She shrugged. “Why, in exchange for my company to Elvas, of course. I make no promises about what I might be willing to discuss with Wellington, and I'll require your assurance-the oath of a Cornish gentleman…” Somehow she invested the words with a wealth of derision. “Your assurance that no attempt will be made to coerce me. I will come willingly and I will leave when I wish.”
Julian wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake the derision from her eyes, make her swallow the dripping contempt in her voice. What possible right or justification did she have for doubting his honor?
“And if I give those assurances,” he said frigidly, “I'm to assume you'll accompany me of your own free will?”
Tamsyn smiled. “In exchange for a small service, sir, yes. I give you my word. My word, Lord St. Simon, is given rarely and is the more precious for that.”
He didn't think it was his own personal honor she was impugning; he was tarred with some brush from her past. There was much here that he didn't understand, but he didn't need to understand this unlikely spawn of an Englishwoman and a Spanish bandit to accomplish his mission. “And the service, senorita?”
Her smile broadened and her eyes danced.
“Cornichet's epaulets, my lord.”
Gabriel's booming laugh rang out again. “Lassie, ye've more tricks in you than all the monkeys on the Rock of Gibraltar.”
Tamsyn chuckled, but her eyes remained on the colonel “Well, sir? You have twenty men. Gabriel and I will join you. Between us we should be able to dock the French colonel of his insignia.”
Julian was astounded. “Good God, girl, this is a war, not some bloody game.” Her eyes were sparkling, her mouth curved in a wicked grin, but the mischief was belied by the determined set of her chin and a steely glimmer behind the sparkle.
“I'm aware of that, Colonel,” she said. The laughter left her face, and suddenly he was chilled by the grimness of her expression, the cold flatness of her voice. “And Cornichet won't consider it a game, either, when he's obliged to show himself to his men in the disgraced uniform of a cashiered officer.”
It was certainly a neat revenge. Such mortification would be a bitter pill for the arrogant, brutal Cornichet to swallow. But how could he justify lending his men for such a trivial purpose?
Julian stared out at the river, his mind working furiously. He'd promised Wellington he'd bring La Violette in five days to Elvas to have her petals plucked. He could do it comfortably if they left now. His twenty men were needed at the siege of Badajos. To go off on some devil-may-care avenging jaunt to humiliate Cornichet was a waste of time and manpower. But if he didn't agree, then La Violette would be lost to him, and for the first time in his career he'd have to return to headquarters to report failure.
His pride wouldn't permit such a thing. It was as simple as that. The girl held all the cards, therefore he had no choice but to play the hand she dealt him. And if he allowed himself to admit it, the thought of outwitting the barbaric Cornichet again and serving him such a trick held its appeal, even if it was an appeal more suited to the youth and boyish amusements of a junior lieutenant than of a full colonel, who was also one of Wellington's intimates. But it was well-known that Julian St. Simon had a devious mind and preferred the trickery and cunning of undercover warfare to the brute force of the battlefield.
Cornichet and his men were presumably still in some disarray outside Olivenza half a day's ride away, repairing the damage to their smoldering outpost. If they could get the business over with swiftly, with some hard riding they could still be back at Elvas within the five days he'd set himself
His mind raced on, examining and discarding possibilities. Somehow they'd have to extract Cornichet from his men.
“Very well,” he said with a shrug of resignation. “It's against my better judgment, but you hold the cards. But if you join with us, Violette, then you do so under my command. Is that agreed?”
Tamsyn shook her head. “No, milord colonel, Gabriel and I operate as free agents, as do all partisan bands when they work with your army. But we'll not be at cross purposes, I assure you.”
She spoke the truth. The guerrilla bands lent their services to Wellington's army when they chose, but they operated under their own command. This band consisted only of a diminutive girl and her giant bodyguard, but La Violette obviously didn't consider that a factor.
“I'm thinking that we should surprise him at night,” Tamsyn continued, not even pausing to consider that the English colonel would object to her condition. “He usually retires at around midnight, and he's generally foxed, but he always goes around the pickets. We can ambush him. Then… swish, swish!” She chuckled, drawing her hand through the air in two slashing motions. “It's a small enough revenge for what he did to me; let alone what he intended to do. But I'm not overly vindictive,” she added with a cheerful grin.
“Is that so,” St. Simon muttered. “You could have fooled me. I'd have thought losing his captive and having his camp burned around his ears would have been enough for most people.”
“But that was not my revenge,” Tamsyn pointed out, sounding surprised that he couldn't see the difference. “Taking me for yourself was your mission. It had nothing to do with making Cornichet pay for what he'd done to me and my men. Not to mention Gabriel.”
“Och, don't count me in this,” Gabriel said comfortably. “I had my revenge, little girl. I broke a few heads on my way out of there. They'll not forget Gabriel McFee in a hurry.”
“But there's Gilles and Pedro and Joseph and Stefan… “
“Aye, I've not forgotten.” The giant held up his hand to halt the list of their fallen comrades. “I'm with ye, lassie.”
“Well, if that's settled, perhaps we could get on with it,” Julian said impatiently, glancing up at the sun that was now well risen. “The problem is mounting you. You'll have to ride with me, Violette. But we don't have a mount among us that could take the weight of your man in addition to one of mine.”
“Dinna fash yourself wi' that,” Gabriel said with an easy smile. “I've my own mount, and the lassie's is tethered over yonder.” He gestured to the high ground.
“You have Cesar?” Tamsyn exclaimed. “You brought him out of there?”
“Sure, I did, little girl. I'd not leave him behind.
Shame on you for thinking such a thing.”
Tamsyn reached up on tiptoe and kissed him. “I don't know how you did it, but you're a miracle worker, Gabriel. Let's go and fetch them.” She turned to the colonel. “We'll meet you in your bivouac.”
St. Simon hesitated, reluctant to let her go off with her giant bodyguard, yet unsure what he could do to prevent it.
“I gave you my word,” she said, her chin tilting, her eyes flashing. “Do you doubt me, milord colonel?”
He remembered the sardonic challenge she'd thrown at him the previous night about whether he could trust the parole of a brigand. She'd offered no assurances then, and he'd chosen not to trust her. Why he should now trust the honor of a self-confessed bandit, thief and mercenary he didn't know.
He shrugged again. “It makes little difference whether I do or not.” Turning on his heel, he strode off to the small wood and the camp.
“I hope ye know what y'are doing, lassie,” Gabriel observed as they walked rapidly along the bank. “El Baron would have had no truck wi' soldiers. Going off to Wellington's headquarters like this. It's not right.” He shook his head, his queue swinging against his shoulders.
“I haven't said I'll tell them what they want to know,” she pointed out.
“And what makes ye think they can be trusted not to squeeze it out of ye?”
“Oh, I believe milord colonel can be trusted to keep his word,” she said airily, then broke into a run. “Oh, there's Cesar. And you have my rifle, and my knife. However did you get them back?”