Jane Feather - [V Series] by Violet Page A

shoulders.”
    Tamsyn raised her eyes heavenward. “No harm is going to come to me in the English headquarters, Gabriel.”
    “No, that I’ll guarantee,” Julian said, deciding to ignore Gabriel’s extremely unfriendly threat. “For as long as she’s a guest of headquarters. But if she steps outside Elvas, then it’s out of my hands. I’m no nursemaid.”
    “And I don’t need one,” Tamsyn snapped. “Or a bodyguard. Do be off now, Gabriel. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll be back.”
    “And I’ve your word you’ll not move from Elvas until I return?” He glowered, clearly very unhappy.
    “You have it.” She leaned over and lightly brushed his cheek with her fingertips, her smile soft, her eyes warm. “Don’t fret, now. I’ll be quite safe, and you know this has to be done.”
    Gabriel sighed. “If you say so, little girl.” He wheeled his charger and cantered away, raising a hand in farewell.
    “Poor Gabriel, he really doesn’t want to go,” Tamsyn said, still with that fond smile. “He can’t bear to let me out of his sight, not since …” She stopped, her eyes clouding, the smile vanishing.
    “Since …?” Julian prompted.
    Tamsyn shrugged. “History, milord colonel.” She shaded her eyes, gazing across the plain to the walls of Badajos. The ground beneath them was shaking now with the bombardment, and the whine of shells from the returning French fire could clearly be heard.
    “Where’s he going?”
    Again she shrugged. “Just to fetch something. We’re getting close.”
    It seemed that Violette had said all she intended to about Gabriel’s mysterious journey. He nodded. “We’re concentrating the bombardment on the bastions of Santa Maria and La Trinidad.”
    “How soon does Wellington expect Soult to get here from Cadiz?”
    “You are well informed,” he said with an ironic raised eyebrow. The impending arrival of the French marshal to relieve Badajos was one of Wellington’s main anxieties.
    “Of course. I fight this war, too, Colonel.”
    “You fight for your own gain,” he said bluntly.
    Her eyes flashed. “As does your army, sir. Only the partisans fight simply for their country, and I fight with them.”
    “You deny you sell your services?” he demanded.
    She gave him a look of supreme contempt. “To those who can afford them, I sell them. To those who can’t, I give them. Sound business principles, milord colonel. And war is business, as you damn well know. Men get rich in wartime.”
    “Profiteers,” he stated in disgust.
    “And what are you in it for, English milord?” she asked with the same contempt. “Nothing as vulgar as wealth, of course. So what is it? Glory … honor … rank?”
    Julian made no response. It was true he pursued all those goals, but he fought for the honor of his country, for loyalty and patriotism. He wasn’t going to explain such concepts to a mercenary who would only mock them.
    They were skirting the trenches now outside the walls, and the sound of the bombardment was deafening. Tamsyn’s Arab was skittish, tossing his head, liftinghis feet high, seeming to pick his way with delicacy over the soft, rain-soaked ground. The cavalry horses, on the other hand, were untroubled by the noise and the uneven terrain and plodded steadily on.
    When a shell burst a few feet from them, throwing up a spume of mud, Cesar whinnied in high-pitched fright and plunged sideways. Julian automatically reached for Tamsyn’s bridle to steady the animal.
    “Take your hand off!” she commanded with such ferocity his hand dropped immediately. Expertly, she brought the animal under control, speaking to him softly in Spanish, and when he was quiet, turned again to the colonel, her eyes spurting flame. “How dare you presume to touch my bridle?”
    “I’m sorry.” He was genuinely taken aback by her fury. “I’m used to riding with my sister. She’s not a natural rider, and I have to be on the alert all the time.”
    “Well, I