The Duke's Alliance: A Soldier's Bride(3)

When the war was over and the French had been driven from Spain and Portugal it was possible Mama would wish to return to England – but she doubted it. She rather thought she was about to have a Spanish stepfather – the leader of the small town, Carlos's father, was definitely interested in marriage.

She dropped to her knees and then peered over the edge. She almost toppled head first so great was her shock. There was a magnificent horse lying dead at the bottom of the ravine and a few yards away was the rider and he looked in little better case. Then she saw his hand move. He was alive and definitely not a Frenchman. Although he wasn't in uniform she recognised his clothes as coming from an English tailor.

However much she wanted to she could not get down to aid the injured man. She would have to go back and bring her comrades and some rope. She prayed the young man survived long enough to be rescued. His head was matted with blood and he was pale as a ghost beneath the gore.

It took scarcely a quarter of an hour to gallop home and her arrival attracted the attention she had hoped. She tumbled from the saddle and explained the reason for her precipitous entrance.

'We must get back there immediately. I fear the young man might have bled out before we reach him.'

Her mother handed her the haversack in which were the necessary items to deal with the injury. 'Are you quite sure he is not a Frenchman, my love?'

'I am, Mama, the ravine is not so deep I could not recognise the cut of his clothes. His horse was English too, a great shame it perished in the fall.'

Outside the men had gathered the necessary ropes. Carlos tossed her into the saddle. 'Sofia, lead the way and we shall follow.'

They travelled as speedily as she had and she pointed to the cliff edge. 'He's down there. I think it no more than seven or eight yards so it should not be too difficult bringing him out.'

Carlos strode to the edge and looked down before answering. 'The man's still alive. As long as he has no broken bones or damage to his insides raising him should not injure him further.'

'Lower me down first so I can attend to his head wound before you move him.'

No one argued with her suggestion and the rope was passed around her waist and knotted firmly. She then stepped off the edge and inched her way down using the rope to support her. She dropped to her knees beside the man and gently shook his shoulder.

'What is your name? We have come to help you. Try and stay awake it will aid your recovery.'

The man groaned and his eyelids flickered then opened. For a few seconds they were unfocused then he managed a half-smile. She bent down in order to hear his whispered words.

'English girl? I had my Spanish ready.'

'I am Spanish by adoption. Keep talking to me whilst I attend to your wound.'

She couldn't clean it here, that would have to be done when she got him home. The injury ran across his forehead just above his eyebrows. It would need suturing, this was something she was adept at and would present her with no problem. She pressed a clean pad of cloth across the gash and then quickly bound it tight. Hopefully, this would stop further loss of blood.

'Can you move your limbs? Do you have any other injuries?'

'Nothing broken but I am blind. I pray that this is temporary.'

'I will know more when I have examined you and cleaned you up. It's possible your loss of sight is nothing permanent but merely caused by the force with which you hit your head.'

There was a noxious pile of vomit to one side which indicated he had probably sustained a serious concussion. The fact that he was conscious and able to converse coherently was a good sign. Although she had sounded positive about his vision in fact she was not so sanguine. Only time would tell if this young English gentleman would ever see again.

His eyes were the hue of cornflowers, she had no notion what colour his hair was beneath the blood. He could be fair or dark – but it was no concern of hers.

Carlos and two others landed beside her. 'He's ready to move. You must be very careful with his head as he has sustained a serious injury and further damage could be fatal.'

She stepped aside and allowed the men to gently tie the rope under the Englishman's shoulders. They were used to working together and had no need to exchange words in order to get the job done. Carlos looked up and waved and the two men remaining above disappeared.

The ropes would have been attached to one of the horses and they would be guiding it backwards. The rope taughtened and slowly the patient was pulled to his feet. He was taller by a head than any of the partisans and his shoulders were broad. He was a fine figure of a man and she hoped he recovered and was able to return to his position with Wellington. That he was attached to the English army she had no doubt. Why else would he be wandering around the foothills?

Her rope also straightened and she was able to travel up beside him and keep his head from knocking against the cliff. He had passed out again which was probably a blessing in the circumstances. Transporting him to the village was going to be difficult but Carlos was used to returning with injured men after skirmishes with the French. Therefore, she was confident they would be able to complete this mission successfully.

They could hardly hang him across the saddle as they would a corpse or a prisoner – therefore, she would have to think of something else as she doubted he could remain in the saddle even with someone riding behind him.

The men were ahead of her and had already constructed a rudimentary sledge upon which to place him. This could then be dragged behind a horse. Fortunately, the track to the village was downhill most of the way and relatively smooth.