Dark Angel by Tracy Grant Page A

mule and settled them in the lee of a bank of rock a short distance away, Caroline had a small fire going in the mouth of the cave. They had left the door ajar to allow the smoke to escape, but inside, on the far side of the fire, it was distinctly warmer than their camp of the night before. The smell of wine mingled with the scent of drying wool from the cloaks spread over the casks. Adam saw Caroline's dark blue dress beside them and realized that she had been wearing two. "For warmth," she explained, "and it saved space in the pack." She pulled Emily's dress over her head to reveal a second one beneath it as well.
    Hawkins had broached one of the barrels, filled three cups, and passed them around. Adam sank down before the fire, grateful for its warmth and the warmth of the deep red liquid. The firelight turned the walls of the cave to gold. Caroline had loosened her hair to let it dry and it spilled over her shoulders, catching the light and echoing the gold of the walls. A tripod held their single cooking pot over the flames. It would be an hour before their supper was ready, but Adam was barely conscious of hunger. He felt a great sense of well-being. One part wine, he thought. One part having survived this day. And one part Caroline. The hurts they had done each other were washed away, and they could look in each other's eyes and see no more than the fellowship of sharing an adventure. Adam shifted his position so he was not looking directly at her. No more, that is, if he were careful. He would not let her see into his soul.
    The wine blurred even this last fear. He watched Hawkins and Caroline fill the cooking pot. Their meat was gone, but they had corn and chickpeas and onions and garlic and a large bunch of thyme that Caroline had picked as they came through the scrub. He would never hope for a better meal, and after it was finished he lay down by the fire and gave himself up to sleep.
    He did not know what woke him. The fire had gone out and he rose to close the door and shut out the chill night air. He stayed a minute to look up at the sky, dark and clear and littered with stars. Then he heard the murmur of voices and knew that was what had woken him. He slipped out the door, closing it quietly behind him, and moved toward the sounds. A French patrol, at this hour? Unlikely. He heard a laugh and a word or two and understood. They were Spanish, and Mother of God, they were after the horses.
     

Chapter Five
    There were at least three of them, maybe more. Adam did not wait to find out. He returned quickly to the cave, awakened Hawkins without a sound, and indicated that he should follow. "Spanish," Adam whispered when they were outside and the door was closed behind them. "They've found the horses."
    "Bloody hell." Hawkins had thought to bring his knife and he clutched it now as he followed Adam at a near run, their stockinged feet making no sound on the path. As they neared the small clearing where they had tethered the horses, Adam pulled back, flattening himself against the rock. Hawkins followed suit. One of the intruders was standing not a dozen yards away, moving his head slowly to scan the darkness ahead. Apparently satisfied, he turned away.
    They mustn't lose him. Surprise was their only weapon. Adam bent down, found a pebble, and sent it skittering along the path. It made the barest whisper of sound, but it was enough. The intruder spun round, then moved forward cautiously. Adam waited, willing the man to take another twenty steps. Another ten would do, but the man would not take even that many. He stopped, shrugged, and turned back the way he had come.
    And in the next instant Hawkins was upon him, one hand clasped over the man's mouth, the other holding a knife at his throat. "Be quiet, my beauty, or I'll cut off your balls and stuff them—"
    "Somewhere unpleasant." Adam was beside them. He watched their captive's eyes open wide with terror, the whites gleaming in the cold light of the moon. He was