“Keep the boots,” the colonel said. “But you won't need the other things.”
“Not in your company, perhaps, milord colonel,” she said sweetly. “Nevertheless, I prefer to keep them.”
He shrugged and pulled out a billfold from his britches pocket.
“Do keep a careful accounting, milord colonel,” Tamsyn said as sweetly as before. “I should hate to be beholden to you.”
“Oh, don't worry, buttercup, I'll make sure you aren't.”
“Don't call me that,” Tamsyn said, her amiable facade cracking.
“Then don't call me 'milord colonel,'“ he returned smartly, counting out bills into the senhora's eager palm.
She seemed to have drawn a worthy opponent, Tamsyn reflected, going to the door. The evening sun cast long shadows down the narrow street, and there was a slight coolness in the air, brushing her bare arms. The thin gown fluttered against her skin, and she felt almost naked. It was most disconcerting.
“Here, you'll need this.” Julian draped a silk mantilla over her shoulders. “The senhora was anxious you shouldn't catch cold.”
“I've never caught cold in my life.”
“No, but then you've never been so impractically clothed before.”
“Oh, so you agree,” she cried indignantly. “It's the most impractical, ludicrous, skimpy costume imaginable.”
He chuckled, and she realized that he'd tricked her into expressing her true feelings. Crossly, she kicked the flounce of the skirt ahead of her as she strode down the street, moving with as much vigor as if she were still clad in her britches.
Julian, following a little behind, winced as the hem of the skirt caught on a loose stone and she jerked it free roughly, kicking at the stone with the dainty kid slipper.
“Tamsyn!” He caught her arm, slowing her progress.
“That is not the way to walk. You must hold up the skirts of your dress and petticoat in one hand, drawing them aside… look, like this.” He demonstrated, pinching the material of his britches at the knee between finger and thumb, taking a step. “Do you see?”
“I don't think I've quite grasped it,” Tamsyn said solemnly. “Perhaps you could show me again.”
“It's perfectly simple,” he said impatiently. “You just draw the material aside… Diablillo!” he exploded as Tamsyn went into a peal of laughter, doubled over, convulsed with merriment. He gave her an ungentlemanly swat, annoyance warring with reluctant amusement at the absurd image he'd presented.
She straightened hastily, turning her laughing countenance toward him. Picking up her skirt in exaggerated imitation, she took a mincing step, her nose loftily tilted, eyes on the sky. “Like this, milord colonel?”
“If you don't look where you're going, buttercup, you're going to end up on your backside in the gutter,” he declared.
Tamsyn grimaced and dropped the pose. She must remember not to call him that.
“Now, take my arm,” he instructed, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. “And with your other hand, take up your skirts so they don't trail in the dirt. And watch where you put your feet.”
They progressed in this fashion into the broader main street, and Tamsyn glanced around, hoping she wouldn't see any familiar faces. Since she looked ridiculous in her own eyes, she couldn't imagine anyone seeing a different picture.
“God's grace, isn't that Gabriel?” Julian said suddenly. The unmistakable giant figure astride his massive charger rounded the corner at the end of the street. He was leading two laden pack mules, and bringing up the rear of the procession was another mule with a female rider swathed in shawls and mantillas.
With a cry of joy Tamsyn dropped the colonel's arm and, forgetting her embarrassment, ran down the street, holding up her skirts with both hands so she didn't trip. “Gabriel, how quickly you got here!”
“What did you expect, little girl?” Gabriel said comfortably, dismounting. “Och, bairn, what are you wearing?”
“Oh, it's all part of my plan,” she said, finally emerging from his embrace. “It makes me look silly, I know, but the colonel's insisting on it; but I'll explain later.”
“Well, well,” Julian drawled. “So Gabriel's not a party to this pretty little scheme of yours. I'm astonished.”
Gabriel regarded the colonel steadily. “I see you've looked after the bairn.”
“Of course. Not that she's made it easy for me,” he added caustically.
Gabriel nodded. “Didn't expect she would, not her way.” He turned back to his pack mules, where Tamsyn was talking animatedly in Spanish to the woman still sitting on the mule. Gabriel lifted the woman down, holding her easily in his arms, although from what Julian could see beneath the mountain of shawls, the woman was no light burden.
Set on her feet on the cobbles, she shook down her shawls, revealing herself to be a short lady of substantial girth. Throwing off her mantilla, she exhibited a round face with benign features and little dark eyes like currants. She promptly flung her arms around Tamsyn, launching into a voluble cascade of loving greeting. Gabriel watched the proceedings with another satisfied nod.
“Och, woman, cease your wittering and let the little girl be,” he said when he judged the greeting had gone on long enough. “I want to see these things stowed… don't like them out here on the open street, it's not safe.”
“Oh, it's safe enough,” Tamsyn said, finally turning back to him. “We are, after all, in the headquarters of Wellington's army of the Peninsular. Protected by the word of an English gentleman. Isn't that so, Lord St. Simon?”
“Most certainly,” he said smoothly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I suggest you stable the animals with Cesar and see if Senhora Braganza will accommodate additional lodgers.”
“That do, little girl?” Gabriel asked, not prepared to accept the word of the colonel without corroboration.
“Yes,” Tamsyn said. “We can unload the pack mules and store the stuff in my room at the senhora's. It'll be quite safe there.”
“Then lead on.” Gabriel gathered up the reins with a careless nod. “Lead your mule, woman.”
Tamsyn skipped ahead, Julian moving quickly beside her. “Who's the lady?”
''Josefa… Gabriel's woman,” Tamsyn informed him.
“His wife?”
Tamsyn pursed her lips, considering. “Depends how you define the position, I suppose. She's been his bedmate ever since I can remember. She was my nurse. She's going to come with us to England as my attendant or duenna… whatever you want to call it. A hidalgo maiden would certainly have one. I thought it all out.”
“I commend your foresight,” Julian murmured. “So Gabriel accompanies us too?”
“Of course. He wouldn't let me go without him,” she said as if it were self-evident.
“He doesn't yet know this, I gather.”
“Not yet,” Tamsyn said cheerfully. “I'll explain it to them tonight. At the moment he's too worried about the treasure to listen to anything else. He won't relax until he's seen it safely stowed.”
“Treasure?”
“Yes, my inheritance. It'll fund this scheme of mine, Colonel. I told you I wouldn't be a charge upon you.”
Julian stared. “What does it consist of… this treasure?”
“The fruits of a lifetime's brigandage, sir,” she said dryly. “What else? Gold, silver, jewels. Doubloons, ducats, francs. Quite a fortune.”
“Good God!” he muttered faintly. “Didn't that band of deserters…”
Her face tightened. “They were after it, of course. They'd heard of El Baron's fabulous wealth. But they didn't find it. The baron was no fool. Only he and Gabriel knew where it was. He knew, you see, that he could be sure only of himself and Gabriel if it came to torture.”
“I see.” There seemed no other response.
“Are you intending we should travel in an army convoy through Portugal?”
“I hadn't thought about it as yet. But with that little lot, I think the more protection we have the better.” He grimaced, thinking of the responsibility of shepherding such a charge through the mountains to Lisbon. Portugal was a friendly nation, grateful to the English army for its liberation from Napoleon, but there were still brigands in the passes.