He watched her touch her reticule for her pistol. Instinctively, he checked his coat for his knife and his pistol. They were there and ready.
Frederica circled the table again, but did not sit down on a chair. ‘Something doesn’t feel right.’
‘I agree. Let us leave,’ Samuel said, his stomach roiling with a mixture of fear and hunger. ‘We are close to the border. Mons is only another twenty miles, and there are British soldiers there. We will be safe.’
Samuel cautiously peeked into the taproom—he counted ten heavily armed Frenchmen. He closed the door softly and told Frederica to take out her pistol. She did so immediately and cocked down the hammer on it. Pulling out his own weapon, he raised his finger to his lips and then threw open the door.
‘Come on!’
Frederica followed him out of the small room with the musket poised in her arms ready to shoot. They ran across the taproom without a word and out the exit to their horses, which were whinnying and fretting. The animals must also have sensed the danger. Samuel pocketed his pistol and started to untie the knots. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that a Frenchman had followed them and was pointing a pistol at him. He heard a shot and braced his body for the bullet, closing his eyes momentarily. But he felt nothing. The air cracked with a second shot. He opened his eyes to see Frederica standing between him and the body of a dead Frenchman. She clutched her side, which he saw was wet with blood seeping through her gloved fingers. His wife must have stepped between him and death.
Behind her, he could see more men coming towards them. He tossed her onto her horse as she gasped with pain. He mounted his own mare and led both animals in a dead run out of the city. They had to get to the border before the soldiers could stop them. Sweat poured off his face and the horses’ bodies. Glancing over his shoulder, he kept making sure that Frederica was still on the back of her grey.
Once he was sure that the soldiers were not following them, he veered off the road and into a small forested area. He didn’t stop until they were no longer visible from the path.
After slipping off his horse, he lifted Frederica gently to the ground and helped her lie down. Her legs were too weak to hold her upright. ‘Let me see the wound.’
She moved her hand from her side and it was wet and red. Her blood had dripped down her clothes all the way to the hem. Unsuccessfully, she tried to unbutton her riding habit. He brushed her hand aside and quickly unbuttoned it and then took off her dress. With only her shift and corset on, he could see that the bullet had gone clean through her side. Her stays had partially protected her skin, but he still thought that she would need stitching. The fact that she had been able to stand after being shot was incredible. Most soldiers would not have been able to. Nor would they have been able to stay atop a mount for a several-mile ride.
‘Bandages. I need bandages,’ he said in an undertone to himself.
Frederica swallowed, her face pale and strained. Closing her eyes, she said, ‘You can use the bottom of my shift.’
He kneeled down beside her. This delightful garment only grazed the top of her knees. Tearing off the bottom four inches of her shift, he ripped the fabric into long bandages and tied them tightly around the wound at her waist. He lifted her back gently with each wrap. He hoped that would stop the wound from bleeding. Leaning back, he got an eyeful of her long, shapely legs and had to remind himself that she had just been shot. This was not the time for longing thoughts.
‘Freddie—I...I...uh...do not know what to say,’ he whispered, exhaling slowly. ‘You took a bullet for me. I do not think anyone else would have done that for me. W-why did you do it?’
Frederica’s lips were nearly as white as her face, but they smiled slightly. ‘You cannot bring up the bear cub any more.’
He let out a wet chuckle. ‘I won’t.’
‘And I mean to guilt you about it for the rest of our lives. If ever I am losing an argument, I will say, “Remember that one time in France when I took a bullet for you?” And then you’ll humbly let me win.’
A tear slid down his cheek, he was so worried for her that he could barely breathe. She had lost a great deal of blood and they were still several miles away from Mons and safety. He brushed her hair away from her face. ‘I will always let you win.’
‘Liar.’
Bending forward, he pressed a kiss against her brow. It felt strangely cool. She reached for him and he wrapped his arms tightly around her. She felt fragile to him for the first time and he realised that if the bullet had been a few inches closer to her stomach, that he would have lost her for ever. His fiery, fierce, and formidable Frederica.
Rubbing his face into her hair, he spoke into her curls, ‘I am not worth it, darling.’
‘You are to me.’
Those four little words nearly undid him. Never before had someone loved him so purely. Not his parents. Not his friends. Not his general. None of them would have sacrificed their lives for his.
Tilting his head back, he brushed his lips against hers before saying, ‘Promise me that you will never risk your life for mine again?’
‘It is just a flesh wound. I could stitch it myself if I could sew a straight line.’
He squeezed his eyes shut trying not to picture her dead and in a coffin, but the image stayed in his mind. ‘Promise me, Freddie.’
She pressed a kiss to his ear. ‘I cannot. You know that I cannot.’
Another tear slid down his cheek. ‘If you love me, you will live.’
Frederica kissed the tear away. ‘I love you and I hate you, Samuel Corbin, and I will do whatever I think is best at the time.’
Samuel wanted to argue with her, but innately he could not fight with her when she was injured for him. When her very life was in the balance. All he could do was ensure that his wife received medical treatment and safety. He had to get her back to Brussels. England would have been better.