The Price Of Honour. Mary Nichols

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      Then he moved his mouth, oh, so slowly, round to her ear, making her shiver. ‘Robert,’ he croaked. ‘Robert Lynmount.’

      ‘Come now, madame,’ Don Santandos said. ‘Enough is enough. Such antics are best left to the bedroom and prove nothing.’

      She looked up at the Spaniards who stood round grinning and covered her confusion with a show of anger. ‘You may think yourselves lucky that my husband is not dead, for Viscount Wellington would certainly have had something to say about it, I can tell you. Robert Lynmount is one of his most valued officers.’

      Don Santandos laughed. ‘I would say his value is less than a dozen buttons and a metre of braid.’

      She chose to ignore this reference to the Englishman’s mutilated uniform. ‘Now, will you please help him to a bed where he can recover?’ She prayed her authoritative manner would have the desired effect, because they had no hope of fighting their way out, even if she still held the gun and could reload.

      ‘You have courage, madame, I’ll grant you,’ Don Santandos said. ‘It has earned you both a reprieve, albeit a temporary one.’ He turned to give orders to two of his men who went to pick the Englishman up, one at his head and the other at his feet, but before they could do so he sat up and pushed them away. They stood back and watched as he forced himself to his feet. He stood, swaying a little before finding his balance, but Olivia knew better than to try to help him. He was an exceptionally strong man and he was also proud.

      Don Santandos smiled. ‘Good. Come with me.’ He turned to lead the way into the building.

      Olivia, tagging along behind, realised it had been a long time since the monastery had been used for the purpose for which it had been built. It was a small fortress; every window was a gun embrasure, with weapons and ammunition at the ready. There was food stacked in the room which had once been the monks’ kitchens and truckle-beds and straw paliasses were scattered about. They were obviously preparing for a siege. If they thought she and Philippe had been aware of their preparations when they captured them, it was no wonder they had been so anxious that they should not return to Ciudad Rodrigo and the French army.

      ‘You look surprised, madame,’ Don Santandos said in French. ‘Why should that be?’

      ‘Please do not call me madame. I am not French; I have told you so a dozen times. My name is Mrs Lynmount. And yes, I am surprised to find so much preparation for war in a place like this.’

      ‘Because it is a monastery? They were built to withstand sieges, Mrs Lynmount.’

      She was glad that he had changed to English; perhaps he was ready to be convinced, after all. ‘Not just that, but because it is so far from the main road. I can’t imagine an army deciding to come this way. The ground is too rough and the way too narrow.’

      ‘It would come if there was no alternative. What we have done for a small force, we can do for a greater. Now I have said enough.’ He opened the door to one of the monks’ cells. ‘You will be comfortable in here until we decide what to do with you.’

      As soon as they had gone, Robert collapsed on to the narrow bed which stood against the wall, and shut his eyes. His hand strayed to his throat and he tried to swallow.

      She knelt beside him. ‘Is there anything I can do to ease it? A bandage perhaps?’

      ‘I must…thank you for…my deliverance.’

      ‘I was angry.’

      He grinned, but it was more a grimace of pain. ‘Angry enough to attempt…the impossible… The luck of the…gods must have been with you.’

      ‘Luck didn’t come into it,’ she said, busily tearing the hem off her petticoat to make a bandage. ‘I have been a crack shot ever since I was big enough to lift a pistol.’

      His disbelief was obvious, but she let it pass; she was used to it. ‘Even a rifleman…would consider that a…shot in a thousand,’ he said. ‘And you must have known…that even if it succeeded…you would be taken prisoner.’

      ‘It was you who said “sufficient unto the day”. And they had no right to do what they did. After all, they are supposed to be our allies.’ Her touch was gentle as she wound the makeshift bandage round his neck; it belied the sharpness of her tongue. ‘And you would do better not to try and talk.’

      ‘It was…a brave thing to do.’ His voice was becoming stronger as the effects of his ordeal wore off. ‘Especially as you are not sure of my…loyalty to my country.’

      ‘It does not matter what I think; it is the guerrilleros you have to convince. I told them when they first captured me that I was Philippe’s prisoner and that I was married to an English soldier. You must be that soldier. You went absent without leave to look for me. You must make them believe it. Persuade them to let us go back to our own lines.’

      ‘Us? Does that mean you are throwing in your lot with mine, after all?’

      ‘Only until we are out of this scrape.’

      ‘You would not be in a scrape if you had done as you were bidden and waited on the other side of the gorge for me.’

      She had got herself into this mess, it was true, but it had started long before she met him. She smiled. ‘I would have had a long wait.’

      ‘Better than dying with me.’

      ‘I do not intend to die.’ She leaned back to look at her handiwork. ‘Why were they trying to hang you? What were you supposed to have stolen?’

      ‘A mule.’

      ‘For me?’ Her obvious surprise made him smile crookedly.

      ‘How else could I have persuaded you to come with me?’

      ‘And the bread?’

      ‘I don’t think they have missed that even now.’

      She was beginning to look at him in a new light; he was certainly resourceful as well as brave and strong. ‘The hare too? And the water?’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘You fool! And all for nothing.’

      ‘Nothing, my dear Olivia? How can you say that when Dame Fortune has smiled on our endeavours and given us a sure sign we are meant to go on?’

      ‘Whatever are you talking about?’

      He touched his neck gingerly. ‘Now I don’t have to pretend, I can be a silent Philippe and be convincing.’

      ‘Oh, you are impossible! It is out of the question, and if the guerrilleros hear that you intend to go to the French they will make sure we do not escape. They may decide that hanging is too good for us and try torture. Besides, if the French are sending supply wagons as far forward as this, they must have left Ciudad Rodrigo to continue their advance.’

      ‘Do СКАЧАТЬ