Griffin watched as Colonel Jeffcoat led his men into the battle, then urged Samson forward.
“Remember what I told you. Lieutenant,” Griffin called over his shoulder.
“I’ll remember, sir,” Hughey answered. “You remember what I told you. You’ve Saint George, Lady A’s prayers, and Nolan Hughes watching over you.”
“I couldn’t ask for anything better.” Griffin turned to his bugler. “Sound the charge.”
The bugler followed his order. He sounded the charge, and Griffin led his men into the thick of the French line, cutting and slashing his way through the French defense, rallying his men into the breach of the village wall, urging them forward.
Spotting a gap in the French line defending the wall, Griffin led his men through it. Musket balls whizzed past his head as Samson jumped the wall, but Griffin and Samson made it through alive and unharmed.
Dismounting quickly, Griff sent Samson toward the safety of the rear of the line where Colonel Jeffcoat and his men were dispatching the French with deadly efficiency.
Griffin and his men began clearing the French from the wall, making room for Hughey and the men following his lead.
Hughey. Griff felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He kicked the corpse of a French grenadier off the point of his sword and looked up over the wall in time to see Hughey unhorsed.
“No!” Griff shouted.
He watched as Hughey rolled to his feet and began running to retrieve the regimental colors from the fallen color-bearer.
Griffin reacted without thinking. Grabbing the reins of the closest horse, Griff mounted and rode back through the breach onto the battlefield.
The field began exploding beneath his horse’s hooves as a group of French gunners regrouped and began lobbing shells at the mounted cavalry. The rear cavalry scattered as the shells ripped through the ranks, but Griffin rode on through it all.
A cheer went up through the ranks as Griffin slashed his way through the French infantrymen who were struggling to close the ranks around the cavalry. He barely felt the saber slash across his thigh or the balls that struck him—one through the flesh beneath his right arm and the other that fractured his collarbone.
Another cheer went through the English ranks as Griffin surged through the French surrounding Hughey as Hughey rescued the fallen regimental colors.
Hughey grabbed for the reins of a loose horse but missed. The horse galloped past into the lines of the fourth advancing charge of English cavalry.
“Hughey!” Griffin leaned down and held out his hand. “Grab hold!”
“You saved me, sir!” Hughey grinned as he grabbed hold of Griffin’s hand.
It was the last thing he ever did.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“I have become a national hero for rallying the men on the field at Fuentes de Oñoro in time to turn the tide of battle. The irony is that I’m not a hero at all. I was only trying to save my friend, and in the end, he saved me.”
—Griffin, Lord Abernathy, journal entry, 02 July 1811
“I haven’t had any mail in over three weeks,” Alyssa greeted the lone rider as soon as Keswick opened the front door. “I’ve been worried sick.”
“Lady Alyssa…”
Alyssa’s knees buckled when she recognized Lord Grantham standing on the stoop. He wore a formal tailcoat and trousers instead of his usual riding clothes and there was a black mourning band pinned to his right arm.
“Catch her!” Colin ordered, stepping forward as Keswick hurried to keep Alyssa from hitting the hard marble floor of the vestibule.
She opened her eyes a few moments later to find herself sitting on a low chaise in the conservatory and clutching fistfuls of Viscount Grantham’s shirtfront. “I was expecting the dispatch rider from Lord Weymouth’s office.” Her voice quavered as she sat up and automatically smoothed her hair and straightened her clothing. “He sent me instead.”
Alyssa paled once again and began to shake. “Please, tell me he isn’t.”
“Oh no,” Grantham rushed to reassure her. “He’s coming home.”
“He’s coming home,” she parroted, staring at Colin’s armband, barely able to comprehend Grantham’s words.