Dark Angel (21 page)

The city lay on a flat fertile plain watered by the River Tormes. They were beginning to see habitations, small farms and cottages surrounded by gardens in which green shoots were pushing their way through the rich soil. Hawkins and Caroline stopped near one of these and waited for Adam to catch up. Hawkins had hold of her horse's bridle and Caroline was beating her hands in frustration. "She wants to stop and question people," Hawkins said.

"Of course I want to stop." Caroline's voice was sharp with anxiety. "Every house, every farm, every building in the town. What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you both?"

"It's not a village," Adam said mildly.

"Of course it's not a village. It will take time. How can we waste it?" She looked from one man to the other, comprehension growing in her wide eyes. "You'd wait till ten? You'd leave Emily alone for an entire day and do nothing?"

Adam felt the same desperate urgency. So did Hawkins, Adam could see it in his face. "We need help, Caroline. It's too much for us alone."

"But—" She gestured toward the cottage.

"They'll be in the city. They'll keep her with them."

Adam moved into the lead and his small cavalcade fell in behind him. If the men were from the city, he was lost. But if they knew it only as he did himself, there was a chance. The church of San Sebastian was near the heart of the city, the Plaza Mayor, which drew inhabitants and visitors alike. It was a reasonable place to start.

They found accommodations at an inn in the Via Ruel, and here Adam left the others, promising to return within the hour. He had a friend who would help in the search, he told them, but first he had to learn his direction. Hawkins, meanwhile, was to see to the horses and mule, and Caroline—Adam looked at her in exasperation. Caroline was to rest and prepare herself for the rigors of the day. Adam knew he could not hope that she would remain quietly in the inn till evening, but at least his first foray into the French-filled town would be made on his own.

It took Adam less than a quarter-hour to learn that his friend was still in Salamanca, and rather longer than that to learn that he might be found in his lodgings near the Palacio de Fonseca, at the Conde house off the Plaza de Anaya (though it was early for him to have arrived at work), at his barber's, or possibly at the house of his mistress which was somewhere near the Puente Romano, the bridge which stood on arches built by the invading Romans. With this wealth of possibilities at hand, Adam returned to the inn. Caroline might decide not to wait.

But Caroline was still at the inn, seated alone at a table in the common room—where the devil was Hawkins?—looking up with startled eyes at a French soldier who was standing over her, his hands pressing on the table. Something in the thick breadth of the man roused a memory. Adam swore under his breath and pushed his way through the already crowded room, reminding himself that this was no time for a confrontation. The soldier was on familiar ground here; several of his fellows sat drinking at the tables.

"Is there a problem, Sergeant?" Adam spoke in French, with the same mixture of coolness and arrogance he had used to good effect in Acquera. For, impossibly, the soldier was Gazin, sure of himself now, sure of his power. How the devil had he got to Salamanca?

"Ah." Gazin's smile was wide and wolfish. "Captain St. Juste. And his little English whore. You are still not in uniform, Captain. Surely there is no need for caution here. You are among your compatriots."

Adam stifled his anger and, keeping his eyes on Gazin, moved slightly to block Caroline from his view. "I arrived this morning, Sergeant. Not that my arrival is of any interest to you. Nor my wearing or not wearing the uniform of my country."

Gazin grinned. "I have only been in Salamanca a few days, but no one here has heard of a Captain St. Juste. A pity, Captain. A man so secret no one knows his name. But Colonel Lescaut will know it, is that not so? You will be wanting to pay your respects to your great friend, Colonel Lescaut." Gazin made a quick gesture with his arm and four soldiers rose from a nearby table to join him. "Me, I will take you. I will even give you an escort, as you deserve. See these fine fellows here? We must go at once. We do not want to keep the colonel waiting. And Captain, bring your little whore. They say Lescaut has an eye for pretty women."

Only then did Adam look at Caroline. She was frightened but she rose calmly and put her hand through his arm. "It's a dreadful nuisance," she said in perfectly accented French. "I haven't had time to change my gown or dress my hair." Then, as they left the inn and moved into the streets, surrounded by armed soldiers who made escape impossible, she reverted to English. "Hawkins is gone," she told Adam. "He won't be back till evening."

"I told him to stay."

"I begged him to go. He's looking for her, Adam. Someone has to do it." The last was an accusation. See, her eyes said, if it were not for you Emily would not have been taken. If it were not for you, we would not be in Salamanca, taken prisoner by the French. If it were not for you, I would have my daughter with me.

Adam longed to comfort her, but only the reality of Emily's return would do that. At least he could tell her their situation was no worse than it had been when they entered the city. "My treasure," he said, speaking in French because the soldiers were eyeing them with suspicion, "do not distress yourself. They will not detain us long. Everything will be all right."

Caroline gave him a withering look and turned away. Adam was patronizing her, both in his tone and in his words. He was not a stupid man. He knew they were in mortal danger and at heart must be as frightened as she. Adam may have deceived the young lieutenant at Acquera, but he could never hope to carry off his charade of being a French officer. Not in Salamanca, where a major force of the French army were gathered. Not while carrying a forged letter from a French colonel and an intercepted French dispatch that would damn him whether they thought him Englishman, Portuguese, or Spaniard.

The morning was cool but Caroline felt a sudden outbreak of sweat on her forehead. She had an impulse to move closer to Adam, for the comfort of his body, but put distance between them instead. At the sight of Adam's woman turning against him, the soldiers grinned and nudged each other. Gazin barked an order, and the soldiers straightened their backs and hastened their pace, leaving Caroline hard put to keep up with them. It was a small humiliation but it put Gazin in a good humor. Her discomfort was little enough to pay if it made Gazin forget his own humiliation in Acquera.

They walked in a silence punctuated by the beat of the soldiers' feet on the cobbled streets. All round them was the sound of Spanish voices, cheerful, lugubrious, complaining, exuberant. The streets were narrow and crowded, but people gave way before the soldiers, their eyes curious at the sight of the tall man and the fair-haired woman who were obviously prisoners. Caroline saw neither censure nor sympathy in their gaze. The city had been occupied by both English and French and the people had learned to live with soldiers.

A small boy darted across their path. Caroline stumbled on the cobbled pavement. Adam caught her and held her close. "Emily," she whispered. The image of her daughter was never from her mind.

"I know. Courage. We're almost there."

Gazin led them down a side street and made for an arcaded building made of the honey-colored sandstone that gave the city its golden glow. They crossed a courtyard, half dark, half light, and entered a building that might once have housed a wealthy and leisured family. There was no leisure here now. The rapid footfalls on the tiled floors were those of men bent on urgent business, and the voices Caroline heard were French. It was some sort of official headquarters, as Gazin had promised.

They were ushered into an anteroom occupied by a half-dozen Spanish civilians and two bored French soldiers wearing black felt shakos and carrying sabers by their side. Gazin marched to the large double doors at the end of the room and spoke sharply to one of the soldiers on duty there. He had in custody a man claiming to be a Captain St. Juste and an Englishwoman who was his companion. The man was an impostor and probably a spy. Colonel Lescaut must be informed at once. At once, or he, Sergeant Gazin, would not be responsible for the colonel's anger.

The soldier saluted hastily, rapped on the door, and disappeared inside. A moment later he reappeared and signaled Gazin to step inside with his prisoners.

Caroline drew in her breath. Adam put his arm round her, guiding her forward. Gazin led them into a dark, low-ceilinged room, the walls paneled with mahogany and hung with dim portraits in dull gold frames. Directly facing them was a large, elaborately carved table, and behind the table stood a lean, compact man wearing a white waistcoat and breeches and a deep furrow between his brows. "So, you have brought me a spy. Step aside, Sergeant, and let me see this man who calls himself St. Juste."

Chapter Ten

Gazin stepped aside to give Lescaut a view of his prisoners. Caroline shivered and moved closer to Adam. There had been little time to be afraid while Gazin hustled them through the streets, but she was afraid now. If Adam were taken prisoner, if she were taken as well, what would happen to Emily?

Colonel Lescaut regarded the prisoners, his expression unreadable. Gazin turned his head and looked at Adam with smug malevolence. The furrow between Colonel Lescaut's brows deepened. "That's right. Sergeant," Lescaut said. "Look on him well. You must not forget his face."

Gazin swung round. "Sir."

"What do you know of him?"

"A dangerous man, Colonel. He tried to kill me." On surer ground, Gazin grew expansive. "It was in Acquera, in the hills above Burgos. He was not in uniform, though he called himself Captain St. Juste—"

"I daresay he calls himself a great many things," Lescaut murmured. "Why did he try to kill you, Sergeant?"

Caroline's anger blotted out her fear. "He was threatening to rape me," she said before Gazin could utter the lie that was on his lips.

"A whore. An English whore." Gazin shrugged as though to say no truth could be expected of such a woman, Then he pointed to Adam. "On a secret mission, he said, but he had no papers. I think he's a spy."

"Of course he's a spy," Lescaut retorted.

Caroline felt a moment of pure terror. If Lescaut thought Adam was a spy, if he found the message Adam carried, he would have him shot. And if Adam was shot—Caroline knew at last the extent of their danger. She blamed Adam for what had happened to Emily, but she knew, underneath her anger, that Adam was her best hope of recovering her daughter. And, blessed Mother in Heaven, she did not want to see him killed.

Lescaut leaned forward and rested his hands on the table. "Listen to me, Sergeant. Listen carefully. You are to forget you ever saw this man, in Acquera or in Salamanca or anywhere else in this benighted country. You are never to approach St. Juste again or speak to him or interfere in any way with his actions. Is that understood?"

Startled and bewildered, Gazin nodded agreement.

"Because if you do”—Lescaut's voice had grown soft but the words were as distinct as gunshots —“I will personally see that you are court-martialed and hung for disobeying orders." Lescaut straightened up. "That's all, Sergeant."

He waited while Gazin, his face not hiding his resentment, turned and left the room, sparing not one glance for his sometime prisoners.

Caroline breathed fully for the first time since they had entered the room. She felt as if she had been pulled back from a precipice. Whatever happened, Adam was not in immediate danger of being shot. She did not understand what had passed between the colonel and Gazin, but she was sure that this was not the first time Lescaut had seen Adam. And what game Adam was playing she dared not guess.

As the door closed behind Gazin, Lescaut left the table and walked toward them. Without thinking, Caroline drew back. One danger gone, another approaching. And this one unknown.

Now that she could see him more clearly, Caroline realized Lescaut was younger than she had thought, probably no older than Adam. He had a shock of unruly brown hair that glinted red where it was caught by a shaft of light from the window and eyes that were either grey or blue, she could not tell which. And when he smiled, as he was doing now, the slightest indentation appeared in his cheek. It could not be a dimple; a dimple would be too incongruous in a Frenchman and an enemy.

"My dear Adam." Lescaut shook his head in mock dismay. "What devil led you to Salamanca?"

"A French devil, I suspect." A brief smile crossed Adam's face and was quickly wiped away. "I had no intention of coming to Salamanca, Robert. I would not be here were it not for the pigs you see fit to pay for your dirty work. What kind of men do you French employ? What lengths do you tell them to go to? Are women your customary targets? Or children?"

Caroline was shocked by the sudden anger and bitterness in Adam's voice. She heard too the underlying note of fear, not for himself but for Emily. She had thought fear was her special province, but she saw now that in this she had wronged him. She turned from Adam and met Lescaut's narrowed eyes.

"Your child, madame?"

Caroline nodded, surprised that he should understand so quickly.

"I think I'd better have the story." Lescaut brought some chairs forward and urged Caroline to sit. "You are comfortable, Madame—?"

"Rawley." Caroline looked up and saw nothing but sympathy in his eyes.

"Madame Rawley. I am Colonel Lescaut, aide to General Villatte who commands the garrison here. I am at your service."

Adam had sunk into a chair and buried his face in his hands. At these words he dropped his hands and stared at the other man, his face ravaged with grief and fatigue. "I trust you mean it, Robert. You're our only hope."

Lescaut leaned back and stretched his legs. "Tell me."

"My daughter has been kidnapped, Colonel Lescaut," Caroline said. "She was taken last night by two men, two Spaniards who brought her to Salamanca. You must help me, Colonel. She is not yet four years old. She has never been parted from me and she will be terrified."