To Taste Temptation (Legend of the Four Soldiers #1)(33)
Author: Elizabeth Hoyt

He clasped his hands behind his back and began strolling, his chin against his chest as he thought.

“The regiment was marching back from Quebec,” he began. “After taking the fort from the Frenchies. Quebec was well fortified, and there’d been a long siege all that summer, but we’d prevailed in the end. Then it was autumn, and it was thought best by those in command to retire before the weather became inclement in winter. We began marching south, toward Fort Edward. None but the officers knew our route. The Indians lurked in the woods all around us. Our commander, Colonel Darby, wished to make the fort without alerting the savages to our presence.”

“But that didn’t happen,” Rebecca said softly.

“No.” He sighed. “No, it didn’t. The regiment was attacked in the second week. We were marching only two abreast, and the line was strung out over almost half a mile when we were ambushed.” He stopped talking.

Rebecca waited, but he didn’t resume. They’d come to the far end of the garden by the back gate that led into the mews. She stopped and looked at Samuel’s friend. What was his name? Why was she so terrible at remembering names?

“What happened then?”

He tipped his head up to squint at the sky, then darted a look at her from the corner of his eye. “They attacked from both sides, and most of the men were killed. You know that the savages liked to cut off the scalps of their victims with their hatchets, as a kind of war trophy. You can imagine my dismay”—he patted his hair ruefully—“I actually heard one fellow shout to another that he wanted my scalp, it was so pretty.”

Rebecca looked at the tips of her shoes. She wasn’t sure if she was happy now to have finally heard something of what her brother had endured. Perhaps it would’ve been better to remain in ignorance.

“’Course,” Samuel’s friend was still speaking, “MacDonald wasn’t so fortunate.”

Rebecca blinked and glanced up. “What?”

He smiled a friendly smile and patted his hair again. “MacDonald. Another soldier, a friend of mine. His hair was as gingery as mine. The Indians took his scalp clean off, poor sod.”

“YOU NEVER TOLD her how St. Aubyn died, did you?” Sam asked that afternoon. They rode in Vale’s carriage, heading into the east end of London. Thornton hadn’t been at his place of business, and so now they had decided to try Ned Allen, the surviving sergeant. Sam only hoped he was sober.

Vale turned from the window. “Emmie?”

Sam nodded.

“No. Of course I didn’t tell her that her beloved brother was crucified and then burned alive.” Vale flashed a grim smile. “Would you?”

“No.” Sam held the other man’s gaze, feeling a reluctant gratitude that Vale had stood firm against what had probably been a determined assault by Lady Emeline for information. He’d seen how the lady worked. Once she set her mind to it, only a very strong man would be able to hold out against her. Vale obviously was such a man. Damn him.

The viscount grunted and nodded. “Then we don’t have a problem.”

“We might.”

Vale raised his eyebrows.

The carriage lurched around the corner, and Sam grabbed the leather strap hanging by his head. “She wants to know what happened. How Reynaud died.”

“Christ.” Vale closed his eyes as if in pain.

Sam looked away. He realized now that a craven part of him had been hoping the other man didn’t care about Lady Emeline. That their engagement was a purely practical matter. Obviously that wasn’t so.

“You mustn’t tell her,” Vale was saying. “There’s no need for her to live with that image in her mind.”

“I know that,” Sam growled.

“Then we’re in accord.”

Sam nodded once.

Vale looked at him and started to say something, but the carriage lurched to a stop. He glanced out the window instead. “What a lovely part of London you’ve brought me to.”

They were in the East End stews. The crumbling buildings were packed so closely together that sometimes only a walkway wide enough for a man separated them. They’d have to make the rest of the journey on foot.

Sam raised his eyebrows politely. “You can stay behind in the carriage if you’re afraid.”

The other man snorted.

The door opened and a footman set the step. The servant watched them with a knitted brow as they descended. “Shall I come with you, my lord? ’Tisn’t safe hereabouts.”

“We’ll be fine.” Vale clapped the man on the shoulder. “Stay and guard the carriage until our return.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam led the way down a dark alley.

“He’s right,” Vale said behind him. “Do we really need to visit Ned Allen?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t have many others to question. There weren’t a lot of survivors, as you know. And Allen was an officer.”

“Hardly any survivors at all,” Vale muttered. There was a splash and he swore.

Sam hid a grin.

“What happened to your lieutenant? Horn, wasn’t it?”

“Matthew Horn. He’s traveling the continent, last I heard.”

“And the naturalist?”

“Munroe?” Vale’s voice was casual, yet Sam knew he’d somehow won the other man’s complete attention.

They entered a tiny courtyard, and Sam cast a swift glance around. The buildings here looked like they’d been erected hastily after the great fire and were already in the process of decaying. They leaned ominously into the small courtyard, which, judging from the smell, was also the local privy.

“The man who survived with you,” Sam said. There had been a civilian naturalist attached to the 28th, a quiet Scotsman who had been one of the men taken captive by the Wyandot.

“Alistair Munroe’s up in Scotland, last I heard. He has a great drafty castle and doesn’t go out much.”

“Because of his wounds?” Sam asked softly. They ducked into the alley that led to the house Allen had a room in. Vale hadn’t answered. Sam looked back.

Vale’s eyes held demons, and Sam had the uneasy feeling that they might mirror his own. “You saw what those savages did to him. Would you want to go out with scars like that?”

Sam looked away. It had taken almost a fortnight for the rescue party to track the Wyandot Indians back to their camp, and in that time, the captured soldiers had been tortured. Munroe’s wounds had been particularly gruesome. His hands…Sam pushed the thought aside and kept walking, keeping a keen eye on the doorways and shadows they passed. “No.”