Chapter 1
Talavera, Spain July 1809
The shout went up, and the horses and riders surged forward. It didn’t matter that the men were hungry and tired, and the horses could have been in better condition, the battle cry had been heard. A mass of snorting animal flesh charged towards the enemy, their riders shouting battle cries and leading with their sabres. It was a scene of noise, dust, and mayhem.
Barely seconds passed before another sound was added to the melee: the unmistakable reverberation of exploding gunpowder, sending musket and cannon balls bouncing through the air, as the enemy responded to the attack. Screams of injured men and animals all too soon added to the noise, but the charge continued.
Cameron hunched down over his horse, making himself a smaller target. His knees dug into his mount’s flesh as he urged the charger on. Now was not the time for hesitation. In a tight line, there would have been little opportunity for any other action for the beast than to go forward, but nevertheless, Cameron urged more speed.
The dirt of the dry sandy earth was kicked up in a whirlpool of stone, sand, and soil. It reduced immediate visibility, clouds of dry earth billowing into the faces and mouths of men and horses. Reduced sight wasn’t necessarily a bad thing when in the middle of battle.
Gun fire was being aimed in a random fashion. The enemy shot in the general area of the attacking army, wanting to make each shot count, but knowing firing at speed was the priority. The fact that so many were charging towards them made it almost guaranteed that their shot would reach a target of some sort. The enemy concentrated on loading and shooting three balls per minute, the maximum they could achieve. Many failed to reach their maximum shooting speed; nerves made the hands shake in all but the hardiest of soldiers at the formidable wall of horses and cavalrymen bearing down on them.
When the two sides met, the amount of movement slowed slightly, but the clash of steel and cries of battle and pain increased as the opposing sides fought for survival.
Using his sabre, Cameron swung time and again, the power of his attack meeting equal force from his opponents. Sweat ran down his face unnoticed as the heat and movement increased.
When the blow came, it was as if time stopped. Cameron’s mouth opened in shock, but no sound was uttered. He didn’t feel the pain as such, but he knew he’d been hit. A second shot exploded into the top of his arm, and Cameron rolled off his horse in an effort to save his life. He’d lost his sabre with the first hit, his grip loosened with the effects of a high-speed ball connecting with his flesh. There was danger on the ground of being trampled on by a horse, but if he’d stayed seated, a third hit would have been fatal.
Hitting the arid ground, Cameron forced himself to roll away from the hooves that surrounded him. He was not about to be crushed to death by an animal from his own regiment if he could help it. Gritting his teeth, his sheer bloody-mindedness kept his momentum going away from the animals until he reached a boulder to the rear of the line, which offered a modicum of protection.
Holding his right arm in an effort to stem the bleeding, he glanced around. He had to make it back to the medical station just beyond the British line. Gritting his teeth once more, he stumbled, crouching close to the ground, making his way from the battle. There was still danger from fire aimed beyond the cavalry charge, but although pausing and sometimes diving to the ground to try to dodge danger, Cameron maintained his progress. Bodies of animals and men littered the ground. Cameron was in no state to help the injured. He was bleeding profusely and in danger of losing consciousness. He tried to shake off the feelings of faintness threatening to hinder his progress; he had to force himself on.
It felt like hours until he reached the relative safety of the support lines. Crashing to his knees, he fought the dizziness overwhelming him. He needed medical attention or he would bleed to death. A soldier ran to him and helped him once more to his feet. With the stranger’s support, Cameron moved slightly faster, being half-carried, half-dragged across the harsh terrain.
An image of his three sisters filled Cameron’s vision as if they were there by his side. Their flowing red and auburn hair framed their faces while laughing green eyes gazed at him. Closing his eyes in pain whilst he was still being propelled forwards, he saw another face smiling at him. It was the most beautiful face he’d ever seen, and it belonged to the woman to whom he’d lost his heart. Her perfect porcelain complexion was framed with golden curls. Her blue eyes sparkled and seemed to draw him to her. He wanted to reach her; he knew instinctively she would soothe him. With her, he could smile. She would ease his pain.
Slumping forward into unconsciousness, Cameron uttered one word. “Helena.”
* * *
The soldier stumbled under the weight of a body in a dead faint. Cursing slightly, he shifted the captain and continued on his journey towards the hospital. Soldiers were left on the battlefield until after the battle had ended, but an officer was helped whenever possible. Unbeknownst to Cameron an officer in the infantry had ordered one of his men to help him.
The scene of the after-effects of battle was like something out of a picture of hell — injured officers being carried in from all directions and regular ranks doing the best they could to drag themselves to safety and medical help. It didn’t stir confidence for a young inexperienced soldier. James Pike, a newly arrived infantry man, had seen the captain emerge and had been instructed by his senior officer to help the wounded man. James had no time to consider that his own life might be extended because of his present duty, taking him away from the fight; all he could do was concentrate on keeping the unconscious captain moving forwards.
The pair reached the medical station, and James lay Cameron on the floor of the large tent. It was a structure ill-suited for the purpose of accepting and treating the number of men being brought to it.
Cameron stirred a little as a medical man finally approached the pair. He winced as his wounds were examined.
“Amputation is not necessary at the moment in this case,” the assistant surgeon said. The senior doctor was farther away from the battle, in a more substantial building. “You are a lucky man. The shots have missed your bones.”
Cameron felt anything but lucky.
“I’m going to have to remove the balls and any bits of clothing that are inside,” the doctor said.
Cameron gritted hs teeth as searing pain shot through his whole body at the invasive, but necessary, procedure. Fainting as his wound was being probed, the captain didn’t know James had stepped forward in concern.
“Is he dead?” the soldier asked.
“No. But it is better he’s not conscious for this,” the doctor responded, not looking up from his work. Every second counted, for there were many other men needing help. He finished his task and rinsed out the two wounds with water. He was satisfied with his work. Neither musket ball had lodged in the bone. There was a strong chance of survival for this one.
“Has he accommodation in the town?” the doctor asked James.
“I don’t know.”
The doctor shook the patient. “Wake up. It is over, but we need to know where you are staying.”
Cameron reluctantly regained consciousness, his focus on the pain more so than anything around him. He nodded when asked again about his accommodation.
“Take him to his lodgings,” the doctor instructed James. “Hopefully, he will have help there to nurse him.”
“Can he not stay in the hospital? Surely that’s the best place for him?” James asked, wary that a badly injured man would be sent away from medical help.
“It doesn’t need further treatment. I have done everything that can be done. If he develops a fever, seek help,” the doctor explained, eager to move on to the next patient. “For his sake, pray gangrene does not set-in, or two French musket balls will be the least of his worries.”
The young soldier was left alone, inexperienced and unsure of what to do. He crouched by the side of Cameron. “Captain, I need to know what address you’re residing at,” he said, not sure if Cameron was hearing anything of what was going on around him.
It took James three attempts before Cameron was able to focus enough to answer him. “Lodgings near the church,” he croaked out. “Señora Calvo.”
James nodded, and with difficulty, raised Cameron and once more started their unconventional walk in the direction of the church.
Cameron kept fading in and out of blackness. His arm burned with pain every time he moved and he had lost a lot of blood. All he wanted to do was to lie down and let the blackness engulf him. His protector kept asking questions: Was it this church? Was it this street? What number was it? It felt an inordinate amount of time before he was eventually placed on the bed in his lodgings.
James stepped back with a sigh of relief. The owner of the house was an older woman. She’d remained in the town thinking she was too old for any invading army to wish to ravage and was still able enough that she could remain in the house in the hope, that once the nightmare was over, her family could return to its home, and she could preserve it mostly intact.
She had immediately started to fuss around Cameron. He’d been a gentleman while staying with her and reminded her of one of her grandsons. Through broken English and a lot of gesticulating, she managed to convey what she wanted James to do.
Cameron was undressed by the soldier as gently as he could, but it was not easy. James had cut off Cameron’s shirt and stock after making the captain faint when he’d removed his outer coat.
James had blanched at the sight of the blood. The assistant surgeon had secured the holes with bandages, but the journey home had meant the white material was bloodied. He swallowed, trying to regain control of his insides. Faltering now wouldn’t do any good. He would likely face worse when he left the captain. Suddenly, battle didn’t seem quite as glorious as it had on the journey from England.
Señora Calvo returned to the room with a bowl of vinegar and water and a towel. She looked in concern at the red bandages, but hadn’t the same distressing reaction as the young soldier. Removing them, she cast them aside, and placing the bowl on a bedside chest of drawers, she soaked the towel and laid it across the wound.
“You. Do this,” she said, indicating to James to continue with the task, every time the towel warmed because of contact with the hot skin.
“I have to get back,” James protested.
“You. Sit. Enough death today,” she responded firmly. There was no question in her voice. She’d given a command, and she expected it to be carried out. Her family would have recognised the tone of voice; they could have informed James, that at that point, there was no benefit in trying to argue.
James obeyed, more afraid at that moment of the matriarch than he was of his commanding officer.
An hour passed before Cameron’s batman returned to the lodging. Thomas was quickly apprised of what was happening, and he readily replaced James in caring for Cameron.
“I thank you on the captain’s behalf. He will be indebted to you for the service you have done him today,” Thomas said warmly to James.
“I didn’t think battle would be so overwhelming,” James said, admitting some of his shock at the sights he’d seen.
“There is nothing thrilling about two sides trying to kill each other,” Thomas said sagely. “Keep your head down and don’t panic. That is the surest way to stay alive.”
“I’ll try not to panic,” James said, not convinced he had the bravery inside him to do what Cameron had done, along with the others in his regiment. “It’s time I must return to my own regiment. I have been away far longer than I supposed I would be.”
“Take this,” Thomas rummaged in the large wooden box that contained Cameron’s belongings. He gave the young man a bottle of fortified wine and some bread. Food was short, but the young man deserved some reward for his efforts.
“Thank you,” James responded. “I hope he recovers.”
“Whatever happens, his war is over now,” Thomas responded.
* * *
Berkshire, England, August 1809
Lady Helena Ashton walked into the breakfast room at her ancestral home. She was a beautiful young lady of almost nineteen years. Having a gentle nature, pretty blond hair, blue eyes, and a decent fortune, she was always welcomed in any home in polite society. She smiled at her older brother who was already seated at the dining table.
“Is Lou having breakfast in her chamber?” Helena asked of her new sister-in-law.
“Yes. This sickness is not helping her morning mood.” Lord Simon Ashton, Earl of Garswood, grimaced at his sister. He was a man who, until meeting the young woman who was to become his wife, had been an aloof member of society. His own father’s behaviour and his conviction of the shallowness of the people surrounding him prevented him from forming close attachments with almost everyone. That is, until Lou had entered his life. He was an attractive man, darker blonde than his sister, similar blue eyes. Lou had presumed him a sapscull when she’d first met him; Simon was anything but.
She was now his wife of six months, increasing and not happy with the unexpected side-effects of the first few onths of pregnancy.
“I feel for her. It cannot be pleasant, but I shall delay my visit to her room until after noon,” Helena said, not quite used to the cursing of her new sister-in-law when things weren’t going to plan. There was no malice in Lou, but Helena very often felt extremely unworldly when Lou was at her most vociferous. Lou would have been mortified to realise that she slightly intimidated her sister-in-law, but Helena kept the fact from her, knowing that it had more to do with her own very sheltered upbringing than a problem with the new member of her family.
“Probably wise. Have you any arrangements planned with Heather today?” Simon asked, tucking into his breakfast with a gusto that would have repulsed his wife, the way she was feeling. She could barely stomach dry crackers.
Helena nodded. “We’re going to go for a day’s shopping in Woodly,” Helena explained. The Ashton family home was just outside the village of Twyford a few miles from Woodly, a larger town in the county of Berkshire.
“I pity the footman who is charged with accompanying you!”
Helena smiled. “We’ll make sure we do not visit too many shops.”
“Ha! If he believes that, he’s a fool!” Simon scoffed.
“That is no way to talk about your servants,” Helen chided. “Heather and I are not that bad.”
“Aren’t we?” Lady Heather Drummond asked, as she entered the smaller of the two dining rooms in the house. She was very like her sister with red hair and clear green eyes and had often tried to emulate Lou.
Helena smiled at her friend. The way the two families had met had been the strangest of circumstances. Heather’s eldest sister, Lou, had been acting as a highwayman and had held up the carriage containing the Ashtons. Simon had shot the thief before realising he’d shot a woman. Not willing to walk away as he would have done if the offender had been a man, he’d returned home with the offender in his carriage. Lou had developed a fever and had been forced to reveal her two sisters were alone and vulnerable in London.
Helena had taken her brother to find the young girls. Unable to leave the girls, friendless and in a less salubrious area of London, Simon and his sister took in the family who turned out to have been cheated out of their fortune by their eldest brother. It had seemed the family faced one disaster after another in those early days.
Simon had been drawn to the spirited woman they’d met on Hampstead Heath, although initially, he’d been willing to call in the magistrate for threatening his only sister, his friend, and himself as they rode in his carriage late at night. After a very shaky start, an unlikely romance had developed between Simon and Lou. It had been a difficult time for them all mainly because of the actions of Lou’s half-brother, but eventually a deep and strong love had grown between Lou and Simon, which resulted in a wedding taking place.
“We must try harder to be interestingly different,” Heather said, joining the pair at the table. She was more outgoing than Helena, which Simon had welcomed once the initial obstacles facing the two families had been overcome.
“God help me!” Simon groaned.
“I’ve received a letter from Marianne,” Heather continued, smiling at Simon. She liked her brother-in-law and had seen how he’d mellowed the fiery Lou, making her elder sister truly happy. “Marianne is settling into life as a captain’s wife, although she writes that Joseph might not be at sea for much longer. He has been approached about a position working in the dock offices.”
“Marianne will be happy about that,” Helena said. “I doubt she’d have liked being separated for too long from Captain Anderton.”
A family who had experienced worry, financial ruin, and the uncertainty of a brother at war in the Peninsular had been under extreme strain. When the reality of Lou’s madcap scheme of providing funds by acting as a highwayman had been revealed, it had caused the biggest family fall-out the sisters had ever experienced.
Heather’s twin sister, Marianne, had managed to secure a husband in even more unusual circumstances than Lou. Marianne had not wished to return to the family home in Scotland, having started to form an attachment with a captain who owned his own ship and was based in London. In a desperate attempt not to be separated from the man she loved, Marianne had stowed away on Captain Joseph Anderton’s ship. She’d failed to consider that she might be seasick, and as a result, had been very ill. Her scheme had seemed to fail, the captain not showing any feelings towards her even after she was so ill. Marianne didn’t know it was his own background keeping him from declaring himself. It was only when the ship was under attack that Joseph had realised his own less-than-perfect family history was not insurmountable when wanting to marry the lady he loved.
The newly married pair had settled in London, wishing to be in easy travelling distance to the docks. Heather missed her twin daily; they’d never spent a day apart until Marianne had boarded the ship those few months before, but Heather was happy her sister was well settled with the man she loved.
“I shall write to her when we have had our day out shopping and I can advise her of my new purchases,” Heather said.
“Surely you must have enough for the season by now?” Simon teased his new sister.
It had seemed Heather and Marianne wouldn’t have a come out because of their eldest brother’s actions, but once Lou had married Simon, he’d settled a dowry on Heather, and she was looking forward to the upcoming season. Lou’s pregnancy was to cause them a little problem, for she would not be able to chaperone Helena and Heather, but Simon had promised to employ a suitable protectress. He was not about to volunteer himself; he’d made a mistake with the company he’d kept on the previous season, exposing his only sister to a cad. It could still bring him out in a cold sweat when he thought about how close Helena had come to marrying the worst kind of rake. He wasn’t going to risk that again.
Helena had been keen to leave London during her first season. A pretty, wealthy, young woman, she’d quickly become disillusioned with society. Escaping to her country home had been a welcome reprieve and a place where she could reflect on her life and on her affection for Heather and Lou’s second brother, Captain Cameron Drummond of the 14th Regiment of (Light) Dragoons. She had fallen in love with the dashing captain, and hoped daily for his return from the war.
“Is there ever such a thing as too much when we’re discussing ribbons, combs, and fabric?” Heather asked.
“Obviously not,” Simon smiled. Heather had been an angry ball of attitude with no restraint when divulging family secrets when she’d first met the Ashtons. Trying to imitate her elder sister, Lou, she’d had a hard time when she’d realised Lou was as flawed as everyone else, and the sisters had argued in spectacular fashion. Now reconciled, Heather was allowing herself to develop her own character.
Although to everyone, she appeared confident and outgoing, no one really knew her inner doubts and the lack of confidence she suffered. She had always been under the shadow of Lou and Marianne, and only now that the dynamics had changed was she beginning to realise she could be her own person, although she could still give a scowl her eldest sister would be proud of when the situation called for it.
The group separated after breakfast. Simon was loath to be away from his wife for very long, especially as he was the only one with whom she felt completely comfortable. The fact that it didn’t stop her cursing him to the devil most of the time was beside the point. They were a couple deeply in love and perfectly suited.
Helena joined Heather in the hallway when they were both dressed in pelisses and bonnets. Helena had never had a sister and was enjoying the relationship she shared with the new sisters in her life. Heather, in particular, was becoming her closest of friends.
“Are you ready for a serious day’s shopping?” she asked Heather.
“Always!” Heather said. “And if we can turn some heads in the process, it will have been a successful day all ‘round!”
Helena laughed as they climbed into the coach. Heather had already expressed that she was determined to have a good time and wanted to become an expert at flirting. They didn’t socialise to a great extent, but when they did, Heather was always the one with the most attention. Helena presumed it was because Heather didn’t wish to settle down any time soon, determined instead to enjoy the upcoming season as much as possible because it had so nearly been snatched away from her.
Unfortunately, it was Heather’s self-doubt and feeling of not quite fitting into her life that was making her wear the mask of the fickle debutante. She couldn’t reveal to anyone her innermost fears or feelings, not to her family nor her new friend.
* * *
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