FIVE

            Sharpe wandered down the stairs slowly, wiping his hand over his face.
            ‘Stay for a night-cap’ she says. As if I don’t know what that means, he snorted. He reached the bottom before he stopped, thinking. But she didn’t have any drinks in her room, he realised slowly. He shook his head, smiling, before he pushed the big door to the building open, pushing it closed firmly. He stepped off the stone bricks to the dirt street, feeling the chilly air against his face as he wrapped his hand round his sword hilt, turning in the direction of his building. She were certainly scared about summat, he thought idly. Is it the village, or the 54th? She said she were picking up her brother’s effects tomorrow. You’d think she’d be glad to get ‘em back…
            He pushed it from his mind as he noticed a dark shape stealing against the far wall of the street. It slipped on towards the building behind him. He pretended not to notice and kept on walking. He heard the sound of the door opening and closing softly and stopped, looking back quickly.
            So that’s what it is – someone’s after her, he thought wildly. He turned and ran to the doors, then stopped. Wait a minute, lad, he thought quickly, his hand on the door. He hesitated, his tongue wetting his upper lip slowly. Maybe he’s not even going to her room. Maybe it’s nowt. Maybe I should stop thinking I’ve owt to do with her and get to me bed.
            He let go of the door slowly, then turned and looked back over the street. He huffed and turned away, walking slowly back into the street.
            Suddenly a scream burst from the upstairs window, closely followed by the crack of a pistol shot. He turned and threw his shoulder against the door, flinging it open and running to the stairs, taking them two at a time.
            He ran along the landing, seeing her door open. He barged in and almost tripped. He stopped and grabbed the open door for support, looking round.
            Constance was stood, one hand over her mouth, the other limply holding a spent pistol directly at him. He looked at his feet.
            The colour of the jacket of the man at his feet made him jump. He pushed the sword hilt out of his way and dropped to his knees, grabbing the green uniform and rolling it over.
            “Bitch,” Green whimpered, and Sharpe looked up at her.
            “What the bloody hell do you think yer doing?” he bawled at her. She dropped the pistol and stepped back until she was against the wall, whimpering into her hands.
            Sharpe looked Green over, finding a spreading patch of deep red over his left shoulder. He pushed him flat against the floor.
            “Don’t move,” he commanded, and Green opened the eyes he’d squeezed shut.
            “Oh, it’s you, sir,” he ground out, hissing with the pain. Sharpe grabbed his buttons and yanked his jacket open, finding the pistol wound to his shoulder and looking around the room hurriedly. He got up, slammed the door quickly, and then looked at Constance.
            “Get me summat to put over it!” he shouted harshly. She just stared, every part of her shaking, silent tears flowing over her face. He tutted and ran to her suitcase on the bed, upending it to tip the contents over the bed. Green moaned and whimpered in pain. Sharpe grabbed at a small white piece of something and ran back over, opening it to find it was a silk slip. He grabbed the seams and ripped it in half, folding it over and over. He looked at Green. “Don’t move!” he snapped.
            “Yes, sir,” Green moaned, wincing and shivering. Sharpe pulled his shirt from his shoulder and pressed the silk to it firmly. Green shouted in pain, whimpering and moaning again.
            “Come on, up,” Sharpe snapped, helping him to sit up. Green grabbed at his arm and they got him to his feet slowly. Sharpe helped him hobble over to the bed, where he swept the case and the clothes onto the floor. He dropped him to the bed and turned to look at Constance. “You,” he said quickly, moving over to her and grabbing her wrists from her mouth. She squealed in fright and tried to free her hands, trying to back away, but she was already against the wall. Sharpe squeezed her wrists painfully and slapped them back against the wall. “Constance!” he shouted into her face.
            She gulped and looked at him, her face a study in white fear. He looked over at Green, shivering and groaning in pain. He looked back at the girl he was pinning to the wall.
            “Constance! You have to help him!” he snapped. She gulped and whimpered, shaking her head wildly.
            “I didn’t know! I didn’t know! I didn’t see the green jack-“
            “Constance, listen to me,” he shouted. She shook her head desperately. “I need you to watch him while I get help, do you understand me?” he snapped. She started to shake again, her tears flowing over her face quickly.
            “I didn’t know he wasn’t him! I thought he was –“
            Sharpe let go of one of her wrists and simply slapped her across the face. It wasn’t hard but it stopped her short. She stared off to the side, at the floor, for a long, silent second.
            “Constance, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “But you have to look after him while I get help. Do you understand?” he said firmly. She raised her head and looked at him, her eyes a little vacant.
            “Yes, yes,” she said vaguely. He swallowed and pulled her by her wrist to the bed. He pushed her to sit down and picked up her other wrist, placing it on the silk makeshift bandage.
            “Press that. And don’t move, either of you,” he commanded.
            “Hurry,” she said quietly. Green opened his eyes.
            “I’m sorry, sir,” he wheezed.
            “We’ll sort that out later,” he said confidently, then turned and ran from the room.


            “Pat! Pat!” he shouted as he ran into the barn. Seven heads popped up from their various hiding places in the hay, annoyed at having been woken.
            Harper slowly pulled himself into a sitting position. “Oh,” he said with a particular lack of enthusiasm, “it’s you, sir.”
            “Aye, it’s me – get up, right now! I need you and Harris, follow me!” he shouted. Harper struggled to his feet quickly, turning and finding Harris climbing laboriously out of the hay. Sharpe turned and was already out of the barn door. The two Green Jackets scrambled after him into the night. “Harris,” Sharpe said as soon as they were out of the barn and under the night sky, “fetch the camp surgeon. Tell him to come up to Miss Constance Peel’s room, right now,” he ordered.
            “Sir!” Harris snapped, saluting and running off.
            “What is it, sir?” Harper cried.
            “Constance has shot Green, that’s what,” he snapped irritably. “Come on, I left her keeping him from bleeding all over the place.”
            “What?” Harper gasped, following him as he turned to race back toward the far building, “She shot the poor wee lad, and you left her tending him?” he dared.
            “She thought he were someone else,” Sharpe snapped as they ran. Harper just followed as they barrelled through the door and up the stairs. Sharpe burst into the room, finding that she had lit a few candles in his absence. He crossed the room quickly to find her pressing on the bandage with both hands.
            “And she said, ‘how am I supposed to wash my face with that?’” she was saying shakily. Green let out a wheeze of amusement, wincing in pain as he did so.
            “Very good, miss,” he managed, grinning despite the fire in his shoulder.
            Sharpe stood over her. “Right you,” he said imperiously, “up.” She looked up at him, spotted Harper over his shoulder, and looked back down at Green.
            “Just you hold on, Berakiah, help’s here,” she said warmly, letting go of the bandage and getting up. She squeezed past Sharpe deliberately, walking to the fireplace and putting her hands against the ledge, looking at the wall. Sharpe appeared to ignore her, instead sitting on the bed and studying the bandage closely.
            “You’ll be alright, Green,” he said finally, “dunt look like it’s bleeding too much,” he added. Green opened his eyes and looked at him.
            “Thank you, sir. Sir,” he added suddenly. Sharpe waited. “She didn’t know it was me, sir. She thought it was someone coming to harm her, sir. Don’t be angry, sir,” he added, his voice thick with pain. Sharpe looked over at her, then up at Harper. He got up.
            “You look after him while the others get here,” he said quietly, then walked over to Constance slowly. He stood next to her. “You know yer in trouble, miss,” he said, equally quietly. She gave a brief bark of cynical laughter.
            “Oh, I’ve always been in trouble of some sort or another, Major,” she said sourly. “This little episode just takes precedence, that’s all,” she sniffed. He looked over his shoulder at Harper, now sitting on the bed and talking to Green, and then back at her. She looked at him slowly, her eyes shining in the wan light. He put his hand on her arm, pulling her from the fireplace and over toward the open curtains of the window. He let go of her arm and looked at her, lifting his hands to his hips expectantly.
            “You tell me what’s going on, Miss Peel,” he said quietly. She folded her arms, looking at him and straightening.
            “I thought he was a burglar, or worse. When he picked the lock and opened the door like that, I thought he was a trained thief. I picked up the only weapon I had and used it,” she said bravely. He smiled at her, but she didn’t take to it. It was sly and knowing.
            “So he got in here by picking a lock and sneaking in. Hmm,” he said, turning away slightly to look out of the window. “He must have made a lot of noise, then,” he surmised. “And you had time to pick up the pistol and aim it at the doorway, before he’d even put a foot through the jamb. Impressive,” he said sarcastically. She put her hand on his upper arm and spun him to look back at her.
            “Look, I’m sorry for all of this; I never wanted to hurt anyone,” she snapped. He stepped closer to her slowly, looking down his nose at her. His eyes burned into hers and she let go of his arm quickly, letting her hand drop. “I hope he’ll be alright,” she added defiantly.
            “Lucky yer not a good shot,” he said dubiously, his eyes narrowing. “But you may have put an end to his career as a rifleman,” he added harshly. “He needs that shoulder.”
            “I’m sorry,” she whispered, letting her head drop. She put her hands to her face slowly, and he noticed her shoulders start to shake.
            “And you can cut that out, too,” he said sternly. “It didn’t work before, and it’s not going to save you now.”
            She looked up quickly, her face streaked with tears, her lower lip quivering fiercely. She swept her hand back and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.
            Harper looked over quickly, surprised. Sharpe simply grabbed her wrist, and she struggled as she cried out in frustration.
            “Let go of me!” she growled. He held on and she yanked at her wrist futilely. She stopped pulling abruptly and simply threw herself at him, putting her free arm round him and holding onto him. She began to sob.
            Harper looked back at Green, shaking his head and tutting to himself.
            Sharpe let go of her wrist and she put that arm round his neck, sobbing into his shirt through his open tunic buttons. He sighed and rolled his eyes, putting his arms round her.
            “Here now, what’s going on?” a loud voice said, and they looked over to the door. Harris was guiding an elderly man through the doorframe, looking around and taking note of everything.
            “Sir?” he said, then caught sight of the two of them by the window. “Surgeon, sir,” he said helpfully. Sharpe took his arms from her, but she grabbed onto him and refused to let go. He huffed.
            “Harris, Harper, get him sorted,” he said irritably. Harris looked to Harper, who got to his feet and motioned the surgeon over. Sharpe looked back at her, admitting to himself that this particular tantrum was a triumph of her acting skill. He cleared his throat. “Look, Constance,” he said quietly against her ear, “let’s leave them to patch him up. You still have a lot of explaining to do.”
            She sniffed and pulled her head from his front, nodding slowly.
            “Yes, yes, I can see that I do,” she admitted, her voice unsteady still. Sharpe pulled her from him but she clung to his arm. He slid it behind her and guided her over to the middle of the floor. He let go of her, bending to pick up a coat he’d swept off the bed earlier, and then stood, putting it round her shoulders. He looked over her head at Harper, who nodded meaningfully, as Sharpe guided her from the room. He stopped them by the door, turning toward Harper where she couldn’t see. He stabbed a finger toward Green, then motioned to Constance and pulled his thumb across his throat swiftly in a cutting gesture. Harper waved him from the room and he walked her out to the landing slowly.

SIX

            Sharpe opened the door and let her walk in first. She clutched the coat around her, walking to his bed and sitting abruptly. He closed the door quietly and turned to find her falling sideways and crying into the top bed sheet.
            He sighed and walked over slowly, stopping in front of her and folding his arms.
            “Constance, give over,” he said wearily. She opened her eyes and looked at him, her tears and noises still coming.
            “I’m sorry, Richard,” she sobbed, “it’s been a long time since – since I could – I could trust anyone enough to cry,” she admitted. He rolled his eyes.
            “Miss, I’m not impressed,” he said. Or am I? She’s certainly good at keeping this up, he thought to himself.
            “No, I don’t suppose a man like you would be,” she shot back, putting her hands to her face and sitting slowly, leaning forwards to put her elbows on her knees. She controlled herself with what looked like a mammoth effort, and he suddenly found that he was impressed. Whether it was with her acting skill or cleavage he couldn’t be sure, but he was willing to bet it was the latter.
            “Miss, you’ve yet to tell me why you thought Green were after you,” he pointed out.
            “Yes, yes, your precious green-coat,” she snapped irritably.
            “Green Jacket,” he corrected harshly. “And that poor bastard had done nothing to deserve you shooting at him. Tell me, or tell the Provosts,” he said flatly. She looked up at him.
            “They can’t arrest me, I’m a civilian,” she said uncertainly.
            “You’d better hope yer right,” he challenged, and she swallowed. She took a deep breath and sniffed, wiping her hands over her face again. She cleared her throat and looked up at him.
            “Fair enough. I’ll tell you everything, Richard, because I need to tell someone or I’ll go out of my head. And I trust you,” she added quietly.
            “Trust me? Why?” he demanded.
            “Because you don’t like me, Richard. Because you have more brains than any of the other officers, and because…” She paused, then bit her lip and looked at her hands in her lap. She looked back up at him. “Because you’re the closest thing to a friend that I have.”
            “Even though I don’t like you?”
            “Because you don’t like me,” she said. He stared at her.
            “I never said I didn’t like you,” he admitted quietly. She blinked. “Well? Your excuses?” he asked suddenly, his voice louder and back to unimpressed. She sniffed, then looked around the room slowly. She wet her lips, then looked back at him.
            “Don’t you keep booze in your room?” she asked, surprised.
            “No.”
            “Would you... would you have anything to drink?” she asked timidly. “It would steady my nerves.”
            “They’ll just have to steady on their own, Constance,” he said slowly. She half-smiled and nodded.
            “Why not? I’ve come this far by myself, why should the rest be any different?” she asked herself bitterly. She sighed and looked up at him. “Are you going to stand over me with that school master expression the whole time? At least unfold your arms,” she asked, some of her old spirit returning. “Why don’t you sit down?” she asked, spreading her hand over the bed next to her. He turned and walked away toward the wooden chair in the corner. He picked it up by the backrest and walked back over, depositing it a foot from the bed and sitting in it heavily. He let himself slip down it a small way until he was comfortable, his ankles touching the chair legs slightly, and folded his arms again. She smiled. “It’s always amused me that men sit like that,” she smiled. He felt his lips pouting in anger and stopped himself. He cleared his throat slowly.
            “Your story.”
            “Oh, alright,” she sighed. She sat up, depriving him of the view, and she looked at the cuffs at his wrists harmlessly. “My brother was a Lieutenant, and he did die with the 54th,” she said. “Except he was rather richer than anyone knew. Five years of plundering French bodies and investing the proceeds did us well.”
            “Us?”
            “My brother kept me, Richard, as family do. He was determined that I live in England and find a nice young army man to marry. He insisted that I have a comfortable life and I… didn’t argue,” she allowed.
            “Well?”
            “About a year ago, I met a young fellow by the name of Edward Tanner. He seemed a nice young gent and we courted for some months. In all that time he was the most gracious and well-mannered person you could ever meet,” she said sadly.
            “And how did you find out he were a cheating liar?” he asked knowingly. She looked up at him quickly, surprised.
            “Well… after he proposed marriage. My parents having passed away already, he suggested we go to his parents’ place in the country. We went,” she said simply. “We met, and everyone got on, and a date was set for the marriage. Oh,” she said to herself, looking at the ceiling and clasping her hands in her lap, “those were marvellous days, Richard. I was living with my future in-laws and my fiancé, and everything was flowers, and sunny walks in the gardens, and promises of eternal love,” she whispered.
            He watched her face for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. “And then?”
            “And then… one day he asked to borrow some money. Oh, he was grovelling and ashamed and kept cursing himself, but I was so in love I thought giving him money was a small thing to do. I lent him… I lent him three hundred guineas,” she admitted. He stared at her, stunned.
            “And you just had all that lying round the place?” he scoffed, his eyes wide. She grinned.
            “I had a banker’s cheque drawn, Richard. I had amassed quite a tidy sum in my name, and although I had spent some travelling to the country and on small luxuries like dresses, I was careful to save as much as I could from what my brother sent me. I knew what he had gone through to get it to me,” she admitted darkly. Sharpe sniffed.
            “And what did he say this small fortune were for, invading France?” he asked, deadpan. She smiled despite herself.
            “He said it was toward some wedding preparations. He said after we were married he’d not only pay me back but keep me himself. I confessed it was a strain on my brother, and somehow we got talking about the wealth he had.”
            “Not very bright, are you?” Sharpe said scathingly. Her face straightened in anger.
            “I was in love with him, Richard! I was going to marry him! How could I have known he was gambling it away?” she demanded. He just looked down at his wrists, thinking. “I don’t expect a callous, rough-hewn scoundrel like yourself to understand something at complicated as love!” she spat.
            He raised his head and levelled her with a gaze that brought heat to her cheeks suddenly, despite its obvious anger. They stared at each other for a long moment, and then he let his eyes flick to the side, his face losing its defiance slowly.
            “And Edward Tanner?” he asked eventually, looking back at her with more accommodation. She raised her chin slightly.
            “He somehow persuaded me to move back to my small townhouse, said we shouldn’t be living together before we were married. I agreed, of course. Propriety is very important to me,” she added, flicking an arch gaze his way. He just stared back and she knew she was beaten. “Some time after that, I found my account had been emptied. I tried to return to the house in the country, determined to ask for his explanation, but he wasn’t there. No-one was. I returned to London and tried to get by – I even got a job, Richard,” she smiled, and his eyebrows raised slowly. “Yes, me, a job,” she added. “I was a governess – that’s when I learned to cry and throw tantrums to get my way,” she said with an ironic smile.
            “And then you told your brother what had happened?” he asked quietly.
            “No. How could I?” she said sadly. “He thought I was marrying a man of good standing, and would soon be living with a family of stature. He was planning to leave the army and come to live near us.”
            “Did you ever tell him?” he asked.
            “Good Lord no, I did not!” she cried, dismayed. “And I’m glad that I didn’t. If he’d known that that weasel had stolen our money, he would have been on the first boat back to England to choke it out of him! And if he’d found out that he’d broken my heart, he would have found him and shot him,” she said firmly.
            “I think I like your brother,” he said, and she noticed the beginnings of a small smile tugging at his mouth. She let herself relax her stern features.
            “So I worked and saved, trying to pretend I was a lady of means and not really living hand-to-mouth,” she shrugged simply. “And then one day it happened – the letter from his Colonel. He was very apologetic, of course,” she said sadly. “But… There it was, all laid out in clear, black ink.”
            “Your brother was dead.”
            “Yes, Richard,” she said, and then looked up at him slowly. “And… I was surprised to find my heart broken again. I didn’t think it possible,” she whispered. She cleared her throat quickly. “My brother had taken care of me after our parents died. He had seen to everything, and the day he left to fight overseas, he promised he’d always take care to come back.” She felt her lip trembling and he sighed slowly.
            “I’m sure he meant to,” he said quietly. She didn’t look at him, just pressed her hand to her cheek and blew out a sigh. She waved a little air at her face, then sniffed and looked at him.
            “Thank you,” she said awkwardly. They looked at each other for a long moment. “And then one day I came home to find Mr Tanner happily sitting on my chez-lounge and drinking my sherry,” she said brightly. “I was so angry I threw some of my best – and only – plates at him. Unfortunately, they all missed,” she said grumpily. Sharpe smiled slightly, but she didn’t notice. She seemed lost in memories. “We argued, I threw some more things at him, and he gave me a long story about needing more money because he was in trouble. I told him that he wasn’t to come near me or contact me ever again, and he confessed he had always loved me, but loved gambling more.”
            “I bet that hurt,” Sharpe admitted, and was surprised when he realised he had said it out loud.
            “Oh, it did, but I know the poker did too, Richard,” she chuckled.
            “The poker?” he prompted, surprised.
            “Oh yes. I picked it up and chased him out of the house with it. He stopped at the door and vowed he’d find me, his darling fiancée, wherever I was and squeeze the rest of my brother’s money out of me one way or another. That was when I hit him over the head with it,” she said succinctly, and he laughed out loud. She looked at him, surprised.
            “Yer a woman after me own heart,” he said, amused, then sobered and looked at her. “Except I’m not supposed to have one.”
            “Oh dear. Look, I’m sorry about all the nasty things I’ve said to you, Richard. I’m not very even-tempered these days,” she admitted quietly.
            “And then?” he replied quietly
            “And then I came to Spain. I rented out my house, bought passage on a boat, and came here to find my brother’s effects, hopefully a little money, and then return to London. I want to open up a flower shop,” she said quietly. He nodded, then sighed.
            “And you thought the man creeping into yer room tonight was Edward Tanner?” he said.
            “I did. That’s why I wanted you to come in,” she admitted guiltily. “Believe me, Richard, I was desperate. I was trying so hard to think of a way to get you in my room.”
            He just looked at her, and she noticed any humour had gone from his face.
            “You could have just asked for me help,” he said, annoyed. “Yer didn’t have to pretend to like me to get me protect you,” he added, disgusted. She smiled slightly.
            “I couldn’t be sure. Men are such… fickle creatures,” she admitted. “And I thought, if it had been done to me, why couldn’t I do it to others? All I had to do was find an officer of a suitably high rank, furnish him with affection and anything else he wanted in his tent, and I’d have his complete loyalty and protection. I could reach the 54th, pick up the effects and make a quick return to England, leaving my protector to the army. After all, I may be a girl but I learn fast these days,” she shrugged. He snorted in disgust. “But I didn’t have to pretend to like you, Richard,” she added sternly. “I already did.”
            “Really,” he said quietly, but the sarcasm was plain. She tutted.
            “I like you because you couldn’t be swayed that night in your tent, idiot,” she said dismissively. “Most men would have jumped on me, and more fool me,” she added firmly, nodding to herself. “But I was desperate – I just needed someone who could take care of themselves and me, should Mr Tanner arrive on the scene.”
            “And why me?” he asked.
            “Richard, really!” she giggled. “Can you imagine William Lawford beating Mr Tanner in a fist-fight?” she said, then laughed out loud, slapping her hands together and squeezing. “Or little George Withwood?” she added, recovering herself.
            He watched her, admiring her musical laugh and the way she held her hand to the base of her neck when she thought she should stop.
            “Look, Constance… If you want me to help, you’ll have to take me advice,” he said slowly, looking at her.
            “And what’s that?” she asked seriously.
            “It’s no good me helping you get the money, and then you running back to England, straight back to where he can find you. You’ll have to stop him here, or else run to another country. Is that what you want?” he asked plainly. She sighed.
            “No. I want him to leave me alone for good. Or just to die,” she added suddenly, brightly. “I don’t suppose you’d shoot him for me, would you Richard?” she asked eagerly. He just looked at her and she leaned forward, putting a hand on his knee and shaking it slightly. “Oh I’m joking, of course,” she grinned. “Is there a way we could have him arrested?” she asked, her face suddenly much more serious.
            “What for?” he asked, his face twisted in thought.
            “I don’t know… stealing?” she offered.
            “That were in England, not Spain,” he said.
            “Hmm… Breaking into an army building?” she asked.
            “Wouldn’t get him more’n a day,” he replied, sounding disappointed himself. She sighed, looking at the ceiling and thinking. It went quiet. Sharpe was taking in her face, her shoulder, her arm, at close quarters when she gasped and looked back down again, at her hand on his knee. She waggled it playfully, then looked at him.
            “I’ve got it,” she said proudly.
            “Well you’ll have to give it back eventually, lass, I’ll need it to get home,” he said simply, and she giggled again. He raised an eyebrow. “Well?” he asked, when she just looked at him, giggling wickedly.
            “For forcing his attentions on me,” she said simply. He let his other eyebrow raise to join the first one, blinking at her.
            “And how are you going to arrange that?” he asked. She grinned evilly.
            “Well, all we have to do is let it be known I’m here in this building and alone, just myself and my money,” she said. “He’ll come straight here, thinking he can steal it and leave in one swift move. That’s when I grab him and haul him into a compromising position, just in time for you to come in and find us. You shout ‘foul play!’ and all those other exciting words, and he gets arrested. Easy!” she crowed delightedly. He just stared.
            “Constance,” he said quietly, and she looked at him, grinning magnificently.
            “Yes, Richard?” she asked slyly, sliding her hand over his leg smoothly.
            “Yer cracked,” he said succinctly. She hesitated.
            “You don’t think it’ll work,” she said flatly.
            “No, I think it would work, I’m just saying yer mad,” he said, letting his arms drop and getting to his feet abruptly. Her hand slipped off him and she watched him walk over to the window, looking out grumpily. She got up and wandered over to his side, putting a hand to the back of his green tunic gently. She studied his profile slowly.
            “I just don’t know what else to do,” she admitted quietly. “Tell me what to do Richard, and I’ll do it.” He didn’t move and she sighed, leaning her head against the side of his shoulder wearily. “Alright, I’ll admit I am taking all this rather too lightly,” she said, “but I’ve been miserable for so long, it’s nice to be able to… laugh and joke about it for a change.”
            “Harper’s coming,” he said succinctly, noticing the shape cross underneath the window. He turned to look at her.
            “Your Sergeant?” she asked.
            “Aye. He’ll take you to the army camp, keep yer safe,” he said. She just looked at him.
            “Thank you,” she said quietly. She slid her hands up his tunic slowly, lifting one hand to his chin. She tipped it down toward her and kissed him.
            “He’s all settled now, sir,” Harper said loudly as he swung the door open. Sharpe pulled her from him quickly and looked over at him.
            “Is he alright?” he asked. Harper sniffed at Constance, his face betraying his dislike, and nodded.
            “That he is, sir. He’ll be right as rain in a week or so. Surgeon took out the ball, so he did, and patched him up right proper.” He cleared his throat loudly. “Will you be needing anything else, sir?” he asked lightly, but Sharpe wasn’t fooled.
            “Pat, take her back to the camp and hide her,” he said, reaching up and taking her hands from his tunic, walking them over. “Someone’s after her. They can’t find her till we know what to do wi’ ‘im,” he added. Harper just stared at him.
            “But sir, if I put her in the camp after what –“
            “Pat, just hide her,” he said irritably. “There’s more to worry about here than a stray pistol ball.”
            “A stray pistol ball? Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Harper exploded, “I’ll give her ‘stray pistol ball’, so I will!”
            Sharpe straightened in front of him, and it was fortuitous that the glare with which he fixed the Irishman was nowhere near the touch-hole of a cannon. Harper tried to stare back at him for a long moment.
            “Sergeant, you will take this girl and make sure nowt happens to her, or so help me God I’ll see to it Ramona gets a new frying pan from Stores,” he said quietly. Harper swallowed and looked at Constance for the first time.
            “Aye, sir,” he said humbly, gesturing to the door with his head. Constance looked back at Sharpe.
            “That’s it? That’s the best threat you can think of, man?” she demanded incredulously.
            “You use pokers, Ramona uses frying pans,” Sharpe said, and she looked back at Harper.
            “I see,” she said, lifting her skirts and following the Irishman out of the room.

SEVEN

        
            “Well? How is he?” Sharpe asked Harper. They were standing by the tents of the camp, the Chosen Men having been granted free run of the village not half a mile from the neat rows of soldiers. Harper had chosen to go back to the army camp, having a wife and small, crying child to worry about.
            The Irishman sniffed the cold morning air and nodded. “He’ll live, sir. A proper wound, so it is, but it seems the young miss didn’t add enough powder to the damned thing to cause any real damage,” he said carefully. Sharpe nodded to himself, thinking. “I left her with Ramona, sir. Seems they talked most of the night, leaving me with little Patrick,” he tutted. Sharpe let himself smile at Harper’s expense.
            “That a problem for you, is it?” he asked maliciously. Harper snorted without mirth.
            “It is when all they do is talk about men, so it is!” he complained. “You should have heard what the young miss was calling that wretch she thinks it after her! And Ramona,” he tutted, shaking her head, “she thinks the young miss is a fine lady after all.”
            “And you think she isn’t?” Sharpe asked curiously, looking at him. Harper met his gaze, wondering just what was going on behind those emerald eyes.
            “I just think a run-in with a poker isn’t enough to put her on my heroes list, sir,” he said peevishly, “no matter what you may think of the weak-backed –“
            “’Ey, you leave her alone,” Sharpe interrupted. “She’s more balls than Robinson, when cornered,” he added darkly.
            “Are you sure, sir?” Harper asked dangerously, then a small smile tugged at his mouth as Sharpe looked away again. “Checked, have you, sir?” he asked craftily.
            “Give over,” Sharpe said irritably.
            “That’s a ‘yes’, sir,” he grinned, and Sharpe looked at him as if the Irishman had just told him he was actually a French spy. “Oooh,” Harper grinned, his mouth a large ‘o’ shape, his eyebrows scrambling up into his hairline, “and that’s a ‘many a time, you nosy bog-trotter’,” he chuckled.
            “Where is she, anyway?” Sharpe snapped, trying to ignore Harper’s amusement.
            “Ramona’s helping her get ready, sir,” he said, still grinning.
            “Get ready?” Sharpe echoed. “Bloody hell, Pat, this int a Sunday morning church outing,” he grumbled. Harper opened his mouth but they heard voices behind them. They turned to see Ramona and Constance arm-in-arm, talking quietly and looking quite dour.
            Sharpe cleared his throat and turned to face them, straightening as they stopped in front of the two men.
            “Colonel Lawford’s waiting for us, ladies,” he said impatiently. Ramona looked at him, her face a picture of authority.
            “You men will wait for us,” she said imperiously. “We find her brother’s things, but you two don’t interrupt us,” she said, lifting her chin and her skirt and brushing past her husband. Constance didn’t so much as look up as she was swept along behind her.
            Sharpe and Harper looked at each other. Then they followed.



            It was nearly an hour later when Ramona emerged from Colonel Lawford’s tent, stopping just outside and brushing hair from her eyes. Sharpe and Harper waited impatiently in the cold, stamping their feet and rubbing their hands.
            “Bugger me,” Sharpe said for perhaps the fifth time, “what the hell’s she doing in there, anyway?”
            “Best not to ask, sir,” Harper said miserably, blowing on his hands. “Sure and she’ll be upset, after all.” He tucked his hands under his armpits and wandered around in circles, waiting. Sharpe huffed to himself, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them again, watching Ramona. She turned abruptly and ducked back into the tent, only to re-emerge a moment later, holding onto Constance’s arm. The two men watched them walk slowly from the tent, Constance holding her head high and looking around her warily.
            Sharpe let his hands drop and walked over. Harper followed, much more slowly.
            “Everything done, miss?” Sharpe asked carefully. Constance looked at him with a decidedly glassy expression.
            “Yes, Major, I suppose it is,” she admitted quietly. “I say, would anyone care for a drink?” she asked timidly. Ramona looked at her husband and lifted a single finger.
            “She mean a hot tea, Patrick,” she warned sternly, and he grinned.
            “Well of course, Ramona, what else would I have offered the lady at this time of day?” he purred. He looked at Constance. “Would the young miss care for a hot cup of tea then?” he asked warmly. She looked up into his face for the first time.
            “I think she would, thank you,” she said quietly. Harper noticed her red eyes and white face, and nodded.
            “Well then, back to the village house, I think,” he said politely. “They have a better stove, so they do,” he said helpfully. Ramona led her on, and the two men looked at each other. Then they followed.



            “You know,” Constance said quietly, “this is not what I thought Spain would be like.”
            “Oh aye?” Sharpe asked detachedly, his hands round the hot china cup gratefully. Ramona got up with her emptied cup, tipping a finger at Harper. He stood too.
            “Well sir, much as I hate to leave you unprotected, there’s a wee boy of mine back at the camp that needs rescuing from a Cheshire-man, so there is,” he said politely. Sharpe looked at him.
            “Go on, bugger off,” he said easily. “Tell Dan there’s extra tea for him, what wi’ putting up wi’ your lad for so long.”
            Ramona got in a glancing blow to Sharpe’s shoulder lightly, but then patted it as she pulled Harper away. The tall Sergeant inclined his head and followed her out of the room, closing the door quietly behind them.
            Constance let out a long breath and leaned back in her wooden chair, her hands falling to the table top.
            “God, I’m so glad they’ve gone,” she breathed. Sharpe looked at her.
            “Oh?” he asked curiously.
            “He’s a lovely man, that Sergeant, but he keeps watching me with those big cow eyes of his, like he expects me to leap at you with the butter knife,” she tutted, and he smiled slightly.
            “Well you do have a history of attacking people, miss,” he said apologetically. She smiled for the first time that day.
            “I see. And it’s Constance,” she stressed. He looked at her and she just met his gaze, watching the colour in his eyes whirl with the reflections of the windows and the light streaming through them. She leaned her elbow on the table and put her chin in it, bringing herself closer to him.
            “Look, Constance, I’m sorry about yer brother,” he said gingerly. She nodded.
            “So am I, Richard, so am I. But… It’s odd, only now does it feel like he’s actually gone. I mean, I read the letter in England, I cried and was dreadfully upset. But now I’ve been given his things… now I’ve met his Colonel and he was kind enough to tell me how it happened… now it feels like… Oh, like I have to stop waiting for him to walk in this room and tell me it was all a big misunderstanding,” she said miserably. “Do you see?” she asked wretchedly, flicking her gaze up to his again. They shared a long look.
            “Yeah,” he said quietly. She smiled apologetically.
            “Oh I’m sorry, Richard. I can’t be much company,” she said. He shrugged non-commitedly and she smiled again, wider. “So what do I do now?” she asked.
            “Well, you stay away from the army camp. Stay here. We’re on the look-out for him, and when he rears his head we’ll give him a good going over and let him know he’s not welcome.” He sniffed and leaned back in his chair. She looked at his hands, still round his china cup. She stood slowly, walking to the small range on the opposite side of the room, picking up a cloth and wrapping it round the handle of the tea urn. She picked it up and walked back over, refilling his cup slowly without a word. He watched her fill her cup too, then she favoured him with a brief smile before carrying the urn back over to the hot range and setting it down.
            She walked back over and sat slowly, arranging her skirts.
            “I’d much prefer to shoot him,” she said deviously, flicking a delicious smile at him. He studied her face.
            “Then you’ll have to do that when I’m not looking,” he said ruefully. She giggled suddenly. “What?”
            “You really mean that, don’t you, Richard?” she grinned. He just looked at her and she sighed. “You’re so…” She let it go, lost for words. She looked up at him as he picked up the tea and sipped it gratefully. “Here,” she said, getting up and walking to the bed under the window. She picked up a bag and walked back to the table, opening it out. “These were my brother’s,” she said.
            Sharpe cast an eye over the belongings, not really taking them in. What’s it to me, after all?
            She picked up a long-bladed knife in a leather sheath, sliding it out and looking at it. “Richard,” she said, sliding it back in and reversing it, holding the handle out to him, “I want you to have this.”
            “Why?” he asked, surprised. “Seems all I’ve ever done is shout at you and harass you,” he pointed out.
            “Exactly. My brother was very good at that, just when I needed him to be. And so are you,” she said. “You didn’t have me arrested for shooting poor Berakiah Green, and you’ve treated me surprisingly well at all other times,” she added meaningfully. He just looked at her.
            “All the same, miss, I don’t think –“
            “Constance,” she interrupted, waving the handle at him slightly. “I’m not taking no for an answer, Richard.”
            He put a hand up and took the handle slowly, looking at it. She let go and then looked back at the pile of belongings.
            “And this,” she said, lifting a leather pocket tied with red ribbon, “will see my florist’s shop open in London.”
            “He left you money?” he asked, sliding his new blade into his red sash at his side.
            “Quite a tidy amount, Richard,” she said, then smiled at him. “Would you care to help me run my flower shop? Oh I don’t mean sell flowers or cart them around, I mean stand there and look moody, preferably in front of everyone else’s flower shops,” she quipped, giggling slightly. He rolled his eyes and she let herself smile easily. “I see.”
            “As soon as this bloke’s dealt with, Constance, you should get back to England and see about that shop,” he said, clearing his throat. She eyed him seriously, then looked back at the bag. She cast her hands through, picking up several items that appeared important to her, then setting them back down.
            He drank his tea silently, just watching her, and as the cold afternoon turned into a cold evening, they ordered hot food to her room, talking and starting to relax.
            “Well, it’s been a mixed day,” she yawned eventually, covering it with her hand. He stood slowly.
            “And a long one. I’ll see meself out, miss,” he said, nodding to her.
            “Constance,” she corrected.
            “Yeah. Well… goodnight, then,” he said, inclining his head and stepping back from the table. She rose too, following him to the door.
            “Richard… You don’t have to go,” she said quietly. He looked at her clearly, and she lifted her chin, determined to be steady under his scrutinising gaze.
            “Yeah, Constance, I think I do,” he said apologetically. Bloody hell, wish I didn’t though, he caught himself thinking. He cleared his throat. “Do you know what’d happen if Colonel Lawford knew I were up here int first place?” he asked. “And what if that bloke comes snooping up here tonight?” Yer grasping at straws, Sharpie…
            “Well then you’d be ideally placed to apprehend him,” she beamed, putting a hand to the sleeve of his tunic, feeling the rough weave slowly.
            That’s a good point, but… “Constance, I really think –“
            “Oh Richard,” she said shortly, her smile gone. “You know how this will turn out!” she huffed. “He’s going to find me tonight, come racing up those stairs and bang this door down, grab me, shake me, all those things he did before, and this time he’ll demand the leather pocket from the table. I won’t be strong enough to stop him, and before I can even call for the assistance of the nearest wandering soldier, he’ll be off down those stairs to a waiting horse,” she snapped.
            Sharpe just looked at her. “Really?” he challenged, amused. “All that?”
            She lifted her eyes to look at him. “Probably,” she said more timidly. “I can’t be sure he won’t try to hurt me, and I can’t be sure about the waiting horse. But the rest, I’m pretty sure he’ll-“
            “Constance,” he breathed, shaking his head. “Look, I’m not going back to me billet and I’m not going back to camp. Neither am I staying in here. I’ll be sat outside this door till morning, alright?” he said easily. And that’s the closest I’m going to get while Lawford’s ont prowl, the nosy bastard, he realised, also surprised he was so peeved by the fact. She nodded slowly.
            “Oh. Well. I feel safer already,” she allowed with a smile. She paused, and noticed he did too. She stepped just a little closer. “Of course, it would be a lot safer if you were inside that door, Richard,” she said silkily. He sniffed, meeting her gaze.
            Keep yer nerve, Sharpie. Now is not the time. “Aye, I bet,” he replied, “but you know what Lawford’s like for –“
            She pulled on his crossbelt and kissed him. He forgot about Lawford.

EIGHT

            “Sergeant!” Lawford cried, stalking through the camp. “Sergeant Major!” he shouted angrily.
            Harper bobbed up from his stool by the fire and tea, little Patrick safely in his grasp.
            “Sir!” he replied quickly. Lawford turned and saw him, then marched over. He stopped and looked at Ramona, who was spooning food from a metal plate hanging over the fire.
            “My regards, Mrs Harper,” he said hastily, politely snatching off his cocked hat. She smiled up at him.
            “Mister Lawford,” she said warmly.
            “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I shall need your husband for a few moments, Mrs Harper,” he said. She looked up at Harper.
            “Take him. But please, make sure he not in trouble,” she smiled. Lawford inclined his head.
            “You’re too kind, madam,” he said graciously, watching Harper hand the young lad to his wife, then gestured to him with his head. The big Irishman followed him away from the fire and tents quickly.
            “Right then, find our wayward Major,” Lawford said tightly. Harper looked at him.
            “Something you’ll be needing him to do, sir?” he asked cheerfully.
            “Something I'll be needing him not to do, Sergeant,” he snapped. “Now find him and get him back to his own tent. I don’t have to tell you the penalty that dallying in non-billeted quarters carries,” he said darkly.
            “Sir,” Harper nodded, then saluted and spun round, disappearing into the night quickly. Lawford huffed, then walked back to his tent slowly.
            He walked in, stripped off his jacket, and then paused. He looked around the tent, thinking. He snatched up his jacket and his riding crop, turning for the tent flaps and not looking back.


            “Harris,” Harper hissed against the tent flaps. The sound of giggling and slapping greeted the Irishman and he blew out a huff. “Harris,” he said, much louder, and he heard someone sigh.
            “Look Moore, you said I could have the tent tonight,” Harris began, poking his head through the flaps. He looked up into the face of Harper and swallowed. “Oh, it’s you, sir,” he said lamely.
            “Aye, it’s me. And you’ll be getting your sorry arse out here, so you will,” he said sternly. Harris fairly leapt through the tent flaps and looked at him, rearranging his clothes to fit and tuck in. “Now where’s Major Sharpe then?” he demanded.
            “Oh, er… don’t know, Sarge,” he admitted. “Haven’t seen him since… since you lot went with Miss Constance to get her things,” he added helpfully. The two men looked at each other. “You don’t think… he’s still up there, is he?” he asked.
            “It’s a fair bet he’s up something,” Harper muttered to himself as he turned away. He stopped and looked back at Harris. “What’s the quickest way to the village?”
            “Stealing a horse?” Harris ventured, and Harper smiled.
            “Go on, get back to your penny-back,” he said, and turned, hurrying off. Harris looked round at the tent, then over at the retreating shape of Harper. He pulled off his glasses, cleaning them slowly with his shirt tails.
            “You know,” he said to himself, pulling the braces back over his shoulder slowly, “perhaps I’ll just wander into town too. Just to… see if he needs my help,” he nodded to himself. He ducked back in the tent to get his rifle and jacket, and then went after Harper.


            “Richard?” Constance whispered. He ‘hmm’ed and she turned on her side, pushing at his left shoulder. He turned his head on the pillow and looked at her.
            “What?” he rumbled, and she grinned, scooting down closer to his side.
            “What would really happen if Lawford found you up here?” she asked deviously.
            “Why?” he asked, watching her face.
            “Maybe I’ll have something to bargain with now,” she giggled. His eyes narrowed and his hand closed on her upper arm, pulling her slowly closer to him.
            “You wouldn’t dare,” he smiled.
            “I might,” she said impishly. “After all, it’s not every day I get a full field Major in my bed. Without his boots on,” she giggled. “Now I have something to bargain with, I can make sure you come back.”
            “You’ve a nerve,” he smiled. “What if I waited till you were asleep, then stole that leather pocket of money?” he asked, his eyes amused. She moved up and leaned across his chest, pushing him out flat on his back and running her hand through his hair slowly.
            “I’d find you… and kill you,” she said sweetly, and he laughed. She paused, looking over at the window.
            “What?” he asked. “Cold?”
            “No, I… I thought I heard…” She pushed herself up and slid out of bed, pulling her thin silk slip straight. She crossed to the window.
            “Bloody hell lass, get back from there,” he said, sitting up. He pulled the covers back to follow her and then remembered he didn’t have a stitch on. He paused, looking round the room slowly. He realised most, if not all, of his uniform was on the floor.
            “Major Sharpe!” shouted a familiar voice from the direction of the window, and Sharpe and Constance looked at each from across the room.
            “Oh… shit,” he groaned, then exploded out of bed and began to snatch up his uniform in its scattered entirety. She turned and grabbed her rather sheer dressing gown, throwing it round her as she raced to the bed and grabbed up the pillows, rearranging them for one occupant. She darted around the room, picking up stray clothes and throwing them at him, then put her hand to his back and pushed him toward the wardrobe.
            “Woah!” he called out, stopping and turning to her. “I’ll not fit in that!”
            She stopped and looked him up and down. “You’re right,” she said. They turned, looking round the room.
            “Major Sharpe! Answer me, man!” came a voice from the stairs, and he cursed. He hurried to the bed, bending to look under.
            “Solid!” she hissed, and he got up again, then looked back at the window. “Richard!” she gasped, following his gaze, “It’s freezing out there!”
            “Think I’d rather be out there than in here, lass,” he ground out, crossing to the window and opening it quickly.
            “Miss Peel?” someone called, knocking politely on the door. She rushed over and put her hands to his back, helping him crawl out of the window. He dropped a boot and she bent over, snatching it up and pushing it at him.
            “Richard,” she breathed, grabbing his arm to steady him and then pulling him toward her, kissing him. “Don’t fall off, and don’t lose anything to the cold!”
            “Oh aye, ta very much,” he said sarcastically as she drew back from the window. He shuffled around, the cold stone slabs biting at his bare feet, and he shivered as he edged along the ledge a little, to be further from the window.
            He rested his head back against the building and clamped his mouth shut. He shifted his grip on his bundle of uniform, his left hand searching for his trousers. He froze as he heard her voice, and then that of Colonel Lawford.
            “I say, awfully sorry to trouble you at this late hour, Miss Peel, but it rather seems we’ve lost our Major Sharpe, and we were just wondering…”
            “If I would help you look for him?” she asked politely, walking away from the window casually.
            Sharpe heard the voices continue, but they kept getting fainter. He let out a long breath, realising she must be leading him away to the other side of the room. He waited, the cold air nipping at his skin. He felt his fingers slipping on the bundle of clothes, and pulled them up to a more judicious height against him. He pulled his head away from the bricks, hoping it would feel a little warmer, but instead he could feel the cool breeze sapping the heat from his body all too easily.
            Buggerin’ hell – that were close! He let his head fall back to the building. The voices appeared to stop, and he breathed out, starting to shuffle back toward the window.
            “Well it doesn’t do, you know,” Lawford said from just inside the window, and Sharpe froze, swallowing quickly. He saw, not two feet from his eyes, Lawford’s hand lean out and take the handle on the window, pulling it shut and closing it firmly. He heard the sound of the latch locking it closed, but didn’t dare huff.
            Aw shite. Now what? How can things get any worse?
            “Sir? Is that you, sir?” came another familiar voice. Sharpe swore under his breath, groaning on the inside, then looked down at Harper. He was standing on the opposite side of the dark dirt street, hands on his hips, grinning up at him, bemused. Sharpe huffed and rolled his eyes.
            He lifted a hand to wave him away urgently. Harper just jabbed a finger back at him and he grabbed at his uniform, holding it against him securely.
            “And just how in the world did you come to be up there?” Harper called up to him softly. Sharpe leaned back against the stone wall, his head falling back against the freezing brick work. He looked down again and lifted a hand, indicating his chest and then the window to his right. Harper nodded, then folded his arm and watched.
            Sharpe waved at him to leave, but the Irishman grinned and stepped back slowly until he was leaning against the wall most comfortably. Sharpe fought an almost overwhelming urge to jump the two stories to the ground and beat the Irishman over the head with his boots.
            “Sarge?” Harris said quietly, and Harper looked into the dark shadows on the buildings, finding Harris emerge from his right. “What are you looking at?”
            “Something you don’t see every day, Harris,” he said happily, nodding to the ledge. Harris looked over, then jumped slightly and stared.
            “How did he -? Why would he be -?” he began, then just closed his mouth and looked back at Harper. “Miss Peel?” he guessed, and Harper nodded, grinning. “Colonel Lawford?” he said, and Harper nodded again. Harris grinned and stood his rifle on the ground, leaning the muzzle back against the wall and folding his own arms. “Then this might be worth wasting that penny I’m not using,” he mused happily.
            Harper and Harris leaned against the wall, arms folded, looking up to the ledge.
            Perhaps ten or fifteen minutes later, during which the two riflemen had to blow on their hands and rub their arms against the cold, the light to the room dimmed to nothing. They stepped back into the shadows to wait silently. A long few minutes later, Lawford emerged from the main door and stopped just outside, thinking.
            Harper and Harris held their breath, their eyes glued to him, wondering if he would look up at the ledge above him to Constance’s window. There was absolute stillness for a long moment.
            Then Lawford cleared his throat, shoved his hands in his pockets dejectedly, and started to walk away.
            The two riflemen nearly fell over in their relief, slumping back against the wall as they watched Lawford disappear into the night air. They looked back up the ledge to watch the Major shuffling back toward the window. They watched, scared to move lest they miss any part of the comedy, as Sharpe rapped on the window with one hand.
            The window opened quickly and a woman’s hand came out, grabbing his uniform from him piece by piece. He shuffled round to face the window and tossed the rest of it in hurriedly, putting his hands on the frames and hauling himself back inside.
            The window was closed firmly, and Harper and Harris looked at each other.
            “A charmed life, that’s what it is, Sarge,” Harris said sadly, shaking his head.
            “It’s not fair, so it’s not,” Harper grumped. “Lawford should have seen him,” he complained.
            “Yeah well. Let’s get back then,” he said. “Don’t know about you, but I’m freezing,” he added.
            “Yeah – talk about brass monkeys and their balls,” Harper grinned, and Harris chuckled wickedly.
            “I’d like to say that this escapade might teach him something about propriety, but I can’t see that it will,” he shrugged. He turned to go but grabbed Harper’s arm suddenly. Harper turned to look back at him.
            “What?” he asked.

NINE

            Sharpe skipped nimbly over the window ledge and landed on the carpet, his feet numb and his teeth threatening to chatter. He hugged his arms to him as he straightened up. Constance was just looking him up and down, her arms folded and a slight smile on her face.
            “’Ey,” he said indignantly, “before you say owt, just remember it’s bloody freezing out there.”
            She giggled at him. “You men and your pride,” she tutted, walking over to him. “You poor thing, you must be so cold,” she added, putting her hands to his upper arms and rubbing. “Oh,” she said, surprised, “you are cold!”
            “Told you,” he grumped, and she leaned against him, flinching at the sudden chill but refusing to pull away.
            “Well then, we’ll have to do something about that,” she said slyly.
            “Yer not wrong,” he said, stepping round her and sifting through his uniform, finding his regulation white shorts quickly. She folded her arms, disappointed. She turned away from him as he pulled them on and then hauled on the heavy cavalry trousers.
            “I thought things were going up,” she said quietly, casting a wistful look back at the bed.
            “Yeah well, what goes up must come down,” he said, buttoning up the front of the trousers.
            “You’re not leaving?” she said quickly, turning to look at him.
            “I think I should, Constance. When Lawford gets back to camp to find I’m not there either, I’m going be in proper –“
            “Richard, who’ll protect me?” she asked slyly. He fixed her with a knowing look.
            “You and your poker, I should think,” he said warmly, and she smiled, walking over to him slowly. She slid her hands down him, stopping at the left-hand button on his trousers. Her fingers fiddled with it slowly, getting it undone without trouble. “Look, Constance, I think –“
            “Well I don’t,” she said, then looked at him. He slid his hand down hers and caught at her fingers, currently fighting with the other button to his trousers. “Do you want me to give up so easily?” she asked quietly. “I thought this was how it was played,” she smiled. He let go of her fingers and she grinned, leaning up to kiss him as she tried to pull the stiff material off over the button.
            The door exploded open.
            She jumped and they both turned to find a weedy looking man holding a pistol on them. He seemed surprised, then caught his breath.
            “Connie,” he said pleasantly.
            “Edward!” she breathed edgily. Edward Tanner looked at Sharpe from the ground up.
            “I thought the army types had all left. So who might you be?” he demanded.
            Sharpe looked at the pistol, then at the man himself. He must have been five foot five, with short black hair and a mousy black moustache to match. Compact, thin, reedy, he noted. Good.
            “Someone as dunt like being interrupted,” he said slowly. Tanner just looked back at him.
            “Oh. Well, no matter. I’m only here for the banker’s drafts, then I’ll be on my way,” he said. He looked at Constance. “Connie, be a dear and get them for me,” he said happily. “Oh, I must say, that colour really does become you,” he added. He sniffed as she didn’t move. “Much as I never tire of looking at your, er, beauty,” he said, leering at her scantily clad form, “I really would prefer it if you’d just find that leather bound sheaf of paper and hand it to me, dear,” he said.
            “And then what?” Sharpe asked. He looked at him.
            “This doesn’t concern you,” he said shortly. Sharpe straightened up, moving deliberately to put himself between Constance and Tanner.
            “It does when yer holding a primed pistol,” he said dangerously.
            “Well, just stand still and there’ll be no reason for me to fire it,” he said testily. Sharpe took a step forward. “I’m warning you!” he said.
            “And I’m telling you,” he said, taking another step. Tanner pulled the cock back and aimed it shakily at Sharpe. “Do you know how small that ball is?” he asked stonily, taking another step forward. Tanner shifted back slightly as he looked up into a face full of thunder. “Do you know how much damage that ball would do if it went straight into me?” he demanded.
            “Well, I rather hope it would –“
            “Not enough,” Sharpe snapped, lunging for him. Tanner fired. Constance screamed. Sharpe had one hand at his collar, one hand on the pistol. It was knocked to the floor and Sharpe yanked on his hand. Tanner’s head came flying toward him. Sharpe’s head cracked into his and Tanner cried out in pain.
            Sharpe let go of his shirt and he fell to the floor, wailing and bleeding. Sharpe stepped back, looked around, and found the pistol. He bent over and picked it up, turning to find Constance staring at him. She closed her mouth.
            “Well,” she allowed, clearing her throat and scraping her hair away from her face, “that seemed much more effective than a poker.”
            Sharpe heard feet on the stairs and turned to find Harper and Harris barrelling into the room. They stopped, breathless, taking it all in.
            “You two,” he said without missing a beat, “get him up and trussed, shift him down to Lawford’s tent.”
            “Yes sir,” they grinned, nodding genially to Constance. She pulled her sheer dressing gown round her securely, then looked at Sharpe. He caught her doing it and his face drew into a question. She gestured to the front of his trousers and he looked down, doing up the button quickly. He cleared his throat and turned to the two riflemen.
            “All done?” he asked.
            “Oh, well and truly, sir,” Harper grinned. Sharpe gestured to the door and the two Green Jackets dragged Edward Tanner, whimpering and cursing, out of the door.



            “Well, here we are, my dear,” Lawford said graciously, indicating the man in a red jacket on horse back. “Colonel Kelly here of the 54th promises to have you to Lisbon in a week,” he added.
            “Thank you, very much,” Constance said warmly, putting a hand on his shoulder and placing a slight kiss on his cheek. “You’ve been most kind, Mister Lawford,” she added, looking him in the eye.
            “Oh, please, William,” he said, his voice a little weak. She smiled demurely. She turned to the other officer, looking up at him and noticing his green eyes looked somehow amused.
            “And Major Sharpe,” she said pleasantly, “I would like to thank you for all you’ve said and done,” she said politely. “Especially the done,” she added. He just looked back at her.
            “Your servant, miss,” he said non-commitedly, inclining his head, but she noticed him smile slightly as he ignored Lawford’s gaze on his profile. She felt his fingers on hers and he lifted them to his lips, kissing the backs of them suavely. She closed her fingers around his and pulled on her hand, leaning up and putting her other hand behind his head, kissing him firmly by the mouth. She heard someone clearing their throat and realised it was Lawford. She pulled her head back to look at him, then leaned forward again to whisper in his ear.
            “And I hope one day you will be again,” she breathed quietly, then pulled herself away from him and dusted off the front of his uniform smartly. He sniffed, looking over her head and waiting for her to step back. She did, then pulled her hat straight. “Well, I think everything is settled here,” she said, then looked over to her left, at Ramona, smiling suddenly. She spared Sharpe a glance, knowing he had seen even though he was ostensibly looking at the assembled Chosen Men. She walked over to Ramona, speaking to her quietly and pressing something into her hand. Ramona smiled and they hugged for a moment.
            Then she turned slowly, looking at everyone assembled. Harper, curious and protective. Cheeky Robinson and Brown, grinning and discussing. Moore and Taylor, more serious and probably thinking of rifles. Harris and Hagman, sharing a knowing look over the muzzle of a rifle. Little Berakiah Green, his arm in a crisp white sling, smiling and nodding to her. She waved her fingers at him slightly, and he nodded warmly.
            She looked at Lawford, his stiff, bright red jacket proud and symbolic of his need for everything to be Just So. She looked at Sharpe, his much-loved and over-worn green tunic a touch grimy and therefore symbolic of just how much he had been through during his army years already served. She looked around at the dusty Spanish track cut into the scraggly green countryside, at the horses and soldiers waiting to be off. She heard the silk colours flapping slightly in the cool, stiff breeze, heard the horses snorting and fussing. She smelt the wool and boot polish, the metal and animal, and smiled sadly. She took a deep breath.
            “Thank you, everyone, for a most interesting slice of army life. I shan’t forget you, any of you,” she said, and then turned and climbed up onto the horse, side-saddle. The assembled soldiers watched her turn the horse, following the stream of the 54th officers as they guided their horses towards the dirt road and their waiting ranks.
            Lawford sighed, wiping a tired hand over his face and looking at Sharpe. He undid the top few silver buttons on his tunic, blowing out a sigh and relaxing his shoulders. He called out to Harper to dismiss the Chosen Men and began to walk away. Lawford watched for a second, then hurried to catch him up.
            “I say, er, Richard,” he said awkwardly. Sharpe looked at him, pulling the black cravat from his neck slowly and flinging it to lie over his shoulder.
            “Yes, sir,” he said gingerly, opening his shirt collar a little.
            “I’d like to, er, well… Apologise for my recent behaviour,” he said quietly. Sharpe snorted with amusement.
            “Don’t see anything to apologise for, sir,” he said easily. Lawford put out a hand and stopped him. They looked at each other for a long moment, and eventually Lawford let his hand drop.
            “Look, I… It’s no secret that I rather liked Miss Peel. But it was unfair of me to treat you as if you had some say in who she liked,” he said slowly.
            “Really, sir, it dunt –“
            “Richard… Look,” he said frankly, “I’m sorry for talking to you like that in my tent, and sorry for thinking that – well, forget it, can we?” he asked slowly. Sharpe considered him.
            “What’s to do, sir?” he asked quietly. “Struck a nerve, did she?”
            Lawford sighed, then looked at him, smiling apologetically.
            “Yes, Richard, she did,” he said sadly, then clapped him on the arm and walked off. Harper appeared at Sharpe’s elbow, watching Lawford go. Sharpe shook his head.
            “Look what I’ve got, sir,” he said proudly, lifting his hand. Sharpe turned to look at it and then blinked.
            “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.
            “If what you’re thinking is a small fortune masquerading as an ancient Spanish coin, then yes, it is exactly what you’re thinking, sir,” he said happily.
            “And where did you get that, Harper?” he asked, mystified.
            “Miss Constance, sir. She gave it to Ramona, so she did. Said it was for wee Patrick, and not to let anything happen to the young sir,” he said cheerfully.
            “So she’s not the untrustworthy bit of trouble you thought she were?” Sharpe needled with a malicious smile. Harper looked at him.
            “Sure and I never said that, sir,” he protested, following as Sharpe began to walk back toward the army lines, already moving out and toward their next destination.
            “I think yer did,” he countered indignantly, and Harper blinked at him, surprised.
            “Oh no, sir, I think I said from the beginning she was on our side, so I did!”
            “You bloody well did not!”
            “I did so, sir, you can ask Harris –“
            “You can have me boot up yer arse if you carry on like that!” Sharpe interrupted, and Harper realised he had struck a nerve too.
            Sharpe’s nerve.

THE END

Historical Note:
None of this really happened. I made it all up. 
No devilishly handsome, green-eyed Majors of the 95th Rifles were harmed during the writing of this fan-fic. However, the author is now suffering from pronounced SBOCD-withdrawal, and is really quite upset to announce that this has been her last fan-fic.
It's bean fun, and she will miss all of the Chosen Men. But she shan't forget them. Any of them.

 "The first in the field and the last out of it: the bloody fighting ninety-fifth!"

~ The Mardy Bum,
21st November, 2006.
Hong Kong S.A.R.