Beneath the Major's Scars

He frowned, making the scar on his forehead even more ragged. He looked positively ferocious, but she refused to be intimidated and met his gaze squarely. He seemed to be struggling to contain his anger and after a moment he raised his hand to point towards a narrow path leading away through the trees. He said curtly, ‘Rooks Tower is half a mile in that direction; West Barton is at least five miles by carriage, maybe two if you go back on the footpath, the way you came.’

Zelah bit her lip. It would be impossible to carry Nicky through the dense undergrowth of the forest without causing him a great deal of pain. The boy stirred and she took his hand.

‘I d-don’t like it, it hurts!’

The plaintive cry tore at her heart.

‘Then it must be Rooks Tower,’ she said. ‘Let us hope your people get here soon.’

‘They will be here as soon as they can.’ He pulled the muslin cravat from his neck. ‘In the meantime I must stop the bleeding.’ His hard eyes flickered over her. ‘It will mean moving his leg.’

She nodded and squeezed Nicky’s hand.

‘You must be very brave, love, while we bind you up. Can you do that?’

‘I’ll try, Aunty.’

‘Your aunt, Nicky? She’s more of an Amazon, I think!’

‘Well, she is not really my aunt, sir,’ explained Nicky gravely. ‘She is my stepmama’s sister.’

Zelah stared, momentarily diverted.

‘You know each other?’

The man flicked a sardonic look towards her.

‘Of course, do you think I allow strange brats to run wild in my woods? Introduce us, Nicky.’

‘This is Major Coale.’ The boy’s voice wavered a little and his lip trembled as the major deftly wrapped the neckcloth around his leg. ‘And this, sir, is my aunt, Zelah.’

‘Celia?’

‘Zee-lah,’ she corrected him haughtily. ‘Miss Pentewan to you.’

‘Dear me, Nicholas, you should have warned me that your aunt is a veritable dragon.’

The scar cutting through his eyebrow gave him a permanent frown, but she heard the amusement in his voice. Nicky, clinging to Zelah’s hand and trying hard not to cry, managed a little chuckle.

‘There, all done.’ The major sat back, putting his hand on Nicky’s shoulder. ‘You were very brave, my boy.’

‘As brave as a soldier, sir?’

‘Braver. I’ve known men go to pieces over the veriest scratch.’

Zelah stared at the untidy, shaggy-haired figure in front of her. His tone was that of a man used to command, but beneath that faded jacket and all that hair, could he really be a soldier? She realised he was watching her and quickly returned her attention to her nephew.

‘What happened, love? How did you fall?’

‘I t-tripped at the top of the bank. There’s a lot of loose branches lying around.’

‘Aye. I’ve left them. Firewood for the villagers,’ explained the major. ‘We have been clearing the undergrowth.’

‘And about time too,’ she responded. ‘These woods have been seriously neglected.’

‘My apologies, madam, if they are not to your liking.’

Was he laughing at her? His face—the little she could see that was not covered by hair—was impassive.

‘My criticism is not aimed at you, Major. I believe Rooks Tower was only sold last winter.’

‘Yes, and I have not had time yet to make all the improvements I would wish.’

‘You are the owner?’

Zelah could not keep the astonishment out of her voice. Surely this ragged individual could not be rich enough to buy such a property?

‘I am. Appearances can be deceptive, Miss Pentewan.’

She flushed, knowing she deserved the coldness of his response.

‘I beg your pardon, that is, I—I am sure there is a vast amount to be done.’

‘There is, and one of my first tasks is to improve the road to the house and make it suitable for carriages again. I have men working on it now, but until that is done everything has to come in and out by packhorse.’

‘Major Coale’s books had to be brought here by pack-pony,’ put in Nicky. ‘Dozens of boxes of them. She likes books,’ he explained to the major, whose right eyebrow had risen in enquiry.

‘We have an extensive library at home,’ added Zelah.

‘And where is that?’

‘Cornwall.’

‘I guessed that much from your name. Where in Cornwall?’

A smile tugged at her mouth, but she responded seriously.

‘My father is rector at Cardinham, near Bod-min.’

Zelah looked up as a number of men arrived carrying a willow hurdle.

She scrambled to her feet and stepped back. The major handed his axe to one of the men before directing the delicate operation of lifting Nicky on to the hurdle. When they were ready to move off she fell into step beside the major, aware of his ungainly, limping stride as they followed the hurdle and its precious burden through the woods.

‘I can see you have some experience of command, Major.’

‘I was several years in the army.’

Zelah glanced at him. He had been careful to keep to the left of the path so only the right side of his face was visible to her. Whether he was protecting her sensibilities or his own she did not know.