The Dangerous Mr. Ryder

‘Well, certainly fully armed,’ Jack said with a certain male smugness, settling down again and pulling her into his arms. ‘And ready to give you his undivided and close personal attention.’

‘There was a battle at Ligny yesterday, that was what we could hear,’ Jack told her as Eva came out to the stables. The inn had been in hubbub that morning, the staff distracted and the breakfast service haphazard. They had eaten up and stayed quiet, trying to overhear what was going on, but making sense of it was impossible. Jack had left Eva to settle their account while he went out to saddle up, hoping to get a more coherent account from the stable hands.

‘Ligny.’ Eva frowned, trying to place it. Jack opened a much folded map from his pocketbook.

‘Here,’ he pointed. ‘And at Quatre Bras to the north-west of it.’

‘Who won?’ Jack was maintaining his usual neutral expression, but Eva could tell it was not good news.

‘Napoleon, by all accounts. Wellington has pulled back towards Brussels. Quatre Bras is a key crossroads,’ he added, folding the map away.

They mounted up and rode north in sombre mood until they were out of sight of the village. Then Jack halted and stripped the packs off the led horse, dumping out everything except weapons, water and some of the food. ‘Will this fit in your saddle bag?’ He flipped open the flap to push in a small loaf of bread. ‘The champagne? Eva, what’s that doing in there? We are supposed to be travelling light!’

‘For tonight,’ she insisted. ‘You promised.’

‘For tonight,’ he agreed.

With the led horse free of its burden they made better speed, riding at a canter, constantly scanning the land ahead as they rode through the fields and along the dusty tracks. They saw nothing, for the local peasants seemed to have kept close at home for fear of what might be out there in the aftermath of the battle, but there was sporadic gunfire from their right.

Jack kept away from the main roads, crossing the rivers by little pack mule bridges, or splashing across fords. ‘We’re not far south of Nivelles,’ he told her as they pulled up to a walk to rest the horses.

The edge of a wood curved ahead of them and they hugged it close, grateful for the shade. The sun was scorching now, the sky a queer brazen colour forewarning of thunderstorms to come. They rounded the curve and there, right in front of them, were the first troops they had seen all day.

A dozen men slumped on the ground or hunkered down around the pile of their packs. Weary horses stood, heads down, barely able to flick their tails to keep the flies away. The men were filthy, bandaged, and their uniforms were torn, disfiguring the familiar light blue cloth and the silver trimmings.

‘Jack! They are the Maubourg troops!’ Eva was riding forward even as she spoke, ignoring Jack’s sharp order to come back. There were so few of them, perhaps half of the troop Henry had seen, but they were here, her men, and these, at least, were alive.

At the sound of the hooves they raised their heads, hands reached for weapons and a man strode out from behind the screen of horses, a pistol in his hand.

The long muzzle lifted, the tiny black eye unwavering on her breast as she pulled the horse to a slithering standstill. ‘Antoine!’

Chapter Sixteen

‘Fleeing the Duchy with your lover, my dear sister-in-law?’ Antoine enquired. The pistol did not move. Behind her she could hear Jack’s horse, stamping in impatience as he reined it in. The rest of the men got to their feet, staring.

‘I am the Grand Duchess Eva de Maubourg,’ she said, ignoring Antoine and raising her voice to reach the troopers. ‘Prince Antoine has no right to lead you to war, no right to break our neutrality.’

‘This woman is a whore, a traitor who has fled with her lover,’ Antoine countered, drawing their attention back to him. ‘Seize their horses, bring them here to me.’

Some of the men started forward. ‘No! Remember who I am! I am the mother of your Grand Duke and I am on my way to him now.’ But their faces showed nothing but exhaustion and dull shock. Would they even recognise this woman in man’s clothing from the images that they would have seen of her, or the glimpses caught from a distance at parades?

What was Jack doing? Nothing, probably; seeing the aim that Antoine was taking, there was little he could do without risking her being shot. Then she heard him, his voice pitched just for her ears, in English. ‘Faint. Now, to the left.’

With a little gasp she slumped sideways, keeping a grip of the pommel just sufficient to break her fall. As she hit the ground, her horse between her body and the men, she saw the led horse gallop riderless through the gap, sending the troopers scattering. There was a sharp report—the pistol—she thought hazily, and then Jack was there, the big bl

ack gelding a wall between Antoine and herself.

Had he a pistol? Eva ducked down, peering under the belly of the two horses. Antoine was scrabbling in a holster for a loaded weapon, his horse backing away, frightened by the firing; three hefty troopers were hurling themselves towards Jack.

Eva swung back on to her horse, groping in the saddlebags in the hope that Jack had stashed a weapon there, but all her frantic hand met was the neck of the champagne bottle. She dragged it out, hefted it in her hand and kicked the animal into an explosive canter. They rounded the knot of troopers Jack was holding at bay with a long knife and bore down on Antoine. His second pistol was in his hand now, aimed at Jack. Eva dragged on the reins and swung the bottle. As her horse crashed into the prince’s, the champagne cracked over his head and he slumped, unconscious, beneath her hooves.

‘Jack!’ She pulled up the bay on his haunches as the big black horse erupted towards her through the group of troopers.

‘Ride!’ His hand came down on the bay’s rump and both animals flew along the track at a gallop. ‘Keep down!’ Eva flattened herself over the withers, expecting the crack of musket fire behind at any moment, but nothing came. Jack kept up the pace, zigzagging through the trees until they reached the far edge of the wood. Even there, he only slowed to a canter, twisting in the saddle to check behind them for pursuit.

‘Jack,’ Eva called across to him. ‘I must go back—those are my troops, my men, I cannot leave them.’

‘You can and you will.’ The face he turned towards her was implacable. ‘Philippe may be dead. If that is so, who will rule Maubourg for Fréderic? You. I cannot risk Antoine being in a fit state to rally them, and I cannot risk your life for the sake of a handful of men who made the wrong choice.’