than once.
There was nothing for it but to go back to Antwerp and explain herself. Her shoulders drooped as she pictured the scold Blanchards would give her for worrying his poor wife at such a critical stage. Gussie had suffered a couple of miscarriages early in her marriage and then, for some inexplicable reason, failed to become pregnant again for a worrying length of time. The Marquis of Blanchards was naturally very protective now that it was looking as though his wife might finally be about to present him with an heir. And his patience with Sarah had been wearing thin even before she’d run away. He hadn’t minded taking her to Paris, when Gussie had suggested the trip. No, it wasn’t until Bonaparte had fled Elba, and most of polite society had scurried back to England because France was no longer safe, that he’d begun to look at her sideways. For Gussie wouldn’t have been so determined to go to Brussels if Sarah’s twin hadn’t been stationed there. Nothing, now, would prevent him from packing her off to England, where he could return her to Mama’s care.
And he’d do so in such blistering terms that Mama would marry her off to the very next person who applied for her hand, no matter what Sarah thought of him.
But what did it matter who they chose to take her off their hands? Without Gideon, she was only going to be able to live half a life, wherever she was. Whoever she was with.
Her head bowed, she made her way laboriously up the bank, picked her way though the mud and clambered over the wall.
‘Ready, now, are you, miss?’
The First Rogue was standing at the rear of the wagon, his arms folded across his massive chest.
‘If you will excuse me,’ she said, lifting her chin and gesturing for him to step aside, ‘I need to let Mary know that I am returning to Antwerp, so that she can inform Justin when he recovers.’
‘Antwerp?’ The man gave her a quick frown.
‘Yes. If you wouldn’t mind going to fetch my horse.’
The man gave her a dirty look and muttered something that sounded a bit unsavoury. She shrugged and went to look inside the wagon.
Only the Major was there.
‘Just a moment,’ she said. ‘Before you go and fetch my horse—’ which he’d shown no sign of doing as yet, anyway ‘—could you tell my why Justin isn’t in here? And where is Miss Endacott?’
‘Miss Endacott was adamant we wasn’t to move the Colonel,’ the Rogue growled. ‘Not yet a while.’
‘But the Major must have treatment. At once! Why, he’s already been lying out all night, with an open wound. Somebody needs to clean him up and stitch him up.’
She’d been about to leave both men to Mary’s care. But would Mary have the time to do anything for Major Bartlett if Justin was too poorly to even move? Besides, he’d begged her to save him. Her. Not pretty and practical Mary Endacott, but her.
Well, there was no question of riding off and leaving the Major behind, not now. She couldn’t simply abandon him, hoping that somebody would do something for him. No matter what kind of man he was, he didn’t deserve to be left untended. Perhaps to die of neglect. She wouldn’t wish that fate on any man.
With half her mind troubled by the thought that might have been exactly what had happened to Gideon, she scrambled up into the back of the wagon.
‘I will stay with the Major until we can get him to a hospital,’ she informed the rather startled Rogue.
She’d seen makeshift hospitals springing up outside the Namur gate. Wounded men had been staggering, or been carried, towards those with medical expertise even while the battle had been raging.
‘I’ll go and fetch your horse then, miss,’ said Rogue One. ‘Wouldn’t do to leave a fine animal like that out here. Someone’s bound to try to steal him.’
The other Rogue, who’d been leaning nonchalantly against the side of the wagon, shook his head as Rogue One darted off.
‘Terrible amount of thieving goes on after a battle,’ he observed drily as they waited for Rogue One to fetch not only Castor, but also the two horses they’d ridden to the battlefield, and tether them to the sides of the wagon. ‘You wouldn’t credit it.’
‘Oh, wouldn’t I?’
They both glanced up at the tart tone of her voice, then grinned at each other.
‘Now look, miss,’ said the one she’d come to think of as the First Rogue. ‘The road is mortal bad. No matter how careful we drive, won’t be able to help jolting the Major. You must do what you can to cushion his head.’
‘Need both of us up here, see,’ said the Second Rogue, ‘making sure nobody thinks they can swipe this cart off of us to carry their own wounded.’
Which was all too real a threat, since it was clearly what they’d just done.
‘Heaven forbid,’ she said, smiling her vague smile again, then going to the head of the stretcher, just as they’d suggested.
She watched out of the corner of her eye as the First Rogue climbed into the driver’s seat and took the reins, while the Second Rogue got up beside him and draped his musket across his knee.
She’d half-hoped Ben would jump up into the wagon with her, but he chose to run alongside, snarling at anyone who got too close.
* * *
It didn’t seem to take half as long returning to Brussels as it had coming out. Which was probably because concentrating on the Major’s welfare kept her mind, and her eyes, off the sights and smells that had disturbed her so much before.
Not that trying to prevent an unconscious man’s head from coming to further harm was without its own perils. Even though the wagon was well sprung, it couldn’t compensate for the churned-up state of the road. Every time they went over a particularly deep rut, Major Bartlett’s head would jolt no matter how firmly she thought she was holding it in her hands.
Pretty soon, she wondered if the only way to really protect him would be to kneel on the floor, wrap her arm about his neck and sort of cradle him to her bosom.
The thought of doing so made her blush all over. But then she chided herself for being so missish. He wasn’t taking liberties, after all. The poor man had no idea where his nose would be pressed.
Just imagine if this had been Gideon, she told herself sternly. Wouldn’t she have cradled him to her bosom, to prevent further injury during the trip back to Brussels?
The sad fact was, she’d never know.
Her vision blurred for a second or two. But she resolutely blinked back the tears, sniffed and reminded herself that though Gideon was past helping, this man wasn’t. By some miracle, he’d survived. So even though she hadn’t found Gideon, her search for him hadn’t been a total waste of time. She might not be good for much, but she could at least prevent the Major from coming to any further harm as the wagon bounced along over the bumpy road.
It was one small thing, one practical thing she could do to stem the tide of death that had swept Gideon from her. Gritting her teeth and consigning her gown to perdition, she
