Hero in the Highlands Read Free Page A

agreeable to be dressed down over dinner than with naught to show for it.
    The tent had been partitioned into several sections, to give the appearance that those inside had at least a degree of privacy. In the middle sat a table with room for a dozen or so officers, though at present only two chairs and two settings were visible. A private approached to take his hat and gloves, while another one pulled a chair out from the table.
    Perhaps he’d been killed this afternoon, after all; with the candlelit gloom of the command tent and the prospect of carrying on a prolonged conversation with his famously reticent commanding officer, this was shaping nicely into his idea of hell. When the chair-holding private cleared his throat, Gabriel blew out his breath and sat.
    In the next heartbeat Wellington stepped into sight, and Gabriel stood again. “General.”
    â€œMajor. You are going to remain for the meal, I trust? Not gallop off halfway through the roast mutton to go fling buttons at enemy soldiers?”
    Damnation. Gabriel brushed at the front of his uniform. “My aide-de-camp asked that I not do so, my lord. He worries the army will run short of buttons and we’ll look too shabby to ride into Madrid.”
    â€œAnd I second his very wise request. And his worry. Sit down, Major. Redding, wine.”
    One of the privates scurried over to the tent’s liquor cabinet and unlocked the large mahogany tantalus. Wellington might scoff at soft beds and other luxuries, but the man knew his liquor. Personally Gabriel would have preferred something stronger than wine, especially if he was about to be reassigned to a desk in the Horse Guards, but he was very clearly in Rome, so to speak. Tonight he would drink wine.
    Once Private Redding poured, the tent seemed to empty of all staff. It must have been prearranged, because accustomed as Gabriel was to looking for subtle signs, shifts in the battlefield, he hadn’t detected anything at all. The deep red drink was too sweet by far for his taste, but that meant it was likely more expensive than anything he could have afforded on his own, so he sipped at it and tried to look mildly impressed.
    â€œI had a plan for the battle today,” Wellington said into the silence, his own glass sitting untouched. “A feint by my center to lure in the French cavalry, with cannons to smash them to bits while my foot soldiers ground theirs into paste.”
    â€œYes, sir. I’m aware of that.”
    â€œAnd you informed your Lieutenant Humphreys of this, as well, I assume?”
    â€œI did.” Gabriel took a breath. The lad didn’t deserve defending, but if he had truly learned his lesson today, he had the makings of a competent officer. “The smoke obscured the flags. Humphreys knew if he lagged that he would leave an opening for the cavalry to escape. In his … inexperience, he rushed forward instead of looking for confirmation.”
    â€œSo if you’d been there as you’d intended, you would still have all your uniform buttons?” Finally sitting back, the earl lifted his glass and took a long, slow drink.
    â€œIn theory, I suppose, though I have no way of knowing in what condition my uniform might have ended.”
    â€œI won’t say you single-handedly won the battle of Salamanca,” the lieutenant general mused a moment later, “but I will say that you single-handedly kept us from losing it, Major. If they weren’t already praising your actions at Bussaco, you’d be the Savior of Salamanca after today.”
    That didn’t precisely sound like a drumming-down. Yet, anyway. “I am a soldier, sir. I do what is required to win.”
    â€œJust as well. Nicknames are tricky things to live up to.”
    Gabriel nodded. “I don’t care what anyone calls me, as long as I’m permitted to do my duty.”
    â€œMm. Very humble of you. And now that I consider it, rather ironic.”
    A frown