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

  Beckett exclaimed over her bruised face, and then guessed aloud, “Hawkes were pestering you again, weren’t he? One o’ these days that bastard is gwana get ‘is cumuppance, I reckon, and I only ‘opes its me what gives it ‘im.”

  “Never mind, Beckett, where’s my husband?”

  “Dunno, missus, William never came back from picquet duty. Big tall Major were ‘ere lookin’ him, right early int’ morning it were. Dunno fer sure iffen he found yer man, but he came back, kicked Hawkes about a bit, then left. Ain’t been back since.”

  “Here, Beckett, take these rabbits for you and the others. I’ll let you know if I find William. If you see him, send a message for me to headquarters. I’m doing the cooking and cleaning there while my face mends.”

  Beckett gave her a sharp glance, and then stared at Bob and Parks. Finally his face relaxed into a smile. “I won’t tell ye to be careful, I see ye got a fine bodyguard to escort ye. But I hope you find yer husband soon. Me and the others will have a gander too. Look after yerself and we'll see ya soon.”

  Beckett waved after Vevina, as she walked away hurriedly. As soon as they were out of earshot, she gripped Bob by the arm. “You’re going to show me where William is right now, Bob, do you hear me, or I’ll never speak to you again.”

  Bob saw her earnest gaze, and caved in. “'Twere the major’s orders, Miss. Please don't be mad. 'Twas fer your own good. He said you were to rest today. You’re not well. I’ve been looking after him, feeding him broth and such. He isn’t quite awake though, doesn’t remember where he is. He keeps talking about home, in Ireland.”

  Vevina’s face froze, and she wondered what her brother might have let slip whilst delirious.

  She ran back to the kitchen tent and put down her basket.

  “You start skinning those rabbits, and put them on to cook slowly in a bit of water. Put these herbs on to boil, and these,” Vevina instructed, as she fumbled with the few possessions of her own and Wilfred’s that she had picked up from their tent.

  Then she turned to face Bob. “Now, show me where Will is.”

  Chapter Six

  Bob saw Vevina was nothing if not determined to find Will. So despite the Major's orders that she be kept away, he did as he was told, and led Vevina to the mouth of Will's new tent.

  Her heart leapt into her throat when she saw the Major leaning over her brother, pressing a cool cloth to his feverish face.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered accusingly.

  Wilfred roared, “Viv! Come back! God, they’ve taken her!”

  “I’m sorry, I thought I could look after him myself. But he’s running a very high fever. I think those lashes on his back have seriously weakened him.”

  Vevina gazed down in horror at the battered face of her brother. As Stewart opened the shirt to wipe down his chest with a damp sponge, she saw the livid marks where the ropes had bitten into the soft flesh of his underarms.

  “How did you find him? What happened?” Vevina whispered, swaying with a momentary fit of faintness.

  Stewart caught her to his broad chest, and said, “I can’t have you swooning here. Go outside, and fetch me whatever medicines Bob might have. Send him for the doctor. If you're going to collapse, do it outside in the fresh air!”

  He kissed her firmly on the lips and pushed her out of the tent and into Parks' arms. The cool air revived her in seconds, and she leaned on his arm to go back to the cook tent.

  “Go get the doctor," she ordered. "I’ll stay here out of the way and tend the food,” Vevina offered. She began stirring the pots over the makeshift stove. Bo nodded and left. Parks added more wood to the fire.

  She brewed up a huge pot of unguent for bruises, and some tea made out of the comfrey leaves she had gathered.

  While she worked, her hands trembling, she tried to plan out a logical course of treatment which she was sure would help, especially if the doctor turned out to be nothing more than an old sawbones.

  She had a small vial of Peruvian bark, or quinine, which she had bartered for with one of the more experience soldiers, who had said it was from South America and marvelous for fevers in hot climates. She hadn’t used it yet, but the soldier had suggested she hang on to it, for as the weather grew warmer, she’d find she needed it here in Spain.

  As soon as Bob returned, Vevina went back to the tent, where again Wilfred was calling her, and ranting about the time they had spent in prison.

  Vevina’s face blanched, but she was not going to allow the Major to see her terror again, and mistake it for womanly weakness. There was no help for it now. If Will told all in his ravings, there was little she could do except throw herself on the major's mercy. She had nowhere to run now, and certainly couldn't leave her brother even if they did have any place to go for refuge.

  Stewart’s eyes rested on her calmly, but inside his brain was whirring. They had been imprisoned, of that he was sure. And not simply for debt. Stewart could see older scars, of shackles on Will's wrists, and he remembered seeing Vevina’s ankles that morning, and noticing marks on them too.

  But what could these two harmless young people not yet twenty have done which merited being chained up like animals? And did this have anything to do with Hawkes’ persecution of them?

  Stewart didn’t know, but the more the young man raved, the more determined he became to protect the two of them. The girl wouldn’t confide in him, but perhaps the young man might.

  Vevina mixed the quinine in a tumbler of water, and then stood by the bed hesitantly, not sure how to proceed given her brother's ravings.

  Stewart offered, “Here, I’ll hold his head.”

  She managed to pour most of it down Wilfred’s parched throat, and for a moment he opened his eyes, and made a face.

  “Bitter, Viv,” he groaned.

  Heer heart gave a little lift. Battered he might be, but at least herecognized her.

  Unfortunately, he also recognized the man holding him aroud the shoulders, and shrieked like a tormented soul in hell.

  Vevina saw his response a second too late, and was practically knocked over as Wilfred tried to not only bolt from the bed, but take her with him.

  “Run, Viv, for God’s sake! He’ll kill us all!” her brother screamed.

  It was only his concussed head and the timely arrival of Doc Gallagher which saved them from disaster.

  “Run Viv, I’ll save you! I’ll kill him with my bare hands, but he’ll never harm you again!” were just a few of the choice phrases Wilfred bellowed as he fought his way out of the tent like a wild animal trapped in a cage, clinging onto Vevina as he tried to shield her from Stewart.

  Doctor Gallagher, a tall, distinguished silver-haired man in his late forties, took in the scene with amused detachment, then promptly punched Wilfred neatly on the chin. He grabbed the young man as he flopped limp as a rag doll into his and Vevina’s arms.

  “Sorry, but he was going to run off. Then we really would have stood no chance of helping him. Cruel to be kind, you understand,” the doctor apologized with a smile, and together they strained to get him on the bed.

  Stewart seemed to have frozen, for he had dropped his hands to his sides, and stood staring at Will and Vevina in turn, a blank expression on his face.

  The Doctor hastily examined Wilfred. “Well, Mrs. um-”

  “Joyce,” Vevina muttered distractedly, not noticing Stewart’s sudden sharp glance.

  “Well, madam,” Doc Gallagher said, not have caught her reply because he was listening to Will's chest, “he seems, apart from the bruises, to have a straightforward case of scarlet fever. Keep him warm, and try not to get too close yourself. Keep others away from him as well, and we must hope for the best. The last thing we need is an epidemic, Major.”

  He looked at Stewart for a moment worriedly.

  Stewart nodded. “We’ll do as you say, Doctor.”

  “That’s right, my dear. Bathe him with cool water, and make sure he stays in bed until the illness has run its cou
rse,” he instructed Vevina, as he gathered his things back into his bag and prepared to leave.

  “I’ve got some quinine for him, if that will help. How long will it be, sir, before he's back on his feet?”

  The Doctor gazed at her in surprise as she informed him about the quinine. “About a fortnight, I should think, though it may take longer with him being so weak.”

  “Those bruises are dreadful,” he remarked as he examined Wilfred’s arms. He turned Wilfred over and saw the appalling state of his back.

  “My God, I’ve seen many men after a flogging in my day, but never such, such savagery!” the Doctor gasped. “Here, try some of this ointment to reduce the swelling,” he advised, handing her a jar which reeked of goose grease and turpentine.

  “I use arnica, but the first set of wounds didn’t have much time to heal before the next punishment was laid on,” she offered apologetically.

  The doctor then turned his attention to her own face, and gently examined it and the wounded shoulder Stewart insisted on pointing out.

  “You did the best you could,” the Doctor soothed as he looked at the cut. "As did the Major here. He dressed your wound like a professional. I couldn’t have done it better myself. Look after Will now, and make sure you rest, allow the cut to heal.

  "Later on, if you find yourself with nothing to do in the camp, come see me and I’ll put you to work. We could use another person knowledgeable about medicines.”

  “When she's better, we’ll see. Thank you for coming, Miles,” Stewart said gratefully, seeing him out of the tent.

  “No trouble at all. I’ll look in again in the morning,” Miles promised.

  He stooped and left the tent, leaving Vevina and Stewart staring at each other, both waiting tensely for his questions to come pouring forth.

  Chapter Seven

  Vevina sat in the uncomfortable silence with Stewart gazing at her, trying to make sense of all he had seen and heard. But the worried frown which furrowed Vevina’s brow made Stewart acknowledge that now was not the time to have a confrontation with the battered and distraight woman.

  She was worried about her husband, and unwell herself. The one thing which was obvious was that whatever had happened back home in Ireland, they didn’t want their true identities to be discovered.

  Stewart respected that, and might even have let it rest there, had he not been so puzzled and angry over the way they had both responded to him as soon as they laid eyes on him.

  True, their appearances were greatly altered by the disfiguring bruises, but surely if he had been so appallingly cruel to anyone, he would have remembered. The young man had looked at him as though he were the Devil himself. Stewart had his suspicions as to what might be going on; it was not the first time he had been mistaken for his brother Samuel, and the man was certainly no saint.

  The question was, what could he have done to them that was so dreadful? Or did they have an entirely different reason for fearing him, the fact that he represented the British Crown, and as such, could find them guilty and sentence them for any number of infractions.

  He was no fool; he knew that Hawkes was eager to stir up trouble, and make them look as guilty as sin of all manner of crimes. But still, anyone with any sort of intelligence would see Hawkes' plotting for what it was. Surely she didn't think he would side with the odious sergeant against herself and her husband?

  But Stewart could sit up guessing all night. However, until both Viv and William James were better, the mystery would have to remain unsolved.

  “I shall go see about our evening meal, Viv, and I’ll have Bob bring you something,” Stewart sighed, when he could see her mind was obviously elsewhere. He also surmised that she might be ignoring him for not having told her sooner about Will’s condition.

  “Thank you. The stew should be cooked by now. And tell Bob to take my medicine pots off the fire,” Vevina said quietly, as she began to wipe Will's neck and chest again.

  Stewart nodded curtly and walked out. He wondered why the fact that she never once took her eyes off Will’s face disturbed him so much.

  When he got to the kitchen tent, the delicious aromas which filled it made him stop in his tracks. He looked around, and saw the transformation Vevina had wrought in only one day.

  A tall wooden rack had been built to keep all the supplies on, so the table was clear. He saw the rabbits and pheasant hanging up from the cross pole overhead, and the herbs she had gathered. He sniffed the smaller pots tentatively, and saw she was brewing some medicinal potions which reminded him of when he was a boy. He also saw some lavender, and a small sewing kit.

  Returning to his own tent, he found his dirty clothes laundered, hanging to dry, all of his clean clothes mended, and even his socks darned, with exquisitely tiny stitches. Like a professional seamstress he thought, or a refined lady doing her fancywork. He also saw all the fabric from Ensign Parks laid out on his table, with one shirt already cut out.

  Stewart shook his head in amazement. The woman was astonishing. So many abilities, and yet she was stuck here in an army camp. She should have a husband to look after her, protect her, he reflected. Then remembered with a pain in the gut that she was already married, to that feeble young man who now lay so ill.

  Stewart found himself wondering what might have happened if he hadn’t found young William James, if he had died. He would have looked after the grieving widow, and in time perhaps she...

  Stewart stood bolt upright, and chased the evil thought away. No, he was not going to take advantage of the situation. The girl needed his help. He was not going to behave like some rutting stallion. Viv was already married. He tried to be a decent Christian whenever possible, so he had to respect her vows.

  But there was no reason why they couldn’t be friends, why he couldn’t help them get back on their feet. William was in the army. But perhaps they could get enough money together to send Viv home to safety, set her up in a shop of her own as a dressmaker.

  Stewart reluctantly admitted as he went back to the kitchen tent to eat that she had not been brought up to be a shopkeeper. She had been destined for better, until fate had cruelly stepped in and swept it all away. What could have happened to reduce them to such poverty and fear?

  Ensign Parks entered, singing Vevina’s praises, until Stewart thought he would go mad with jealousy.

  “I say, a splendid woman, in spite of her appearance at the minute. So knowledgeable about literature, can recite the 'Lady of the Lake' by heart, simply adores Beethoven, unlike you, my dear chap, who have no taste. And her embroidery! She made one of my shirts for me today in about a minute, and then did these wonderful little golden leaves on my stock and cuffs,” Parks declared, showing him Vevina’s handiwork proudly.

  Stewart started up as the confusion and desperation welled inside him. The miniature, the signet ring, the conversations about poetry and music, even the leaf pattern of the embroidery were all so hauntingly familiar, yet he couldn’t place Viv and William James in all of it.

  But he felt as if he had been dealt a stunning blow, for no man ever forgot the first and only time he had ever fallen in love.

  Stewart Fitzgerald, though the eldest son of the Duke of Clancar, had always wanted to join the army. At twelve he had gone off not to boarding school, but to training camp, as a young Ensign just like Parks. He had taken to the Army without any difficulty, and had rarely returned home on leave, so happy was he with his new life.

  Stewart’s twin brother Samuel had always been greedy, and had made it quite clear that he wanted the estate for himself. Their father, a stern, unyielding man, had always taken Samuel’s part against his eldest son, since they were so similar in personality, but he had been a traditional man in many ways.

  Stewart had offered to give up all claim to the lands and titles on behalf of his younger brother, but the Duke of Clancar had refused. The eldest son always inherited, the old man had stormed, and that had been the end of the discussion.

  The Clancar es
tate near Cork had never been home to Stewart since. Perhaps things might have been different if he had found the right woman to settle down with. But in the many years he had been on active service, first in India, and now in Spain, he had grown to despise society beauties, with their vanity, snobbery, and above all contempt for men they viewed as mere soldiers.

  They were polite enough to him because of his handsome appearance and polished manners, but when he pretended he was only an ordinary career soldier, they gave him the cold shoulder. However, if he let slip he was the future Duke of Clancar, even the most indifferent woman suddenly chased after him shamelessly.

  The only woman who had ever turned his head had been back home in Ireland a year ago. The worst of it was, he didn’t even know her name. Had never even seen her face.