“Three daughters I have, though none so pretty as you. I should like to think that someone would be of aid to them if they made a foolish choice.” She turned to give Helena a hard look.
“I would, if I could,” Helena vowed. “If ever I see a young lady in dire circumstance, I will help if I can. You have shown me the merit of that.”
“Then all is not lost. Do not give up on your brother just yet, Miss Emerson. He sounds a most principled fellow. I have hopes of him.”
Eliza waited as they rode in silence, content to let Nicholas choose his moment. The coach was warmer just with his presence opposite her and she took the opportunity to study him. He was looking out the window, frowning slightly, and she saw tumult in his gaze.
His secret was not a happy one.
That made her regret asking for it, in a way, yet she was honored that he chose to trust her with it.
“You asked once why I did not wish to dream,” he said finally. He turned to meet her gaze, his own expression inscrutable—save for his eyes, which were that deep blue she associated with strong emotions in him. His jaw was tight and his posture rigid, as if he faced a foe in simply the telling of this tale. “It is because I have been haunted by a single dream these five years, a memory of a battle that I will never forget.”
It was precisely as Damien had suggested to her. Eliza only nodded, not wanting to interrupt his tale now that he had begun.
“I should not tell you of that night. I should not give a lady any inkling of what we endured and what few of us survived.”
“I ask you as a friend,” she said softly.
“Perhaps you know of Badajoz from Haynesdale.”
“He says he recalls little of it, save the pain, and that you were responsible for his survival.”
Nicholas did not dispute that. He looked out the window again, but Eliza guessed he saw another place entirely. “When I do not drink, I dream of it, again and again.” He shook his head, then gestured with one hand, drawing a map in the space between them.
His tone turned brisk and she saw his military experience in his ability to summarize a situation clearly. “Badajoz is sited on a natural peak, one fortified with heavy walls encircling both a town and a fortress. To the north, flowing from west to east, is the Guadiana River, a wide slow river and a formidable obstacle in itself. A tributary called the Revillas breaks from it to flow down the eastern side of the city, descending into fen and swamp to the south and east. On this side, the rock rises in a sheer cliff to the summit of the fortifications. Most previous approaches had been made from the southwest, where the road rose to the gates.
“You must understand that this city was fortified beyond measure, yet Wellington was determined to take it. The curtain walls were over twenty feet high, the eight bastion towers over thirty. Little happened in the vicinity of that town that was not seen from within its walls. The fortress itself occupied the northeast corner of the mount. On this night, it was resolved that we would approach in darkness from two directions at once: from the east, scaling that sheer cliff, and from the west, scaling a less-sheer cliff. In a way, it was madness. In another, no one would have anticipated such a scheme of attack so surprise was on our side.”
Nicholas fell silent then, his throat working, and she knew he saw it again. Eliza wanted to touch him, to console him, but she feared to interrupt his tale.
“I was with Haynesdale, of course, and beneath his command. He was calm, I remember, utterly confident of our triumph. Men would follow him blindly, simply due to that confidence. I felt only dread, for I had examined the rock face and knew that many would fall in the attempt to scale it. I feared that we would be assaulted from above, an easy feat for the defenders of the town and one that might spell the doom of many. Haynesdale and I argued over the scheme, but in hindsight, I know it was not his and being ordered to execute it, he had no choice but to follow the command. There were known breaches in the walls above, if we could but reach them, and it was believed that victory would be readily won.”
Again he paused, his gaze flicking unseeingly over the map he had drawn in the air between them. “We gathered in the southeast under cover of darkness. The Fourth and Light Divisions were to storm those breaches. The Third Division was to scale the wall, while the Fifth Division was to attack the bastion on the northwest corner of the walls, to divide the defenders. The plan was as sound as it could be. We waited for the hour to grow ever later, in silence and trepidation.” He cast her a wan smile. “I remember the croaking of the frogs.”
Eliza could envision the scene, men crowded together in darkness, the shadow of the fortress overhead, the sound of the frogs—and she imagined the tang of fear.
“At ten, we placed the ladders against the cliffs and the wall, all the while dreading discovery. There was only a single musket shot from above in response. It made no sense to me but Haynesdale was encouraged.” Nicholas swallowed. “I remember his confident wink, then saw him proceed to the ladder. He intended to lead us to victory.” He shook his head. “He never hung back in safety to watch. He always led the way, which was why men would follow him anywhere.”
Eliza gripped her hands together in her lap, riveted by the tale.
“That wink was the last hint of normalcy, for immediately afterward, there were explosions on all side. The darkness of the night was rent by the flash of fire, the roar of muskets and the shouts of men who were struck.” He rolled his fingers and thumb together. “Grapeshot is fine, fired in clusters and a source of much damage. The air was filled with it. It rained upon us like hail stones, tearing into flesh with dreadful power. The very ground shook with the force of their defense and men fell on all sides.” He swallowed. “Haynesdale fell. I will never forget the sight of him, the dismay in his expression, the blood as he stumbled. Of course, he tried to rise but was struck again. I knew that he would die there, unless I intervened.”
He shook his head and raised his hands. “There was a kind of trench on that side, and it not only filled with the fallen but did so with astonishing speed. I had to get Haynesdale away from there before he was buried alive amidst corpses.”
Eliza gasped. “They were not all dead?”
Nicholas met her gaze and shook his head steadily. “Not yet.” He inhaled and looked down at the floor, as if he saw that ground again. “Some endeavored to seize me as I retrieved Haynesdale. They clutched at any hope of survival. I remember one man holding my ankle and how hard I had to shake my boot for him to relinquish his grip. By the time I carried Haynesdale to safety and bound his leg to slow the blood, I returned to find that man dead of his injuries. It was chaos. It was carnage. It was horrific.” This last he said softly.
“Were you injured, as well?”
Nicholas touched his shoulder fleetingly, disinterested in his own wound. “It healed well enough, but the memory of that night will never leave me.” He braced his elbows on his knees and held her gaze grimly. “That is my secret, Mrs. North. That is the dream I fear to have, the dream that haunts me, the dream that will never relinquish its grip upon me. I recall that soldier and his desire to live. I recall the sound of my boots sinking into the mire of bodies as I carried Haynesdale away. I think about the darkness and the fire, the smell of blood and roasting flesh, and I find myself once more in the fen alongside the Revillas, sick with what we had done.”
“How many men?” Eliza asked in a whisper. She had heard rumors, but she wanted the truth.
“Over five thousand were lost that night. We took Badajoz, but I could not share in the triumph. The celebration lasted a day and a night within the walls, a glut of whoring and thieving that was as revolting as the price of gaining the town. Haynesdale cannot remember much of it. He was struggling to survive, battling the prospect of infection and a much more lingering death.”
“He survived because of you. He told me that he owes you his life.”
