Viridian (The Hundred-Days Series Book 2) (41 page)

Palming the musket's smooth stock,
she gained her feet and began to run again in earnest, taking a wide circle so
that she reached a short, sandy cliff at one end of the abandoned French
battery. Fighting reached her ears now, only a few hundred yards behind the
ridge and off of her left shoulder. Ty lay above her between guns she realized
may or may not be unprotected.

Breathing through her mouth, she
sat still, gathering herself against a churning stomach. The smell was
unimaginable, a rotten-egg musk of burnt black powder, emptied bowels, torn
guts, and smoldering horseflesh. Washing wouldn't be sufficient to remove it
from her clothes; she’d have to burn them. Her memory… that was another matter
entirely.

Steeling herself, she grasped the
rifle in both hands and jumped. Hooking it over gnarled roots of an ancient oak
protruding from the eroded bank, she pulled. Boots dug into the pebbles and
whispering sand, fruitless at first. Arms trembled, her chest ached, but after
a moment, leather soles found purchase against a boulder seated at the ridge's
edge. She had to reach the plateau above, the spot where Ty lay.

Grunting, she strained and
wriggled, crying out once when her body seemed ready to fail. Shoving against
the stock's creaking protest, she threw her torso onto the lip, shuffling her
legs until she fell panting onto shredded tufts of grass beside a gun limber.

A rumble vibrating against her face
through the earth renewed her strength. Horses. They were friendly, based on
her knowledge of the troops that were present, but she couldn't risk being
seen. Impatient, she ground her cheek between her teeth until it bled.

Horses rushed by, kicking up dirt
and weeds, choking her with dust. Balling tighter against the gun, she squeezed
eyes shut.

He was dying. They had trampled
him.
A thousand terrible images raced through her mind in the seconds it
took the last of the cavalry to pass from view. They left an almost empty,
smoke-wreathed field in their wake. A few infantry clambered up the sandy
ridge, followed by a single rider pausing now and then to jab his saber at
grasping hands or raised bayonets.

Webb
. She peered at the
rider, identifying Ty’s friend by his uniform. It was the first time she’d seen
him, and Olivia had trouble imagining someone as different from Ty as the
scowling, dark-haired general who cantered past her.

She pressed a hand to her thundering
heart. Had he seen Ty fall? He must have. Of course he had. But his horse
climbed to the plateau and showed no signs of slowing. “Turn around.” she
pleaded quietly. “Turn around and look.”

Matthew's horse reared suddenly.
For a moment, she feared that he, too, had been struck. Realizing that she’d
heard no gunshot, her heart quickened. Had he found Ty? He wheeled back,
jumping down and stumbling, then falling to the ground. Olivia strained
impossibly between the gun carriage's wheels, trying to make out anything in
the deep shadows blanketing the field. Then Matthew reappeared, still stumbling
over himself, and she was confident he'd at last found Ty. Torn between
laughing and sobbing, she watched the spot where Matthew had disappeared until
eyes burned, and she was forced to wipe tears from irritated lids.

Two silhouettes appeared at last,
one supporting the other. Grabbing a fistful of collar and waistband, Matthew
heaved Ty's slack form up onto his horse, and they started down the hill back
towards camp. Ty raised up a moment, and Matthew paused to shake a fist at him
and then they were gone from view. There had been a lot of blood on Ty’s
uniform, but she had trouble imagining Matthew berating him if he were mortally
wounded.

Olivia exhaled, giving thanks and
silent prayers to anyone listening. Ty was wounded, but he was alive.

*          *          *

There was no getting close to the
garrison and certainly no getting inside. Sentries had been doubled, and
patrols were sent out on the hour. Even knowing their routine as she did,
Olivia wouldn't risk an approach till nightfall, provided her nerves didn't
kill her before then.

She passed the day at the clearing
where they had spent their wedding night. Washing blood from her dress,
brushing knots from her hair she marked time, but the hours passed with
agonizing slowness. Using a last shot of the musket on a too-trusting hare, she
busied herself and still there wasn't enough to occupy anxious hands. She did
everything too quickly, while the sun arced overhead too slowly.

Grumbling stomach silenced, dressed
in something like clean clothes, she lay inside the house cooled by a breeze
until fitful sleep came over her at last. It felt brief, as though she had just
closed her eyes. But when she opened them, long shadows reaching in through the
doorway hinted at a sun slipping below the horizon.

Rolling up a kerchief she'd
recovered on her trek back the night before, she worked it into her stays,
beneath her breasts. Shoving and bunching the fabric until it had the desired
effect, she settled on the step and waited for night to fall.

*          *          *

A lanky sentry raised his hand.
“It's past curfew, miss. No one permitted in or out of the garrison.”

“
Oh
.” Widening her eyes as
though she had just realized he was there, Olivia planted hands on her hips,
thrusting her chest a little harder, using the augmented bodice of the outfit
she’d chosen to its fullest advantage. “What is your name, soldier?”

“Ackerly, miss,” he croaked.
“Private Ackerly.”

“Ackerly,” she repeated huskily,
taking three swaying steps towards him. “What time's your watch over, Private
Ackerly?”

The boy swallowed hard and jerked
his head at a fellow sentry. Olivia stifled a laugh when the other man gripped
his rifle and shuffled out of sight through a narrow door.

Ackerly swallowed again, eyes
bobbing from her neckline to her eyes. “Three, miss. I'm relieved at three.”

They were almost chest to chest
now. Olivia leaned in, bringing her lips to his ear. “Got a lil' tipsy to dull
the sounds of fightin', had a bit of a nap down at the river. My man's gonna be
real cross if I ain't back soon.” She leaned back and smiled, looking him over
from head to toe, and then rolled a guinea up from between her breasts. “If you
could see your way to lettin' me through, I could make my way back about three
this mornin', to show my thanks.”

Ackerly moved toward the gate as
though every part of him was in competition to open it first. He stumbled, arms
flailing, nearly dropped his musket twice. “I'll… I'll be here, waitin’,” he
stuttered. “Just say Will's sent for ya'. Ask the watch, if you don't see me.”

Olivia dropped the coin into his
outstretched palm, passing him at inches as she slipped into the garrison. “Can
hardly wait.”

She laughed as she turned a corner,
shaking her head. Not every soldier in the British army was discerning. Plucked
from lower class and laborers, even criminals, they weren’t always the cleverest
or most disciplined lot on the field.

As she crossed the camp, Olivia
recalled her earlier reconnaissance from the hill and applied it to her
surroundings. There was activity all around her, raising her guard. Walking
wounded passed her in the main courtyard. Moments later a wagon rumbled in
through the gate, arms and legs hanging out the sides, writhing in time to the
cries and moans emanating from within. Tents were the most frustrating part.
They were hard to see over, obscured pathways and landmarks she’d spied from
the hill, and they all looked the same. She moved along one of the pointed rows
of canvas, walking with a purpose, meeting no eyes until she spied the
officers' area.

It was one of the oldest espionage
tricks in the book, and it worked today as well as it ever had: simply act as
though you belonged, and no one would question you.

She bypassed the sentry, skirting
the low wall into shadows at the top of a hill. Nearing the stables, if she had
to guess based on the smell. She swung a leg over the rough timbers, crouching,
listening for any movement below. No sound reached her ears, and all the
activity she’d spied was near the garrison's main gate. With a shove, she
vaulted from the wall, landing in a crouch beside a broken cart. Forcing her
breaths to come slowly through her nose, she waited for any sign she'd been
heard, then slowly stood up.

It was not hard to spot Ty's
quarters. His was the only tent with a boot scraper out front. Chuckling and
shaking her head, Olivia darted from the shadows and ducked in through the
flap.

Ty was stretched along his cot, an
arm draped over his eyes, his blood-stained shirt hanging open at the throat.
Judging by the shape of his quilt, his thigh was heavily bandaged. In the light
of a single candle, he looked pale. He also looked
alive
.

Exhaling slowly, she tried to still
her nerves and crept closer. She knelt against a coarse wool rug that stretched
near his cot, studying what she could see of his face. Reaching forward
tentatively, she brushed her knuckles at the sweep of blond hair across his
forehead. He breathed in suddenly, a deep inhalation, and when he blew it back
out, Olivia almost choked on whiskey fumes. She pressed both hands at her mouth
to stifle a cough, but it was too late. Ty's arm fell away, bleary eyes
snapping open.

“Dimples?”

“Yes, Ty.”

“Oh God, am I dead?”

“No.” She cradled his cheek. “I'm
really here.”

Looking more peaceful, he relaxed
back against the pillow. “Good. I cannot die yet. Webb owes me a great deal of
money at cards.” Then he scowled, eyes now closed. “If I'm not dead, then how
the devil are you here?”

“I watched the fighting from the
ridge. I saw the general bring you back.” She would omit the part where she ran
the field and hid between the guns. None of that information could have a good
effect on Ty's health just now.

Ty wriggled up onto his elbows,
looking sobered and a little angry. “You were not supposed to be here at all.”

He was awfully saucy, if he
was
near death. “You're not Grayfield. You cannot
make
me leave.”

Ty pushed farther up. “I'm your
husband
,
and I bloody well can!” He grimaced
,
and fell back against the bed. “And
I will, as soon as I can get up.”

So sweet, even when he was three
sheets out. Olivia smiled. “I look forward to it.” She reached out, smoothing a
hand over his cheek. “How bad?”

“It's a flesh wound. Thanks to Miss
Foster's skill and her orderlies, I expect I'll come out all right. Sodding
hurts when I'm sober, though.”

She grasped his hands, resting her
face against them. “I would thank her, if I could. A hundred times.”

His fingers squeezed hers with
something of his old strength. “Someday, Dimples.”

“I'm sorry about Alvanley.”

He cracked one eye. “What about
him?”

“That he's gone. I know he was your
favorite.”

“My horse? That wasn't Alvanley,
the bastard. I had to ride one of Greene's nags. Alvanley got free of the pen.
Exhausted himself with Westcott's mare and then gorged on enough oats to
explode. He's only just now done bellyaching and flopping in the hay.”

She laughed heartily, and he
smiled. “Rider and horse, alike.”

A heavy finger pressed her lips.
“You hush.”

“Will you be sent home?” She tried
to keep a hopeful note from her words.

“No. Should be up and about in a
week.”

She tried not to let her
disappointment show on her face. “I will write you. Tell me when we can see
each other again.” It was the hardest thing, to make herself stand up and
leave.

Olivia released his hands and sat
back
,
but Ty grabbed her fingers, eyes
half open. “Don't go. Not yet. Not until I'm asleep.”

She waved a hand in front of her
face. “You smell like a distillery. That should not take long.”

A lazy smile bent his mouth. “Miss
Foster relies on spirits. She believes I have an unnatural tolerance for
sedatives.”

She laughed, lacing their fingers
together and laid her head on his chest. “I wonder why that is.”

They sat for a few minutes in
silence, Olivia listening to the drumming of Ty's heart under her ear. Asleep
or not, she couldn’t risk staying much longer. Sitting up again
,
she squeezed his hand. “Can I get
you anything before I go?”

“Mmm.” He hooked a finger,
beckoning her closer until they were face to face. Ty's fingers knotted into
her hair, and he crushed lips to hers with more quick finesse than she guessed
him capable.

It had been so long. Her breath
came faster, body relaxing into Ty. She snaked a hand into his shirt front,
earning a small groan.

Ty pulled away, tracing her bottom
lip with his thumb. “You know, my leg is not so very injured...”

Olivia raised her brows. “It would
be by the time I got through with you.”

He smiled, eyes falling shut. “That
is a risk I will simply have to take.”

“Incorrigible. I'm going now.” The
words were so hard to form, and Olivia still was not certain she could obey
them. She raked her lips over his one last time. “I love you.”

His only reply was a gentle snore.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

He was in the command tent,
arranging the first load of his things in General Webb's old quarters, when
Kate appeared. After weeks of teasing at their lines, the French had surged
forward without warning, appearing well inside borders established by heavy
fighting. Wellington had shared a suspicion that they would see the worst of it
soon and demanded Matthew’s presence in Brussels. Ty didn’t exactly relish
command of the entire garrison; after all, there was a reason he’d happily
sailed along at the rank of major for years now.

Kate slipped in, smiling without a
word. No blood on her clothes, no worn apron; at a distance he wouldn’t have
recognized her in her smart blue traveling coat. Folding hands behind her back,
she leaned against a tent pole and fixed him with her mischievous blue eyes.

He looked her over, grinning. “I
hear you are eloping to Brussels with our beloved Webb.”

“Shh.” Her smile widened. “So I am,
and we hope you're the only one perceptive enough to glean that information.
Probably a vain hope –” Her hand came up, cutting him off. “Not that I wish to
know, if you aren't. Tomorrow we'll be in Brussels, and it won't matter
anyway.” She lifted her chin. “How's your leg?”

“Sore. Not enough to deter me from
any excitement that may come along, though.”

Kate shook her head, clearly
fighting a smile. “Good. After today, you're on your own. Doctor Hallick is a
decent pair of hands, but he won’t tolerate your nonsense like I do.”

“Come to say goodbye then?”

“Mmhm.” There was a draw to the
sound which caught his full attention. He tucked away a stack of shirts, really
looking at her. “I thought you might forget about me.”

Kate snorted. “No, you did not. But
that's not why I've come.” She brushed a few chestnut strands from her full
cheek, hair already clinging with miserable heat well before midday. “I found
your coat in the surgery, when I was settling things for Doctor Hallick.”

He glanced left and right, no idea
what evidence he expected to derive from the chaos around him. “From the
skirmish? How do you know it's mine?”

Kate took one hand from behind her
back, poking up an index finger that was circled by Olivia's gold band. Her
gaze was soft, set in a tender expression that skipped his heart. “Matthew
doesn't know.”

Swallowing, he stared at the ring,
trying to keep elation from his face. He had never expected to see his wedding
band again, certain it had been lost in the fighting. He’d spent days
agonizing, wondering what he would say to Olivia. “I cannot give you an
explanation,” he sidestepped. The most important part, he decided, was already
obvious.

“And I won't ask you to. All I ask
is that, for her sake, you don't engage in any unnecessary heroics. I won't be
handy to patch you up for a while.” She dropped the ring into his palm. “No
woman could tolerate you with a peg leg. Stomping about and screeching on your
violin.”

He stared down at the ring. “She
could.”

Kate laid a hand on his cheek.
“Then you must take extra care on her behalf.”

“Kate?” Matthew poked his head in,
relaxing when he caught sight of them. “Colonel McKinnon said you'd gone to
give something to Major Burrell.”

Kate turned, her face betraying
nothing. “Just the last of his winnings from cards.”

“Nonsense.” Ty wagged a finger
between her and Matthew. “She's trying to see what I know, and buy my silence.”

Matthew nodded, daring a pinch at
Kate’s hip. “A crafty witch, this one.” It earned him a giggle and a swat.

“I'm done with both of you!” She
turned to Matthew. “I've said my goodbyes. Should I leave you two...?”

“No. That's quite all right. The
major and I have squared up, for now.”

Ty grabbed his old friend's hand.
“We shall all see one another soon enough.”

Kate nodded. “Perfect. Matthew has
told me every hour for the last four hours that we are leaving at dawn. The sun
has been up for some time, so I am hoping this time he means it.” She turned,
casting a wink back over her shoulder on the way out.

Matthew groaned. “If you do not
hear from me by tomorrow, send a patrol.”

Ty held up his hands. “You are
entirely on your own now.” After three months of finessing hostilities between
the general and his doctor into something of a romance, he was exhausted and
glad to see them leaving together. It was a point of pride, having negotiated
between the two stubbornest people in Europe. When he’d returned to camp, he
had no inkling that his skills in espionage would see so much use, and
certainly not for something like
romance
. Still, it’d been the most
enjoyable manipulation he could recall engaging in, save any involving Olivia.

When they had both gone, he took
the ring back out of his pocket. Despite the anguish he’d felt at losing it,
and the worry of telling Olivia, he’d made peace with its loss. It was just a
ring, and he’d survived his injury. He was sure he knew which Olivia preferred.

He fit it over his knuckle and into
place, studying the way it hugged his finger.

Just a ring? Looking at it, the
night of his wedding came rushing back to his mind, and he appreciated again
that it was so much more.