Hero in the Highlands Read Free

straightened and brought over the crisp red dress uniform. “See that you do.”
    After Gabriel pulled on a fresh shirt he stripped out of his mud-and-blood-caked trousers and boots, then dressed all over again in his heavy, stiff dress uniform. He would have preferred a quick jump into the river first, or at least a bucket of water over his head, but he wasn’t about to keep Wellington waiting for him. Not after a written invitation—or order, or whatever the note had been.
    Finally Kelgrove stepped back. “You’ll do,” the sergeant said, his expression glum. “Still too dashing, which Wellington don’t like, but nothing I can do about that but hope you get your nose broken next time, Major. Or a saber cut across the bridge, at least. The one down your cheek just makes you look gallant.”
    â€œI’ll add my prayers to yours.”
    â€œAye,” Kelgrove returned, evidently not hearing the sarcasm. “While you’re up the hill I’ll see if I can find some spare uniform buttons and let the washerwomen have a go at turning that lump back into a proper coat.”
    â€œAnd remind damned Humphreys that I want his written account of the battle and his actions by morning. I want him to think it all through again and remember what an idiot he was.”
    â€œI’ll do that. I think you’ll find him a humbled man, this evening.”
    Fitting his black officer’s shako over his head, Gabriel ducked out through the tent’s flaps. “He’d best be, if he knows what’s good for him.”
    Even with the sounds of battle practically still ringing through the valley and the village of Salamanca itself, the vast camp of the allied English, Portuguese, and Spanish armies had already settled into its usual state of controlled chaos. He made his way among the tents and wagons and horse paddocks, heading for the slight rise on the northern edge.
    â€œMajor Forrester,” one of the lads in a group around a fire called, “I flatten out my buttons to pass them off as English coins. Never thought to use them as cannonballs!”
    Amid the laughter, his fellows rose to toast him with their tin cups. “To the Beast of Bussaco, who saved all our arses again today! Huzzah! The Beast!”
    Gabriel grinned, nodding. A few drunken toasts, he could manage. The first man who referred to him as Major Buttons, though, was definitely going to get knocked on his arse. “Thank you, lads. And if you have any spare buttons you haven’t hammered out yet, Sergeant Kelgrove has need of about eight of them. He’ll pay a shilling apiece.”
    Wellington had been offered a villa on the far edge of Salamanca for his use, but as usual he kept to his large, plain tent where he could have ready access to his officers and men. The man lived as much on information as he did on beef and bread. When Gabriel reached the lieutenant general’s lodgings, a slender young man looking no older than twelve saluted. “Major Forrester.”
    Gabriel returned the gesture. “Evans.”
    â€œLord Wellington is about to sit for dinner, sir.”
    Stifling a sigh at how long he was likely to have to wear his heavy wool coat now, Gabriel nodded. “I’ll await his convenience, then. Please send me word when he’s avail—”
    â€œLord Wellington asks that you join him, sir.” Taking a step back, Corporal Evans pulled the tent flap aside and gestured him to enter.
    Blast it all . He’d sat for officers’ dinners with Wellington before, and had on occasion joined the earl and other officers for drinks—and once, for a painful trio of hours at some local lordling’s house to listen to all the young misses in the area sing and play the harp and the pianoforte. There’d always been a distraction, or other, more clever-tongued people to carry on the conversation. This was different. Still, he supposed, it would be more