The Duke Is Mine - Eloisa James [107]
That was a kind way of putting it, to Olivia’s mind. “So you took the fort.”
“Easy as pie,” Grooper said, his chest swelling with pride. “See, the Frogs was all eating. And when they eat . . . they eat. They go three courses, four, five. All of them, even down to the lowest soldier. The major, he worked it out. He’d had a French tutor, see, and he knew what they were like. And he told us in a way so we could all understand it, too.”
Olivia smiled. She loved thinking of Rupert being greeted with respect rather than less-than-thinly-veiled contempt.
“We knocked out a few sentries right off, and then we just took the fort. And we didn’t kill many of them French soldiers either; we let them run straight from the lunch table to San Cristobal. The major, he doesn’t hold with killing, not unless you have to save your own life.”
Olivia smiled. “That’s Rupert.”
“Did the marquess sustain his injury in the fight?” Quin asked.
Grooper shook his head. “It was the damnedest thing—if you’ll pardon me, my lady. We was all done and we held the fort for three days, till the English forces could get back to us. They didn’t think we had a chance, you see. Not after all the earlier attempts had failed.” The disgust in his voice spoke for itself.
“We held that fort, and we did it nice, too. We had all the Frogs in the stockade, but we gave ’em blankets and plenty of food. Because the major said that a Frenchman deprived of his food will fight like a cornered rat. Sure enough, once they were all snug and well fed, they didn’t seem to mind much. Never even tried to get out.”
“Then what happened?” Olivia asked.
“The major, well, he liked to walk about on those battlements at night,” Grooper said. “The guard up there . . .” He cleared his throat. “Well, he said as how the major was reciting poetry.” The last word came out reluctantly, as if he were confessing that Rupert had begun smoking opium.
“Reciting poetry is not generally considered to be a hazardous activity,” Quin observed.
“Not one for poetry myself,” Grooper acknowledged, managing to imply that he considered poetry to belong in the same category as treason. “The major was up on those battlements, walking around and looking at the moon, and he took a header.”
“He was looking at the moon?”
“We found a scrap of paper behind with a bit of verse on it, all about the moon. At any rate, the fall knocked his brains about. He didn’t even wake up for a day and we thought he was gone for sure. But then he started talking of this Lucy—we thought she was his lady wife—so we decided as how we should get him back to England. Wellington’s doctor, he said that we had to wait till the major died and just bring back the body.”
“I’m glad you didn’t wait,” Olivia put in.
“The major wasn’t like the rest of them commanders. He really cared.” Grooper’s voice was a bit rough. “We put him in a cart and brought him to the shore, then we took a sloop and brought him up the north coast of France easy as pie. And we would have come across to England, except we thought it was making him worse, with the pitching of the waves. It hurt his head.”
Olivia put a hand on Grooper’s sleeve. “You did just the right thing. His father may not have been able to say this before he collapsed, but he is tremendously grateful to you, as am I.”
The sergeant looked at his hands and said, “Iffen we’d known Lucy was a dog, I don’t know that we would have done it.”
“In that case I’m glad you had no idea.”
“We must be nearing the shore,” Quin said, breaking in. “Olivia, you will wait here with Sergeant Grooper.” He seemed to think that he had the ultimate say in that matter. “The captain will drop anchor and I will take the rowboat to the hut and fetch the marquess.”
“No,” Olivia said, keeping her tone even. “I intend to be in that rowboat.”
“I beg to differ.”
“I did not come all this way to sit safely offshore. If Rupert is alive, he may not be well enough to venture a ride in a rowboat as, indeed, Grooper and his fellow soldiers