Read Online Tarleton's Wife by Blair Bancroft - Free Book Online

stubbornly closed. “You just promised to obey, my girl. You’ll go home as ordered.” His eyes shut, the world rapidly fading away. “Promise,” he murmured.
    He felt her lips softly moving against his ear. “I want to stay, Nicholas. Please…let me stay.”
    He pushed the words out with great effort. “No…home. Promise.”
    “Very well,” she gulped, anger and frustration breaking her determined calm. “I promise.”
    Relief swirled through him as he gave himself up to the welcoming darkness.
    For some moments Julia simply stared at him—at the tangled mat of long sandy hair, the pale face touched by surprisingly long lashes, the fine high cheekbones, narrow mouth, the strong determined chin. Never would she let herself believe she might not see him again. That way lay madness.
    From her medical supplies she took her scissors, lifted her skirt and unpicked the stitching that held a muslin pouch of coins to the inside of one of her petticoats. “Daniel,” she instructed, holding out the pouch, “go to the nearest church and ask the priest who is the best doctor in La Coruña, then find him and bring him here. If this is not enough, tell him I’ll have more when he gets here.”
    Daniel Runyon hefted the pouch. “This should be enough for ten doctors, miss…missus, I wouldna offer anyone more.” At the look in her eyes he slipped the pouch inside his jacket. “Aye, miss, I’ll offer the moon itself if he’ll come. Never fear, I’ll find him.”
    He was back in under an hour. With him was a man whose features were nearly obscured by the brown robe and cowl of a monk. “This is Brother Miguel, missus. Says he’ll be glad to do what he can for the major.”
    When the monk finished his examination of the unconscious major, he thought longingly of what all that gold would do for his parish and fought a momentary battle with his conscience before commencing to speak in slow simple Spanish the two English might understand. “ Señora, señor , there is little I can do here. The major is in God’s hands. He will live or he will die. It is most likely that he will die. I can sit with him but for this I cannot take your money.” He held out the pouch to Julia. “Comforting the dying is God’s work and I am his servant here on earth.”
    She would not cry. She would not collapse here in this strange city in this strange country in front of all the wounded of Britain’s gallant army. With fierce determination Julia closed the rift in the armor girding her emotions. “The money is yours, Brother Miguel. I honor your honesty and depend on you to do what you can. If the major should live, you will need some of the gold for his keep.” Her blue eyes studied the monk with fierce intensity. “There is also the no small matter of hiding him from the French. If he does not live,” Julia forced herself to a calm assessment of the situation, “I would gladly see it all go to whatever good use you wish to put it.” She swayed, grabbing Daniel’s arm to steady herself. “Whatever happens,” she continued steadfastly, “I am infinitely grateful for your help.”
    “That we are,” Daniel added. “Come, missus, it’s time to go. Tom Pickering says the regiment is passing by now. I’m thinkin’ ’twould be best if we stayed with our own.”
    She couldn’t do it. She had lied. To him. To herself. Julia dropped to her knees beside Nicholas’ still body, burying her face in his neck.
    There was a long pause while Daniel Runyon struggled with his own emotions. “Very well,” he conceded, we’ll wait. But when they come to evacuate the wounded, we’ll be going. There’ll be no staying behind, miss. I promised the major and go back to England you will.”
    The long night wore on, broken only by the steady tramp of marching feet, the squeaking wheels of artillery limbers and supply wagons, the cries of the wounded, the gasping breaths of the dying. Nicholas Tarleton lay like Ensign Welland before him,