His Counterfeit Condesa (Historical Romance) (14 page)

Sabrina followed her glance briefly and then looked away. ‘No, I guess it’s anxiety about our situation.’

Jacinta nodded. ‘There is much to be anxious about, but that is not it either.’

Her companion sighed. It was pointless to deny there was anything wrong; Jacinta had known her too long for that. ‘You’re right, but I can’t talk about it.’

‘Time to talk may be running out. Perhaps you should speak while you can and,’ she continued, ignoring Sabrina’s attempt to interrupt, ‘I don’t mean to me.’

‘There’s nothing to speak about.’

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘If you say so,’ replied Jacinta. ‘After all, you best know your own heart, do you not?’

With that she resumed eating. Her companion shot her a sideways look but Jacinta’s gaze was fixed on the distant view. Sabrina sighed. Just then she was afraid to acknowledge what was in her own heart. She stared at the portion of stale bread in her hand. The other woman was right about that at least; she did need to eat. With a determined effort she bit off a lump and began to chew.

Soon after this, the party set off again. Sabrina mentally girded herself for the effort. The long hours in the saddle and the swift pace were tiring. Every muscle ached and flesh grew sore. She thought fondly of a hot bath and a soft bed but knew they were a fantasy, many days’ ride away. If they could not outrun the men who followed them she might never be afforded such luxuries again. It was a sobering thought and helped focus her mind on the task in hand.

* * *

In the mid-afternoon, as they walked to let the animals breathe awhile, Falconbridge called a brief halt so that he might find a vantage point from which to
use the spyglass. What he saw did not please him. He made no attempt to disguise the truth from the others. In any case, his expression would have been enough to tell them.

‘They’re gaining,’ he said.

‘We cannot outrun them, sir,’ said Blakelock. ‘Not when we’re a horse down and the rest almost spent.’

‘No. We need to find somewhere to take cover.’ He did not add, and to make a last stand, but it was understood.

For this purpose they selected a knoll which, though set back some way from the road, permitted a clear view and afforded some large rocks which would give cover under fire. It also precluded the possibility of the enemy sneaking up on them unawares. They made their camp and secured the horses before setting a watch. The men had rifles and ammunition which, Sabrina knew, would at least give them a chance. It all depended on how many pursuers there were.

Falconbridge used the remaining daylight to study the oncoming force. Eventually he was able to give an accurate estimate of their numbers.

‘Twenty,’ he said, passing the glass to Blakelock.

The other confirmed it with a nod. ‘That’s the size of it, sir.’

He did not comment on the fact that their own party numbered only seven, or that two of the number were women.

‘We may be able to hold ‘em off for a while, sir, but not for too long.’

‘No,’ replied Falconbridge, ‘but perhaps for long enough.’

He returned and summoned the others. Then he told them the situation. They heard him in stony silence.

‘I cannot disguise from you the fact that capture is highly likely,’ he said then.

‘We can give a good account of ourselves first though, eh?’ said Luis.

‘We can do better than that.’

‘How so?’

Falconbridge reached for the inner pocket of his coat and drew out the slim leather wallet that resided there. ‘Whatever happens, these must get to Wellington.’

Jacinta looked from them to him. ‘And what are they, señor?’

‘The documents that I went to Aranjuez to collect. They contain sensitive military information that could change the whole course of the war.’ He paused. ‘There is no possibility that all of us can get away, but one man might be able to. The rest will have to stay and keep the French occupied for as long as we can to cover his escape.’ He looked directly at Ramon. ‘Only you have the local knowledge that might enable you to succeed.’

Ramon stared back. ‘What you say is true, but how do you know I can be trusted with this? We have known each other only a short time.’

‘Miss Huntley trusts you. That’s good enough for me.’

Hearing these words, Sabrina felt her heart give a peculiar lurch and she threw Falconbridge a swift glance. However, his attention remained on Ramon.

‘Will you do it?’

‘I have a duty here,
señor,
and that is to protect
Doña
Sabrina.’

‘That’s right, and that’s why she and Jacinta must go with you. The rest of us will hold off pursuit as long as we can to buy you time.’

Sabrina shook her head. ‘We cannot ride as fast as Ramon could alone and we would only slow him down. We must remain and take our chances here.’

‘I applaud your courage, my dear, but—’

Sabrina shook her head. ‘There is no time to argue, Robert. Ramon must go. Those plans must be delivered or this whole mission will have failed.’

Ramon met her eye. ‘I promised your father.’

‘And I know what my father would say if he were here now.’

Hearing her reply, Falconbridge felt his heart swell with pride and pleasure. She had so much courage and spirit. Most of the women he had ever met would have been weeping wrecks by now. He would have spoken then, but Jacinta was before him.

‘Doña
Sabrina is right. You have to go, Ramon.’

‘Si,’
said Luis. ‘Only you have a chance of success.’

Ramon’s dark eyes burned. ‘A chance to save myself and leave my friends to die, you would say?’

‘No,
amigo mio,
it is a chance to help drive the French from Spain. That is something worth dying for.’

‘We knew the risks when we came,’ said Sabrina. ‘Don’t let all this count for nothing.’

The silence that followed her words was deep. Ramon looked round but saw in every face the same resolution.

‘I will carry the documents to safety, but I will not leave you to die.’

Falconbridge frowned. ‘I don’t follow.’

‘You are right when you say I have local knowledge,
señor,
but it is not confined merely to the geography of this region. I know its people, too.’ He glanced back down the trail. ‘People like Valdez, for example—and also El Cuchillo.’

They stared at him in slack-jawed astonishment for all present knew the name of the guerrilla leader.

‘You know El Cuchillo?’ said Luis.

‘Our paths have crossed before.’

‘You never told me this.’

‘You never asked.’

‘That is not the point.’

Blakelock frowned. ‘What has El Cuchillo got to do with anything?’

‘His camp is in these hills, and not so far from here, either,’ replied Ramon. ‘If I can find it I may be able to bring reinforcements.’

‘Why would he help us?’

‘He has helped the British before.’

Falconbridge nodded. ‘That’s true, but even if you found him and he agreed to come, time is not on our side.’

‘Then the sooner I leave the better.’

‘Agreed. But do nothing to jeopardise the safety of those papers.’

‘I give you my word.’

They watched Ramon stow the leather wallet inside his jacket. Jacinta prepared some rations in a small bundle and then they went with him to the horses. He mounted and raised a hand in salute.

‘Hasta luego.’

Sabrina summoned a smile. She thought that the chances of them meeting again were remote, in this life anyway, but it served no purpose to say so. Instead she watched in silence as he turned the horse’s head and rode away.

‘I pray he may succeed,’ murmured Falconbridge.

The sound of that voice jolted her from her thoughts. For the first time it sounded less than completely
confident, and in that moment she glimpsed the strain he must be under, being answerable for their safety and for the success of this mission. He had always seemed so self-assured and so impervious to doubt or fear. It was oddly touching to discover that he was as human as the rest of them underneath that cool exterior.

‘If anyone can do it, I think it is he,’ she replied.

‘You have great faith in him.’

‘He has never let me down yet. Whatever happens, he will ensure the plans get to Lord Wellington, somehow.’

‘Then this mission will not have been in vain.’

‘I know it will not.’ Her eyes met his. ‘In the meantime, we must do as Luis says and give a good account of ourselves.’

‘You have never done anything else.’

The words were quietly spoken but the tone was unmistakably genuine, like the look in his eyes. A look that caused her heart to beat faster. A look that must be resisted at all costs. Besides, she had doubts of her own which she needed to voice.

‘If…when…Ramon delivers those papers to Wellington, will my father still be freed? Even if I do not return, I mean?’

‘When the papers are delivered, the mission will have succeeded. The agreement will be honoured.’

He saw her smile then, a sad and wistful smile that tore at his heart. Just then he would have given anything to have her safe, to have her a thousand miles from here in some haven where nothing could harm her again.

‘I am glad,’ she replied, ‘and all this will have been worthwhile.’

The words reminded him with force about why she had come on this mission in the first place. Her decision
had had nothing to do with him per se, though when they were thrown together, she seemed to find his company agreeable enough. It was he who had overstepped the mark, and she who tried to keep their relationship within professional bounds. He had no right to make things harder than they already were.

He smiled. ‘All may yet be well.’

‘Yes.’ She hoped, rather than believed, it to be true.

T
he French force came into view in the early evening. They were riding slowly, no doubt having pushed their horses before. From her position on the knoll Sabrina could see the blue uniforms and distinctive grey shakos. At their head was a rider on a dun horse.

‘The man, Valdez,’ said Luis, and spat into the dust.

Blakelock smiled grimly, lining the distant figure in his sights. ‘Shall I blow his brains out, sir?’

‘No, he is mine,’ replied Luis.

‘Don’t fire yet,’ said Falconbridge. ‘Let them get closer.’

Sabrina glanced at Jacinta and received a faint answering smile. She wished they, too, had rifles. Pistols were only of real use at closer range. Once they were discharged would there be time to reload before the enemy reached the top of the hill? After that it would be hand-to-hand fighting. Her stomach knotted. The encounter with brigands she and her father had once experienced was vivid still in memory, and there had been far fewer of them. Brigands were bad enough. Trained soldiers
were another matter entirely. Even if Falconbridge and the other men could pick off some of the French contingent, they would still be badly outnumbered.

She turned again to Jacinta. ‘I’m so sorry to have got you into this.’

‘It was the French who got us into this, not you,
Doña
Sabrina.’

‘It’s true,’ said Luis. ‘We were involved from the moment they invaded our country. We will make them bear the consequences.’

Sabrina looked down the hillside and saw that the troop had halted. The figure on the dun horse was riding ahead alone at a slow walk, his attention on the ground immediately in front of him.

‘The bastard’s looking for sign,’ muttered Blakelock.

Willis nodded. ‘Aye, and it’ll not take him long to work out what’s happened.’

Luis bared his teeth in a feral smile. ‘Good. It means I shoot him all the sooner. That will teach the scum to betray his countrymen.’

A few minutes later the dun horse stopped and its rider looked directly up at the knoll. Then he turned back and rejoined his companions. Evidently words were spoken, and they saw him point towards their place of concealment. The troop dismounted. Leaving their horses they began to fan out, moving slowly forwards towards the slope.

‘Here they come,’ said Falconbridge. ‘Get ready.’

Sabrina’s heart hammered in her breast and in spite of the heat she felt cold sweat start along her skin. Just feet away Blakelock’s finger squeezed the trigger. There followed a loud report and a French trooper cried out and fell. Almost simultaneously a second shot rang out and the tracker dropped like a stone.

Luis smiled with grim satisfaction.
‘Bueno!’

Blakelock threw him a sideways glance. ‘Not bad shooting—for a Spaniard of course.’

‘Keep watching, Englishman. I’ll show you how it’s done.’

Seeing two of their number go down, the rest of the French force dived for cover among the rocks. Moments later they began to return fire. Luis darted a glance at the two women.

‘You must stay down.’

‘Thank you for that,’ replied Jacinta. ‘The thought would not otherwise have occurred to us.’

He returned her a pointed look but had no time to reply because, just then, the answering fire intensified. Lead shot whined around them. The higher ground afforded the defenders an advantage and two more French soldiers fell. Then some of their comrades advanced, dodging among the rocks and bushes, while the rest gave covering fire.

Falconbridge looked across at Sabrina. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good girl.’

His smile gave her fresh courage and she returned it. ‘I was never in a battle before.’

‘When you shoot, aim for the widest part of the man’s body. Make each shot count.’

‘I will.’

He nodded and then turned his attention back to the task in hand. They needed to lower the odds before the French reached their position and they were reduced to hand-to-hand combat. He tried not to think about what would happen then; tried not to think about Sabrina and Jacinta run through by French sabres, and his men slain.
Soldiers accepted the risks of warfare, but women were another matter. He knew he would defend them to the death, but would that be enough? Lining up his target he squeezed off another shot. A man yelled, clutching his arm. Falconbridge smiled grimly and reloaded.

Sabrina crouched behind a rock, pistol drawn. With pounding heart she risked a peek round the edge of the sheltering stone and saw blue-coated figures only fifty yards away. Soon they would be overrun. Her jaw tightened. This was no time for cowardice. If she went down, it would be fighting. Glancing at her companions, she knew there was no company she would rather die in.

A blue-coat rose up from behind a rock. Without thinking she lifted the pistol, aimed and fired. The man cried out and pitched backwards. Hurriedly, she reached for ball and powder to reload. Beside her Jacinta loosed off a shot of her own. Somewhere nearby a man cursed. Around them the air thickened with smoke and the acrid scent of powder. They heard Willis swear and clutch his sleeve. Blood welled through his fingers. Sabrina shoved the pistol in her belt and dropped into a crouching run, reaching him a few moments later.

‘How bad is it?’

‘Just a crease, ma’am,’ he said between gritted teeth.

‘Hold still. I’ll bind it for you.’

She improvised a bandage from a handkerchief and neckcloth and tied it firmly. He smiled his thanks. Then retrieving his rifle, he reloaded. A blue-coated figure loomed above their crouching figures. Sabrina saw the shadow and looked up in horrified surprise. Her throat dried. She had a fleeting impression of the raised sword before a shot rang out and the man slumped. She spun
round to see the smoking rifle in Falconbridge’s hands, and swallowed hard, her gaze meeting his for a moment. The expression in his eyes sent a shiver through her; it was utterly uncompromising, the look of a man who would kill to defend his own. She stammered out her thanks and saw him nod.

‘My pleasure.’

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a blur of movement and turned in horror to see that the vanguard of the French force had reached the top of the knoll. Falconbridge followed her gaze and his jaw tightened. Letting fall the rifle he drew his sword and launched himself into the attack, fighting now for all he held dear. He felt the blade connect with flesh; heard a cry and saw his opponent slump. Moments later another took his place. Again Falconbridge was on the offensive, keeping up the momentum, not giving his enemy even a moment to pause, using every means at his disposal to win. Finesse had no part in this; it was fierce and dirty with fists and boots supplementing steel.

Just a few feet away Sabrina drew her own blade and prepared to meet the nearest foe. The Frenchman’s face registered surprise and then amusement as he took in the nature of his opponent. The hesitation cost him dear as the edge of her sword slashed his arm. Blood bloomed through the torn fabric. For a split second he stared at the wound in outrage and disbelief. Then his expression hardened and he pressed forward his attack. She fought as well as she knew how but determined resistance wasn’t enough. Superior skill and strength forced her into retreat, step by step, until her back slammed against stone. Trapped against a boulder with no room to manoeuvre she knew she was lost. The Frenchman
smiled. Sickened she watched him raise the blade for the
coup de grâce.

And then, before her terrified gaze, her opponent checked, his face a mask of astonishment. The sabre dropped from his fingers and his legs buckled. Jacinta tugged her sword point from between his ribs. For a moment her gaze met Sabrina’s and the dark eyes glowed with inner fire. Then she smiled.

Sabrina found her voice. ‘Thank you.’

‘De nada.’

Before she could say more, an armed figure rose up behind her. Sabrina yelled a warning. Jacinta spun round, but not quickly enough to avoid the swinging rifle. The butt connected with the side of her head and felled her instantly. The assailant stepped across the prone body towards Sabrina. Too late he saw the mouth of the pistol pointing at him. There was a sharp report and he fell, clutching a hole in his chest. However, Sabrina’s attention was no longer on him.

‘Jacinta!’

In a moment she was kneeling beside her companion, desperately trying to rouse her. A bloody gash and a lump testified to the site of the injury. Jacinta groaned. Sabrina felt relief flood back. She wasn’t dead, only stunned. Her frantic gaze cast about for something to staunch the wound with. Then, without warning, she was seized from behind. Strong hands drew her upright. She fought them, kicking and struggling to free herself but the grip was like steel, pinning her arms behind her back and holding them like a vice. Casting a wild look around, she saw with sinking heart that the knoll was overrun and the fighting all but over. Blakelock and Luis were now held at gunpoint. Only Willis and Falconbridge were still engaged in combat but, hopelessly
outnumbered, they were driven to stand at bay against a high rock. Then she heard a voice.

‘Throw down your weapons. Further resistance is useless.’

She saw Falconbridge hesitate and for one dreadful moment thought he was going to refuse. Then he glanced around, taking in the whole scene, and nodded to Willis.

‘Do as he says.’

The two men let fall their swords. As they did so the speaker advanced and a French officer strode into her line of vision. With him went the last vestige of hope and her stomach churned as she recognised Machart. For a moment he, too, cast a comprehensive look around. Then his gaze returned to Falconbridge.

‘I was hoping we’d meet again, Monsieur le Comte. Though I think that is not the name by which you were known on the occasion of our first meeting.’ He paused. ‘Arroyo de Molinos, was it not?’

Falconbridge returned the gaze with a cool and insolent stare. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Come now. I admit my memory was faulty at first but I never forget a face,’ the other went on. ‘You have put me to a deal of trouble, monsieur, but I feel certain the effort will be repaid in due course.’ He turned his attention towards Sabrina, his gaze taking in every detail of her altered appearance. His face registered sardonic amusement, though the smile stopped well short of his eyes. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again, madame. I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.’

Her stomach wallowed. She fought it, knowing this man would be very quick to sense fear. With a supreme effort she forced herself to meet his gaze and to remain silent. She would not bandy words with him.

He gestured to his men. ‘Bind the prisoners and fetch their horses.’

‘You are out of your jurisdiction here,’ said Falconbridge, ‘and have no authority to detain us.’

Machart appeared untroubled. ‘I believe I have the authority to apprehend a group of English spies. Of course, if I am mistaken I shall apologise, but I do not think I am mistaken.’

‘Where are you taking us?’

‘To Castillo San Angel, where we shall discuss the matter of identities.’

Sabrina darted a glance at Falconbridge but his expression was impassive and he remained still while they bound his wrists. Then her attention was reclaimed by rough hands binding her own. She made a token gesture of resistance but it was useless. When tested the cords yield not a whit. A few minutes later she and the others were manhandled down the slope and forced to mount their horses. It was then that she realised Jacinta wasn’t with them. Had they left her for dead? Then she remembered what happened to the wounded after a battle, and fear congealed to a lump in her stomach. Perhaps the French had believed her already dead. If Jacinta had been conscious she would have had enough sense to remain quite still. How bad was her injury? There were predators in the mountains other than the human sort. Could she survive out here alone, at least long enough to make it to the nearest village perhaps? If so, there might be hope for her. She was brave and resourceful. If anyone would survive it would be her. At least she was not a prisoner and there was some comfort in that.

The cavalcade set off and her attention refocused on staying in the saddle. The pace was swift and
conversation impossible. Besides, Falconbridge was in front of her. Suddenly her fear was all for him.
Everyone talks by the third day.
She was certain now that Machart would use every means at his disposal to find out what he wanted to know. She had never heard of Castillo San Angel but it bode ill for her and her companions. Where was it exactly?

* * *

They had not long to wait and find out, for in the early evening they came to a small castle, perhaps once the seat of a minor nobleman. Sabrina eyed it uneasily. It seemed to be quite old, judging from the state of the perimeter wall, and an attempt had been made to repair the worst areas of crumbling masonry. The stout timbers of the gate were faded and cracked. As they rode through she could see weeds growing among the stones in the courtyard and the buildings had an air of dilapidation. The place must have been commandeered for use as a military base, she decided. Certainly it held an uncomfortably large number of French troops.