Scars Upon Her Heart (The Scars of The Heart Series) Read online

  He clung on to the young man’s prone form as it slipped free of the slack ropes. Stewart swung down and caught Will before he fell heavily.

  He thought of returning to the camp for help, but the fewer people who saw Will James in this condition, the better. So Stewart checked to make sure he was breathing steadily, and heaved him over his shoulder to begin the long walk back to camp headquarters.

  As he trudged home as quickly as he could, he planned out his next moves with all of the aplomb of an army general. His secretary’s tent was vacant. Though small, it had a proper camp bed in it. It would be private, and safe for the Joyces. Gasping and panting, Stewart hurried out of the isolated, bleak woods, and back toward the safety of the camp.

  Once at the small tent, he pitched his burden down on the bed, which groaned alarmingly under Will's huge frame.

  Then he ran to his own tent for brandy and water. He wanted to clean up young Will as best he could before his wife saw him. At the thought of Viv’s response, he cringed. The poor woman had already been through so much. He hoped she wouldn’t fall apart at the thought of what might have happened to her husband if he hadn’t been rescued.

  Will had been badly beaten, then strung up. Crucifixion was a slow, painful death, caused by suffocation. It would have taken days for him to die, during which time he would have suffered cold, exposure to the elements, and slowly dehydrated and starved.

  If he had become conscious and attempted to escape, what then? After days missing, presumed deserted, he had turned up back at his tent, he would have been hung. Who could hate him so much, and why?

  As Stewart gently wiped away the blood, and examined the young man's head and body for any other serious injuries, he knew Viv was only one small part of it. Certainly she was a beautiful woman. But if Hawkes was responsible, he had tried to kill them both. Wound them cruelly, certainly, toy with them like a vicious tabby with a mouse, but ultimately kill them.

  Once again Stewart had the nagging sense that he had met Viv James somewhere before. He was becoming increasingly certain that that was not her real name. He mopped young William’s face, looking more closely. Despite the bruises, he almost felt sure he had seen him before as well.

  He tried to recollect some of the young married couples he’d encountered in London on his last leave, but drew a blank. He couldn't remember anyone who stood out in his mind, and he felt sure if he had met them there, he would remember Viv in particular as vividly as the wintry blue of the Spanish sky.

  As he stripped off William’s ragged bloodstained shirt with the help of his knife, he saw a small thin ribbon around the young man’s neck.

  Stewart tugged at it, and a ring and a miniature appeared from behind his neck. The ring was heavy, slightly old-fashioned. The engraving inside the band read, “From Father, to Will with love.”

  The crest on it was strangely familiar, but Stewart paused only to glance at it. The miniature arrested his attention. It was of a beautiful woman wearing an exquisite gown straight out of a painting by Gainsborough. Because of the gown’s style, he concluded the miniature was old, a portrait of the boy’s mother.

  Yet the face and dress were both familiar. Stewart wondered if had seen the original in any of the great houses he had visited in the past. Certainly the woman was worth remembering, for her exquisite heart-shaped face and vibrant auburn curls promised sensual delights Stewart lost his breath just thinking about.

  Yet the woman wasn’t merely beautiful. There was an elusive sparkle in the eyes which promised warmth and kindness, not merely empty-headed vanity. Stewart wished he could see the color of the eyes in the portrait, but the tent was dim. He was reluctant to cut the ribbon just to take a closer look.

  He sighed and shook his head. It was only an old portrait. Women like that didn't exist any more, so pure, yet passionate. He ought to know. He'd met plenty of women in his day, and been let down by every one of them in one way or another.

  A groan from his patient brought Stewart’s attention back to the matter at hand. He continued to examine the injured young man while he contemplated what he had discovered. Gifts from his mother and father made perfect sense, but Stewart felt a stab of impatient anger. He could have sold those things, helped give his wife an easier time, instead of hanging on to meaningless relics of former glories. It was also remarkable that whoever attacked him hadn't even bothered to steal them.

  He contemplated this strange fact as he tended to the wounds on the front of his young companion's body. He flipped the trinkets back off the boy’s chest as he wiped him down with his sponge, and when he was done, he moved to turn Will over.

  The sight which greeted him as he did so was enough to make even a battle-hardened soldier like Stewart clasp his hand over his mouth in an effort not to gag.

  The scars criss-crossed Will's back like a wildly ornate spider's web. Scarcely had the old wounds healed before new ones had been inflicted.

  Once again, he could detect Hawkes’ handiwork, and a bitter fury welled up inside. He could just imagine what indecent proposal Hawkes had made the young couple to save William from the lash. It was a testimony to her character and her husband’s that they had obviously not accepted Hawkes’ terms.

  Stewart fetched more soap and water and completed his task of cleaning up the young man. Then he found one of his last good shirts, and pair of breeches, and mustered together as many spare blankets as he could find. He would have to tell Viv soon about Will's condition, but he wanted to make sure she didn’t overtax herself nursing the invalid when she was in no fit state herself.

  Stewart went back to the cooking tent for some vinegar to put on Will's wounds. Though his stomach was still queasy with all he had seen, he sniffed appreciatively at the savory aromas rising from the pots.

  He protested when he found Vevina straining to carry in a huge basket of firewood. “I told you that you could help, but I also advised you that you weren't allowed to go out of the tents unaccompanied.”

  He and Vevina struggled for possession of the basket as he scolded her. Stewart’s superior strength finally won the day. He set it down on the ground with a thud before advancing on her, backing her into a corner.

  He could see the fear in her eyes, and said firmly, “Now, if you refuse to follow orders, I shall have to punish you by making you eat two whole helpings of breakfast.”

  He saw with a pang that Vevina looked visibly relieved, but couldn’t bring herself to smile. And he very much wanted to see that lovely smile, distorted though it was by her bruises.

  “Now, if you will permit me to escort you to the table,” he said, offering her his arm.

  They sat on the dirt floor companionably, sharing their breakfast with Bob. Stewart praised her cooking extravagantly, until a merry peal of laughter finally burst from Vevina’s lips.

  Let her be happy while she can, Stewart observed to himself, knowing he would have to tell her the bad news about her husband fairly soon.

  “At least you aren’t one of those fastidious types when it comes to eating,” Vevina laughed, as he polished off the rest of the wild mushrooms with gusto, and drank the tea which they had boiled until it was so thick they could stand a spoon up in it.

  He shrugged. “Tea is a great luxury out here, so we have to make the most of it. I’m sure my brother and his fine friends back home would simply die if they had to live like this,” he commented innocently in an affected drawl.

  Vevina’s brows drew together sharply, and her laughing face closed up. For Stewart it was like a storm cloud covering the bright sun.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up your reduced circumstances,” Stewart said hastily.

  Vevina looked at him, cringed and backed away, rising to her feet.

  “What have I done wrong?” Stewart shouted in exasperation.

  It was Bob who said perceptively, “I think she’s orf all men at the minute, sir, judging from the way she looks. I’m sure she’s very grateful for all your help, Major,
but p’raps she’d like to be on her own for a while.”

  Stewart nodded.

  The boy offered helpfully, “Viv can stay in ‘ere, by the fire, and do yer mendin’.”

  “An excellent idea, Private Smith,” Stewart agreed. “We'll go see about it instantly.”

  As soon as he was out of earshot, Stewart said to Bob, “I found the lady’s husband. I’ve put him in Bentley’s old tent. Look in on him with some broth and so on every hour, but don’t tell Viv. She requires rest at the moment. Tending him is the last thing she needs. Have her sew until her fingers drop off, but don’t say a word about her husband, except she’ll see him soon.”

  Bob peeked into the tent. His tanned face went white. “My God, he looks worse than her, and she’s bad enough! Who did this, Major? I’ll gut the bastard!”

  Stewart smiled down at the young twelve-year old private, but knew he was sincere. The boy had been reared in the gutters of London, and carried a small knife which he used to defend himself. Grown men had laughed at Bob, until they found themselves only two small steel inches from death.

  “I may take you up on the offer one day, Bob. In the meantime, follow your orders, and make sure you don’t let Viv out of your sight. Tell Ensign Parks as well, and remember, not one slip, or I’ll gut you !” Stewart growled with mock ferocity, before patting the shaggy blond head.

  “Yes, sir, but them wounds look bad. I’ll swear the sawbones, Doc Gallagher, to secrecy, and have him come take a look at him and her too.”

  “Excellent, Bob. What would I ever do without you."

  “Dunno, sir, so long as you never try to find out.” The boy grinned, and ran off.

  Stewart watched his retreating form for a moment, and then stalked off purposefully in the direction of Sergeant Hawkes’s billet.

  The beady-eyes Sergeant was still snoring off the previous night’s drunken bout, so Stewart summoned two of the provosts, and kicked the man’s large posterior. He instantly came awake, fighting mad, though his desire for a scrap left him rapidly as his eyes focused on the man towering over him.

  “Major, sir, if it’s about our encounter yesterday, I’ve already explained, her husband is a thief, and the wench was concealing the items. ‘enry and I were only trying to get back what’s properly ours, weren’t we,” he whined. He booted the prone form beside him.

  The man jumped to attention and grunted.

  Stewart eyed both men frostily.

  Hawkes could see he was getting nowhere. He tried one last gambit. “They thieved, and were planning to desert. Private James disappeared from his picquet duty, gone over to the French, I bet!”

  Corporal Henry declared, “What? Right, yeah!”

  Both men exchanged glances. Henry began to sidle and tried to slink away into the woods.

  “Where are you going, Corporal Henry?” Stewart demanded.

  “Call o’ nature, sir,” the man declared loudly, with a smirk.

  “Not until I’m finished with you. In future, you'll report all cases of theft to the provosts, since it is their job to investigate these matters, not yours. As for Private James, he's now my new secretary, so I suggest you find some other whipping boy.”

  Hawkes licked his lips nervously. “You can’t do that. He’s a thief, sir, and that wife of his is a notorious Irish whore from Cork.”

  Stewart gripped the fat man by the lapels, lifted him four feet up in the air, and threw him rolling into the dust. “Don’t expect me to believe everything I hear, Hawkes! Because if I hear one more word said against you, you’ll be hanging from the highest tree.”

  He whispered instructions to the provosts to keep a close eye on the pair of them for the next few days, and to report back to him anything unusual. Stewart knew Hawkes and Henry would go to the spot in the woods to check on the fate of William James. Stewart could have trapped them, followed them and caught them red-handed, but there was more to their enmity for the Jameses than met the eye.

  Hawkes had said Viv was from Cork. Her accent was a bit Irish, but barely discernible to the average person. Stewart himself had only picked it up because of his own Irish background. Hawkes must have discovered something about their past life. Was it blackmail? If murder, then what on earth for? Gain? Revenge? Why kill both the husband and the wife?

  Viv was obviously frightened of something, but would never willingly answer his inquiries. Perhaps he might get more out of her husband? He didn’t like to deceive the girl. On the other hand, was she entirely trustworthy? Perhaps he was just biased in favor of her pretty face.

  Stewart shrugged as he walked back to his tent for inspection. He was a patient man. He would wait until he discovered the truth or Viv confided in him. Either way, he had nothing to lose except her company, which already he was loath to part with.

  Chapter Five

  Vevina spent an uneventful day doing chores around Major Fitzgerald’s headquarters, working and getting better acquainted with Bob and charming young Ensign Parks, who was delighted to have a young lady to discourse with. The youngest son of a wealthy military family, he had the best of everything, and certainly acted as though it was his own merit, rather than his father’s position, which had gained it all for him.

  Vevina could see the young man was very lonely, for his favorite topics of conversation were music and poetry. Vevina thought it highly unlikely that many of his comrades in arms would find small talk about Byron, Wordsworth and Shelley very edifying. So she listened to the low babble of his conversation, occasionally putting in some perceptive remarks of her own as he showed her all of his very small items of clothing. His arms and legs had suddenly become long and spindly, and his neck arched out of his stock like a giraffe’s.

  “You’re welcome to all of my things. Absolutely nothing fits!” he complained, waving his snuffbox about as he showed her the array of shirts and breeches. “How soon do you think you could manage to get me something decent to wear?”

  “Well, it won’t be very fancy, but if you find me a good sharp pair of scissors so I can cut them out, and some thread, I’ll find a clean table to lay out the material, and I can start as soon as I’ve finished the Major’s things,” Vevina promised.

  Ensign Parks scuttled away like a demented beetle. Then Vevina observed for the tenth time that day that Bob was looking at her oddly, before slipping away out of the kitchen tent. He looked as though he were concealing something. Normally Vevina wouldn’t have minded, but wondered if it had something to do with her.

  When he returned he gave her a broad smile which wouldn’t have fooled a simpleton, and Vevina stiffened for a moment thinking Hawkes might be after her again. All he had to do was pay Bob a few coppers to look the other way, and then, alone, defenseless...

  Vevina shook her head as she finished the last of the Major’s shirts, and told herself not to be foolish. Bob and the Major wouldn’t betray her. Besides, there could be a dozen reasonable explanations for Bob running out on errands all the time. The boy certainly also had ample cause to stare at her, for she had caught sight of her face in the Major’s shaving mirror, and had wept a few tears of self-pity. Her face was badly bruised, and she wondered if she could get an escort to take her into the woods to look for some herbs.

  Her grandmother had taught about natural remedies before she died, and Vevina was growing restless. She finished the shirt she was working on and then asked, “Do you suppose you and Ensign Parks could take me to the forest? I need to find certain plants and roots, and we might even find some of those wild mushrooms you're so fond of.”

  “I’ll fetch him and we’ll go,” Bob agreed readily.

  Soon the three of them headed off with a basket each.

  Vevina viewed a return to the woods with a certain degree of consternation, but she noticed that every time a twig snapped, Bob was on the alert.

  They found dozens of wild mushrooms, and she even found a pheasant wandering about. Parks quickly wrung its neck, and said with an affected drawl, “Not much sport,
but we must eat. The army supplies wouldn’t feed a cat!”

  Vevina also took the Ensign's exquisite pistol with a chased silver handle and brought down several rabbits. Bob trotted off into the bushes for them like a trained retriever.

  Then she managed to find a secluded part of the woods where savory herbs grew, and also the arnica plant, which she knew to be good for bruises.

  The sun was starting to set by the time their baskets were full to the brim. Vevina said, “Can we stop off at my husband’s mess to see him? I wonder at his not coming to visit me today.”

  “P’raps he didn’t get the message?” Bob suggested. “Or maybe he’s on duty, or being drilled. I’ll go find him for you.”

  “Thank you, Bob, but I’d like to go myself, and give two of these rabbits to his mess mates,” Vevina insisted.

  Ensign Parks agreed to escort the lady. She went over to Beckett, the tallest of the three men who shared the tent, and greeted him warmly.