Gallant Waif by Anne Gracie (the alpha prince and his bride full story free .txt) 📗

“Good God!” said Francis.

“You didn’t hit her, did you, Jack?” said Sir Toby.

“Oh, don’t be so stupid, Tubby,” said Andrew.

“No, Tubby, but she certainly got blasted for her efforts, as I expect you can imagine. But the words stuck in my mind and finally bored their way into what was left of my sanity. So I eventually swallowed my pride, sought her assistance, and to cut a long story short I can ride. It’s not a pretty sight, but nevertheless I stay on. I’ve not ridden to hounds yet, but it won’t be long before I’m up to it. So, Tubby, old fellow, you were quite right after all; I am a lucky man—thanks to Miss Farleigh.”

Kate relaxed briefly against the wall. Tears ghmmered in her eyes. She’d given him something good to remember her by, at least. When he knew the truth, perhaps his condemnation would be tempered by the memory of her help with his leg.

The men in the next room fell silent for a while, only the occasional clink of a glass or the crackling of the fire could be heard. Then Andrew Lennox spoke, and at his words tension raced through Kate once more.

“You said you’d met Miss Farleigh before, Francis?”

“Indeed, I have,” he affirmed. “Though it took me a moment or two to place where I’d first seen her.”

“Where was it?” enquired Andrew.

Kate closed her eyes and held her breath.

“At the final siege of Badajoz,” the Colonel announced coolly.

Kate’s eyes flew open. Badajoz?

“Badajoz? You cannot be serious! Explain yourself, Francis,” demanded Andrew.

“Do you mean to say that that chit was at Badajoz?” spluttered Sir Toby in amazement. “Not possible, is it? I mean, no women at Badajoz…well…I mean women, yes… that was part of the prob…but not ladies. . .er…you know what I mean.”

“Indeed there was, Toby, one undoubted lady at least, for which my aunt Charlotte will be eternally grateful,” said Francis.

There was a short stunned silence.

“Your aunt Charlotte? Gammon!” snorted Sir Toby. “Can’t tell me your aunt Charlotte was at Badajoz, for I won’t believe it. Stuffiest woman in the world, your aunt! Never been out of the country. Hardly ever been out of London. I’d wager my best hunter on it.”

Francis chuckled softly. “True, old chap, but whom, above all others, does my aunt value in this world?”

After a short pause Andrew said, “Er, your cousin Arnold?”

“Exactly—my cousin Arnold,” agreed Francis.

“What the devil are you talking about?” demanded Sir Toby. “I don’t understand why we’re talking about everyone’s dratted relatives. It was bad enough with Jack’s grandmother, but now you must rabbit on about your aunt and your cousin Arnold. I was glad to see the back of him after Badajoz, and I damned well don’t ever want to see or talk—”

“What happened to Arnold at Badajoz, Toby?” interrupted Francis sweetly.

“Got shot or wounded in some damned way or other and lost his wits and blethered on and on and on about an angel saving him, or some such nonsense.”

Jack exclaimed aloud at this.

“Quite true, old chap,” explained Sir Toby. “Drove us all batty with his tales of his angel. By the time he was sent home I for one was ready to finish the work that some damned-fool Frog had obviously botched.”

“Tubby, old son,” said Francis, “that was no angel—that was Jack’s Miss Farleigh.”

Kate’s knees almost gave way.

“What?” The exclamation came from three throats in unison.

“Quite true. Miss Farleigh was over there with her father and made it her practice to venture in, often quite close to the fighting, and tend the wounded. Came across Cousin Arnold with a ruddy great gash in his arm that wouldn’t stop bleeding. Tied it up so tight that the blood couldn’t get through. Surgeon who finally got to treat him said she’d saved his life. Would have bled to death for certain. Touch-and-go for a while there as it was.”

Kate leaned against the door jamb, her eyes closed. That poor boy was Francis’s cousin? In the other room there was a long silence, broken only by the quiet crackling of the logs burning in the hearth.

“She told me her father had confined her to a tent for a week after Badajoz,” growled Jack furiously. “My God, when I think of the bloody atrocities…”

“I do believe he did,” said Francis. “After he discovered her saving Arnold.”

There was another long silence.

“Gal’s a damned little heroine,” said Toby at last.

“Too true,” agreed Francis quietly. “And, from what I can make out, Arnold was only one of many she saved.”

In the next room Kate sank silently on to the chair. She felt dizzy with relief. Francis did not know the rest of her story—she was safe for a time. She had been so frightened. . . but he thought her a heroine! She did not need to hear any more. A heroine—he wouldn’t say that if he knew about Henri. The relief was overwhelming. She was exhausted. Silently she slipped from the room and went upstairs to bed.

“Arnold’s angel, you say? Good Gad!” mumbled Sir Toby. “Not the sort of thing one expects a lady to. . .to…”

“No, indeed,” agreed Andrew warmly. “Most ladies would faint dead away if we even told them one-tenth of the things that could happen in war, let alone…” His voice died away as all four men stared into the fire, recalling how the blood-crazed troops had gone mad after the long siege and storming of Badajoz. The raping, the plundering, the pillaging. It was horrific to imagine Kate in the midst of it all.

After a few moments Andrew raised his voice in a rallying tone.

“And why are we sitting here brooding in such a melancholy fashion? We’re all here, alive and well, drinking this excellent port, reunited at last. And Jack, back from the dead, with the best of all possible news.”

“Yes, by Gad!” said Sir Toby. He raised his glass. “Here’s to Mad Jack and the Hunt! Back together at last!”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Francis. “Jack and the Hunt,