“Oh, Gabriel will pick his own men,” Tamsyn said. “And they won't be soldiers. I asked about the convoy because I don't think it would be a good idea. Gabriel doesn't like soldiers… any more than I do… and he can sometimes be…” She paused. “Well, he can sometimes be a little unpredictable, particularly if he's been drinking.”
“What do you mean, unpredictable?” Julian abruptly remembered the feel of the giant's sword on his naked back, the urgent look in Tamsyn's eyes as she'd spoken to Gabriel, desperate to convince him that she'd been a willing partner in that lusty tangle by the river.
“Hot-tempered,” Tamsyn said, privately reflecting that that was a considerable understatement, but the unvarnished truth might alarm the colonel.
“Dear God,” Julian muttered. A journey escorting a baggage train of untold wealth in the infuriating and tantalizing company of La Violette was to be exacerbated by a man given to violent drinking bouts.
“It doesn't happen very often,” Tamsyn reassured.
“And Josefa's quite good at calming him… if she can catch him in time,” she added as they reached Senhora Braganza's cottage.
Julian refrained from comment. “I'll leave you here. When I've made the necessary arrangements, you'll be informed.”
“Oh?” Tamsyn frowned. “And when will that be?”
“You'll be informed. I suggest you occupy yourself with your wardrobe. You'll need a riding habit and a side-saddle. I assume you'll be able to control Cesar ridding side-saddle? If not, you must procure another riding horse.”
He turned aside abruptly. “Gabriel, a word with you… are you intending to hire a guard for that?” He gestured toward the pack mules. “On the journey to Lisbon.”
“Lisbon? That where we're headed?” Gabriel shrugged phlegmatically. “Then I reckon we'll need a couple of useful men. I'll find 'em hereabouts.”
“We could travel in an army convoy. They're leaving all the time, conveying the wounded to Lisbon.”
Gabriel shook his head and spat in the dust. “Don't hold with soldiers, Colonel. Present company excepted, of course.”
“Oh, of course,” Julian concurred aridly. “Well, I'll leave it to you. You have a couple of days, maybe less.”
He glanced toward the cottage where Tamsyn and Josefa were involved in a lively exchange with the senhora, involving much hand waving and shrugging.
Gabriel followed his gaze. “Women'll be settling everything right and tight, I shouldn't wonder,” he stated. “Well, I'd best be getting this stuff unloaded. Don't like it standing here in the street. Be seein' you, Colonel.” He turned to unload the first pack mule, hefting an ironbound chest onto one massive shoulder.
Julian contemplated offering his assistance, then decided against it. His orders, unconventional though they were, didn't include sweating like a farm hand. He strode off to headquarters.
Tamsyn watched him go, frowning. He was very anxious to get away from her. She didn't care to be so lightly dismissed.
Leaving Josefa and the senhora examining the limited accommodations in the cottage, she walked back to the gate, dodging to one side as Gabriel plodded up the path with another chest.
“Hey, lad!” she hailed a small boy who was kicking a stone down the street. “Do you see that colonel?” She indicated Julian's broad retreating back. The lad nodded. “Follow him and let me know where he spends the evening. He may go back to the camp, or he may stay at headquarters. Come back and tell me, and there'll be a cruzado for you.”
The lad grinned and ran off, stationing himself outside headquarters when his quarry disappeared inside.
Unaware of his young follower, Julian entered Wellington’s apartment. The commander in chief was with his staff and greeted the colonel crisply.
“St. Simon, you'll join us for dinner. We're putting our heads together over what exactly you should ask Westminster for. Should we ask for the maximum and bargain down? Or make reasonable demands that won't alarm the ministry?”
Julian put thoughts of Tamsyn, treasure, and the unpredictable Gabriel aside and took a chair. Little though he relished this diplomatic mission, he understood its importance.
The lad waited until dark. The colonel didn't reappear, but a procession of servants entered the building from the kitchen in the next-door cottage, bearing trays and salvers of food, and the chink of china and glass drifted through the open window with the rich aromas of dinner and the voices of the diners.
The lad ran back to the widow's cottage, knocking on the kitchen door that stood ajar, letting in. the soft spring air. He stuck his head into the candlelit kitchen where Tamsyn sat with Gabriel, Josefa, and Senhora Braganza eating a dinner much less elegant than that served to the duke and his staff: Not that such a comparison would have troubled any of the participants at this board.
“Ah, good lad.” Tamsyn pushed back her chair.
“Where is the colonel?”
“Eating at headquarters, senhorita. He went there and hasn't come out since. Didn't take my eyes off the door for a minute.”
“Good.” Tamsyn nodded. “Gabriel, do you have a cruzado?”
Gabriel reached into his pocket and tossed the silver coin to the boy at the door. “Now what are you up to, little girl?”
Tamsyn smiled and popped an olive into her mouth.
“Just a notion I had. In about half an hour will you go to headquarters and tell the colonel I need to speak with him on a matter of the utmost urgency?”
Gabriel tore a drumstick off the chicken in front of him. “If that's what you want.” He bit into the meat.
Tamsyn nodded, removed the olive pit from her mouth, and tossed it into the garden. “I have some preparations to make. In half an hour, mind. They should be circulating the port by then.”
She disappeared upstairs, leaving the others to finish their meal. No one seemed to find anything in the least strange in her instructions or her disappearance, and the three of them continued eating with stolid application.
Half an hour later at headquarters, Gabriel ascended the stairs to the landing and greeted the brigade-major with a curt nod. “Colonel St. Simon in there?” He gestured to the door behind the lieutenant.
“Yes, but he's at dinner,” Sanderson said haughtily, staring at the massive, ruffianly figure of his visitor, clad in leather britches and jerkin, with a rough homespun shirt, a none-too-clean bandanna at his neck, gray hair caught in a queue at its nape. “And just who might you be?”
“None of your business, laddie,” Gabriel said amiably. “I'll fetch out the colonel.”
“No!” Sanderson leaped to his feet as the visitor moved to the door. “You can't go in there.”
“Oh, yes, I can, laddie.” Gabriel caught the unfortunate lieutenant by the collar and lifted him onto his toes. “Let's not argue about it, now. Do you want to run along in there and announce me, or shall I announce myself?”
Sanderson opened his mouth on a bellow for reinforcements, and Gabriel dropped him back into his chair, saying pleasantly, “I'll announce myself, then.”
By the time two infantrymen appeared, breathless, on the stairs, Gabriel was inside the commander in chief s sanctum.
The men around the table looked up in astonishment. Julian closed his eyes briefly with a resigned sigh. Sanderson and reinforcements stumbled into the room on the giant's heels.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I couldn't stop him.” Wellington raised his eyeglass and examined the newcomer, saying caustically, “No, I can see that might be difficult. And just whom do I have the honor of addressing?”
Gabriel offered no introduction, merely saying, “Sorry to disturb your dinner, gentlemen. But I've come for Colonel St. Simon. The bairn wants him urgently.”
“He's referring to La Violette,” Julian drawled, leaning back in his chair, toying idly with his port glass. “What does she want now, Gabriel?”