a rush of pleasure, Elinore noticed how he looked around the room, as though trying to find her. He nodded to her, then turned his attention back to his patient. The other nun in the room handed him a clean sheet, which he placed carefully under Barzun's lower body. While Harper held up the blanket, he reposi-tioned the basket frame above what little remained of the surgeon's leg and then told Harper to drape the blanket again. He took a bottle from his satchel and placed it next to the glass of water already on the little table. When Sister Josefina Maria and Lorenzo the slow boy carried in the extra cot, he pulled it close to Barzun's side. After speaking in a low voice to Wilkie and Harper, he dismissed them and walked toward her. He answered the question she knew was in her eyes. "He's unconscious now. Oh, Elinore, it was a difficult amputation. You saw how swollen his leg was. He has a wife and three little ones in Grenoble, and he insisted that I try. I did the best I could." "I know that," she told him, taking him by the arm. He draped his arm across her shoulders, and the weight of it made her realize that he was leaning on her. "Would you like to sit down?" she asked. "I will eventually. Elinore, we sent to Salamanca for a priest." "Harper told me." "The French are already in Salamanca. Clausel's army is seeking to join with Soult and Souham, who probably aren't far behind us. I can't leave until I know Barzun's outcome, but you and the

others had better be ready." "I won't leave you," she said. "Even if I ordered it?" he asked with a faint smile. "Even then." She nudged him. "You're not my commanding officer." "I'm your husband," he reminded her. "Doesn't that pull any ropes with you?" "Not one that I'm aware of, Captain Randall." "Captain Randall, is it? What happened to 'my dear'?" He kissed her cheek and released her. "Go to bed now. I'm going to stay here. Every time he tries to resurface, I'm going to dose Barzun back down with that blessed opium you bought me with your mother's necklace." She knew she could have skated through this whispered conversation if he hadn't taken hold of her neck then and gazed at her with that intensity she had come to crave from him. "My God, Elinore, did I thank you enough for doing that? Or did I just grouse because you had to give away something so precious?" "I did exactly what I wanted to do," she assured him, then took a deep breath. "And I am exactly where I want to be right now. Go to Barzun. I will see you in the morning." "You are more of a martinet than the Chief ever was! I plan to clean that soldier's burn tonight, and look at that man lying so still over there. You will be in charge tomorrow, so don't get any missish ideas about running away from the French." He put his arm around her waist. "Come on and recall me to duty now." She walked him back to Barzun's cot. "I intend to pray for a monumental rain storm to keep the French in Salamanca." "Good." He released his grip on her, and stared down at his

patient. "An ice storm would be even better, although it may be a little early in the season." He placed the back of his hand on Barzun's forehead. "Any other miracles would be appreciated, my dearest." She dreamed of a fierce storm and woke to the sound of ice pellets hitting the heavy leaded glass. The room was cold, but she bounded out of bed and pulled a stool to the high window. She looked at ice-heavy trees, smiled to see the ground glisten and reflect watery light from thousands of tiny prisms, and rejoiced inside. She hated to think how dirty she was, especially when she compared herself to the cool, efficient nuns of Santa Isabella. The regret lasted no longer than it took to throw on her clothes, comb her hair, and pull up her half boots. She had not intended to sleep so late. The refectory was so quiet that she hesitated to enter. Braziers glowed and gave off welcome warmth, the coals muted now after a long winter night. She tiptoed into the room, pausing for a moment by her husband asleep on the cot, clothes and shoes on, his army overcoat draped over his body. Philippe Barzun was beginning to stir, to move his head from side to side. She watched, amazed that he still lived. Jesse said you have a wife and children in Grenoble, she thought, and in a moment of total clarity, she understood his will to live to enjoy the fellowship of those he loved. I would fight, too, Monsieur Barzun, oh, how I would fight. She passed on down the row, her eyes on the soldiers who slept. She stopped at the end of the row to see that Jesse had cleaned the burn at some point during what must have been a long night. Jesse had left the arm exposed to the air, and the makeshift basin of armor was dark with matter. Never mind. When the room lightened, she would empty it and her day of watching would begin. With any luck the ice would continue to make travel from

Salamanca impossible. General Clausel, you have better things to do today than go searching for Soult or Souham's armies, she thought. Stay indoors where it is warm, drink some of that sherry you have probably stolen from vineyards to the south, and catch up on your correspondence, please. Her eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom at the same time she heard someone whisper her name. Surprised, she looked around. "Yes?" she whispered. "Over here." She followed the sound and noticed a man sitting between two cots. "Monsieur Leger?" she asked, uncertain. "Come closer." She moved slowly toward him, not sure if she was hesitant still about his location, or if she dreaded his presence after his outburst last night. "You are the last person I thought I would find here," she whispered, not wanting to wake anyone, but not willing to move closer. "Forgive my intemperance last night," he said simply, and motioned her forward. She knelt beside him, and he touched her head. "Elinore, I thought I should do a little penance for my rudeness." He looked to his left, and she noticed that he was holding one of the patient's hands. "He was crying and wanted his mother," Leger explained. "I am a poor substitute, but he did not seem to mind." "I thought you did not want anything to do with your countrymen anymore," she said. "In fact, weren't you rather adamant on the subject?" "We are all of us a long way from home," he countered. When she said nothing, he looked down at her. "You'll get cold sitting on the floor."

She shook her head, unwilling to disrupt him. "I have sat here most of the night, watching this poor man. I watched your husband, too. I need to apologize to him for my rudeness." "I doubt he is too concerned about it. monsieur." His hand was still on her head, but she decided she did not mind. "And I have been thinking, cherie." He smiled at her. "Do you mind if I call you that? I used to call Charlotte and Eugenie cherie. How many times I have wished in the last twenty years that I had taken my family to England with me on my diplomatic excursions! But I did not, and you know the results." He chuckled, and she listened, holding her breath, for any bitterness. There was none this time. "That man across the way, the older soldier with but one leg?'" She nodded. "He says 'c'est la vie' all the time! Perhaps traipsing all over Europe with Napoleon has made him more philosophical than most. The smart salon set I used to lounge about with would have called him simple, but I say now that he is right. That is life, and haven't the last twenty-five years been an adventure! I daresay we will all make the history books, if someone lives to write them." He lifted his hand from her head and rested it gently on her shoulder. "Perhaps my countrymen do need me. Am I a fool?" "Not anymore," she replied. Jesse was sitting up on his cot when she tiptoed back. He scratched at his week-old beard and patted the space beside him. She sat down, supremely content when he put his arm around her. "A long night?" she whispered, leaning close to him.

He nodded. "You saw that cleaned out burn. I hate to inflict that much punishment, but I know he'll feel some relief now." He looked toward Leger. "Monsieur Le Gross Complaint actually asked me what he could do to help, so I told him to hold hands with that poor fusilier." "He cannot be requiring any medical assistance." "No, more's the pity, but he starts to cry for his 'maman,' and it upsets the others." He directed his gaze at the cot close to him. "And our surgeon? Elinore, I cannot believe he still lives." "Why not?" she asked. "He had an excellent surgeon, and you know he wants to see his family again." He moved his hand to her neck and began to massage it gently. "Remember when the Chief used to call me Dr. Hackensaw?" "Now, be fair," she chided him. "As I recall, he referred to both you and him as the Doctors Hackensaw after Ciu-dad Rodrigo." She closed her eyes with the pleasure of his fingers. He is tired, and I am the beneficiary, she thought. How strange. "I felt like such a caricature of a surgeon last night!" His fingers left her neck, and he leaned forward on the cot, his hands dangling between his knees. "He broke both his tibia and fibula in two places, but I had to amputate rather high up on his thigh because of the infection." He sighed and gently ran his hand along Barzun's arm. "If he lives, I have rendered him an invalid." "Would he have lived without your surgery?" "No." "Did he want you to operate?" "He insisted upon it." "And you did the best you could?" "The very best." He turned his attention to her, and the weariness

in his eyes brought tears to her own. "I suppose you will tell me to go lie down and really sleep?" "You can trust Monsieur Barzun with me," she said quietly. He smiled, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. "I've known for years that I could trust you with anything. When the Chief used to ask you to sweep out the tent—I doubt you were more than ten, dear wife—I wish I could have preserved that look of determination in your eyes to do the job well! I would have prescribed a dose of it three times daily to every soldier in Wellington's army." She laughed softly at the image his words presented, then put her hand to her mouth when Barzun stirred and muttered. Jesse leaned closer and watched him intently. He put his fingers against the surgeon's neck and frowned. "So thready," he said. "I'd give all my back pay for a steady pulse." He took her hand again. "I know I can trust you." He turned on the cot until he was facing her. "Would you trust me with something?" "You know I will. What is it?" she asked. "Your heart, my dearest." She looked at him, so tired that his eyes were half closed; so dirty she could see dried blood under his fingernails. The front of his uniform was flecked with particles better left undescribed. He was a far cry from the quiet, shy surgeon that the other officers from glamorous and famous regiments chuckled over until the dreadful moment when they needed him. I may be the luckiest woman in the world, she thought, the wonder of it so far beyond her imagination that she felt light-headed. How did this good thing happen to me? She had to say something, because doubt was starting to creep into his eyes. Sitting there in a row of cots with the wounded of Napoleon's army, she couldn't imagine a place farther removed

from this setting that a woman in love would wish for a proper declaration. C'est la vie, she thought. "There may be some slight problem with giving you my heart, Jesse," she said simply. "You already have it. How could I possibly give it to you again?" She closed her eyes when he pulled her into a tight embrace. She locked her arms across his back, unwilling to let him go, even if every patient in the refectory should suddenly demand his attention, or all three French armies burst through the front door. She would hold him tight until . . . Elinore started to smile. He was breathing deep and even against her shoulder, heavier by the moment as he began to relax against her breast. Gently, softly, so she would not waken him, she kissed his hair and lowered him to the cot. When she had covered him with his overcoat again, she sat on the floor between the two cots, her eyes on Philippe Barzun, her heart on Jesse Randall.

Chapter Fifteen Elinore woke him soon, and Sister Maria Josefina escorted him to the room his wife had vacated. The nun asked him something that he agreed to without understanding a single word. He sat there, staring at her stupidly until her beautiful Italian finally penetrated his skull. "You want my clothes," he repeated. He took off his uniform blouse and began to unbutton his trousers. He winced at the shrillness of her voice then, until it dawned on him that she preferred him to wait until she left the room, and then put them outside the door. He nodded, but continued to unbutton his trousers. He was stepping out of them when he heard the door slam forcefully. He took off everything until he was bare and shivering. The distance from the bed to the door looked like the distance across

St. Peter's Square in the Vatican. He gave it up as a bad business and crawled into bed. If Sister Maria Josefina wanted his clothes, she could come and get them, or send Lorenzo the slow boy. His eyes closed. He woke hours later as he always woke, sitting bolt upright, instantly alert and wired like the key to the kite in Dr. Franklin's famous experiment. He knew the moment of absolute panic would pass, reminding himself that if something earth-shattering had occurred in the refectory, Elinore would have sent Harper or Wilkie running. He sank down slowly into the blankets again, wide awake but unwilling to stir. He glanced at the floor and smiled to see that his clothes were gone. "What a dilemma this is, Hippocrates," he said out loud. "I think I'm chained to this bed until my clothes return." He knew the thought gave him leave to drift back to sleep, but he couldn't, not with his brain alert now. Instead, he did what he always did and thought about his patients. He lay there, the blanket tight to his chin, watching his breath and revisiting every decision, every treatment, every consolation he had extended with his puny arsenal of supplies. "Hippocrates, I hate my job," he said out loud. "Did you ever hate it?" Tears welled in his eyes. Did you ever stand over living, twitching flesh with blood up to your elbows and wonder why you had to do the world's dirty work? His stomach queasy, he relived every detail of last night's surgery, from Harper's wide-eyed revulsion to Barzun's attempt not to scream as he probed, prodded, retracted, ligated, and set saw to bone. He wondered how many surgeons for how many years would have given their own lives for something to deaden pain in surgery. I would, he told himself, I would. Despite his own doubts, he knew he had done his best. An amputation was a fairly straightforward surgical procedure, if

done soon after the injury. Barzun's three-week-old calamity fit all the specifications of worst cases that Sheffield drilled him with during those hours on horseback with the army on the move, or during rare moments of inactivity. Thanks to Sheffield's understanding of rough-and-ready surgery, Jesse knew what to do. Only afterward did the regret seep in and return now to plague his sleep. There had been one sweet moment, and he owed it to Barzun's insistence on waiting for the priest from a parish close to Salamanca. While Harper had watched with that evident distaste that all Protestants, however lapsed, seemed to feel in the presence of a priest, Jesse had bowed his own head, listened to Barzun's faint confession, and felt the overpowering need to purge his own soul. The priest had taken him to a corner of the small room, and he had knelt beside the man, pouring out ail the sins he could remember since his last confession years ago before he left for Milan and medical school. His Spanish was so poor he doubted he could be understood. He switched to Latin, which had been the second language at medical school. He listened to himself speak of anger, directed sometimes at the French, and other times at the cruelty of venal quartermasters and commanders who did not care about their low-born men. In this modern age of medical science, his scientist's brain may have listened askance at his babblings, but his heart spoke this time. The list had seemed so long to him. but the priest granted him absolution after penance of but one Hail Mary. Father did you understand all my sins? he had asked himself as he rose from his knees and opened the door for the priest to leave. He could not deny that his heart was lighter, despite the fact that Philippe Barzun, his enemy, had given him an impossible task. He was not such a hypocrite to pray for a miracle where his scientist's brain told him none was possible. As he picked up the probe and told Harper to hold the surgeon, he only asked for wisdom to remember all he had been taught. In a moment of crystal clarity,

his first probe told him that Barzun's surgery was his real penance. Such a wise priest. I did my best, Mary Mother of God, he told himself. If my hand was steady, all honor to Thee, who watched a dying son and did not quail, and the saint of surgeons, whoever that poor sod is. Hippocrates, I fear you and I have run our course now. In deep peace, he closed his eyes and returned to sleep. When he woke, the afternoon shadows hung low in the room. He dreamed of water, and sure enough, there was Lorenzo, pouring water with steam rising from it into a tin tub. He sat up slowly this time, wonder of wonders, and looked around. His clothes were laid across the foot of the bed, shirt and smallclothes washed, the uniform brushed as clean as possible. The butcher's apron he had left in the room where Barzun had parted company with his leg was also washed and neatly folded beside them. The water looked incredibly inviting. He knew Lorenzo hadn't the wit to expect anything in exchange for his services, but he dug around in Elinore's satchel until he found the necklace of blue beads. Forgive me, dearest, he thought as he extracted two beads and handed them to Lorenzo with as much ceremony as he could muster, considering that he was standing there barefoot and wearing nothing but a smile. He waved away Lorenzo's profuse thanks and lowered himself into the warm water. He leaned back in satisfaction, and reached for the soap. His cleanliness rendered him almost self-conscious when he entered the refectory an hour later, after first searching out Harper and Wilkie and finding them in the toils of rudimentary carpentry, under the command of Sister Maria Josefina. "There's no one to help her except Lorenzo, and he's a bit barmy," Wilkie had explained. "I have no objections, Private," Jesse said. "Carry on, please." Harper nodded to him and touched a finger against his forehead

in a most casual salute. Jesse felt another twinge of regret at forcing his services last night. He came closer to the hulking private, who was hammering a wooden frame into a ruined window. "Private, accept my apologies for putting you through the mill last night," he said. "I needed your strength more than I needed Elinore's experience right then." "I know, Chief," Harper said. "We couldn't have her in there, could we?" "No," he agreed, warm with the confederacy their conversation had created. "Never that. As you were, Private." Her back straight, Elinore sat on the stool beside Bar-zun's cot. The slow way she moved her neck at his approach told him volumes about the tension of her long day, he almost regretted the time he had lavished on himself in the tub. He stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. She responded by leaning against him, and his cup ran over. He squatted down beside her. "I hope you understand why I did not ask for your assistance last night." "When I helped Monsieur Barzun with the urinal this morning, I took a good look at your handiwork," she said, still not taking her eyes from her patient. "I couldn't have held him down." "No." He nudged her arm with his head. "I know you will argue that you have seen worse after battle." "That's not the point, is it?" she asked quietly. "You cared enough to spare me. For that, I thank you." She looked at Barzun then, and he wondered which of them was more shy. "He is still alive, Jesse. I don't know how." "Nor I." He stood up then, his training taking over. He found Barzun's pulse with no trouble. "Damn, still thready," he said. "He actually passed water?"

"Yes." "Kidneys are working. Has he been conscious?" She nodded. "I don't understand Italian, but it's a cousin of Spanish, at least. I think he asked for you." She indicated the opium bottle. "I gave him a few drops in water when he started moving and scratching his hands. Monsieur Leger sat with him while I ate. but he is gone now. The man whose arm you debrided declares to one and all that he is well enough to rejoin his regiment, and that poor fellow across from him keeps crying for his maman." "All in all, a typical day in the lunatic asylum, eh?" he teased. He stood up and pulled her to her feet. "It is your turn to think of yourself, Elinore. When I left the room. Lorenzo was filling the tub with clean water." He laughed softly. "Lord, Elinore, I left so much scum in that tub, I think he had to chisel it out." He sat down on the stool she vacated and watched her leave the room, all the while admiring the graceful motion of her walk. "I hope you are not seriously planning to spend the night with me, surgeon. You will have a better time with your wife." He looked around in surprise. Barzun was watching him. His eyes were bright with fever, and his voice dry with little use, but there was no mistaking him. "You seem determined to live," Jesse said, hoping that he did not sound as embarrassed as he felt. "Someone must protect my patients from the English doctor," he said. Praise God that he can quiz me, Jesse thought. I can return the favor. He carefully pulled back the blanket. "Mind yourself, surgeon. At least I took off the correct leg." They looked at each other, and he knew it was the perfect moment between two men with everything in common, including

an Oath given in a Milan courtyard. "Did you ever ..." he began. Barzun started to laugh. "I set the wrong leg once." He sighed and closed his eyes. "Tell me what you see, Captain." Jesse looked, lifting a portion of the loose bandage with his long-nosed tweezers. "No streaks. No proud flesh yet. Forgive me for amputating so high, but it was best." "I'm still alive." Jesse replaced the mesh basket and settled the blanket around it again. "You are, indeed. And now I will give you more drops, and you will sleep." Barzun did not object. Jesse raised his head, and the surgeon drank the opium-laced water. You have worn yourself out with conversation, he thought. Why must you French be so voluble? He stood a little longer, then walked down the row, checking each man. To his surprise, Armand Leger sat beside the man with the head wound again. He looked up at Jesse. "Captain, we do not even know his name," he murmured. "He did not eat today, and look at his eyes, how sunken they are." "I do not think he will live through this night, monsieur," Jesse said. "Send Harper for me when the moment is near." He stopped by Barzun again, and instructed the nun to come to him if the surgeon needed help in the night. He turned to go, but the surgeon spoke, his voice low and drowsy. "I did not mean what I said about English surgeons." "I know you were quizzing me," Jesse said, touching his shoulder. "Now, go to sleep." He changed his mind and leaned closer again. "You're a better Catholic than I am— scuzi, signore—so tell me, Philippe: who is the patron saint of surgeons?" "We have two, you heretic," Barzun replied. His eyes closed.

"Saint Cosmas and Saint Damian. That should be enough, even for you. Buon nozzi" He said good night to Harper and Wilkie, who had already bedded down on cots by the entrance to the refectory, and walked the length of the hall to the room he shared with Elinore. I suppose there are a hundred things I should do right now, but I am going to bed my wife, if she is agreeable. I hope she will understand, because I just have to. She was lying down, staring up at the ceiling, when he came into the room. From the frown on her face and the inner look of her, he knew what to say. "Back hurt?" She nodded. "I want to straighten out my legs, but when I do, it feels like there's not enough skin for the length of me. What a dilemma." He didn't know whether he had ever heard a more apt description of a backache caused by fractious nerves, and told her so. She chuckled, but the frown was still there. He came closer to the bed. "I know what'll help. Slide over and lie on your stomach like a good girl." He took off his uniform and shirt, and sat down beside her. She made a face at him, but did as he said, turning her head to regard him. He could have laughed at the wary look in her eyes, but had the good sense not to. The first rule is not to scare her to death, he thought. "All right now, I'm going to massage your shoulders." She closed her eyes, but offered no objection, going so far as to tuck the beautiful mass of her hair closer to her neck. He started on her upper back, digging in gently with the heels of his hands. It felt like he was kneading wood. "A little tense, Elinore?"

She sighed, but he felt her silent laugh. "Give a little in your shoulders, Elinore. You know I'm not a miracle worker." She did as he said, and his fingers met with less resistance. "Oh, I think you are," she said, and her voice was less wary. "Could you scratch my right shoulder blade?" He did, and she sighed again. "A little lower. Oh, lovely." He made great progress on the area around her neck, marveling at the lightness of her bones and the softness of her back. One of the hospital stewards had remarked to him once that Elinore Mason had such a fragile air about her. You're so right, he thought as he expertly manipulated her shoulders through the coarse fabric of the nightgown that the nuns must have loaned her. He knew the resiliency of the human body as well as any surgeon, but he still felt reluctant to press too hard. She had that gentle air about her that had always impressed him. He knew that even if he were permitted to grow old and cranky with her, he would always wonder how she preserved that gentleness. What is it about women, he asked himself. Or at least, what is it about this woman? He could have exclaimed in dismay when her back tightened again and she sat up. "This won't do," she said, her voice brusque. So much for my bedside manner, he thought, disappointed, then held his breath as she faced away from him on the bed, unbuttoned her nightgown, and pulled it down to her waist. She lay down again without a word. He hoped for just a glimpse of her breasts, and he wasn't disappointed. He resumed his therapy. Her skin was warm, elastic, and she had a small birthmark just to the side of her spinal column. He touched it, then maneuvered his fingers gently down the length of her spine. His reward was another sigh, and the complete relaxation of her arms. "I wish you would do that a little harder," she said.

"I can, but I'm in an awkward position," he told her. "Well, then" was all she said, but he wasn't one to kiss away an opportunity. In another moment he straddled her back. He was becoming aroused by now, but he was careful to hold himself high enough not to scare her to death. It was easy then to parallel his hands across her back with a firmer touch. "Better?" She nodded, and patted his knee with her fingers. He probably could have remained at least semiprofes-sional about the matter, except that she did not move her hand from his knee. With a rush of pleasure, he grew firm. As he leaned closer to apply more pressure to her lower back, he knew his member brushed against her hips. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought, and continued his therapy. He just hoped she would not require any conversation, because he knew his respirations were getting ragged. "I wish you would raise up," she said, her voice even. He could have cried in absolute misery then, except that the moment became one he wanted to treasure always, though he knew he would never share it with another human. To his unspeakable delight, she rolled over onto her back and lay there looking up at him as he straddled her. Her breasts were truly as lovely as he thought they would be, all white and pink. He touched one, enjoying the give of it. He checked the heft next, his hand under her breast, pleased with the feel of it. He discarded his notion of fragility without a qualm. This was a woman of some substance. "I suppose they have a Latin name," she said, and raised her arm to touch his face. "I'm certain you are right, my love, but at the moment I can't even recall my own name," he told her.

She laughed. "It's Jesse Cameron Randall." "What's your name?" be teased back. "I haven't a clue." she replied, then rested her palm against his chest. "Do one thing though, please." He'd have given her half his kingdom then, if she wanted. "If it's simple." "Blow out that candle. I'm just a little squeamish about this." He smiled, leaned over, and did as she asked. The moonlight streamed in through the small window. "Can't do anything about that, Elinore. Sorry." "Well, then," she said again, and he knew that was her prelude now. He knew better than to tease her anymore, because he noticed that her respirations were becoming almost as uneven as his own. He shucked his underdrawers while she pulled off her nightgown. He rested himself on her, and she obligingly moved her legs wider. "My dearest, this may be a bit of a jolt to your system, but I assure you that people have been doing it for thousands of years." A more personal massage—one that made her sigh— assured him that she was quite ready for him. She opened her eyes wide and grunted softly when he entered her, but she relaxed again, even moving with him and wrapping her arms around him. He did not expect her to climax this first time, and she didn't. To his intense pleasure, though, she tightened her legs around him when he did, and pressed her hands against the small of his back. Somewhere before his brain exploded, he thought it was a possessive gesture that boded well for the future. After he finished and was lying there all content on his back, he

thought to look for his smallclothes, in the event that someone needed him in the middle of the night. He felt amazingly disinclined to leave the bed and do a reconnaissance. Besides, Elinore had curled up close to him, resting her head on his chest, her hand widespread on his stomach. "All right?" he asked, and she nodded. He was glad that she seemed equally disinclined to pull on her nightgown. The feel of her skin against his was bliss. She tensed a little, and he could tell she wanted to say something. "M'mm?" He hated that his eyes were closing. "Will I feel that way, too?" she asked, and to his ears, she was choosing her words carefully. "Most certainly. It takes a little practice, I think, for most females." "No, Jess, I'm a woman," she said. "Females are medical." He laughed. "So right, woman." "Don't forget it." "Lord, I have married a dragon," he whispered, his lips against her hair as she nestled herself into his shoulder. He tightened his arm around her. "You know if you keep your arm like that, it's going to go to sleep," she told him. "I should move it," he said, but did nothing. What he said must have made great good sense to her, because she nodded and cuddled closer. Hours later, even as tired as he was, the bell summoning the nuns to midnight prayer woke him. Elinore pressed up close to his back now, her leg thrown over him. He woke her and took her again. He could tell she was much closer this time, but his own

weariness prevented him from getting her where he knew she wanted to go. I am a selfish beast, he thought as she smiled, shook her hair out of her eyes, and kissed him. She sat up then, her hand pressed to the small of her back. He lay there and admired the sheer grace of her as she got up from the bed, stretched in the slowest kind of motion like a cat, and then cleaned herself from the tin tub. He watched her, a smile on his face, enjoying her homely actions, and feeling his whole body relax. To his disappointment, she found her nightgown and put it on before she curled up beside him. It was just as well. He had dropped off to sleep, his face deep in Elinore's hair, when the door opened and Harper woke him with a tap to his shoulder. He was alert in an instant, shushing Elinore when she tensed and tried to rise. "Is it that unknown one?" he whispered. Please don't let it be Philippe, he thought. "Yes, sir. Chief, I think you should come." "I'll be right there. Go back to sleep, Elinore." It took only a moment to find his shirt and trousers and hurry down the dark corridor. All the length of it, he rehearsed in his mind everything he imagined that Philippe Barzun had done for the man before his own accident. Armand Leger sat by the man still, holding his hand. Without a word, Jesse sat on the other side of the cot until the man gave that familiar sigh that went on forever, then died. From habit he reached for his timepiece to record the moment of death, even though the little watch with the precious second hand had gone to buy food in a nameless town a week ago. "I don't know when he died, monsieur," he murmured. Armand gently ran his fingers down the dead man's eyes. "Somtime in the night, Captain. That's good enough for us, and I don't think he cares. It's . . . it's just time."

He nodded and stood up, covering the soldier's face, so peaceful now. All I know is that although you were a fusilier and my enemy, I would prefer you alive, he thought. "At least we can leave him in a good place, Armand." He hesitated a moment, then touched Leger's shoulder. "Thank you for staying with him." He took his own time in the refectory, looking again at each sleeping man. Harper had resumed his place beside Philippe Barzun. "The nun went somewhere." "It must be Lauds, Private. When she returns, you had better get some sleep. I think we will have to leave this day." The glance Harper directed his way was dubious, at best. "I'd rather wait a bit until we know this captain isn't going to be crow food, sir." "Harper, you've changed on this retreat." "Begging your pardon, sir, but so have you." He walked more slowly down the hall, his bare feet cold on the stones. Elinore sat up when he came to bed. He knew he didn't have to say anything, because she kissed him and then wrapped her arms around him as he sat there beside her, still a little numb and wondering from death. "It never changes, my love," he said softly. "I am astounded by death. It irritates me, and I wonder if he might have lived under better circumstances." He turned to face her. "But you know, he's so obviously somewhere else, and it didn't look unpleasant." "You are here," she pointed out in that practical way of hers. "I am," he agreed, touched in an odd way. "What should I do about it?" "Love me," she replied, and removed her nightgown. He obliged her with real fervor, even as his disordered brain

contemplated this curious juxtaposition of love and death within a half hour of each other. She came this time, with a rush of breath against his ear and a straining up toward him that lifted his heart miles from the grave and bound him to her forever, no matter how much life either of them had remaining. "My goodness," she said, after he left her body but was still as close as he could possibly be. "I had no idea." He laughed softly. "Perhaps I am a great lover, Nell." "How would I know?" she replied in that frank way of hers, so practical and at the same time so seductive. He growled and took a nip at her shoulder. She shrieked and then laughed, and covered her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh, dear, what will the nuns think?" "I don't intend to worry about it," he told her as he settled back in absolute comfort and gathered her close to him. He looked at her then traced the contour of her face with his finger. "I love you, Elinore." "Even if it's not the wisest thing you ever did?" She said it softly, her eyes closed. He put his hand on her head and gave it a little shake. "Elinore, I fear that in seeing our differences, you have overlooked a way in which we are uncannily similar." When she did not answer, but sighed instead, he continued, "You and 1 have been given someone's permission to do the world's dirty work. I chose it by going to medical school. You didn't have any choice." It was his turn to sigh as his wife put her bare leg over him. "My choice made me cynical and somewhat irreligious. As far as I can tell, it made you kindly and earnest." "Earnest?" she repeated with a laugh. "Loverlike words, my boy!"

He smiled. "Earnest, I insist! You worked so hard to please Major Sheffield in the hospital tent from the time you were ten. And kindly because I believe you have always thought we were better than we are." "But you are," she insisted, her voice muffled now in that space between bis shoulder and his chest where she fit amazingly well. He gave her head another gentle shake. "There you go again. When you were a child, I thought you were charming, if somewhat ill-directed, to think that. When I came back to the regiment five years later and took another look at you, I decided that I wanted to become the man you thought I was. It's as simple as that." She raised up on her elbow to look at him. "But what will your mother think when you bring home a somewhat shabby daughter of the regiment who—let us face facts, sir—-hasn't much education, and no social attainments?" If she was going to lean over him like that, he was going to have to do something about her loveliness. He kissed her breast, enjoying a little unholy glee at how ragged her breathing became. His lips just brushed her nipple. He was going to chuckle at the way she shivered, except that he was shivering now. "Where was I?" he asked. "Oh, yes. Mother will tell my father how grateful she is that my brains haven't dribbled out, then rush over to St. James the Apostle and burn five or six candles at both ends. Oh, Elinore." There wasn't anything else to say.

Chapter Sixteen

"You don't think anyone will notice what we have been up to?" Don't laugh, he told himself, as he walked down the hall with her toward the refectory. You know how earnest she is. "We are married, Elinore," he pointed out, "and married couples frequently do the . . . well, they do." She stopped and whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry I was so noisy this morning." I'm not, he thought. "It's all right, my love. The walls are thick. Tell you what, though: if you don't want anyone to suspect that we've been doing the deed, you'd better try not to walk so bow-legged." To his utter delight, she gasped, then collected herself, and beat him over the head with her medical satchel. "You are a scoundrel!" she said, and started to laugh. Impulsively he grabbed her around the waist, pulled her close, and kissed her with a smack loud enough to start Harper laughing at the other end of the hall, where he was replacing another window blown out by artillery during the previous summer's campaign. "As you were, Private," Jesse ordered. "You, too, sir, if I may be so bold," the private replied. "You may not!" Jesse came closer, determined to keep the smile off his face. "I might remind you, Private Harper, that any other commander would throw you in the stockade after such an insubordinate comment." Harper nodded and then carefully applied the glass to the frame. "Sir, begging your pardon again, but you are not any other commander." His face became serious again. "Chief, that Frog is still alive." He looked out the window he was repairing. "And the sun's out." "Time for Number Eight to sally forth. Harper?"

"Yes, sir. Wilkie is watching from the bell tower, just in case anyone moves out on the road from Salamanca." He looked at Jesse again, a question in his eyes. "Suppose no one comes from Salamanca? No telling where Clausel, Soult, and Souham will meet, is there, sir? It would be good for us if no one comes this way, but not so good for our little hospital here. I mean, the Frog is better, but he still needs a surgeon, don't he? And what about the others?" I wish you could hear yourself, Harper, Jesse thought. I doubt your real commander would even recognize you as that drunk infantryman found headfirst in the latrine. "I have been thinking that very thing, Harper. I want to talk with you and Wilkie, but first I want to see our . . . uh, Frog." Sister Maria Josefina rose from Barzun's bedside when he came into the refectory, nodded to him, and left quietly. Elinore hesitated, then went down the row to sit by the soldier with the burned arm. He sat down beside Barzun, took his hand, and pressed his fingers against the man's wrist. The pulse, steady and rhythmic now, made him smile. For good measure, he put the back of his hand against Barzun's forehead. "Buon dia, paisan," he said. "You are cool, your pulse is steady. I suppose this means you are determined to live." He lifted the blanket, relieved to see no swelling now beyond what he deemed as normal, considering the insult to Barzun's system. "The army has not paid me in six months. Too bad I cannot charge you a whopping fee, Captain Barzun. Oh, please don't do that." He took a cloth and wiped the French surgeon's eyes. "Let us just call this a professional courtesy, eh? I know you would have done the same for me." He gave the surgeon a moment to collect himself. "You have put me in a delicate position, though. I won't call you free from danger yet, but I know I should leave before your army in Salamanca decides to move in this direction." He took a deep breath. "I also know that our maestro would consider me a poor

graduate, indeed, if I abandoned you or your patients." He scratched his head and looked at Elinore. "Truth to tell, I am not certain that I could live with myself if I did leave. You see my dilemma." "I do. If you'll permit me an observation, my friend, I think. I slept more last night than you did." After a lengthy pause in which his face grew red, Barzun smiled at him. "How nice to know that the British army possesses at least one officer who still blushes!" "Philippe, that's not the issue here," he protested. "In a way, it is. You have a deeply personal obligation to your lovely wife, a professional one to your mangy soldiers, and . . . and a political one to Armand Leger that runs counter to your stewardship of me and my patients." Jesse stared at him in surprise. "You know who Leger is?" "I'll wager there is not a person in France who does not. I can only imagine how badly Napoleon would like to see him safe and sound in la belle France." He shrugged. "I can also imagine that you British would find him as an embarrassment for Napoleon and everything we French stand for." He laid his hand on Jesse's arm. "I think you had better make a decision quickly, my friend." How right you are, Jesse thought. He went into the hall, ordering Harper to find Wilkie. "Bring Leger, too, and smartly now," he ordered. "Elinore, would you summon Sister Maria Josefina?" he asked when he came back into the refectory. Everyone assembled quickly, which gave him a moment of private satisfaction to know that he actually could convey the urgency of the situation in a military fashion, instead of in his usual more diffident style. I only wish you would not look at me as though you expect a miracle, he thought as the members of the marching hospital pulled up stools to sit close to Barzun's cot.

"First of all, this will be a bit awkward," he began. "I will speak to you in English, of course, and then translate to Italian for Barzun's benefit, and Sister Maria's. She must know what I am planning, because it affects Santa Isabella." He looked at the two privates, who were as serious as he had ever seen them. "Consider this an officers' call, but bear in mind that this retreat has made us all equal. I want your opinion. And yours, Elinore." He wished she sat closer, yearning for her as close as she was last night. He outlined the dilemma in English and then in Italian. No one spoke. "As matters stand. I see few choices. Please listen carefully to what I am suggesting." And please understand me, my dearest, he thought. "I cannot leave these men unattended. No, Harper, hear me out! I have a commitment that goes beyond this army. It's not something I can ignore. Let me finish, Wilkie. Privates, I am going to remain behind." He knew better than to look at Elinore just then, and hurried on. "I expect you two to get my wife, Armand Leger, and that French dispatch to Ciudad Rodrigo." In the awful silence, he repeated himself in Italian. Barzun listened in disbelief, which gradually changed to understanding. "I understand this, Captain Randall, but think: If you could get a letter to Salamanca, or send someone, there would be a French surgeon here soon enough." Jesse translated for the benefit of the others. "The Frog's right, Chief," Harper said, making no effort to mask the relief in his voice. "Send someone with a letter." "Who, Harper, who?" he asked. "The nuns? I wouldn't dare send them into a city occupied by the French. Lorenzo the slow boy? You and I know he would be conscripted and put to hard labor. We've all seen it before. You or Wilkie? Never." "Aye, we are such valuable soldiers," Harper said sarcastically. "That is it precisely, Private," Jesse said, his voice crisp now. "I

am relying on you to get my wife to Ciudad Rodrigo. I know that you can and will, no matter what happens to me." He glanced at Elinore, and wished he had not. She was in tears. "I either stay here or I deliver that message. Either way, I know I will be treated well enough, but I also know I will be conscripted. It always happens to surgeons. I see no other way out of this." He took a deep breath. "Do you, Elinore?" In a moment of absolute clarity, he knew what she would say. After last night, he knew her body, but he had known her mind and character for many years. What a woman I have married, he thought as she shook her head"I hate it, Jesse," she said, her voice barely audible. "But you understand." "I do." The words sounded like they were ripped right out of her throat. Armand Leger started to chuckle. Everyone looked at him. "I have a better idea, Captain Randall. In fact, it is a much better idea. I will go. I will deliver your message about the men here, and Clausel will send a surgeon. What could be simpler?" "But . . ." "No, Captain." Leger held up his hand. "I know they will apprehend me and whisk me back to France, probably amid great rejoicing." He permitted himself another laugh. "The marshals have done so poorly here against your damned Wellington that I daresay my retrieval will be the high point of their shortening careers!" Elinore was at Leger's side now, clinging to his arm. "You have told me—told us all—how much you despise Napoleon and what he has come to. Why this?" He touched her face. Jesse swallowed, moved to his heart by the

tenderness he saw there. "Cherie, perhaps I am doing this for Eugenie and Charlotte. Perhaps they will rest a little easier, knowing that their papa has not entirely turned his back on his foolish countrymen, and by extension, them." He glanced at the others, and settled his gaze on Philippe Barzun. "Bonaparte will not last forever in power. I hear he is in Russia now. Imagine the foolishness! When he is gone—and he will be—maybe France will need an old revolutionary who is now amazingly wise." He turned to Jesse. "You have other things to do, Captain, and they do not involve remaining here. Write me a letter. I will take it immediately. I can guarantee you a surgeon at Santa Isabella by nightfall." I should argue with him, Jesse thought, but there was no denying the lift to his heart. A glance at Elinore told him her answer as clearly as if she had shouldered her way to his side and grabbed him by his uniform front. "I'll write you a letter, monsieur." He wrote the letter, describing each injury as he found it. and outlining both Barzun's treatments and his own. He signed the document with a flourish, allowing himself to hope that since Armand Leger was the messenger, perhaps the French would leave Number Eight alone, now that they had the old revolutionary in their grasp. After Elinore sanded and sealed the letter, Jesse gave it to Leger. "Here you are, monsieur. We will leave immediately. Sister Maria told me of a less traveled road from Salamanca to Ciudad Rodrigo." He tapped the letter. "Buy time for us today if you can. monsieur, but there must be another surgeon here soon." "I will do that, Captain," Leger said. He pocketed the letter and swirled his cloak around his shoulders. "Be honest. You are not sorry to see me go." "No, I am not," he said frankly, "but it does not follow that I wish you ill. Go with God, monsieur." He took his hand. "I hope you

find what you are after." Just words, Jesse thought as he watched Leger fold Elinore into a tight embrace. No, I don't dislike you, but I am tired of you and this endless war. Well, every revolution has its victims. Saying good-bye to Philippe Barzun proved more difficult. He took one last stroll through the refectory, checking a bandage here, listening to another's respirations there, until he came to the surgeon, who had been watching him with no little amusement. "These are my patients, Captain Randall," Barzun reminded him, and touched his hand. "When I am home in Grenoble—pray it will be this winter—I will write our maestro in Milan and tell him that although you are proprietary, like most Englishmen, you are a worthy graduate." I can keep it light, too, Jesse told himself. "Proprietary, eh? May I ask which of our commanders has thought to go to Russia, if we can believe the rumors? I doubt Tsar Alexander invited him." They smiled at each other with perfect understanding. Jesse leaned forward suddenly and kissed Barzun's forehead. "I will write you a letter in Grenoble, my friend," he said. "I will tell you how Elinore and I are doing in Dundee." If we make the border. Why do men and women keep making plans, even during war? He couldn't say any more, so he turned on his heel and left the room. The others were already mounted in the courtyard. "My little army," he said, and Harper and Wilkie grinned at him. Elinore smiled at him in a way that made him feel warm, and blew him a kiss. Sister Maria Josefina handed him a bag with bread and cheese after he swung into the saddle. "Oh, Sister, I am certain your need is equal to ours," he said in protest, but knew better than to argue when she narrowed her eyes and glared at him. He turned to the others. "My dears, I believe it is time to shake the dust of Spain off our boots."

Harper regarded Wilkie. "Gor, Private, when was you anyone's dear?" he teased. "I disremember," the other private mumbled. He turned cheerful eyes to Jesse. "Lead on, Cap! We follow." Elinore had ample time to reflect on Wilkie's words. The road that paralleled the Salamanca highway was more of a cow trail. They moved single file through a bleak landscape. Never much of a rider, she was forced to concentrate on the trail ahead. Harper rode first, followed by her husband, who cut no real dash on horseback, either. Wilkie followed her, and he sang as he rode. During their noon stop, just as the rain started again, she asked him where he learned his songs. "I listen to the sergeants' wives, miss," he told her, then blushed and was silent. Her father had told her once that the army was family to rough men like Wilkie and Harper. It has been family to me, too, she thought as she looked around her at the others. She knew her husband came from a different world. She huddled close to him as he shared his cloak with her and the rain beat down. For the tiniest moment she allowed herself to think of Dundee. Imagine the novelty of raising children in a house, she thought. She nudged Jesse. "Do you have servants in Dundee?" "There's just a housekeeper and her husband now," he said. "He keeps the place trim, and she cooks." He tightened his arm around her. "We can have a maid or two, once I set up my private practice. Would you like that?" "It would be heaven, I think," she said. "I could probably lounge in bed until seven in the morning, couldn't I?" When he didn't answer, she looked at him, then wondered why he appeared so solemn. "Oh, dear. Perhaps only until six and a half, then," she suggested. "But I would like roast goose at Christmas, if we could."

"Done, madam," he replied. His voice still sounded strange, but he hugged her even tighter, and she did not think he was angry with her for asking. They encountered outriders from Clausel's army as night fell, a small patrol moving along and talking to each other, unmindful of anyone else, their approach muffled by the rain. An urgent word from Harper, and they turned off the path and into the trees to dismount and wait behind some boulders. Before she was aware of what he was doing, Jesse had moved her tight against the boulder and put his cloak around them both again. When she realized that he was covering her body with his to protect her from gunfire, she wanted to remind him that of the two of them, he was more valuable to Wellington's army. He must think I am a trivial woman, she told herself as she relaxed into the safety of his arms and body. "Jesse, it doesn't really matter about a Christmas goose," she whispered. "That's not important now, is it?" "You're the goose," he whispered back. "Wait until I get you to Dundee." She closed her eyes, pressed her hands against the rock, and rested her face against her hands. He moved closer, until they were breathing together. He was so close that she began to think about last night and how perfectly logical and right their lovemaking had seemed. As she enjoyed the gentle pressure of his body against hers, she couldn't help think that the workings of fate were strange, indeed. Three weeks ago, it was just going to be another dreary retreat from Spain, like so many others. Her mother's death had begun all manner of consequences, right down to the delicious experience of practically turning herself inside out half the night for this quiet man who was ready to protect her from armies. She found herself trying to smother her laughter now, quite undone by the reality that life was so bizarre at times.

"What is the matter?" Jesse asked, his lips next to her ear. "You would never believe me," she told him. "Oh, I would," he whispered. "You know, you could turn around and raise your skirt, and we could try this standing up, but I do believe we'd scare the horses." He put his hand over her mouth when she started to laugh, and held it there until Harper gave a low whistle and stepped away from the boulder. "A close one, sir," he said. "I'll say," Jesse replied. He winked at Elinore. "She hysterical, sir?" Harper asked, his concern undeniable. "No, no. Something more mundane than that. Well! Harper, I suggest we get off the road. Find us a place, will you?" He did, a ruined stone outbuilding whose only virtue appeared to be a slate roof that looked old enough and strong enough to have kept out Noah's rain of forty days and forty nights. The other virtue was that it was large enough for the horses, too. Harper grained the animals, then showed Jesse the empty bag. "I think we're about to reach the Douro, Private," he said. Harper moved closer. "D'ye think there's a bridge left, sir?" "Certainly." Jesse looked at her. "Very well, Elinore," he said, his embarrassment obvious. "You are right to glare at me, so I'll say it out loud: I would be surprised if Clausel or Soult were not already in possession of it." "That's plain enough," Harper said, and busied himself with the horses. She woke early in her husband's arms. They had burrowed close together in the night, seeking warmth, and he had pushed his face deep into her hair. She thought of her parents then, and their strange hand-to-mouth life following the drum from India, to

Canada, to Spain. Mama had told her once how proud she was of Captain Mason in his regimentals when the army marched in review. I will miss the life a little, she thought, but not enough to yearn for it. I have seen enough marching. Jesse says that the French cannot remain long in the Peninsula, and someday the war will end. She sighed, wondering if she could manage even another five minutes of it. Jesse stirred when she sighed. "What are you thinking of?" he whispered "My father. I suppose he is near Lisbon by now, and the lines." She raised up on her elbow. "I am not so certain I will know what to say to him, when I see him." "Can you be generous with him?" It was a good question, one for which she had no answer. Jesse seemed to require none. He smiled at her, and she was content to lie beside him and wait for the sun to rise. Her eyes were closing again when she took a deep breath, held it, and then slowly let it out. There was no mistaking it: campfires. She glanced at her husband, who was deep in sleep again. Holding her breath, she rose to her feet, moving slowly so as not to startle the horses. She sidled up to the window and peered out, allowing her eyes a moment to adjust to the early dawn. Oh, God, she thought, her hand over her mouth. Daylight revealed that they had camped at the edge of an abandoned village, hardly more than a collection of houses. She was no judge of distances, but French soldiers had camped at the other end of the desolate street, close enough for her to smell the fragrance of their breakfast campfire. She sniffed again. They were cooking sausages. As she watched, horrified, one of the soldiers rose from his place by the fire and walked toward their ruined cottage. Her tongue

seemed too large for her mouth, and she wondered if she could even warn her companions. She pulled herself away from the window, and watched out of the merest corner of it as he stopped, unbuttoned his trousers, and urinated. Unable to look away, she watched as he finished his chore, shook himself, buttoned his trousers, and ambled back to the fire. On her hands and knees, she crawled to Jesse, put her hand just over his mouth, and touched his shoulder. He woke immediately. "The French," she whispered. "They camped for the night just beyond us." Wilkie must have been awake, because he prodded Harper. In a second, the two of them crouched next to her. Jesse lay still where he was. "I smelled a campfire," she whispered. "How many?" Wilkie asked. "Ten?" she replied, uncertain. "A patrol," Harper said. Moving quietly for a big man, he went to the window and raised up slowly. "Chasseurs," he said as he returned to their little group. "I don't see their horses." No one said anything. Elinore looked from one man to the other, and back to Jesse, who appeared no more than thoughtful. "Do something!" she wanted to shriek, until reason righted itself. If they can be calm, I can be calm, she told herself, even as she started to shake. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. Silently, Jesse took her by the arm and walked her behind the horses. The other two followed as he sat her down in the farthest corner from the door and the window, and wrapped her cloak around her. As the men she had come to know so well sat in front of her, fear was replaced with comfort. They are ready to defend me with their lives, she thought in wonder. Jesse spoke first. "Private Wilkie, I have observed that you are somewhat resourceful," he said. "You have also informed us—

and we have seen your handiwork—that you specialize in diversion." "Aye, sir," Wilkie said promptly. He glanced at Harper. "It's not a new calling." "I didn't think so. Have you and Harper been partners for long?" "Aye, sir." Wilkie leaned closer, after looking around, perhaps to make sure the French weren't listening. "We worked the Strand, Captain: I did the diverting, and 'arry did the plucking." Elinore could see that in spite of their desperate situation, Jesse was hard put not to smile. "Dare I hope that patriotism led you to abandon the criminal life for the army?" Harper grinned. "Not a bit of it, Chief! I got caught by a Runner, and the magistrate gave us the choice: Botany Bay or the king's shilling." "Wilkie, too?" " 'e didn't catch me!" Wilkie said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice. He shrugged. "But what's a good diversion without a cutpurse to follow through?" "What, indeed?" Jesse asked. "My dear Wilkie, do you think you could find the chasseurs' horses and liberate them without causing suspicion?" The private thought a moment. "Piece o'cake, sir." "Make it look like the Frogs just tied a poor knot? We can't have them even suspecting we are about." "I can do it. A little rain would help, though." The words were scarcely out of his mouth when rain began to fall. With an expression that Elinore could only call beatific, Wilkie looked upward in surprise.

"Don't even say it," Jesse warned. "I am no expert, but I do not believe the Almighty humors miscreants when He has nothing better to do." Wilkie smiled, obviously unconvinced. "I was saved once in a Methodist street meeting. Maybe it took, Captain. C'mon, 'arry." The two of them crept back to the window. Wilkie positioned himself by the door, and Harper raised up just enough to see out. Both men were perfectly still, almost to the limit of Elinore's patience, then Harper gave a little grunt, and Wilkie vanished. Elinore blinked. "Jesse, I'm amazed," she said. Her husband nodded. "London must be a safer place, with these two in Spain. A wealthier one, certainly." He moved closer to her. Harper remained by the window, watching, then moved back to them. "We'd better saddle these horses now, really quiet-like," he said. "No telling how long Wilkie will take, but once the Frenchies leave their camp, we'd better be ready to ride." "You seem pretty confident about Wilkie," Elinore said. Harper sat up a little straighter. "Gor, Mrs. Randall, Wilkie's an expert." Saddling gave them something to do. Elinore stood by one of the horses, patting his long nose to keep him quiet while Jesse and Harper tightened the cinch, then moved on to the next animal. She knew the horses were hungry, and prayed they would not catch the scent of other horses, and try to strike up an equine conversation. Time passed; she grew drowsy again. She was just nodding off, leaning against Jesse's shoulder, when he tensed. She opened her eyes to see Harper waving at them. "They've left the clearing, Captain."

Alert now, Elinore watched the door, but Wilkie appeared almost before she was aware. Not even breathing hard, he went to Jesse. "You call us poor troopers, Captain, but the chasseurs didn't even have a guard on the horses." He looked at Harper. " 'ow do they plan to conquer the world? I'm sure / don't know." In a matter of minutes, they led the horses from the cottage, mounted, and struck out across country to avoid even the cow path they had followed. They rode in earnest now, everyone silent, intent, watchful. Wilkie led, scouting the path. When they stopped a few hours later, he rode ahead to the closest promontory. He was even more serious than usual when he returned as the others prepared to mount. "What did you see?" Jesse asked. "The whole army, sir." He scratched his head, not happy to be the bearer of evil tidings. "They're between us and the river. What's more, there is a little dust to the south and east." He grimaced. "Not much dust. We've had too much rain for that. I think that Clausel and Soult haven't joined yet.'' Jesse nodded. '"So we have nine thousand troops in front of us, instead of twenty thousand. That relieves my mind, Private." He looked around. "I propose that we move north and west upstream. Perhaps there is a ford." The rain stopped. They traveled into a raw afternoon, crossing one small bridge over a nameless tributary of the Douro, only to retrace their movement and tug their horses underneath the bank. Silent, shivering in knee-deep water, they listened as a regiment of infantry passed overhead, all moving toward the Douro, seeking Clausel's army. Darkness had never seemed so welcome, the rain such a blessing. Their search for a ford or another bridge took them far from the Salamanca Road. Every slow plop of the horses' hooves taunted Elinore that they were foolish to dream that their army of four

could ever reach the comparative safety of Ciudad Rodrigo's battered walls. She wanted to rein in her horse and just sit there and cry, except that she refused to be the first to give up. The sun was setting as they rode toward the Douro again, far upstream from the Roman bridge where armies had crossed for centuries. A path took them single file down the slippery approach where the river had cut deep into the bank. As they moved so slowly along the trail now, she could only gulp and look away from the river, swollen by the heavy rains of autumn, the water gathering speed as it raced toward the rocky gorge above the Roman bridge. "God bless us, will you look at that, Captain?" " 'pon my word, Harper, is that a ferry?" It was. What's more, the large raft, bobbing on the current, was conveniently tied to a dock. Elinore let out her breath in a sigh of relief and started to edge her horse forward. To her dismay, Jesse grabbed the reins from her hands. "Let Wilkie go first, my love." he said. "This is just entirely too easy." He put the reins into her hands again. "I suppose that matrimonial cares have made me a changed man. Next thing you know, I'll ... oh, what is this?" She peered closer at the open door where Wilkie stood now, motioning them closer. Another man stood silhouetted there as well, a form so familiar that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I'm dreaming, she thought, until Jesse slapped her horse and set her in motion. "Go on, Elinore," he told her. "Isn't it fun to be proved wrong now and then?" She didn't need any further urging. When her tired horse slowed his pace, she lifted her leg out of the saddle and jumped down. With a cry of delight she ran between the dock and the ferryman's house and threw herself into her father's arms.

"Nellie, surely you didn't think I would abandon you?" Bertie Mason said as he held her close.

Chapter Seventeen She clung to her father. "I didn't know. How could I, Papa?" He tightened his grip. "You ask a very good question, my dear. If I had an adequate answer, probably none of this would have happened." He released her from his embrace, and with an arm around her shoulder, led her into the house. Wilkie grinned at her from his place in front of the fire, where he warmed his hands. In another minute Harper came through the door, followed by her husband. "Dare we hope that you have commandeered the ferry?" That's not much of a greeting, Elinore thought. There was no mistaking the wariness in Jesse's words. She knew of her father's legendary thick skin—how else could he have skated so nimbly through the army for so many years?—but the words grated like a bone saw. She looked at her father. This is where you usually leave the room, she thought. I've never known you to face anything unpleasant a minute longer than necessary. He surprised her by looking Jesse in the eye. "I am going to have to prove myself, am I not, sir?" he asked. "You are," Jesse replied, his voice as hard as flint. "Your past actions put your daughter in deep peril, Captain Mason. You've secured the ferry?" he asked again. Jesse looked at her then, and in the look she saw all his love and longing, and the strain he had been under, trying to see his little

army to safety and still preserve that part of himself that demanded a higher level of obedience to medicine. Without complaint, for three weeks he had done things she could never do. The sacrifice of his own peaceful inclinations for a woman of breathtaking insignificance and two nondescript soldiers struck her with the force of a slap. She left her father's side and walked to her husband. "Let me take your coat," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands calm, when she wanted to grab him and never let go. "I can drape it over this chair by the fire. Harper, have we any food? You know how the Chief likes toasted cheese, and no one toasts it better than you." Her calm words seemed to soothe the situation. Bertie managed a light bow. "The ferry is mine. I bought the use of it for a week, and the services of the ferryman. Captain, I am amazed how many of our erstwhile allies are reluctant to take a government chit." There was something in the offhand way he said it that made Jesse smile. "Do you suppose, sir, that the Spanish are as tired of us as we are of them?" It was a good start, Elinore reasoned. She looked at her father, and for a change, he did not fail her. "Too true, Captain, too true." He made an apologetic face. "As much as it pained me, when he would not honor a government chit, I was forced to pay him in pounds sterling." He smiled at his daughter. "Imagine that, Nell, if you can." She could not. Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide, to Bertie Mason's obvious amusement. He put his hand to his heart, and she saw a little of the old actor in him. "Do I see a certain disbelief in your eyes—aren't they lovely, Captain Randall? She takes after me—that I actually have two coins to rub together?" "It astounds me, sir," Jesse replied frankly.

Mason laughed. "Too much reclamation in the last chapter is the stuff of bad novels, Captain! I fear I am too old for reform of a permanent nature. Forgive me, my dear daughter. Let us bask in this temporary virtue as long as possible, and let us do it over dinner." He turned toward the fireplace, hesitated a second, then turned around suddenly and took her by the arms again. When he spoke, his voice held no assurance, no polish, no Bertie Mason dash, no pluck. "I did not know that I would ever see you again, Nell," he said, his voice so filled with genuine emotion that her heart seemed to stop. She put her hands on each side of his face and kissed him. "Papa, I was in excellent hands, truly I was." She sighed and looked at Jesse, only to have to adjust her gaze again when her husband seemed to be struggling, too. She took a deep breath. "Private Harper, do let us see to that cheese. Papa, did you make soup?" Wilkie located spoons while Harper toasted the cheese. Elinore stood with her back to the fire, lifting her sodden skirts, until her father called them to the table. With a flourish, he sat them down, and gestured for them to begin. No one argued. Harper started on his second bowl, and Jesse finally set down his spoon when Bertie Mason cleared his throat. "It was the worst retreat imaginable," he began. "Two of our darling generals even got lost, if you can imagine such a thing, and there were the French, chewing at our heels. Captain, your hair will curl—well, yours is already curled— when you finally get to read Wellington's memo to the army." He shuddered elaborately. "No one knew where anyone was, and I suppose we all assumed that you were safe somewhere." ''Assume. I do hate that word now," Jesse murmured. "The regiment was beyond Ciudad Rodrigo before anyone questioned the whereabouts of Number Eight," Mason said. His lively expression grew somber then. "It probably would have

been weeks before we knew, except that Major Bones just had to gloat. I suppose it is the nature of bullies." He looked down at the table. "We drank together one night. My apologies, Elinore, but I told you I am not a reformed man." She made some motion with her hand, then allowed Jesse to take it and hold it. He kissed her fingers, then put her hand on his leg in a possessive gesture she knew he would never have dreamed of doing two weeks ago. "He told me what happened, gloating and laughing. God damn the man!" Mason said, not disguising his bitterness. " 'That surgeon thought he was so clever,' he told me. 'He thinks he can have her, and you thought you could make me a laughingstock, Mason, by paying me back like that.' " Mason rose suddenly. "I humiliated him, he said." "Did you mention this to General Picton or Sir Arthur?" Jesse asked. Mason shook his head. Red spots burned in his cheeks. "Do you know anyone in the army who takes Bertie Mason seriously?" "No, I do not," Jesse replied. "You assumed they wouldn't believe you." "Yes," Mason said, his voice equally frank. "I have said how disorganized the retreat was. I am certain that General Picton would have laughed, patted my shoulder—you know how he is— and told me to give it a few days when we were all together in Lisbon again." "I can see that, sir," Jesse agreed. "Just wait a few more days, and then Number Eight would probably materialize." He leaned forward across the table. "Do you know that Bones is directly responsible for the death of Surgeon Sheffield, and the ruin of a Spanish family?" "Sir, if you'll pardon me, he almost got us all killed," Harper

added. "Dear God," Mason said. He paused a moment to collect his emotions. "I feared as much." He smiled, but there was no humor in it. "What do I generally do in extreme distress? Besides drink myself into a wrinkled wad?" "Cards," Elinore said at once. "Exactly. I knew I needed some money, if I was going to go back to Spain." "I would suggest you also needed some permission, Captain," Jesse said dryly. "You may, but we can't have everything, can we?" Elinore gasped. "Papa, are you on French leave?" "Just a brief one, daughter." "For me?" She knew that if she lived to be old, blind, and toothless, she would never forget the look he gave her. "For you alone." Never one to invest in too many solemn moments, he winked at Jesse. "Oh, perhaps for you, too, but let me say here that no father ever looks with total approval on the man who beds his daughter. And don't you forget that!" Jesse laughed, even as his face turned crimson. He moved Elinore's hand higher up his leg. "My blushes, Captain. I say, may I call you Bertram?" "Yes, if we have advanced that far ... Jesse." He looked around at them. "I told that bastard Bones I would play cards. I still had that ten pounds extra that you gave me." "I believe it was twenty pounds, Bertram." "Why must surgeons be so damned exact? I passed a number of

wineries on the road to Ciudad Rodrigo." "Obviously not without stopping." "I played and I won, and I got up from the table with my winnings. The ferryman has a heavy pouch of sovereigns, and the promise of more, if he will ferry us and be silent. I have been here four days, wondering if you would arrive before the French." "Only just," Jesse said. "I recommend a departure with the dawn." "I couldn't agree more." Mason laughed. "This place is slow indeed. The wine is gone, the river seems to be rising, and the ferryman reeks of garlic from every pore." "Poor Papa," Elinore said. "Do you know what we will find on the other side of the Douro?" "The French, I fear. The ferryman's uncle is watching for us on the opposite bank—Lord, he was expensive. He says the Frogs have crossed, but seem indecisive about advancing on Ciudad Rodrigo yet again. The armies appear not to be joined yet." "A good run will get us into Rodrigo?" "I think so, Jesse." Bertie touched his shoulder. "We should retire. You and Elinore will have the room beyond. I will split the watch with your soldiers here in the front room." He yawned. "I have been trying to stay awake. I wish we could eventually engage in a war where we could entirely trust our allies." "I could watch, too," Jesse said. "You could," Mason replied in a low voice, "but the way you keep inching my daughter's hand up your leg makes me suspect that, good intentions aside, you would be useless." He winked at Elinore. "I'm certain I did not suspect that our quiet little surgeon

would be a Don Juan. Nell, I hope you are not disappointed how things have turned out." "Quite the contrary, Papa." He clutched her hand. "I did not do anything right." She thought of the years behind her: following the drum, forced to be the adult in the Mason family, working in the marching hospital to equalize family debts real or imagined and the scorn of other officers' families. I could be bitter, she thought, and not even Jesse would blame me. I could argue successfully that I have learned more of virtue and character from both of Number Eight's surgeons rather than from my own parents. I can also be charitable. "No, Papa, you did not," she said quietly, "but it doesn't follow that I am the poorer for it." She looked at his hand in hers, and rested her cheek against it. "You came to find us. What more proof do I need of your affection for me?" The door had hardly closed behind them when Jesse took her in his arms. He kissed her, held her out from him as though for a good look, then pulled her close again, close enough to suggest to her that neither of them would be on their feet much longer. She could have wished for a bath, or a pretty nightgown, or even just a brush, but wasn't sure that any of it mattered much to her husband. She thought he would not object when she pulled away to unbutton her dress, but he kept her close. "I must confess to a dreadful lie, Elinore," he told her. "You would never lie to me," she contradicted. She could at least unbutton his shirt, if he didn't want to pull away. "I did, back there in the dead tent when we were married. Mind the neckcloth, Elinore. It's the only one I have left. When you asked if I would agree to let you make up your mind at the Portuguese border, I said yes." He moved back a little to

unbutton her dress. "I didn't mean it." He stopped to look into her eyes, and then kissed her neck. "You already know that." "Oh, I do." She looked down at him and smiled. "Jesse, I think one of us should unbutton your trousers. I have no needle and thread. If you pop those buttons, you will look more unsoldierly than usual." He laughed, his hand over his mouth. "Get in bed, Elinore. Time's wasting." She did as he said, and welcomed him inside her body with her usual earnest generosity. She knew he was tired, but he took his time, making sure that she climaxed first. When he came, she pressed her hands hard against the small of his back, with her lips to his ear as he muttered something into her neck. He was in no hurry to leave her. "If I get heavy, just push me off, but Elinore, you feel so good, I hope you won't. Am I making any sense?" "None whatsoever," she whispered back. "Is that common, at times like this?" "I fear so. You will think you have married a gibbering idiot." She laughed softly, adoring his warmth and the altogether seductive realization that she had the surgeon's full attention. She rested her legs on his. "Possessive, are we?" he asked, his voice drowsy. "Most certainly, my dear," she replied. "I have observed you in the hospital for several years, and the reality is not lost on me that you have very little free time." She ran her feet up and down his legs several times, and felt herself growing warm again, and anxious. "Oh, do humor me," she gasped. He humored her. Morning brought leaden skies, but no rain. She lay in bed and

listened to the roar of the river. Jesse was already awake and dressed. "Up, my dear," he said, buttoning his uniform jacket. He sat down beside her and ran his hand along her bare shoulder. "Just think. You married me and got an exciting honeymoon trip through a foreign country, visited royalty, and improved your language skills. Now we have a voyage ahead, and perhaps a reception on the other shore." She sat up, dragging the blanket around her shoulders. 'What will happen to us?" He kissed her forehead. "That, my love, will depend entirely upon the French." She feared a mishap on the ferry, but there was none. When they were across, her father gave the ferryman his last handful of sovereigns. They followed their usual order of march, her father included this time, traveling single file down the narrow cow trail on the other side of the Douro. The closer they came to the river, the more French troops they saw on that opposite bank. Some of the fusiliers fired, but the balls fell short. She remembered the Douro well from other crossings, and knew that soon they would reach the broad flood plain barren of sheltering trees. She looked around her at the companions of the retreat, observing their alert watchfulness, their silence, and the way they set their lips tighter, the closer they came to the plain. Tonight we will be inside the walls of Ciudad Rodrigo, she told herself. Her father took the lead from Harper, and led them at an oblique angle away from the river. She could hear the water boiling in the gorge now, and knew the Roman bridge was beyond the bend. She raised up in her saddle and strained for a look at Ciudad Rodrigo, and there it was. The next sequence of events happened so quickly that she knew she could never reconstruct them exactly, even if a wigged barrister had demanded a deposition. As the sun came out, she

saw a flash of light and glanced to her left along the riverbank they were riding away from. The others had seen the soldiers, too, half hidden in the trees. She saw the flash of a sword, and the guns fired. She screamed as Harper reeled in his saddle and clutched the pommel. Without hesitation and already fumbling in his medical satchel, Jesse rode to him. Her father grabbed her reins and tugged them, indicating that she follow him. Wil-kie immediately rode beside her to cover her from the tree line. "Down here," Mason called, and she followed him down an embankment, fighting to keep her seat as her horse slid on his haunches. Harper was already on the ground, his back against the embankment as Jesse applied pressure to his bleeding arm. Elinore threw herself down beside him and pulled a pressure bandage from her satchel. He grabbed it, crammed it into the wound, and raised his neck so she would take off his neckcloth. He smiled his thanks and bound Harper's arm tight. "Are you all right?" she asked the private. He nodded, but he spoke to Jesse, his tone apologetic. "We shouldn't have been caught by that, Chief." "I suppose not. Can you ride?" "Better'n ol' Wilkie on 'is best day, sir." It was a feeble joke, but Wilkie laughed. " 'arper, you're a liar, and I'll prove you wrong. Watch me, 'arry." A look passed between the two friends that set warning bells jangling in her head. "Please don't," she started to say, but the event was beyond her before the words left her mouth. Wilkie began to back up his horse along the embankment. "Get on your horse, Mrs. Randall," Harper ordered. "You, too, Chief. Now!"

She obeyed the private without question, forced into obedience by the look in his eyes. She did not dare glance at Wilkie because she knew what he was going to do. "Don't, Wilkie," she whispered as her father threw her back into her saddle. His face white, Jesse helped Harper onto his horse and mounted his own. He turned to speak to Wilkie, but it was too late. After a wink at Harper, the private rode his horse out of the embankment at a gallop, slapping the animal hard with the reins, and dashed toward the river. "My God! He'll be killed!" Jesse exclaimed. He gathered his reins in his hands. "He told you once that the only military lesson he ever remembered was a diversion, Chief. Remember?" Harper shouted, his voice tight with pain. "He's trying to buy you a life!" The guns went off, and Elinore burst into tears. When the guns continued to pop all along the line of skirmishers, Harper grabbed her reins from her with his good hand. "He's not making it easy for them Frogs, and I wish you and the Chief would move!" "I can't leave him to die," Jesse said. "I have to do something!" "No, I do," Bertie Mason said. Crouching over his horse, he rode toward Jesse and grabbed his sleeve. "Let go of me!" "No! Private Harper, do your duty with this stubborn man. I've been a captain longer than he has, and I outrank him. Here, I'll make it easier." Her heart in her throat, Elinore watched as her father whipped out his sabre and struck her husband on the temple with it. Jesse's eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell forward across the pommel of his saddle. Without missing a beat, Mason slung him onto Harper's lap. He looked back at Elinore. "Pity to do that to my only son-in-law. Do name one of your sons after me." He

tipped his hand to her and rode out of the embankment. Harper, his face wet with tears, clamped his bleeding arm over his captain, and nosed his horse forward. "Mrs. Randall, you ride at an angle toward the city. I'll be right behind you. Don't stop for anything." Numb, she nodded, took a deep breath, and dug her heels into her mount. I can't do this, she told herself as she did it. She screamed again when the French guns roared, but they were not directed at her or Harper. Her last view of her father, before she focused her entire mind, sight, and energy on Ciudad Rodrigo, was the sight of him kneeling over Wilkie and then pulling his horse down beside him. She must have hesitated, because Harper growled something at her. She gave him the coldest glare she could mus-ter, but redoubled her efforts, even though it pained her heart to flog her tired mount with the riding crop her father had thrust at her before she rode out of the embankment. The firing stopped when the French troops lost the range, but Harper was relentless in prodding her forward. The city gate opened when she and Harper reached the causeway. Her mind barely registered the new walls and the number of soldiers lining the ramparts who were cheering them. Oh, don't, she wanted to tell them. We have lost so much. Once safely inside the walls, Elinore leaped from her horse without waiting for assistance and hurried to Harper, who by now was leaning low over the body of his chief surgeon, his whole arm crimson from the shoulder down. She stood there, hands cradling her husband's head as he dangled, insensible, across the private's lap. General Picton himself rushed up. "Great Neptune's soggy balls!" he roared. "What on earth?"

"Marching Hospital Number Eight, reporting for duty," Harper said. "Better late than never," he managed to say before the tears came. Elinore reached up to touch his foot in the stirrup. Picton gestured, and two soldiers gently removed Jesse from Harper's lap. "It's all right, lad," the general said as he helped Harper from the saddle himself. "We saw most of it from the ramparts. God's bloody wounds, we couldn't do a thing!" He looked at Elinore and seemed to remember himself. "Beg pardon." He peered closer. "Nell Mason, is it?" She shook her head. "Elinore Randall now. Please, sir, can you take them to the hospital?" "We can and will, little lady." He turned to the lieutenant hovering close by. "Allenby, find this lady a quiet corner with a bed and a fireplace." "No. I will go with them," she said, her voice calm. "General, can you tell me how soon someone will be able to retrieve the . . . the others from the plain?" Picton's aide-de-camp made a small gesture, and spoke quietly to his commander, who nodded, his eyes troubled now. "As soon as we can, my dear." He put his hand on her shoulder, and there was no mistaking the tenderness of his expression. "I don't know when I've seen such a brave display, Mrs. Randall. We can all be proud of Captain Mason." "And Private Wilkie," she said, not even daring to look at Harper. He nodded. General Picton stood in silence beside her as Jesse was lowered onto a stretcher. The surgeon's eyes fluttered, then opened. He raised his hand, and Elinore came to his side and bent close. "He has a request, General," she said, stepping back. "Find Major Bones," Jesse whispered. He tried to raise himself

up. "Find him now!" She could tell that General Picton was startled by the fervency of Jesse's demand. "I'm certain that can be arranged, Captain, but surely it can wait until you feel more . . ." "Find him before I turn Private Harper loose to look." He lay down again, exhausted. "Or Elinore. We have a vast grievance, General."

Chapter Eighteen She finally allowed Picton's aide-de-camp to escort her to a guest room after General Picton's personal physician assured her that all Dr. Randall really needed now was to know that she was taken care of. She kissed Jesse, and walked down the hall, listening to Harper's strenuously insisting that he could wait for treatment until Captain Randall felt well enough to sew his arm. "I wonder who will win that argument, Mrs. Randall?" the ADC asked, amused. "Private Harper," she replied serenely. "Surely you are wrong," he exclaimed. "Private Harper, by all means." She woke in late afternoon, gentled from sleep by a maid quietly dipping hot water into a tin tub. She allowed the woman to wash her hair, then dismissed her and bolted the door so she could bathe in peace and cry into the bathwater. Unable to stop herself, she suffered through a peculiar range of emotions from deep anger at her father, to helplessness in the fate of war, to a strange sense of comfort. Papa, if I ever had doubts about your love, they are gone now, she thought.

She didn't know who to thank for the clean clothing. There was also a comb and brush, which only made her cry again for some reason. More than anything, she wanted to run down the hall to the hospital and find her husband. Instead, she sat close to the fire and combed every knot and snarl out of her hair, which left her scalp smarting. She dressed quickly, eager to see Jesse. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see a sentry there. She stared at him doubtfully. "I am not under arrest, am I?" "No, ma'am," he assured her. "Captain Randall insisted on a guard. If you care to come with me, I will take you to him." As they left the hall, she realized she was staying in guest chambers attached to the cathedral school of Ciudad Rodrigo. Soldiers swarmed everywhere. "Ours is the rear guard of the retreat," he explained. "The officers' ladies and camp followers have gone ahead to Lisbon and the lines." "And the French at the Douro?" He shrugged. "They seem reluctant to advance." Then why did they even care about us, she thought bitterly and felt her weariness returning. They crossed the courtyard in silence to the former guildhall, even now subject to the noise of carpenters and other mechanics. "Old Nosey aims to leave behind a substantial force." The sentry permitted himself a smile. "When we return in the spring, I think he wants no more retreating." At the guildhall, the sentry took her up a flight of stairs and past an entire row of sentries until the door opened on division headquarters. She sighed with relief to see Jesse sitting there, his feet propped on a hassock, a pillow behind his head. He looked at her, but his expression remained serious. Harper sat next to him, looking distinctly uncomfortable, the only private in a roomful of brass. Without thinking, she looked for Wilkie: her eyes filled

with tears. General Picton sat behind his desk. The man seated in front of him turned around, and she stepped back involuntarily. "Nell," he said. "Major Bones, I am Mrs. Randall," she said when she collected herself. "Oh, yes. How could I forget?" At a quiet word from Jesse, Private Harper moved the hassock beside her husband's chair. She sat in it, after pushing it a little closer to him. She took his hand, chagrined to find it so cold. She looked at him, a question in her eyes, but she could not tell his emotion. General Picton cleared his throat. "Mrs. Randall, your husband and Private Harper have been telling us quite a story about the retreat." "Pardon me, General, it is no story," she said. "They have made some harsh accusations against Major Bones here." He sighed, and shifted some papers on his desk. "Granted, I find it hard to fathom how someone can misplace a marching hospital, but I have been trying to argue that sometimes mistakes happen during war, especially during retreats." "Mistakes?" she said, half rising from the hassock. "Yes, mistakes!" Major Bones declared. "You don't think I would deliberately abandon a hospital?" "But you did! You did!" She looked at Jesse and Harper. "What is going on?" "We're being corrected, my love," Jesse said, "and reminded that such things do happen. Major Bones here has informed us that we have only your father's word that he ever owed him any

money, and reminds me that I never saw him loan Captain Mason a tuppence." Jesse slapped the chair's arm with the flat of his hand, his eyes ferocious. "Don't glare at me, General Picton! If you will not believe the loans that led to what Sheffield and I felt we had to do to save Elinore's virtue, I cannot imagine you can overlook the fact that this . . . this despicable beast was directly responsible for the death of Major Sheffield, an alcalde in a little village, and the rape of that man's daughter!" General Picton stood up suddenly and leaned across the desk. "I have never said I do not believe you, Captain Randall. I only remind you that Captain Mason himself must confirm those debts. Who else can verify what happened in that village near Burgos? You know we won't be back there until summer next, and you have given me only hearsay." He turned troubled eyes on Major Bones. "The major steadfastly denies all your charges, and reminds me of his spotless record." He held out his hands to Elinore. "All I am saying is that we must defer justice, in this instance." "I am not satisfied," Jesse snapped. Picton sat down heavily, rummaged on his desk, and held up the pages from Souham's saddlebags she had copied before they left Santos. "I do appreciate these, and will forward them immediately to Sir Arthur in Lisbon. You have surely done us a great service." He glanced at Major Bones. "I will put a formal reprimand in your dossier about the misplacing of Number Eight." "And I will respectfully deny that it was my fault, General. The blame lies with the regimental commanders," Bones insisted. He looked at Jesse and smiled. "I think it can be expunged easily enough." He coughed. "I wouldn't want to air anyone's dirty laundry, but it was general knowledge around the officers that Captain Randall had been wanting to find some way to convince Miss Mason to marry him. Everyone knew he was in love with

her, but God knows he is shy. He was using me as an expedient to force her hand. Deny it, Randall." The words hung ugly and heavy in the room. Elinore let out her breath in a long sigh, unsure where to look. "I never told anyone I was in love with Elinore Mason," Jesse said finally, but she could hear the defeat in his voice. "You didn't have to," Bones said softly. "You couldn't keep your eyes off her! At least it gave all of us something to chuckle about for a few years." I can't look at anyone in this room, Elinore thought as her stomach churned. Picton will not listen, and we have no proof of anything against Bones until summer, providing Dan O'Leary and the patients in Santos are still alive. She thought of the alcalde's daughter. Repeating her story to a military tribunal of Englishmen would send her into the deepest dishonor possible for a Spanish woman. She would never do it. Elinore leaned back and forced herself to breathe calmly. The alcaide's daughter! "Jesse, do you have your medical satchel? The shoulder one?" "It's in the hospital. But . . ." "Harper, would you get it, please?" she asked. He left the room on the run. "Nell, Nell, it's all right," Major Bones said. "I can understand why you would all be upset at being abandoned. Too bad about your father." "Yes, it is too bad, isn't it?" she said, looking him in the eyes now! "No one ever believes a drunk, a weak man. It's easier to laugh and exploit him, isn't it?" "My dear, I think we have lost this round," Jesse said, but it isn't over."

She touched his face. "No, we haven't lost this round, my dear. You really have loved me for years?" "You know I have," he replied, his eyes bright. "You're wasting time, Nell," Bones said, as though he could read her mind. "I am certain General Picton has important things to do." She held her hands tightly together to keep them from shaking. "Major Bones, you are a menace, and I will prove it. Please humor me, General Picton." Picton nodded and sat back in his chair, his hands behind his head. "I'm not as busy as you might think, Major Bones," he said pleasantly. They sat in silence, listening for Harper's footsteps. Eli-nore took pleasure in the sight of perspiration rolling down Major Bones' face, even though the room was cool. She heard the rattle of bottles in the satchel and tightened her grip on Jesse's hand as Harper came thundering down the hall, only to be stopped by the sentries, who ordered him forward at a sedate pace. Harper placed the satchel next to her. She opened it and took out the little wooden box with the glass containers. "What are you looking for, Elinore?" Jesse asked. "The permanganate of potassium, if you please. I wrapped the chit around it because the bottle rattled more than the others and I thought it might break." "Here." He sucked in his breath. "My God, I forgot." She took it out and untied the string binding the little paper to it. "Do you want to do the honors?" "Oh, no! You're the one who remembered it. Besides, I think a woman can give this argument its proper perspective."

With trembling fingers, Elinore unwrapped the little chit that the alcalde's daughter had handed her. She spread it out on General Picton's desk as Major Bones rose from his chair. "As you were, Major," the general ordered. He looked at Harper. "Private, do summon a sentry." He glanced over at Bones. "Just a formality, Major. I am certain you have nothing to fear." He read the chit. His face went pale. He looked at Elinore. "Please tell me how you obtained this." "The alcalde's daughter gave it to me," she said, not taking her eyes from Major Bones. "That man there who claims to be an officer and a gentleman rolled it up and stuffed it in her mouth after he ... he raped her. You can probably see the tooth marks if you look closely, sir. This was after he killed her father in front of her eyes, but, of course, I cannot prove that. The murder can wait until summer, I suppose, when we can produce a whole village of witnesses, but this fearful indignity to an ally need not wait." General Picton read the note again, then folded it. "Major Bones, how unfortunate that king and country labor under the misapprehension that you are an officer and a gentleman. On your own honor, I insist that you retire to your quarters, where you will remain under house arrest." "But . . ." "No, no, Captain Randall. We have to trust him that far. Major Bones, tomorrow I will authorize a detachment to escort you to Lisbon. When summer comes, we will continue this discussion. Do leave right now. The sight of you is making me ill." Major Bones got to his feet, his face drained of all color, except for two red spots burning in his cheeks. He took a step toward Elinore, but Harper was on his feet and standing in front of her before the sentry had time to react. Major Bones turned on his heel and left the room, followed by

the sentry. Elinore listened to him all the way down the hall, not relaxing until she could not hear his footsteps. Without a word, she leaned her head against Jesse's shoulder. "Ugly business, my dears," Picton remarked. "I hope you understand what I did." "I don't, begging your pardon, General," Harper said. "Even the most certifiable bastard deserves evidence." He indicated the note. "This chit will hold him all winter in his quarters, with a sentry in front. When the army marches in the spring, we'll get to that village." He frowned at his desk. "I do not suppose we can realistically argue his culpability for your dear surgeon's death (more's the pity), but the alcalde is another matter." He came around the corner of his desk, and held out his hand to Elinore. "We'll do the right thing, my dear." "I will be happy to testify to everything," she said. "No need. My aide will take all your depositions." He released her hand. "You will have better things to do in ... in Dundee, did you say, Captain Randall?" "But, won't we be in Portugal all winter, Jesse?" Elinore asked, puzzled. "No, my love," he said. "I didn't ask your permission, but I resigned my commission before Major Bones joined us for this delightful conversation. We're going home." His eyes brightened. "Do you like the sound of that, Elinore?" He got to his feet, and she put her arms around him, careful not to jostle his poor head. "I like it very well, Jesse," she told him, then glanced at Harper, who was grinning broadly, "But I will miss Harper." "No need," he told her. "I am not as shy as I used to be, I think, and I argued rather persuasively with the general here that

Harper be allowed to leave his enlistment and come with us. I know you will insist that I have a driver, especially for those late-night home visits that are the peril of every country physician. He seemed agreeable, eh, Harper?" "Anything you say, Chief." ''Well, then," Picton said, and clapped his hands together. "I am sorry for the end of Number Eight. I doubt your replacements will be as colorful." He walked them to the door, then turned to Elinore. "My dear, that note from my ADC informs me that the bodies were brought in an hour ago, right after dark." 'Did you send out a detachment?" Jesse asked. "Well, no. and here's the puzzle: It seems that you were followed by a rather surly-looking guerilla band who routed that line of French skirmishers, and who informed me that the French have indeed joined forces, but declined any invitations to visit us here in Rodrigo. We are not disappointed." "Ramos," Jesse said, and she heard the wonder in his voice. "I rather thought he had discharged his obligation to us earlier. You would have thought I delivered twins, instead of just one rather irritated baby." After asking directions to the morgue, they walked down the guildhall steps. The night air was brisk, but the wind blew from the south. "I think it will be warmer tomorrow, my dear Elinore," Jesse said. She turned to exchange some equally idle pleasantry when a man wearing a cloak stepped from the shadow of the guildhall. She tightened her grip on Jesse, then relaxed when he patted her arm. I wonder if there will be a moment when I do not fear Major Bones again, she thought. "Senor Ramos," Jesse said, and held out his hand. "We have you to thank for many things, I see."

Ramos removed his hat and bowed. "I am only sorry we did not arrive soon enough to save your brave soldiers." He shook his head. "We lost your trail at the ford for a while." "You have followed us all this way?" Elinore asked, amazed. "Just to keep an eye on you," he admitted. "I could tell soon that you were in competent hands, senora. You have married quite a man." "Who would have thought it?" Jesse said. Ramos chuckled. "Senor, you may ride with us any day." "I look forward to the day when no one will ride as a guerilla," Jesse replied. "A year or two? Who knows?" the guerilla said. He put his hat on his head again, and paused a moment before speaking. Even then he sounded uncertain. "Captain, my men are there by the gate. Can you see them?" "I believe so." Jesse looked closer. "But you appear to have someone thrown down over a horse. Should I attend him?" "I think not. Do apologize to your General Picton for me. but I could not resist the opportunity to invite Major Bones to pay a return visit to Santos. There he was, strolling across the courtyard like he owned it. How could I resist? He was reluctant, but I didn't take no for an answer." Harper started to laugh. "God help us! I wish Wilkie were here for this." "I don't understand," Jesse said. The guerilla shrugged. "Ours is a small village. When the alcalde's family heard that we were going to keep a watch over you, they asked me to look for Major Bones. What do you know? I found him. Imagine that."

Elinore gripped Jesse's hand harder. I should feel remorse for this, she thought. It seems so uncivilized. "What are you planning, sir?" she asked. "Nothing grandiose, senora. As you know, we are a poor village. We will just turn him loose in the plaza. That is all." He bowed again. "Adios." "Do give our regards to your lovely wife and daughter." Jesse said. In silence, they watched the guerilla mount his horse and lead his small band from the gate of Ciudad Rodrigo. They looked at each other. Harper was the first to break the silence. "Do you think there will even be enough left for them to bury?" "I wouldn't care to make a wager, Harry. May I call you that now? I rather think we should be on a first-name basis. Elinore? I'm sorry you had to hear all this." "I should be shocked, shouldn't I?" she replied slowly. "I wonder why this isn't bothering me. When the major doesn't show up for breakfast in the morning, questions will be asked." She cleared her throat. "Do we ... do we know anything?" "About what?" Harper asked, the picture of innocence. "My head aches." Jesse said. "Elinore, my dear, you have been with Number Eight long enough to diagnose me. Do you think I am coming down with amnesia?" "What?" she asked. She looped her arms through each of theirs, and they walked slowly across the courtyard. May 7, 1813 Dear Philippe, This will be a test of my Italian. I have not written the language in eight years. Perhaps one of us should learn the other's

language. How delighted and relieved we were to receive your letter yesterday dated February 13, and to learn that you were in Grenoble Your letter came via a smuggler bringing champagne to one of my patients, a laird who suffers spectacularly from gout. To answer your question, my practice thrives. Strange, hut after years of hacking, sawing, and patching war wounds, I had no idea how much salt of magnesium to administer to relieve something as prosaic as constipation! I will say, if ever a war breaks out between Dundee and Perth, I am ready with an awesome selection of bone saws. Elinore is thriving. She has decided that she likes living in a real house. She planted flowers in all the window boxes, watered them faithfully, then burst into tears when everything sprouted. I asked her what was wrong, and she told me it was the first time she had ever stayed long enough in one place to see anything she planted bloom. What a dear heart she is. As you might expect, she is increasing. If it is a boy, he will be Bertram Philippe, dear friend. Harper exceeds my expectations as a driver. I pay him a generous wage, and I think he is not inclined to resume his former life of crime. It appears to be the farthest thing from his mind. He is courting the butcher's daughter, and proving to be as shy as I was. He has a reputation of sorts, and it does me no harm when it comes time to collect fees from my patients. No one is ever in arrears. We all miss Wilkie. Elinore does have nightmares about her father and that last wild ride. I hold her until the sorrow passes. Not a day goes by that I do not review my cases and wonder if I could have done something different. I jump at loud noises, but so do Elinore and Harper.

Do I miss Marching Hospital Number Eight? Sometimes. General Picton has promised to send me a dispatch when the army passes through Santos again. We can only pray that Dan O'Leary and the patients are well. We made a difference in Number Eight, but now I know the pleasure of riding home to a warm house. When I open the door, Elinore is there. I must close. The smuggler is ready to take this, the laird is complaining of his gout, and I strongly suspect twins at the solicitor's. Do accept our love, and let us know how you are faring. Your obedient servant, Jesse C. Randall

Carla Kelly lives in Valley City, North Dakota, She does historical research for the North Dakota State Historical Society, writes for various publications, edits the Confluence News, and works for the National Park Service at Fort Union Trading Post National Historic Site on the North Dakota-Montana border.