The Mercenary Major by Kate Moore Page A

the crowd to make way. With a grudging shuffle people began to open a space before the carriage. Jack looked back and nodded at the driver, who eased up slightly on the reins. Then Jack drew the horses forward. He heard the girl speaking in a low voice that coaxed and cajoled, steadying the scared animals. Slowly, they inched their way through the crowd. Beyond the confusion in the main street, the little village was quiet, and just off the road was a massive old oak. Under its spreading branches Jack brought the horses to a halt and turned to the girl. He had not forgotten his voice speaking to him.
    He studied her briefly. She was tall, with hair the color of the sun-browned hills of Spain above those gray eyes and black lashes.
    “You’re safe,” he said. He could see it would be no use to comment on her foolhardiness in leaping from the carriage. The gray eyes had a glint of steel in them.
    “Thank you,” she answered.
    Even without her bonnet, she was every inch a proper young woman of fashion, exactly what Letty had in mind for him. Therefore untouchable. Their encounter was, he supposed, one of those ironies of meeting your fate as you sought to avoid it. He smiled.
    “I promised I’d go back,” he told her.
    “Go then,” she said.
    He nodded and with considerable self-mastery turned and strode toward the angry mob.
     
    Victoria watched the stranger slip back into the crowd. For a moment she had felt powerless as the villagers closed in on the carriage. Reg had shouted and protested to no avail. The sea of faces and bodies had surged around them as unreasoning as a tide. Victoria had been sure that the horses would trample women and children and that she and Katie and Reg would be pulled from the curricle and beaten. The instant she had understood the danger, she had known what she must do. It had been easy, really. Once she had jumped from the carriage, she no longer felt frightened, only intent on reaching the horses’ heads. The truth was that she had relished it.
    Then the stranger had grabbed her. Except for that one surprised moment when their eyes met, he had acted as she meant to act and in that unity of purpose was a shocking intimacy. For however brief a time, his thoughts and feelings had been hers, hers his. The realization had shaken her so that she had struggled afterward in their brief conversation to regain her customary coolness.
    “Tory.” Reg leapt down and came to her side. “Are you crazy? You could have been killed.”
    “For once, Reg, you are not exaggerating.” Tory turned back to the carriage. Katie still sat on the seat of the curricle, hiccoughing softly, her face pressed into a handkerchief. Victoria lowered the steps and climbed up to put an arm around her friend.
    “I’ll just look over my pair,” called Reg.
    “Katie,” said Victoria, “we’re quite safe. Can you get down?”
    “I think so,” came the watery reply, followed by a renewed struggle with tears. Victoria helped her friend down, murmuring consoling words until Katie dried her tears.
    “Horses are fine,” called Reg. “Shall we go on?”
    Victoria frowned at him. Now that she had collected herself and Katie, she felt the encounter was incomplete.
    “Well, we don’t want to miss the balloonist, do we?” Reg asked.
    “Shouldn’t we stay to . . . see what happens?” Victoria countered. She could not explain her reluctance to leave the scene, but the adventure that had stirred her felt unfinished.
    At that moment there was a great cry from the distant crowd. Victoria looked back, expecting to see the mob push into the little shop, but instead it appeared that something very different was happening. The people were shifting around and soon formed a great curved line from the door of the shop across the road. As they watched, a carriage drove up to the line, and a man from the crowd waved a hat under the driver’s nose.
    “My hat,” cried Reg.
    “What are they doing?” asked Katie.
    The crowd