With This Ring Part 14

"But ...."

"No, listen to me!" she continued, taking his hands now while Maria squirmed. "I know you have seen countless more battle wounds than I have, but have you seen many hospital wounds? Oh, my dear, I fear there is a difference."

She stopped then. Such insubordination in Holly Street would have earned a back of the hand from Mama. She looked at him cautiously to gauge his expression, and discovered, in her concern and worry, that perhaps she had wandered into a better pasture.

"You are concerned," he said finally, with a tightening of his lips that made her momentarily uneasy. Oh, I am asking too much, she thought in dismay. This is where I should say I am sorry and promise not to tease him about it, even though I know I must. But I cannot.

"Sam, I am beyond mere concern now. You must listen to me."

She watched his expression, holding her breath at first. I know what I am used to, she thought; pray let this be different. She sat back then, overwhelmed by another feeling. I must love him to care so much, she told herself. When did this happen? She looked at him again, knowing that she had to make him understand. "Please, Sam" was all she could think to say.

It was his turn to hesitate. To her relief, he seemed to come to some decision of his own. He s.h.i.+fted Maria onto his own lap so he could move even closer to her and find some measure of privacy. Even then, it was a moment until he could speak. "Lydia, when General Picton's surgeon prodded about in my shoulder, I knew I could not stand another moment of that."

"You can, Sam," she said quietly, knowing with all her instinct that she was witnessing a most private side of him, one both devastating and human in a man sick of war. I doubt anyone else has ever seen this side of him before, she thought, both awed by the privilege and deeply aware of the responsibility that was hers now. "I won't leave you while it happens. You couldn't make me. If I could bear it for you, I would."

There were tears in his eyes now. "Am I a coward, Lydia?" he asked, his voice low.

She sighed, knowing that she had won. "You're the bravest man I know, and you are sick of death and war. You've been strong for a whole battery, Sam, and it's enough. You don't have to be strong for me. I'd like to think a wife would be mature enough not to require it."

Let those be the right words, she prayed when he was silent again. She opened her eyes and saw him smiling at her, even though his eyes looked suddenly older than the oldest things on earth.

"Very well, Lydia Reed," he said at last. "At our next stop, you can find a surgeon."

She swallowed back her own tears and opened her mouth to speak when the carriage lurched to a stop. Surprised, the major tightened his grip on Maria, but she slid off onto the floor and burst into tears at his feet.

Above her wails, Lydia heard the old lady across from her laughing and pointing out the window. "I told you, missy," she was saying.

"Stop now! Stand and deliver!"

Chapter Twelve.

"Road agents! Oh, h.e.l.l's bells!" the major said in disgust, as Lydia retrieved Maria and held the sobbing child close to her. "Lydia, we can't afford this!"

"Hush, Sam!" Lydia kissed Maria and glanced out the window. Two masked men stood to the side of the carriage, pointing their pistols at the driver and his armed companion. The old woman seated across from her was bouncing up and down in her excitement. "I told you! I told you!" she exclaimed. "You two blaggards ought to be ashamed of yourselves, frightening old ladies!" she shrieked through the window.

"Please, madam, I suggest that you calm down," Lydia whispered, when one of the road agents pointed his pistol in the woman's direction.

Maria was whimpering now. Lydia watched one of the men gesture with his pistol to the coachman. In another moment she heard a gun thud to the road and then discharge, the ball whistling right past the major's head inside the coach. Maria cried louder, and the woman clapped her hands in her excitement.

"I was safer in Spain," the major growled. "Thank G.o.d we had a guard along today for protection. Lydia, incompetents chafe me raw!"

She glared at him. "Am I the only one here besides Maria who is frightened?" she asked pointedly.

"It's possible," Sam said. "I am about to lose my temper at the prospect of becoming quite broke. You may have to sing and dance for our supper, Lydia. Maybe even show a little ankle." He glanced at the vicar, who was awake now and rubbing his eyes. "It appears your prophecy was correct, sir," he said. "We have been set upon by road agents."

The clergyman looked about, muttering, "Oh, my, oh, my," under his breath. He pulled a flask from his coat, unstopped it, licked his lips, and drank deep. Lydia watched in fascination as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down. Before he stopped it again, he looked at the major. "Would you like some?" He giggled. "It's a remedy for all evil."

The major shook his head slowly, amazement evident on his face. "No, thank you. I prefer to keep my head in emergencies."

The vicar seemed to think that was the most amusing riposte he had ever heard. He giggled some more, then burped. Even the old woman stopped her excited bouncing about at the window to glare at him.

The vehicle lurched as the coachman and his useless guard jumped down. One of the bandits jerked open the carriage door, only to have it come off in his hands. He blinked and stared at the door in his hands, then looked back at the other road agent for confirmation.

"Yer tell them to get out!" the other man said. "And drop the stupid door, yer light weight!"

He promptly did as directed, and the corner of it landed on his foot. With a terrible oath, he leaped about for a moment on one foot. The old woman clapped her hands.

Her laughter brought him up short, because he stopped and waved his pistol at them. "Get out, all of you!"

With a frightened glance over his shoulder, the coachman let down the step and helped Lydia from the carriage. "Just do what they say," he whispered. "These are bad customers."

She had no plans to do otherwise, but up close, the road agents looked less than formidable, despite their weapons. Shabby cloaks, s.h.i.+ny trousers, and boots that do not match, she thought as she clutched Maria to her and moved quickly from the carriage. "See here, sir!" she protested, when the man took her arm and pulled her away from the coach.

"Don't you lay a finger on her," the major said as he followed her out.

"It's all right, Sam," she said. She wriggled free of the road agent's grasp and tried to move closer to her husband.

"No, it isn't!" he declared indignantly. "She is my wife, and I will not have her treated that way! And look how you have frightened our daughter. Shame on you!"

Maria was sobbing in earnest now, clinging to Lydia's neck as the road agent took hold of her again and dragged her away from the carriage.

"Stand there, now," he ordered and released her. "And you over there."

"I'd rather stand with my wife," Sam argued. "It's my place to stand beside her."

The road agent's helpless look returned. He glanced around again at the other brigand. "You didn't tell me they would argue like this!"

"Oh, Lord!" snapped the man.

"Ah, yes!" thundered the vicar as he stepped from the coach. He pointed a finger at the road agent. "Woe unto ye hypocrites who call upon the name of the Lord as ye are about to rob us!" He jabbed his finger heavenward, then belched again. "H'mmm. H'mmm. Strange indeed," he murmured, and came to stand beside the major. He looked at Sam. "It seems there must be something appropriate to say at a time like this." He shook his head, as though to clear it. "I disremember whether it is in the Book of Common Prayer."

This can't actually be happening, Lydia thought as she held Maria close and quieted the child. Apparently we have been set upon by amateurs, Major Reed is inclined to argue, and the vicar is quite drunk. She looked around, her eyes wide, as the coach's guard began to weep. Oh, dear, and the guard is a ninny.

"If you've damaged my pistol by making me drop it, I will be in real trouble!" he sobbed. "My da will thrash me!"

"Ah, that is it!" said the vicar, gesturing dramatically. "Man is destined to trouble as the sparks fly upward!"

"Shut up!" Sam said, totally out of patience.

"Isn't anyone going to help me from the carriage?" asked the old woman, sounding like a disappointed child. "I don't want to miss a minute of this!"

She held out her arm for the coachman, who took her to stand beside Lydia. "Keep her quiet if you can," he whispered to her.

"Please, dear," Lydia said. "I think it best if we do not say anything." She looked at the nearer agent. "I do believe we are making him nervous."

The woman nodded and cackled. As the road agents ignored them and turned toward the men, she sidled closer to Lydia and opened her bulging reticule.

Lydia's mouth dropped open in surprise. A pistol even larger than the one the road agent carried lay, grip upright, in the woman's bag.

"My son's," the woman confided, patting it. "He doesn't know I have it.'"

"I am certain he does not," Lydia whispered, when she could speak. "Is it loaded?"

It must have been the funniest thing the woman had ever heard, because it set her off in a peal of laughter. "Oh, my, yes!" she declared between wheezes and gasps. "Aren't you a silly flibbertigibbet!"

"Silence, you old crow!" the road agent called over his shoulder.

Lydia looked at Sam, but he was in the middle of turning over his wallet to the road agent and she could not catch his eye. "My dear, perhaps you should give it to me," she whispered. "It might go off and hurt someone."

To her relief, the woman nodded and opened the bag wider. s.h.i.+fting Maria to her other hip, Lydia reached carefully into the reticule and grasped the pistol. In another moment, it was heavy in her pocket. I will toss it in the bushes when I have an opportunity, she thought. I can't imagine what would happen if the road agents knew the woman was armed.

Oh, Sam, do stop arguing, she thought, pleading silently with the major as he gave the long-suffering road agent a generous piece of his mind. She set Maria down on the ground beside her, waited a moment to make sure that she would not cry, then started forward to deal with Sam. Husband, trust me when I tell you that there are times when it is best not to argue, she thought as she came swiftly forward. I have a wealth of experience in this.

She knew, even moments after what followed, that she would never have the sequence of it straight. All she remembered was the vicar spouting something nonsensical as she came closer, and then watching in horror as the younger road agent calmly turned and shot him.

She remembered stopping dead in her tracks. She must have made some noise because the brigand, his pistol still smoking, whirled about suddenly to see her close behind him and raise his weapon to strike her. She heard Sam shout at her to duck or move, and watched him run toward the road agent, ready to lean into him with his wounded shoulder.

"Sam, no!" She knew she said that, horror in her heart at the pain he was about to cause himself on her behalf. Quicker than thought, she dragged the heavy pistol from her skirt pocket, aimed, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Eyes huge with fright, and then ferocious anger, the man stood directly before her. His hand was coming toward the pistol to jerk it from her grasp when she pulled even farther back on the trigger and fired again. At that moment, Sam threw himself against the road agent.

She screamed as both men fell on the ground in front of her, blood gus.h.i.+ng from the road agent's arm. He shouted even louder than she as he struggled to sit up, Sam a dead weight on him.

Pray G.o.d I have not shot my husband, she thought, horrified, as she tugged the major off the road agent. He sat up, his hand clutched to his neck, which was covered with blood and matter from his wound. "I have done this to you," she whispered in great remorse, as she saw the result of his exertions on her behalf. She dropped the pistol and threw her arms around him, patting him here and there for signs of a bullet hole, and finding none.

The road agent lay on his back now, pleading with his comrade to help him to his feet. The other brigand stood over his a.s.sociate and calmly took Sam's wallet, putting it in his own bag. Quicker than thought, he snapped open a small knife and cut the strings on the reticule that dangled from Lydia's wrist, nodded to them both, and bolted for the woods. In another moment, they heard a horse galloping away.

"G.o.d, Lydia, help me lie down," Sam gasped. "I hear Maria."

She did as he said, lowering him gently to the road, sick with herself for being the source of his pain. She hurried to pick up Maria, who was crawling toward them and crying. "Hush, baby, it will be all right," she crooned, even as she began to cry, herself. She returned to Sam's side, kneeling beside him as he lay on his back with his knees up.

"He got all my money, Lydia," he managed to say.

"It doesn't matter, Sam," she said. "Please don't move."

It seemed like hours, but it was probably only a matter of minutes before the clearing began to fill up with horses and wagons, and farmers still carrying their implements who must have come running from their fields at the sound of the first pistol crack. The coachman, important now, was instructing them to bundle the vicar's body into the coach. It was followed by the wounded brigand, his arm covered in blood, held on either side by two especially stalwart members of the farming fraternity.

"He's reopened a wound on his back, received at Toulouse," she found herself calmly telling a farmer, who bent over her husband. "Please, sir, do you know of a good surgeon?"

"Happens I do," the man said. "This one is going to the inn at Merry Glade."

"Ealing is closer," argued the coachman. "That's where I'm headed."

"Have you ever seen the surgeon in Ealing?" countered the farmer. "I wouldn't trust him with a split haricot. I'm going to Merry Glade."

The major opened his eyes. "Merry Glade? Oh, excellent," he murmured, his voice dreamy, which alarmed her even more than the blood that oozed steadily from his wound.

"Do have a care," she pleaded as the farmer and his two young sons picked up the major and settled him in the back of the wagon. They helped her and Maria in, and she sat as close as she could. One of the young boys took Maria and cuddled her to him. Lydia smiled her thanks, settled herself, and rested the major's head on her lap, turning him slightly so he was not lying on his wound.

"Can I do something, ma'am?" asked the other son as his father called to the horses and they moved forward at a spanking pace. She thought a moment. "Do you have a knife? A sharp one?"

He nodded, his eyes wary. "I do, mum, but ...."

"Don't worry. Just slit his coat up the back. Mind that you are careful around his neck."

Without any questions, he did as she asked, working swiftly, his expression serious. When he finished, he sat back on his heels.

She had finished unb.u.t.toning his coat. "Take hold of the sleeve and tug it off," she said.

In a moment the coat was off and the blood-drenched s.h.i.+rt exposed to view. "Oh, Sam," she murmured, bending low over him. "You didn't need to do that for me."

"He was going to hit you," he said without opening his eyes, his voice slurred in its dreamy state. "I told you when I married you ... no more hitting. I take what I say"-there was a long pause-"seriously."

I don't deserve that, Sam, she thought as she rested her hand on his matted hair. He said nothing more, but his face was serene, his expression composed, as though he derived comfort from the softness of her body.

They came into the small village on a dead run. The farmer called to his horses, and they slowed enough for a son to jump off the wagon and hurry to a nearby house. "The surgeon," the farmer explained as he slapped the lines along the horses' backs and urged them back to their former pace.

In another minute they pulled up before the Mill and Glade. The farmer shouted to the innkeeper inside, and he appeared promptly in the doorway, a cloth and gla.s.s in his hand. He cast them aside without a qualm when he saw the major in the back of the wagon. He climbed in and called for help, which brought several customers from the public house. As Lydia bit her lip and worried, the men carried the major between them into the inn. She took a moment to hold Maria and steady them both before she followed them inside and up the stairs.

I have fallen among kind folk, she thought with grat.i.tude, willingly surrendering Maria to an older woman who held out her hands for the child and promised to clean her up and feed her. "And then she'll need a nap, dearie, so don't trouble yourself." Someone else handed her a damp cloth for her hands and face, which were splattered with Sam's blood, or the road agent's, she was not sure which. There wasn't anything she could do about her dress. The coach with her bandbox and Sam's campaign trunk must have continued with the dead and wounded to its destination in Ealing. She thought about her beautiful bonnet, left in the dust and blood, then put it from her mind.

"Here, Mrs., Mrs.-"

"Mrs. Reed," she replied, holding out her hand for the ap.r.o.n offered her by a woman who must have been the keeper's wife. It wrapped around her waist twice, but it was clean and white, and hid the worst of the bloodstains. "This is Sam," she said, indicating the major, who was stretched out on his side now. The keeper was pressing gently on his back with a towel to stop the blood. "Mr. Wilburn will be here soon," said the farmer who had brought them.

"I can't thank you enough," she said as she sat down on the bed close to Sam's head, touching him so he would know she was there. If he knows anything, she thought. "I wish I could pay you ...."

The farmer shook his head. "Mrs. Reed, we've all been in tight spots before. There's no remedy for it except to do a good turn for someone else. Did you say Toulouse?"

She nodded. "He was a major of Battery B, Picton's Division."

"Another Toulouse hero in Merry Glade?" said the farmer. He ruffled his son's hair. "And here we were saying only this morning that nothing ever happens, lads, eh? Today is enough to keep us in conversation until the frost at least."

"There is another veteran of Toulouse here?" she asked, but no one answered. The people in the room were looking toward the door now.

"Unless I am mistaken, mum, that will be Mr. Wilburn." He gathered his sons to him, an arm on each. "We'll come back later to see how he does." She must have looked worried, because he reached across Sam to pat her cheek. "Don't you worry, now. Your lad's in good hands."

My lad, she thought, as the responsibility for Sam Reed plopped onto her shoulders with a force that would have staggered her, had she been on her feet. A clarity borne of extreme anxiety brought to her mind, clear as water, the words she had said only two days ago. '"Wilt thou obey him and serve him ....' " She leaned over Sam and spoke in his ear. "Mr. Reed, I am not obedient, but I can serve you," she whispered.

"Mr. Reed?" he replied, opening his eyes for the first time since the farmer picked him up from the dust of the road. "Still angry with me for arguing?"