camp?”
“Exactly.” He canted his head toward fire. “There are dangerous men here.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You cannot vouch for the men you command?”
“In battle, there’s not a man here I wouldn’t trust with my life. But less than half of them I’d trust alone in the dark with my sister.”
“Ah. I see.” She sighed. “But I don’t want to go back yet.”
She sensed more than saw him duck his head, a diffident gesture for such a self-assured man. “Do you mind if I sit with you, then, ma’am? I know you’d rather be alone, but…”
Much to her surprise, she realized she wanted his company. “If you can promise not to stare at me as if I’d grown a second head, nor walk on eggshells as if I were a dangerous lunatic, nor even look at me with money-lust the instant you hear my brother’s name, you may stay as long as you please.”
“That bad, is it, ma’am?”
She exhaled on a gusty sigh. It was such a relief to speak honestly. “It’s horrid. And please sit down, Sergeant.”
She slid over to make room for him, and he sat, close beside her, for the rock was not large.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “No one blames you, you must know.”
“No, they pity me, which is worse.”
“Well,” he said, with an air of weighing his words, “I hope it’s not too close to pity to say that you never deserved anything so dreadful, and that I hope life will be kinder in the future.”
It was pity of a sort, but a kinder, more bearable pity than most she had received. She didn’t suspect that Sergeant Atkins was secretly laughing at her, at least. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
They sat in companionable silence. He had a solid, reassuring presence, and she felt a sudden unaccountable urge to lean over and rest her head against his shoulder.
The music changed again, and Anna recognized the slower, more wistful melody as “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Sergeant Atkins sang along softly in a rich baritone. On the second verse she chimed in, weaving harmony with her alto. “O ne’er shall I forget that night, the stars were bright above me, and gently lent their silv’ry light when first she vowed to love me.” He smiled at her, and they passed the melody and harmony back and forth for the rest of the song.
“You’ve a lovely voice, Mrs. Arrington,” he said.
“Thank you. Yours is fine, too.”
“I love to sing and dance.” He gazed toward the fire. “My father’s inn has a little assembly room. Usually it was the Quality that hired it, for balls and card parties, but sometimes he’d give a dance for everyone who worked for him and anyone from miles around who wanted to come. And we had dances in the village square, and once a year a harvest dance at the squire’s house.” His voice held a reminiscent, longing note.
Anna wanted to ask him if that song in particular reminded him of home—if he’d left a sweetheart behind—but decided that would be improper. She scuffed her booted foot against the dusty ground and wondered why it mattered to her.
Fiddle and flute took up a new tune, Scottish, fast and infectious. It reminded Anna of her girlhood at Dunmalcolm, of being sixteen and dancing to the skirling music of bagpipes with her cousins and the neighbors’ sons in the castle ballroom. Her toes tapped of their own accord, and she saw that Sergeant Atkins’s did the same.
Impulsively she sprang to her feet and extended her hands. “Dance with me, Sergeant,” she ordered.
“No, ma’am. That wouldn’t be fitting.”
She beckoned again. “No one can see us here. Pretend we’re at your squire’s harvest dance, if you like.”
“But to a song like this, with a lady such as yourself? Not fitting at all.”
“What’s wrong with this song? I’ve never heard one more made for dancing.”
In the faint moonlight, she could just see his raised eyebrows. “You haven’t heard the words.”
She tossed her head. “I don’t care what the words are. I must
“Exactly.” He canted his head toward fire. “There are dangerous men here.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You cannot vouch for the men you command?”
“In battle, there’s not a man here I wouldn’t trust with my life. But less than half of them I’d trust alone in the dark with my sister.”
“Ah. I see.” She sighed. “But I don’t want to go back yet.”
She sensed more than saw him duck his head, a diffident gesture for such a self-assured man. “Do you mind if I sit with you, then, ma’am? I know you’d rather be alone, but…”
Much to her surprise, she realized she wanted his company. “If you can promise not to stare at me as if I’d grown a second head, nor walk on eggshells as if I were a dangerous lunatic, nor even look at me with money-lust the instant you hear my brother’s name, you may stay as long as you please.”
“That bad, is it, ma’am?”
She exhaled on a gusty sigh. It was such a relief to speak honestly. “It’s horrid. And please sit down, Sergeant.”
She slid over to make room for him, and he sat, close beside her, for the rock was not large.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “No one blames you, you must know.”
“No, they pity me, which is worse.”
“Well,” he said, with an air of weighing his words, “I hope it’s not too close to pity to say that you never deserved anything so dreadful, and that I hope life will be kinder in the future.”
It was pity of a sort, but a kinder, more bearable pity than most she had received. She didn’t suspect that Sergeant Atkins was secretly laughing at her, at least. “Thank you, Sergeant.”
They sat in companionable silence. He had a solid, reassuring presence, and she felt a sudden unaccountable urge to lean over and rest her head against his shoulder.
The music changed again, and Anna recognized the slower, more wistful melody as “The Girl I Left Behind Me.” Sergeant Atkins sang along softly in a rich baritone. On the second verse she chimed in, weaving harmony with her alto. “O ne’er shall I forget that night, the stars were bright above me, and gently lent their silv’ry light when first she vowed to love me.” He smiled at her, and they passed the melody and harmony back and forth for the rest of the song.
“You’ve a lovely voice, Mrs. Arrington,” he said.
“Thank you. Yours is fine, too.”
“I love to sing and dance.” He gazed toward the fire. “My father’s inn has a little assembly room. Usually it was the Quality that hired it, for balls and card parties, but sometimes he’d give a dance for everyone who worked for him and anyone from miles around who wanted to come. And we had dances in the village square, and once a year a harvest dance at the squire’s house.” His voice held a reminiscent, longing note.
Anna wanted to ask him if that song in particular reminded him of home—if he’d left a sweetheart behind—but decided that would be improper. She scuffed her booted foot against the dusty ground and wondered why it mattered to her.
Fiddle and flute took up a new tune, Scottish, fast and infectious. It reminded Anna of her girlhood at Dunmalcolm, of being sixteen and dancing to the skirling music of bagpipes with her cousins and the neighbors’ sons in the castle ballroom. Her toes tapped of their own accord, and she saw that Sergeant Atkins’s did the same.
Impulsively she sprang to her feet and extended her hands. “Dance with me, Sergeant,” she ordered.
“No, ma’am. That wouldn’t be fitting.”
She beckoned again. “No one can see us here. Pretend we’re at your squire’s harvest dance, if you like.”
“But to a song like this, with a lady such as yourself? Not fitting at all.”
“What’s wrong with this song? I’ve never heard one more made for dancing.”
In the faint moonlight, she could just see his raised eyebrows. “You haven’t heard the words.”
She tossed her head. “I don’t care what the words are. I must
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