Gallant Waif (20 page)

Jack moved uncontrollably in his chair, flooded with anger, fighting an impulse to sweep her into his embrace. He, too, had fought at Talavera. He recalled only too well the horrors of that retreat, the starving men,
the
sheer bloody hell of being unable to provide enough food. That she should ever have been put in such a frightful position! How many times had this little creature faced starvation? He would never forget how thin and frail she had felt in his arms the first time he met her! How he wished he had known her earlier. He would have ensured she was never in danger, or frightened or hungry.

Kate blushed suddenly. “I’m
sorry,
I know it is unladylike to mention such things.”

Jack was amazed. She could casually refer to the experience of living through a frightful battle and retreating with an exhausted and starving army, then blush because it was unladylike to mention such a thing as a stomach. His eyes caressed her. She was unique, this little Kate.

“I was at Talavera,” he said quietly.

“Then you will recall that dreadful trip back into Portugal too.” She nodded. “Were the Coldstreams at Busaco? Jemmy was wounded there. Was that where you caught your facial wound?”

“No.” His hand crept up to his ravaged cheekbone. “This is a souvenir of Badajoz.”

They both
fell
silent, remembering Badajoz. The fire crackled loudly as a knot of sap burst. A log fell and sparks twirled madly up the chimney. In her comfortable wing chair, Martha stirred,
then
returned to her heavy doze. Kate regarded her with compunction. She was an old woman, and she should not be dozing uncomfortably in a chair at this hour, but tucked up warmly in bed. But none of Kate’s arguments could shift her—she was Kate’s chaperon, and her reputation would be safely guarded by her old nurse. Even though Martha knew there was no reputation to guard.

“You seem remarkably calm, relating your experiences.” Jack’s deep low voice pulled Kate out of her reverie. “Were you never frightened before a battle, for instance?”

“Lord, yes, utterly terrified,” she said simply. “Before every battle I was a mess—unable to eat, leaping six feet at every
sound.
. .even a little grumpy.”

His warm chuckle washed over her. “Grumpy? Now why do I not find that difficult to believe?”

Kate wrinkled her nose. “Yes, fear brings out the virago in me. I used to snap at Ben for being such a big, slow stupid!”

She paused and stared into the flames for a moment. “Ben was the eldest. He was the sort of person you could not for one moment imagine in
a hurry
, or a flap, about anything. Yet he invariably got things done just as fast and with none of the drama that Jemmy or I seemed to cause.”

She said in a slow, gruff voice, ” ‘This sweaty haste doth make my head spin all the day’—Ben was always saying that to Jemmy or me, and Father would always take him to task about mangling Shakespeare and mentioning sweat in front of me.” Her voice quavered a little.

Jack watched her from the shadows, his eyes unreadable. A father who didn’t want her ears sullied with the word “sweat’, but who took her into situations where she was surrounded by blood, sweat and far, far worse.

“Jemmy used to roast Ben about his unflappability too, but he was a wonderful brother. They were so different, those two—like quicksilver and stone… No, I don’t mean stone precisely because that suggests Ben was cold and he wasn’t—he was a big darling.” Her eyes blinked rapidly and her lips quivered with emotion.

Jack wanted to gather her into his arms and kiss her grief and distress away.
Poor, gallant little waif.

“Ben never saw Badajoz. He was killed at Ciudad Rodrigo… Were you at Ciudad Rodrigo?”

He shook his head.

She continued, “I remember that first day there so clearly. It was terribly cold, and the snow was frozen and crunchy underfoot from the frost that night. But the morning was so still and perfect—simply beautiful, you know, the sort of day when you long to go for a good gallop,
then
come home to a lovely hot breakfast…

“And then the big guns shattered the morning, pounding and pounding until I thought my eardrums would shatter too, though I was a long way from them, you know. And I stuffed my ears with rags to stop the noise… Ben was killed the next day. I suppose you could say he was lucky, for he caught a ball in the temple and probably didn’t know what hit him before he was dead.”

She bit her lip. “You probably think I am unnaturally cold to say he was lucky, but there are so many more terrible ways for a man to—”

He could restrain himself no longer. He had to touch her. He reached across and took her small, cold hands in a warm grip-

“He
was
lucky, Kate. There couldn’t be a better way to go than instantly, in the open air, in the heat of action.” His hands enveloped hers in warmth.

They lapsed into silence. The only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the slow, rhythmic sound of Martha sleeping. His thumbs stroked back and forth across her skin.
Soothing, wordless reassurance.

“How did Jemmy and your father die?”

She blinked the tears back for a few moments,
then
said softly, “They were both caught by snipers on the way to Salamanca. You recall the way our army and the French were travelling parallel and exchanging shots every now and then to relieve the tedium?”

He nodded. They had been in so many of the same places and yet their paths had never crossed.

“Jemmy was wounded in the chest and, a short time later, Papa was caught in the stomach. Both wounds were fatal. They could not bear the jolting of the cart, so I found a deserted farmhouse and stayed with them until they died.”

The simple statement hid a world of grief and Jack felt his heart stir. “I think it is time you took yourself to bed.” He rose, reached down a hand to help her up,
then
, without conscious volition, drew her into his arms, cradling her securely against his big warm body.

There was little passion in the embrace, just warm, protective, comforting strength, and she nestled against him, listening to the pounding of his heart, wishing the moment could last for ever. Kate had not expected to be held like this again in her life, and she clung to him, desperately, revelling in his warmth and strength and tenderness.

He reached down and gently tipped her face up to his and they gazed into each other’s eyes, then his dark head bent over hers and their lips met in a long, tender kiss.

Martha snorted in her sleep and stirred, awakening, and in moments the two were standing in separate parts of the room, Kate bending over her old nurse, assisting her to stand, Jack leaning casually against the wall, his face in shadow again.

It was probably the port anyway, Kate told herself for the umpteenth time as she separated curds from whey in the kitchen, making cottage cheese. They’d barely spoken since that night. In fact, he’d obviously been going out of his way to avoid her. Kate realised he was regretting the impulse which had caused him to kiss her. And, though she could never regret anything so magical, she knew she
should.

So she had decided to forget the conversation by the fire, the wonderful embrace that had sent her to bed floating on air. It was not an easy resolution, but she was managing quite well, the memory of his kiss occurring to her no more than a dozen times a day before being firmly banished. It was very wearing, being wanton.

“Senorita Kate, Major Jack, he say he is ready for your

torture
treatment to begin.
This morning.”
Carlos grinned. “He no
try
to ride today, no hurt himself.”

Kate was stunned. Jack had listened to her after all! He was prepared to trust her. She grinned back at Carlos, delighted,
then
hastened to prepare everything before Jack could change his mind.

Holding the small pot of hot, aromatic oil carefully, she mounted the stairs and walked slowly with Carlos towards Jack’s bedroom door. She was absurdly nervous. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. You’ve done this a dozen times or more. There’s no reason to behave in this missish fashion, just because you’re in an English country house and not a Portuguese cottage or a tent in Spain.

Yes, a small voice answered her silently. But this is Jack…

She pushed open the door. Jack lay on the bed, dressed in a nightshirt, his lower body swathed in a sheet. He looked at her, glanced down at the sheet, clutched it more firmly around himself and his colour darkened.

“This is a damned stupid idea. I’ve changed my mind,” he announced. “Leave the stuff with Carlos. I’m sure we can work out what needs to be done.”

Kate perceived he was thoroughly embarrassed by her presence. All her nervousness dissolved like magic and she tried not to smile. “Now don’t be foolish. I told you
before,
it is not simply a matter of rubbing in a few oils. It is a special technique that must be taught.”

She noted his heightened colour and said softly, “You must not worry that I am here. I have performed many much more difficult tasks. Try to imagine that I am simply one of those who tended your wounds in Spain.”

He snorted. His imagination could not do it. Kate was small and slender, with a smooth, clear complexion, and soft pink lips. The last person to touch his wound in Spain had been a big brawny soldier, bald, toothless, tattooed and with the most extensive vocabulary of obscenities that Jack had ever encountered.

He braced himself as she reached for the sheet and clutched it tighter.

“Now don’t be silly,” she said firmly. “I must be able to see the leg, if I am to apply these oils to it in the proper way.” She flushed slightly and said in a lower tone, “I told you before, I am not unacquainted with the male form. It will not embarrass me to view your leg.”

Jack found he could not release the sheet. It was not so much that he was worried about offending her maidenly modesty, he realised, it
was not wanting
to see her look of revulsion when she saw the mess that was his leg.

Briskly she twitched the sheet away. Jack clenched his teeth, awaiting her disgusted reaction. She bent over it silently. The leg was white and hideously criss-crossed with violent red and purplish scars. The muscles were shrunken and slightly twisted in places, as if pulled out of alignment by the puckered scarring.

She examined it carefully, not letting her feelings show. He truly had been mauled about but, apart from the dreadful scarring, it didn’t look too bad. She ran her hand gently down the leg, feeling the lines of the muscles. She felt him flinch under her touch and quickly met his gaze.

“Did that hurt?”

He was watching her, an odd look in his eyes. She had shown no sign of horror or disgust, no sign of sympathy or
pity
either.

“Did I hurt you, sir?” she repeated.

”
Er.
. .your hands are cold. I did not expect it, that’s all.”

“Oh.” Kate continued to examine the leg.

“Now, Carlos,” she said, “I am going to work first on these muscles.” Carlos bent his head over the leg curiously. “See how they are pulled tight by the scarring here. That is what makes it so hard to bend. Now, a little of this oil just so, and then…” She applied it to the leg and began to massage it in. Jack Carstairs groaned slightly and shifted awkwardly.

“Is the oil too hot, sir?”

“No, no…
it’s
not that,” he muttered, not meeting her gaze.

Kate continued the treatment, explaining softly to Carlos all the time. Her small strong fingers rubbed and pummelled and pushed at the shrunken muscles. Jack lay on the bed, his face a mask of control. Kate alternated small intensive localised movements with long, soothing strokes up and down the whole leg, pulling and pushing with a strong, smooth, rhythmic action. During one of these movements Jack uttered a muffled moan. Kate’s head went up abruptly. This action was meant to be soothing and relaxing, not painful.

“Am I hurting you, sir?”

Jack flushed. “No, no…
er.
. .don’t you think Carlos can take over now?”

“No, sir, not yet.
I thought it would be best if I took him through a complete treatment first. It should take no more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Oh, God!” groaned Jack, and shifted under the sheet again.

“I must be hurting you,” Kate said, distressed. “I am so sorry. This part of the treatment should not hurt at all. Perhaps there is something I have missed. Can you tell me exactly where the pain is located?”