The soldier shouted some more incomprehensible gibberish and began to run forward. Esmeralda promptly uttered a whole series of ear-splitting yells and beat her reins back and forth across the mare's shoulders, kicking wildly at her ribs. Since the restraining pressure on her mouth was gone, Boa Viagem began to charge ahead, but her direct path was blocked by the threatening form of the gesticulating soldier. Too mad now to turn aside, the mare reared once more, flourishing her hooves in an instinctive defensive gesture. The Frenchman staggered backward, tripped, and fell, discharging his musket harmlessly in the air.

Esmeralda promptly stopped shrieking. She realized that as long as he could not grab her or the horse, the soldier was no threat until he could load his gun again. By then she hoped she would be well out of range-except that Boa Viagem was so frightened that Esmeralda was not able to turn her and dash away. She could have let the mare bolt ahead toward Rolica, but she did not dare do that because she was afraid there would be other stragglers, perhaps many more, even a band of them who might surround her.

Suddenly there was the sound of oncoming hooves. Inspired by terror, Esmeralda wrenched the mare's head around by sheer force and began to kick, beat, and scream again. Boa Viagem struggled then yielded, leaping over the Frenchman, who was desperately trying to roll away from her dancing hooves, and galloping back down the path toward San Mahmed. In the next moment, Esmeralda heard a harsh shriek of terror, which cut off abruptly only to be succeeded by a shrill yell of triumph.

"Oh my G.o.d," Esmeralda cried. "Carlos! That was Carlos!"

Desperately she struggled to check her flight. She had to go back and see how badly Carlos was hurt. Surely the soldier would not have killed a little boy. Finally, sobbing with grief and remorse, she was able to stop the mare and turn her but before she could start back she heard Luisa coming. Esmeralda sat paralyzed for an instant, but then Luisa burst around the turn of the road. Esmeralda gasped and raised her reins to bring Boa Viagem around, but she did not complete the movement.

Chapter Seventeen.

Once the offer of the wine shop owner to send a guide with Robert and his friends was comprehended, it was accepted with grat.i.tude. After regaining their feet, with difficulty and a.s.sistance, they set off. Fortunately the distance was not great, and the night air was cool enough to restore a modic.u.m of sobriety so that no one fell by the wayside and all of them remembered their purpose was to get Robert back to his wife. They were not very noisy, but Molly, restless with worry, heard them discussing how to get into the house without waking the whole neighborhood and leapt from her bed.

She got the door open just as Robert raised his hand to knock. His reflexes being somewhat disordered, he made the motions of knocking anyway, barely missing hitting Molly in the face. This unbalanced him so that he staggered right past Molly into the house. Poor Molly was so startled by this seemingly threatening gesture from Captain Moreton, who had always been as pleasant a gentleman as anyone could wish to serve, that she jumped aside with a startled gasp. She also recognized the smell of wine on him as he went by. Her breath drew in again, and she hunched her shoulders defensively.

Molly had had personal experience with a generally good-tempered man who turned nasty on drink. She cast a single glance after Robert, but she had no intention of going near him or drawing his attention for any reason. In fact, she swung around to the door, thinking she would be better off spending the night in the stable with Carlos. This movement brought her face to face with Lord Burghersh, who had just come carefully up the two stairs that led to the entryway.

Both of them recoiled a trifle. Burghersh would have fallen down the stairs, except that Captain Williams was close enough behind to steady him. However, Lord Burghersh was scarcely aware of his friend's support. Having been startled by Molly, all of his attention was fixed on her. For the moment he did not recognize her. He blinked owlishly, realizing there was something very wrong. Servants who came to the door did not, in his experience, dress in the kind of shapeless object in which Molly was wrapped.

"Me lord," Molly whimpered, "no!" She had smelled him also and seen the dark forms ranged behind him. Horrible tales of the cruel and violent excesses of gentlemen had been whispered around her home village.

The English words had made a definite impact on Lord Burghersh. He was still drunk enough that his balance was uncertain, but the exercise and cool air had brought him to a moderate rationality. He peered more closely and saw that the servant who had opened the door was Mrs. Moreton's maid-not improperly dressed, but wrapped in a blanket.

"Good G.o.d," he said, "is it so late that you were in bed?"

The voice was thick, but far from being threatening there was a note of apology in it, and his lordship stood quietly, except for swaying a little, not reaching to grab her or trying to push his way in. Molly took hold of her courage.

"'Tis viry late," she said, trying to speak firmly but unable to hide the quaver of her voice.

"Didn't mean to frighten you, Molly," he said, smiling broadly. "We won! There's nothing to be afraid of. Didn't realize it was so late. We...we've been celebrating."

"Oh, Oi'm thit glad, me lord!"

Molly was glad, but she still didn't want to let them in the house, and she didn't want to stay in it herself, either. As soon as her worst terror subsided, she heard Robert's feet going uncertainly up the stairs. Now she expected momentarily to hear sounds she did not want to hear, but she could not think of a way to get rid of Robert's friends or to escape from them. Thus, the quaver of her voice and the tense rigidity of her body were not much reduced.

Alerted now, Lord Burghersh noticed, and he whacked his forehead with his palm. "Fool that I am, you'll be worried about your man. I'm sorry, but-"

"Wait a bit," Williams said, coming from behind. "That's M'Guire, isn't it? Moreton's batman?"

"Yes, sir," Molly agreed, stepping forward eagerly, fear forgotten in her desire to hear news of her husband.

"He's all right," Williams said. "I saw him coming into Cash-Cazal da Sprega. He'sh all right."

"Thank G.o.d fer thit," Molly sighed, barely above a whisper.

The soft sound of her voice was not enough to cover the slam of a door on the upper floor of the house. Molly jumped. Both Lord Burghersh and Captain Williams looked up. "Oh, sir, me lord-" Molly began, her voice shaking again.

"Never mind," Burghersh said. "Won't intrude. Know it'sh too late for a vish-visit."

They turned and, in concentrating on getting down the stairs without falling, did not notice that Molly had closed the door behind her and sidled away, jumping lightly down from the side of the small platform whose steps they were negotiating. Discovering that the man from the wine shop who had led them to Esmeralda's lodging was still with them-he had waited because he was not at all sure they knew which house they wanted-they demanded to be taken back to their unfinished wine.

Inside the house, Robert had made his way up the stairs. Here he paused for a moment, realizing that it was very dark, all the candles having been extinguished. He thought about that muzzily until it occurred to him that it was later than he and his friends had thought, too late for them to visit Merry. He started to turn to tell them that, then remembered that Molly had opened the door. She would tell them that Merry was in bed.

As he thought it, Robert smiled slightly, aware of a sense of satisfaction. He would rather have Merry to himself. The smile did not last long as he realized, with a sharp pang of disappointment, that if Merry was in bed, he couldn't see her either. He wanted to tell Merry that they had beaten the French, and answer her excited questions, and tell her of his own part in the battle. He stood in the corridor a moment longer, feeling sullen but knowing he must go to his own room. Then he blinked. He had not spent a night in Caldas with Merry. He had no idea which room was his. He glanced toward the lower floor where Molly seemed to be telling the others it was too late to come in, and thought of going down to ask where he was to sleep, but the very idea of navigating down the stairs made his stomach turn.

This, on top of the angry feeling of ill usage he was already experiencing, was too much. d.a.m.n it all, he thought, what if Merry was in bed? She was his wife. He could poke his head in and ask which room he was to use without doing her any irrevocable damage. She would be covered, and even if she were not, he had seen her in next to nothing already. A flush of warmth ran across his groin and thighs, and unwilling to allow himself to think about it, he opened the nearest door. There were windows and enough light to show that it was not a bedroom. Robert slammed the door ill-temperedly.

Esmeralda had had a very exhausting day. Her shock had almost equaled her relief when she had seen Carlos, well bedaubed with blood, on Luisa's back. Even after she discovered that the blood was not the boy's, she had felt little better. Carlos's exultant description of how he had leapt off Luisa onto the Frenchman and cut his throat certainly did Esmeralda no good. She had felt no animosity toward the soldier who tried to steal her horse until the fear seized her that he had hurt Carlos. Even then she had blamed herself for the stupidity of getting into the situation more than the man, who was only trying to escape.

Still, it was impossible really to blame Carlos either. The boy could not have known that her shrieks were not the result of terror but a deliberate action designed to keep Boa Viagem in frightened motion. Possibly he had seen the Frenchman point the gun at her. Certainly he had heard the report when the musket fired. Carlos might not have realized that the gun went off by accident. He had been trying to protect her.

She had said it would have been enough to have taken the gun away, but she had to acknowledge the force of Carlos's argument that if he had tried to do that, the soldier would have had opportunity to seize him or Luisa. And to have ridden past swiftly, leaving the Frenchman with the gun, might well have meant the death of some innocent Portuguese farmer who happened past with a mule or cart. She knew the French had often been ruthless in seizing what they wanted from the peasants. Nonetheless, she could not help wishing she had not been the instrument of the soldier's death.

What weighed on her spirits far more was the knowledge that she would have to confess the whole adventure to Robert. She had at first thought she could warn Carlos and Molly to say nothing; however, the boy would not part with the musket and bayonet he had taken as prizes of war, and, on further consideration, Esmeralda realized that sooner or later one of the three would let slip too much. Then, if Robert questioned Carlos, disaster would ensue. It would be better if she told Robert herself, in her own way.

She had spent some time composing her explanation before she went to return the spygla.s.s to Dom Aleixo. Returning the gla.s.s turned out to be far less simple than she had hoped because the old man had insisted she keep the instrument, but had extracted payment by asking questions he intended to have answered. Esmeralda had found providing answers very trying, since the old man was perceptive and had got the truth from her. Then he had Carlos summoned from the kitchen, had tipped him lavishly and praised him for his heroism, upsetting Esmeralda still more. By the time she returned to her lodgings, she was nearly weeping with exhaustion and had barely been able to swallow part of her dinner before she collapsed into bed.

Tired as she was, Esmeralda had slept through the entire exchange on the doorstep. It was the slam of the door next to her own that wakened her, and the dull crack was so much like that of the gun she had heard earlier in the day that she leapt out of bed. Her first wild glance around the room showed nothing. Esmeralda told herself she must have been dreaming, but she was frightened, and she turned up the wick of the lamp that Molly had left burning low beside the bed and lifted it high to examine the room.

Simultaneously, the door opened. Esmeralda drew breath to emit a shriek for help and instead gasped, "Robert!"

If she was surprised, Robert was transfixed. The lamp cast just enough light for Esmeralda to recognize him, but she herself was completely illuminated. In the limited time she had had for sewing, night wear was the last and least of her concerns, and she had contented herself with the use of a thin shift for sleeping. In this, with the light glaring down from the upheld lamp, she might as well have been naked, for the dark nipples of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the dark pubic hair showed clearly through the translucent fabric.

The vision was brief. Having seen who it was, Esmeralda immediately set the lamp down on the table and rushed forward. This gave Robert little relief, for now the light was directly behind her and her body was outlined in unbearably provocative relief, the curve of the breast bending inward to the narrow waist, the swelling hips, the division between the legs showing light and then dark as she ran toward him.

Even sober Robert might not have had either the strength of mind or the will to withdraw. Drunk, he stood still, gaping. In any case he had little chance to act. Esmeralda threw her arms around his neck and buried her head in his breast. Unfortunately, Robert was in no condition to withstand this loving impact. He staggered back, flinging out an arm to seek support. All he caught was the edge of the door, which swung shut behind him, leaving him precariously off balance.

Esmeralda managed to save them both, but she was badly frightened again, thinking that Robert was weak owing to an injury. She should have known better from his breath, but it did not occur to her that he was only very drunk. He often smelled of wine-all men seemed to do so after dinner-and she had seen him "a little on the go", as the saying was. Still, she had never seen him so drunk that he was unable to balance or articulate clearly or even think logically. Her reaction was to swing him around and support him toward the bed, where the light of the lamp fell most strongly and she would be able to see him clearly.

When he was thrown off balance, Robert unthinkingly clutched with the arm he had not flung out at the only solid support available, which was Esmeralda. While this saved him from falling physically, it unbalanced him further emotionally. He could not really feel the warmth of Esmeralda's nearly naked body or the softness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s through his clothing, but his imagination readily supplied all the missing sensations. So violent a surge of desire gripped him that he uttered a soft inarticulate cry, yet his reactions were slowed and disorganized and he could not hold Esmeralda when she swung sideways.

Robert tried to protest, but before he could get his tongue and lips under control, he realized Esmeralda was not trying to free herself from his grip but was leading him toward the bed. This caused another upsurge of desire but also awakened his conscience. He knew the desire was wrong. This was not a girl for whom he would leave a few coins. Merry was a good woman...his wife. His wife... The words echoed in Robert's mind, riding dizzily atop the waves of s.e.xuality.

Esmeralda had loosened her hold around Robert's neck as soon as he made that first sound and had asked anxiously whether she had hurt him, but she was herself so breathless with surprise and with the fear generated by his staggering that her voice was virtually inaudible. Almost immediately, however, she became aware of his grip and of her near nakedness. She meant to ask again whether he was injured, but she was suffused with a violent sensation to which she could not put a name, and her voice became completely suspended.

Because she had already fixed her mind on the move, Esmeralda was able to get Robert to the bed where the better light showed the tears and dark stains on his clothing. Robert had, of course, intended to ride back to Caldas before he had been caught up in the minor action at Brilos, and he had not taken along fresh clothes. Thus, he was still wearing the garments in which he had taken part in the fighting. The rips on sleeve and shoulder from the near misses gaped.

Anxiety swamped all other emotions in Esmeralda and made her voice high and frightened as she asked, "Where are you hurt, Robert?"

He had allowed her to push him gently to a seated position on the edge of the bed, relaxing his tight grip, but the hand that had clutched her to him still rested on her hip. The fear in her voice came through to him, distracting him momentarily from the feel of her flesh under his fingers.

"Hurt?" he repeated. "Who'sh hurt?"

Esmeralda was nearly intoxicated herself by the concentration of wine on Robert's breath and reeled back half a step, but the odor and the blurred speech were a welcome revelation. Still, to be sure, she asked again. "You. Are you hurt?"

But the intensity was gone from her voice, and Robert's attention fixed again on the lovely body exposed to him. Now Esmeralda was illuminated from the side, but that view was equally entrancing. He was dimly aware of the question, however, and replied after a short delay, rather at random, "I don't think sh-so."

Since the light from the lamp was full on his face, Esmeralda was in no doubt about where Robert's attention was fixed. She could also see that he was somewhat flushed rather than pale, as he would be from weakness or loss of blood. Moreover, before he answered her, his eyes had moved slowly from her throat to her breast to her hips to her bare legs and up again. Esmeralda flushed, but she felt no impulse to hide herself. Her body responded to the touch of his glance with an odd, inner trembling that was intensely pleasurable and with an increased sensitivity that made her suddenly aware of the tiny movements of her shift against her skin as her breathing quickened.

At the same time, her mind seemed equally stimulated. She realized that if she wished, her marriage would be consummated that night and that once he made love to her, Robert would honor the commitment. There would be no annulment. With the thought came a p.r.i.c.k of conscience. It was not really fair to take advantage of his drunkenness. And that knowledge was followed by a pang of fear. Would he hate her for trapping him? Was the desire he so plainly exhibited only bred of wine?

When Esmeralda had stepped back a trifle, Robert's hand had slipped from her hip. The loss of contact was painful to him, and as he spoke he looked up into her face, his eyes both puzzled and pleading. She asked if he was hurt, and he was deeply confused, knowing he was hurt although not by war. She was his wife. Then why was she not his wife? Why was it wrong to touch her as he wished to touch her? Why did she withdraw from him? He raised his hand again, uncertainly, not grasping for her body but seeking rea.s.surance, although for what he did not know.

The look and the gesture ended the war in Esmeralda's heart. She did not understand either one completely, thinking that the pleading in his eyes and the reaching out were born solely of s.e.xual need. Far from angering her, this only stimulated her own pa.s.sion. She had to know what it was to be a woman, and she had to know it with Robert, whatever the cost. There might never be another opportunity. It had to be now. And his words had given her the perfect opening.

Esmeralda stepped close again and bent forward. Robert's outstretched hand fell upon her breast. She drew a short, deep breath and murmured, "Let me take off your coat. That way I can see if you are hurt."

To Robert at that time, the movement seemed an answer to his unasked questions. It a.s.sured him that it was not wrong to desire Merry. He heard the words, but they did not trouble him then. He was too taken up with the offering under his hand, and he fondled it gently, cupping it and extending his thumb to stroke the nipple. He could feel Merry's breath catch, and he looked up at her again and smiled slowly. He no longer felt drunk, only slightly lightheaded and very, very happy.

Despite the distracting sensation that made it hard to breathe and made her knees feel like jelly, Esmeralda had managed to unb.u.t.ton Robert's coat. She could not draw it off, however, without pushing his hand away from her breast, and she could not bear to do that, both because the sensation was so exquisite and because she was afraid any movement of denial would break the spell. She had lingered motionless, eyes locked with Robert's until he smiled. Then she put her hand on the edge of the coat to pull it off, but he released her breast and took her hand and kissed it.

"Boots first," he said, his voice clearer than it had been. He felt very odd, at one and the same time throbbing with eagerness and yet not at all in a hurry. In fact, he wanted every moment to last forever.

Esmeralda knelt at once and seized one boot. It came off more easily than she expected, and she fell back, sitting down hard. Robert reached forward and caught her, drawing her back toward him with one hand, lifting her face with the other so he could kiss her lips.

"I'll manage the other," he said, but Esmeralda shook her head and pulled it off. "I never had such a beautiful boot boy," he commented, laughing and kissing her again.

It took a long time to get the rest of his clothes off. Wherever she moved, his lips followed. When she pulled off his coat and shirt, he kissed her arms and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. When she bent to undo the b.u.t.tons of his breeches and slide them off, he kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders, played with her hair, pulling it so that he could reach her lips and ears with his mouth. Under the circ.u.mstances, Esmeralda was not very efficient. Her fingers trembled so much that she had difficulty pushing b.u.t.tons through b.u.t.tonholes, and her breathing became so erratic when she began to pull off Robert's smalls that she felt dizzy and had to stop what she was doing altogether.

Robert seemed to understand. He held her against him, stroking her back to quiet her. However, as soon as she seemed steady, he upset the apple cart again by running his fingers between her legs. Esmeralda began to shake.

"Please," she whispered, "please." But she did not know for what she was pleading, only that the sensations Robert was generating in her body seemed about to tear her apart.

He gripped her hard, then reached down with one hand and pulled off her shift. She uttered a short, wordless cry, not of protest but of eagerness.

"All right, love," Robert murmured. "It's all right."

He stood up suddenly, lifting her in his arms and turning to lay her on the bed. Then he bent over her and began to caress her with lips and tongue, licking her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her belly, kissing her nether lips, sliding his tongue along and between them.

"G.o.d help me! G.o.d help me!" Esmeralda whimpered.

Her hands scratched blindly at the bedclothes, pressed Robert's head tighter against her, then pulled it away. The teasing was driving her mad, but she was totally ignorant of what was necessary to satisfy her.

"Help," she gasped, "help."

Because he was drunker than he realized, Robert's body had not responded with its usual speed to s.e.xual stimuli. Had he been ready, he might not have extended his foreplay so long. However, the prolonged caressing of Esmeralda's body had a c.u.mulative effect. When readiness came upon Robert, it came in a red, blinding rush that would not be long denied. He heard Esmeralda whimper, "G.o.d help me," and then gasp, as if she were dying, "help." By then it was too late for consideration or thinking about what Esmeralda meant. He heard the words, but they mingled with his own feelings and had no a.s.sociations for him outside of pa.s.sion.

He mounted her swiftly then, pa.s.sing a hand between her thighs to position himself. The head of his shaft slipped easily between the lips he had so thoroughly lubricated. Robert groaned softly with pleasure, removed his hand, and thrust gently, expecting to slide home. However, nothing much happened. He thrust harder. Esmeralda gasped. Robert slid in an inch or two and met a barrier. This was outside his experience. He opened his eyes, which he had closed in the expectation of total bliss when he first entered, and gazed with gentle reproach at Esmeralda.

The lamp still burned high, and at first glance Robert realized that whatever was obstructing his path, it was no deliberate act of Esmeralda's. She looked both surprised and frightened. And then he realized what was wrong. Of course, Merry was a virgin. Robert hesitated for just a moment, torn between his urgent need and a qualm of doubt. But pa.s.sion and the destruction of inhibitions caused by the alcohol in his blood urged him on, and below those physical pressures was another desire, deep and hidden, to make Merry his own forever.

He bent his head and kissed her lips and her throat, murmuring between the caresses, "This once, just this once, I must hurt you, love." Then he slid a hand down her side, brought it back up, moving his fingertips in gentle circles along her hips and ribs and on up to her breast, rubbing the nipple gently. Esmeralda's breath shuddered in, and he took that for acceptance; but he had closed his eyes again so he could not see her face. She would fight him, he told himself, if she were unwilling, or cry out, but he hardly gave her time to respond, drawing and thrusting again with the greatest force he could bring to bear. She did cry out then, a muted whimper, for Robert's mouth was on hers, but it was too late for second thoughts. Robert was lodged, and Esmeralda was no longer a virgin.

His purpose achieved, Robert lay still, kissing and caressing and murmuring love words. The tight grip on his shaft was heavenly, and there seemed to be an infinitesimal quivering inside Esmeralda that sent chills of pleasure up and down his spine. For the moment he was content not to move, and he concentrated on trying to arouse Esmeralda again.

His efforts were rewarded. After a minute or two, she moved against him in a way that was unmistakable, and he took the chance of drawing out a little way and pushing in again. The sensation was too exquisite to resist, and he continued moving, slowly at first but then faster and harder as all consciousness beyond that of his own intense pleasure was blotted out.

Esmeralda felt his growing rapture, and it increased the excitement generated by his hands and lips. There was a swelling thrill in her own body, a deeper, stronger echo of the pleasure Robert's mouth had wakened in her earlier. It was too mixed with pain to come to fruition, although as Robert finally cried out and convulsed in his climax, Esmeralda gasped with an empathic reaction that was very near fulfillment.

"Wife," Robert murmured as he subsided swiftly into a sleep demanded by the exertions of the day, the wine he had absorbed, and this last effort. "Lovely wife."

His voice was blurred again, and Esmeralda's eyes filled with tears. He had called her beautiful when she took off his boots and now, lovely. Was it only the wine and the s.e.xual need that had elevated her plainness to beauty? Was it at all possible that Robert's growing affection for her had illuminated her ordinary face in his eyes? And affection added to desire-was that not love?

Robert's weight atop her was making it difficult for Esmeralda to breathe, but instead of pushing him off, she embraced him, the first time she had dared to do so aside from throwing her arms around him in excitement when he first came in. He made a soft sound, and Esmeralda tensed, not knowing whether it was satisfaction or a protest, but he did not move away, and she lay holding him, the tears that had formed trickling gently down her temples.

She would not let him hate her, she vowed. She would not let it come to that. If he showed anger, seemed to feel trapped, she would let him go. And then, the thought of her great wealth came into her mind. That would help. No man would object to a wife with more than half a million pounds as a dowry. Surely the money in addition to the real liking she knew Robert felt for her would reconcile him to the bargain he had so unintentionally made. But if he accepted her only for the money, could she bear that? Not only for the money, she thought. Robert's family was wealthy, and he seemed to have plenty of money of his own. If he loathed her, the money would not matter, and she knew he did not loathe her.

Then another specter that had haunted her from the beginning rose again. Would Robert consider himself heart-free even if he accepted the legal bond? Would he give that free heart to another woman? But there were no other women with the army, except camp followers and soldiers' wives, and they were not likely to be a danger. It was a stupid thing to worry about just now. The first question remained. Was it only wine that had brought Robert to consummate their marriage, or had he had some desire-no matter how small-to do so anyway?

The question was unanswerable at this time, Esmeralda knew, but the morning might give the answer. New tears formed in her eyes, and she bit her lip. She did not want the answer, she wanted to cling to hope as long as she could. She needed more time to demonstrate how perfect a wife she could be to a military man.

Robert made a slight movement, and his softened shaft slipped completely from between Esmeralda's legs. He stirred again, started to slide sideways off her body. She uttered a very faint sob, helplessly devastated by the feeling that he was retreating from her totally and forever. Robert stretched his neck and kissed her cheek, mumbling almost indistinguishably except for two words that Esmeralda made out-sleep, which could have been expected, and love.

That last word spread like a balm over Esmeralda. She did not allow herself to think of the many, many reasons Robert could have had for using the word, all of which had nothing to do with her at all. She only repeated it over and over to herself until the mingled remains of her fatigue, anxiety, and reaction from excitement pushed her into a sleep that was deep and, as far as she ever remembered, dreamless.

Chapter Eighteen.

Although Molly's personal anxiety was greatly relieved by the information that her husband was safe, her sleep was not easy. It was not physical discomfort that kept her tossing and turning. She had slept soundly in far worse conditions than the soft hay of the stable loft. It was her conscience that invaded her dreams, waking her with nightmares of guilt and fear. Each time she woke, she told herself that there was nothing she could have done to protect her mistress. In fact, it was most likely that Mrs. Moreton would have been furious if she had tried to intervene. Most women, at least in the beginning, preferred to take their beating instead of having the fact of their husbands' brutality exposed.

Still, Molly felt vaguely guilty. Mrs. Moreton loved the captain so much. It was a shame to have her dream broken. The guilt and the regret continued to permeate her restless sleep, and it was with relief that she saw the lightening of the sky, which presaged dawn. Molly knew that Robert had returned to duty each morning, and she had been a soldier's wife long enough to know the seriousness of absence from one's post. Anyway, whatever had happened was now long over. The captain had been very drunk. He must have slept soon after he went into his wife's room, and he would have a most unpleasant awakening. That thought gave Molly a little satisfaction.

She hurried to the house, dressed, and tapped softly at Esmeralda's door. After a moment, she tapped again and called. She was just about to open the door and go in, although she did not wish to enter without giving her mistress a chance to cover her bruises, when she heard the latch click.

"'Tis near dawn, ma'am," she said into the opening.

Esmeralda stuck her head out. She looked sleepy and startled. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"'Tis near dawn," Molly repeated. "Will th' captain no be goin' bick t' his post?"

"Oh, heavens!" Esmeralda exclaimed. "I'll have to wake him."

But she did not look frightened, as Molly had expected. Instead, she blushed so deeply that Molly could see it even in the very dim light of the hallway. At first Molly was surprised, but then she barely stopped herself from laughing. It seemed that Captain Moreton had not mistreated his wife. Quite the opposite, he apparently had provided better than usual entertainment and then had fallen asleep in Mrs. Moreton's bed.

It seemed strange to Molly that that should embarra.s.s her mistress, but she knew the gentry were odd that way. They slept in separate rooms and acted as if babies were generated by magic. Amused and relieved, Molly ran down to start up the fire and heat water.

Molly's rapid departure left Esmeralda in a dreadful quandary. What was she to say to Robert? More horrifying yet, what would he say to her? Perhaps it would be best to call Molly and tell her to wake him, hide herself away, and pretend nothing had happened. He might have been drunk enough not to remember.