Frederica’s breath hitched and she wished she didn’t have to breathe, for every movement hurt her wound. ‘We have to get back to Brussels and warn Wellington about the French generals that Napoleon is bringing with him.’
‘We can go tomorrow.’
Squeezing her eyes shut, she shook her head against the hard pillow. ‘There is no time to delay. Napoleon’s forces are already marching towards us. If our mission is to be a successful one, we must get the information to Wellington as soon as possible, so that he can prepare his plan of attack. You need to leave me.’
‘I will not,’ he said quietly. ‘It isn’t safe for you.’
Of all the times for Samuel to be stubborn.
‘It isn’t safe for you to stay. You know that you should go. You are Wellington’s ADC. You are on his staff and he trusts you to bring him this information.’
Moving to the bed, Samuel put his arm around Frederica’s waist and kissed her cheek. ‘Your health and safety are more important to me than a few hours’ notice for a general. And whether that makes me a fool or a traitor, so be it.’
She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her on the bed. Even though it hurt like she was being stabbed repeatedly, she hugged him tightly. Frederica felt alarmed at the thought that he belonged there. She had tried not to let her feelings for him deepen. He already had the most frustrating hold over her heart and mind. Yet here he was, choosing her over his general. The man who had become a father figure to him. A man whose respect he had earned. Samuel was putting her needs above that of his soldiers and his country. She never dreamed that he would be that devoted to her. To anyone. It filled her with a wonder that helped dim some of the pain.
Her eyes watered with unwanted tears. ‘Why are you so difficult to hate sometimes?’
Frederica felt his laugh rumble in his chest before she heard it. The warm air brushed her ear and she shivered in his arms.
‘Then it is settled. I will go and fetch you some breakfast.’
She nodded her face against his scratchy cheek and watched him leave the room. Slipping one foot and then the other onto the wooden floor, she forced her sore body into a sitting position first and then to standing. She couldn’t allow Samuel to betray his general. He would be burdened with guilt for the rest of his life and the poor man already had enough memories that brought him pain. She limped to the window and stared out into the bright morning. Her vision must have been affected, for something large and black clouded the corner of her view. Rubbing her eyes, she opened the window and peered out of it. The black swarm was still there and it was moving.
Swallowing, her mouth went dry as she realised that it was the French army. Napoleon and his generals had taken the same road as Samuel and herself. Her husband had been right. It was not safe for her or for him to stay in Mons for another hour. Let alone another day. She would have to find the strength to leave.
It took several halting steps to make it to the narrow wardrobe where her only other plain dress was hanging. Riding her horse today was going to be a misery, but if Samuel was willing to sacrifice his career for her, she could endure some pain. Mrs Janssens must have cleaned and pressed her gown, because it looked as good as new. Pulling it over her head, she could only be grateful that she was already wearing a shift, for to lift her arms twice would have been torture. She sat on the floor and pulled up her stockings and laced up her boots.
Touching her wild curls, Frederica could not help but wish that Miss Wade was there scowling at her. She had such a way with hair. One that Frederica did not. Lifting both arms again, she braided her curls. She had to hold her breath to stop herself from crying or swearing. Probably both. She tied the end and dropped her arms, gasping in pain.
Frederica was still sitting on the floor when Samuel re-entered the room with a breakfast tray.
Gasping in surprise, he set it on the side table before stooping down beside her. ‘What are you doing out of bed? Did you fall?’
She exhaled shakily and pointed to the wall. ‘We must go this very morning. Napoleon’s army is hot on our heels. Look through that window.’
Samuel moved swiftly to the open window and leaned his head out of it, holding on to the casing.
‘Do you see the army?’
She watched him shade his eyes with one hand and lean out even farther. ‘I do see a glimpse of something dark. But it is a great distance from us.’
Her eyesight must be sharper than his. ‘Help me to my feet. I want to get something in my stomach before our long ride. I will need every bit of strength that I possess.’
Samuel put his hands around her arms and lifted her to her feet. Frederica was relieved that he did not touch her waist. It was smarting something dreadful. She hoped her movements hadn’t caused the wound to open and bleed again. Samuel helped her across the room and into the chair that he’d spent half the night in.
She picked up a piece of toast. ‘Go and have Monsieur Janssens prepare the horses and supplies. We should leave in a quarter of an hour.’
He placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. ‘Very good.’
Frederica forced herself to eat the toast and eggs, as well as the cherry water and lint weed tea. She’d learned from her mother that they had medicinal qualities. Even if she had no appetite now, she would need her strength for their hard ride. Draining the last of the tea, she felt her chest palpitate and her muscles quiver. She touched her chest and let out an airy laugh. After one and twenty years of age, she was finally behaving like a heroine in a novel: scared and silly.
She cleared her throat—she had no time for such theatrics. She was a spy after all. Frederica got to her feet and left the room, taking the stairs one at a time. The main floor of the inn was as clean and as inauspicious as her bedchamber. There were a few wooden tables, chairs, and a tap. Mrs Janssens bustled out of the kitchen door and bowed to her.
‘Is there anything else you’ll be needing this morning, milady?’
Frederica put a fist by her sore side. ‘Might I have a bonnet? I must have lost my hat yesterday in the scuffle. I promise that my husband will pay for it.’
‘Now, never you mind that, milady,’ she said, waving her hand. ‘Milord has been most generous in settling his accounts. The least I could do fer ye, is give you an old straw bonnet to keep the sun off your face.’