.
A few hours later at dinner , Ewan glanced at his wife and shared a n amused smile . For indeed Shiply and Rachel had been quite late.
About the Author
Kristin Vaden is blessed. With a love story of her own that is better than anything she’s ever read and four children that only add to the amazing story of her life. Needless to say, life at her house is never boring. She is a homeschooling stay at home mom that loves to researching homeopathic remedies and making her own soap and sauerkraut in her rare free time.
Chapter One
Salamanca – 22 July 1812
“We’ve endured some bad storms, have we not Dev, but I misremember one as severe as this.”
Lady Beaumont snuggled up to her lord, her head on his shoulder. They’d celebrate three blissful, if unusual, years of marriage in a month’s time. Hopefully this time they’d be back in England and she’d throw a party like none before.
“The lightning was so bright at one point I thought it struck our tent.”
“At least we had some cover.” Honor sighed. “Those poor soldiers have little shelter and Wellington will expect them to perform their duties regardless.”
“We are at war, my dear.” Lord Beaumont pulled his wife closer. One more day and they’d be on their way home to enjoy three months leave. One more day…
So why did Devlin dread the coming dawn?
Another burst of thunder overhead shook the ground, and lightning lit up the meagre bivouac.
“The intensity of this storm is shocking. It must be all of two hours since it began, and silly as it sounds, I almost feel it is on a personal mission, a vendetta.” Honor traced Dev’s lips with her finger. “Perhaps we should distract ourselves?”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Pushing the unidentified dread to the back of his mind, Devlin kissed his wife long and hard.
“That’s a good start.” She returned his kiss and followed where he led.
* * * *
The growing light of dawn chased the storm away that had left a field of mud in its wake. Honor’s even breathing failed to sooth Devlin. The niggling apprehension slithered snake-like through his system. Had his concerns added intensity to their lovemaking, or had they shed every inhibition knowing the thunder would drown out their cries of ecstasy?
Grunts, groans, and cursing outside rose in crescendo as more and more soldiers began the rituals of another day at war. The day before, certain Marshal Marmont would not open an attack, Wellington had ordered the baggage and supply carts to retreat a good way to the rear. Word had spread that they wouldn’t break camp today, but would continue to observe the movements of the French divisions.
“Bonaparte’s sent them to stop us from marching upon Madrid,” Wellington told a select few the previous day. “I admit they may equal us in numbers and they’ve taken the Grand Arapiles and the woods behind. I do not wish to fight an action, unless it is to our advantage, or becomes essential.”
So, Dev asked himself again as he slipped out of Honor’s embrace, why did this sense of foreboding not only stalk him, but increase in strength? For the few hours in her arms during the night he’d managed to push it away. Tonight they would set out for home. The beginning of three months' leave. He searched for his clothing and carefully folded Honor’s and laid them at the end of the cot. They may have been under cover for the night, but the rain had seeped through the repaired tears and soaked everything in the way; those that missed the downpour were damp anyway.
He shrugged into his bright red jacket and reached for his watch. Six o’clock. In the distance, the cooks struggled to light the rain-sodden wood. Another cold meal to start the day, but happily for him and Honor, it would be their last army breakfast for several months.
With care, he let the tent flap drop behind him and made his way to Wellington’s
A few hours later at dinner , Ewan glanced at his wife and shared a n amused smile . For indeed Shiply and Rachel had been quite late.
About the Author
Kristin Vaden is blessed. With a love story of her own that is better than anything she’s ever read and four children that only add to the amazing story of her life. Needless to say, life at her house is never boring. She is a homeschooling stay at home mom that loves to researching homeopathic remedies and making her own soap and sauerkraut in her rare free time.
Chapter One
Salamanca – 22 July 1812
“We’ve endured some bad storms, have we not Dev, but I misremember one as severe as this.”
Lady Beaumont snuggled up to her lord, her head on his shoulder. They’d celebrate three blissful, if unusual, years of marriage in a month’s time. Hopefully this time they’d be back in England and she’d throw a party like none before.
“The lightning was so bright at one point I thought it struck our tent.”
“At least we had some cover.” Honor sighed. “Those poor soldiers have little shelter and Wellington will expect them to perform their duties regardless.”
“We are at war, my dear.” Lord Beaumont pulled his wife closer. One more day and they’d be on their way home to enjoy three months leave. One more day…
So why did Devlin dread the coming dawn?
Another burst of thunder overhead shook the ground, and lightning lit up the meagre bivouac.
“The intensity of this storm is shocking. It must be all of two hours since it began, and silly as it sounds, I almost feel it is on a personal mission, a vendetta.” Honor traced Dev’s lips with her finger. “Perhaps we should distract ourselves?”
“And how do you suggest we do that?” Pushing the unidentified dread to the back of his mind, Devlin kissed his wife long and hard.
“That’s a good start.” She returned his kiss and followed where he led.
* * * *
The growing light of dawn chased the storm away that had left a field of mud in its wake. Honor’s even breathing failed to sooth Devlin. The niggling apprehension slithered snake-like through his system. Had his concerns added intensity to their lovemaking, or had they shed every inhibition knowing the thunder would drown out their cries of ecstasy?
Grunts, groans, and cursing outside rose in crescendo as more and more soldiers began the rituals of another day at war. The day before, certain Marshal Marmont would not open an attack, Wellington had ordered the baggage and supply carts to retreat a good way to the rear. Word had spread that they wouldn’t break camp today, but would continue to observe the movements of the French divisions.
“Bonaparte’s sent them to stop us from marching upon Madrid,” Wellington told a select few the previous day. “I admit they may equal us in numbers and they’ve taken the Grand Arapiles and the woods behind. I do not wish to fight an action, unless it is to our advantage, or becomes essential.”
So, Dev asked himself again as he slipped out of Honor’s embrace, why did this sense of foreboding not only stalk him, but increase in strength? For the few hours in her arms during the night he’d managed to push it away. Tonight they would set out for home. The beginning of three months' leave. He searched for his clothing and carefully folded Honor’s and laid them at the end of the cot. They may have been under cover for the night, but the rain had seeped through the repaired tears and soaked everything in the way; those that missed the downpour were damp anyway.
He shrugged into his bright red jacket and reached for his watch. Six o’clock. In the distance, the cooks struggled to light the rain-sodden wood. Another cold meal to start the day, but happily for him and Honor, it would be their last army breakfast for several months.
With care, he let the tent flap drop behind him and made his way to Wellington’s
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