Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress. Diane Gaston

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      ‘In a minute.’ He handed her the cup of milk. ‘Have some. It is very much like ambrosia, I think.’

      She laughed. ‘I do not know when I have been so hungry.’

      He waited for her to finish drinking. ‘Tell me why you do not trust our host.’

      She tore off a piece of bread. ‘I think they went to the battlefield and robbed the dead.’

      He gritted his teeth. It happened after every battle. Oftentimes the very men who’d fought beside the dead returned to deface their final rest. Most of the officers turned a blind eye to the practice. In fact, most of them were not averse to purchasing some interesting piece of booty. A Frenchman’s sword, perhaps. Or a fine gold watch.

      ‘But they have fed us and didn’t kill us during the night,’ she added. ‘That is something in their favour.’ She nibbled on a crust.

      ‘We must leave today.’ Allan ignored the dizziness that intensified and his increasing difficulty breathing.

      She regarded him intently and placed her fingers against his forehead. She felt cool. ‘You have a fever, Captain.’

      He feared as much. ‘It is nothing of consequence. I just need a moment and we can go on our way.’

      She watched him, arms crossed over her chest. He needed to prove he could do it.

      ‘Help me stand.’ If he could get to his feet, he’d be able to ride, he was certain of it.

      She helped him struggle to his feet, pain blasting through his chest and down his arm. He lost his footing and she caught him, his bandaged and naked chest pressing against her as if in an embrace.

      Allan cursed his weakness, cursed that he had placed her in this uncomfortable situation. To undress a strange man. To bind his gruesome wounds. To learn one of the horrid secrets of war.

      He gained his balance and leaned against the stable wall.

      Marian did not remove her hands from the skin beneath his arms. ‘You are too weak for this.’

      It seemed an obvious observation, but he made a dismissive gesture. ‘Saddle Valour. We can ride to Brussels. It cannot be far.’

      She did not move, but, instead, stared at him. His eyes betrayed him as surely as his body. No matter how hard he tried, he could not keep her in focus.

      Finally she said, ‘You cannot ride to Brussels.’

      ‘You cannot go alone.’ He managed to disguise the extent of his pain and his growing disorientation.

      She nodded. ‘I agree. I do not know what these people would do to you if I left you here alone.’

      That was not what he meant. He meant a woman could not wander alone through a countryside that might be teeming with French soldiers.

      She glanced away, but finally she met his gaze again. ‘We must stay here until you are well enough to ride. I have your pistol and your sword in case these people try to hurt us and I have some coins to pay them for food. We shall just have to take care.’

      His strength had failed him. He might have started the previous day as her protector, but at the moment she was acting as if she was his.

      He could not allow it. ‘I can ride.’

      She gazed at him firmly. ‘No, Captain. You must lie down again. Let me help you.’ She moved to his side, wrapping one of his arms around her shoulder so that he could lean on her while she lowered him to the floor.

      ‘No.’ He wrenched away. ‘Cannot do it. Must get you to safety.’ He tried to ignore the pain and the spinning in his head. He could endure a few hours on a horse.

      He took a step, keeping one hand on the stable wall.

      ‘Captain,’ her voice pleaded.

      ‘I will saddle the horse.’ He stepped out of the stall. His horse walked up to him. He grabbed her mane to steady himself.

      But the room turned black.

      The last thing Allan felt was the hard surface of the barn floor.

       Chapter Four

      ‘Captain!’ Marian rushed to his side.

      He opened his eyes. ‘I passed out.’

      ‘Now will you listen to reason? Please. We must stay here until you are well.’ With all the strength she could muster, she helped him up again and settled him back on to the bed of hay. She made a pillow of his saddle by covering it with one of the blankets.

      His breathing had turned laboured. ‘I am sorry, Miss Pallant. I cannot get you out of here.’

      ‘Considering I am the reason you were shot, I should apologise to you.’ She tucked another blanket around him.

      ‘A Frenchman shot me, not you,’ he said.

      She brushed damp hair off his face. ‘Remain still, Captain. Rest.’ His determination to take her back to Brussels was foolish. He was too ill.

      He gave a wan smile. ‘I seem to have little choice.’

      She knelt next to him, tucking a blanket around him. ‘I thought soldiers were realistic.’

      He laughed. ‘I do not know where you would get that notion. If we were realistic, we would never march into battle or try to storm a fortress.’

      ‘You do have a point.’

      He closed his eyes, and she was free to watch him for a moment. A fine sheen of perspiration tinged his face, evidence of his fever, but he looked as if he wished to fight it, as he might fight the enemy. She would wager by the afternoon he would tell her he was ready to ride, even if his fever had worsened.

      When her father had contracted the fever in India, he’d merely sunk into despair, lamenting that he’d brought the illness upon his household. His wife. Even at nine years old, Marian knew her father had simply given up. Her mother was dead and a daughter was apparently not enough to live for.

      ‘Do not leave me, Captain,’ she whispered.

      He opened his eyes. ‘I will not leave you. We both shall ride out of here this afternoon.’

      She smiled and blinked away tears. God keep him alive, she prayed.

      Valour whinnied and blew out a noisy breath.

      Marian rose. ‘She heard you, I expect, and thinks you meant now.’ She released Valour from her stall and the mare immediately found the captain, lowering her head to nuzzle his arm.

      ‘Ow, Valour, stop.’ He shuddered from the pain, but stroked Valour’s neck. ‘Nothing to fret over.’

      Marian smiled. ‘She is trying to tend СКАЧАТЬ