Jack Steel Adventure Series Books 1-3: Man of Honour, Rules of War, Brothers in Arms. Iain Gale
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and waistcoat, breeches and stockings, he sat in his tent within the allied lines, with his right leg hoisted up on a hay-filled forage bag. Before him Corporal Taylor crouched over the wound that had been inflicted fifteen days ago by Jennings’ filthy sword, while above both men, Sergeant Slaughter stood gazing on, half in admiration, half in sceptical curiosity. Steel drummed impatient fingers against the small table beside him and sighed:
‘Taylor. You’re quite certain that this is absolutely necessary?’
‘Please, Mister Steel. Do try and remain still, Sir, and I’ll be finished with you in an instant. This is the last time I’ll have to do this. I swear, Sir.’
‘What the devil are you putting on me this time? Not more rancid pumpkin flesh and stale meal, surely?’
‘No, Sir. This is the final stage. Just finishing you off nicely. Brown sugar, lees of wine and linseed oil. My own recipt.’
‘Sounds rather as if you’re preparing me for the kitchens. And it doesn’t smell any better.’
‘That’s the matter from wound that’s smelling so bad, Sir, not my poultice.’
Slaughter coughed: ‘Smells something awful, Sir.’
‘Thank you, Jacob. I’m as aware as you of the stink. Corporal Taylor here assures me that this is the only way to ensure that the wound will heal by the time we fight the French. And after all that has happened I do not intend to miss the moment we have been seeking these four months.’
‘All the same, Sir. It don’t half reek.’
Taylor glared up at the Sergeant.
‘But at least, Sarn’t Slaughter, it’s not infected any longer.’
He pointed proudly at the pink, glistening, puckered scar, a small section of which still lay open.
‘See all that slough running down off your leg, Sir? That there’s the last of the matter to come out of the wound. I promise you, you’ll be fine within the week, Mister Steel.’
‘Thank you, Taylor. I really am much obliged to you. But I intend to be fine within the day. The Frogs are just over that hill and I promise you that very soon, sooner than you think, we will be at them.’
‘Oh, Jack, what is that horrid smell.’
The sound of a woman’s voice turned all their heads towards the tent flap. Louisa Weber stood framed against the day, the pale afternoon sunlight catching the golden strands which ran through her pale yellow hair.
‘It’s like you have a ham cooking … in honey or something.’
‘It’s my leg. I’m sorry.’
She grimaced, then laughed. Ten days of nursing Steel had inured her to the sights of a field hospital. If not the smells. She entered and Slaughter smiled and left. Taylor was lost in his work, carefully winding a clean bandage around Steel’s leg.
‘Corporal Taylor is a fine doctor, Jack. He looked after me so well.’
Even through his stubble, Taylor’s deepening colour was evident. ‘It was nothing ma’am. Just did what I could.’
‘Nonsense. You are a treasure. Don’t let him go, Jack.’
‘No danger of that.’
Steel looked hard at the Corporal:
‘Aren’t you done yet, Taylor? Go on, get on now. I’m sure that’ll do it.’
Taylor tucked in the end of the bandage to secure it and gathered up his ointments, placing the glass phials with care inside their leather bag.
‘Good day, Miss. Mister Steel, Sir.’
‘Good day, Taylor. And thank you.’
As Taylor left the tent, Louisa bent to kiss Steel on the forehead. He pulled her down on to his knee.
‘Jack. Be careful. Your leg.’
‘My leg is as good as new. Your Corporal Taylor told me so. Where have you been?’
‘I was visiting the wounded. One of them died in the night. A young boy. He had asked for me. I came too late.’
She stared at the ground and began to rub at the balls of her fingers, as if she was trying to eradicate some dirt. Steel had noticed the habit before and knew that she did it to stop the tears.
‘How’s Mister Williams coping with his duties?’
‘He looked very busy. He wears his head bandaged up and he has taken to walking with a stick for the sake of his poor leg. He looks very … dashing. He was marching with some of your men beside the wagon park. He smiled at me.’
At least they could be thankful that Williams had not been killed.
Steel could recollect little of the immediate aftermath of the fight at Bachweiden. But gradually he began to remember details. The fight with Jennings. Their timely rescue by Hay’s dragoons. Most pressingly the fact that Jennings was now in possession of the papers.
Louisa, freed from Jennings’ threat, had revealed the true identity of her attacker.
Steel had offered an apology to Herr Kretzmer, who, thankful for his lucky escape from the noose and the bullet, had been only too happy to accept the offer of an escort to Augsburg. Of course they had been obliged to make good the payment for the flour. Jennings’ deceit had cost them all, dearly.
Now Steel would not rest until Jennings was dead. How had he not seen through the man before? A rapist and a traitor. The wound had kept him confined to bed and it irked him not to be in pursuit of the Major.
After their rescue, Steel and his Grenadiers had remained in the British camp at Neukirk to join the rearguard, while the bulk of the army had manoeuvred further still into Bavaria. Then the army had returned and together they had made the short march north. Yesterday they had arrived here, just to the south of the town of Rain, which had been taken by Marlborough shortly after their departure some three weeks past. What there was left of the precious flour had been gratefully received. As to the more vital part of Steel’s mission, though, little had as yet been said. Now he awaited Hawkins’ arrival.
Steel knew that soon he would have to account to Marlborough. He had failed. Of that there was no doubt. And whatever might be his punishment for such failure, it remained to be seen how, if at all, it might yet be remedied.
First though, he must be fit. He had been surprised at the gravity of his wounds. The blow on the head had very nearly cracked his skull, but it had been the leg wound from Jennings’ blade that had caused him the most severe discomfort. Having at first considered it no more than a scratch he had had it dressed. But then it had begun to throb and soon to stink. For six days he had lain in a fever. That he had not died was due entirely to the ministrations of Corporal Taylor and Louisa.
He gazed at her now as she attempted to tidy up around him. At her slender waist, the pale beauty of her half-covered shoulders and her delicate profile. He wondered at her resilience. At how quickly she had seemed to recover from her ordeal.
Again he played in his mind with the possibilities of their relationship. If there was ever a woman who might grow accustomed to the life of an army wife, then surely it was Louisa. But was she suited to it? Or indeed suited to him? For what did she really know of him? And what, he wondered, of himself? Was this what he wanted? Arabella was a distant memory and many, many miles away. Louisa was here and now and Steel wondered whether what he felt for her was what men called love. For an instant he caught the word on his lips, then stopped himself. Louisa turned to him and smiled.
‘What?’
‘I. Nothing. I was just …’
She seemed about to say something when the tent flap opened and Henry Hansam entered, followed by Colonel Hawkins.
Steel attempted to stand but the Colonel waived him down.
‘Jack.