She leaned to pick up the mule's leading rein and Sharpe stepped out into the moonlight. "I never know," he said, "whether Dona is a title or not. Do I say "good morning, milady"? Or just good morning?" He stopped three paces from her.

It took Juanita a few seconds to recover her poise. She straightened up, glanced at the rifle in Sharpe's hands, then at her horse thirty paces away. She had left a carbine in the saddle holster, but knew she had no chance of reaching the weapon. She had a short sword at her side and her hand went to the hilt, then stopped as Sharpe raised the rifle's muzzle. "You wouldn't kill a woman, Captain Sharpe," she said coldly.

"In the dark, milady? With you in uniform? I don't think anyone would blame me."

Juanita watched Sharpe carefully, trying to judge the veracity of his threat. Then a means of salvation occurred to her and she smiled before giving a brief tuneless whistle. Her hounds stopped and pricked their ears. "I'll set the dogs on you, Captain," she said.

"Because that's all you've got left here, isn't it?" Sharpe said. "Loup has gone. Where?"

Juanita still smiled. "I've seen my bitches pull down a prime stag, Captain, and turn it into offal in two minutes. The first to reach you will go for your throat and she'll hold you down while the others feed on you."

Sharpe returned the smile, then raised his voice. "Pat! Bring 'em in!"

"Damn you," Juanita said, then she whistled again and the hounds began loping down the street. At the same time she turned and began running towards her horse, but she was slowed by the spurs on her heavy riding boots and Sharpe caught her from behind. He put his left arm round her waist and held her body in front of his like a shield as he backed against the nearest wall.

"Whose throat will they go for now, my lady?" he asked. Her tousled hair was in his face. It smelt of rosewater.

She kicked at him, tried to elbow him, but he was much too strong. The fastest hound came running towards them and Sharpe lowered the rifle with his right hand and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot was brutally loud in the confined street. Sharpe's aim had been confused by Juanita's struggles, but his bullet caught the attacking animal in the haunch and sent it spinning and yelping to the ground just as Harper led the riflemen through the entrance maze. The Irishman's sudden appearance confused the other hounds. They slowed down, then whined as they clustered about the wounded bitch.

"Put the bugger out of its misery, Pat," Sharpe said. "Harris? Go back to Captain Donaju, give him my compliments and tell him to bring his men into the village. Cooper? Get her ladyship's horse. And Perkins? Take her ladyship's sword."

Harper waded into the hounds, drew his sword bayonet and stooped to the bleeding, snapping bitch. "Be still, you bugger," he said gently, then sliced once. "You poor beast," he said as he straightened up with his bayonet dripping blood. "God save Ireland, sir, but look what you found. Lord Kiely's fancy lady."

"Traitor!" Juanita said to Harper, then spat at him. "Traitor! You should be fighting the English."

"Oh, my lady," Harper said as he wiped the blade on the skirt of his green jacket, "some time you and me must enjoy a long talk about who should be fighting on whose side, but right now I'm busy with the war I've already got."

Perkins gingerly extracted the short sword from Juanita's slings, then Sharpe released his grip on her. "My apologies for manhandling you, ma'am," he said very formally.

Juanita ignored the apology. She stood straight and stiff, keeping her dignity in front of the foreign riflemen. Dan Hagman was coaxing the mule out of the street corner where it had taken refuge. "Bring it with you, Dan," Sharpe said, then led the way up the street towards the house Juanita had vacated. Harper escorted her, making her follow Sharpe into the yard.

The house must have been one of the largest in the village for the gate led into a spacious courtyard that possessed stabling on two sides and an elaborately crowned well in its centre. The kitchen door was open and Sharpe ducked inside to find the fire still smouldering and the remains of a meal on the table. He found some candle stubs, lit them from the fire, and placed them back on the table amidst the litter of plates and cups. At least six people had eaten at the table, suggesting that Loup and his men had left very recently. "Look round the rest of the village, Pat," Sharpe told Harper. "Take half a dozen men and go carefully. I reckon everyone's gone, but you never know."

"I'll take care, sir, so I will." Harper took the riflemen out of the kitchen leaving Sharpe alone with Juanita.

Sharpe gestured at a chair. "Let's talk, my lady."

She walked with a slow dignity to the far side of the table, put a hand on the chair back, then suddenly broke away and ran for a door across the room. "Go to hell," was her parting injunction. Sharpe was encumbered by the furniture so that by the time he reached the door she was already halfway up a dark flight of stairs. He scrambled after her. She turned right at the stairhead and ran through a door that she slammed behind her. Sharpe kicked it a split second before it would have latched and hurled himself through the opening to see, in the moonlight, that Juanita was sprawled across a bed. She was struggling to free an object from a discarded valise then, as Sharpe crossed the room, she turned with a pistol in her hand. He threw himself at her, slamming his left hand at the pistol just as she pulled the trigger. The bullet cracked into the ceiling as he landed full on her. She gasped from the impact, then tried to claw at his eyes with her free hand.

Sharpe rolled off her, stood and backed to the window. He was panting. His left wrist hurt from the impact of striking the pistol aside. The moonlight came past him to silver the haze of pistol smoke and to shine on the bed that was nothing but a raft of straw-filled mattresses on which a jumble of pelts provided the covers. Juanita half sat up, glared at him, then seemed to realize that her defiance had run its course. She let out a disgruntled sigh and collapsed back onto the furs.

Dan Hagman had heard the pistol shot from the courtyard and now came pounding up the stairs and into the bedroom with his rifle levelled. He looked from the woman prone on the bed to Sharpe. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Just a disagreement, Dan. No one hurt."

Hagman looked back at Juanita. "A right little spitfire, sir," he said admiringly. "She probably needs a spanking."

"I'll look after her, Dan. You get those panniers off the mule. Let's see what the spitfire was taking away, eh?"

Hagman went back downstairs. Sharpe massaged his wrist and looked about the room. It was a large high-ceilinged chamber with dark wood panelling, thick ceiling beams, a fireplace and a heavy linen press in one corner. It was obviously the bedroom of a substantial man and the room that a commanding officer, quartering his men in a small village, would naturally take as his own billet. "It's a big bed, my lady, too big for just one person," Sharpe said. "Are those wolf skins?"

Juanita said nothing.

Sharpe sighed. "You and Loup, eh? Am I right?"

She stared at him with dark resentful eyes, but still refused to speak.

"And all those days you went hunting alone," Sharpe said, "you were coming here to see Loup."

Again she refused to speak. The moonlight put half her face in shadow.

"And you opened the San Isidro's gate for Loup, didn't you?" Sharpe went on. "That's why he didn't attack the gatehouse. He wanted to make sure no harm came to you in the fighting. That's nice in a man, isn't it? Looking after his woman. Mind you, he can't have liked the thought of you and Lord Kiely. Or isn't Loup the jealous kind?"

"Kiely was usually too drunk," she said in a low voice.