Vidal's Honor (5 page)

* * * *

“The French, they have searched our village. If this lord fails to arrive you must go on with Tom and Harry.” The sight of Consuela standing in the doorway of the hut silenced Phillipe.

“What is this?” He gestured to the newcomer. “Where did she come from?”

Before either Tom or Harry could speak, Honor informed Phillipe of the events leading up to Consuela's inclusion in their party.

“It is not good. Not good at all,” he muttered, but loud enough, Honor was sure, for Consuela to hear. He stroked his chin, his eyes focussing on each of them in turn. “Perhaps not. Two women and two men… Come here.”

In answer to the imperious command, Consuela left the doorway and joined them.

“Your name, girl.”

“Consuela.”

“If you intend to benefit from the safety of these people, you will tell me your full name.”

“Consuela López.”

Hiding a grin behind her hand, Honor waited for an explosion. Even she knew most Spanish women had multiple surnames, taken from both parents.

“Very well, Consuela Loìpez, how did you come to join these people?”

“I was deserted by my companions. When I couldn't keep up they took my animal, and I would have died where I fell if your friends had not helped me.”

Tom nodded in confirmation when Phillipe looked his way.

“I see, and where were you going?”

“They promised to take me to Madrid.”

“And who are ‘they', exactly.”

“Two of my brothers-in-law.”

“So you are married?”

“No, my husband was killed by the French when they raided the village. We had been out searching for food and hid when we saw what was happening to our people.”

“Phillipe?” Honor moved to her new friend's side. “Can you not see her distress? I know what it is like when that happens.”

“I understand, but I must be sure. I promised your husband to get you safely back home. If she is a spy set to trap us, then I will deal with her.”

In spite of the look of compassion he gave her, Phillipe's glance was cold when he refocused on Consuela.

“Your village?”

Consuela offered a name that sounded vaguely familiar to Honor as she watched the colour leach out of her friend's face.

“What is it?” Grabbing his arm Honor spun Phillipe round, away from the men's interested gaze.

“My wife comes from that place.”

He didn't need to say more. When Phillipe forbade Sancia to visit her family two days before her own departure from his village his wife had been very angry with him and spent the rest of the day with her.

“Were there any survivors?”

Tears streamed down Consuela's cheeks now and only Phillipe's grasp on her arm prevented Honor from going to the distraught woman.

“I wanted to see, but my brothers said it was too risky and we m-must leave at once.”

“Were the soldiers still there when you left?”

At Consuela's nod, Phillipe released her. “Go to the girl,” he snapped his order to Honor. “She can travel with you. If your Lord Vidal does not arrive by midday tomorrow, the four of you must continue together until they put you on a boat to England.”

Tom and Harry's muttered oaths confirmed her assumption they'd be praying Vidal turned up in time to save them the exertions of such a dangerous trip into and across France.

Later that evening while she and Consuela remained inside the shack, the men sat outside talking.

“This lord who is expected, what is the delay?”

Honor moved closer when Tom's low tone just the other side of the thin wooden wall reached her.

“They were waiting in Gibraltar for him and his guide.” Phillipe's anger couldn't be misunderstood.

“They've taken a circuitous route to get here to keep our people safe. London said this man is a good man who knows how to avoid the enemy.” A snort punctuated the comment. “He is either an idiot or his brush with the patrol boats in Gibraltar has washed his brains away. They've been followed almost the whole way here.”

“Followed! And you let them come? We're as good as dead, you old fool.”

“If you believe that, then it is you who is brainless! Do you think I've come alone? They might shadow Vidal from Gibraltar, but they'll never return.”

Honor shivered and moved away. She didn't want to hear the details and hoped whatever solution Phillipe intended, he'd wait until after she and Consuela had gone tomorrow, and railed at Vidal for being so careless.

* * * *

She couldn't believe her eyes. As the distant figures trekking up the hill to the isolated shack approached, her heart began to pound in her chest. What was Devlin's best friend, the viscount Lord Charles Vidal doing in Spain? Not only in Spain but this particularly isolated spot in Spain?

His companion was a big man, but in Vidal's presence he seemed insignificant to Honor.

“Who are they?” Consuela, her hand on Honor's shoulder watched the visitors head straight for Phillipe.

“The one on the right, with the dark hair, is an English man.”

“And the other?”

Honor shook her head. “I don't know, but look Phillipe welcomes them, well considering how annoyed he is with them for causing such a delay he is being courteous to them.”

Vidal here?
She couldn't take it in. Couldn't understand why her heart leaped at the sight of him, then she sighed when a logical explanation came to mind. A familiar face. That was it, she told herself. A friend among friendly acquaintances. Someone who knew her before her world had come crashing down around her ears. Yes, a friend. Everyone needed a friend in times of trouble.

And now…

Now she watched Vidal stop in front of Phillipe and wondered whether he could hear her heart beating hard enough to burst out of her body.

Guilt at the emotions stirring inside her buckled her knees and she clung to Consuela for support.

“Are you ill?” Concern narrowed the Spanish woman's eyes, the newcomers forgotten for the moment.

“No. No, it is nothing, the heat perhaps.” How could Vidal's unexpected appearance shake her so badly… and so soon after she'd lost her husband? Guilt replaced Consuela's hand on her shoulder — a far heavier burden, and one so unexpected it almost robbed Honor of her reason.

“Why are they here?”

The petulance in the Spanish woman's tone broke through Honor's shock. “How can I answer that? But I would hazard a guess the English man at least intends to escort us out of Spain.”

Consuela shook with anger. “We do not need an interloper interfering with our task.”

Stunned by Consuela's reaction Honor turned her attention to the woman at her side rather than try to work out why, since his arrival, the viscount hadn't so much as looked in her direction. His companion had nodded to them in passing, but Vidal kept his attention fixed on Phillipe.

“What do you mean, your task?”

Instead of answering the question, the Spanish woman spun round at the sound of the raised voices outside. “What are they arguing about now? Do these men not realise the longer we remain here the more chance we will be discovered and captured? This is intolerable. You must speak to the Englishman and let him know we do not have time for all this disagreement.”

She agreed with Consuela. Every moment's delay increased the danger they faced. Even that reality failed to propel Honor to approach the men. Would Vidal treat her as the friends they'd once been, or was his arrival for purely business reasons? Government business, of course, she scolded herself for even thinking it might be otherwise.

The sound of the men's voices penetrated her thoughts. Perhaps if she and Consuela made their way to the mules, patiently waiting beneath the shade of the only tree in the area, it would persuade the men to remember the passing time.

“I still maintain we should return to Gibraltar. We've met no resistance since entering Spain.”

Vidal's frustration filtered across to where Honor stood ready to mount her mule.

“And have you asked yourself why that is?”

Phillipe's anger carried more fully on the rising wind. If these two men didn't settle their differences soon, she and Consuela may as well go back to the hut and bed down for the night. If they did not set out shortly… in roughly two hours the daylight would fade beyond what would be safe for travel before morning.

“Have you considered…” Phillipe persisted, “…the enemy may be following your progress and waiting for your return? And if they are, you would walk straight into their trap.”

The two men now stood nose to nose.

“My orders carry here,” Phillipe continued, “and I am ordering you to adhere to your instructions from London, and leave us to deal with those who have followed you all the way here. Fortunately for you we were expecting them.”

“You were?”

Vidal stepped back, clearly shocked, both by the Spaniard's admission and because, for all his experience, he'd failed to realise they were being pursued and that the followers were waiting for their return.

It bothered Honor that Vidal hadn't expected to be followed from Gibraltar into the hills. Devlin had always told her, his life-long friend never put a battle foot wrong, but perhaps as a woman she encompassed the meaning of that comment incorrectly. To her it meant two armies, in this case the French and English, skirting each other before engaging in fierce and dangerous battles.

“Do you know this English lord?” Consuela came to stand beside her.

Honor nodded. She'd known the Viscount Charles Vidal as well as she'd known Dev. Indeed, at one point she'd struggled to decide between them, for both men stirred her heart. All these years later she still didn't understand how she had fallen in love with the two of them. When Charles suddenly upped and joined Wellington's staff she assumed his feelings were less than she'd thought; when Dev had proposed, she'd accepted.

Now she stepped from the hut.

“Vidal.”

Would he acknowledge her or continue to spar with Phillipe? He hesitated for interminable seconds before offering a nod to the other man and striding across to where she waited.

“You called, my lady.”

“Save your derision for your London socialites, Vidal. If we are to leave today we must go now before we lose the light.”

A dull red crept into his face at her words. Being righted by a woman in this setting would not sit well with him, but if he'd been tracked this far, they needed to leave — now. Not only for their own safety, but for that of the people who'd rescued her.

“A timely reminder. Let me assist you to mount.”

She sighed as she settled astride the saddle. After a brief look of surprise, Vidal re-crossed the space, extended his hand and shook Phillipe's warmly. “I owe you an apology, and my heartfelt thanks for taking care of Lady Beaumont. If ever I can repay your kindness, send word.”

If Phillipe replied, Honor never heard him, but she was aware of a message passing between the two men, and watched Vidal spin on his heel and head for his own mount. He sprang onto its back unaided and moved up beside her. Together they joined Consuela and Juan.

“What is this?” Honor pulled her mule to a halt. “Consuela? What are you doing here? Phillipe said he was providing two of his men as guides.”

“Juan and I are taking their places. It is agreed that a party of two men and two women will raise less interest than three men with one woman.”

It seemed Phillipe had already explained Consuela's presence.

“Are you sure?” Vidal asked the other man.

“I'm sure,” Juan confirmed before his gaze shifted to Consuela. “Come,” he said. “It is time we left.”

Vidal, she noticed with a shrug, didn't bother to hide his discontent with this new arrangement.

It took all her resolve not to look back. Not to let her emotions run free and overwhelm her. In no way did she want to put her friends at risk by remaining with them, but leaving them behind while she, hopefully, made a break for freedom, lay heavy on her heart. She focussed on the distant view ahead. How far would Juan and Consuela travel with them before either handing them over to other guerrillas or permitting them to fend for themselves? Perhaps, she thought, she should ask herself how long Vidal would allow someone else to determine his future, and by association, hers too? The man she remembered would never allow others to control his own actions. Would he quietly follow orders, even here in an unknown environment and unfamiliar conditions?

Honor doubted it.

Waves of anger radiated off him, from the hard line of his jaw to the ram-rod rigidity of his spine. In turn it sparked an answering resentment in her. Had she asked him to come to Spain and insult her friends?

She had not.

Had she asked him to come here and escort her home?

Why would she?

Trekking across the Pyrenees at the onset of winter was not her idea of a picnic. The chance of surviving such a trip, balanced against her remaining in Spain, even if she moved away from Phillipe's village, was about the same according to Phillipe. The least Vidal could do was try for civility. Allowing anger to rule, Honor turned her shoulder and settled in for an anticipated two hour ride of silence.

The climb away from the hut exposed them to the cooling evening air, and the sparkling snow-capped mountains ahead took on a new meaning. She'd expected they'd turn north, but still they travelled west, apparently paralleling the route taken when they'd fled from Salamanca.

A chill, unconnected with the wind, chased through her system. Memories replaced the view in front of her.

Devlin's last kiss, the feel of his arms around her, his whispered "Always", her unexplained foreboding when he'd walked away and, unusually, not turned to blow her a kiss. Had he known? Or had his soldier's intuition told him, that day would be different?

If she hadn't followed his progress to the edge of the camp she wouldn't have seen what happened, and would always have wondered. Instead the images were burned in her memory forever.

“I promised him,” Phillipe had told her later after her grief released her enough to listen. “All the while he was out scouting, and during the marches I have been two steps behind you, just as your husband commanded. And as he requested, it is my job to keep you safe in the face of disaster.” He'd knelt down in front of her, taken her cold hands in his. “I made a promise,” he said, “and I always keep my promises.”

Too numb to comprehend his words, she'd let him take over, this friend of Devlin's. At some level she'd accepted they were leaving the dubious military security to travel across country alone.

The privileges of an officer's wife meant she'd stayed within the inner circle of the camp, while the followers of the drum trailed at the rear with the supply carts and munitions wagons. And with her husband's death, the sanctuary of her life in the army ended.

She still didn't know how long they'd travelled to reach the rag-tag settlement; the days blended into each other, one after the other. Not until Sancia, Phillipe's barrel of a wife, had cradled her in her arms while she wept had her sense of "now" returned.