Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress by Diane Gaston

in her hand, brushing off the leaves and removing the torn stockings. She gently slipped on the clean one, pulling it up and smoothing out the wrinkles. She glanced at his face.
    He gazed at her with an expression that made her go warm all over. She quickly turned her attention to his other foot.
    When she finished, he said, ‘Thank you, Miss Pallant.’ His voice, low and raspy, seemed to reach deep inside her, making her want—something.
    ‘Has your fever returned?’ She moved closer to place her palm on his forehead. ‘You feel cool.’
    ‘On the mend.’ He smiled. His hand closed around hers. ‘I hope to give you no more trouble, Miss Pallant. You have endured enough already. You have done extremely well.’
    Her heart swelled at his praise, although she suspected it was his courage that fed her own. ‘I am not about to complain of the need to tend you. Where would I be without you?’
    He laughed. ‘Shall we take turns admiring each other?’
    He admired her? Her insides fluttered at the thought.
    ‘Sit and rest, Miss Pallant. You were right to make us stop. We should be safe enough here.’
    She leaned against the same tree trunk as he, her shoulder touching his. ‘Surely the farmer will not come after us.’
    ‘I think not.’ He paused. ‘Did you hear him? I believe he said the Allies won the battle.’
    ‘How very glad I am of it.’ She sighed. ‘Was that what angered him, do you think? Was he angry that Napoleon lost? I heard talk in Brussels that some of the Belgians preferred Napoleon.’
    ‘Perhaps that was the reason.’ His voice had a hard edge. ‘Or he feared we would charge him with theft.’
    She faced him. ‘You will not do that, will you? You will not charge him with theft? They were so poor. His wife was kind to us. You might not have survived without the help she rendered.’
    His eyes softened. ‘I will say nothing.’
    She reached for him, but withdrew her hand and sat back again.
    ‘I do not know what awaits you in Brussels, though.’ His voice turned low.
    ‘Do you mean about Domina?’ A wave of guilt washed over her. She had forgotten that Domina might not have encountered a chivalrous man like the captain.
    ‘Your friend, as well, but I was primarily thinking of your reputation.’
    She felt like laughing. ‘Really, Captain, I am grateful to be alive. Nothing else seems as important.’ Except, perhaps, knowing he also was alive.
    Their conversation fell away and soon his breathing slowed to the even cadence of sleep. Valour contentedly chewed on a patch of grass. The air was warm, and the sound of the trickling stream and the rustling leaves lulled Marian until her eyes, too, closed and sleep overtook her.
    She woke to a touch on her shoulder. The Captain stood over her, boots on. ‘We should be off.’
    She quickly stood. ‘How long did I sleep?’
    ‘Two hours. Perhaps a bit more, I would guess.’ He glanced at the sun, which had dipped lower in the sky. ‘But we need to make the most of daylight.’
    They mounted Valour again and returned to the road.
     
    The landscape did not change for miles but as the sun dipped low in the sky the spire of a church steeple came in sight.
    ‘A village, Captain,’ she cried.
    He turned his head. ‘At last, Miss Pallant.’
    It was near dark when they reached the village streets and found an inn. They left Valour to the care of the stable workers and entered the inn.
    The innkeeper’s brows rose at their appearance. They must have looked strange, indeed, in their plundered clothing, wearing shirts and no coats, and looking weary from all they’d been through.
    ‘Do you speak English?’ the captain asked.
    The innkeeper straightened. ‘Français, monsieur.’
    Marian tapped the captain on the arm. ‘We have very few coins left.’
    The captain spoke French to the innkeeper, negotiating the price of the room and board. At this point Marian would have been happy to sleep in the stable with Valour. She’d become used to