His Counterfeit Condesa. Joanna Fulford

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СКАЧАТЬ was an overstatement she decided when they reached it about an hour later. It was no more than a large sleepy village. Many of the buildings were ramshackle affairs with cracked walls and sagging pantile roofs. Chickens scratched in the dirt and a hog sunned itself beside an adobe wall. Ragged children played knucklebones before the open door of a house. The narrow street led into a small dusty plaza and Sabrina glanced at her companion.

      ‘Where can we find the wheelwright?’ she asked.

      ‘Garcia’s premises are located behind the church.’ Ramon nodded in the direction of the imposing whitewashed building on the far side of the square. ‘Not far now.’

      They found the place with no difficulty but discovered the proprietor and two others engaged in removing a wheel from a large supply wagon. Another similar vehicle stood nearby, laden with barrels and sacks. A group of red-coated soldiers stood beside it, laughing and talking among themselves. Sabrina and her companion exchanged glances.

      ‘I’ll go and speak with Garcia,’ he said.

      She took his horse’s reins and watched him cross the intervening space. The wright glanced up from his work. There followed an interchange lasting perhaps two minutes. Then Ramon returned, his expression sombre.

      ‘The man has just begun a new job,’ he said. ‘He will not be able to help us until tomorrow.’

      ‘What!’

      Ramon gestured to the two supply wagons. ‘He says he must fix those first.’

      ‘But we’re supposed to rendezvous with Albermarle in Ciudad Rodrigo this evening.’

      ‘I think that won’t be possible. He says the English soldiers are before us and their commanding officer needs these wagons in a hurry.’

      ‘Yes, and we need ours in a hurry,’ she replied. ‘I’ll speak to the officer. Perhaps he may relent.’

      Ramon grimaced. ‘I doubt it.’

      ‘We’ll see.’

      Sabrina swung down off her horse and thrust both sets of reins into his hands. Then, taking a deep breath, she walked across to the group of soldiers by the waiting wagon. As she drew nearer the two facing her looked up, becoming aware of her presence. Their expressions registered surprise and curiosity. Seeing it their companions glanced round and then the conversation stopped. Sabrina fixed her attention on the man immediately in front of her.

      ‘I need to speak to your commanding officer.’

      ‘That would be Major Falconbridge, ma’am.’

      ‘Can you tell me where he is?’

      ‘Over there, ma’am,’ the soldier replied, nodding towards a dark-haired figure crouching beside one of the draught horses tethered nearby.

      Sabrina thanked him and went across. Though the Major must have heard her approach he didn’t look up, his attention focused on the horse’s near foreleg. Strong lean fingers ran gently down the cannon bone and paused on the fetlock joint.

      ‘Major Falconbridge?’

      ‘That’s right.’ The voice was pleasant, the accent unmistakably that of a gentleman.

      ‘I am Sabrina Huntley. May I have a word with you, sir?’

      He did look up then and she found herself staring into a tanned and clean-shaven face. Its rugged lines had nothing of classical beauty about them but it made her catch her breath all the same. Moreover, it was dominated by a pair of cool, grey eyes, whose piercing gaze now swept her critically, moving from the tumbled gold curls confined at her neck by a ribbon, and travelling on by way of jacket and shirt to breeches and boots, pausing only to linger a moment on the sword at her side and the pistol thrust into her belt. As it did so a gleam of amusement appeared in the grey depths. Then he straightened slowly.

      ‘I am all attention, Miss Huntley.’

      Sabrina’s startled gaze met the top buttons of his uniform jacket and then moved on, giving her a swift impression of a lithe and powerful frame. Her heart skipped a beat and just for a moment her mind went blank to everything, save the man in front of her. With an effort she recollected herself and, adopting a more businesslike manner, explained briefly what had befallen the wagon.

      ‘I must get to Ciudad Rodrigo tonight. I need the services of the wheelwright at once.’

      ‘I regret that I cannot help you,’ he replied, ‘for as you see his services are already engaged.’

      ‘My business is most urgent, Major.’

      ‘So is mine, ma’am. Were it not so I would have been delighted to oblige you.’

      ‘Can you not delay your repairs a little?’

      ‘Indeed I cannot. I must deliver these supplies today or my men won’t eat.’

      The tone was even and courteous enough but it held an inflection of steel. She tried another tack.

      ‘If I do not get help my men and I will be forced to spend the night in the open.’

      ‘That’s regrettable, of course, but fortunately the weather is clement at this season,’ he replied.

      Her jaw tightened. ‘There is also the chance of encountering a French patrol.’

      ‘There are no French patrols within twenty miles.’ He paused, eyeing the sword and pistol. ‘Even if there were I think they would be foolhardy to risk an attack on you.’

      Her green eyes flashed fire. ‘You are ungallant, sir.’

      ‘So I’m often told.’

      ‘Would you leave a lady unaided in such circumstances?’

      ‘Certainly not, but on your own admission you have several men to help you.’ He paused. ‘May I ask what your wagon is carrying?’

      There was an infinitesimal pause. Then, ‘Fruit.’

      One dark brow lifted a little. ‘I think your fruit will be safe enough, ma’am.’

      Sabrina’s hands clenched at her sides. ‘I do not think you understand the seriousness of the case, Major Falconbridge.’

      ‘I believe I do.’

      ‘I must have that wheelwright.’

      ‘And so you shall—tomorrow.’

      ‘I have never met with so discourteous and disobliging a man in my life!’

      ‘You need to get out more.’

      Hot colour flooded into her face and dyed her cheeks a most becoming shade of pink. He smiled appreciatively, revealing very white, even teeth. Sabrina fought the urge to hit him.

      ‘For the last time, Major, will you help me?’

      ‘For the last time, ma’am, I cannot.’

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