Chivalrous Captain, Rebel Mistress. Diane Gaston

depended upon the men remaining steady in the face of the massed charge.

      Allan rode to one side of the square. ‘Steady, men,’ he told them. ‘They cannot break you. Steady.’

      The riders might have been willing to ride into the square, but the horses balked at the sight of the bayonets pointed towards them. They turned and galloped past, the men on their backs only able to fire a single pistol shot each.

      The British infantry raked them with a barrage of musket fire, and the British cannon fire was unceasing. Smoke was everywhere, and through it the cries of wounded men.

      Finally the cavalry retreated, but it was a short respite. They reformed and attacked again.

      The squares held.

      After the second attack, Allan left the square to ride to the ridge to reconnoitre. His attention riveted not on the French cavalry regrouping, but on Hougoumont.

      The château at Hougoumont was on fire, the château he’d forbidden Miss Pallant to leave.

      He immediately urged his horse into full gallop, risking interception from the French. He was hell-bent on reaching Hougoumont, praying he had not forced Miss Pallant into a nightmare from which she could not escape.

      The gate did not open to him, even though there were only a few Frenchmen firing at the men on the walls.

      ‘How can I get in?’ he called as soon as he was close enough.

      One of the soldiers pointed to another entrance, well protected by muskets.

      He rode into heat and smoke. The barn was afire as well as the château and some soldiers had run in to pull the horses to safety. One of the animals broke free and ran back into the fire.

      Allan tied his horse to a post and went to the door of the château, sure that during the rigours of battle the boy he’d brought there would have been forgotten. He prayed the fire had not yet consumed the hallway.

      As he reached the door, he almost collided with someone dragging a man out. Someone dressed in boy’s clothes.

      ‘Miss Pallant!’ he cried, forgetting her disguise.

      She glanced at him as she struggled to get the man, too injured and weak to walk, out of the door, away from the fire. ‘Help me, Captain.’

      He took one of the man’s arms and pulled him outside to the middle of the courtyard. As soon as she let go of the man, she started for the château’s entrance again.

      He caught her arm. ‘What are you doing?’

      She wrenched it away. ‘There are more men in there.’ She dashed inside again.

      Allan followed her straight into an inferno. She ran to a corner and pulled a man by the collar of his coat, sliding him across the hall. Allan glanced up. The fire swirled above them and pieces of ceiling fell, one narrowly missing her. She paid no heed. Allan hurried through and found another man trying to crawl away from the flames. He flung the man over his shoulder and helped pull Miss Pallant’s soldier at the same time. ‘Hurry!’ he cried. ‘Now!’

      They made it out of the door just as the ceiling collapsed.

      ‘No!’ She turned and tried to rush back in.

      Still holding the wounded man, he caught her arm. ‘You cannot go in there.’ He gripped her hard. ‘Now get the man you have saved to the courtyard.’

      She nodded and pulled her charge away from the burning building, while the agonised screams of the trapped men pierced Allan’s very soul. As soon as he lowered his injured soldier to the ground near the other men she had saved, Miss Pallant ran towards the château again. He tore after her, catching her around the waist before she charged into the inferno.

      She struggled. ‘There are men in there. Can’t you hear them?’

      He held her tight, his mouth by her ear. ‘I hear them, but there is nothing we can do to save them.’

      She twisted around and buried her face into his chest, only to pull away again. ‘The little boy! The drummer boy! Is he still in there?’

      One of the men on the ground answered her, ‘He escaped, lad. I saw him. He’s unharmed.’

      Allan pulled her back into his arms and she collapsed against him.

      ‘How many did you pull out of there?’ he asked her.

      ‘Only seven.’ Her voice cracked.

      Seven men? How had she mustered the strength? The courage? ‘Those seven men are alive because of you.’

      She shook her head. ‘It was not enough. There are more.’

      ‘They are gone.’ He backed her away from the château where the flames were so close and hot that he feared they would combust like the château’s walls. ‘Come take some water.’

      The well was busy with men drawing water to fight the fire and Allan had to wait to draw water to drink. She cupped her hands and scooped water from the well’s bucket. Allan drank as well. One of the soldiers held out his shako and Allan filled it, passing it around to the rescued men. Allan’s horse, tethered nearby, pulled at its reins, its eyes white with fear.

      While the fire raged the French infantry attacked Hougoumont again. Colonel MacDonnell shouted orders to the men at the walls to keep firing. He and his officers moved through the area alert for weaknesses, ordering them reinforced.

      Allan sat Miss Pallant on the ground, forcing her to rest. He lowered himself beside her.

      ‘Will it never end?’ she whispered, echoing Allan’s own thoughts. As the sounds of the siege surrounded them, she glanced at him as if noticing him for the first time. ‘Why are you here, Captain? You said you would come when it was over.’

      He rubbed his face. ‘No one had need of me. General Picton is dead and Tranville, too, most likely—’

      Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Tranville!’

      ‘General Lord Tranville. My superior officer.’ What did she know of Tranville?

      ‘Surely he did not return to the army?’ Her voice rose.

      ‘Are you acquainted with him?’

      She pressed her hand against her forehead. ‘He is my late aunt’s husband. And my guardian.’

      ‘Your guardian!’

      ‘I—I have had no direct contact with him since my aunt died.’ She averted her gaze. ‘I never imagined he would return to the army, not since he inherited his title.’

      Tranville had become a baron before the Allies left Spain. Both he and his son Edwin returned to England then and did not rejoin the regiment until Napoleon escaped from Elba a few months ago.

      She bowed her head. ‘He is dead?’

      Allan put his hand on hers in sympathy. ‘It appears so. Several of his men saw him struck down. No one has seen him since.’

      She paused before speaking. ‘You must know my cousin Edwin. Is—is he still alive?’

      Of course Edwin was alive, safely hiding out of harm’s way. ‘I suspect he is. I’ve not heard otherwise.’

      She put on a brave face, but clearly she was battling her emotions. ‘Well. I have rested enough. I must see if the wounded need attending.’ She rose.

      Allan rose with her and gripped her arm. ‘No. It has become too dangerous for you here.’

      The buildings still burned, but the Coldstream Guards, the Nassauers and the others had again set the French into retreat. How many more times could the French be repelled, though?

      ‘I’m getting you out now.’ Allan’s duty was clear to him now. The army did not immediately need him, but this woman, the ward of his superior officer, did.

      ‘But