Dark Angel (3 page)

She sat up suddenly, conscious of her nakedness, feeling frightened and very much alone. She longed for Adam to come back and make her safe in his arms. But when Adam appeared, all he offered was a dressing gown and a candle. "You can wash in the next room," he said gently. "I'll find you a hackney."

It was not quite a dismissal, but it was a reminder that the world was larger than this darkened room. Feeling awkward and curiously bereft, Caroline gathered her clothes and made her way into the room he indicated which contained not only a washstand but a bed. Adam, she thought as she wrung out a cloth and removed as best she could the evidence of their coupling, Adam, why don't you take me to your bed.

But he could not, of course. It was late and she would have to return home.

Or else she would have to leave her husband.

For a moment, Caroline stood irresolute, trembling at the thought, wondering if she dared. But even as she allowed herself to imagine what life with Adam might be like, she knew it was impossible. Adam had no powerful name or family to help him survive a scandal. His career would be destroyed and, whatever he said, Caroline would feel herself responsible. And then there was Jared, who needed her to stand beside him now more than ever. She dressed hastily and pinned up her hair, cursing her husband and his folly and her own folly in choosing as she had four years ago.

When she returned to the sitting room, she found Adam putting coals on the fire. He looked up, his face so filled with longing that she could not resist going to him once more. She could stay forever in his arms. Even now, after their spent passion, she felt desire for him again. She could not bear to leave him. This was the man who should have been her husband.

But he was not. She was bound to Jared, and she could not abandon him. Nor could she stand witness to his ruin. Caroline gave Adam a light kiss and pulled away. It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. "I must go."

"Of course." Adam found her cloak and set it carefully round her shoulders.

There was so much Caroline wanted to say, and all of it dangerous. She could not talk of what had passed between them and she dared not talk of the future. In the end she fell back on her duty and her honor.. "About Jared," she began. "He'll be all right now, won't he?"

She looked into Adam's eyes and knew her words to be disastrously wrong.

Adam stared down into her lovely face, unwilling to believe the import of her words. This woman, the center of his universe, the core of his being, had given herself to him in freedom and joy and in that act had erased four years of bitterness and regret. And now, at the moment when his thoughts were filled with nothing but her and what had passed between them, she told him it had all been for her husband. She had lied when she came to him, she had made a mockery of what he had offered her. Oh, Caro was a fair witch. What she could not get with her claws she would get with honey.

He saw she was waiting for him to speak, her expression surprised and uncertain. She had doubts of her powers, did she, or did she read the answer in his face? With anger and despair Adam forced himself to meet her eyes. "I do not pay for favors, madam, I pay only in kind. Surely you have no cause for complaint."

"Adam," she said, her voice so broken he was almost taken in.

"It has been a pleasant interlude, Caro. I trust you have enjoyed it as much as I. But as for your husband, he must take his chances." Adam tore his eyes from the devastation on her face. Caro, he knew, did not take kindly to disappointment. He opened the door, breaking the chill silence between them. "There's a hackney waiting outside. I will see you downstairs."

Caroline followed Adam out of the room, sustained only by her pride. Down the two flights of steps and out the front door and up the steps of the waiting hackney while Adam gave the address to the driver. Then Adam withdrew without a look in her direction and the carriage was set abruptly in motion, throwing her back into a corner where she huddled, her cloak drawn tight about her for warmth. She had never felt so cold. Nothing warmed her save the hot tears coursing down her face. What had gone wrong? Could Adam not bear to hear her husband named? Dear God, why not? It had nothing to do with what had passed between them. Surely Adam knew that.

Caroline brushed her tears away, her growing anger heating her body. Adam had treated her like a rutting whore. She had misread him from the start. She had looked into his eyes and seen not his need but the reflection of her own. He had not taken her out of love nor desire nor affirmation of the bond that joined them more closely than any marriage vow. He had broken that bond long ago and she had not had the wit to know it. What he had taken tonight was a paltry revenge, a petty triumph unworthy of the man she had thought he was.

Caroline closed her eyes in weariness, her tears long since spent. It was a hard lesson, but she had learned it well. She would never trust herself to Adam Durward again.

Chapter One

Spain, March 1813

Subduing an instinctive panic, Caroline let her gaze roam over the harsh, arid landscape, listening for sounds of danger. No ominous specks on the horizon, no chilling echo of hoofbeats on the hard-packed, still-frozen ground. The air was sweeter now she was away from the cramped decay of the village, but the apparent tranquility did not deceive her. Danger was part of the fabric of life in Acquera. She ran forward, the rough ground cutting through the worn soles of her shoes, and only stopped when she reached the trees, a scraggly line of pines misshapen by the wind which could sweep so harshly across this barren plateau.

She could hear a trickle of water now and high-pitched voices which filled her with relief. Caroline pushed between the trees, heedless of the underbrush that caught at her skirt. Her breathing finally slowed when she stared down the steep bank into the narrow streambed. Three small girls stood ankle-deep in the water: one fair-haired, her pale skin reddened by the sun; the other two dark and olive-skinned; all three barefoot and oblivious to the icy cold of the newly-melted snow.

Caroline's relief gave way to anger. "Emily!" Remembered fear sharpened her voice.

The fair-haired girl looked up, and Caroline felt a stab of guilt as her daughter's childish joy vanished. "I'm all right Mama." Emily was not yet four, but she had mastered a reassuring tone that usually belonged to much older children.

"That's not the point," Caroline said in a more moderate voice as she picked her way down the bank. She spoke in Spanish, as had become her custom unless she and Emily were alone. "You know you're not to go beyond the village without an adult. None of you are," she added, glancing at Juana and Beatriz.

"Our mother doesn't mind." Juana, at seven the elder of the two dark-haired girls, sounded defensive, but Caroline sensed an undercurrent of hurt because their own mother had not come running after them as Emily's had done.

"That's not true," Caroline said quickly. Adela Soro worried about her children just as much as Caroline did, but with two younger ones to see to she could not always keep an eye on all of them. "She would have come after you, but I came instead. Put your shoes on. We're going back to the village."

Juana and Beatriz climbed out of the water, but Emily looked up at her mother with large, wistful brown eyes. "Couldn't we just stay five minutes longer?" Small-boned and delicate, with hair only a shade or so lighter than Caroline's own, she was almost a miniature replica of her mother save for those eyes. Every so often the expression in them was so hauntingly familiar that it was more than Caroline could bear.

"No! How many times do I have to tell you? It isn't safe." Even as she spoke, Caroline felt contrite. Her anger had noting to do with Emily, and it was not the child's fault that her expression stirred memories of events that had occurred before she was born. For a moment, Caroline was tempted to relent. The children were amazingly resilient, but there were so few pleasures left for them, and she too could feel the stream's allure.

If Caroline closed her eyes she could almost imagine she was standing in the wooded hills of Staffordshire, with lush green grass beneath her feet instead of coarse earth. England had faded to a distant memory, yet every so often a sight or sound brought it vividly to mind. But to linger, to let the children play and indulge her own recollections, would put them all at risk. If they were set upon by brigands or marauding soldiers, her own presence would give the children little protection.

"I'm sorry,
querida,"
Caroline said more gently.

Emily, recognizing the note of finality in her mother's voice, clambered onto the rocks beside the stream and reached for her shoes and stockings. The children were subdued as they picked their way back toward the village. Juana and Beatriz exchanged uneasy glances when they neared the door of the Soro cottage. Emily tugged at Caroline's sleeve. "It was my idea to go to the stream," she whispered. "Tell Aunt Adela."

Beatriz, who was walking a little ahead with her sister, heard this and turned back. "No, it wasn't," she said softly. "It was mine."

"I'm the eldest," said Juana, reminding Caroline that older sisters were remarkably alike, whether in English manors or Spanish villages. "I should have known better."

An enticing aroma greeted them when Caroline opened the door of the cottage. Adela was standing over the fire that burned in the center of the mud floor, stirring a stew for the midday meal. The baby was asleep in the crate that served as her cradle, and two-year-old Ramon was playing with rocks and bits of twig in the far corner.

Adela looked up at their entrance, the line of worry between her brows fading. Then she turned back to the stew and said she was glad they were back, but dinner was not quite ready and perhaps they would like to play in the garden.

The relief of the girls, Juana in particular, was palpable. With Ramon trailing behind, they ran through the back chamber and out into what had been their mother's vegetable garden before the English army requisitioned its contents during the disastrous retreat from Burgos.

"You and Emily will stay to dinner, of course," Adela said, turning to Caroline. When the door closed behind the children, she added, "Thank you for bringing them back. They were at the stream?"

Caroline nodded. "Emily loves the water. There was a pond in the park in Lisbon where I used to take her." She sank down on a stool beside the rickety table that was the room's main piece of furniture. Her fear when she realized Emily had left the village and her sorrow at having to deny her daughter such simple recreation as going wading with her friends brought back the guilt she had felt increasingly in recent weeks. "I should have left Emily in Lisbon.”

"Then she would be confused and frightened now," Adela pointed out, "with only strangers to comfort her. I think perhaps it is better for children to be with their parents, however bad things are."

That was what Caroline had told herself when she received word of Jared's wounds and set about frantically looking for a guide who would take her to join him. "I'm beginning to wonder if I wasn't just being selfish," she told Adela. "I didn't want to leave her."

"If you had, she would not have had a chance to say goodbye to her father."

Caroline was grateful for the meager light in the cottage, for the innocent mention of Emily's father stirred a host of unwelcome memories. "Yes," she said, in a voice kept level with effort. "Yes. There is that."

Adela left the fire and sat at the table opposite her friend. "You were very brave, Caroline. Jared was not the first wounded Englishman to be left in the village, but you were the only woman who came after her husband."

"I had to," Caroline said in a low voice. "If it wasn't for me, Jared wouldn't have been here."

It was only when Caroline raised her eyes and saw the surprise on Adela's face that she realized she had said more than she intended. Adela had been a wonderful friend to her these past months, but Caroline could not tell her that Jared had only joined the army because he had been ruined by a man seeking vengeance against his wife. "It was because of me that Jared found himself compelled to leave England," Caroline said instead. "He was never suited to the army." She stared down at her chapped hands and the tarnished gold of her wedding ring. "I didn't come after him because I loved him desperately. I came because I didn't love him enough."

It was more than Caroline had confided in all the months of their friendship, but Adela merely nodded in her quiet way. Caroline knew Adela had seen little of her own husband since the start of the war, for he had joined one of the bands of
guerrilleros
opposing the French, but at least Adela did not doubt her love for him. On the other hand, Adela had been forced to cope with the ravages of war while Caroline was still living in the relative comfort of her lodgings in Lisbon.

"I'm sorry," Caroline said, getting to her feet. "I didn't mean to be morbid." She went to a low shelf against the wall and began collecting dishes for the midday meal. Adela smiled and for a moment looked like the young woman she was. As she set the earthenware bowls out on the table, Caroline wondered how much she herself had aged in the past three months. She had long since ceased looking in her battered mirror save to be sure her face was clean, but she could feel how dry her skin had become, and the looseness of her gown told her she had grown as thin as everyone else in the village.

"When spring comes, the army will begin to march again," Adela said, returning to the fire.

"Which one?" Caroline asked with a dry smile.

Adela grinned. "Both. But surely one of the English officers will see you to safety."

Caroline nodded, though she knew even the most chivalrous soldier would not be able to leave his regiment in order to return a woman and child to Lisbon. She and Emily might find protection traveling with the army. Many other women did, though they were wives, not widows. But even if she managed in some way to reach Lisbon, what then? Her money was virtually gone and Jared's family would have nothing to do with her. If she returned to England, she would be forced to rely on her brother's charity—not a pleasant prospect. What worried her more, though, was that the army itself would never come within miles of Acquera, and all they would see were foraging parties from both sides. Some of these men might be polite and orderly, leaving receipts for what they took, but most would simply take what they could get. And in addition to food and livestock, that might include women.