Last Night in Lisbon

"I don't know. Same as you is fine." She was still angry and coiled like a spring, but she attempted to bring herself back to the present. "Thank you, Gable."

She smiled at the friendly redcoat and accepted a glass. "Aye, he is a bit of a hero, in't he? Blessed are the peacemakers, eh Gabe?"

"Heroes?" Cotton asked. "I ain't done nothin'. Not worth bein' called a hero for, anyway." He turned to Maggie. "That's all right, lass. I said I'd keep an eye out for ye, din't I?"

Perkins smiled with relief and asked "You all right then, Maggie?"

"Quite all right, thank you," she replied. "Mister Perkins, isn't it? Ben Perkins. How are your shoes, Ben?"

"I got new ones! Still a bit stiff like, but that won't last long. Now this here is Rifleman Harris, of the 95th same as me, and do you know Private Williams?"

"Maggie, is it? You shouldn't be wandering around at night - not tonight at any rate." He poured some of the brandy for her, but frowned slightly. Was this Cotton's girl? Perkins at least seemed to be treating her with respect, but the lad still hadn't found out about women.

"No, well I had a delivery to make. It took longer than I expected. Thank you Mister Harris."

"You feelin' better now, Maggie?" Cotton asked, still concerned for her. He accepted a mug of brandy gratefully.

"I'm fine, Gabe, I'm fine," she said, smiling reassuringly. She was deeply embarrassed to realise that she had needed to be rescued, and equally embarrassed that yet again Cotton had seen her in a vulnerable moment. She also knew the validity of Rifleman Harris's words, and she felt foolish and angry at herself for being foolish.

"All right, lass, I don't mean to keep all on askin' you silly questions," Cotton said. He liked Maggie, he did, and to know that she'd got herself into a tricky situation had concerned him. But she apparently didn't want his concern, and he wasn't sure what else he could offer.

He wasn't sure he'd ever understand women.

"No need to fret, Maggie. I'd apologize for the redcoats, but they're none of my lot." Not that she'd have been safer if they had been the 27th, of course. The Portuguese women should be safely barricaded behind their shuttered windows, possibly looking down on the soldiers, and sighing at the behaviour of their allies. He'd intended to find a woman for himself, but there was too much threatened violence around. Better to stay drinking with friends.

"Just acause it's the last night afore we march," Cotton said. "And they want to get theirselves stinkin' drunk. They'll only have theirselves to blame f'r it in the mornin', and who knows what trouble there'll be 'tween now and then?"

Maggie looked around distractedly, trying to think of a way to change the subject. "I saw that colonel again, Colonel Edrington, and he bought a lot of coffee. I'm glad I saved it out for him."

Harris scowled at Maggie. He didn't know Cotton, but no Rifleman was going to be able to compete with a Colonel. Edrington was Colonel of the 62nd, of course, which meant that he'd be with them when they left Lisbon. The woman seemed to be determined to make Cotton unhappy.

"I reckon he'd've been right pleased with it, Maggie. You allus have the best stuff in stock." He took a mouthful of brandy, determined to drink it slowly and not get drunk. He didn't need a hangover to worry about, as well as the Captain's stuff.

"Well I hope so. I were right pleased with the money!" she answered with a grin. Then her smile faded. "He made me right uneasy though." She suddenly felt homesick.

"Uneasy? How?" Cotton was made concerned by her words. Not, of course, that there was anything he could do against a Colonel, but some things just weren't right.

Meanwhile Perkins poked Harris with his elbow and spoke in a murmur just loud enough to be heard over the general din. "Hey! What's eatin' you, Harris?"

Harris drained his mug and poured some more brandy. "Nothing. Have some." He offered to pour more into Perkins' mug.

"Well - all right. Cheers, Harris!"

Maggie shook off the thoughts of her earlier interview. "Oh, I don't know. Nothing ungentlemanlike. Just... making me nervous is all. About following the march." She looked up at Cotton and for a brief moment, her face showed unguarded apprehension.

Cotton swallowed as she looked apprehensively up at him. He pulled up a chair and sat down next to her. How should he say what he wanted to say? This wasn't really the place, nor the time.

"Maggie, lass, you know I'll watch out for you, like I said I would. But... but would you... Would you walk out wi' me?"

It was a bit sudden-like, he knew. But he wanted to be more to her than a friend. If she would let him.

Her apprehension changed to puzzlement, but with a quick glance at the other riflemen and their redcoat friend who were drinking and talking, she slipped out of her chair and said, "Right now? All right, Gabe. You wanna walk outside?"

Oh help. That wasn't quite what he'd had in mind... especially if that lot from the 33rd were still hanging around out there. He caught at her arm. "I din't mean like that, Maggie. Come an' sit back down." He sighed. It really wasn't a good place to be asking, but going outside would probably be worse.

"I meant... I meant, oh help. I meant, could I court ye, lass? Maggie. Please."

Thank God it was dim in here; he was probably tomato red under his tan.