“Och, woman, cease your wittering and let the little girl be,” he said when he judged the greeting had gone on long enough. “I want to see these things stowed… don't like them out here on the open street, it's not safe.”

“Oh, it's safe enough,” Tamsyn said, finally turning back to him. “We are, after all, in the headquarters of Wellington's army of the Peninsular. Protected by the word of an English gentleman. Isn't that so, Lord St. Simon?”

“Most certainly,” he said smoothly, refusing to rise to the bait. “I suggest you stable the animals with Cesar and see if Senhora Braganza will accommodate additional lodgers.”

“That do, little girl?” Gabriel asked, not prepared to accept the word of the colonel without corroboration.

“Yes,” Tamsyn said. “We can unload the pack mules and store the stuff in my room at the senhora's. It'll be quite safe there.”

“Then lead on.” Gabriel gathered up the reins with a careless nod. “Lead your mule, woman.”

Tamsyn skipped ahead, Julian moving quickly beside her. “Who's the lady?”

''Josefa… Gabriel's woman,” Tamsyn informed him.

“His wife?”

Tamsyn pursed her lips, considering. “Depends how you define the position, I suppose. She's been his bedmate ever since I can remember. She was my nurse. She's going to come with us to England as my attendant or duenna… whatever you want to call it. A hidalgo maiden would certainly have one. I thought it all out.”

“I commend your foresight,” Julian murmured. “So Gabriel accompanies us too?”

“Of course. He wouldn't let me go without him,” she said as if it were self-evident.

“He doesn't yet know this, I gather.”

“Not yet,” Tamsyn said cheerfully. “I'll explain it to them tonight. At the moment he's too worried about the treasure to listen to anything else. He won't relax until he's seen it safely stowed.”

“Treasure?”

“Yes, my inheritance. It'll fund this scheme of mine, Colonel. I told you I wouldn't be a charge upon you.”

Julian stared. “What does it consist of… this treasure?”

“The fruits of a lifetime's brigandage, sir,” she said dryly. “What else? Gold, silver, jewels. Doubloons, ducats, francs. Quite a fortune.”

“Good God!” he muttered faintly. “Didn't that band of deserters…”

Her face tightened. “They were after it, of course. They'd heard of El Baron's fabulous wealth. But they didn't find it. The baron was no fool. Only he and Gabriel knew where it was. He knew, you see, that he could be sure only of himself and Gabriel if it came to torture.”

“I see.” There seemed no other response.

“Are you intending we should travel in an army convoy through Portugal?”

“I hadn't thought about it as yet. But with that little lot, I think the more protection we have the better.” He grimaced, thinking of the responsibility of shepherding such a charge through the mountains to Lisbon. Portugal was a friendly nation, grateful to the English army for its liberation from Napoleon, but there were still brigands in the passes.

“Oh, Gabriel will pick his own men,” Tamsyn said. “And they won't be soldiers. I asked about the convoy because I don't think it would be a good idea. Gabriel doesn't like soldiers… any more than I do… and he can sometimes be…” She paused. “Well, he can sometimes be a little unpredictable, particularly if he's been drinking.”

“What do you mean, unpredictable?” Julian abruptly remembered the feel of the giant's sword on his naked back, the urgent look in Tamsyn's eyes as she'd spoken to Gabriel, desperate to convince him that she'd been a willing partner in that lusty tangle by the river.

“Hot-tempered,” Tamsyn said, privately reflecting that that was a considerable understatement, but the unvarnished truth might alarm the colonel.

“Dear God,” Julian muttered. A journey escorting a baggage train of untold wealth in the infuriating and tantalizing company of La Violette was to be exacerbated by a man given to violent drinking bouts.

“It doesn't happen very often,” Tamsyn reassured.

“And Josefa's quite good at calming him… if she can catch him in time,” she added as they reached Senhora Braganza's cottage.

Julian refrained from comment. “I'll leave you here. When I've made the necessary arrangements, you'll be informed.”

“Oh?” Tamsyn frowned. “And when will that be?”

“You'll be informed. I suggest you occupy yourself with your wardrobe. You'll need a riding habit and a side-saddle. I assume you'll be able to control Cesar ridding side-saddle? If not, you must procure another riding horse.”

He turned aside abruptly. “Gabriel, a word with you… are you intending to hire a guard for that?” He gestured toward the pack mules. “On the journey to Lisbon.”

“Lisbon? That where we're headed?” Gabriel shrugged phlegmatically. “Then I reckon we'll need a couple of useful men. I'll find 'em hereabouts.”

“We could travel in an army convoy. They're leaving all the time, conveying the wounded to Lisbon.”

Gabriel shook his head and spat in the dust. “Don't hold with soldiers, Colonel. Present company excepted, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Julian concurred aridly. “Well, I'll leave it to you. You have a couple of days, maybe less.”

He glanced toward the cottage where Tamsyn and Josefa were involved in a lively exchange with the senhora, involving much hand waving and shrugging.

Gabriel followed his gaze. “Women'll be settling everything right and tight, I shouldn't wonder,” he stated. “Well, I'd best be getting this stuff unloaded. Don't like it standing here in the street. Be seein' you, Colonel.” He turned to unload the first pack mule, hefting an ironbound chest onto one massive shoulder.

Julian contemplated offering his assistance, then decided against it. His orders, unconventional though they were, didn't include sweating like a farm hand. He strode off to headquarters.

Tamsyn watched him go, frowning. He was very anxious to get away from her. She didn't care to be so lightly dismissed.

Leaving Josefa and the senhora examining the limited accommodations in the cottage, she walked back to the gate, dodging to one side as Gabriel plodded up the path with another chest.

“Hey, lad!” she hailed a small boy who was kicking a stone down the street. “Do you see that colonel?” She indicated Julian's broad retreating back. The lad nodded. “Follow him and let me know where he spends the evening. He may go back to the camp, or he may stay at headquarters. Come back and tell me, and there'll be a cruzado for you.”

The lad grinned and ran off, stationing himself outside headquarters when his quarry disappeared inside.

Unaware of his young follower, Julian entered Wellington’s apartment. The commander in chief was with his staff and greeted the colonel crisply.

“St. Simon, you'll join us for dinner. We're putting our heads together over what exactly you should ask Westminster for. Should we ask for the maximum and bargain down? Or make reasonable demands that won't alarm the ministry?”

Julian put thoughts of Tamsyn, treasure, and the unpredictable Gabriel aside and took a chair. Little though he relished this diplomatic mission, he understood its importance.

The lad waited until dark. The colonel didn't reappear, but a procession of servants entered the building from the kitchen in the next-door cottage, bearing trays and salvers of food, and the chink of china and glass drifted through the open window with the rich aromas of dinner and the voices of the diners.

The lad ran back to the widow's cottage, knocking on the kitchen door that stood ajar, letting in. the soft spring air. He stuck his head into the candlelit kitchen where Tamsyn sat with Gabriel, Josefa, and Senhora Braganza eating a dinner much less elegant than that served to the duke and his staff: Not that such a comparison would have troubled any of the participants at this board.