His jaw tightened as his well honed battle instincts recognized the best and only hope for ending this quickly. Cut off the head and the snake dies.
If Will could take Baudin down, this battle would be over. Baudin was the inspiration and charismatic leader who had persuaded these men to cross the whole of Spain to conquer a small, weak nation. His men hadn’t expected this stiff, bloody resistance. Without their general, the invasion force would collapse into a demoralized mob. In the face of continuing Gabrileño fire, the surviving French troops would withdraw and likely look for easier prey, or even return home to lay down their arms.
The light had increased, so Will narrowed his eyes and studied the men on horseback who had led the column. The fighting had drawn them back along the road, but they were still within shooting range. Yes, that broad man who was shouting orders at the top of his lungs was surely Baudin.
Will took careful aim and fired, but Baudin was in constant motion. The number of other men and horses thrashing about around the general made it impossible to get a clear shot. Will’s bullet wounded one of the general’s aides, leaving Baudin unscathed.
Will reloaded swiftly but his second shot also went amiss. He swore under his breath, recognizing that Baudin had the warrior luck that seemed to make many battle leaders immune to bullets. Such luck had kept Wellington alive throughout his career, not to mention Will himself. A damned shame that Baudin had it, too. Maybe those without the luck died young.
But no man was immune to a bullet at close range. If Will couldn’t take the devil down from up here, he must descend to Baudin’s level.
Knowing he was signing his death warrant, he leaped over the edge of the embankment and skidded down the rough slope in a cloud of dust and pebbles, his carbine in hand and his pistol holstered at his side. As soon as his feet hit the road, he sprinted toward the mounted officers. Bullets whistled by, but missed. His own battlefield luck was holding. He halted a dozen feet from Baudin. The insignia of the general’s rank was now clearly visible.
Ignoring the churning horses and men around him, Will raised his carbine and aimed. At the last moment, Baudin saw him and jerked his reins back, causing his mount to rear up. Will’s bullet struck the beast instead of the man.
The thrashing horse went down hard, but Baudin skillfully freed himself from the saddle and rolled to his feet. The sky was bright enough now to see faces, and for an instant Baudin stared at Will. In the midst of chaos, the two men might have been alone.
“You!” the Frenchman snarled. “Surely, you are that great hulking English spy, one of the ones who escaped my execution in Gaia!”
So Baudin was the officer who had condemned five men out of hand. Somehow it wasn’t a surprise. “Not a spy,” Will said in cool, sharp-edged French as he yanked his pistol from its holster. “A soldier.”
He held the pistol in both hands so he wouldn’t miss, but as he fired, Baudin drew his sword and lunged forward, the sweep of his blade knocking the pistol from Will’s grip and sending the bullet awry.
Will had chosen to lay down his life to end this battle, and he damned well wasn’t going to fail! With a fatalistic feeling of rightness, he drew his last weapon, the Royal Sword of San Gabriel, and balanced himself to react to the general’s attack. He must end this now, before Baudin’s aides had time to shoot him in the back.
Sword fights in the midst of battle were quick, dirty, and deadly. Will’s weapon was light and sure in his grasp, but Baudin’s was longer and heavier. The Frenchman took advantage of that as he tested Will’s skill with a flurry of swift thrusts and parries, filling the air with the shriek of metal scraping metal.
Will responded clumsily, taking advantage of the fact that French officers prided themselves on being better swordsmen than their British counterparts. Baudin clearly believed that, for when Will feinted a stumble on the rough road, the general moved in recklessly for the kill.
Will stepped to one side and stabbed his Damascus steel blade through the French general’s brutal heart. Baudin’s pale eyes widened with shock before he collapsed in his own blood, the weight of his body pulling free of the blade that had killed him. Their struggle, from Will’s first shot to this end, had lasted only a handful of moments.
He’d known that taking the fight to the enemy would be a one-way trip, and now he paid the price for his audacity. The first ball crashed into Will’s shoulder, the second into his leg.
As the next shot pitched Will into darkness, he prayed that now the battle and the invasion were over.
* * *
Athena watched in horror as Will vaulted from his safe spot on the embankment and charged into the middle of the fray. Time seemed to stretch as he shot, brought down Baudin’s horse, then crossed swords with the general. Her heart almost stopped when Will stumbled. Then Will struck, killing Baudin, and she realized that his stumble had been deliberate and lethally effective.
Even before she could scream, “Run!” Baudin’s aides were aiming their weapons and shooting at their leader’s assassin. Will went down only a yard from the general, his bloodstained sword still in his hand.
Faces twisted with rage, three of the general’s aides were busily reloading so they could ensure that Will was dead. Athena aimed with bitter efficiency and took one down. While she reloaded, Ramos, the veteran on the opposite side of the road, shot another. Athena aimed her carbine again and fired at the third.
The last of the general’s avenging aides fell from his mount and lay motionless. As his horse galloped off, Athena slung her canvas bag around her shoulder and scrambled down the embankment, shouting in French, “Baudin is dead! Your leader, your general, is dead! Retreat before you die beside him!”
Her cry was picked up by other voices and news of the general’s death blazed along the sunken road. As Athena dropped beside Will, she heard a French bugle sound the call for retreat and the soldiers in blue began scrambling back toward Spain.
Ignoring the risk of Frenchmen who might still be inclined to fight, Athena began to examine Will’s wounds. He was bleeding in multiple places, but still he breathed.
She’d packed her bag with clean rags and folded bandages, as well as two sizable canteens, one filled with water and the other with strong, cheap brandy for cleaning wounds. As she used a rag to blot blood from the graze on Will’s head, his eyes opened and he asked in a barely audible voice, “It’s over?”
“Yes, the retreat has sounded and I can no longer see French soldiers along the road,” she said unsteadily. “They’re heading back to Spain.”
“Good.” He managed a smile. “It’s been a fine thing to know you, little owl.” As his eyes closed again, he said so faintly that she could hardly hear the words, “I love you, you know.”
“We can discuss the issue when you’re better.” As she fought to control the bleeding, Athena told herself, over and over, that while Will lived, there was hope. He wasn’t going to die; she wouldn’t let him die.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before Tom Murphy knelt on Will’s other side. He was dusty and there was a smear of blood on his cheek, but it didn’t seem to be his. “The French are flying the hell back into Spain and our casualties are fairly light. How is Major Masterson?”
“Alive, barely,” she said in a choked voice. “Find a French wagon to take Will and other seriously wounded men back to the castle.”
“One is on the way,” he said tersely. “I’ll go speed it up.”
Not looking up, she nodded and used the knife she had sheathed at her waist to cut fabric away from the wound on Will’s thigh. The bullet didn’t seem to have shattered the bone, thank God.
She continued working until a wagon pulled up beside her. The last bandage had been tied off and Will was still breathing. She looked up to see a Gabrileño driving the wagon and Tom approaching with a litter and several other men behind him. “We’ll take him now, Lady Athena,” Tom said quietly.
She stood and might have fallen if Tom hadn’t put out
a hand to steady her. “His condition is . . . very grave,” she whispered.
“The major is the strongest man I know,” Tom said fiercely, as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Athena. “He’ll survive this! We’ll get him down to the castle and into the hands of the surgeon as soon as possible.”
He and the other men carefully transferred Will’s considerable weight onto the litter, then carried him around to the back of the wagon. Athena followed and saw that the wagon was full of wounded, except for the space left for Will.
After the litter bearers transferred him into the wagon, Tom turned to Athena, his expression set. “I know you want to go with him, but there are other men here who need your help.” His mouth twisted and he no longer looked young. “Cleaning up after a battle generally takes longer than the actual fighting.”
She bit her lip. “I’m no surgeon.”
“You’re better at treating wounds in the field than anyone else available,” Tom said flatly. “The sooner injuries are treated, the better the chances of survival.”
Athena wanted to say to hell with everyone else, she needed to be with Will. But she’d done her best for him, and now there were other men, sons and husbands and fathers, who were also in need. She knew many of them. With a sigh, she yielded. “Very well, I’ll do what I can.”
Tom smiled and touched her shoulder. “Thank you. If I ever have a daughter, I’m going to name her Athena.”
“She won’t thank you for that,” Athena said dryly. “Now where are these men who need treatment?”
As Tom escorted her back along the road, she gave thanks that the battle for San Gabriel was won. But what mattered most to her was the battle for Will Masterson’s life.
Chapter 33
It was dark by the time Athena returned to Castelo Blanco, and she was beyond fatigue and wore the blood of multiple men. Ignoring both fatigue and blood, she headed directly to Will’s bedroom on the far end of the family floor.
“How is he?” she asked Sofia, who sat outside Will’s room, her face drawn.
“Athena!” Sofia went into Athena’s arms, not crying but shaking.
Athena went cold to the bone. “Dear God, is he . . . ?”
“No! No, Will is still alive.” Sofia collected herself. “Alive and coherent, but very, very weak. The surgeon said he wouldn’t have survived long enough to reach the castle if not for your bandaging him up, but he’s lost so much blood!”
She studied Athena’s face before saying softly, “If you have anything you want to say to Will, say it now. Dr. de Ataide couldn’t say how much time he has left. San Gabriel won, but at what price?”
Athena closed her eyes, feeling like her heart was being cut from her breast with a dull blade. She’d prayed for a miracle, and it wasn’t going to happen. Or perhaps the big miracle of defeating the French renegades meant there could be no smaller miracles.
She opened her eyes and said starkly, “Will deliberately chose to sacrifice his life to end the battle before it could be lost. Yes, the price was too high, but Will and the others who fell today paid it willingly.” Reminding herself of that, she opened the door and moved quietly into Will’s bedroom.
A single lamp showed him as a broad, still shape in his bed. The bed where they had become joyous lovers for a few brief hours.
Though he was a mass of bloodstained bandages, his face was peaceful. “Will?” she asked in a low voice.
His eyes opened and he turned his head toward her and said in a rasping voice, “Little owl! I’m so glad you made it here in time. The French haven’t regrouped and returned?”
“No, with Baudin dead and so many wounded, they lost the will to fight. When last seen, the survivors were fleeing back into Spain. We had surprisingly few casualties on our side. Your ambush was brilliantly successful.” It seemed damnably unfair that Will should be one of its casualties.
“I presume my captains are maintaining a guard on the road.” When Athena nodded, he said weakly, “Will you lie down beside me?”
She hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The surgeon was very free with the laudanum, so I’m feeling surprisingly little pain.” He patted the mattress beside him. “Please?”
The bed was wide and there was room, so she stretched out on her side, very carefully, and took his hand. Lying there, touching him . . . such peace as she’d never know again. But she mustn’t cry, she mustn’t. “Do you have any last messages you want me to send?”
“Before we headed out, I wrote several letters to friends.” He paused for an alarming fit of coughs. “Over there on my desk. Can you see they get back to England?”
“Of course.”
He clasped her hand without much strength. “I have one other request, Athena.”
“Anything,” she said simply.
“Don’t be too sure,” he said with a ghost of humor. “Will you marry me before it’s too late?”
She jerked up on her elbow and stared at him. “You don’t have to do that!”
“Perhaps not, but I want to.” His gray eyes were clear and determined despite his weakness. “Not just so that you and any possible child will be taken care of, but because I want to have you for my wife, even if only for a few hours.”
Her throat hurt so much that at first she couldn’t talk, so she just nodded her head. “I’ll have Sofia call in the priest,” she managed. “I expect he’ll be willing to waive the usual formalities and banns for the hero of San Gabriel.”
“Heroes. Plural.” His smile was radiant before his eyes drifted shut. “You were magnificent, my lovely little owl.”
Terrified he might not have enough time for her to fulfill his last request, Athena rolled from the bed and darted into the corridor. She found Justin holding Sofia in his arms for mutual comfort. His face was stricken, for he and Will had been friends for most of their lives.
Not wasting words, Athena said, “Sofia, Will wants to marry me. How quickly can you get the priest up to the castle?”
Startled, she said, “Father Anselmo is already in the castle. He came to perform the last rites for several of the other soldiers. He’ll probably welcome a different task.”
Athena sighed. “The reasons for a swift ceremony aren’t happy, but at least he won’t have to perform the last rites for an English Protestant. Will you and Justin stand witness for us?”
“Of course.”
While Sofia sent for the priest, Athena returned to Will’s room and sat beside the bed, holding his hand. “The priest is on his way.”
“Good,” he murmured without opening his eyes.
She studied his face, wanting to memorize every detail. The lines of humor around his mouth, a faint scar on his temple, the whiskers that hadn’t been shaved. His dear, dear face.
Father Anselmo arrived with Sofia and Justin behind him. He was a tall, lean man, and his kind face reflected the gravity of the occasion. Sofia brought a small bouquet of wildflowers from the castle garden for Athena to hold.
With her other hand, Athena gripped Will’s hand as if she could hold him back from the night. She whispered her vows, but Will’s voice was surprisingly strong as he said his. “‘Till death do us part. . . .’”
When the time came for the ring, he said, “Athena, take the signet right off my hand. It’s all I have to offer.”
Tears stinging her eyes, she carefully worked it off the third finger of his left hand and let him slide it onto her finger. “ ‘With this ring, I thee wed.’” She wanted to howl. Instead, she bent and touched her lips to his. “I never thought I’d ever have a husband, Will, much less a man as splendid as you.”
He smiled up at her. “And you have the advantage of not having to put up with my bad temper when I have to get up too early.”
Her tears threatened to overflow. “Please don’t joke. I can’t bear it.”
He patted her hand. “Sorry. Now that we’re officially married, the rest of you can go away. I want to sleep with my wife.
”
Sofia wordlessly kissed his cheek; Justin shook his hand; then they followed the priest out, leaving the newlyweds alone together. “A good thing we anticipated our vows, or you wouldn’t have much in the way of memories,” Will observed.
This time Athena did cry. “I’m sorry,” she said as she dabbed at her eyes. “I never thought to be wedded and widowed within a day.”
“Better than not to be wedded at all.” He patted the bed beside him again. “Let’s not waste what time we have.”
She stretched out beside him and inched up against his side. “Strange how even in these circumstances you bring me peace.”
“And you bring me joy,” he whispered. “Sleep well, little owl.”
She didn’t mean to sleep, but she was so exhausted that consciousness slipped away. She drifted off with her palm resting over his heart. The slow, steady beat was reassuring. Still alive, still alive, still alive . . .
She awoke to find the sun had risen and Will was still alive. In fact, he was propped up on one elbow watching her. “You sleep very charmingly,” he said.
She blinked, startled. “You look much stronger than you did last night.”
“I feel much stronger. In fact, I don’t feel at all like dying,” he said thoughtfully. “I believe you’re going to be stuck with me for longer than you anticipated.”
Sputtering, she shot up to a sitting position. “Were you pretending to die so I’d marry you?”
His brow furrowed as he thought about it. “No, several people said that I was dying, and I thought they probably knew more about it than I did,” he said seriously. “I think I’d had so much laudanum that I was willing to believe anything I heard.”
“But what about the bullet wounds?” she asked, balanced between delight at his survival and a suspicion that he’d deceived her. “You were hit several times, and I had trouble stopping the bleeding.”
Will grimaced. “The wounds are real, and painful now that the laudanum has worn off, but I vaguely recall the surgeon saying that I was lucky to have received just flesh wounds. I lost so much blood I feel weak as a kitten, but I don’t feel that death is imminent and I’ve never been prone to having wounds become inflamed.” He smiled down at her. “I certainly hope I’m recovering, my lovely bride!”