Tamsyn chuckled, whispering, “She'll not let him out of her sight when he's started on this road. Not that he appreciates it. He'll curse her up hill and down dale if she interferes.”
Julian glanced up at the velvet-black sky with its dazzling panorama of stars. The air was chill now, a fresh breeze coming down from the mountain peaks. “You'd better get some sleep in the hayloft.”
“What about you?” Tamsyn hefted a roll of blankets ·onto her shoulder. It dwarfed her diminutive figure, yet she carried it with ease.
“I'll bed down somewhere,” he said dismissively.
“But I could make up a bed for both of us in the loft,” she said, her teeth flashing in the darkness as she smiled invitingly. “It'll be cozy in the hay.”
“For God's sake, girl, what does it take to get through to you?” he demanded in a fierce undertone. “Get up into the loft and get some sleep. I'm going to have a word with Gabriel.”
He turned away from her hurt gaze, which reminded him absurdly of a kicked puppy, and strolled over to the now noisy group. Gabriel looked up, his eyes bleary but his expression jovial. “Anything I can do for you, Colonel?”
Julian shook his head and pulled out his watch. “I'll relieve you at two.”
“Och, aye, that'll be grand,” the giant said serenely, attempting a wink but managing a squint instead. “I'll be a rich man long afore then.” He rolled the dice and chuckled at the three sixes they gave him. “Can't do a thing wrong tonight.” There was a guffaw from the men surrounding him, and the village elder refreshed
Gabriel's tankard of wine from a stone jar he held between his feet. Fortifying it with the rough, stomach burning brandy of the region, Julian assumed. A mixture that would put an ordinary man under the table after a couple of swigs.
He cast a glance around the yard. Gabriel had positioned his sentries sensibly enough. One of them was stationed at the rear, commanding the foot of the goat track that wound down from the heights. He had a pitch torch at his feet, a rifle between his knees, and was smoking a noxious pipe. The other two were stationed at either end of the village, guarding the main path. Gabriel had seated himself so that he faced both the entrance to the yard and the byre where the treasure was stored.
But the man couldn't see straight!
Julian decided he'd keep his own watch during Gabriel’s tour. He'd had many a sleepless night during the four years of the Peninsular campaign-one more wouldn't hurt him. He turned toward the barn.
“Keep the bairn close to you,” Gabriel called after him, and his voice was less thick than it had been.
Julian glanced back. Gabriel nodded significantly at him. Drunk or sober, his little girl's safety was clearly still uppermost in his mind.
Julian raised a hand in acknowledgment and went into the barn. The other three outriders were sleeping on the floor, snoring in the straw until it was time to take their watch. He sat in a corner of the barn, close to the ladder to the hayloft, drew his cloak tight around him, and· prepared to wait until Tamsyn was safely asleep.
After half an hour he judged it safe to go up to the loft. Temptation should by now be deeply asleep. He climbed the ladder softly. Tamsyn had spread the blankets and was curled in a comfortable nest of hay. Moonlight fell through the round window, silvering her pale hair, and her deep, even breathing filled the small fragrant chamber.
Julian tiptoed to the window. It looked down on the yard, and he could clearly see Gabriel and his fellow drinkers. It looked a peaceful, convivial scene.
He glanced back at the sleeper. Only her silvery hair was visible in the straw and blanket nest. How could such a wild and unusual girl expect to make her way in English society; expect to persuade some stiff-necked Cornish family, overly conscious of lineage and position, to take her to their bosom? It was always possible she was mistaken about her mother's social position, and her family were simply landed gentry or country squires. If so, she might have a better chance of winning them over. But to turn this bastard brigand into an English aristocrat was the stuff of a lunatic dream. It would take a damn sight longer than six months to achieve such a miracle. And it would need more of a miracle worker than he believed himself to be. But he hadn't guaranteed success, he reminded himself Then again, he couldn't tolerate failure. He never had been able to.
Grimly, he turned back to his observation of the yard. He didn't know how long he'd been staring down at the glowing embers of the fire and the flickering torchlight around the dice players when he caught sight of the dark shadow flitting behind the byre. He blinked, wondering if it was a trick of the shifting light, and then Gabriel bellowed, leaping to his feet, sending the rain butt crashing and rolling onto the cobbles. A cudgel appeared in his hand from nowhere, swinging ill a deadly arc. Julian was already sliding down the ladder, his pistol in his hand, when Tamsyn sat bolt upright, wide-awake, listening intently to the confusion below.
The three outriders still slept in the hay at the foot of the ladder, and Julian kicked at them impatiently, trying to rouse them. The only result was a deeper snore and a muttered protest. His foot caught on something, and a stone jar like the one he'd seen in the yard rolled along the floor. He picked it up and sniffed. The jar had contained brandy and something else; a white, powdery residue coated the bottom. Gabriel had forbidden them to drink after supper, but obviously someone had provided them with liquor, carefully spiked.
He raced into the yard. Gabriel was surrounded by the men he'd been drinking with, wielding his cudgel and bellowing some bloodthirsty Highland war cry as they came at him, moonlight glinting on steel.
Julian drew his curved cavalry sword and leaped into the fray. Clearly the threat they'd had to worry about came from within the village. He could see the dark shape of the other sentry on the ground, presumably dispatched by the black shadow he'd noticed from the loft, and he guessed the two at the entrances of the village had been taken from the rear as well. But if they'd been intending to put Gabriel out of commission with the same draft they'd given the outriders, they'd miscalculated.
The man was a lion, still roaring his war cry. His eyes shone red in the light of the torches they'd been playing by, and he greeted Julian's arrival with a ferocious snarl that Julian correctly interpreted as “Welcome to the fight.”
The men began to fall back as the two wielded cudgel and sword; then suddenly Tamsyn was in their midst. She grabbed one of the flaming-pitch torches and drove it into the face of a man flourishing a wicked serrated knife. He covered his face with a shriek and the knife clattered to the cobbles. She dived to the ground, snatching up the knife. And then the men were running from the courtyard, pursued by Gabriel and Julian and an irate Josefa, who, Julian realized incredulously, was wielding a broomstick to painful effect.
“Madre de Dios,” Gabriel said as they slammed shut the gates to the yard. He wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm and grinned. “I do believe they thought to get me drunk.” He laughed uproariously, his massive shoulders shaking with mirth.
“They were spiking the wine with more than brandy,” Julian said. “Those three”-he gestured with his head toward the barn-”are out for the count.”
“Pedro's got a bump on his head the size of an apple, but he's alive.” Tamsyn had run with Josefa to examine the stricken sentry. “What about the two in the village?”
“Let's hope they'll be no worse,” Julian said, frowning at her. “That was a foolhardy trick with the torch. You could have set fire to the barn.”
“I was careful,” she retorted. “And it worked.” “Yes, I grant you that. But it was still foolhardy.” Tamsyn shrugged. “In an emergency you use what tools are available.”
Julian couldn't fault this logic. He knew he'd have done the same himself He turned to Gabriel with an abrupt change of subject. “We'd better hole up here until dawn and then make a break for it.”