Free Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress by Diane Gaston Page B

ground, as if as impatient as he.
    ‘Your boots, Captain?’ she called to him.
    ‘Bring them. I’ll don them later.’
    Marian led the horse to him, saddled and with his boots sticking out from the bags slung across the horse’s back.
    ‘Hold the pistol while I mount.’ He handed the pistol to her, and prayed for the strength to seat himself on the horse. His wound now throbbed in agony and the muscles in his legs were trembling with the effort of standing so long.
    He grabbed the pommel and put his stockinged foot in the stirrup. Taking a deep breath, he swung his leg over the horse.
    And cried out with pain.
    But he made it into the saddle, even though his vision momentarily turned black.
    ‘Farewell, Karel,’ Miss Pallant cried as she mounted the horse. She clutched Allan’s arm with one hand and held the pistol in the other. ‘Go now.’
    Valour sped off as if she’d understood the need to hurry.The farmer ran after them, shouting and swinging the axe, but Valour galloped faster, down the same path on which the farmer had undoubtedly just arrived. Allan gave Valour her head until they were a safe distance away and the path opened on to a larger road. He slowed the mare before she was blown.
    They passed fields and wood, all blurring into shades of green and brown. Allan’s muscles ached and his wound throbbed, but he hung on. Miss Pallant, seated behind him, clung to his back.
    The road on which they travelled showed no signs of leading anywhere. Allan tried to keep them heading in a north-easterly direction, surmising they would either find a road that led to Brussels or they’d reach the Dutch border. Either way they would be travelling away from France and would be unlikely to encounter a retreating French army.
    ‘We should stop, Captain,’ Miss Pallant said to him.
    ‘Not yet,’ he managed. He swayed in the saddle. ‘Captain—’
    ‘I am well enough.’ The day was not far advanced. They might reach a town soon if he held on a little longer.
    The road twisted to follow a stream flowing alongside. Valour turned toward the water.
    ‘She is thirsty, Captain. Let her drink.’
    ‘Very well.’ He could not argue, even though he had no assurance he’d have the strength to mount the horse again once off her back.
    Miss Pallant slipped off, landing on her feet. Allan’s legs nearly gave out on him when he dismounted.
     
    Marian had guessed he’d been holding on by a thin tether. She’d felt the tension in the muscles of his back as he rode.
    ‘You must rest, too,’ she insisted.
    ‘We are too exposed here,’ he said. ‘I do not think the farmer would pursue us, but if I am wrong—’ He glancedaround and pointed to some thick bushes across a very narrow section of the stream. ‘Come. We can hide over there.’
    She helped him cross the stream to the shelter of the foliage before returning to lead Valour over. The sanctuary was ideal. There was even a pool of water perfect for Valour to drink unseen.
    The Captain collapsed to the ground and leaned against a tree trunk, his eyes closed, breathing hard from the walk. How had he managed to ride so far? she wondered. Only the day before she’d feared he would die.
    Marian reached into the saddlebags and pulled out the tin cup she’d packed along with their clothing. Walking a bit upstream from where Valour stood she filled the cup and drank, then refilled it and carried it to the captain. ‘Drink this.’
    He returned a grateful look as he wrapped his fingers around the cup.
    His stockings were shredded from the stirrup. ‘It is time you put on your boots.’
    He lowered the cup. ‘My feet will welcome them.’
    It was the closest he’d come to complaining throughout this ordeal. She retrieved his clean stockings and boots from the saddlebags. ‘Shall I put them on for you?’
    ‘My stockings, if you do not mind. The boots I must do myself.’ His voice was weary, though he seemed to be making an effort to disguise it.
    She took his foot