Tender Torment (12 page)

Straeford glared at the top of the surgeon’s balding head as he bent over him and dabbed at a wound on his right shoulder.

“Well, Nevins, will you finish up! I’ve got things to do.”

“But, my lord,” the doctor said as he lifted his eyes from his work, “I must make certain that the wound is clean. You were
very lucky that it went through the flesh. There is less likelihood of infection, but there is still the possibility of fever.”

“It was a mere scratch, so stop fussing and bandage me up, will you.” He was anxious to see what his men were up to now that
the fort was secured.

“Very well, Lord Straeford,” the doctor muttered in annoyance, sighed heavily, and began dressing the wound. Nevins worked
quickly and soon Straeford’s shoulder was covered with a white cloth. “There, I am finished.” With the help of Straeford’s
batman, the doctor gathered his equipment.

“Send Major Harding in on your way out,” Straeford ordered Nevins.

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders. What good would it do for him to protest or suggest that his lordship should rest? The
man was inhuman. Already he was rotating his shoulder and flexing his arm, testing its agility. Without another word, he left
his lordship in the capable hands of Billings, who was helping him into his shirt and jacket.

Only after the door had shut on Nevins did Straeford permit himself to wince. He could trust Billings not to make a fuss over
him and that was the way he wanted it. Fortunately the wound was not serious. Yet he could not help wondering how many more
times he could cheat death. There was an urgency creeping over him to have the marriage sealed. With a son, an heir for Straeford,
the line would be assured. All these years he had ignored the possibility of his demise. Now he suddenly felt vulnerable.
What had caused this doubt? Perhaps it was a sense of responsibility which was stirred in him after his return to England
and his ancestral home. The heritage that was Straeford was solely dependent upon him. And he was no longer so young to believe
in his own invincibility.

“God, is it cold out there!” Harding stepped into the room shivering and clasping his hands about his shoulders. “Bet it snows
before morning.” He came to stand beside the small fire in the grate, holding his hands over it. “At least it’s comfortable
in here.”

Straeford chuckled as he looked about the abandoned stucco structure he was using as a temporary headquarters. Through the
cracks in its frame the wind howled, and a few pieces of dilapidated furniture were scattered about the room, yet the experienced
soldier considered this more than adequate accommodations.

“Have the sentries been posted?” Straeford asked as he and the major accepted a glass of port from Billings.

“Uh huh, and the men are dividing the spoils.”

Straeford frowned over his glass. “Who’s in charge of the operation?”

“Markham.” Harding began brushing off a chair that had only one armrest left.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Ed. I want you to check on this detail for me. See how Markham is handling it. I don’t want the
men to get out of control. And see that they are ready to march in the morning. Our victory today was partly due to the fact
that the French didn’t expect to see us this far north. Now that they know we are here, they won’t be caught napping a second
time. Billings will go with you and report back to me.”

“All right, I’ll attend to it at once.”

The door had barely closed after them when there
was a disturbance outside. Suddenly Drake came stumbling into the room with a
senhora
following closely behind him. The strong wind whipped wildly at her long black hair, and her dark eyes were flashing angrily.
Although her black and red costume was torn, exposing much of her body, she radiated defiance with her hands on her hips and
her feet planted firmly apart.

“I beg your pardon, sir…” a breathless Drake stammered and pointed to the woman, “but she demanded to see you.”

“Senhor!”
she shouted defiantly.

“Speak when you’re spoken to, woman!” Straeford commanded. “Who is she?”

“Claims to be a Colonel Dubois’s
lady.”

“Dubois?! Does she indeed?” Straeford suppressed a smile. “Very well, Lieutenant, I’ll talk to her….alone.”

“Yes, sir!” Drake seenfed to be relieved to escape the woman’s presence and swiftly left them.,

Straeford sat on the edge of the rickety table while the woman remained standing. “Name?” he shot at her.

“Isabella Costanza.” She tossed her head sideways and swept the tangled mass of hair behind her with one hand, then stared
at him boldly. “I demand that you return me to Colonel Dubois!”

His face darkened. “Do you indeed? I think you’ve forgotten that you have been captured behind enemy lines and are now a prize
of war.”

“No matter.” She gestured with her hands. “I am Dubois’s…”

“Whore!” Straeford put in with contempt, shattering her confident demeanor.

“You bastard!” she swore and lunged toward him, swinging her long nails at his face. But he met the attack by blocking her
arm with a thrust of his own, sending her to the floor. “I’ll keeell you,” she choked as her breath returned.

“I wouldn’t try it!” He glared so fiercely at the disheveled woman that she remained where she was. “That’s better. Now, we
can get down to business.”

“What will you do with me?”

“There’s no policy governing…ladybirds.” He let the statement hang as once again he seated himself on the
edge of the table. His leg swung freely as he eyed her thoughtfully.

Isabella scrambled to her feet, a note of fear creeping into her voice. “You will not turn me over to your men?”

“That is one possibility,” he threatened callously.

“English pig!” she swore and her hand went out to strike him. He expected her to attack him again and this time he grasped
her wrist with an overpowering grip and yanked it behind her back, forcing her to her knees.

“Are you finished attempting to claw me, you wildcat?”

“Sim,”
she screamed in capitulation.

Straeford stared at the woman huddled at his feet and nudged her roughly with the toe of his boot. “So you are Dubois’s…
woman.” There was a pause. “He has spoken of me?”

“Sim”
She edged away from his encroaching foot. “He wears the black patch over the eye because of the English colonel, and he swears
vengeance one day.”

“Looks as if he’s going to have more than one reason for vengeance, eh wildcat?” His eyes gleamed wickedly. Isabella feared
her seductive charms held no sway with this man. If her beauty failed to arouse him, what would he do with her? A savage grin
revealed white teeth against his dark face. “And now what’s to be done with you? Shall I amuse myself with you first, or simply
turn you over to my officers who then can give you to…”

Isabella let out a scream and grasped at his boot. “No, colonel, I pray you will not use me so cruelly. By the saints…” she
pleaded.

“Let go of me, woman!” Straeford roared, pulling his boot free from her clutching hands. Disgusted and angry with himself
for taunting his helpless victim, he waved an imperious hand at her. “Go!”

Confused and frightened, Isabella stared at him dumbly.

“We already have a number of camp followers,” he explained. “One more won’t make a hell of a lot of difference. Find yourself
a protector. Now go!”

Slowly she came to her feet and studied this fearful man. She wanted
his
protection, not some lowly infantry soldier’s. “You will not take me first?” she suggested warily.

He gave off a harsh laugh. “Not unless you wish it.”

They stared long and hard at one another until Isabella, swinging her hips provocatively, sauntered to the door and waited
there. When he did not speak, she opened it. Still he said nothing. Finally she spun around to face him. “I think, Colonel,
I choose you for my protector, eh?” There was a challenging gleam in her eyes and a saucy smile on her lips.

Straeford raked her voluptuous figure, and then with an insolent shrug he said, “For a night—why not!”

Confident once more, she came to him. “You will want Isabella for more than one night, my Colonel. You will see.”

“Undoubtedly one of us will,” he drawled and bowed mockingly. How Colonel Dubois was going to react to the matter briefly
crossed his mind as he took the woman into his arms.

It was just before dawn when Straeford woke with a ringing sensation in his head and a burning thirst in his throat. He shivered
violently and then felt intensely hot. This was going to be some hell of a day, he thought. Nevins had been right after all.
He had a touch of fever. As he rolled off the bunk, Isabella automatically pulled the blanket more closely about her in her
sleep. After splashing some water on his face, he went outside in search of Billings, who came scurrying up to him.

“My lord, I’ll have some coffee…”

“Never mind that now. I need that concoction—the powder and tea from India.”

“Fever, my lord?” The little man tried not to look anxious as he observed his lordship. Straeford screwed up his face and
ran a hand over it. Reluctantly, he nodded in the affirmative. “I’ll see to it at once, my lord.”

While Straeford waited for Billings to return, he looked out over the encampment. Most of the fires had died out, and the
men were huddled deep in their blankets.
Even though the wind had died down, it was still biting cold, and the leaden sky hung threateningly overhead.

“We’ll move out as soon as the men have been fed,” he told Harding shortly after the major had joined him and Billings. The
batman was urging a second cup of tea on his lordship, who declined. “That was quite enough of that vile-tasting brew, my
good man. Now let us all get on with the business of this day.”

Both Harding and Billings knew better than to remonstrate further with the earl.

Isabella stretched under the blanket on the bunk and rolled over. As she sat up, clutching the covers to her bosom, she faced
Straeford’s piercing stare. “
Deus
, but it is cold.”

“Get your clothes on then.”

“But first a kiss,
sim?
” She held out her arms letting the blanket slip to her waist, unashamed of her nakedness.

Ignoring her brazen gesture, Straeford picked up her clothing and threw it at her. “I said get dressed!”

Isabella pursed her lips but decided it was too cold to argue the point and quickly dressed herself. Then coming up behind
Straeford, she encircled his waist and leaned against him purring. Unceremoniously, Straeford disentangled himself from her
and told her to behave just as Billings entered with their breakfast. Isabella ignored the chair Billings held out for her
as Straeford seated himself. Glancing at Isabella’s stormy face, Straeford waved Billings out of the room.

“Come and eat. The food is getting cold.”

“I do not care for food!” She stamped her foot.

“Suit yourself,” he said and began eating.

Infuriated by his lack of interest, Isabella glared at him, but he seemed not to notice. Finally she gave up and came flouncing
over to the table. Without a word he handed her a platter.

“I have been informed this morning, that the French are moving this way and should be here in a matter of hours. If you remain
here…”

“
Deus!
You will not leave me behind?”

“I’m returning you to Dubois. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Bah!” Her fork clattered to the plate. “That was yesterday. Today is different,
sim?”

“No, it is not!”

“I stay with you,” she demanded.

“No, you do not stay with me. I do not want you,” he stated emphatically as he rose from the table.

“This cannot be true?”

“Oh, but it is. Look, if you don’t want to hang around here, I’ll provide you with a horse and…”

“Diabo!
You heartless fiend! I give myself to you and it means nothing? You would abandon me?”

“Oh, come now, don’t play me a Cheltenham tragedy. You offered yourself, and I accepted. If it’s money you want,” he delved
into his pocket and held out some coins to her.

“I will scratch your devil eyes out!” She slapped his hand holding the coins aside and jumped at him. And for a third time
she found herself knocked to the floor.

“Damn!” he roared, “do that again and I’ll have you chained to the wall.”

“No one uses Isabella! No one!” she screamed.

“Don’t break my eardrums, woman. I can hear you.” His white teeth showed a brutal smile.

“Dubois, he will drive a sword through your black heart. I swear it!”

“Give my regards to the Colonel when you see him,” he jeered and strode out of the small house to meet Harding who had just
reined in. “Well, Major, what did you find out?”

“You won’t believe this, but it’s Colonel Dubois, and he wants to meet with you.”

“Dubois, eh?” Straeford was rather pleased by this turn of events.

“What will you do?”

“Meet him, of course. The men won’t be ready to march for another hour. That should give me plenty of time to complete my
business with the Colonel.”

“You don’t think it is some kind of trap, do you?”

“I should think not. I believe the man has a sense of honor, and I would imagine a flag of truce will prevent him from attempting
to ensnare us.” Straeford beckoned to his batman who was standing at a discreet distance
waiting with his horse. “Billings, get the wench and follow us.” Mounting his black stallion, the Colonel motioned to Harding
and Drake to follow him.

They rode three miles from their protected campsite, situated in a valley of low-lying hills, out onto a plains area. There,
two hundred yards from their adversaries, Straeford and his countrymen halted and waited for Dubois to detach himself from
a group of soldiers dressed in blue and head towards them. Straeford, in turn, moved out to join the Frenchman. They approached
one another and dismounted, each man holding the other in an unblinking stare. Straeford could see the hatred and jealousy
etched in Dubois’ drawn, grey face. He had seen that look before—the look of a disappointed man unable to accept responsibility
for his own failures.