Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress. Diane Gaston

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      He dismounted and reached up to help her off the horse. Then he gripped her arm as if afraid she might run off and held on to her even when handing the message to the colonel and waiting for him to read it.

      The colonel closed the note. ‘I want you to wait here a bit until we see what these Frenchies are up to. Then I’ll send back my response.’ He pointed to Marian. ‘Who’s the boy?’

      ‘An English lad caught in the thick of things.’ Landon squeezed Marian’s arm, a warning, she presumed, to go along with his story.

      MacDonnell looked at her suspiciously. ‘Are you with the army, boy?’

      Marian made her voice low. ‘No, sir. From Brussels. I wanted to see the battle.’

      The colonel laughed. ‘Well, you will see a battle, all right. What’s your name?’

      Marian’s mind whirled, trying to think of a name she might remember to answer to. ‘Fenton,’ she finally said. ‘Marion Fenton.’ Her given name could be for a boy, and Fenton was Domina’s surname. If anything happened to her, God forbid, perhaps Domina’s family would be alerted. No one else knew she’d come to Brussels.

      Captain Landon said, ‘I’ll come back to fetch him after the battle and see he is returned to his family. Where should I put him in the meantime?’

      The colonel inclined his head towards the large brick house. ‘The château should do. Find him a corner to sit in.’

      The captain marched Marian into the château. Green uniformed soldiers filled the hall and adjacent rooms, some gazing out of the windows.

      ‘Why are they in green?’ she whispered.

      The captain answered, ‘They are German. Nassauers.’

      The soldiers looked frightened. Marian thought them very young, mere boys, certainly younger than she at nearly twenty-one.

      ‘English boy,’ the captain told them, pointing to her. ‘English.’

      An officer approached them. ‘I speak English.’

      Captain Landon turned to him. ‘This boy is lost. He needs a safe place to stay during the battle.’

      ‘Any room,’ replied the officer, his accent heavy. ‘Avay from vindow.’

      The captain nodded. ‘Would you tell your men sh—he’s English.’

      The officer nodded and spoke to his troops in his Germanic tongue.

      Captain Landon led Marian away. They walked through the house, searching, she supposed, for a room without a window.

      ‘I can find my own hiding place, Captain,’ she said. ‘You must return to your duties.’

      ‘I need to talk to you first.’ His voice was low and angry.

      She supposed she was in for more scolding. She deserved it, after all.

      They walked through a hallway into what must have been a formal drawing room, although its furniture was covered in white cloth.

      Captain Landon finally removed his grip and uncovered a small chair, carrying it back to the hallway. ‘You will be safest here, I think.’ He gave her a fierce look and gestured for her to sit.

      She was more than happy to sit. Her legs ached and her feet felt raw from running in wet boots.

      He looked down on her, his elbows akimbo. ‘Now. Who are you and what the devil are you doing in the middle of a battlefield?’

      She met his gaze with defiance. ‘I did not intend to be in the middle of the battlefield.’

      He merely glared, as if waiting for a better answer.

      She took off her cap and plucked the pins from her hair. ‘I am Miss Marian Pallant—’

      ‘Not Fenton?’ He sounded confused.

      She could not blame him. She quickly put her hair in a plait while his eyes bore into her.

      ‘I gave that name in case—in case something happened to me. I was with my friend Domina Fenton, but we became separated in the night.’

      ‘Your friend was with you? What could have brought you out here?’ he demanded.

      She pinned the plait to the top of her head. ‘Domina is Sir Roger Fenton’s daughter. She is secretly betrothed to one of the officers and she wanted to be near him during the battle.’ It sounded so foolish now. ‘I was afraid for her to come alone.’

      His eyes widened. ‘You are respectable young ladies?’

      She did not like the tone of surprise in his voice. ‘Of course we are.’

      He pursed his lips. ‘Respectable young ladies do not dress up as boys and ride out in the middle of the night.’

      She covered her hair again with her cap. ‘Dressing as boys was preferable to showing ourselves as women.’

      He rubbed his face. ‘I dare say you are correct in that matter.’

      She glanced away. ‘I am so worried about Domina.’ Turning back, she gestured dismissively. ‘I quite agree with you that it was a foolish idea. We became lost, and our horse almost wandered into a French camp. I fell off when we galloped away.’ Her stomach twisted in worry. ‘I do not know what happened to Domina.’

      He gazed at her a long time with those intense hazel eyes. Finally he said, ‘Surely your parents and Domina’s must be very worried about you by now.’

      She gave a wan smile. ‘My parents died a long time ago.’

      Allan Landon took in a quick breath as his gaze rested upon her. At this moment Marian Pallant looked nothing like a boy. He could only see a vulnerable and beautiful young woman. Even though her wealth of blonde hair was now hidden, he could not forget the brief moment the locks had framed her face like a golden halo.

      ‘Your parents are dead?’ he asked inanely.

      She nodded. ‘They died of fever in India when I was nine.’

      He noticed her voice catch, even though she was obviously trying to disguise any emotion. It reminded him anew that she was a vulnerable young woman, one trying valiantly to keep her wits about her.

      ‘Is Sir Roger Fenton your guardian, then?’ he asked.

      ‘No.’ She glanced away. ‘My guardian does not trouble himself about me overmuch. He leaves my care to his man of business, who knew I was a guest of the Fentons, so I suppose you could say, at the moment, I am in Domina’s father’s charge.’ Her worried look returned. ‘I should have talked Domina out of this silly scheme instead of accompanying her. I am so afraid for her.’

      She seemed more concerned for her friend than for herself. He could give no reassurance, however. The French were not known to be gentle with captives, especially female ones—although Allan well remembered СКАЧАТЬ