27th May, night with camp followers

He nodded. "Aye, ducks. Could have geese, but ducks are good, too. There's an apple orchet, an' a cherry orchet not so far, that belong to the farm, so there'll be cherry pie an' cherry ale come cherry-pickin' time."

She curled into a very tiny ball against his chest. "I love cherries," she confessed with another little sob. "Is it a... cloth mill?"

"A cloth mill?" he repeated, wrapping both arms around her. "No, it was a flour mill, only there was a fire or somethin'. It ain't there now, only the stream an' mill-pond's left. There's a new windmill where we have our corn ground now."

"I don't want to work in a cloth mill again," she murmured. "Nor our children neither." Children. She shivered again and then looked back at him. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's like something rotten got in me and I can't get it out. Like in an apple." She knew how disgusting and disappointing it could be to bite into an apple that was spoiled inside. She hoped that was not how Gabe was feeling now, but she hardly knew how to ask him. He did not seem angry or upset. But that was because he was good and kind, and that made it worse because he deserved better. Poor Gabe. "I gave you a rotten apple, didn't I. I shouldn'ta let you marry me."

"Ssh," he said reassuringly, retying the strings of her corset before putting his arms around her again. "You ain't... It ain't like that at all. An' as for the marryin' bit, we both wanted to, didn't we? I dunno who I'd've wed, if I hadn't wed you."

He wasn't sure how he felt. Saddened because of what had happened to Maggie, and what it had done to her. But he also had a great fondness for her, partly because of the friendship between them that went right back to before Corporal Balstrode's death. "I don't regret askin' you to marry me, nor I ever will," he said, wondering how she could possibly think that. He wound a strand of hair around his finger. "If you'm goin' to talk that way, I'm... Well, I'm spoiled goods meself, if you want to put it like that, after bein' flogged an' all." He adjusted his position a little so she could see his smile. "You could've left me then. You could've gone with anyone. But you didn't, you stuck with me. An' I ain't goin' to leave you, not now, not when you need me."

He slipped a hand inside his shirt and pulled out her locket. "You gave me this, then, 'stead of runnin' off to find yourself a better man, even though I wouldn't've blamed you for doin' that."

She turned and looked at him. "I know. And I don't really want to give you up. I don't. I don't really wish you hadn't a' married me." She wrapped her arms around him then. "I want to keep you, I do, for me, not for the rifles, or the army, or the war, or Captain Vickery, or the king neither, but for me. That's why... That's why I'll do whatever I can - why I want to do whatever I can when you are mine. Just mine. And I'll have ten children and build a farm right here on this spot if you want."

"I reckon... I reckon I'm the luckiest man in the army, 'cause of havin' you." He tucked the locket away again and slipped his arm back around her. "Wish I could be with you all the time, only I can't. Still, I'm here with you now, an' ain't 'spected to be back up with the rest of the Comp'ny for a week, mebbe two, so we got that time together." He smiled. "I'd rather take you home with me an' we can have a cottage in Kent. Never know... we might have a farm of our own even, one day, what think you of that?"

"I think that'd be grand," she answered, sitting up. "And over a week, you'll see I can be a good little wife, once I get used to it an' all. See, I saved you some stew. I already et a bit with Jenny, but you haven't, have you?"

He sat up himself. "Aye, that'd be grand." He smiled at her. "You are a good wife, though Maggie. Least, I think you are - never had one afore." He shook his head, even as his stomach betrayed that he had indeed not eaten anything yet. "Stew sounds to be good, sweeting."

She hoped she had not just made a disastrous mistake. Maybe it would have been better to wait, at least until she could be more pleasantly receptive. He must have been disappointed. Perhaps even disgusted. She should not have initiated it. Though heaven knew she would have been upset if he had he had been the one to suggest it. Her muddy rapid river of thoughts quickly carried her to life as a nun in Coimbra. Her heart ached.

Then she realized that he had spoken. He had answered a question that she herself had asked. He wanted stew. That was one thing she could do properly for him. She stood at once, but the muddiness was even worse. She thought vaguely that all the fires in camp had gone out at once before she fell to the ground

Maggie hadn't seemed to hear his request at first, but stirred into life a moment later, getting to her feet to find a bowl or something. She swayed and he managed to scramble to his feet just in time to catch her before she crumpled soundlessly to the ground.

"Maggie!"

He wasn't quite sure what to do, but she was a dead weight in his arms and he gently lowered her to the ground before gently loosening her corset strings to make it easier for her to breathe. "Maggie?" He patted her cheek gently, wishing he had some hart's horn, or even feathers to burn to revive her.

She opened her eyes to see Gabe. She was lying down again. Hadn't she just been standing up? Or had that been a dream? She felt hot, unbearably hot, and a bit sick. He was loosening her corset strings. And then she remembered.

"No, no," she whimpered, pushing his hands away. She started to sit up, but that just made it worse.

"Hey, it's all right, you jus'..." He moved his hands to her shoulders. "You lie still there, right. You swooned, that's all. Easy there, Maggie, sweeting. I ain't goin' to hurt you, I promise."

She blinked and frowned. It was so hot. Gabe's hands were cool when he touched her cheek. Why wasn't he hot too? "I just need some water," she said, putting a hand to her own cheek.

"You'm awful hot," he said, and reached for his canteen. "Have as much as you like out o' this. I can allus fill it up ag'in now we'm stopped here for the night." He paused. "Want to sit up?" he asked, offering her his hand in case she needed help to sit up.

She held his arm and sat up slowly, this time without everything going dark and hazy. She drank from his canteen and poured a little water on her hands to pat on her face and rub on her brow. "Thanks, Gabe. I never done that before. Was I standing up and I fell?"

He nodded, the movement just barely visible in the glow from the fire. "Aye. You didn't fall right to the ground though. I managed to catch you in time. You all right?"

He'd forgotten all about food in his concern for her well-being.

She nodded, but that hurt her head. "I think I'll be fine if I can lie down for a minute. Maybe I need a damp cloth. There's a kerchief in my bag. Or - get Martha. You can eat, and go and see after Joe, and Martha can sit with me. Will you get Martha?" She wanted a woman's care just now more than a husband's.

"Aye, all right. You... you just lie down there." He was rather relieved she'd asked for Martha; he had no idea how to deal with this situation. It was took dark to go fumbling in her bag, so he pulled his neck-cloth off and pressed it into her hand. He seemed to be making a habit of that recently, he thought, getting up. "Be back directly minute for that stew."

He turned to head for where he'd last seen Martha, hoping to find either her or Jenny without getting himself comprehensively lost.

The stew. She had forgotten about it again. She really ought to get it for him. Oh well. It wasn't going to happen just now. He knew how to look after himself, and Martha would know how to look after her. Even though she felt slightly guilty for thinking it, she was glad to be left alone for a spell.