Chapter 1

The trip across the border lands was long and arduous, but Jess was happy to be out in open country at last. He still wore his regimental red coat and forage cap, but had undone the dozens of tiny buttons down the front to allow his body to feel free of military trappings. Not long now before he reached home. He had stopped at Martinsgate to eat and rest his horse and was looking forward to getting home to Highburn Hall. Paladin, the bay he bought in Shrewsbury, was strong and swift, and he had judged the horse would get him across the miles without mishap. A hare crossed his path about a mile back, but Paladin barely registered it, slowing only momentarily before charging on. If the hare had been closer no doubt the beast would have trampled it. 

His thoughts wandered to the past. Paris had been good, but life in a conquering army offered little more than parades, parties and liaisons with willing women. There had been plenty of those; widows keen to establish themselves again after the war, to find a man with the wherewithal to bring them home and re-establish them in society. And then the saucy French girls. Better to forget all that. He had made up his mind to sell his commission. The life of an officer in peacetime, once tasted, soon became a bitter broth. Jess looked forward to the comforts and privileges of home, where he was Commander in Chief. The butler, the servants, and the kitchen staff would all be ready to jump to attention whenever he gave orders there.

He smiled at the thought of the sensation he would cause when he arrived without letting them know. Brother Miles and Clarissa had stopped in Paris on their way to Italy. It might be a month before they returned home, so in the absence of the lord of the manor he would have everything just as he liked it.

Paladin slowed as a they approached a wide copse of trees. The scrub appeared thick and tangled, but to go around it would take more time. They must press on. Already he was looking forward to a mellow brandy. Miles only ever kept the best. His brother had spent years on the Continent before his marriage, and still had contacts there, willing to supply him with everything that made life sweet.

After pushing ahead for a while he felt Paladin falter. The horse’s ears were twitching and a deep harrumphing noise came from his chest. Jess pulled him to a stop and looked around. There was no reason why they should not go on. Although the brush was particularly thick here it was not impassable. He had met worse while riding to hounds.

He urged the horse forward. A little way ahead the scrub thinned and Paladin moved faster. But something was wrong. The horse first slowed as if approaching a ditch, and then suddenly bolted. Jess swore as he fought to hold it, but the curse stopped in his throat. A loud bang, followed by a sharp pain in the back of his shoulder caused him to lose his seat and he fell heavily to the ground. Paladin took off. The sight of the horse charging through a thick clump of brush was all he knew before blackness claimed him.

 Sense returned in shards, like pieces of a broken mirror. Where was he? Surely he had come home to England, but the voices around him were speaking French.

An older woman, and a younger one.

Why could he not open his eyes? Had they given him something? If he was still in France then the ride across the border lands had been a dream. No. The pain in his shoulder was no dream and he appeared to be lying facedown in the bottom of a cart. There was a distinct smell of ripe hay. Something very odd had happened. His French was passable, thanks to Marie of the large brown eyes, so he forced himself to listen.

‘Mon Dieu! You have shot an English officer!’

‘It was a mistake, Maman. He rode across my path while I aimed at a rabbit. Emile will tell you. We did not see him.’

‘Did you not hear the horse? Where is the horse?’

‘Emile will go to catch it. We heard only a sound in the bushes, like a large pig. He is lucky I did not shoot into the bushes. It would have been worse for him.’

‘You have mistaken an English officer for a pig? Oh Bebe, we will be in trouble for this.’

‘Just so, Maman. But first we must get this officer well. You must remove the bullet from his shoulder.’

Silence for a moment, then: ‘I have not removed a bullet from a body since the Terror.’

‘Well it must be done, Maman. I will hold him steady.’

Then everything dissolved again. When next he woke he was lying on a bed and there was soft candle light in the room. A pale face bent over him, with dark hair falling in waves around it.

‘Marie? C’est toi?’ he said. But those eyes were of the palest blue and the face was heart-shaped. It was not Marie.

‘Non.’ Her name was Fleur, she explained. There had been an accident, but all would be well. They had brandy.

Brandy was then very unceremoniously tipped down his throat until he choked on it. It was good brandy. Not the cheap stuff they served at the inns on the way to Wales. The warm glow spread along his veins and he began to relax. He was now lying on his side. The sound of water being poured into a bowl and the scissoring scrape of metal instruments being sharpened worried him. That sound took him back to the time he had lain injured in a tent somewhere in Belgium, but the preparations had not been for him. He still remembered the screams of the young soldier lying beside him. Here and now the young woman, Fleur, had her arms around him, holding him in a tight embrace. He smelt the scent of fresh lilacs and wanted to know more about this very accommodating miss, but then a sharp, cutting pain woke him from the brandy stupor and he screamed. Thankfully, darkness followed.

‘Captain, you are awake.’

Jess managed to turn his head and focus his eyes enough to see the shape of a young woman sitting close by his bed. ‘You speak English? Then I am not in France.’

‘No, Captain, you are in England. I must apologise. I shot you. It was a mistake. Of course,’ she added.

‘Of course,’ he said, and although his wound hurt like hell, he managed to smile.

‘Do you think it is funny?’

He sighed. ‘Yes, Mamselle, I do. I spend four years in a crack regiment in France, and come home without so much as a scratch, only to get shot in England by a French girl.’

‘I am not a French girl, Captain.’

‘Oh, but your mother …’

‘Maman is not my mother.’

‘I think I must still be delirious. I don’t understand.’

She reached out for a cup on the small table at the bedside. ‘Then hush. All will be explained. Drink this water. The bullet came out cleanly and there will be no lasting damage. Maman has much skill. But it will be painful for a while. You must stay here with us until it is healed.’

‘Must I?’ Jess looked into those bright blue eyes. The bed was comfortable and the company intriguing. Why not stay for a while? Highburn Hall could wait.

Jess then became aware that he was wearing very little, not even a shirt. ‘My uniform?’ he asked. The room was very warm with a good fire and sun coming in through small windows.

‘Emile has taken it for repair. Your jacket has a small round hole, but your shirt – I am afraid we had to cut it off so that we did not hurt you. It was thick with dried blood.’

‘And Emile is … not your father, I take it.’

She laughed then and her face took on an impish quality. ‘Ah no. Emile is our servant. Emile is definitely French.’

‘I see. Well, perhaps Emile can lend me a shirt. There’s a spare in my pack, but I had better keep that for when I leave.’

She looked concerned. ‘Are you cold, Captain?’ She took hold of the linen sheet and pulled it up higher on his chest.

‘No. But I feel a little exposed.’

‘Oh. Of course. But much of you has been exposed these last 24 hours.’ Again that Impish expression lit up her face and added sparkle to her eyes.

’A whole day! Good God.’

‘I think you hit your head on a rock when you fell from your horse. There is a large bump. But now you are sensible, so it must be better. We were about to fetch Doctor Grieg, but we need not.’

He felt the back of his head. There was definitely a painful lump. ‘I hope you are right. But about that shirt …’ He was quite prepared to accept that much of him had been exposed while he was unconscious for a day and night. They would have had to bathe him to wash away the blood and somehow get him out of his tight breeches. Good grief, the sooner he was well enough to leave the better, but then there were those very enchanting blue eyes.

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